Sometimes you need to throw up in a flowerbed to hear what God is trying to tell you.

It’s crazy how in life everything can be used for God’s glory.  I believe that the saying “Every cloud has a silver lining” is just a secular way of saying “God uses all things for the good of those who love him.”  This is what happened to me at a village in Tanzania, and I think I have crossed over a hump and can never go back.
 
Let me set the stage.
 
The second to last week in Tanzania was a little rough.  I was feeling pretty drained- drained from seeing all the poverty, drained from the language barrier, drained from being told what people thought I wanted to hear rather than the truth (this is common in Tanzania) and drained from my ears bursting with loud Swahili church music.  I was failing to choose joy, and to honest, I was kind of being a baby.
 
Then we went to the village.
 
Some villages are more primitive than others, so let me describe this one for you- dirt roads, mud-brick houses, no electricity, no running water, and not even a little store to buy water or rice.  This was not where I wanted to be.  Top it off with a two hour long church service (with one more to go) speakers that were about to burst my eardrums (because we brought a generator, naturally), and a malfunctioning headlamp in the complete darkness- I was not in a good place.  I was not happy at all.  Between the two church services I actually wrote in my journal:
 

 
It was not a good evening.  We went on to eat dinner (rice, chicken, and oranges) and then out for another service.  Finally at about midnight we went to bed.

 
I woke up at 330am with terrible stomach pains.  Emily was sleeping next to me and I woke her up to tell her I was sick and ask her to pray for me.  Asking her to pray for me quickly turned into asking her to come outside to the bathroom with me.  I made it to the bathroom (which was the most disgusting squatty potty I have ever seen in my life) and decided that the smell of it made me feel even sicker.  I threw up outside the bathroom in the banana trees. 
 
I thought maybe I was ok after that, so Em and I walked back to the house and went back to bed.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it.  We went back outside and walked back and forth between the house and the bathroom as I felt okay and then sick, okay and then sick.  I don’t think that my stomach has ever hurt that badly anytime in my entire life. I threw up again in a flower bed (sorry Mom) and noticed that there was a man sitting outside by a fire.  I’m pretty sure that he was there to guard that house and protect it throughout the night- there were also at least two people sleeping on a mat outside the house.  He had seen me get sick and walk back and forth for probably 45 minutes at this point.  I was pretty out of it so I shined my headlamp in his face (which I had fixed earlier that night) because I was trying to figure out who he was.  He just looked at me and calmly said “Karibu” which means “Welcome.”  He was inviting me to come sit by the fire.  Karibu literally means “come closer” is Swahili, so essentially this Tanzanian man was asking me to come closer to him even though I had been throwing up. 
 
Humbling moment number one.
 
I sat by the fire and felt peace.  For a moment, I didn’t feel sick.  I was touched that this man had invited Emily and I, outsiders, to sit by his fire with him, which was the only thing that he had to offer us.  We sat there in silence for a moment, just the three of us.  He broke the silence and said “Pole” (poh-lay) which in Swahili means “Sorry”.  The way he said it was not the kind of sorry that’s “oh oops sorry about that” but more like “wow, I see that you are in a little of pain and I wish there was something that I could do, but all I can do is say that I’m sorry.” 

We sat for a few more moments and I thought that I was feeling good enough to go back to bed.  We went back, but about three minutes later Em and I were back up again and heading towards the bathroom.  We stood about four feet away from the door and I just collapsed at her feet.  She rubbed my back and we just sat there, because there was nothing I could do.  By this time it’s about 445am- Em and I have been awake for over an hour and nothing is getting better.  The women in the village have started to realize what was going on- I’m sure they heard us walking back and forth and were wondering why their visitors weren’t peacefully sleeping throughout the night. 
 
Two women came up to us, laid their hands on me, and started praying.  REALLY praying, not just a “Dear Jesus, please heal her” but passionately pleading to God on my behalf that he is Holy and Strong and to please take the pain from me.  I had very little concept of time at this moment, but I think they prayed for maybe 10 minutes straight.  They prayed loudly, only thinking about me and God, not thinking about the people in the village that may be sleeping.  For a moment I felt better, and then it got worse again.  I was laying on the dirt ground (I had been avoiding touching the dirt ground all day, so this was kind of a big deal) and Emily was still there and the women were still praying.
 
Humbling moment number two.

 
The women left as I rushed over to the bathroom.  I held the door with two fingers to balance and held Emily’s hand with my other three fingers.  I told her, “Emily, this is the most miserable moment of my entire life.”  The whole time she had been telling me that it was going to be okay, that I couldn’t be sick forever.  She told me this again, but now I heard other voices.  She told me that a small crowd was forming and that there were about eight people outside the bathroom.
 
Awesome.
 
I came out and the three pastors that we were working with were standing there.  We walked back to the house and I told them that I thought that I was finally okay.  We all sat on the couch and they prayed for me.  Passionately.  Loudly.  With conviction in their tone and compassion in their hearts they prayed for me.  After about 15 minutes Emily and I went to bed.  It was about 530am.  The pastors stayed for about 15 more minutes and kept praying.  Emily and I laid down and I said to her, “Emily, I think that God was spiting me for being such a brat last night.”  She responded, “I think ‘humbling’ is a better word.”
 

I found out later that the pastors never went to sleep- they stayed up from 500am praying, and partially for me. 
 
God spoke to me through this.  He humbled me.  He basically said, “Really?  You are going to complain about these people that I have put with you to take care of you?  You are going to be upset when you are covered with blessings?  You are missing all the joy and beauty and true kindness of my people because the music is too loud?”
 
Well, when God speaks this clearly, I have no choice but to listen.  The message was pretty clear., and the next day I felt amazing.  God is SO good.  God is good when I’m sick, when there is no electricity, when the squatty potty smells, when the music is loud, when the language barrier is getting hard, when I’m fed up with Africa… He is good all the time.
 
He is all powerful, always in control, the Great Redeemer, Healer, Father… he is Wisdom, Knowledge, Compassion, Love, Everlasting…. Who was, and is, and is to come.
 
I am not in a position to complain when my God is so big.
 
So now it’s easier for me to choose joy.  It’s easier for me to worship.  To read his Word, to fix my eyes on what is unseen… God met me where I was, and I don’t feel as if I can ever go back.

 

¹⁶ Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ¹⁷ For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. ¹⁸ So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

– 2 Corinthians 16-18