So This Is Grace…

I don’t have an epic story of my adventures in Tanzania…nothing earthshaking to end the three months I’d spent in east Africa…it was actually a very slow month. Ministry only took up a small portion of the day, and that was WHEN ministry actually happened.

It was a difficult month for me.

But…not because of what I just told you.

It’s month 10, I told myself countless times. Give yourself a break. And for the first time in a while, I really spent a lot of time listening to that voice. I could’ve built relationships with people, even if it was only with the people working at the guesthouse we called ‘home’ for the month. Even if it was only with the one or two people at the church who stole my heart the instant I met them – it’s month 10, I told myself; I deserve a break.

This is a hard blog to write. I’m not proud of it. I’m not proud of the fact that I became so bitter towards the men in the city I was in that I stopped saying even a quick “hello” if they were to sit down in the bus next to me. I stopped saying hello or even waving when I heard men yell “Mambo!” at me. I was so tired of the stares, of these men who didn’t seem to have any self-control or respect for women at all; so tired of being nice when all I wanted was to punch them in the face. 

I grew tired of the laughing, shrieking, and giggling that would occur at about 5am every morning – coming from the women who worked at the guesthouse – and didn’t want to talk at all with them because I was so frustrated with them. I grew tired of sitting in the same room with them and knowing they were talking about me; “muzungu” being the big clue for me…and if there was any question in my mind, them staring at me while giggling and whispering denied me any doubt.

I got frustrated with the sketchy internet that made Skype virtually impossible; tired of power outages and loud drunk people wandering outside at night. I got tired of being approached by children or even people my age who wanted food, and if you gave them food, they’d refuse it and tell you they wanted money instead.

Instead of seeing every moment as an opportunity to do good – I grew tired of it. 

I grew weary of doing good.

In my mind, I justified it with it’s month 10, give yourself a break! and trudged my way through Tanzania. 

It took one incident one day for me to wake up from my complacency. 

I was on my way into Iringa Town (also known as Muzungu central! Well…to us anyway – we always got really excited when we saw white people walking around) and sat in the back of a Matatu. These little vans would seat 12 to 15 people – in America, that is. In Africa, they’ll seat close to double that – if you have any issues with personal space, body odor, or strange men, these van rides force you to adjust – quickly. So as the van pulled away and continued on it’s relatively short journey to Iringa Town, it picked up more and more people. I found myself crushed against the window on my left with a man probably 10 years older than me sitting snugly on my right. Normally I’d greet him. By now I knew basic Swahili (such as “hello” and “how are you” as well as the responses) so I can’t say that language barrier was the issue. In my mind, I told myself, as I eyed him coming to sit next to me, that he was probably like all the other men, the ones who either ask lots of questions or tell me they like me or stare at me like I’m a piece of meat – and so I turned towards the window and willed the van to get to Iringa Town quickly. 

He must have made note that we’d briefly held eye contact before I turned away to face the window, and after he sat down and was met with silence he told me, “You could have at least said hello.”

I wanted to die. 

I wanted to sink into my seat and disappear.

I wanted the man to go away, this whole scene to not have happened; couldn’t we back up to 5 minutes ago?

Because I knew he was right. He was so right. I doubt he knew that the words leaving his mouth that day changed my outlook on a lot of things. I doubt he knew that the words he said were in fact a message that God wanted to get across to me – that those 7 little words humbled me and convicted me right to the core. When that African man talked to me, in my heart this is what I heard:

You have forgotten.

Yes, I had forgotten. I’d forgotten why I came on this trip, why I left my nice little blue house and friends and family and embarked on the craziest journey of my life. I’d forgotten as a missionary and believer in Christ, the simplest and the easiest form of love – kindness to a stranger. A simple hello, a smile. It wouldn’t have killed me to do that, would it? 

Sitting in that seat, my cold heart began to crack. The cold rage that had built up in me was beginning to shatter…and warmth began to seep in again. 

When I return to the states, the simplest and easiest forms of love will be the majority, most likely, of my “daily ministry” opportunities. Smiles, waves, heartfelt and not generic comments or questions. It should not be so easy to forget that the people we pass by have souls – but it can be, and often slips our minds. Doesn’t it?

I let myself be selfish. And it swallowed up most of a month. A month of my life, that I wasted on myself. You might be thinking I’m being too hard on myself; I’m not. I’m fully aware of what I can and cannot do – and if I’d have kept my eyes on Christ 90% of the struggle would have been won. Who knows, maybe I was supposed to have a really incredible conversation with that Tanzanian man in the van who just happened to speak very good English. Maybe God made our paths cross, and I derailed and missed an opportunity. 

NOTHING is impossible with God. Not an 11 month trip, not broken relationships, not broken families or friends who are falling apart. The key to that cliché phrase (which is used often but is very true) is the WITH GOD part. 

With God, I can continue to love everyone I come across.

With God, I can spend time with someone who just needs someone to listen to their pain.

With God, I can learn to be selfless, and learn to live with humility.

With God, I can learn to be content, whether I have much, little, or something in between.

NOTHING is impossible with God. 

It’s without Him that our problems become treacherous mountains and overwhelming, raging seas – places we shrink away from in fear, and then we run back to our caves that only have enough room for ourselves.

Life is a choice. Love is a choice. If you choose to be bitter, you will be. If you choose to be angry, you will be. If you choose to be selfish, you will be. 

I chose to be bitter. I chose apathy instead of love. I chose anger instead of grace. I chose to be selfish, and only God knows how many bright and beautiful things I missed being a part of this month. 

Ending these blogs is always difficult. I always feel like I have to end it well, leave you with a great last line that really hits home. But this is just a train of thoughts, my thoughts after a month of not doing the best that I could. Strangely enough, I feel no condemnation. 

And in the conviction that comes from God, there comes a sense of grace…to which my heart sighs in desperate relief; as if to say, “So THIS is grace.”

I am experiencing the grace of God again and again, that nothing I do could separate me from Him. Ever. I’m safe.

My hope is that this is an encouragement to you. Or maybe a wake-up call. A conviction that, like me, you needed to hear. If not, then that’s ok. 

This is me, being myself. May God truly bless you with examples of His grace and love for you today.