Thursday, January 22, 2009
Another Dog?
Yes, I have two dogs now. Sorry, no picture at this time, but one will come soon. Angel, my German shepherd, was reluctant to accept Precious, my two month old “bush dog” puppy, but today she allowed Precious to take a nap right on top of her. And Precious seems to be getting over all this crying and howling at night, much to my neighbors' relief! Precious was one of a litter of very malnourished puppies who were not well taken care of by their mother. Being as there is no humane society here and I have a tender heart for puppies, I rescued Precious and brought her home. She is doing very well, getting that “fat puppy” look to her and having fun roaming around such a big yard. Her favorite things to do are eat, take a nap in her cardboard “house”, play with her new tennis ball, and, when my head is close enough to her face, grab a chunk of my hair in her teeth and yank as hard as possible! Ouch! I think two dogs will be my limit of pets, especially since half of my fridge space is taken up by homemade dog food! But they are great company for me, and I'm thankful for them.
At the Funeral
In Africa, death is a part of everyday life. One day, someone complains of a headache. The next day he is dead, and no one really knows why. It happens that way all the time. So people here will cry and mourn and bury their loved one. Then they move on. That's all they can do. There's usually not a lot of answers to why people die here. And people just expect to die young, so every day that they live, they count it as a blessing.
For me, who has not experienced a lot of death, it is hard to grieve and move on so quickly, to treat death as a very normal part of life, like paying taxes or going to the grocery store. For western society, I think death is usually unexpected, and when it comes, all normal life seems to stop and pause for a moment so that we can catch our breath and then try to move on, as best we can. It is interesting how differently two cultures view death.
This week, the younger brother of a friend of mine died. He had been sick for a while and was in the hospital. Then, he suddenly felt better. He got out of bed and danced for his family, telling them he thought he was finally getting better. He told his sister to cook some spaghetti and bring it for him the next day. And then, after most of his family left that evening, he died.
A missionary colleague of mine and I went to his burial today. We went to the graveyard, which was actually just a field overgrown with bushes. No headstones or fancy statues. No caretaker trimming the grass around each plot. No bouquets of flowers on the graves. Just a mass of bushes with little dirt paths weaving through it. The men of the church and family went to find a plot to bury the body, and after several tries (they kept finding that they were digging into someone else's grave!) they found a place. Just a hole in the ground to place the casket. No markers or memorials. No time or money to bother with memorializing the dead. It made me realize how this is such a normal part of life that if fancy funeral services and beautiful headstones were done for each person who died, no one would have time or money for anything else!
It made me sad to watch the service, but thankful, too. Thankful that God gives me little opportunities like this to see things from a different and new perspective. I don't think I ever want to see death as so normal that I barely give time to grieve or memorialize that person in my own mind. Rather, I want to see the hope in it all. Death shouldn't be some shock to us. We know we will all die someday. It shouldn't be viewed as so common that we don't give it another thought, either. This life is fleeting and death can come very unexpected. But for those of us who belong to Jesus Christ, we can embrace that fact and celebrate that soon we will be home with Jesus, away from this world and all it's hardships. I want to remember those who have died, who have made impacts in my life, and grieve them properly. But, oh the joys of heaven! May we view each day as a blessing and heaven as our reward!
For me, who has not experienced a lot of death, it is hard to grieve and move on so quickly, to treat death as a very normal part of life, like paying taxes or going to the grocery store. For western society, I think death is usually unexpected, and when it comes, all normal life seems to stop and pause for a moment so that we can catch our breath and then try to move on, as best we can. It is interesting how differently two cultures view death.
This week, the younger brother of a friend of mine died. He had been sick for a while and was in the hospital. Then, he suddenly felt better. He got out of bed and danced for his family, telling them he thought he was finally getting better. He told his sister to cook some spaghetti and bring it for him the next day. And then, after most of his family left that evening, he died.
A missionary colleague of mine and I went to his burial today. We went to the graveyard, which was actually just a field overgrown with bushes. No headstones or fancy statues. No caretaker trimming the grass around each plot. No bouquets of flowers on the graves. Just a mass of bushes with little dirt paths weaving through it. The men of the church and family went to find a plot to bury the body, and after several tries (they kept finding that they were digging into someone else's grave!) they found a place. Just a hole in the ground to place the casket. No markers or memorials. No time or money to bother with memorializing the dead. It made me realize how this is such a normal part of life that if fancy funeral services and beautiful headstones were done for each person who died, no one would have time or money for anything else!
It made me sad to watch the service, but thankful, too. Thankful that God gives me little opportunities like this to see things from a different and new perspective. I don't think I ever want to see death as so normal that I barely give time to grieve or memorialize that person in my own mind. Rather, I want to see the hope in it all. Death shouldn't be some shock to us. We know we will all die someday. It shouldn't be viewed as so common that we don't give it another thought, either. This life is fleeting and death can come very unexpected. But for those of us who belong to Jesus Christ, we can embrace that fact and celebrate that soon we will be home with Jesus, away from this world and all it's hardships. I want to remember those who have died, who have made impacts in my life, and grieve them properly. But, oh the joys of heaven! May we view each day as a blessing and heaven as our reward!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Naaman's Dance
I often heard the story of Naaman from the Bible (2 Kings 5) when I was a little girl. I imagined this man with these white sores from leprosy all over his arms and legs dipping into the muddy waters of the Jordan. But a few weeks ago, I heard Naaman's story told in a new way, vivid and wonderful and moving.
Here in Africa, many beggars on the street have only stubs instead of hands and feet because of leprosy. Although non-contagious, they permanently bear the signs of the disease and are shunned because of it. Even children understand what leprosy is and that a leper is an outcast. Naaman's story is familiar and real in this culture.
So when I was nearing the end of the 10 week course I was teaching to Sunday school teachers and I was about to assign each teacher a story to teach in front of the class to demonstrate their skills, I thought of Naaman's story. I assigned Elizabeth, a good teacher and a gifted story teller, to teach the story of Naaman.
After weeks of hard work, teaching the teachers to apply gospel truths throughout their Bible lessons, and spending hours with the teachers to help them prepare and write out their lessons, each teacher got up and presented their various stories: Saul's conversion, Jesus calming the storm, and blind Bartimaeus.
Finally, it was Elizabeth's turn. She came to the front and began her lesson with a heart wrenching story of a little boy who went to school each day with a bleeding, oozing sore on his leg. He was shunned and rejected by his friends and his teachers, although he could do nothing about his condition. Just like Naaman. Perhaps, said Elizabeth, no one wanted to eat in the same room as Naaman any more because of the disease. Perhaps he felt very alone and rejected. But there was hope. Elisha the prophet of God, could pray to God to heal Naaman. His solution, though, was to dip in the muddy Jordan river. After feeling furious and insulted at the thought, Naaman finally went down into the river. Elizabeth held her hands out in front of her, curling her fingers into her palms, making her hands look like gnarled stubs, just like the hands of the beggars we see on the street almost everyday. Naaman was disfigured, unclean, rejected. But he began to dip down into the water. One. Elizabeth dipped down. Two, three, four, five. She looked at her stubs of hands. No change. Six. The hands were still completely disfigured. Seven. And as Elizabeth, playing the part of Naaman, came up, she lifted her hands into the air, her fingers suddenly extended, her hands made whole, her arms lifted in praise, amazement, celebration. And she began to dance, a jubilant dance across the front of the room, for she was made whole. No more rejection.
All my childhood imaginations of a sore covered man coming up the seventh time with clean skin, coming calmly out of the water, were gone. I understood. It was real. I think Elizabeth got it right. I finally understood those feelings of rejection and disfigurement that Naaman must have felt. And the joy when he became whole. Whole. Whole hands and whole feet.
He must have danced. I'm sure he did.
Thank you, Elizabeth, for giving me a new understanding of Naaman.
Here in Africa, many beggars on the street have only stubs instead of hands and feet because of leprosy. Although non-contagious, they permanently bear the signs of the disease and are shunned because of it. Even children understand what leprosy is and that a leper is an outcast. Naaman's story is familiar and real in this culture.
So when I was nearing the end of the 10 week course I was teaching to Sunday school teachers and I was about to assign each teacher a story to teach in front of the class to demonstrate their skills, I thought of Naaman's story. I assigned Elizabeth, a good teacher and a gifted story teller, to teach the story of Naaman.
After weeks of hard work, teaching the teachers to apply gospel truths throughout their Bible lessons, and spending hours with the teachers to help them prepare and write out their lessons, each teacher got up and presented their various stories: Saul's conversion, Jesus calming the storm, and blind Bartimaeus.
Finally, it was Elizabeth's turn. She came to the front and began her lesson with a heart wrenching story of a little boy who went to school each day with a bleeding, oozing sore on his leg. He was shunned and rejected by his friends and his teachers, although he could do nothing about his condition. Just like Naaman. Perhaps, said Elizabeth, no one wanted to eat in the same room as Naaman any more because of the disease. Perhaps he felt very alone and rejected. But there was hope. Elisha the prophet of God, could pray to God to heal Naaman. His solution, though, was to dip in the muddy Jordan river. After feeling furious and insulted at the thought, Naaman finally went down into the river. Elizabeth held her hands out in front of her, curling her fingers into her palms, making her hands look like gnarled stubs, just like the hands of the beggars we see on the street almost everyday. Naaman was disfigured, unclean, rejected. But he began to dip down into the water. One. Elizabeth dipped down. Two, three, four, five. She looked at her stubs of hands. No change. Six. The hands were still completely disfigured. Seven. And as Elizabeth, playing the part of Naaman, came up, she lifted her hands into the air, her fingers suddenly extended, her hands made whole, her arms lifted in praise, amazement, celebration. And she began to dance, a jubilant dance across the front of the room, for she was made whole. No more rejection.
All my childhood imaginations of a sore covered man coming up the seventh time with clean skin, coming calmly out of the water, were gone. I understood. It was real. I think Elizabeth got it right. I finally understood those feelings of rejection and disfigurement that Naaman must have felt. And the joy when he became whole. Whole. Whole hands and whole feet.
He must have danced. I'm sure he did.
Thank you, Elizabeth, for giving me a new understanding of Naaman.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Listen for the Click
A unique part of this culture is a sound that everyone here makes to show approval and agreement. It is a clicking sound, made by clicking the back of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. I usually hear women doing it, especially during prayer when they agree with something someone just prayed. But it has been a real help as I have taught my class to Sunday school teachers. When I am explaining something and I hear a click, I know that they got it! If I don't hear a click and see confused looks, I know to re-explain it. It makes it very helpful to know if the students understand. Unfortunately, if you here a whole bunch of clicks together, it means disapproval. Thankfully, I haven't heard that in my class!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
An Gama- It's Finished
I have been teaching a twelve week course for African Sunday school teachers, which has kept me very busy, hence not posting very much on this blog lately. But it is finally coming to an end, a fact that makes my weary brain very happy. I have spent the last several weeks demonstrating Bible lessons, visual aids, and evangelism techniques to my class which has been helpful for them, since now they must demonstrate in class. But it has been a lot of work for me to prepare. Now that I can sit back and watch them demonstrate, it is a relief, although it makes me nervous to watch my students and wonder, “Did I teach them correctly?” I will be very happy when we finish, both to see my students use the material in their own teaching (hopefully) and to take a much needed break!
Hausa phrase for the day: An gama (it's finished)
Hausa phrase for the day: An gama (it's finished)
Flight of the Mosquito
Rainy season ended here a few months ago, but it seems that now all the mosquitos have suddenly multiplied. I always thought when the weather got dry, they would go away, but now they are here in droves! They usually come out in the evening, and no matter what I do, I can't seem to keep them out of the house. Being a country where malaria is a big health risk, I am very cautious about mosquitos. Friday evenings, our “movie night” in the mission community (which only consists of three of us) now provides two types of entertainment: a movie and a rousing game of “catch the mosquito”! It happens like this. We will be watching a movie quietly and one of us will see a mosquito fly by. With a sudden movement, that person will fly out of their seat and lung at the mosquito, try to smash the mosquito between their hands. Unsuccessful, they will sink back into the chair, while the next person who sees the mosquito repeats the same actions until one of us catches it (which is a rare occurrence). We try to be conservative in this game when watching a movie so that we don't disturb the others or interrupt the movie too much. But after the movie, if we see a mosquito, chaos is likely to break out with each of us lunging across the room, flailing our arms, swinging hand towels, and leaping over furniture all in an effort to catch one tiny little bug. A possibly malaria-carrying bug, mind you. We end up laughing so hard at one another that it has become more entertaining than the movie itself! I think sometimes we just try to out-do each other in our great lengths to end the flight of the mosquito!
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