It's beginning to look a lot like...

Merry Christmas.

I stepped out of JFK and saw my breath mesh with the cold air. My family members considered the weather warm, but the fifty-degree drop in temperature shocked (and ergo thrilled) my heat-accustomed being.

The highlight of my flight home--other than seeing those lovely smiles and hearing "Welcome home" from the guy at customs--was reading a good chunk of A Severe Mercy. The beauty and grace of Sheldon Vanauken's writing tells the story of a sweet love story between both a man and a woman and a Lord and His bride. I highly recommend reading this man's account of his love, his conversion, and of course his correspondence with a great Christian author.

His text is mildly sentimental; how can I avoid sentiment at a time like this? I return home for Christmas after a grand 4 1/2 month sojourn in Malawi, for a holiday away from work, heat, dust, and goats (read: roadblocks). The house looks and smells of Christmas, accompanied by the music and conversation typical of this time of year. I open gifts given to make my life in Malawi a little easier (read: coffee, socks, and Expo markers). I spend precious times with my very favorite people.

And I remember the grace that sent a baby to a world of dead souls. In that baby was life, and the life was the light of men.

Honestly, though, tough times that have challenged happiness these past few months and a deeper understanding of pain and sorrow in the world--not to mention my own unworthiness of Jesus' peace and goodwill--leave me hesitant to celebrate. Yet how can I but remember the joy, the indescribable joy, that cannot but fill the heart of a Christian at Christmas? There is much to rejoice in this season.

Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to. Golden sunlgiht; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious! 

"What's today?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes. 

"Eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder. 

"What's today, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.  

"Today!" replied the boy. "Why, Christmas Day."  {charles dickens}

An Update on Grace, or, yet another blessing

A few weeks ago, I shared the story of baby Grace, a sweet little orphan from a village nearby. She has been well taken care of since I first met her; she is fed and loved by my friend Grace, as well as by some of her extended family members.

I see and hug her nearly every Sunday, and have been so blessed to watch her grow. She is so precious. In the photo below, she just woke up from a nap and was still adjusting to the light as I stepped out of church--hence the extra large eyes :) She is, I am convinced, the most beautiful baby I have encountered.

Still counting (days and blessings)

I have nine more days to be thankful for here. Gratitude is not coming naturally; I fall quickly into a habit of complaining. I most naturally go and grumble in my heart, even though it may not be spoken aloud: I wish I was in my blue-and-green bedroom with my sister across the room and my dog by my side; I am tired of buying groceries and making sure nothing goes bad I don't like wearing skirts so often; it's so hot. 

But God forgive me, for I have no cause to murmur against the place he's called me to. Isn't it true that when a Christian is most tempted to murmur, she is most able to showcase God's grace through her very dependence on it? It becomes her heart cry to honor God most when her strength is least. The calling God places on his children is high, but he is good to enable us to fulfill it.

"Godliness with contentment is great gain.
     Thou, O man of God, flee these things;
     and follow after righteousness, godliness,
        faith, love, patience, meekness.
Fight the good fight of faith,
    lay hold on eternal life,
    whereunto thou art also called,
    and hast professed a good profession
    before many witnesses," {i timothy 6.6, 11-12}

So still I am grateful. There is a breeze still today; my coffee cup is still full; young Malawians play with and laugh at me when I visit the villages; my housemates are dear sweet friends whom I will truly miss when I go off for the holidays; I had a great time interacting with my fun, smart, kind students yesterday at a fun school event; I am forever loved and cared for by my Lord.

Simple. So much to be thankful for.

Countdown Mode, or, remembering to be grateful still

Two weeks. I can stand anything for two weeks. Two weeks from today, I will be home, well-bundled up against the chilly air, chatting with my sisters and brother and parents and friends, sleeping past five o'clock, wearing my barn jeans (ha), and playing the piano.

As a rule, I abhor and despise being in countdown mode, but that is where I am. After collecting essays from every class, discovering unmarked vocabulary quizzes, losing a flash drive, and realizing I don't have the time to do all the things I want to do, my attitude has been marred by weariness and indifference. After decorating a Christmas tree with a family here, hearing a few extra Christmas songs, receiving my first gift of the year (thank you, sweet housemate), and making a plan to watch It's a Wonderful Life, my desire for home and my sentimentality regarding the holidays have become achingly strong. 

I will leave for home in two days short of two weeks; this means I still have two days short of two weeks to be here, to work, to serve, to teach, to help. I have to remember that there is much for which to praise God here. I have my students who feel free to talk about things that matter in my classroom. Several of the other women on campus have become dear friends, with whom I have been able to spend quality time over the past few weeks. There's a breeze that reaches my classroom and eases the heat. Tomorrow is a non-academic day at school for a school wide swimming competition (translation: early dismissal on a Friday. further translation: greatest gift to teachers). Truly I have no license to be discontent. 

So I will be grateful for each of the twelve days I have left here before the holiday. Twelve days!

Holiday Expectations, or, Thanksgiving in Malawi

A few weeks ago, I received a box well-stocked with a few things I requested, along with a few fun Thanksgiving-themed reminders of home. This week I celebrated the holiday so far away, with a crowd of people I met about four months ago, with a slightly improvised traditional menu. Things were different, but I was reminded, "This is home, too."

Traditions offer comfort and security, and I subscribe heavily to the structure they give holidays. However, when they change this drastically, a traditionalist has the chance to step back a little and consider the holiday from a different perspective. This Thanksgiving, I consider the place God brought me to. This is a place of work and pressure, a place of joy and blessing, a place of unexpected successes contrasted with startling failures and mistakes.

I have not gotten everything right; I have abused my time, had moments of extreme self-centeredness, and showed frustration with students. But blessings teem around me each day when my students enter my room, when the student newspaper is printed, when a friend from home sends an email, when an invitation to dinner is offered, when the light of the morning reminds me of its Creator, when I sit in girls' Bible study and converse with lovely women of God, when a book offers a distraction from my dysfunctional internet.

Hear Bing? "I've got plenty to be thankful for."

So Much More Than Book-Learning

Some teachers are extremely driven by their curriculum; they make solid year plans and detailed weekly plans and dynamic day-to-day plans, all with the goal of soaring through textbooks and novels and writing curricula.

I was like that. 

Things can change quickly over a weekend; I don't mean to be cryptic, but let it rest at that, without any other details. When something tragic and scary happens to a student, and a teacher sits in class Monday morning with six instead of seven others, she realizes her inadequacy. I didn't even have a tissue box for the ones who cried. Words--even the empty words that I have had repeated to me over and over--didn't leave my mouth, as my own sadness blocked any possible success at communication. 

God is gracious; he proves himself a source of strength for weeks like this one.

Teaching is more than a catalyst for book learning. It is an investment in lives of young people who are sometimes in desperate need of comfort and encouragement. These are things I can give but so very, very poorly. I have so much to learn.

All of it

"Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord:
          and thou shalt love the Lord thy God
             with all thine heart
             and with all thy soul
             and with all thy might." {deut. 6.4-5}

What does a Christian look like if she offers all her love to God, if all the love in her heart, soul, and body is poured out in his service? What does it look like but like the Son of God, who gave all of himself out of love? How poorly we frail beings fulfill the calling to love.

Loving God is a high calling, but it's a mandate given to each created being. Not a shred of the love within us is there to stay--it's all to be poured out in service, in commitment, in dedication. How can it be possible to give it all? How can we possibly find the stamina to maintain such output? God, who is rich in mercy, fills us again, progressively leading us to understand what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height of the love of Christ, which passes all earthly knowledge. We are filled with all the fulness of God.

"Take my love; my God, I pour at thy feet its treasure store.
Take myself, and I will be ever, only, all for thee." {frances r. havergal} 

A Few Reiterations, or, Another Update

I know I have mentioned this before--or, at the very least, my family members have, under my direction, mentioned this to my acquaintances back home--but I would like to remind my dear friends who are following along that I treasure every response to my blogs. Receiving an email from people home is one of the greatest blessings a day here can hold. Those of you who have dropped me a line via comments or emails are recipients of my most sincere gratitude. Thank you.

I know I have mentioned this before, but I have been all but dumbfounded at how much I love teaching. Let a short short story or two illustrate. First off, sitting at the football awards the other day, I struck up a conversation with a mom of one of my seventh graders. She kindly informed me that I am her daughter's favorite teacher. I maintained a calm exterior while internally I hit the roof; little things thrill me a whole lot. Second, during class the other day, we guided our discussion of a great American novel to a discussion of Malawian societal norms and prejudices. I hadn't anticipated comparing the Radley house in Maycomb with a particular sector of Lilongwe, but that happened.

I know I have mentioned this before, but my Journalism class has been one of the more interesting challenges of the past few months, as I have encountered lack of motivation, forgetfulness, power outs, and, well, locked computer labs. Ha. Our first student newspaper was released last week, which thrilled my heart and soul. I've talked about it incessantly with a few too many other teachers; I think I need to move on. (But I'm still very excited.)

I know I have mentioned this before, but I am increasingly dependent on God's daily grace. I make so very many mistakes over and over again. On Monday I was horribly short-tempered with a challenging student, who didn't react to my over-reaction but instead calmly looked at me and asked, "Why are you yelling?" I was so convicted for being ungracious, as well as reminded that if I really understood God's grace to me, if I really valued its constancy and abundance, I could be nothing less than generous and gracious to the people in my life.

I know I have mentioned this before, but I have been increasingly appreciative of poetry (and that's putting it mildly):

...Passing away, saith my God, passing away:
Winter passeth after the long delay:
New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray,
Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May.
Though I tarry, wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray.
Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day,
My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say.
Then I answer'd: Yea.            {christina rossetti}

Secret

I know I had quite a strict no-pictures/no-names policy going on in this little corner of internet on which I jot my thoughts, but sometimes there is a sweet littl'un who changes that.

Her name is Secret.

I met her three weeks ago at a village ministry I was semi-participating in (really I was just watching and holding the hands of a small army of kids), when she plopped on my lap as I sat in a dust cloud and wrapped her arms around me. She was charming--absolutely expressionless, no smiles, no frowns, no speaking, but so very sweet.

This Friday, I was surprised when, as I handed out crayons one by one, a little girl walked up behind me and held on to my hips. As I walked, she kept following, almost tripping on my feet as I went. When I finished handing out stubby sticks of bright color, I sat down and pulled her on to my lap. I traced her hand on paper and drew a string of hearts. She was so unresponsive that I thought she wanted to go off on her own. I stood her up and stood behind her, but she didn't want to leave: she wanted to be held. I don't know why this emotionless, beautiful little girl craves hugs, but she does. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her feet around my waist, laid her head on my shoulder and did not let go until I had to go back home. I carried her around as I admired all the other girls' hand drawings; I had to switch hips as some others walked me to the well and pumped water for me to [pretend to] drink; she held on as other girls tickled my sides and called my name (which comes out "Balbla").

That's Secret. She has a sister named Love. She's so easy to hug. She's so precious, friends; I can say it no other way.

How things have changed

I've changed. I now spend money on lunches and baby formula. I kill spiders in my bedroom and watch lizards creep around my classroom without shuddering. I don't keep every area over which I have control impeccably neat, clean, and organized. I wear skirts a lot and wear my hair down up to three times a week. My only beverages are water and coffee. It's different, but it's no big deal.

Other changes are a big deal; if you don't believe me, read this post about the lies I used to tell. Beyond that, I now embrace joy as a way of life rather than a reaction that depends on good things happening to me. This Wednesday morning found me running late as I left my house (I'm pretty much never late to school, ever), about to spill my coffee out of a borrowed mug (I had left mine, of course, in my classroom), with my hair in every direction and my skirt unfortunately revealing my horribly scraped up knees (on which I knew my students would comment, which is just weird), with neither a prepared devotional for my homeroom nor a printed quiz for my 9th graders nor my laptop. I was about to get my "This is awful and I want to disappear" face on. I couldn't. The morning was too lovely. Nothing had gone well other than finally getting my email to load and making coffee/breakfast with all three of my housemates, but still I couldn't help but be joyful. 

Maybe even mistakes, failures, and flubs can be enjoyed, for they remind me of the fact that I am a human dependent on Someone who loves me immeasurably. For this I thank God and seek the faith to move right along, embracing what he's called me to do. 

Inexplicably idealistic? Yes. Wonderfully so. 

Mulanje, or, witness of a wonder

Name one of the seven wonders of the world. Name something you recently said starting with, "I wonder..." Name a Bible verse with the word "wonderful" in it. (Hint: think Handel's Messiah.) Anyway, just now, I can't help but give that word a bit more credit than I have before.

I returned home on Saturday from a sojourn on Malawi's highest mountain. It was wonderful. Rocks and dirt and trees and scrub piled high against an ever-changing sky, a wondrous testimony of the creativity of a God who, wonder of wonders, loves us more than landscapes he designed.

Every new day is the best day ever. This all but morphed into my personal motto during the four-day vacation with eleven other ABC staff members. The physical challenge of hiking; the determination required to reach the peak; the thrill of coming slowly, cautiously, prayerfully back down; the inspiration provided by an unexpected thunder storm; and the fellowship with these cool people all contributed to the revelation of God's goodness. The wonder of the mountain--its form, its climate, its unpredictability, its magnitude--was terrific to witness, and could do nothing but inspire awe of the mind and heart that created it, the heart and mind of a God who says:

"Fear not: for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine." {isaiah 43.1}

Redeemed, called, owned by the Lord--and you thought mountains were wondrous.

The point of the picture below is the waterfall, not the minuscule people beside it. One of the people is yours truly, but that's not the point of the picture; I hope that's clear. 

Below see me with fellow hiker (and cook) Sydney.

One of the highlights of the trip didn't occur until today: every class I teach wanted to hear all about it. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal to anyone else, but it was a big deal to me. They cared, and they laughed when I sat down very slowly because of my sore muscles, and they asked if I loved it, and they wanted to hear my answers.

The best comment came from one of my whip-smart 7th grade boys: "I was praying for you all the whole time, because Mulanje? Eesh!"

Quick update, quick list, quick thought or two

Ever sit down and wonder when you'll be able to use your legs again? That's a long way to share the fact that I am pretty tired. And it's a big deal to admit that (especially on the internet).

My days have been overflowing; if there's ever nothing to do, there's something to get done. As it stands, there is never nothing to do, and therefore little gets done. My lesson planning goals are in jeopardy at the moment.

Please don't read this as a complaint. It's actually the first item on the list I'm about to share, the list of  blessings that I wonder at, the blessings that leave me puzzled, grateful, and so very, very happy.

1. I'm living some very busy days of teaching, planning, visiting, helping.
2. Saturday there was yet another mountain climb--again Nkhoma, this time with Academy students and a handful of teachers.
3. In the same vein, I heard "Go Miss V!" shouted from the top top by those super seventh graders.
4. I have a sudden over abundance of real books to read (real as opposed to classroom novels) from generous fellow campus residents.
5. My students told me that they enjoy having my class first in the day. I could totally have taken that the wrong way if I hadn't let them explain themselves. They insisted that they feel that their day starts out really well. This is the most affirming thing I have ever heard as a teacher. Ever.

Maybe you don't see why I would say these blessings leave me puzzled; I say so because I simply don't understand why I stand on the receiving end of these things. What can I do but pray to be able pass the blessing on? A child of God can't ever be content to be the pool where blessings pile up without reaching anyone else. So have you been blessed today? Send it right along. Bless someone else. Love someone else at close range, or give of your time and money with reckless generosity, or show grace to someone who provokes you to frustration. When one realizes how much she has received, it's her joy to give.

Grace, or, When perspective gets rattled

The disparity between what I see and how I live continues to perturb my heart. I sit here at my weird-table-turned desk, fully satisfied with food--thank you, selfless housemate--as well as food for the soul--thank you, Poetry Foundation. I have clean water and a clean shirt and a clean bed beside me. You know I could go on. Some days I'm ashamed to find myself thinking, "Why didn't I bring more than one [pair of sneakers, longer-than-knee-length dress, personal notebook, set of stud earrings, long sleeved cardigan]?" Then my perspective gets a nice knock, for which I thank the Lord.

This past Sunday, a lady named Grace pleasantly asked how my week was. I replied, then asked her the same question. It's our typical Sunday morning post-Bible study, pre-church service conversation. I wasn't prepared for her response.

"Well, I was at the funeral this week." She was surprised I'd not heard of it. A member of her women's literacy class in one of the nearby villages passed away, leaving a four-month-old baby, whom her husband has abandoned.

This is what wrenches a heart.

The baby, also named Grace, has a ten-year-old sister from her mother's first marriage as a caretaker. The closest living (and present) relative is her mother's cousin, who does not have the means to take on these two little girls. This story can be heard a thousand times over in this place, but it becomes increasingly heart-breaking when Mirjam shows me a picture of these two sweet, but incredibly sad faces.

Today I held baby Grace; I saw her giggle and I saw her cry. How could I help but ask in my mind, "What will happen to you? Who will love you?" I know the village kids tend to be excellently demonstrative in the realm of joy, but I also know that their lives are incredibly sad; they face filth, ignorance, disease, and deep sorrow that surpasses what I imagine for myself or for my future children. But what can I do but hold this infant, get her some baby formula, and pray for her well-being? So I hold her. I tell you, she's beautiful.

Only the other Grace could make her laugh. 

Poetry, News, and Metacognition

Did you know poetry is the best thing ever?

The naming of cats is a difficult matter;
It isn't just one of your holiday games...
But above and beyond there's still one name left over
    And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
    But the CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound mediation,
     The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
    Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
         His ineffable effable
         Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name. 

The Reading Day lesson plan for AmLit became the reading and enjoyment of T. S. Elliot's clever, humorous word play. Love for poetry has greatly boosted my enthusiasm for AmLit, for there is no other class that gives me an excuse to recite "To make a prairie it takes a clover" or to discuss "The Raven" for more than half a period. The perusal of poetry these days has made me miss a certain anthology on my bookshelf back home--Great Poems.

In other news, I am the best blogger ever! I have no pictures to put up from my most recent brief visit to a village ministry! My apologies. But honestly, pictures aren't really the best way to make me remember the names of the four fifth-grade girls that pulled me along to see different things, laughing at my lack of understanding Chichewa the entire time. Pictures won't tell you that holding a random little girl who walks up to you simply because she wants to be held is mildly heart-wrenching. I know pictures help raise awareness, emphasize needs, and share knowledge overall, but pictures can also become cliche. You might have seen the picture of an American girl in a long skirt holding a dusty, raggedy toddler. Or perhaps you've seen the child standing in a doorway alone with a runny nose? Images become common. They are far from unnecessary, but still they are cliche.

Sometimes I find them distracting. Whether I'm in a village, in the market, or anywhere else, I want to be hands on, enjoying the situation, not documenting it for future reference.

So I hold the little girl whose name I don't know, looking at fields of brush and at small groups of dusty, impoverished people, and thoughts ease into a mellow sense of understanding. I have little to say when I see something beautiful; I have little to think about when I see something harsh. But then this heart somehow starts to understand that no matter how disheartening it is to know so little and be able to do so little, I'm where the Lord wants me to be.

Hiking at Nkhoma, or, the grandeur of God

Saturday last, a fantastic campus family invited some of the singles to go for a hike at a place called Nkhoma. My friend Molly and I jumped at the chance, so bright and early we packed up some food, water, and sunscreen and headed off. 

If you love hiking, you would have loved this hike. If you're remotely interested in anything beautiful, you would have loved this hike. I can't explain it...

For lo, he that formeth the mountains, and createth the wind, and declareth unto man what is his thought, that maketh the morning darkness, and treadeth upon the high places of the earth, the Lord, The God of hosts, is his name. {amos 4.13}

The family that invited us has two sweet little guys who bravely trekked right along with us. 

They had some great family teamwork involved in order to make it to the top. 

We had lunch on a ledge overlooking more fantastic hills and fields and dust and scrubby trees.

I do want my family/friends/casual acquaintances back home to have some faces for names. So above I'm chilling (catching my breath. ha.) with Molly and the two kiddos. Below are Becca, Kellen, and their boys.

This was when Yami first got on my back. Notice how confident and comfortable I look.

This is one of the 732 breaks I took on the bit of trail I carried him for. Notice how red-faced and heavy laden I look. Notice how relaxed he looks.

When we got to the top, we forgot about the brief season of strain. We marveled.

For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the sky, for the love which from our birth over and around us lies, Lord, our God, to Thee we raise our song of grateful praise. {folliot s. pierpoint}

The beauty here makes the heart sing praises, joining in with the voices lifted in song from the prayer meeting on another part of the mountain. Sorry for all those prepositions. What is it about climbing rocks, holding children, seeing dozens of mud huts from hundreds of meters upward that is so mind boggling? It could be that the grandeur of God is so carefully reflected in each one, if one but looks for it.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
   It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
   It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
   And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
   And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.  

And for all this, nature is never spent;
   There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
   Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
   World broods with warm breast and ah! bright wings. {gerard manley hopkins}

I know I want to end on something wonderful to leave you with. After reading this post script, please re-read Hopkins so he's what stays with you. Anyway, I want to thank each of you for reading! I love to receive your emails and comments. I love to know you're interested in my life and that you want to remain a part of it. I thank God for each of you.

Last thing! Praying friends, please pray that I would remain faithful, committed, and enthusiastic in my role as a teacher. By "remain," I mean "stay this way!" I still love what I do each day, but I fear that as other factors begin to take their toll on my physical and emotional energy, some of my stamina will wane. Pray that God would continue to keep me strong, so I can walk worthy of the calling I've been given.

Now go back and read some great poetry and remember, "The world is charged with the grandeur of God."

What Every Teacher Should Know, or, "Feel Free."

Over the course of my first six weeks as a missionary/teacher/resident of Malawi/member of this particular community/mostly teacher, I have compiled a list of rules every teacher should know, called "What Every Teacher Should Know." It looks like this:

1. Always erase the white board before leaving the classroom you were teaching in. (Teachers, please read that three more times to yourself.)
2. Keep cool; don't freeze. (If white boards did not exist, this would be item 1.)
3. Learn how to skillfully throw the lesson plan out of the window.
4. Don't ever forget anything, ever.
5. Bring coffee, water, and gum to school every day.
6. Wear the matching shirt on Friday.
7. Use your prep to get your work done.
8. Pretend you know more than your students. Don't be arrogant about it, just play like you know more.
9. Don't get nervous when other adults are within earshot of your classroom, no matter how intimidating they may be. See item 2.
10. Give essay tests.
11. Don't play music for students unless you really love the music or the music in question was composed by Mozart.
12. Talk about God every day. (This would be item 1 if I didn't know that the last thing people read is what stays with them the most strongly.)

Some of this is minor and silly. Some are very serious, because following these rules contributes to smooth, happy days.
You see, it's not all sunshine and rainbows.

Once I found myself with a fake smile on my face asking a student why s/he thought it was ok to ask to go to the restroom, leave my class, and return changed into her/his P.E. clothes. I asked and waited for an answer. I'm a fan of having the student speak, especially when I am about to blow my top.

There are a few F's in my grade book.

Most of my Expo markers are quite dry.

The eighth seventh grader asks me for the sixth time in five minutes, "Miss V, what page?"

The power goes out just as my Journalism students are finalizing the draft of the student newspaper.

Little hang-ups. They should shrink when I put them in perspective. They grow if I look at them too closely. Guess which one happens more often.

When I fail to take a step back, my attitude sours. I start to wonder if someone wrote on the white board behind me, "Feel free to think class is a joke. Feel free to ignore Miss V. the first four times she says something. Feel free to leave all your textbooks in your homeroom class. Feel free to leave your homework at home."

But doesn't the teacher have to move on, take in her troubles, without studying them too closely? And should she not strive to change the vibe of the classroom to instead reflect other invitations: "Feel free to ask what an unfamiliar word means. Feel free to offer a different opinion. Feel free to come by at lunch for extra help or a chat. Feel free to make your essay one paragraph longer than the minimum"?

These students say, "Thank you, Miss V" at the end of each class. These students want to know if I like living in Malawi or not. These students enjoy my Jersey accent. These students are lovely. I just have to remember that fact when I say, "Number 4, page 120" yet again.

I have to remember that I too need grace in abundant quantities, from the same Lord that governs each life affected by my classroom. I have to remember that what I deserve and what I receive are greatly discrepant.

And so I resolve to talk about God every day.

"Teaching Is an Easy Job" and Other Lies I've Told

At the end of a school day, no matter how stress-free and blissfully content I may be, no matter how well my students discussed themes or wrote poems or played Comma Rule Jeopardy or produced a completed student newspaper, I cannot say (as I admittedly have said in the past), "Teaching is an easy job." It's a lie. And I can prove it.

Good teaching takes soul. Or heart. Or spiritual stamina. However you put it, teaching takes it. It requires the outpouring of one's personal human essence into a group of much younger people. It looks, therefore, like a little bit of preaching, a little bit of questioning, a little bit of listening, a little bit of wisdom, a little bit of theatrics (didn't you know we're all actors?), a little bit of exhortation, and a little bit of love. By "a little bit," I mean "a lot." It's not easy. It's not impossible, and honestly, it's not necessarily stressful, not in my case anyway. And it is very, very far from unpleasant. 

"Good teachers don't repeat themselves" is another lie spoken by yours truly, though in my defense I was parroting what I thought was true. I am very close to being convinced that it is not true (because if it is true, I am a terrible awful bad no-good teacher). I still dislike repeating myself, but I'm replacing that lie with the positive philosophy that "Good teachers find ways to avoid repeating themselves too often." I'm getting very fond of "Ask your classmate" or "Check the board." Here's hoping to saying "Page 165" twelve times in a minute.

Teaching and living here have shown me some interesting things about myself. By interesting, of course, I mean shocking. "I've got this" is a lie I have told myself quite often. Multiple times a day, I have to admit, sometimes to myself and sometimes to someone nearby, that I have no idea what I'm doing. I have to go food shopping. I don't know how to get there. I coach soccer. I don't know what to say (or scream) to my players. I teach English. I don't know how to teach struggling students where the commas go. I greet a member of the maintenance staff at school. I don't know what she said to me, because I am terrible at understanding her accent. I assign my students poetry. I don't know how I should fairly grade their submissions. Yeah. Convinced? So am I. I'm not telling myself "I've got this" ever again.

"I'm not that selfish" is a lie to which I cringe to admit. However, should my reader scan the paragraph above, the discerning eye would notice that the word "I" appears often. Very often. This girl has lots of time to think, which is a wonderful luxury, but too often her thoughts wander to selfishness. What do I want, what am I interested in, how can I be happy today--these and other utterly useless questions knock around in my brain far too often.

Well. Glad we had this talk. Here's to the mortification of lying and putting on of truth-telling.

Teaching is the best job in the world. But it isn't easy. 

Hi, I'm Africa, nice to meet you.

When it was known that a Jersey girl was going to teach in Lilongwe, a few dozen more people in the American Northeast discovered the geographical location (and existence) of a squiggly little country named Malawi for the first time.

I didn't know Malawi, much less Africa. I knew that the roads are red dirt and that I have no rooms to let and that women carry heavy loads on their heads. I knew there is poverty and mud and thatch and epidemics of horrible diseases. I knew there are tribes and villages and millionaires and big cities.

Now I have been here for three days short of seven weeks.

I still don't know Africa.

I don't know Africa, but I know Sarai (no, that's not her name, because yes, I have serious concerns about sharing names and faces on the internet), who is raising two little girls in a village hut while caring for her mother. I know her husband lives on the other side of town with a different woman. I know she hears questions like, "Mom, why don't I have a Dad to buy me treats, like my friends do?"

I don't know Africa, but I know how to eat nsima without getting it all over the place. (That adverbial might be false.)

I don't know Africa, but I know people who have dedicated their lives to investing in its citizens. These people pour their heart and soul into their work, whether its spiritual, educational, medical, entrepreneurial, or material (what's the adjective to describe work that involves the building of houses, wells, schools, fences, irrigation systems, and churches?).

I don't know Africa, but I know how to greet a stranger in Chichewa. I also know how to respond when that stranger takes the greeting as an invitation to start an entire conversation in Chichewa. I also know how to respond when that stranger, along with all and any bystanders, decides to laugh hysterically at me for not knowing any Chichewa beyond my scripted greeting.

I don't know Africa, but I know how it is to be stared at. And laughed at. And stared at after being laughed at.

I don't know Africa, but I know that the sky here is marvelous. The red sun sinks below a haze of dry-season smog, softening to pink before slipping behind a craggy hill. Orion stands beside a crescent moon at 05:00, as reassuring in this hemisphere as he was in the one I quitted three days short of seven weeks ago. Morning light glimmers over Lake Malawi, calling attention to the contrast of the blue of the water with the blue of the sky, harmonious in their different hues.

I don't know Africa, but I know how wonderful it feels to have coffee on a sand dune watching those two blues.

I don't know Africa, but I know the hospitality of its people, whether they be citizens of a village or of a Christian college campus.

I don't know Africa, but I know that I want to be here, teaching students who have the potential to become the next leaders within this area, or this city, or this country.

I don't know Africa, but I think I can get to know it, or at least the squiggle of it that I currently call home.

I don't know Africa, but I want to, by the sustaining grace of the God who brought me here.

I don't know Africa, but I know that Palibe wofana nye Yesu. There's no one like Jesus.

Welcoming Wednesdays, or, How Can I Have a Great Day Every Day?

In the classroom here, sometimes I feel ridiculous. I have walked my MacBook around the room so every student can see the image that I would have projected on the board if I had a projector. I have written entire grammar exercises on the white board so students can come up and add in the punctuation--again, oh for a projector! I try to follow the school's paper-light policy, and ergo give a lot of information verbally that I would rather make a packet of handouts for. The students are cooperative, attentive, and generally pretty stinking smart, so this doesn't necessarily adversely affect their learning.

Daily challenges are no reason to have a negative outlook on teaching. Wednesdays have the connotation of "stuck in the middle of the week." I can't say that I feel that way. Wednesdays mean I have two days under my belt and two days ahead to somehow juggle my lesson plans to make everything happen before the end of the day on Friday.

I love Wednesdays. I love every day. I don't love my habit of bumping my lesson plans around, but I love making the classes flow into each other. I love hearing my students discuss things before I even have to prompt them with questions. I love the puzzle of challenging my students that are ahead of the game (e.g. those who finished the entire the book when I assigned Ch. 1-2). What I really love is throwing in random opportunities for my students to earn bonus points (called Q-points up there in Room B). While doing a vocabulary exercise, for instance, fourteen pairs glazed eyes pleaded for mercy. When we came to a question asking for a definition of "aghast," I asked the young'uns to make a face as if they were aghast about something. Have you ever had fourteen pairs of eyes, open as wide as possible, suddenly fix themselves on you, accompanied by open mouths and shrill gasps? How could I not laugh for a solid three minutes? They all earned the Q-point, let me tell you. Teachers everywhere, have a reward system. Have a magic word. It brings light and joy into the classroom that will turn your world around. Hands that erstwhile held up heavy heads shoot into the air and wave wildly, begging to be called on. Feet that were tapping to a nonsensical beat cease movement as brains click on and responses fly into the air like so many starlings driven by ambition and instinct.

In case you are curious about what's going on my classes, here's a summary of my current classroom to-do list:
-Post student work on the bulletin boards (I may post pictures if it looks as phenomenal as I am hoping).
-Compile, print, and distribute the first student-written newspaper (I'm teaching the Journalism elective).
-Finish reading The Scarlet Letter, Peace Child, and Rascal (Ok, I have finished some of this reading; I do need to continuously review each class's homework assignment; my new dream superpower is the ability to predict student questions regarding novels before hearing the questions in the middle of class).
-Grade AmLit's Puritan-imitation poetry (Yeah, weird assignment. I'm a fan of weird assignments).
-Organize extra help groups.
-Write up the next set of lesson plans! This to-do list item never, ever moves! It's the greatest consistency and comfort of my life as a teacher! If all else fails, I can always write lesson plans!

Was that boring? I hope not. I'm not sure how interested my audience is in the teaching side of my life here. So there it is--short and sweet summary, I hope.

To give the short answer to the titular question, I can have a great day every day because I'm a teacher in Lilongwe.

Did that sound overly simplified, idealistic, and optimistic? It should have.

Here's my classroom. All my students love the chair arrangement. I didn't know it would be such a novelty. It's simple, but it's a keeper.

I'm not going to lie, I'd love to be able to share shots of my students. They make the room so much more interesting, trust me. 

Life in Lilongwe, or, Two Posts in One Day

Today I walked down the street outside the walls of campus. I was accompanied, be not alarmed. Maybe, on the other hand, some of you are alarmed that I haven't done this until now. I advise you to look up the rate of traffic-related fatalities in my current nation of residence.

Today I attended an outdoor movie night with free popcorn at a dive down the road. This event sounded pretty American, but when we got there I realized it was much nicer (and sufficiently Maliawan). The setting was so sweet, with easy chairs set up in little semi-circles separated by thin fences. The popcorn was served on plates, not paper bags. The movie was so cute, and the company was great. It was excessively diverting.

The other day I let someone take this picture of me.

Those are mbewa. You can sometimes buy them on the side of the road. You can sometimes find them in your kitchen (I haven't). You can sometimes hear them in your ceiling (I have). 

Life in Lilongwe has somewhat become Life at ABC, but I am making an effort not to let it be so. Today, in my 'umble opinion, I made some progress.

What's New, or, Why I Love Saturday Mornings

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon, I start off my Journalism class asking my five students "What's New?", to which they are supposed to respond with a current event and some valid commentary on said event. Some of them do a terrific job. Some of them say, "They caught that guy that did that shooting in that school." The students in the latter group get a certain look from yours truly. Then they get on a computer (while I pray that the internet is working) and pull up the article in order to get any kind of credit whatsoever.

Oh. We're talking about Saturday mornings, aren't we? I love Saturday mornings because I can sleep in past 7, make a pot of relatively decent coffee, and drink that coffee slowly while reading my Bible equally slowly. I love a morning off from the rush of heading out the door, from my exercise routine (of walk-jog-walk-walking, nothing extraordinary), and from looking presentable within an hour of waking up. In other words, I love Saturday mornings here for the same reasons I loved them at home.

And that consistency makes me very happy, because it makes this place a bit more like home.

Of course, at home I never had Saturday mornings of packing up and going to Lake Malawi. But that was last week's story.

In other news, we just finished up week 4 of school; I am struggling to follow my lesson plans (which  move way too quickly for my students); I have joined the small band of small group leaders for the youth group of the church I'm attending; my students are more enjoyable every day; I am a co-coach for one of the middle school soccer teams (and yes, I can hear those of you who know me well laughing hysterically at the idea).

I am so thankful for the many blessings that surround me each day here--my wonderful housemate; my dear friends, the Ms; the kindness of the other teachers here on campus; the students that greet me each day; the breezy, sunny weather of this Saturday morning; the small class of Journalism students that tries my patience and stretches my teaching skills and gives me interesting new perspectives on the world. How's that for a full circle?

Musings

Sometimes.

Sometimes when I'm off campus (not often enough, these days), I see shabby, slanted mud houses inhabited by barefoot kids and bent women and I think about how hard it is to see such poverty. Then I realize it's not hard enough. Even though this poverty is just a stone's throw away from my front door, I live as American a life as can be imagined in Malawi--no diseases, thank you, Malarone; normal food, thank you, Chipiku; shoes, clothes, and sunglasses; books, movies, and internet. There are some interesting challenges, but none that inconvenience me to the point of hunger or pain. Yet those are some of the defining aspects of my unknown fellow Lilongwe-residents' days. And I am not shocked or bothered enough by it. I teach my well-dressed students, come home to a well-stocked kitchen, and know that if I listened closely enough, I might hear cheerful campus kids playing somewhere nearby. It's lovely. But it's not representative of this city. It's not all of my life here.

Sometimes I think about how sickened I am by selfishness and callousness. Then I am sickened when I think of how selfish and callous I am, and shame on me, because I'm here, in the tenth poorest nation in the world, typing on my MacBook with chai tea in reach. There is so much I could do. Be not alarmed; I have found some opportunities, and fully plan on finding something that I can participate in while teaching.

Pray for me, praying friends. Pray I wouldn't try to get comfortable here. Pray that I would not be satisfied with only doing my job (as much as I love and value it), but that I would seek to assist and love anyone within reach. There is so much need.

Girl Meets Lake Malawi, or, There and Back Again

Today I was introduced to Lake Malawi, which from henceforth I may refer to as the nonpareil body of water that has brought this country fame, a place of beauty and splendor par excellence.

See? Oh how I wish I were a better blogger, writer, and photographer so I could ensure your understanding of how fantastic this place is. Sigh. Look at that sand. Look at that sky. Look at the water! 

Here are some of the dear friends that brought me along. Yep, we're all in black and pink, except for the young'un. 

That's Lizard Island down yonder. Guess what lives there. 

Here's a shot from the rocks we walked to, climbed up, and nearly slid down. We walked to this place twice. The first time, we spotted a python sunning himself in a crevice; we were dazzled by his designer skin; we were incredibly creeped out by his immense size. The second time, I brought my camera along. 

No more python. But the view up on the rocks was lovely.  

We did wonder where the snake went as we climbed higher and higher.

Here behold a fisherman in a dugout canoe.

Here behold our walk back to our spot on the beach. 

We had lunch at the restaurant at Livingstonia, a beautiful resort right on the lake. At the table beside us, a solitary customer left his place unattended too long. It was overtaken by a non-solitary monkey. 

These guys (see below. not the monkeys.) cracked me up all day. Their laughter is catching. Their compliments are adorable: "Oh, Barb, I like your swim costume." Their antics are endearing. 

After a good long week of being busy, sitting in the sun, feet covered in sand after a swim, reading a great book sans mental lesson planning was probably the only formula to make this day yet another best day ever. 

did that sound overly optimistic and positive? It should have. 

In other news (and now let my tone take a turn for the serious), on our way back today I witnessed the Nyau for the first time. This sub-culture/cult in Malawian village life imprisons people in fear and darkness, the former apparent in the faces of the women I saw running from the freakishly dressed Nyau. These men have secret rituals and initiations, and they cover themselves with odd combinations of rags and animal masks before they dance around the village scaring people. Tradition in the village says that these people are actually spirits and not people at all, which gives them the liberty to do as they please with the villagers. It was disturbing and tragic to see. I thought of the hope prophesied in Isaiah 9:

The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.

There is hope in darkness, because that is precisely where light shines.

Good Reads, or, An Update of Sorts

I highly recommend to anyone interested in missions--and by "interested in missions," I really mean anyone reading my blog--the reading of missionary biographies. I'm currently reading Give Me this Mountain by Helen Roseveare, which was suggested to be by my grandma (thanks Grandma!), and I have been astounded by the story of this woman's conversion and growth in grace. Where I am in the book, she hasn't even gone to Africa yet. In case you don't have access to a copy because you live in a country without bookstores (haha. that is I, not most of you), or have already read it, let me recommend a few others for you:

• If I Perish, by Esther Ahn Kim
• Shadow of the Almighty, by Elisabeth Elliot (prepare to be dazzled)
• Evidence Not Seen, Darlene Diebler Rose
• The Woman with the Book, about Gladys Alyward, by someone whose name escapes me
• Peace Child, by Don Richardson, which I'm currently reading with my ninth graders
• The Savage my Kinsman, again by Elisabeth Elliot
• Beyond Gates of Splendor, by Elisabeth Elliot (if you haven't already, please consider reading everything written by Elisabeth Elliot)

I love reading these books. These are people who spent their lives obeying the Lord, whether that meant missions in a country far from home or going to prison for Jesus' sake. God revealed Himself to them with amazing examples of grace and mercy, supplying their physical and spiritual needs in the most awful circumstances. And the best part is? We serve the same God. Maybe we aren't going to be imprisoned. Maybe we won't spend two years with indigenous Ecuadorians sans electricity, water, and walls. Maybe we're called to something that looks utterly different, like teaching on a safe, comfortable, Christian campus in Malawi (again, that would be I). We are still called to love and serve the same God that performed miracles in places far away. He still reveals Himself with that same grace and mercy to us in the everyday and ordinary.

In other news, this week was marked by my first shopping trip [almost] on my own. Actually, I wasn't on my own at all. I relied very heavily on the sense of direction and driving skills of my housemate, who has lived in Malawi on and off for several months now. At any rate, we had a great morning running to different stores--including a fun farmer's market, where we bought lovely crafts and vegetables. I also finally made something in my kitchen (my housemate also cooks pretty much all the time. I finally made cookies. And Mexican rice.) and gave my classes their first quiz. I went out to the village with some other teachers and had lunch in a very generous Malawian woman's home. Who in America has people over and welcomes and feeds the strangers they tote along with them? There are so many things here that simply aren't done at home, or at least not done very often, or at least not done very often in New Jersey. 

My housemate and I also hosted our first get-together of the teachers on campus. Have I mentioned that my housemate cooks? She fed us all homemade pizza and cookies. I helped too. I grated the cheese and sliced the peppers. I tell you, she's amazing!

Ready for a photo? Here is my KitchenAid and the cookie dough. Oh. You don't see the KitchenAid? That's awkward.

Here we are on our shopping trip. I didn't take photos of the farmer's market because I felt like such a tourist already. But here we are within the confines of the car we use from ABC. Did I tell you we had a great time? I bought a cute chitenge apron. Come over when I'm home for Christmas and I'll wear it while I make you tea and cookies. With a KitchenAid.

Finalmente, I can tell you I currently love teaching here. I know not what challenges lie ahead that may change my current paradigm, but right now, I love getting up in the morning and heading to my classroom. My classes are a great mix of students, some impossible and some incredibly sweet, and many in between. I love seeing them every day and trying to be the best teacher I know how to be for them. That may sound a little, well, airy, idealistic, impractical, sentimental, and overly optimistic, but just now, it's true. Just so you know! 

If you find a great missionary bio that's not on my list, alert me to its existence! 

To reach a port, we must set sail.

My first sailing experience was not so philosophically motivated as FDR's quote may suggest, but it was nonetheless diverting and lovely and memorable. Yesterday I joined the Ms, along with a few other ABC families, on a day trip to Kamuzu dam, the location of our water supply and the only sailing club I've heard of here yet. 

The day was sunny and bright and very still when we arrived, but the wind picked up after our picnic lunch, so out we went. There were also rowboats, which we made use of as well, but I must say I soon developed a great appreciation for wind power. 

This guy was ready to head out.  

This one sailed his hammock-boat over stormy seas, using a funnel (I think) as an oar. 

You're welcome for the pictures. I'm sorry I have no evidence of my newly developed, but nonetheless enviable, sailing skills...er, not really. I did not sail, but went along for the ride. It sufficed for the time being. 

And as we left, there was a sunset to make your heart soar. My phone camera did it absolutely no justice, and I can but give you a glimpse of the glorious Malawi sky.

Just as a post script, since I'm loading pictures anyway, here's a picture of my princess bed! I've had a love-hate relationship with this canopy. Ha. I mean treated mosquito net. I hate when it touches my head getting out of bed in the morning. I love that it keeps the mosquitos from giving me malaria as I sleep. I hate the way I can't make my bed properly because it always has to be tucked in all the way. I love that it keeps the spiders off my face. I hate how it keeps me from ever sitting and reading on my bed during the day. I love that it keeps geckos from settling in my pillow. See? Love-hate relationship. It's great. 

With that farewell.

"Sail, not tie at anchor.

Sail, not drift. "

An Unabashedly Christian Education

I must be honest.

I was something like nervous about teaching in a Christian school. Throughout the course of my teacher training, I observed, tutored, and taught in public schools, while attending a public university. Perhaps it sounds odd, after attending a K-12 Christian school, that just 4 years in a secular setting would have such an affect. But it did.

However, after today, Day One, my almost-nervousness is lessened. I so heartily appreciate my Christian education, and I'm so excited to be teaching in a Christian school. We opened the assembly with prayer. I have to include "Spiritual Integration" in each lesson plan. We have spiritual emphasis week sometime next year. I have Psalm 19:14 posted above my white board, a reminder to me as much as to my students as we start studying language:

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my Strength, and my Redeemer."

To market, to market

Sorry, patient friends. I meant to post this days ago, but got a little sidetracked. Pretend you're reading this last Thursday, ok? 

For my immediate family members, prepare yourselves for a little repetition.

Yesterday part of our orientation exercises included a two hour scavenger hunt of the Lilongwe open market. I should say string of a thousand markets. The stalls went on and on, across the road, behind buildings, through clusters of huts; if it hadn't been for my thoughtful and protective group members and guides, I would probably still be there, lost and wandering and taking it all in.

I wish I had the time to watch Blogger load some pictures so I could show you all. I will be telling you instead. Here goes.

We had to find the Lilongwe Red Box, which looked like a salesman with a bucketful of pirated movies, as well as the Toll [or Troll] bridge, which was a few thin logs attached with crooked planks spaced about 8 inches apart and swayed reassuringly with every step. We bought chitenge and learned how to use it as either a skirt or baby carrier. We also had to buy a chicken, which was selected, paid for, plopped in a recycled plastic bag, and given a hole for its head (it was alive, in case you didn't get that). I could have bought anything from artistically arranged piles of dried fish to unidentified phone batteries to Tupperware. I was so utterly fascinated.

Now. I cannot pretend this astounding place was picturesque. It wasn't. It was grimy and crowded and smelled, well, different from Garden State Plaza. I don't want to emphasize the dirtiness on the Internet, so suffice it to say that it was there. And it wasn't easy to stomach.

My favorite part could have been the chitenge market, which had tables laden with every printed design you could imagine. Florals, animals, solids, stripes, scanned photos of the Malawian president--anything could make it onto chitenge material. It was amazing.

Now, it is Sunday again.
As much as I appreciated the village church last week, it was wonderful to worship at an English church today, to hear the Word preached and sing in my own language. How thankful I am for God's provision of each place of worship!

Please pray for me as I begin school tomorrow. We have a school assembly, so I will only be meeting my homeroom students. All 6 of them. I cannot wait!

At Home in Malawi

Muli bwanji!

Today is the one-week anniversary of my arrival in Lilongwe. It took a few days to have wifi in my house, and my phone is not working at all, so please pardon my lengthy lack of communication. But here I am. My house is fantastically roomy, cozy, clean, and cheerful. I love it. I share with only one housemate just now, but it is possible that more teachers will come in the future. We have two more bed and bathrooms, so we feel a little overly wealthy with space!

The day after I arrived, I checked into the academy and toured around a bit. Certain delays from different areas meant I couldn't get any curriculum material quite yet, so I had until yesterday to look around and get to know Malawi.

On Thursday the Ms took my dad and me to Liwonde National Park, where we camped breathtakingly close to hippos and elephants. I'll share my pictures at some point, fear not. The following day we toured the park in our car and later took a boat safari to check out some rather large crocodiles and more hippos. I would share photos now, but internet is s-l-o-w and I'm sorry, but I haven't got the time! (the time, the time, who's got the time?)

On Sunday I attended a village church plant of the CCAP. Visitors sit next to the pulpit, just so you know. Their music is fantastic--they sing in parts, sans instruments, and each group or choir gets a turn to sing.

Today orientation begins, so I am off! I haven't met many teachers, so I am looking forward to getting to know them this week.

Please consider praying for me as I prepare for the first day of school on Monday. There is still much to do, with little time, but the Lord has kept me healthy and enthusiastic so far. There is also so much to be thankful for.

ok, one picture. These creatures were my favorites. This poor little guy has a broken leg, and struggled to keep up with his mom.

Finally, if you want to see pictures of my visit to my friend's village ministry, please email me or talk to my mom. I won't be posting pictures of anyone on the internet without their permission, and, well, how do you get permission from 300 kids?

How to Move to Malawi

Sometimes (not always. sometimes) I wish that this blog post existed. I have been frenetically making lists, checking things off, re-writing the lists, and thinking, what am I forgetting?. I need want a step-by-step guide. "This is how you pack everything you need." "This is how you make sure you don't lose any luggage." "This is how to speak Chichewa." "This is how you become part of a new community." "This is how you cook." "This is how..." The list goes on and on.

I'm still anticipating my move. I'm still excited (and a bit impatient) to be and live and teach in Malawi. But I'm also still learning to trust God, because after all, this is what the Lord said to His followers: "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid" (John 14.27).

And, well, this is where I'm going: (photo from nat.geo)

Wisdom for the Missionary from E. Elliot

One of the beautiful aspects of living the Christian life is the occasional encounter with a true kindred spirit--someone whose mind and heart somehow resonate with one's own, their lives, no matter how different, in sync because of a shared faith and hope. Sometimes I feel such a connection with believers I have never met; the individual on my mind today (and for the past two weeks or so) is Elisabeth Elliot.

Although I know (to clarify by means of Spanish, saber) and do not know (conocer) this lady, her writing provides an opportunity to see her heart, a heart dedicated to truth, holiness, and love. Most recently, I read her account of her one-year stay with the [then-known-as] Auca Indians of Ecuador. After a fascinating, better-than-ethnography account, she concludes with these wise words:

We must not proceed from our own notions of God's actions (it will appear He has not acted) but must look clearly and unflinchingly at what happens and seek to understand it through the revelation of God in Christ. His life on earth had a most inauspicious beginning...Yet out of this seeming weakness and failure, out of His very humbling to death, what exaltation and glory. For the will of God is not a quantitative thing, static and measurable. The Sovereign God moves in mysterious relation to the freedom of man's will. We can demand no instant reversals. Things must be worked out according to a divine design and timetable. Sometimes the light rises excruciatingly slowly. The Kingdom of God is like leaven and seed, things which work silently, secretly, slowly, but there is in them an incalculable transforming power. Even in the plain soil, even in the dull dough, lies the possibility of transformation for, as the psalmist wrote, 'All things serve Thee.'     The missionary, with all his sin and worldliness, stands nevertheless with Christ for the salvation of the world. As I learned when I was with the 'savages,' they do not need Christ more than I do, for we are all of us sheep who have turned every one to his own way. If I know who the Shepherd is and how to find Him, it is surely my duty to do what I can to point other sheep to Him. (E. Elliot, The Savage My Kinsman, 1961)

Did you catch all that? I've been reading it over and over, praying that the words be engrained in my memory, because I know that when I take the next step to being a teacher and missionary, challenges will most certainly arise and shake my confidence. But if I can remember that "There is only one ultimate guarantee...The love of Christ", then, only then, will I rise above my doubts, or rather, forsake my doubts, and continue in faith.

A Stranger and Pilgrim

Those before me all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country. And truly, if they had been mindful of that country from whence they came out, they might have had opportunity to have returned. But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he hath prepared for them a city.

These words were penned by an early church leader in a letter to the early Hebrew-Christian church. They bring comfort to one who plans on leaving home to teach on another continent in a few short weeks, for they remind her: home is not the white structure that has been the scene of so many memories, nor even the love and comfort of family and friends. Home is eternally heaven, and when I arrive there one day, I will never regret following God's lead to uncharted territory, be it an unfamiliar school or an unfamiliar continent.

Strangerhood is a confession to be made. A child of God is a traveler, a pilgrim, far from home, but with much to do along the way.