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…