Empty

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, 'This is not dead',
And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou art all replete with very thou
And hast such shrewd activity,
That when He comes, He says, 'This is enow
Unto itself - 'twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for Me.

-Sir Thomas Browne

This is one of my favorite poems, and it seems I come back to it in every new season of life. I know it's not my first time writing about it on this blog.

The past three weeks have been a process of emptying, or maybe more of being emptied by my circumstances. I came into our mini-outreach (the most taxing time yet on the DTS) already discouraged and drained of all of my resources (I thought). As the days continued on, I would find some small, untouched resource and use that, waking up each morning feeling like I had even less to offer than I had the day before.

But here's the thing. It's a little like cleaning, I think. As long as the room is still full of stuff all over, there's a limited amount of cleaning that can happen. You can sweep, maybe mop, dust a little, but you know you're just scratching the surface. If you put everything away and maybe scoot the furniture around, you can get a pretty good cleaning done, but the room is still the same and you know there's some grime sticking to the bottoms and backs of things. But when you take everything out, empty the furniture and move it, bring the room back to the empty shell it was when it started, potential happens. You also, unfortunately, are forced to remember where you've been using furniture to cover holes in the wall and mismatched patches where you ran out of the right paint.

So that's been me. Every day, a little less furniture, a little less stuff, a little less "me". Every day, a deeper cleaning, a hollower chest, a longer time waiting in my quiet time with the Lord. ("No, seriously, God. I actually CAN'T do this day unless You do it for me."). And every day, more freedom, more potential, deeper peace when that potential is filled by the rushing in of His Spirit and the miracle of His using my empty shell.

It's hard, and I'll be honest when I say I'm praying that it's only a season, but it's worth it. Go deeper, get lower, let Him root it all out, and find out what real fullness feels like.

The Restoration of Peter

"There's nothing you can do to make God love you more, and there's nothing you can do to make Him love you less. He loves you because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because He loves you, because that is what He is like." -Jonathan David Helser

Peter is a simple fisherman, going through his daily routine. Jesus finds him where he is and changes the course of his life by calling him: "Follow me."

Peter walks through three years with Jesus, seeing the miracles, the kindness, the power, the authority, the humility, the meekness, the perfectness of Him.

Jesus humbles Himself before Peter, sharing a meal with him, washing His feet, spending time with him.

Jesus predicts His death, and Peter vows his allegiance, promises his faithfulness to the very end. Jesus predicts Peter's denial in triplicate that very night.

The guards come for Jesus, and Peter draws a sword and attacks in violence and emotion-- still dedicated to Jesus. Jesus sheathes the sword and goes peacefully with the men.

As Jesus is beaten, mocked, tortured, Peter warms himself by the fire. But his heart is cooling. "I wasn't with Him. (One.) I don't know Him. (Two.) I swear to God I've never even met the man! (Three.)"

The rooster crows, Peter remembers, and his heart breaks.

The next day, Jesus dies. Peter never had an opportunity to make it right.

When the news of the resurrection comes, Peter's heart leaps and then crashes. Jesus is alive, but I've ruined my chance. Peter goes back to fishing.

Jesus finds Peter where he is. He joins him in what he's doing. He cooks him breakfast. And then He pulls him aside.

"Peter, do you love me?" "You know I love you." (One.)
"Peter, do you love me?" "You know I love you." (Two.)
"Peter, do you love me?" "Lord, You know all things; You know I love You!" (Three.)

Jesus changes the course of his life by calling him again: "Follow me." 

You cannot fall beyond the reach of God's love and restoration. You cannot lose His call on your life. He is the father of the prodigal son, He is the God of Romans 8:38-39, and there is nothing and no one that can separate you from His love. Not even you.

White

Hey kids, I'm white. I'm English, Welsh, Scottish, German... really white. Maybe in the States I pride myself on the ability to develop a nice tan with little effort, but let's face it: I'm white, and will always be white.

Here's an excerpt from an email to my parents this last week:

The last few weeks have been a reality check about the very real difficulties of serving here as a white person. It's the first time my race has been something I'm forced to think about every single day, the first time being white has limited me and put me in danger, the first time I've been so aware of prejudices and stereotypes based on my skin color. It's a heavy thing, especially realizing that this is the reality of life for many of my friends in the States, and that I've been privileged never to experience it.

I will always stand out. Even if I were to live in this Walla-Walla-sized town my entire life, do all my shopping at the market, make close friendships with the locals, I would still walk down the street to a chorus of "mzungu, mzungu!" (white person, white person) every day, still pay twice as much for everything, still be a target for theft, still get lied to about everything by people looking for a soft heart and deep pockets... Even if I learn the language, the culture, adapt the style of dress, I will always be the "other" here, and that is hard.

On a somewhat more temporary note, it's been a humbling thing to find that the skills I've developed and valued so much in the States don't translate here. I'm not able to be on the worship team because all of the songs are in Swahili or Luganda, and the words are made up as they go along. My music is appreciated, but as a novelty, not as a means of deep community and fellowship as it has been.

When I go to communicate, I have to simplify my language so much to traverse the language and dialect barriers (not to mention managing completely different cultural contexts) that it's hard for me to express anything deeper than a surface-level idea. It's hard to be going through so much transition and not to be able to express what I'm feeling to the people around me. And it's hard to feel like a leader in our class, which is a position I'm in given my age and life experience compared to many of the others, when any time I speak in class, I'm met by blank stares. It seems like it doesn't matter how much I simplify and slow down, the response is generally an apologetic smile and "I'm sorry, I'm not sure we caught that."

In other words, I feel limited and sometimes even useless because of my race and cultural background, and that's a hard pill to swallow. I know I'm called here, but will I always be such an outsider?

And an excerpt from my dad's response: 

It's great to hear your thoughts and reflections-- even if they're not all pleasant. Which of course is what you'd expect, even hope for really, in the situation you've chosen... It's not supposed to be fun, only interesting.... Which doesn't preclude fun of course, and what is fun anyway?

But your realism is good to hear. The question is can you still be helpful even given all the barriers: racial, language, cultural? I'll bet the answer is at least kinda yes. And if so, what's the best way to be helpful? Do the folks (white, that is) eventually find that they can, if not fit in, at least work effectively as the outsiders they'll always be? What are the best skills to cultivate in order to be helpful?

Hopefully having a purpose can give you the occasional shot of enough energy to keep it positive. It's not about fun. But that's never been your style anyway.

Anyway no real words of wisdom here, just perseverance. You may ultimately decide the culture gap is too big, but in retrospect this is bound to be a giant life event no matter what you decide about how productive it is. I'm sympathizing here big time, but I'm jealous big time too. You're going for it. Life is too short not to, and so many folks don't realize that. There are a lot of things I'd like to go back and have another shot at-- you're in the middle of one of them. So I'm sure proud of what you're stuck in the middle of, no matter what you decide to do with it.

He says "no real wisdom here," but I beg to differ. I'm sharing both of these because I think this is such a common experience. In my words, maybe you can find something that resonates with your own feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, and frustration. And in my dad's, maybe you'll find just enough encouragement and perspective to keep you going-- I know I did.

Childish hopes

"All the thrill of boyhood dreams came on me just now, watching the sky die in the sea on every side. I wanted to sail when I was in grammar school....Now I am actually at sea--as a passenger, of course, but at sea nevertheless--and bound for Ecuador. Strange--or is it?--that childish hopes should be answered in the will of God for this [mission] now?"
-Jim Elliot

Strange--or is it?-- that childish hopes should be answered in the will of God.

When I was young, I dreamed of being a pioneer-- wearing long skirts, cooking on a wood stove, growing food and harvesting it, making my own clothing. I played at these things for hours, read books about them, dressed up accordingly for Halloween. And here I am now, long skirts, cooking on a wood stove (actually several wood stoves, since we're cooking for about 70 people), eating food that we've grown here on the base, washing my laundry by hand in a tub of water and pulling it in off the line before the afternoon downpours get to it. I love it just as much as I thought I would.

The day-to-day

I've now been in Uganda for a week and a day, which is a little hard to believe-- feels like a lifetime. My computer is broken, which is both a good and a bad thing. We have wifi on the base, and if I had a functional computer I think I would likely spend way too much time on it. The way it is, I can use my iPod to read emails (and write short ones), and then I can borrow a computer from time to time to Skype, blog, and write lengthier emails. So it's the weekend, and most everyone else has headed into town, and I'm staying back here to catch up with the outside world. All this to say: get used to several blog updates in a couple days, and then nothing for a while.

I'll start with the easiest things to describe-- the day-to-day life.

5:30 a.m. Wake up, wash face & brush teeth, get dressed and bundle up a little-- it's been cold in the mornings!

6:00 a.m. Head outside for quiet time. It's still dark at this point, so I go and find a quiet spot to sit and pray and wait for the sun to rise. Lately I've been sitting on the edge of the (red dirt) basketball court, overlooking the soccer fields, forests, hills, villages, and Lake Victoria. I sit and pray for a half hour or so, watch the consistently breathtaking sunrise, listen to the monkeys and crickets and unfamiliar birds, and ask God what He has for the day. Once the sun is up, I read a bit-- I've been reading in John and Proverbs in the Bible, and My Utmost for His Highest. So good.

7:30 a.m. Breakfast. We have two white bread rolls, with either margarine or homemade peanut butter (my favorite), a banana or a hard-boiled egg, and a cup of spiced milk tea.

8:30 a.m. Worship or prayer time, either as a school or as a whole base. My favorite so far was when they had each nation represented (10 total) come forward and lead a worship song from their own country.

9:30 a.m. Lecture. We've had a speaker from America this week, but each week will be someone different. The lectures have been so good, so challenging and inspiring and informative. I feel like each day this week God has brought up something that has completely transformed my thinking and living in one area or another. It's so hard to believe it's only the first week!

11:00 a.m. Break tea. I don't know why it's called "break tea" and not "tea break", but it is what it is. We have another cup of milk tea or instant coffee and another roll or bread and butter or mandaazi (like a less-sweet donut) or something similar.

11:30 a.m. Lecture. There's so much information that it's really nice to have that break in the middle.

1:00 p.m. Lunch. Lunch and dinner are usually very similar, a combination of four or five of the following: rice, pasta, potatoes, posho (a mash of white corn flour cooked in water), matoke (cooked green bananas), beans, cooked cabbage, avocados, pineapple, watermelon, and very occasionally some sort of meat (I think we had lamb last night) or my favorite: chapati. Chapati is a fried flatbread, kind of like a thick, flavorful flour tortilla, only a thousand times better.

2:30 p.m. Group time. Later on, this will be small groups to discuss what we're learning in the lectures, but this first couple of weeks we're staying together as a large group. We sit in a big circle and each person takes a turn to share their life story. With 43 people ranging in age from 17 to about 40 years old, coming from the US, UK, Austria, Czech Republic, South Korea, Congo, Rwanda, Kenya, Tanzania, and Uganda, this is an amazing time of getting to hear such different stories. Wednesday was an especially powerful time. In many East African cultures, public displays of vulnerability or emotion are very uncommon, and people instead keep things to themselves and just say they are fine. But on Wednesday, several different Ugandans shared their full life stories, heartbreaking stories, even in tears. If we're starting a precedent of that kind of openness in the first week, I can't wait to see what God will be able to do with this group over the next five months of sharing life together.

3:30 p.m. Work duty. We haven't started this yet (we get one week as a guest), but we'll be helping clean or garden or cook or do anything else around the base that needs to be done. I've never hoed a garden in a skirt before-- it's an interesting prospect.

5:30 p.m. Free time. This can involve napping, singing, talking, reading the 10 chapters a day we're supposed to read from the Bible, playing basketball or soccer or frisbee, or teaching the Africans any of a number of great games such as spoons or Uno. Always a good time. I've been singing lots, and yesterday had a ukulele lesson with a Tanzanian guy (I was teaching him).

7:30 p.m. Dinner. Basically the same as lunch.

8:00 p.m. After-dinner activities... sometimes a social event (this week we played duck duck goose and bobbing for apples) or worship time, sometimes an unofficial dance party to the Lion King soundtrack, you really never know.

10:00 p.m. Lights out. However, it is on very rare occasions that I am still awake at 10. I generally end up falling asleep sometime between 8:30 and 9:30.

On being

We dropped through the clouds and Lake Victoria slid into view. The hills and jungles came into focus, rusty red clay and deep green banana trees. Cattle and goats surrounding the runway, unimpressed by the jet landing thirty feet away from their heads, and it all came back to me. I love this place.

The transition is hard. I'm constantly surprised and a little taken aback by the range of emotions I experience in any given hour. I love this place, but I miss so much about home. I'm enjoying getting to know the people here, but I don't know them yet, and I don't know how to share this experience with them. Everything is new. I have to be humble and have quite a sense of humor about it all: Excuse me, sir, I don't know how to fill up my water bottle... can you help me?

There's still so much I don't know about the coming eight months. Right now, especially, as we wait for everyone to arrive, there is no schedule, the schools are all on break, and there's really nothing to do. The Western mindset rebels against this: get on Facebook! Watch a movie! Make a to-do list and then do all the things on it! Go out for coffee! DO something!

But when you push past this (like dropping through the clouds), there's gold to be found. We (as Westerners) have lost the ability to just be. I'm finding it again. Reading, meditating, praying, singing, talking, but also just being, with the sun on my feet and the stickiness of humidity on my skin and the smooth clay dust on my fingers and the unfamiliar birdsongs in my ears. Wherever I end up after all the adventures, I want to know how to be.

Grace in my heart and flowers in my hair

And there will come a time, you'll see
with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart
but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see
what you find there,
with grace in your heart
and flowers in your hair.
 -Mumford and Sons

This song just about sums up the transition. Goodbyes are hard. Leaving the familiar is hard, especially when the familiar is also wonderful.

But it's worth it. It's worth it to love, even when it makes the goodbyes harder. It's worth it to take a risk, even though there's that moment of limbo before the path becomes clear. It's worth it to go full-tilt after the dream.

Right now, I can't quite see over the hill in front of me. I'm exhausted-- mentally, physically, and emotionally spent. On my flight to London, I found myself trying to muster up the strength to be... something. To be ready, or prepared, or enough, or excited, or something.

And then I realized that I have what I need. I am enough. He, in me, is enough. I don't have to be anything other than myself, exactly where I am.

So, with grace in my heart and flowers in my hair, I will climb this hill of goodbyes and letting-go and transition, and I will see what worlds I find beyond it. I'm not quite excited, at the moment. That's honesty. But I have what I need, and I'm trusting the process. Easy and safe were never part of the promise, but the promise is good.