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.

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.