Christian

We can always here him heading towards the manse when we sit at the table in the kitchen – that dragging sound his slops make as he steps up to the door. Christian: our Congolese neighbor who has become a dear friend/brother to all of us and the unofficial 6^th member of Radical Journey: South Africa.

"Yogurt!" He calls me to me every time he sees me. Christian is notorious for his nicknames [Yogurt derives from Yoder]. He has one for everyone. There was a time when he would ask me "Yogurt! What kind?" and I would duly respond, "strawberry" or something else ridiculous like that. [Explanation – "What kind?" is South African slang for "How are you?"]

My favorite thing that Christian and I do now is every time we see that the other one is wearing something new (or something so old that we haven't worn for awhile since it is now getting cold) we'll tell the other, "the Lord is good, eh? Testify to how the Lord has been good to you." Or something along those lines. It's really funny.

Anyway, the reason I am posting a blog solely about our friend is because seeing Christian every day is one of the things I am really going to miss about South Africa. But also, Christian's birthday was on Saturday. He told prior to his birthday that he never celebrated his birthday before – so of course that means we need to have a party. We celebrated the day by making him pizza for lunch (a food that he initially told us he didn't like until we made it for him, now he likes it a lot. Then in the early afternoon we had people over to have cake and chill with. It was great to be able to celebrate with him – especially since he had never had "real birthday party" before and for someone who loves to make birthdays into elaborate occasions, I really enjoyed it.

And actually the Lord has been really good to us here, by blessing us with Christian's immediate friendship. All our other friendships really didn't evolve until the beginning of the year. But Christian's been here since day 1. And I am grateful for him.

God’s Story, Our Story

Faith is like planting a tree in Kansas. Commitment is like watering it every day.

In the book, God's story, our story, the author gives this illustration of faith being like planting a tree in Kansas where it is windy and dry. Watering it so it can maintain life takes a little bit of effort. I like this idea whole lot more than any of those "it takes a spark to start of fire" type of imagines about faith. The problem I have with fire is that it might swell up quickly but in the end, you're completely burnt out. Plus, what does fire do? Destroy. Not only that, but what do you have to do get caught a spark? Hardly anything except be in the right place at the right time. But this tree imagery – yeah that's something that feels a lot more like faith. Faith starts like a seed planted in the ground. But the thing is that trees take a long time to grow. So even when I don't see anything changing, I stick with it. I water it even when I don't feel like it or feel as if I am the most inadequate person to be taking care of it.

Ps. Russell asked us the other day if we were on fire for Christ. Honestly, this was a hard question for me (and us) to answer. Not only can it have weird connotations but also it sounds very "evangelical" to me and I am not sure what about me in "evangelical" in the way that I unfortunately think about it [this is obviously coming from my American culture and all the negative things "evangelical" can mean). Sometimes, it's really hard to think about my faith like fire because what about the times when I feel like I am in the desert and feel like my faith is barely hanging on. I find myself so frustrated with church most of the time that it's hard to see myself as "on fire" because "on fire" people are never like that. They love going to church. Or so it appears. On really bad days, I wonder that if I didn't honestly believe with my entire being that Jesus was who he said he was and has called us to so much more than the world has to offer us, if I would just give up completely.

But here I am, watering my tree.

I like to think about faith like this because it is hard work. No one really tells you when you're in Sunday School that faith sometimes sucks. That being committed to God, faith, and the church when you're going through a "rough patch" feels more like manual labor than anything else. But I still do it because I believe that God's story is my story – that I have been grafted in to something that is so much larger than my limited perception.

The Shadows

I could tell winter was coming as I sat on my beach towel on the Durban sand, listening to the Indian Ocean crash against the rocks that were jutting out along the shoreline. It was the sun gave it away. It was different, not the devastating sun we been used to all summer long. Instead, felt as if it was already 3pm instead of noon. My Northern Hemisphere body was not used to this. I generally find it's easier to handle heat in December, but I find it completely confusing by the autumn weather that is quickly approaching now when it "should be" spring.

But there we were, nevertheless, books in hand, toes digging into the sand – being beach bums in autumn.

I was feeling fairly sentimental that day as I sat on my towel facing the water. The wind was too cold to stay sitting up for long. So I'd eventually lie back down and with sunglasses shielded eyes, stare at the brilliant blue sky – the kind that, when it's warm enough, makes me miss Palestine. But Palestine wasn't on the frontlines of my mind as I found myself wondering if this was the last time that I'd be at the Indian Ocean. If this was it.

Time is slipping past us and so I am not too sure when we'll be able to make it back to the beach before 12 July. I would like to believe that more of my world travels will eventually bring me back to the Indian Ocean but who honestly knows if that will happen. It was here that I had this thought. I'd like to believe that heaven is a lot like the kind C.S. Lewis wrote about in the final chapter of the Narnia series When Lucy, Edmund and Peter stepped through the door into heaven they found it to be all that they loved about Narnia x a million. That's awesome. And I like Plato's idea that what we see in this life is only a shadow of the real one. So that when I sit on the shore of the Indian ocean or climb Cape Point, that those things are just shadows of the real Indian Ocean and Cape Point. Whenever I am surrounded by the beauty of South Africa, it's hard to imagine that there is anything out there that is more breathtaking. But there is.

And yeah, maybe I'll never make it back to the Indian Ocean in these last few months – and maybe not even ever. But it's kind of exciting to think that I might get to see the real one someday. And then we'll be able to talk about beauty.

Mother’s Day

When I was little, my mother used to always wake me up in the mornings – for school, church, whatever. When I was in high school, I finally got an alarm clock and I used it all the time to get myself up in the mornings. I used it to get up for school, but also to get up on Saturdays when I had nothing particular to do and could sleep in. However, I never, ever used to set my alarm for Sundays. Ever. Looking back now, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I wanted to go to church with my family and I knew what time were going to eat breakfast and head out of the door. But for some reason I never set my alarm. Instead, I counted on my mom to wake me up. And she did.

Now I obviously love both my parents very much but there was a definite difference between how my parents did stuff – like wake me up in the morning. For instance, when my mom would wake me up, she would come into my room, pull the blankets away from my face, and maybe do something like brush my crazy hair out of my face or kiss my forward and gently wake me up. But also, she would stay in the room until she saw that our eyes were open or that we were sitting up, proof that we were actually awake and responsive before she would leave. And it was great. But when my dad had to wake us up – yikes. You can always tell when my dad was coming to wake us up because you could hear Sanford loud and clear. He would be downstairs in the kitchen singing at the top of his lungs "Good morning Jesus, Good morning Lord" – this crazy song about something like the holy spirit moving like a dove. It was short and catchy and it drove me crazy because he would sing it over and over again. Oh man it was awful. I would hear this man coming for me and I would do everything I could to pretend like his loud singing wasn't waking me up. It was actually pretty easy to do too, since after he was done singing he would just walk into the room and say "Anna breakfast is on the table" and leave. So if he wasn't singing, it was really easy to fall back asleep. Some mornings, when I was feeling particularly stubborn, I would refuse to "wake up" until mom came and got me.

Okay, so what does this have to do with anything, right? Well, I like mother's day not only because it's a nice way to celebrate the women God has placed in our lives, but also because it gives us a glance of a side of God that we don't really think about. That God is not only "father' to us but also "mother." Like in this story, both of my parents had different tactics of waking me up – one wasn't necessarily better than the other, even if I would get annoyed with my dad – they were just different. God gave us both mothers and fathers so we could see a more holistic view of who he is. That if we as both male and females were made in the very likeness and image of God then that means there is a very real, mothering side to our heavenly Father. I like to believe that God is like Sanford in this story, joyfully singing us wake whether we like it or not, but also like our mothers who created us, who nurture us, who stays by our side and gently kisses us awake to God's love.

[Mom this blog is for you – this is what I shared at youth on Sunday afternoon]

Sanctuary

A few days ago, I was convinced that I was never going to blog again. Yet, here I am, three days later, doing the very thing I promised I'd never do (thanks particularly to the simple persuasion of my sister and the evident fact that I love to write). And after today, I find that it is too hard to stay away.

Gabby and I are trying to be more intentional with our time that we have left here in Pietermaritzburg. We've lived in this city for 7 months and, yet, we hardly know it. So this morning, we decided to finally get off our lazy bums and go off on an adventure. This morning lead us to the National Botanical Gardens, which is literally right down the road from where we stay, but we've just never made the time to go.

After a solid 20-30 minute walk, we were at the front gate. After we paid the small fee, we were suddenly transformed from the mundane streets to a cathedral of trees. It was breath taking. The trees, which had been planted in 1908, towered over us as we slowly walked through the tunnel of trees.

"This feels like a church," I said to Gabby. I thought about what I said for a moment before I add. "No, this feels like God." Although the natural display of the trees felt very much like an ancient cathedral, I was truly aware this morning that God was walking with us.

As all of you know (a little too well I am afraid), I have been struggling here a lot. But this morning, walking with a good friend among the trees, throughout the gardens, and washing our feet in the stream, I was made aware of that God is beckoning me to God's side. I just haven't been listening very well.

I'm afraid that I've made quite a mess of things. But I am so thankful today that I serve a God who surprises me in the most unexpected places – like outside, in the middle of a garden hidden away in the heart of a city. I often forget how God tends to find me in God's creation. So when I am not meeting God at the kitchen table at the manse, I need to get out of my chair and go outside and say, "Here I am God. Please find me."

And today, I was found amongst the shadows of the mighty tree cathedral. It's about time.