An Update. Simple. Straightforward.

As I walked out of ShopRite the other day, a red sun reminded me of the things I missed when I was home. I missed these sunsets, the way I missed teaching and purple birds and rooibos. I love being in this place where lantana grows the size of forsythia. I love being in this place where weather determines daily productivity rather than daily over-the-coffee-pot conversation.

I know I've not written much here since my return; in my defense, I've not written much of anything other than lesson plans and course objectives since my return. Free time does not appear in plentitude, though the things that fill my time continue to offer extensive and welcome stimulation.

Let me summarize. I have some new classes this year: two high school literature courses filled with all the best of the world's writers. Finally, I get to teach someone Tolstoy. It's marvelous. I'm again teaching the other Language Arts classes, as well as Journalism to a team of writers twice the size of last year's.

Most of my other activities have carried over from last year--attending Nyenyezi, assisting with youth group, holding chubby/adorable/now-walking baby Grace. (Look at how she's grown over the course of the year! What a sweet blessing to have watched her grow since our first meeting.)

The curriculum at Nyenyezi recently began again at Genesis for its weekly Bible lessons. Two weeks ago, talented teacher Ayati asked a few students to role play the story of Adam and Eve. The unnamed fruit of Genesis 3 was an unripened mango in our adaptation. These terrific actors managed to eat that colorless mango unreservedly. 

Blessings abound, as usual. At the risk of sounding repetitive to my loyal readers, I have to say that again I am grateful for the grace with which God fills each day, showing his love and mercy in new ways over and over again to the most unworthy. How can I but be filled with thankfulness? 

Back in Malawi

Most of my acquaintance know that I'm back in Malawi for a second school year. If any of my readers missed the memo, here I am! Back in Malawi for a second school year.

School starts tomorrow. I've settled back into my old room, which looks new thanks to the generosity and creativity of the fabulous housing coordinators here on campus; I've set up my classroom, which looks old thanks to a lack of truly appealing posters (student work will fill the blank spots on the walls soon, I trust); I've recognized one by one the things that I missed about this place.

The recurring rose gold sunsets. The bustling roads. The expanses of red dirt. The presence of dear friends. The inexplicable happiness of walking around school and preparing for students.

The days are filled with long lists of tasks and responsibilities in preparation for school, but even these are insufficient to keep me from enjoying being here again.

It's a little odd to feel that I just left home and came to a different place that I can't help but call home, but even this is a poignant reminder that no matter how comfortable I feel in a place, or how uncomfortable I feel leaving a place, the only place I'll truly belong is in the middle of God's will. That truth seems to slip my mind all too often, but it's the one thing that makes me feel most settled where I am called to be just now. For that, of course, I'm unwaveringly thankful.

Not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire

The chapters of the Bible devoted to the life of Elijah inspire high thoughts of God. Elijah prayed for God to show His glory to the leaders of false religion and God answered with fire from heaven. Elijah sent his servant to look out over the sea for rainclouds, and when the smallest hint of one appeared, he sent that servant to warn Ahab of the coming downpour. He was taken to heaven in a chariot of flames.

Yet one day, Elijah hid away in a cave and prayed that God would take away his life. He was hunted and afraid and exhausted. He prayed for death.

God sent a great wind, an earthquake, and a fire--and none of these dramatic scenes revealed God's presence to Elijah as did what followed--a still, small voice. God did not answer the suicidal prophet with a show of glory or overwhelming display of might, but rather with a whisper that said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?"

As I pack up my school supplies from my classroom, take down the scrawls of favorite poems from the walls, and fold up clothes to send to the village, I reflect on what's been a long, long year of startling winds, earthquakes, and fires.

None of these dramatic scenes revealed God's presence to me as did what followed--a still, small voice. Many were the times when I wondered, "Why would God ordain these things to happen to me over the course of this year? Isn't it too much? Why couldn't things have gone precisely the way I wanted them too?"

It doesn't matter, really. God guides through what he ordains to happen; I have to believe that. And when I think of how much I've learned and changed, I can't help but anticipate a year ahead. I return home this week, but I'll be back in Malawi to teach again, trusting the same God who guided a great prophet to Horeb, where He revealed His presence and His plan.

"And the angel of the Lord came again the second time, and touched him, and said, 'Arise and eat; because the journey is too great for thee. And he arose, and did eat and drink, and went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights unto Horeb the mount of God." {i kings 19.7-8}

Daily life, or, perhaps it's time for an update

Some of my greatest heroes of the faith include female Christian writers who beautifully describe why the gospel matters to everyday living. Elisabeth Elliot, for one, explains the importance of an orderly and godly family life in The Shaping of a Christian Family. Leslie Ludy describes how modesty, humility, gentleness, and order in everyday life are evidence of a heart committed to the Lord in Set Apart Femininity. Anne Ortlund is very practical with her mantra of "eliminate and concentrate" in Disciplines of a Beautiful Woman. Each of these books has contributed to the value I have found in living a life committed to the Lord--committed not only through confession, but also through practice. For me, this includes embracing order, structure, organization, and thereby beauty.

I live on a schedule during the week--moderate rather than stringent, but a schedule nonetheless. I get up absurdly early--"while it is yet night"--to exercise (and chat!) with a friend, to have plenty of time to prepare both my appearance and my heart for the day, and to open my classroom a bit earlier than necessary so I'm ready to welcome and teach my 11th-graders.

In the afternoons, I either continue working (life of a teacher!), work out with some great (and athletic beyond my limits) friends, visit Nyenyezi (Thursdays only), or go out (read: buy food). Evenings are generally scheduled for me, between ladies' Bible study, campus Bible study, youth group, and campus potluck. Things change up (a little), but the routine is generally the same--and glory be, it's rhythmic, manageable, and ever so enjoyable for a number of reasons.

First of all, when I follow an orderly schedule, I have immeasurably more time to spend reading, praying, writing, and thinking through things. The soul's stamina increases dramatically when that soul is fed with God's Word regularly and significantly.

Furthermore, I can be a better teacher. My lessons are ready-to-go the moment students walk in the door, and I make them feel welcomed (I hope) by sharing a fun PowerPoint on adjectives or asking a thought-provoking question about life that will relate to the day's discussion.

Finally, I can enjoy sweet moments of a great variety. Sometimes it means noticing the glorious sunset, or having coffee with a friend. Sometimes I can chat with students or campus kids or other teachers. Sometimes I can read a book that speaks to my heart for hours, candle burning and chai tea within reach. When I structure and organize the time I have, I find there is more time that can be enjoyed.

And when moments are enjoyed, how I can I help but be ever more grateful for the revealed creativity, glory, and goodness of a wondrous God?

An update (with pictures!)

I have been busy. Hasn't everyone?

Two weekends ago I attended my fabulous friend's bridal shower at the best cafe in Lilongwe. We all but took over.

Two weeks ago I played lots of Sorry with four exceptionally fun kids. I told you about that already.

What I didn't tell you was that during that week, I spent one afternoon getting one of my wards--and her four friends--primped for their performance at the ABCCA talent show. The girls danced to "Happy" and it was adorable. I took a break from selling hotdogs to get a video...and a terrible from-the-back row photo of the stage.

Promptly after my extended babysitting gig, I spent a long weekend at Nkhata Bay, which is a wondrously beautiful place a bit north on the lake. I spent four days relaxing, swimming, reading, and getting to know some great people a bit better.  

Last Thursday I headed to Chinsapo for the usual kids' Bible club, but it was far from usual! A team of short-termmers did a special presentation to the whole crowd of 800 kids at once. With the help of a very skilled interpreter, they shared the story of the father and his two sons. 

This past weekend I spent time by the pool and looked up at this sky. 

I also spent more than enough time in the kitchen, making more than enough food to feed myself and my housemates--BUT my housemates were away for most of the weekend. It was a sad and lonely 2 1/2 days. 

Finalmente, I spent Easter with some wonderful friends, including this sweet guy! (and Sydney :) )

Spring break has been a blessing so far. The best, however, is yet to come. I will publish another update roughly this time next week to share. (hint: my mom and sister are coming for a visitor. Did I say "hint"? I meant "spoiler.")

Look both ways

This morning my coffee vanished faster than ever before; I had consumed the entire pot before 7 a.m. This happened every morning this week, as I have needed to move in fast forward every day since Sunday, the day I moved in to my friends' house to watch over their four kids while they travelled to South Africa. They return home today, and I'll hand over the keys and the role of mom back to their proper owners.

This week has been interesting, and as I look back for a moment, I realize a few things. First off, being a mom is fun. Moms everywhere, you just can't say "Easy for you to say!" to me after this week. I know momhood is a bigger deal than my week's sojourn in those shoes has been, but it's fun to give goodbye hugs and welcome home hugs, to use the "You have my care and compassion" voice and the "I don't want to have to tell you again" voice, to read stories and to check homework, to be in charge of getting dinner on the table and checking the doors at night and drying tears and laughing at jokes. Secondly, being a working mom is tough. To get myself and four young'uns out the door--clean, fed, dressed, supplied, and happy--on time challenged my typical can-do attitude as I enter my classroom every day. I can't help but idealize the sending-them-out-the-door, still-in-my-sweats image of being a mom. 

Anyway, I share all these details journal-style to say that today is a day of looking back and reflecting on the last few things I've learned, as well as looking head and setting some goals. It's the last day of the third quarter of the year, and two weeks of holiday lie before me just head of the fourth and final quarter of my first year of teaching/my first year of Africa/my first year away from home. I think some reflection is warranted. 

I've learned that I can do more than I thought I could. For a good month this quarter, I was convinced that I couldn't make it; I thought I'd crumple and fold and fail. I truly wanted to give up. When the Christian has nothing to lean on, when her emotional and mental supports (those that she constructed for herself) are demolished, she's reminded of something she thought she knew: everything she does can only be done in the strength and blessing of Jesus Christ. 

Simple Living, or, a conviction of materialism

Christian artists Keith and Kristyn Getty wrote a song about a certain rich young man. The last verse is as follows:

Oh teach me, Lord, to walk this road,
The road of simple living,
To be content with what I own,
And generous and giving;
and when I cling to what I have,
Please wrest it quickly from my grasp.
I'd rather lose all the things of earth
And gain the wealth of heaven. 

It may be a little unexpected for a developing-nation-dweller to be convicted by this simple song, but I am. It's not all that hard to live an outwardly simple life with a very materialistic heart. I may live simply according to American standards: cement floor, no air conditioning, power outages, questionable availability of things at the grocery store, no Target, no dishwasher, no microwave. I have less than half the pairs of shoes I had in the States. I rotate between about seven work outfits. I have scarcely a dozen books and no movies of my own. Doesn't this sound like simple living? When I have little to "cling to," how could I ask God to "wrest it quickly from my grasp"?

The key is "what I have." I may not have much, but I get annoyed when my few shoes get dirty. I take pride in the three of my seven outfits that are reasonably stylish. Having little does not prevent clinging to what I have. And worse, I am not "content with what I own."

This isn't so easy to confess, especially since materialism wasn't something I specifically identified as a sin in my life until the past few months. One thing that alerted me to its vile presence was the offer of my lovely mom (Hi, Mom!) to bring me some stuff when she comes to visit me (She's coming to visit me!). My list was twenty items long just from the first brainstorm.

You see, it's not having a gecko in my bathroom or enduring power outs that makes life simple. I can't consider myself un-materialistic because I have so much space in my closet or only one pair of decent sandals. I can't excuse myself from greed because I live on a pretty small sum each month.

Simple living is a calling from God that actually doesn't start with money or things or conveniences. It starts with a heart that sincerely desires the "wealth of heaven." Such a heart isn't phased by physical need or inconvenience, because its dependence is on a spiritual strength that sustains much more thoroughly than stuff does. Simple living is "generous and giving" and altogether forgetful of tomorrow's physical needs (or wants). Simple living is hands open, receiving blessings, only to turn around and pour blessings into someone else.

{alongside a hiking trail at Nkhoma}

That's not what I wanted.

As Christians around the world enter the season of focused remembrance of Christ's life, death, and resurrection, I can't help but think about how shamefully often my own desires come above pretty much anything else in my life.

Need examples? 

I wanted to join my favorite campus family on a trip to the lake next weekend, but yesterday I was told that I have mandatory meetings next week Friday and Saturday. Oh. 

I wanted to stagger when I start novels with each class, so I'm not behind on my reading. But today I had to push off lesson plans because I couldn't finish the reading in time to teach the next chapter. Oh. 

I wanted to have an easier week this week, because my brain is getting a little fried. My to do list is a little extra long because of writing pieces I have to complete other than my lesson prep material. Oh. 

I wanted to be the best teacher ever, but sometimes I become angry and impatient and demonstrative of a terrible, un-godly attitude. Oh. 

I don't get what I want, and sometimes it makes me even more frustrated. 

But maybe I have to give up what I want. I ask myself, "Don't I want God's glory more? Don't I want to become less self-focused? Don't I want others to see Christ Jesus instead of me? Don't I want to walk worthy of the vocation wherewith I have been called {eph. 4.1}?" If I answer yes, I depend on mercy to forgive my automatic selfishness and spiritual revival to put what I wanted aside, and instead be in tune to God's will.

So at the times when what I want seems so much more important that what I receive, I have to remind myself to count up the blessings that surround me. The lavender candle that reminds me of home, the Target mug full of chai tea, the note from a friend, the cool after-rain breeze coming in the window--these all team together to remind me of daily grace.

Speaking of grace, holding sweet, darling, chubby baby Grace was the greatest blessing I received today. She's beautiful, friends. Beautiful. 

Day by day. by day. by day.

There's a snail the size of my foot that lives in the grassy yard outside my house. The existence of such a creature perturbs me, especially when I almost step on it while leaving my house before daylight to go for my ridiculously early run/walk/jog/mostly walk. I'm not sure why, but I find snails--particularly large ones--more loathsome than almost any other of God's creatures. I don't like spiders or millipedes or rats, but nothing makes me shudder like a snail.

I wish I shuddered like that when I'm confronted with my sin. Nothing should be more loathsome to me than my daily falls in the face of temptation. Since my time here, I have seen varieties of sin I had not identified in my life before, and sometimes I'm shocked. Sometimes, I'm ashamed to admit, I'm apathetic. Sometimes I even try to excuse myself.

But there is no excuse. God has called me from darkness into His marvelous light. I have treasured the words of exhortation and encouragement in Romans 6: "How can we, who are dead to sin, live any longer therein?" Sin and faith cannot grow in the same heart. I haven't taken that truth seriously enough, but I'm thankful to the God that reminds me of it day by day. by day. by day. Over and over, through my quiet time or a conversation with a fellow believer, I am again taught lessons that I am slow to learn. And over and over, I thank Him again for grace.

On a Saturday

I love watching the clouds build up here, impressive reminders of one of my favorite Bible stories, found in the midst of I Kings. 

After the astounding situation at Mount Carmel, Ahab heads home in his chariot. Elijah, meanwhile, starts praying, and sends his servant to run. "Tell me what you see," he said. The servant sees nothing until his seventh trip back, after which he says to his master, "I see a cloud the size of a man's hand rising from the sea." Elijah's response is what echoes through my head when these thunder clouds loom:

"Go tell Ahab to hurry, lest the rain stops him."  

I woke up early this morning because I always do.

I had to make myself presentable a little earlier than usual in order to head down to the campus pavilion and help the church ladies set up for a conference.

I attend IBF, a church not directly affiliated with one denomination, here in Lilongwe, and have been blessed by a number of dear friends within the church family. This week, a team from one of IBF's American supporting churches visited Malawi and ran a number of projects, including this conference.

You know how you may know people, within or outside of your church, who go on short-term mission trips? They do things like run VBS for a week, build or knock down buildings, hand out donations, go out on evangelism trips, or, well, host conferences for Christians in developing countries? I knew plenty of people like that. It's a little odd being on the other side of things, the side of being the one for whom the short-term mission team was sent.

I spent a delightfully long bit of the time holding sweet little Kumbu, a chubby four-month old who loved wrapping his fingers around mine. 

These days have been full, and I've felt drained of stamina at the end of each day, until I open again the book full of stories of mercy and grace, or storm clouds over the sea. I may be exhausted, but there is always strength offered. There's always more grace.

Flood relief.

Here's a post I started almost two weeks ago. The weekend referred to as "this weekend" is 31st January to 2nd February. Sorry for the delay; thank you for grace.

In mid-January, the southern part of Malawi flooded to the point of devastation. Homes crumbled, maize fields vanished, and nearly 200 people died. Tens of thousands were displaced--the numbers of different reports conflict, but considering the number of people living in this tiny country, and the utter destruction wreaked by the flood waters, it is certain that an overwhelming number of people lost most or all of their material possessions in a matter of hours.

That happened more than three weeks ago.

Those people are still homeless and desperate.

This weekend a team from the academy here headed on down to hand out donations of maize and supplies. I joined four of my students and ten ABC staff members on a very intense weekend. We stayed at the foot of Mt. Mulange--that most beautiful and glorious of mountains, which I visited almost four months ago--and drove over miles and miles of well-pitted dirt roads to get as close as we could to the flood zone. Our accommodations were sweet, comfortable chalets, with a dazzling view of a mountain outside the window.

The mountain region truly is grand. This road was so very pot-holed, our heads made frequent contact with the ceiling, but the way the fog rolled down the rocky slope, meshing with high waterfalls, was enough to make the heart sing. 

 To be clear--and ethical--the people in the picture below were not flood victims. I just liked the kid's shirt in contrast with the lady's lovely chitenge.

 At one point, one of the vehicles was stuck in the mud. (This is an understatement. We were constantly concerned for the success of our vehicles, with numerous confirmations that our concerns were valid.) Anyway, at this particular point, a sizable crowd contributed to the effort to push it free.

We worked out of a school used as a site to help the victims of the floods, and we set up shop in one of the classrooms. Hand-drawn posters of the parts of the flower hung beside hand-drawn maps of Africa, decorating the simple walls that surrounded us. We set out hundreds of buckets--something like 460--and filled them with soap, dishes, Bibles, blankets, pots, and mosquito nets. Then people--numbering more than 460--lined up in order of village to receive the gift.

One mother carried in a chubby-cheeked baby named Fanny, and received a small blanket with baby cereal, a Bible, and a cup. A cup. A cup like the proverbial boy who wanted to slowly drain the ocean dry. One plastic cup. I'm pretty sure all of us felt a little like that boy--persistent in performing our task, but honestly, when we took a step back, we can't help but see it's still just one plastic cup for one little baby and her mom, one little baby of thousands that are now destitute.

 On Monday morning, some of our team members hiked a small portion of Mulange. The views were indescribably beautiful, from the sun streaming over the cliff to the rainy-season-blessed waterfall, to the tiny flowers along the trail.

 I know this picture is horrible, but I just wanted to prove I was there! With some wonderful people! And a guide who is still practicing his photography skills!

Working alongside my students gave me a chance to realize that I may stress to them the importance of handing in their project proposals on time or following MLA formatting, and I may pressure them to study harder for their next vocabulary quiz or to articulate their arguments well in class, but this is what matters: can they (can I) serve the neediest of people around us with hearts free of contempt, self-congratulations, and complaint? Can we show God's love to the people who ask for more than we give, to those serving with us perhaps not working quite as hard as we are, to those who stayed home for any number of reasons? Can we forget about ourselves and do literally everything only, ever, all for Jesus?

The answer, of course, is no. I failed so miserably on this trip to have the right heart, to show God's love, and to utterly forget myself. But God is so very gracious that, weak though our attempts at following him may be, he turns our strivings into works of grace for the least of these.

Back Home in Malawi

I've been back for a day, and none the worse for wear. I'm thankful to be in Malawi.

I feel I've come back to a different country--one that's lush and green and breezy. See this picture? That's the view from my lovely, sunny Room B.

Yes, this is a pretty poor picture, because no, I have not taken a panorama before, because yes, I have an iPhone now, because no, I did not have a functioning good phone before now, and yes, I will be taking countless pictures now, because no, I did not take enough last semester, and yes, I am thrilled to have a nice phone, and no, I don't have a picture of it.

As rough as the long haul to get here was, and as sad as it was to leave my dear family and friends, I am so happy to back here. I have a hundred and one things to do to get ready to teach on Monday, but I have lots of fun new school supplies, a new French press and stash of coffee, new shoes, and a new semester ahead of me. It's exciting.

It's not necessarily easy; it was great to live in the world of Target and Starbucks (and Targets with Starbucks in them) for a few weeks, where I can get in a car and plan on being back in 30 minutes because I can get to four different places quickly, on safe roads, and, well, make it back home in 30 minutes. American food, cold nights, and a cozy bed ensured comfort and enjoyment every day. But that isn't my life right now. It's funny to think about how long it has been my life--nearly 23 years--but now, as I jump into year 23, it's not my life anymore; it's vacation.

Life is back here in the breezy rainy season of Malawi, where there are papers to grade, mosquito nets to tuck around the mattress, obstacles to drive around, bugs to violently dispatch of, and food to hopefully purchase (without guarantees of availability).

Not to mention friends to catch up with, students to welcome back, and new markers to write on the board with.

I can't complain.