Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Just Great Pictures
When I'm back in the U.S., like I am now, it can be hard to think of what to post on this blog. Let's face it, many times life in the U.S. is very predictable and not nearly as exciting as it is in Africa! So in the meanwhile, I might as well post some pictures from my life overseas and the great photos myself and my friends have taken.
Women riding in the back of a pickup.
The egg seller on his way to the market.
I've always been curious how this guy would justify his breaking the "no standing" rule. Perhaps he's there to catch that heap of metal when it starts to fall off the truck!
The countryside.
A sunny day.
The old man and the chicken.
Women riding in the back of a pickup.
The egg seller on his way to the market.
I've always been curious how this guy would justify his breaking the "no standing" rule. Perhaps he's there to catch that heap of metal when it starts to fall off the truck!
The countryside.
A sunny day.
The old man and the chicken.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Meanwhile, Back on the Ranch...
Since I've been in the U.S. the last few months, there's been some interesting things happening with my apartment back in Africa. Right before I left to come home for 6 months, I moved out of my apartment so other missionaries could move in. When I go back, I'll move into a new apartment, the one right next door, which is newly renovated. The fun of moving into a renovated apartment, especially if you know the people who are doing the renovating, is that you get to help choose what the finished product will look like (or at least in my case, I did).
The apartment was only four rooms, four small rooms, and so we all figured that it needed to be bigger, especially to accommodate an office and ministry materials that I use. Two rooms were added on the back, a bathroom and a kitchen. Masons and workmen spent long days building the addition.
As you can see, construction work in Africa is much more difficult and involves a lot more manual labor than it does in the U.S. The men carry concrete back and forth on their heads in pans.
Finally finished.
Working with a carpenter, I helped design the kitchen cupboards, which is a big plus for me who spent the last two and a half years moping because my canning pot did not fit into any cupboard and thus had to live in a dusty and precarious position on a shelf. So of course, I designed one of the cupboard shelves with my canning pot in mind. Without a proper workshop, the carpenter constructed my lovely cabinets outside my house...
then after the house was painted, he installed them.
One of the most interesting rooms in the house is the dining room, which was once the teeny, tiny kitchen. Now it is a narrow and rather classy looking dining room with my newly purchased dining room set (I had to sell my old set and actually buy a smaller table to fit into the narrow room) and my buffet. On the wall is a cupboard that was built right into the wall. Before the house was repainted, the room was blue. Here is the before...
and the after.
During construction, the living room was a storage place for all the lumber.
It sure looks better after painted and with furniture in it.
Even the front of the apartment was changed. The covered porch was knocked down by hand...
and repainted.
It looks like I live in a prison cell with all those bars, but it's good protection.
Finally, just because it's a great picture, not because it has anything to do with my house, here is my plumber who stopped by the house and cleaned out my water tank for me because it was full of black slime. It involved climbing into it and scrubbing it out in the blazing hot sun. He has such a great attitude.
I am truly thankful for such great friends and all the people who put so much time into my new apartment.
The apartment was only four rooms, four small rooms, and so we all figured that it needed to be bigger, especially to accommodate an office and ministry materials that I use. Two rooms were added on the back, a bathroom and a kitchen. Masons and workmen spent long days building the addition.
As you can see, construction work in Africa is much more difficult and involves a lot more manual labor than it does in the U.S. The men carry concrete back and forth on their heads in pans.
Finally finished.
Working with a carpenter, I helped design the kitchen cupboards, which is a big plus for me who spent the last two and a half years moping because my canning pot did not fit into any cupboard and thus had to live in a dusty and precarious position on a shelf. So of course, I designed one of the cupboard shelves with my canning pot in mind. Without a proper workshop, the carpenter constructed my lovely cabinets outside my house...
then after the house was painted, he installed them.
One of the most interesting rooms in the house is the dining room, which was once the teeny, tiny kitchen. Now it is a narrow and rather classy looking dining room with my newly purchased dining room set (I had to sell my old set and actually buy a smaller table to fit into the narrow room) and my buffet. On the wall is a cupboard that was built right into the wall. Before the house was repainted, the room was blue. Here is the before...
and the after.
During construction, the living room was a storage place for all the lumber.
It sure looks better after painted and with furniture in it.
Even the front of the apartment was changed. The covered porch was knocked down by hand...
and repainted.
It looks like I live in a prison cell with all those bars, but it's good protection.
Finally, just because it's a great picture, not because it has anything to do with my house, here is my plumber who stopped by the house and cleaned out my water tank for me because it was full of black slime. It involved climbing into it and scrubbing it out in the blazing hot sun. He has such a great attitude.
I am truly thankful for such great friends and all the people who put so much time into my new apartment.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
What is a missionary term like?
My first term on the field as a career missionary was 2 ½ years long, and next January I will begin my second term of the same length. Before I went to Africa, I expected certain things of that first term. I expected I'd learn the language well, that I'd make great progress in the ministry I was in, that I'd learn the culture and learn to thrive, and that I'd come home for my first home assignment with flying colors. What I learned, however, was that I had to lose those expectations. I thought I'd dive right in and accomplish so much. I did accomplish much, but they weren't the things I expected. Here's some of my “accomplishments”:
I learned to never expect to get my “to-do” list done in one day. Things came up, visitors would pop by, the people I needed to help me were unavailable, and most always I would get only one or two things crossed off. That's discouraging for a person who's used to making lists and getting them done. I had to let go of that.
I learned that everything breaks. The quality of workmanship where I live is usually mediocre to poor, and things in your house will fall apart faster than in the U.S. At the beginning of a missionary term, waking up to a toilet that decided to fall apart and flood the bathroom invites panic; by the end of the term, it's just a normal day.
I learned a plethora of strange information that will only be useful in very specific situations. For instance, did you know that in order to keep your outside water storage tank from building up icky black mold inside, you should pour a bottle of bleach into it once every couple months? Or that putting a sachet filled with rosemary and a bay leaf into your flour bucket keeps the bugs from infesting it? Or if a rubber gasket wears out and causes your kitchen plumbing to spring a leak and you can't get a hold of the plumber, a lightweight plastic bag wrapped around the pipe where the gasket once was will suffice for quite a while? I learned a lot of mechanical things as well, information that I used on a daily basis in Africa. My whole first term was a constant learning curve, learning things I would have never even thought of learning before now.
I learned to think. Don't worry, I learned this skill long ago. I learned to think in a more detailed way because of my living situation. Here's an example of what I would think every morning when I woke up: “I need to go and check the water tank to see if I have enough water to take a shower. If there's enough water, maybe I should do my laundry today instead of waiting. And I should fill up my reserve water containers. The electricity is on, too. If I get ready fast enough, maybe it will stay on long enough for me to do the ironing. And I should charge my phone, computer, and extra batteries. I wanted to use my blender for that recipe tonight. Maybe I should use it now in case the electricity isn't on later.” And with that, my day would start with a race against the limited electricity. I learned to plan ahead when I had water and electricity, and always expect to not have them later.
I learned to hold to things loosely. I'm still learning this lesson and I'm sure I'll still be learning it when I retire! Everything on this earth is temporary: relationships, health, possessions, careers. I had to face this fact head-on when my grandma and uncle passed away, my once-healthy body kept getting sick, my house was robbed twice, and my ministry didn't go as planned, all in one term.
I learned that I cannot do everything like I imagined I could. I can't become fluent in a foreign language as quickly as I thought. I can't fix everything and always be culturally correct and never get laughed at in the market and always have a perfectly wonderful day. I can't do everything. Thank goodness. 2 Corinthians 4:7 says, “But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” I'm thankful that God chooses to show His power through me, an imperfect jar of clay.
I learned to never expect to get my “to-do” list done in one day. Things came up, visitors would pop by, the people I needed to help me were unavailable, and most always I would get only one or two things crossed off. That's discouraging for a person who's used to making lists and getting them done. I had to let go of that.
I learned that everything breaks. The quality of workmanship where I live is usually mediocre to poor, and things in your house will fall apart faster than in the U.S. At the beginning of a missionary term, waking up to a toilet that decided to fall apart and flood the bathroom invites panic; by the end of the term, it's just a normal day.
I learned a plethora of strange information that will only be useful in very specific situations. For instance, did you know that in order to keep your outside water storage tank from building up icky black mold inside, you should pour a bottle of bleach into it once every couple months? Or that putting a sachet filled with rosemary and a bay leaf into your flour bucket keeps the bugs from infesting it? Or if a rubber gasket wears out and causes your kitchen plumbing to spring a leak and you can't get a hold of the plumber, a lightweight plastic bag wrapped around the pipe where the gasket once was will suffice for quite a while? I learned a lot of mechanical things as well, information that I used on a daily basis in Africa. My whole first term was a constant learning curve, learning things I would have never even thought of learning before now.
I learned to think. Don't worry, I learned this skill long ago. I learned to think in a more detailed way because of my living situation. Here's an example of what I would think every morning when I woke up: “I need to go and check the water tank to see if I have enough water to take a shower. If there's enough water, maybe I should do my laundry today instead of waiting. And I should fill up my reserve water containers. The electricity is on, too. If I get ready fast enough, maybe it will stay on long enough for me to do the ironing. And I should charge my phone, computer, and extra batteries. I wanted to use my blender for that recipe tonight. Maybe I should use it now in case the electricity isn't on later.” And with that, my day would start with a race against the limited electricity. I learned to plan ahead when I had water and electricity, and always expect to not have them later.
I learned to hold to things loosely. I'm still learning this lesson and I'm sure I'll still be learning it when I retire! Everything on this earth is temporary: relationships, health, possessions, careers. I had to face this fact head-on when my grandma and uncle passed away, my once-healthy body kept getting sick, my house was robbed twice, and my ministry didn't go as planned, all in one term.
I learned that I cannot do everything like I imagined I could. I can't become fluent in a foreign language as quickly as I thought. I can't fix everything and always be culturally correct and never get laughed at in the market and always have a perfectly wonderful day. I can't do everything. Thank goodness. 2 Corinthians 4:7 says, “But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” I'm thankful that God chooses to show His power through me, an imperfect jar of clay.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Kandice
I'm in the U.S. till January. It's good to rest, but also to deal with some grief that God has brought my way recently. Here's a special post about a very special friend of mine:
I'm a very cautious person. Very careful and reserved and non-adventurous. Some of you who know that I'm a missionary in Africa may doubt that, but believe me, I am. I go a little overboard in my reserved ways sometimes. But I've always asked the Lord to make me into the person He wants me to be. Which, I've discovered, is sometimes to chip away at that old, stubborn, overly cautious nature of mine. That can be painful to someone who really likes her little comfort zone. Thankfully, He's used a very wonderful friend as part of this process.
Back in my junior year of college, we welcomed in a new group of freshman girls on our floor and a spunky, outgoing girl named Kandice was among them. Although she and I were very different, we had common interests and soon Kandice, my roommate Amanda, and I were inseparable. She spent so much time in our room, people thought she was our third roommate. I remember those two years of my life as the time I probably laughed the most. We stayed up till the wee hours of the morning gleefully ignoring homework and laughing our heads off at anything and everything. We schemed and pranked and dreamed. We got mad at each other sometimes and had bad days. Sometimes we'd just all sit and cry. I'd never had friends like this before and I loved every moment of it.
Kandice was the prank queen on our floor. I don't think I was ever the target of one of her big pranks (although she loved to tease me at every turn). In fact, she and I would stay up late thinking up the next greatest prank. I remember one Saturday getting up early with Kandice and posting “out of order” signs on the elevators of our 10-story dorm. All day, girls were trouping up and down the 10 flights while Kandice and I took the elevator. Another time, on the eve of April Fool's day, Kandice came knocking on our door with the advice that we should take our showers that evening. “The shower curtains will be gone by morning,” she cryptically informed us. “Oh, and lock your door tonight.” The advice came in handy, especially the locking the doors bit. Morning came and infuriated girls who had quickly realized the handy work of Kandice (and who knew that I frequently helped her with her pranks) came pounding on our door, demanding the shower curtains. Believe me, there were a lot of grouchy girls that day! But I think they can all laugh about it now... I think.
Sometimes on a Saturday, I'd find Kandice in the kitchen making a pie (she could make great pies) and we'd sit and just talk about life. I always found her advice both comforting and upfront. She told me what I needed to hear, black and white, and although it hurt, I realized the value in having a friend who would do that for me. There are days in which I wish I had sought her advice more often. She had a lot of wise words for me.
My senior year, Kandice and I worked as receptionists together on campus, and I enjoyed the time with her besides just at our dorm. We went on a triple date that year and I remember the three of us walking through a grocery store, singing our hearts out to the Backstreet Boys song that played while our dates waited for us. Seriously, those boys didn't know what they had gotten themselves into with the three of us! Over a long, snowy weekend, the three of us went to Kandice's house and had a friend take pictures of us out on the frozen lake. I remember the three of us in our room late one night talking about our futures, talking about how we were all going into missions. We decided that we'd conquer the world, the three of us. I'd go to Africa, Amanda to Europe, and Kandice to Asia. Something like that. We left it rather ambiguous. I had to laugh later in life when that actually came true.
After I graduated, we went our separate ways, made new friends, had different lives. But this spunky character that had been such a part of my life for two years was still very important to me. I think once I left college, I realized how much the Lord had and still was using her in my life. She inspired me to get out of my comfort zone, to laugh loud, to have fun, to make mistakes and not fret about it, to never just sit down and quit. She ran after life, ran after every opportunity to live and to serve the Lord. My reserved nature was challenged by that.
“I have decided that I'm coming to see you,” was a phone call that I got from her one summer six years after we graduated. It had been almost that long since I'd seen her, though we'd stayed in good contact. I was just a few months away from returning to the mission field in Africa, where I'd already served for two years. Amanda was in Europe. Kandice, though she didn't know it yet, was soon to start preparing to go to Asia, where she'd already served on a short term mission. Kandice got on a plane and flew out west to see me, where we spent the week talking and laughing and exploring. We were walking by an old church one day that had beautiful stained glass windows and Kandice quickly pulled me up the steps to go in and explore. It was just like Kandice to spontaneously explore. And it was just like me to freeze on the steps and say “I don't know if we're allowed in there.” She gave me the “c'mon, be adventurous for once” look, but I chickened out once we'd been inside for a few moments, imagining some stern-faced church secretary reprimanding us for bursting into a quiet church to explore. For some reason, that memory really sticks out in my mind as a moment when I suddenly thought, I wish I was more like Kandice, free and not inhibited by an overly cautious spirit. Later on, whenever I was in a situation where I could either be adventurous or chicken out, I'd remember Kandice and I knew that the Lord was using her to chip away at my timidity. For such a simple incident, it convicted me that I was living a life that was so withheld that I was withholding an important part of myself from other people.
The spring of 2009, when I was in Africa, I got a message saying that Kandice, two months away from going to Asia, had breast cancer. It broke me apart to hear that. I felt crushed that whole summer, but she stayed positive and ready for what the Lord had for her. She spoke about cancer and about missions. She encouraged others. She worked at her mission headquarters while getting chemo and radiation. Meanwhile. I was struggling with grieving the death of two relatives (I couldn't return to the states for their funerals), as well as a couple of robberies in my home in Africa and many other hardships of being a missionary. I felt pummeled into the ground by the difficult things happening around and in me. I was grieved and wearied by life. Some days, I'd get on to Kandice's blog and think, Kandice is more alive today than I am. For being sick, she wasn't. She seemed to go after every opportunity to minister. Cancer was only a detour, not a stop to life. She had sent me a video of herself talking to me, telling me the latest news in her fast-paced, animated, rabbit-trail style of talking, giving the camera a laugh-inducing grin every once and while, and I watched that video over and over, always struck by the abundance of life she seemed to possess. Sometimes I could hear her chiding me, starting with “Now, Miss Mary,” and telling me to get up and do what needed to be done instead of sulking.
I came home the spring of 2010, eager to see her. I started to be convinced that it would be the last time. Her cancer was spreading. I wrote and told her that I'd come and see her. Naw, that wasn't Kandice's style. An adventure was called for. She'd never seen the Oregon coast, and got a plan together that she and I would meet up in Portland and drive down the coast, exploring. She was convinced she'd be up to it, and started planning. I, like always, was cautious. But I knew her and I knew that God was changing me, making me into a person who would grab a hold of life instead of shying away from it. And for once, I'd finally be able to say a proper goodbye to someone who was dying. I'd missed so many funerals in my life, missed that closure that I wanted, and I was determined to get that with Kandice.
In July, Kandice went on a youth retreat to speak. I was amazed that she had the energy to do that. It was inspiring to me. When she came home from it, I wrote on her facebook wall, “Do you know that I love you?” She wrote back, “I love you, too.” A week later, a little less than a month before our Oregon trip, in spontaneous fashion, Kandice took another trip home to Heaven. That was my last goodbye to her. And now she's free of her cancer, having the greatest adventure of all with the Lord Jesus.
It's within my nature to be angry that I had no closure, that I missed yet another goodbye. Yet, the painful grief that we experience in our lives, when used by God, is a way for Him to chip away at us, to make us better, to make us long for heaven and cling to a joy that cannot be found in earthly things. Sure, I am in deep grief, probably more than I ever have been before, over the loss of this friend. I wish with all my heart that I had gotten to see her one last time. I wanted that more than anything. I wish I could get that back. But I know that this was God's perfect time, that in the big picture, I really didn't need to see her one last time, that God in His goodness will bring me through this grief a better person. So I'm not angry. I'm sad for myself and for Kandice's family and friends. I'm rejoicing for her. And I guess I'm rejoicing for myself, too. Rejoicing in the fact that I had such a friend as her. Rejoicing that she called me friend. And rejoicing that God used her in my life to make me hungry to live life with vigor, not holding back, never shying away from the opportunities He's given me today, to not stop, to laugh loud and live adventurously.
I'm a very cautious person. Very careful and reserved and non-adventurous. Some of you who know that I'm a missionary in Africa may doubt that, but believe me, I am. I go a little overboard in my reserved ways sometimes. But I've always asked the Lord to make me into the person He wants me to be. Which, I've discovered, is sometimes to chip away at that old, stubborn, overly cautious nature of mine. That can be painful to someone who really likes her little comfort zone. Thankfully, He's used a very wonderful friend as part of this process.
Back in my junior year of college, we welcomed in a new group of freshman girls on our floor and a spunky, outgoing girl named Kandice was among them. Although she and I were very different, we had common interests and soon Kandice, my roommate Amanda, and I were inseparable. She spent so much time in our room, people thought she was our third roommate. I remember those two years of my life as the time I probably laughed the most. We stayed up till the wee hours of the morning gleefully ignoring homework and laughing our heads off at anything and everything. We schemed and pranked and dreamed. We got mad at each other sometimes and had bad days. Sometimes we'd just all sit and cry. I'd never had friends like this before and I loved every moment of it.
Kandice was the prank queen on our floor. I don't think I was ever the target of one of her big pranks (although she loved to tease me at every turn). In fact, she and I would stay up late thinking up the next greatest prank. I remember one Saturday getting up early with Kandice and posting “out of order” signs on the elevators of our 10-story dorm. All day, girls were trouping up and down the 10 flights while Kandice and I took the elevator. Another time, on the eve of April Fool's day, Kandice came knocking on our door with the advice that we should take our showers that evening. “The shower curtains will be gone by morning,” she cryptically informed us. “Oh, and lock your door tonight.” The advice came in handy, especially the locking the doors bit. Morning came and infuriated girls who had quickly realized the handy work of Kandice (and who knew that I frequently helped her with her pranks) came pounding on our door, demanding the shower curtains. Believe me, there were a lot of grouchy girls that day! But I think they can all laugh about it now... I think.
Sometimes on a Saturday, I'd find Kandice in the kitchen making a pie (she could make great pies) and we'd sit and just talk about life. I always found her advice both comforting and upfront. She told me what I needed to hear, black and white, and although it hurt, I realized the value in having a friend who would do that for me. There are days in which I wish I had sought her advice more often. She had a lot of wise words for me.
My senior year, Kandice and I worked as receptionists together on campus, and I enjoyed the time with her besides just at our dorm. We went on a triple date that year and I remember the three of us walking through a grocery store, singing our hearts out to the Backstreet Boys song that played while our dates waited for us. Seriously, those boys didn't know what they had gotten themselves into with the three of us! Over a long, snowy weekend, the three of us went to Kandice's house and had a friend take pictures of us out on the frozen lake. I remember the three of us in our room late one night talking about our futures, talking about how we were all going into missions. We decided that we'd conquer the world, the three of us. I'd go to Africa, Amanda to Europe, and Kandice to Asia. Something like that. We left it rather ambiguous. I had to laugh later in life when that actually came true.
After I graduated, we went our separate ways, made new friends, had different lives. But this spunky character that had been such a part of my life for two years was still very important to me. I think once I left college, I realized how much the Lord had and still was using her in my life. She inspired me to get out of my comfort zone, to laugh loud, to have fun, to make mistakes and not fret about it, to never just sit down and quit. She ran after life, ran after every opportunity to live and to serve the Lord. My reserved nature was challenged by that.
“I have decided that I'm coming to see you,” was a phone call that I got from her one summer six years after we graduated. It had been almost that long since I'd seen her, though we'd stayed in good contact. I was just a few months away from returning to the mission field in Africa, where I'd already served for two years. Amanda was in Europe. Kandice, though she didn't know it yet, was soon to start preparing to go to Asia, where she'd already served on a short term mission. Kandice got on a plane and flew out west to see me, where we spent the week talking and laughing and exploring. We were walking by an old church one day that had beautiful stained glass windows and Kandice quickly pulled me up the steps to go in and explore. It was just like Kandice to spontaneously explore. And it was just like me to freeze on the steps and say “I don't know if we're allowed in there.” She gave me the “c'mon, be adventurous for once” look, but I chickened out once we'd been inside for a few moments, imagining some stern-faced church secretary reprimanding us for bursting into a quiet church to explore. For some reason, that memory really sticks out in my mind as a moment when I suddenly thought, I wish I was more like Kandice, free and not inhibited by an overly cautious spirit. Later on, whenever I was in a situation where I could either be adventurous or chicken out, I'd remember Kandice and I knew that the Lord was using her to chip away at my timidity. For such a simple incident, it convicted me that I was living a life that was so withheld that I was withholding an important part of myself from other people.
The spring of 2009, when I was in Africa, I got a message saying that Kandice, two months away from going to Asia, had breast cancer. It broke me apart to hear that. I felt crushed that whole summer, but she stayed positive and ready for what the Lord had for her. She spoke about cancer and about missions. She encouraged others. She worked at her mission headquarters while getting chemo and radiation. Meanwhile. I was struggling with grieving the death of two relatives (I couldn't return to the states for their funerals), as well as a couple of robberies in my home in Africa and many other hardships of being a missionary. I felt pummeled into the ground by the difficult things happening around and in me. I was grieved and wearied by life. Some days, I'd get on to Kandice's blog and think, Kandice is more alive today than I am. For being sick, she wasn't. She seemed to go after every opportunity to minister. Cancer was only a detour, not a stop to life. She had sent me a video of herself talking to me, telling me the latest news in her fast-paced, animated, rabbit-trail style of talking, giving the camera a laugh-inducing grin every once and while, and I watched that video over and over, always struck by the abundance of life she seemed to possess. Sometimes I could hear her chiding me, starting with “Now, Miss Mary,” and telling me to get up and do what needed to be done instead of sulking.
I came home the spring of 2010, eager to see her. I started to be convinced that it would be the last time. Her cancer was spreading. I wrote and told her that I'd come and see her. Naw, that wasn't Kandice's style. An adventure was called for. She'd never seen the Oregon coast, and got a plan together that she and I would meet up in Portland and drive down the coast, exploring. She was convinced she'd be up to it, and started planning. I, like always, was cautious. But I knew her and I knew that God was changing me, making me into a person who would grab a hold of life instead of shying away from it. And for once, I'd finally be able to say a proper goodbye to someone who was dying. I'd missed so many funerals in my life, missed that closure that I wanted, and I was determined to get that with Kandice.
In July, Kandice went on a youth retreat to speak. I was amazed that she had the energy to do that. It was inspiring to me. When she came home from it, I wrote on her facebook wall, “Do you know that I love you?” She wrote back, “I love you, too.” A week later, a little less than a month before our Oregon trip, in spontaneous fashion, Kandice took another trip home to Heaven. That was my last goodbye to her. And now she's free of her cancer, having the greatest adventure of all with the Lord Jesus.
It's within my nature to be angry that I had no closure, that I missed yet another goodbye. Yet, the painful grief that we experience in our lives, when used by God, is a way for Him to chip away at us, to make us better, to make us long for heaven and cling to a joy that cannot be found in earthly things. Sure, I am in deep grief, probably more than I ever have been before, over the loss of this friend. I wish with all my heart that I had gotten to see her one last time. I wanted that more than anything. I wish I could get that back. But I know that this was God's perfect time, that in the big picture, I really didn't need to see her one last time, that God in His goodness will bring me through this grief a better person. So I'm not angry. I'm sad for myself and for Kandice's family and friends. I'm rejoicing for her. And I guess I'm rejoicing for myself, too. Rejoicing in the fact that I had such a friend as her. Rejoicing that she called me friend. And rejoicing that God used her in my life to make me hungry to live life with vigor, not holding back, never shying away from the opportunities He's given me today, to not stop, to laugh loud and live adventurously.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Adventures in South Africa: March of the Buffalo
It's always a game of chance when you drive through a game park looking for animals, like we did in Addo Elephant Park in South Africa. You might be in a park full of animals but see absolutely nothing. Or you might see everything. It just depends on who's out and about that day. When there's no fences, you never know who you're going to run into on the road, either.
Rounding the corner of the dirt road, we just about ran right into the noses of a group of rather grumpy looking buffalo. From all the people I've talked to who know (and some who don't), buffalo aren't the sort of creatures you want to encounter up close and personal. They can be mean and unpredictable. Thus my worry when we saw them coming right at us only a few yards away. I think my intelligent, cool-minded advice to my friend who was driving was “Back up! Back up!”.
We scooted away around a corner and stopped, only to see them marching, purposefully and at a good pace, towards us again. We did get out of there pretty quickly, but later learned from a park official that my advice was wrong.
So here it is: If you ever encounter a group of buffalo while driving through a game reserve (or maybe anywhere else, for that matter), DON'T back up. Stop your car and sit very still while they walk around your car. They won't bash your car in. But please don't blame me if you ever have to check if your car insurance covers “damage due to mad buffalo” because you took my advice!
Rounding the corner of the dirt road, we just about ran right into the noses of a group of rather grumpy looking buffalo. From all the people I've talked to who know (and some who don't), buffalo aren't the sort of creatures you want to encounter up close and personal. They can be mean and unpredictable. Thus my worry when we saw them coming right at us only a few yards away. I think my intelligent, cool-minded advice to my friend who was driving was “Back up! Back up!”.
We scooted away around a corner and stopped, only to see them marching, purposefully and at a good pace, towards us again. We did get out of there pretty quickly, but later learned from a park official that my advice was wrong.
So here it is: If you ever encounter a group of buffalo while driving through a game reserve (or maybe anywhere else, for that matter), DON'T back up. Stop your car and sit very still while they walk around your car. They won't bash your car in. But please don't blame me if you ever have to check if your car insurance covers “damage due to mad buffalo” because you took my advice!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Adventures in South Africa: The Confused Ostrich
Apart from stories about my ministry, it's always fun to tell a few about my leisure time as well!
As many of you know, I went to South Africa for Christmas with friends. We stayed mostly in Cape Town, but we also went on a ten-day trip down the garden route and stopped at two game reserves, Addo Elephant Park and Mountain Zebra Park. It was amazing how many animals we were able to see.
We went on several game drives, both in our own vehicle and with a guide in a park vehicle. On an evening drive, we were busily looking for black rhinos and cheetahs as the sun went down. Our guide turned on two big spotlights so we could see any animals we drove by. And as we drove along, our spotlight caught an ostrich unawares, standing there, minding his own business. Surprised to be caught in a great beam of light, he fluttered about wondering which way to run to get out of the light. We were still driving and our guide kept the light on the ostrich, but poor ostrich, he was so confused on how to escape this horrible light! He began to run with our vehicle instead of away from it! Jumping and weaving back and forth like a feather duster on a yo-yo string, he got closer and closer to our truck, then realized that the thing that was making all the noise while driving down the road was also producing the light. He quickly turned away from our truck and ran out into the darkness, only to get spooked and run towards the truck again. Every time we thought we lost him, here he'd come again, weaving towards the truck in a panicked state, wondering why that light wouldn't leave him alone! He even darted in front of our truck a few times. Honestly, after a while, we were the ones trying to get away from him!
After finally losing him, we went on to see other animals, then headed back home. And on our way home, who should appear in the spotlight again but Confused Ostrich! Racing alongside us, erratically weaving around, dashing in front of our truck, and jumping from the light to the darkness and back into the light again in a totally panicked state of mind, Confused Ostrich couldn't make up his mind on how to escape the dreaded light (this happens when you don't have much of a brain to begin with!). Poor ostrich. He was probably quite wore out from the stress of it all! Although, living on a game reserve, I'm sure he's bound to get into this situation again... and again... and again. Poor Confused Ostrich!
As many of you know, I went to South Africa for Christmas with friends. We stayed mostly in Cape Town, but we also went on a ten-day trip down the garden route and stopped at two game reserves, Addo Elephant Park and Mountain Zebra Park. It was amazing how many animals we were able to see.
We went on several game drives, both in our own vehicle and with a guide in a park vehicle. On an evening drive, we were busily looking for black rhinos and cheetahs as the sun went down. Our guide turned on two big spotlights so we could see any animals we drove by. And as we drove along, our spotlight caught an ostrich unawares, standing there, minding his own business. Surprised to be caught in a great beam of light, he fluttered about wondering which way to run to get out of the light. We were still driving and our guide kept the light on the ostrich, but poor ostrich, he was so confused on how to escape this horrible light! He began to run with our vehicle instead of away from it! Jumping and weaving back and forth like a feather duster on a yo-yo string, he got closer and closer to our truck, then realized that the thing that was making all the noise while driving down the road was also producing the light. He quickly turned away from our truck and ran out into the darkness, only to get spooked and run towards the truck again. Every time we thought we lost him, here he'd come again, weaving towards the truck in a panicked state, wondering why that light wouldn't leave him alone! He even darted in front of our truck a few times. Honestly, after a while, we were the ones trying to get away from him!
After finally losing him, we went on to see other animals, then headed back home. And on our way home, who should appear in the spotlight again but Confused Ostrich! Racing alongside us, erratically weaving around, dashing in front of our truck, and jumping from the light to the darkness and back into the light again in a totally panicked state of mind, Confused Ostrich couldn't make up his mind on how to escape the dreaded light (this happens when you don't have much of a brain to begin with!). Poor ostrich. He was probably quite wore out from the stress of it all! Although, living on a game reserve, I'm sure he's bound to get into this situation again... and again... and again. Poor Confused Ostrich!
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