This and That

I feel like everyday comes with at least a story or three. Living here is full of surprises. I love it...and because I love it I feel like I will survive. If I didn't I would go crazy.
For instance. On the bus the other day the man sitting next to the driver starts yelling at him and getting upset then GRABS the WHEEL and slightly jerks the bus. All the other men on the bus start yelling at him and they argue a little then he storms off the bus into traffic.

I had to get 6 passport pictures taken for my stay visa. I went to a place called Foto Romantic. I was offered a holographic picture of myself. Noooo thanks. Then much to my surprise I got to pick my background color and was told to smile. Hm.

Yesterday I saw a rickshaw driver bopping along with just a goat for a passenger in the back.

I am becoming grateful for sweat. I know its gross, but because it is so darn hot here and there is little to no AC anywhere, one really does notice the role sweat plays in colling off the body.

Last week when I was walking somewhere a small family pulled over in their car and asked me for money for gas. A car is a luxury item here and anyone driving a car clearly does not need any money. I said I didn't have any money and thats why I was walking. It was true.

I made Playdoh for the center yesterday so I went to the corner shop and bought 7 bags of flour and 6 bags of salt. The shop owner must have thought I was crazy. He asked me a few times if I really wanted 6 bags of salt. He held it up and held up 6 fingers and I nodded and nodded. Then again, he also told me that my Arabic was good, so maybe he is a little crazy too.

I was on a bus the other day and the khamsari (the guy who hangs halfway off the bus and does the hand sign for it and that you give your money to) was teenagerish looking and was wearing a jalabiyya, which is the full white long-sleeved dress looking thing that a lot of the men here wear. It seemed an odd choice for his job. I shortly realized it was a bad choice as he seriously tripped and almost fell on his face hopping off the bus. Twice.

It is haboob (dust storm) season so some days are pretty windy. On the really windy days there is dust everywhere and you can barely see down the street. On these days the air and houses and everything fill with dust. But the dust also blocks out quite a bit of heat, so those days are so nice and cool. Even if everything you own (inside or out) becomes brown.

A bit of culture for you--women do not cross their legs. Also I have to eat/pay/take change/do everything with my right hand.

I have 2 geckos that live in/around my room. There may be more, but there is at least one less huge roach. Bleh. That is one living creature that I have no mercy for.

At the boys center the other night they had some music on and, I have no idea why or how, Justin Beiber's song "Baby" came on and these boys who know little to no English were mumbling along to the chorus. Hilarious. Oh man, if they had any idea...

Let's talk about the boys center. I still feel super awkward half the time, but I am really starting to love my time there with them. They are great boys and they are hilarious. And forgiving of my awful Arabic and patient to try to help me understand what they mean. I have it on good authority that most are loving the arts and crafts activity I do with them. Woohoo! And one of the staff told me that I have made a friend in Ojeng--that he asks about me constantly. They call me over to play in their games that I still don't fully understand and they ask me to play soccer with them every night. I think they still are a little flabbergasted with a girl who plays soccer. I'm not great (really I'm not), not even good,  but I am ok most days and I think that shocks them even more. I took out my camera to finally start taking some pictures and one of the older boys asked for it and they started a glamour shot photo shoot. From somewhere they pulled out a white fedora and aviators and were taking turns looking fly. I was rolling. I'm not great at taking pictures and I could not be happier to pass off my camera and let someone else take them for me.

I am not sure if it's starting to feel like home, but I am kind of loving it here. :)

                                             Teenage boys and their glamour shots...

Persecuted Brothers

I really, really like the church I have been going to here. (One of the two to choose from).

They are a little Pentecostal, but not the "swinging from the rafter" types, as another person so nicely put it. Worship is led mostly by Africans and Koreans, with a few Westerners and others thrown in. Worship is loud and fun. There is clapping, dancing, shouting...anything goes really. So much joy and thankfulness. Probably 200 or so attend every Friday; as Friday is the holy day in these parts. It isn't a church for the local people here really, though that is of course fine. It is more for the ex-pat community here to equip and refuel for the work here. Oh man, I love it.

If you look around there are literally people from all over. Africans galore--S.Sudan, Kenya, Eritrea, Libera, Nigeria, Uganda, Ghana...also Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Filipino, Eurpoean, Austrailian, American...literally all over. I have sat next to people from a different country every week. In attendance are businessmen, NGO workers, UN people, language students, teachers, people from all kinds of professions and jobs. It is so neat. There are different colors, clothes, and tounges all around. Part of the beauty is all the freedom to praise and pray however. It is like a small taste of heaven with every tribe, tounge, and nation worshipping God.

The pastor is African, but the pulpit is quite often shared. In the few weeks I have been attending I have heard messages from the pastor, an American, a Norweigian, a Ugandan, and a man from Ghana. With every other color and person sharing, leading, praying, and taking offering in between.

After worship (which is done mostly in English with some Swahili and Arabic in there too) and before the message there is a time of communal prayer. Last week it was for wisdom for the leaders of our nations. I held hands with a Kenyan lady and an Eritrean girl and prayed for their nations.

This week we prayed for persecution. Specifically for four of our brothers in the church. One man who has worked here with his family for a number of years has been taken in for questioning for hours and hours everyday this week by security. Another believer in the church has been taken by security and no one has heard from him. One man has been told by fundamentalists that if he does not renounce his faith he will be removed. Someone else has been told by his family that they will cut him off from them if he does not renounce his faith. It gave me goosebumps. I am in the sort of place I have been reading about for so long. We spent some time in prayer as a body. It is so powerful to sit in a room that fills with the voices of people from all over the world crying out to God. I couldn't help but tremble a bit.

It seems as though things are heating up and cracking down here. Who knows what is to come.

Getting the right bus makes me feel awesome.

Unless I am with someone, I have never seen another white person at the bus station...or on a bus for that matter. I know that other people use the buses, I just haven't seen any other than myself yet. It makes me feel good about myself that in a sea of hundreds or more people around the bus lot, that I can navigate it on my own. It makes me feel totally cool. I also still feel really accomplished when I make the right hand signs and flag down the right buses and sucessfully avoid the ones I don't want. I still usually ask for confirmation that I am getting on the right bus though. But the a good number of the Sudanese do that too, so it's ok.

Truth.

You are the author and finisher. The Alpha and Omega. You know my needs and my heart and my desires better than I do. I know that you love me more than I know; that you always have my back, and you know what is best for me. I know you hold the world in your hands and all things under control.

I know that I am way selfish, but that you forgive when I ask; that I can start new in this moment. I know that I will stumble again. And again and again. And that you will be there to pick me up every time. Your mercy will never end. Your faithfulness endures forever. You are everlasting. You are bigger than my fears, bigger than my tomorrows. Great in my weakness, perfect in every way. You are my king. My love. My joy. I place my hope in you because I know that you never fail. You are my assurance. You are light in darkness. You are the beautiful and mighty. I believe that you are more than enough for me.

You will never leave me alone. You will never leave me at all. Thank you, thank you.
I am so small. You are so big. You have washed me clean...and I don't deserve it. I cannot fathom your love. I feel incredibly unworthy. And I am. I can't imagine why you find me worth it. I do not understand.

May my days be an offering of thanks and praise. May I lift my eyes UP to you and away from the muck all around.

You are my fixed point, my goal, my ambition. You are what I desire. To know you and to be known. To find rest for my soul. May my life reflect that I know the one who fashioned me. I know the one whose arms uplift me. I know my destiny. May I live as one not afraid of the world, who's strength is in the Lord, who does not quit or become dismayed. One who loves deeply by Your grace.

You. It is all for you. It is all yours. May I acknowledge you in all things, bring glory to your name. Walk humbly with you.

I put my trust in you. You will see me through.

You will. You will and you are and you always will be.

Orange Toes

I am pretty low maintenance. I don’t own make up. I haven’t shampooed or conditioned my hair in over a year. I make my own deoderant. I don’t exactly shower everyday. Don’t worry, I stay presentable and I don’t smell.

Here is the thing about most Sudanese women. They spend hours and hours doing all kinds of beauty treatments. Especially the married ladies. They do henna, all kinds of skin scrubs, close themselves in small rooms with heavily scented incense to perfume their skin. They primp and scrub and look real pretty. None of this sounds any fun to me. Not at all.

It was brought to my attention that my feet may be seen as kind of appalling to any Sudanese woman. Maybe men too, I dunno. Ok, they aren’t that bad. Really. But…I wear open toed shoes in a very dry, dusty place. And I play soccer barefoot in a rocky dirt field. I go running a lot. So, ok, they aren’t beautiful. It was highly, highly recommended to me that I at least paint my toes. To make them at least a little less offensive.

So I went to the suuk, bought some freaking nail polish, and painted my toes. I can’t say I did a great job either, but it is my best effort. I feel a little ridiculous. Painted toes are not my thing at all. But I guess it will grow on me, I dunno. Maybe my feet will be a little less alarming to Sudanese women now. Haha, Oh man.

Shady Fears

Yesterday at the centre I led an art activity for the boys. I will be doing a lot of this in the next few weeks for their 7 week summer program. Arting and crafting is kinda my thing and they don't get many opportunities at all to do those sorts of things. The boys were ok...it is so hard when your interactions are limited! I kept it simple and just had them draw a picture of something that makes them happy in pencil and then color it in with watercolors. It was trying. It will continue to be. Leading 25 boys in an activity in this setting with language is hard. Without, it seems impossible.

But there was a cool thing. One of the older boys drew a really nice picture of trees along the Nile with mountains. J was there (if you will recall, the gal who came to my aid the day I was at the centre all alone) and asked if I could show him how to shade. So I drew a little picture and explained highlight and lowlight and shadow and light source. (J helped with translation). It was really cool for me. He was happy and said that he wanted to learn something new everyday and wanted to learn to be an artist. It is such a great feeling to teach someone something new...esspecially when I felt like I was floundering the rest of the time!

I am pretty intimidated by what I came here to do and I am darn scared of failing. I am not sure what failure looks like...but I don't want to be a waste of resources, potential, time, or anything. I am not sure where this road is going to take me, but I think that God continually prepares you for whatever is next while you work where you are. I just have to do my best every day, cling to God, and trust that is enough.

What can measure the success of failure of these next few years, or of a life well lived? There isn't anything concrete. I think the measure will be the condition of my heart and the amount of myself that I have poured out for God and for others. Who knows when you have given or done enough. It is never enough. There is always the potential for more. But God gives us grace and I can't believe that he expects or requires that we live our lives as a hampster on a wheel going and going and trying and trying. That starts to look a lot like a works based faith and that is not why Christ came.

I will do what I am capable of through Christ, wherever God puts me, and trust that He will use it. Things do not rely on my abilities but on my willingness to follow. I know that the consideration of self is what stops most Christians. I know to be like him I have to die. Die to myself every day--and more if that is what comes.

I read back through part of my summer journal the other day. God was feeding my soul, even when I felt dissatisfied and the cry of my heart was to be in Africa doing his work. I am in a new season--one that I begged, pleaded, worked, and waited for. Everyday is not a bowl of cherries, but I am thankful to be here. Truly. From the bottom of my heart. Miracles brought me here. Not a day goes by that I have to practically pinch myself to make sure this is real--that I am indeed living my dream. I am scared of all kinds of things but I am confident in the hand that brought me here with my whole heart.

I do not walk alone. That is a great and glorious thing.

I thought I had a strong stomach.

Then I moved to Africa.

I am very thankful that the family I am staying with includes a doctor. She was able to diagnose my dystentary while I was still in my pj's and went up the road and got the medicine I needed. So I didn't have  to leave the house...or the bathroom. I feel very well taken care of.