A South African Thanksgiving

I was afraid that we were going to breeze right over Thanksgiving. After a failed Canadian Thanksgiving celebration in October (due to the budget issue we had that month), we had great hopes for November 26^th.

You should know that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Why? Because it has everything I love about Christmas but without any of the commercialism. Great good, great people, and lots of time to relax. I was a little apprehensive about what a celebration of an American holiday in South African would look like. Yet, my family never has had a set "Thanksgiving tradition" so I was pretty much open to anything except one thing: skipping it.

We didn't actually celebrate Thanksgiving on the actual day but rather we headed out Sunday afternoon to Phil and Christine's old neighborhood to celebrate with a bunch of Mennonite North Americans, a South African family, and a Congolese man.

We arrived at the house, arms loaded with two pecan pies, dinner rolls, and an extra pairs of shoes in case any type of outdoor activities arose. It was a good thing too because as soon as we got there Christine made us all play a game of touch football. Yikes. Okay people, I do not like football. I think it's stupid and slow (which it is). I had no idea what I was doing the whole time since I don't understand anything about the game. So I spend a good time of the game running around, creating chaos, and generally being a girl whenever the ball came flying past my head. (Scary). Despite the fact that I did not like it, it was still a lot of fun to be out in the yard, away from BCI, playing games with a bunch of different people.

Then it was on to the main event: the meal. And folks, dinner was amazing. We had all the traditional things, which seemed to taste even better here then they do in the States. Sorry mom.

Overall, it was the best way to spend our Sunday, fellowshipping with one another, eating lots of great food, and generally enjoying the atmosphere. And since it was also a break from life at the manse, the holiday seemed even better. I might even be bold enough to say that it was one of the top five Thanksgiving celebrations I have ever had.     

Leaving Church

(I wrote this blog for Radical Journey, but thought it was fitting enough to post on my own blog as well. Enjoy).

I discovered that faith did not have the least thing to do with certainty. Insofar as I had any faith at all, that faith consisted of trusting God in the fact of my vastly painful ignorance… I have learned to seek holy ignorance more highly than religious certainty (pp 224).

I have a lot of respect for the author of Leaving Church, Barbara Brown Taylor. This book spoke more profoundly to me than I thought it would. Not only is it a beautiful work on creative nonfiction (so much more refreshing than The Long Loneliness too), but it has met me here at BCI and has spoken volumes of truth from the place where I am right now.

Church here as been a struggle and most days I feel completely broken. Some days, it's as if I cannot really breathe in church. I didn't really realize how deep this brokenness ran until I left the grounds of BCI recently, breathing in the fresh air of South Africa. I didn't realize what I've been missing this whole time. This realization has also come to me between the lines of my writing. As I begin to write and reflect, I realize that I am standing in this vast void of my fears, longing for something that I've been unaware of.

My heart hurts a lot for several reasons, some of which go unnamed even to me. But after reading this book, I understand some of them a little bit better. Being here has brought me a greater understanding of the mystery of God. I know where I come from and what beliefs I stand by as a Mennonite. But my attempts to grasp the notion of who God is have been completely blown wide open. I have no doubt that God is alive and well at BCI, but I still struggle here and feel like a complete failure when I don't experience God in the same way that a thousand other people here do. And according to BCI standards, I don't. That is why I am grateful for Barbara Brown Taylor's story because it feels like mine (even though our lives don't align at all). Faith that looks different then the kind found behind the walls of the church is still faith. It is still valid.

I really like the quote I used at the beginning of this. Faith is so risky and unstable and uncertain. And painful. I never thought of it like that but real faith can hurt. Sometimes faith sucks. Following Jesus is hard work and the "devil inside me" often wants to check out. But I know that grace thrives, even when I am unaware of it. I know that God is this extravagant lover. Even when I feel completely out of reach, I still have no choice but to pursue God, even if it's half heartedly sometimes, because I know in the deepest parts me that God is. God is love. And that God is closer to me than my very own heart beat – even when I can't hear it over the noise of BCI or feeling like the worst Christian ever because I don't like sitting in church to the point that it makes me want to cry.

Here, I have learned that God can be found in the most unexpected places – like in the lines of my notebook, a letter from my sister, and an orphan kitty found in a pile of brush.

I really wish I had Rob Bell's book Velvet Elvis here with me, (since I keep trying to quote it). I really liked the part of the book that talked about how God is truth and so when good moments occur that God is in them. When truth is found in these moments, we claim them for God. Because God is truth. There is no separation. And I felt that yesterday evening as we cleaned up after supper, my team all singing out loud to Taylor Swift as we did the dishes and made cookies for dessert. God was in that moment. God had to be – there was no way he couldn't have been since it filled me to the brim with joy.

When I find God like that in the ordinary – in all these out of bounds type of ways – it blows my mind and I cannot help but think that God is there, right with us, singing along with Taylor Swift and rejoicing over his children.

Towards the end of her book, Barbara Brown Taylor talks about things that are currently "saving her life" in the context of her faith. I like this notion – that there are things currently in my life and keep me from losing my faith. I decided to look for these things and found that they weren't very far away.

Phil and Christine are currently saving my life. Not only their counsel but also with their hospitality and open-arm love for us. They always seem to know when we need a break and invite us to things that "restore my soul" in a manner of speaking.

God's beauty found in creation is currently saving my life. When we leave town and head out to the countryside, I am always amazed at how beautiful South Africa is. In between the green mountains and hovering over the blue lakes, God is there pulling me close.

Radical Journey is currently saving my life. Not only the program as a whole (that makes me read books like these) but also my teammates. Through Tim's faithfulness, Kyle's helpfulness, Connie's enthusiasm, and Gabby's gentleness I am seeing God. Whether it's laughing around the dinner table or struggling with tough BCI things together, God's grace so abundantly abounds.

Weeks like this, I cling on to those moments of truth with all my heart. It keeps my faith alive.

A cat named Dwight

I wasn't really sure what was happening. All I knew was that I was hot and tired of picking up brush from the huge "compost pile" (which is mostly just sticks. First of all, "pile" is an understatement. This is like a mountain of brush that has built up for years at BCI. It's in front of this huge wall that they want to move to make room for more parking). I wasn't aware of very much since I listening to Keith Urban on my mp3 player (and realizing how great country music accompanies manual labor. Seriously). All I know is that things suddenly got very exciting. As Kyle moved a few more branches, he made an awesome discovery. Out from the rubble emerged a tiny, black and white kitten, only a few weeks old. Constance, who is our local enthusiast, cried out with aggressive joy and lifted the kitty high in the air. And rightly so, we were all pretty pumped.

We have been talking about getting cat since we've got here. Since our mice problem was especially awful right at the beginning we talked about getting a cat to take of that issue. One dinner, we were discussing the cat and decided that if we did get a cat, then we should name it Dwight, after one of the best characters on The Office. (Yes, we are hardcore fans). However, this whole conversation happened in October – when we were broke. The more we thought about it, the more we realized that we probably couldn't afford since we could barely afford to feed ourselves (Kyle). And so the dream of getting a cat slowly faded away.

That is, until today.

We are now the proud owners of Dwight – who may or may not be a female cat. She is so small, we can't really tell though. Thankfully she is barely old enough to eat on her own (so we don't have to bottle fed her, which is awesome). Right now, we are trying to teach her not to eat the rocks in her litter box. What a weirdy cat. BCI people aren't too sure what they think about this orphan, but once we say we'll use her to catch mice then everyone immediately has a better outlook about it. This is a good thing, since we have all fallen in love with her already.

Here Dwight, Dwight, Dwight…

Churched out

As I sit here in the kitchen with my computer, I can hear a very strange collection of noise. I hear our neighbor, Christian, talking to Gabby in the living room. I hear the buzz of the saws as the woodworks build all types of furniture in the garage of the manse. I hear their loud music of their Americanized radio station (and wonder as "Birthday Sex" comes on again how many times I am going to have to hear that song before I punch a wall). I hear Connie's itunes as she blogs on her computer next to me. Occasionally, I can also hear the radio of the house right across the fence too and if I was sitting in the living, there is a good possibility that I would be able to hear Martine and/or loud African music blaring from the other side of our paper thin walls. This is a very loud place. Unless it's 11 o'clock at night, stillness is a rarity. The workers are even here Saturdays and on Sundays we hear the bass booming a few yards away at the church. Noise, noise, noise everywhere! Most days, I think I am going to lose my mind. At Bluffton, I often sought out the solitude of the library. And even though this is a nerdy confession, I really miss the isolation and peace of Musselman Library. I haven't found a match since I left that place.

Even at church, I cannot find stillness. BCI is a very loud congregation. For the most part, I don't mind it. Really I don't (and I am not just saying that in order to avoid sounding like I am 90 years old. I don't want to be "that person." Ever). But I have found that I experience God here the loudest when things are at their quietest. Yet, things here are hardly ever quiet or still. This church is a well oiled machine – a crazy community that I have trouble feeling like I am a real part of.

But to make matters worse is that there is so much noise going on internally, as I struggle with lots of theology and church structure issues.

On Sunday, we went to the Midmar Dam and spent Sunday morning by the lakeshore. We were surrounded by people and the faint sound of the announcer as well as music. But it was different. Peace was in that water. The general sense of rest and enjoyment found in that place were more of a "spiritual experience" than anything I probably would've experience during "fire Sunday" (which was happening that same morning at BCI – whatever that means). I was reminded from the words from the Psalmist – "he makes me lay down in green pastures, he restores my soul…" I did not want to leave that lake and go back to the church world of BCI.

To make things even more complicated was the fact that I kept getting, what I refer to, as "whiffs of Israel." My favorite forms of memories are ones that come through the sense and occasionally I will smell or taste something that reminds me of being in Israel/Palestine. Whether these smells or tastes actually exist, I am not sure but I do know that I these huge waves of memories crash over me at unexpected times. And on Sunday when this happened, my heart isn't sure whether to soar or to weep. Since I am not sure why I am in South Africa, I found myself that morning laying on the grass and pondering, yet again, if I should've gone back to Palestine and reclaimed a big chunk of my heart that I left there in May 2008 instead of coming here.

I am very grateful to Christine for taking us to this lake. I did, in fact, feel, at least somewhat, restored when we got back "home." Yet, as the rest of the Sunday activities wore on, I came to this rather awful realization. I am very much "churched out." And we have 8 months left. Thinking about Palestine, instead of being here, and longing to meet God in creation rather than in a building are pretty clear signs. That and the fact that I successfully avoided church like the plague this weekend. This is not a good thing since my year of voluntary service apparently means going to church. I don't want to "check out," but I don't understand why church is comparable to pulling teeth.

On Mondays, we have to go to prayer in the evenings. And although I never want to go, once I am there, I usually don't mind it and am sometimes even glad for it. Yesterday, we opted to go to the youth prayer this time. And for the first time since being here, I felt "safe." Not in the sense of successfully avoiding things, (even though I didn't go to the adult prayer because I was tired of Pastor Nina pointing us RJ-ers out all the time) but rather a type of safety that comes when I know I am in community. The "safe in the arms of Jesus" type of security. I was so grateful for this moment. It didn't necessarily last the whole time, but it's at least a start. Its way better than Sundays when I am on the verge of tears because of how desperately I don't want to be there or because I have no idea how to respond to just about anything BCI throws at us.

But it's at least something. And I hold on to these moments with all that I have in me.

The girls’ weekend

I blog about enough "depressing" stuff that I figured it was time for another "good things" blog. This past weekend definitely fits into that category, although saying that makes me feel a little bit guilty since the boys did not have a good weekend at all. BCI has a lot of "encounter camps" which basically everyone who wants to be a part of BCI has to attend. Ever since the disaster that was Kids Encounter Camp, the five of us (well probably only four) of us have been dreading camp with everything we have in us. The boys decided to rip it off like a band-aid and get it over with right away. (The women's encounter camp was the previous weekend, but we females decided that we were not ready for all that wailing and opted to go sometime next year since they have these camps about 2-4 times a year).

This past weekend was the men's encounter camp, meaning that the boys had to stay at the camp for two days (despite the fact that the camp building – or 44 as it is called – is probably only 50 yards away from the manse). Even though we knew the boys, especially Kyle, were not going to be having a good weekend, the girls were still pretty excited about having the manse to ourselves so we could do lots of "girly" things – you know, eating chocolate, talking about Zac Efron, etc.

The official girls' weekend kick off didn't exactly go as planned. Friday night was also the Mission team's love meal that we hold once a month for the foreigners in the church. Since we are included in that bunch (and the fact that I am "on" the missions team), we had to go. By the time it was over, it was already pretty late and since Gabby didn't feel well, Connie and I had to kick off the weekend ourselves by watching old episodes of the office, eating ice cream, and straightening my hair.

On Saturday, we headed uptown to this beautiful café called "The Essence Café." *sigh* It was so lovely and probably the closest thing to an "American coffee house" that we've seen yet. The whole time the three of us were sitting there, drinking our coffees, and eating delightful breakfast, and finally being convinced that Pietermaritzburg wasn't so bad after all. There are actually nice places in this city! We are so excited to go back to this place and try out their lunch menu. (Oh, side note – I drove the car uptown for the first time. I kind of freaked out and almost ran a red "robot" since I was concentrating so hard on shifting. But I survived. I am actually surprised at how smooth my shifting can be. Needless to say, I was proud of myself).

It was a great day thus far, until we locked ourselves out of the manse. Okay, so we seemed to do this at least once every week or so. Usually when this happens we go around to Martine's side of the manse and go through the joining door. Only this time, no one was home and no was at the church to unlock the office that has the spare key in it. Opps. We had been outside enjoying the weather when we came back to the house to find that we were stuck. We actually had to wait an hour before someone showed up at the church and unlocked the keys for us. I guess it could've been a lot worse and in hindsight, it's pretty funny. Actually, it worked out fairly well since we killed time but taking random pictures – so not a bad way to spend the afternoon.

Around 4 o'clock that day, Christine came and picked us up to take us up to Hilton for the night. If you have been following my blog you know how much we love Hilton. Great things always happen when we are there and indeed they did. We spend the rest of the day copying down Christine's fabulous recipes (well Connie and I did), eating tacos, watching High School Musical 3 (yes, don't judge us), and painting our nails black. (Yep, I tried to quit – but they are black once again).

The next day, we all headed to the Midmar Dam, which is this beautiful lake (well dam) that host the "midmar mile" every year. Christine's youngest, Lydia, decided that she wanted to do the 1k race for her age group. So we spend Sunday morning sprawled out on a blanket, enjoying the sunshine and watching the races. We also had a picnic for both breakfast and lunch. It was awesome and so much more restful for my soul than going to church that morning.

Those were pretty much the main events. It was such a good weekend – one that left me with red shoulders and High School Musical songs stuck in my head. Yes, good weekend, indeed.

Just another day at the Manse

Living at the Manse typically presents itself with multiple challenges such as the following
 - we had a large collect of mice. (but they haven't been touching the traps lately so maybe they left. I am not sure or convinced yet)
- only one of our 4 burners works (the small one). Making supper takes about twice as long as it would need to.
- any day I fully expect our oven door to fall off.

Yet those are normal things.

but this week brought for some new challenges.

This week Tim has successfully - well, (I am not sure of the term) did something in the shower so that they could reseal it. (There is tons of water damage in the room next to the bathroom. I am pretty sure it's more than just poorly sealed tile but I am not an expert by any means). Anyway, he ripped the shower up last Friday but it wasn't until this past Friday when they finally resealed it. We've been waiting this weekend for it to dry. So instead of taking a shower we take baths - which is really interesting since the hose likes to spray water all over the toilet. But it hasn't been bad.

Until this weekend

We woke up Saturday morning to find that water did not come out of the hot water taps in the bathroom and in the kitchen. I am not sure what happened besides the fact that they had to turn that water off for some reason. So today I took my first cold bath in Africa. oh man. awful.

and I think to myself - what a ghetto place this is.

I wonder what will happen next. or if anything will ever get fixed here...

*But on a positive note: washing my hair in cold water makes it really curly. Or maybe today was just a magical day for it because it curled beautifully. (It takes a lot for me to actually say that)

A Taste of Northern November

This morning, Connie and I stood in the doorway of the manse and peered out into the rain. From the rate in which the rain was falling and how hard the wind was blowing, bringing a cold blast of air into the already drafty house, one would guess that I am actually back in the Midwest, or at least the mountains of North Carolina. It feels like the Northern Hemisphere's November today. And has for the past three days. This is not good for my state of mind here. If it's warm and hot here then I forgot what it is like back "home" right now (and by home I mean Ohio, North Carolina, and Illinois). I forget that holidays are coming up and that today is my father's 61^st birthday.

But when it's as cold as it is today, it is harder for me to forget the warm colors of the harvested fields in Illinois, the grey, damp sky hovering over Bluffton University, and the fallen leaves of Asheville, that leave the mountains bare and hazy. Actually, the hills around Pietermaritzburg sometimes remind me of NC (not that I can actually see them from BCI's property, which is probably a good thing. If I could, I would probably daily wonder why I am pretending to be in South Africa when my parents live just down the road.

I also get very apathetic when the days are like this. I'm too cold to really do anything effectively except drink large quantities of tea (and thus make routine visits to the bathroom). Nor do I really have any motivation to be here, especially when no one showed up to my ESL class today and I hardly had any work to do. Like crossing off the days of my daily devotional paper, I watch the days slowly waste away, trying my hardest not to think about how many days, how many weeks, how many months we have left. (eight).

This isn't good. When I am apathetic, I miss things like central heating and listening to the sultry voice of Sarah Barellies as I make the long drive from Ohio to Asheville.

Eight is my favorite number. So I have this childish notion that since we only have 8 more months, things have to be looking up. And for the most part they are until I am utterly changed by the weather.

Thank God I didn't go to Sweden. I am sure I would've been a cold mess all the time instead of just occasionally.

Yet, in the midst of the monotony of my current state (which is why I haven't been blogging lately), I am glad for little rays of sunshine in all forms, whether it is the actual sun or reasons to celebrate.

This past Tuesday was Gabby's birthday, so on Monday Connie and I did our best to "sneak" around and figure out ways to make her day awesome. I think we succeeded. In honor of "the Wiebe" we had two days of desserts leading up to the big day followed by a large Chinese food feast, complete with egg rolls, and then peanut butter chocolate cake and dairy ice cream (don't get too excited people – the dairy ice cream's second ingredient?: butter. Gross and weird). So all those things were awesome. Maybe we just need to have a reason to celebrate life more often that way I don't feel like taking a nap forever.

Maybe I just need to try harder to find good things.

A combo of both would be nice, I think…

Sweet, Sweet, Sweet November

I haven't blogged for a week, which is odd behavior for me. My mother even asked me yesterday if I was okay she hadn't heard from me/ I hadn't blogged in a while.

The main reason for the lack of blogs is the simple fact that I honestly have nothing to say. That and I feel like nothing interesting enough to deserve its own blog post has happened. Things are settling into a constant routine, which is good I guess even though it is rather mundane.

But I do have good news to report so here are a few previous week highlights.

Number 1: On Wednesday, Kyle got a package from his parents. Included in the package was Season Five of The Office! We were ecstatic. Since we still have some episodes left, we are still excited.

Number 2: Also included in this package (but cool enough to get its own recognition) were better mousetraps than apparently all the ones in this country. Seriously. We set them up that evening and guess how many we caught? 4 in a ½ hour. No lie. The first trap actually caught two at the same time. Wednesday evening was a very great time. Since that time we've caught 6 more for a grand total of 9. Actually now the real problem is that the only mice left are the babies, which are too small to set off the trap. So it's an uphill battle. But it's coming and someday I hope there will not be mouse poop on all of our silverware.

Number 3: On one of our journeys to Pick N' Pay, Connie and stopped at the new grocery store down the block from our usual store to check it out. And guess what!? They have black beans!!! Connie and I have been searching everywhere for them. It is so great! Connie made black bean burgers on Thursday night. It was awesome.

Number 4: I skipped youth celebration again on Friday. Yep. I am a terrible person. But I am still not a cell because they keep having celebrations, so it's really awkward. So instead, I stayed home and worked on some of my writing. It was awesome. I haven't done that forever. Definitely the best part of my week.

Number 5 Phil and Christine were in Cape Town this whole week. Before they left they told us that we could use their house to hang out if we wanted to. So on Friday night we headed up to Hilton and stayed until Saturday afternoon – watching movies and basically doing nothing. Apart from the fact that I couldn't fall asleep that evening, it was really stellar. Hilton is a rather safe part of Pietermaritzburg too so in the morning I laced up my tennis shoes (or runners – that's just for you Ruthie) and went for a job. I nearly died, which is frustrating since I worked at running all summer. But it's all gone. Even though I couldn't breathe during the run, it was nice not get catcalled the whole time.

Number 6: This hasn't happened yet but I have enough anticipation for it that I will count it. On Sundays, the Americans make supper. And Connie and I decided that when we cook, we are going to have international themes. So tonight's theme?: Mexican Sunday. On the menu, Spanish rice, refried beans (that we are making) and make your own tacos. We are also making our own tortillas. Yep. It's going to be awesome.

Well these were just some things. Hopefully this coming week will bring about better things to blog about.

Day of Durban

Yesterday, my life became more complete. With great anticipation, we rushed to the shoreline until our toes finally mingled with the salty water of the Indian Ocean.

Check.

We had been waiting for this day all week. Finally, we looked forward to a Saturday that was not going to be overwhelming, stressful or something we look at with lots of dread. Weekends here are typically pretty rough. So you can image the excitement as we load up the car on Saturday morning, leaving Pietermaritzburg in the rearview mirror.

It took us awhile to get there thanks to our ghetto-fabulous Honda Ballade that hates hills and competes with buses and semi-trucks on the way up them. (We also had four in the backseat since Nathan Detweiler was also with us. Needless to say, it was a long hour). Also, we had a map and some previous guidance from Christine but really, all we knew is that we wanted to go to beach north of the actual city. But once we found a good place, oh man, my soul started to sing.

During our day at the beach, I started Mike Yaconelli's book, Dangerous Wonder, and as the ocean lapped in the background, the words on the pages became alive. In his book, Yaconelli talked about this child sense of wonder that is important to the Christian life and a risky curiosity that acknowledges and fears the power of the Almighty and still runs towards Jesus with our whole hearts – a reckless abandonment. I had just finished reading this part of the book when I realized that I was getting too hot sitting there on my beach towel. So I tossed down the book as Connie and I made our way into the water (which we later realized was a "no swimming zone." It was part of our living dangerously adventure I guess).

Okay, first of all, although I love the ocean it kind of freaks me out. This is the case mostly due to the fact that I am terrified of sharks. (Typical an irrational fear- yes I know). And it wasn't until this past summer at the beach in Charleston, SC that Jeron Baker "forced" me to play with them in the ocean. It was incredible. Being in the ocean is far better than laying on the sand, working on a tan (which ends up being a burn anyway). As we waded into the Indian Ocean a sense of wonder was once reawakened inside of me. The water was a little terrifying. The waves that day were extremely choppy, the water was freezing, and lots of people drown in Durban because of the strong currents and the plethora of sharks (yikes). So I was really wary as I made my way farther in. And even though I was somewhat fearful, it was invigorating. As each wave crashed over me, I laughed out loud like I was 5 years old. It was beautiful – yes, the water, but also the moment. It felt like the risky curiosity that I had been reading about in my book. The ocean wasn't tame. But it was good.

We spent a good 5-6 hours at the beach, ridding ourselves of stress. The sun, the water and the time together was a perfect balm (although a rather scorching). Days like this make me believe that I can go back and face anything again.

Or so I thought.

The rest of the evening turned out to be – well – horrific in so many ways. After we left the beach we headed into the city to watch Annika and Lydia Detweiler's ballet recital. I enjoyed it and like supporting the arts, but after a way mediocre supper at "Nandos" I was ready to get out of there.

And I really wish that we could've.

As we were leaving the city we saw the kombi in the lane next to us run into a pedestrian. Full force. The poor guy had no chance. I can still hear the thunk and see the man fly in my head. We have no idea if he survived that at all. For those of you who might not know, Kombis are the terrifying public transportation system in South Africa. They are these taxi type vans that are really sketchy, drive like maniacs, and apparently have no desire to preserve human life. Someone also told us today that if you are white you should probably not ride in them. And as a female, yeah, sorry Darrell there is no chance that I will ever ride in one of them. Especially now.

To make things even worse, we ended up missing our exit for the highway twice and ended up driving around in Durban – in the dark. Oh. My. Gosh. We've heard some pretty awful stories of crime in South Africa and how much of a reality that is here. So guess what was going through my head as we drove through this part of town where tons of men were out and about. Every time someone tells us about the city, they make it sound like the entire city is a gang – ready to destroy everything.

When we finally got back on the N3 and headed back to Pietermaritzburg we saw another accident that had already happened. When I realized what I was looking at, I quickly turned my head away. So I am not sure what exactly we saw. All I know is that there was a cop, a car, a body, and tons of blood.

I've had about enough of South Africa.

I hold on to that treasure I felt in the ocean yesterday, but it gets pretty muddled when all I can think about is how the rest of our evening went. We might have been better staying at the manse.

The holiness of the day

I often forget how majestic God is. Unless I am looking at a breathtaking, awe-full scene in nature, I don't tend to view the Omnipotent Being as just that. While Jesus sits among us, and the Holy Spirit moves within us and through us, I often forget that the loveliness of the Divine – the beauty of Yahweh – dwells over us and around us.

This morning we went with Pastor Russell to The Parish of Saint Mary's Catholic Church in Pietermaritzburg. (Pastor Russell is working on his master's and wanted to sample our responses to the Catholic Mass).
And as I was sitting with the few people that came out on a Friday morning for mass, I couldn't help but think of how beautiful everything was. Growing up in Mennonite churches, I found myself this morning transfixed on the elaborate alter and stain glass windows. I know that beautiful designs do not make something divine but I couldn't get away from this overwhelming feeling of holiness. What was interesting was that I couldn't even hear all the liturgy (since the mic wasn't very loud), but it seemed to be lingering in the air.

I've been rather intrigued with Catholicism ever since I got back from Israel/Palestine. Not that I would ever leave the Mennonite church, but nevertheless, it is still really interesting. During that cross-cultural trip, we went to a lot of Catholic and Orthodox churches. Even though some of the experiences in those church were rather frustrating (because of commercialism and the ridiculous human behavior of tons of tourists), the smell of incense lingering in the air always stirs up something in my heart. I know I am being rather nostalgic but I also know that I met God in some of those churches – commercialized or not – especially when the group of Mennonite students I was with sang hymn after hymn, lifting up our vocal offering to God. It sounded like holiness.

Lately, I've had a lot of church experiences that are so different from each other – from the welcoming embrace of JPUSA to the Spirit filled services of BCI. And now the Catholic Mass. The God I've met at all these traditions looks, acts, sounds, smells, tastes completely different. Yet God is. And God is the same in Chicago as God is in Pietermaritzburg. Seeing different sides of God that I am not familiar with is a huge  challenge. The God I see here at BCI is so different. Often, I feel estranged from this God – like an outsider rather than a beloved daughter. I am not really sure how to handle that right now.

But today I saw the holiness of God the father in the stillness of the service at Saint Mary's (which is quite a change from the thundering service of BCI). It made my heart beat in a new way, if only for a moment.

I am glad that God can also be found in the stillness. Stillness is far from anything I've experienced in South Africa up until today. We are crazy busy all the time and there is noise – or sound- everywhere we go. Always. But after mass, I managed to find more moments of stillness and holiness in the rest of my Friday.

The first one came as I was walking back from the church to the manse. While I was making that familiar and frequent trip, I heard the faint cry of the mullah from the nearby Mosque. And as the prayers were cried out, I wanted to join in. Not to Allah – no definitely not. Instead, I wanted to have my prayers carried on the wind. A liturgy for Yahweh that sways throughout the tree branches, causing them to move. An afternoon filled with the sound of holiness and stillness. 

Also, I skipped youth celebration tonight. Yes, I am probably a terrible person because of that. But as I sat in the house – for once completely void of any sound or moment – I felt real peace. Peace that could be anything else but holiness. Finally, a stillness that felt so much like God.

It didn't last very long. As I sit here writing, I can hear the TV from our neighbors on the other side of the Manse. Yet, it was there. And I definitely wouldn't trade these moments of holiness that I've found today for much else.

Novemeber 5th

Today we saw Christmas decorations in the mall. I mean, full out tree and everything.

It's November 5th people.

It was really depressing. I guess that's what I get for being at the mall.

Lolly, Lolly, Lolly get your adverbs here

Teaching English is something I never thought I knew how to do. And today it definitely felt like I had no clue what I was trying to accomplish.

Tuesdays are the days in which I lead the ESL class for the group of eager Congolese students who are all older than me. Christine Lindell-Detweiler teaches the Thursday class and although she hasn't had any prior ESL experience, she is awesome at it. It's not fair. I just graduated with an English degree (basically) so the English language and I should be tight. Nope.

Today presented itself with several challenges. The first arrived with the first students. As Connie and I were waiting for everyone to arrive, two boys walked into the room asking if we knew how to speak French. After apologizing (again) for not knowing any other language than English, we asked them if they were here for the English class. Yes, they were. There is nothing wrong with new students, but the challenge came from the fact that their English was far behind the rest of my students (that and I think the boys are really intimidated).

The second challenge came when I was supposed to teach vocabulary used when you go shopping. How hard can that be, right? Well, usually we follow a book but today we were just winging it. It was also problematic since I am not from South Africa. I have no idea what the terms are for everything. Yikes. I learn things today in class, which is good, but I hope that everyone else did. I am pretty sure that the little boys did not.

It felt as if class was a little chaotic.

Oh man, why am I not cool enough to be a teacher?



(side note: my title of this blog as nothing to do with anything really – minus the fact that Grammar Rock is pretty much amazing).

Magical Hilton

"I love going to Hilton. It's such a magical place – good things always happen!"

After a long weekend, Phil and Christine told us on Sunday evening that they were going to take us out for coffee in the morning. But it turned out that if by coffee they meant by going to their house, talking over cups of tea, coffee, and scones(!), eating lunch with them, practicing driving, playing ultimate Frisbee with Nathan, Annika, and Lydia (their kids), hanging out afterwards/playing their piano, eating supper with them and borrowing a ton of books and movies from them, then yes we were going for coffee.

Best. Day. Ever.

It's amazing how Phil and Christine always seem to know when we've had a long week/weekend and really need some time off. And it's amazing how leaving Pietermaritzburg bring with it such a feeling of relief – or rest, I am not even sure how to describe it. But I do believe that Connie's comment (quoted above) summed up the whole day.

Even if we had only stayed for the morning, the day still would've been incredible. Debriefing with the Detweiler's is really helpful – especially when I realize that all the things I am dealing with in the BCI community are not abnormal things. It's not always easy sharing things that I've been struggling with but afterward, it was like I just exhaled after awhile of holding my breath and walking on eggshells.

One element of the day included another driving lesson from Phil. After lunch, Connie and I headed out in our ghetto-fabulous Honda as Phil patiently instructed us, once again, how to drive shift. Actually, I am rather proud of myself. I only stalled out two or three times, didn't go on the wrong side of the road and actually shifted up to 3^rd gear. (Whoa. I know). I am not sure when I am going to gain enough confidence to drive in traffic in the city (the neighborhood that they live in is really chill – actually some parts of Hilton remind me of North Carolina). I might just have to jump right into it. We'll see.

But I will say one of the best parts (even though the entire day was good) was playing ultimate with the kids. I haven't played since Bluffton days and so it felt good to get back in to it. Yes please. I think that we might try and get a Frisbee and play sometime on the church property.

So now that our Sabbath day is official over, I feel as if I can face this upcoming week with a new sense of rest and anticipation. Phil and Christine, you are incredible people.

The good, the bad, and the ugly

Why I feel the need to blog right now instead of going to be is beyond me. I guess I feel a little bit obligated to report about my weekend here since I am always telling the people (well, you readers out there) that I dread the weekend. (Man, that's so sad, but definitely true to the bone).

I did manage to find some good this weekend, which is awesome since lately it seems I spend my entire weekend hating life. Yet, this weekend was still an emotional roller coaster in the sense that one moment I was perfectly fine while the next I definitely wanted to find a way to get away from BCI and maybe South Africa in general (but I can't be too sure since I am not always sure what is BCI and what is South African culture).

Here's basically what happened this weekend. The good and the bad and the ugly.

The Mission's Meeting:

Since I somehow ended up as a part of the mission's team here, I have to attend a lot of meetings. Hooray. So on Friday night Kyle and I found ourselves sitting in the closed bed of a truck, heading to a meeting in Pinetown, which is about 45 minutes away from Pietermaritzburg. We got completely lost and were rather car sick from the fumes and the hills by the time we got to the meeting. Also, we missed supper and for some reason they wouldn't let us eat while the meeting was going on (even though it was mostly watching Dvds). I still don't understand why since it was a carry in/pot luck type of thing. However, the good side of this story was that it was rather interesting – for the most part (until the end when they started talking about 2010 and handing out sports related tracks. Yippy). For the most part, it wasn't bad. It would've been great if they would've let us eaten dinner. Also, this thing went on forever. The PMB group actually left before it was over and still didn't back into town until 10:30.

Weekend noise:

I've discovered that sleeping on the weekends is kind of a joke. We also get woken up by the neighbors playing ridiculously loud African music or by some type of BCI event going on. This Saturday morning it was both. This weekend, BCI hosted a men's breakfast and a women's high tea. Since we females didn't have to go to anything on Saturday until tea time, we took the obvious route of trying to sleep in. It was basically worthless. At 7:30 LOUD MUSIC started coming from the men's breakfast tent. Oh my goodness I wanted to strange something with that happened – or happens as I should say. I try and take a nap on Sundays too. I am not sure why I do that since it never ever works out the way I plan. Noise, noise everywhere. Peace and quiet is hard to come by here.

The High Tea:

The tea time was ok. Actually Gabby, Connie, and I ended up at a table with only two other girls. And ironically we drank our own tea we brought from the manse and ate the things that we brought with us. So, that was a little disappointing. But the nearby tables felt a little sorry for us so gave us some of their yummy food. It was amazing. That's a good part about living on the church's property. People like to give us their leftover food after events. It's amazing – sometimes really random (like after the Kids camp we got like a 4 gallon thing of this nasty juice which everyone hates except for Tim), but it's still nice nevertheless. Okay, so I guess that I should explain that this tea wasn't just a tea. No, BCI likes all their events to be exactly like church services. So Pastor Nina spoke during the tea and then there was an alter call. And this time, Pastor Nina deliberately called Gabby, Connie and myself up to the front to pray for us. It was a little nerve racking since I am not sure if they expected us to get "slain in the spirit" (which didn't happen) or not. So it's a little bit awkward. Actually, what Pastor Nina prayed over me has stuck in my mind all weekend. I don't even remember exactly what she said but it kept bringing back to the comment Darrell left on a previous blog. That this year isn't necessarily about anything specific, but maybe it's all about this process of becoming. Something to think about at least…

Clean up crew:

As we anticipated, we RJers had to tear down everything – basically by ourselves. After we hauled all the chairs back into the church, we started setting them up only to find out (close to when we were about finished) that the chairs with the brown legs belonged in the sanctuary while the chairs with the grey legs were to go in the children's church. Okay these chairs are the same type of chairs. The only thing different is the color of the legs and you can barely tell. Oh man, we were all so pissed off at that point and completely exhausted. I could've thrown a chair at someone.

All day Church:

Since we got recruited into doing this ridiculous skit for the love meal last week, we had to perform it for the entire church. This meant going to all three services. Oh. My. Gosh. To make things even more long and drawn out, we had to go to the leader's meeting, which was another 2 hours of church relatedness today. (Actually the meeting wasn't all bad since I brought my notebook and worked on my novella the whole time. Ha. Ha). I am very ready for break though. But then I realize that that won't happen until July 2010. Actually, the best part of church today happened during the second service. The 10:00 service is the Zulu service and so in addition to the same songs sung at the 8:00 service, some Zulu ones are incorporated as well. Being very North America, it is very challenging to sing these songs. However, today one of the Zulu songs was the chorus to "We praise Thee O God." (The chorus is the part that goes "Halleluiah, thine the glory, etc.) The melody was a little bit different (so much in fact that it wasn't until the second time around that I noticed what song we were singing) but it was awesome. Worshiping together today in Zulu and in English was absolutely beautiful. I am not sure even how to describe it, besides the obvious: that God was in that place and moment in time.

Suppertime:

I've mentioned before that suppertime is probably some of my favorite times here. So much in fact that I feel like when I get back and people ask me what I did in Africa, I'll say "ate food." Awesome. This weekend has been true to this statement. After Saturday's long day of events and clean up and today's busy church schedule, we found ourselves crashing in our house with heaping helpings of pizza (Saturday) or baked mac and cheese (tonight) accompanied with exhaustion and general sense of relief that the day is over and done. Alleluia

 

Well, I managed to write a book. Thanks to all you champs who made it this far. Next time, I'll try to keep it short.

Ha. Okay.