This month has easily made me laugh more than almost any other month so far on the Race. Our first week in Rwanda, we went to the two churches we have been serving with. The second church is much bigger and has loud speakers, a keyboard, and is very lively to say the least. The very first night we were there, we were tasked with an interesting challenge.
We were to earn our Rwandan names.
I know you’re thinking, “Katie, how does one earn a Rwandan name?”
Well I’m here to tell you one does not come by their Rwandan name easily. Pastor Moses, in all his good-humored hilarity, decided we had to dance to earn our names.
You read that right, six mzungus* had to dance for their Rwandan names.
It was one of the funniest and most embarrassing moments of my life. I’m not the most rhythmic person in the world and I’ve definitely never African danced before, much less in front of an entire congregation of people. But nevertheless, we danced as a team to fast paced music as we tried our best to mirror the moves Barnabas, one of the choir members, was so graciously showing us. What he made look easy, for me looked more like a baby giraffe trying to learn to walk. Awkward and hilarious.
But the fun wasn’t over. We had proved that we could dance, so then we had to do it individually. Naturally that’s the only way to truly earn a name.
I. Was. Mortified.
In the end, however bumpy the journey, I was deemed worthy and earned the name I danced for. So one by one the congregation gave us our new identities.
Mutoni Erin (favored one).
Keza Jennie Katie (beautiful).
Ingabire Lydia (divine one).
Munezero Gracie (joy).
Kamikazi Marisa (princess).
Mahoro Katie.
Peace. They called me peaceful.
Now I don’t know about you, but I found that a little hard to grasp. It’s not very often that people look at me and say, “Yep, that’s a peaceful person.”
No. Normally I get things like: high strung, loud, boisterous. Certainly not peaceful.
But then I thought about it. Since the end of Cambodia, I’ve been in quite the tumultuous season. There have been a lot of things that were up in the air such as job hunting for when I come home, making decisions about going back to school, and ironing out the details of the call the Lord placed on my heart in the Philippines (get excited, I’ll be writing a different blog about that later).
I’ve found myself praying very similar prayers a lot of the time which go a little something like this:
Gracious Heavenly Father:
Thank you so much for bringing me to this place. Thank you for surrounding me with more love and joy than I think I’ve ever felt. Thank you even more so for giving me these desires and hopes and dreams. Father right now I feel so overwhelmed and scared. I am full of doubt. I pray that you fill me with the peace of knowing you are sovereign and you are in control. Flood me with peace, God.
It’s in Jesus’s holy and precious name I pray, amen. **
Over and over again I have prayed for peace. For months, I have prayed for peace. And here were people I had only just met telling me I exuded peace. My presence was peaceful.
Could it have been something generic they decided to name the new mzungu?
Possibly.
But I choose to trust that God has been doing the very thing I have been praying for for the better part of three months.
They called me Mahoro. I’m going to choose to walk in that peace.
All the love from Rwanda,
Mahoro Katie Mere
*Mzungus: the name Eastern Africans call white people, similar to gringa or guerra.
**Actual prayer I’ve written in my journal.
