Tale of Two Parties- Part 1

Last week my Man threw a party of appreciation for the precious people who work for us and their families. There was music and dancing, and lots of food and laughter. One of my missionary friends told me how parties work here. Status is everything. Only the most important guests get meat (white people are a shoo in). Everyone else gets rice and sauce.

Not this party.

My Man spared no expense for them. I loved watching their faces when we handed them each a plate with meat on it. Priceless.

They thought it was strange for us to have a party for them, to serve them. It probably made us look good....and I hate that part of it because we knew better.

You see, we believe that JESUS came not to be served, but to serve others. We believe that if HE lived in our house, HE wouldn't be vying for the attention of the prestigious. HE would be serving the servants. HE does crazy things like that. So, we're just trying to keep up with our WILD MAN.

It turned out that our guests knew that all along. As the party was winding down, one of the men (a precious lover of GOD) called everyone's attention and announced that it was time to say thank you. My stomach got a little nervous. I prepared myself for a speech of gratitude...to us. I surprised and angered myself when for a moment, I actually wanted it to be that.

Instead, he broke out into a song of spontaneous thanks to GOD. In typical African style, everyone joined right in and sang with all their heart and all their voice! They thanked GOD for HIS abundance. They thanked HIM for HIS love and how much HE gives to them. They sang thanks for all the blessing that GOD has poured on them.

I smiled when they sang about abundance. They are right. They're not poor. They have been lavished by the MOST HIGH.

Woohoo! That's some truth!!! HE alone is worthy!!

"I AM the LORD and there is no other" Isa 45:5,6,18,22, 46:9 (HE said this a lot!)

Sweet

Have you ever stood in front of a bakery counter surveying all the delectable pastries, unable to choose which one to indulge in? That's how I feel today. My lengthy break from blogging has resulted in a pileup of sweet moments to share. If I recollect correctly (it's been a while since I've been in one) I rarely make it out of a bakery with just one thing. So, I think I'll do the same today.

Here are the highlights of our last weeks.

* We were just leaving a little restaurant near our house. As we left we passed a large monkey crouched on the ground near a tree. Now, it is common knowledge that Little Aggie gives off an energy that terrifies animals, forcing them into a primal mode of self defense. So, why didn't I just carry Little Aggie to the car? Novice error. Before I had time to react, I saw the monkey open its mouth wide and let out a loud hiss. Then, it charged toward Little Aggie, leaped up and bit him on his arm before speedily retreating up the tree.

6 shots and two weeks later, Little Aggie was good as new. Ah, what is an African adventure without a series of rabies vaccines anyway?

* Our family took a boat ride to a small island off the coast of Guinea. We pulled up near its beach and waded into shore. After a brief hike across the island through beautiful African forest, we arrived at a clean, beautiful beach. It was a little surreal. I guess I didn't realize how much I have grown unaccustomed to seeing land that isn't devoured with trash. The kids splashed around in the waves all day. There were no near-drownings or rabid animal bites, so Little Aggie was getting bored. I think he was relieved when he found a hypodermic needle. He pulled off the protective cap and held it up for my Man to see, "Look Daddy, a shot!" And the fun just keeps on comin....

* We woke Easter morning and left to spend the early hours at an outdoor service with about 50 missionaries from various organizations. It wasn't fancy. It was simple and genuine and sweet. I don't think even one person was wearing anything new. It didn't matter. There was just an ease, and a sweetness in the LORD and with each other.

* We spent Easter afternoon at a party with friends from work. On our way home we drove into a political protest that had taken over the streets. Protesters had positioned motorcycles to block traffic and people swarmed the road. We crept slowly through and as people noticed Americans were in the car they would raise their arms and cheer. My beloved Africans. They love America. When they saw us, they saw the representation of what they were marching for.

There are many other delicacies on the shelves that I haven't shared and still many more being prepared for me by the FATHER.

And just like every bakery has that sweet aroma, it is my earnest desire that each of these experiences, each moment of my time in this, our land, will be that sweet aroma before HIM.

HIS way

I thought I knew what life in Africa would be like for us. In the weeks before we left, the FATHER surprised me by telling me that it was not going to be what I expected. HE didn't tell me anything specific, just that it was not going to be what I thought it was.

TRUTH was right. TRUTH is always right.

If anyone else had tried to tell me that we would be doing and living the way we are here, I wouldn't have believed them. And even if I had, I would have been disappointed. This is not the life I expected or wanted. In fact, my way was so much more "godly".

One of my favorite and frequently quoted verses is this:

"Our GOD is in Heaven. HE does whatever HE wants" Psalm 115:3

Isn't that reassuring? I can't figure HIM out. I can't call the shots or make the plans or tell HIM what to do. HE doesn't do what I please. HE does what HE pleases.

That way I'm safe.

And you know what? I'm not disappointed.

Shameless Bragging

A couple days ago someone referred to my husband as a rock star. I found it fitting since I have always thought of the kids and I as his groupies. We think he is totally cool.

A lot of words describe my Man: loyal, trustworthy, fearless, confident and untameable. But,no word is more fitting of him than this: wise.

Today as I was on my way home, I was wrestling with an issue in my head. I knew that in just a few hours I could just tell my Man about it and he would know exactly what to do. A wave of gratitude came over me. I get to be married to the wisest person I know and I feel completely safe in his decisions. What an honor. What a blessing.

You see, my man has a way of cutting right through all the complexities of a situation and bringing out the simple truth.

I realize how rare that is. I find that most people, including me, operate from an agenda. Sometimes it is a good agenda, but its still an agenda. When my man gives his opinion or advice I know there's nothing more going on than exactly what he is saying.

That's why I married him, you know. I live for the stage. What I present to others isn't always the reality of who I am...it's usually a presentation of who I want to be. Not my Man. He is the same all the time. When we're home behind closed doors he is the same man that he is when he's at work...or church. That used to make me really nervous. Now, it makes me safe.

I spent part of our marriage thinking that my Man just wasn't very spiritual. I thought I was so godly and he was so rough and worldly. But, as time passed and I got to know MY JESUS more and more, I noticed that HE started to look a little familiar...like HE reminded me of someone I know. I would learn something new about MY CHRIST and realize I'd already seen that truth somewhere.

Why...it's my Man. All along, it was my Man who was like JESUS. He was more like HIM than anyone else I knew. I was religious. He was CHRIST like.

We married as teenagers and grew up together. We have war stories and love stories---but all together, it makes our story.

I know that when I'm 100, I'll still be chasing my Man around the globe and letting him talk me into doing things that scare me. That's life with a wild Man.

I can't wait!

Mahawa

You will never get over Africa.

That's what my precious friend, a missionary, told me when she found out we were moving to Guinea.

She is right. But even if I did get over Africa, I will never get over Mahawa.

Our balcony looks over our wall into our neighbor's courtyard. Two little girls, who appear to be about 3 and 8, live there. Many days we will wave to get their attention and beckon them to go to the gate where my girls will deliver candy and cookies or other treats. Our only connection to them has been smiling and waving from a distance and the brief moments when their hands exchange the goodies.

Yesterday when my girls left to deliver candy canes, they came back with a message. The girls want to know if they can come over to play.

I couldn't say yes fast enough! We ran outside to bring them in. The little beauty was enamored with WildHeart's baby doll and immediately tried to put the baby on her back to carry around. CurlyGirl helped tie the baby on.

I asked our friend and guard to help us translate. He was able to speak to the smaller girl, but had trouble with the older. Her name is Mahawa, he told me and she doesn't speak French. She only speaks a tribal language. She was sent in from a village to live with and work for this family.

I could hardly believe it. I knew she didn't go to school and found that strange since this family is somewhat wealthy by Guinean standards. Now it made sense. The reason I never saw her held or dressed pretty or given the attention like the younger girl was because she is not their litttle girl---she is their servant. The little girl is always dressed up with braided hair and pretty dresses. Mahawa's hair is always shaved off and she is never dressed up.

I tried to ask her how old she was. She seemed confused. Finally, she said she was six.

Now, I was confused.

She looked older than that...closer to CurlyGirl's age.

My guard said, "she's not six. She probably has no idea how old she is."

I was sick.

If she doesn't know how old she is, then how do they celebrate her birthday?

I thought of CurlyGirl. Two houses right next to each other--two little girls, probably the same age, but the contrast of their lives couldn't be greater.

CurlyGirl doesn't make it a day without an abundance of hugs and kisses and "I love you's".

Her birthday is a huge ordeal and anyone who has seen her hair knows that it is a major project every day!

My Man and I always pray for her and over her.

We tell her she has been called out by GOD.

No one even fixes Mahawa's hair.

I realize how sad this sounds. You would think that is strange if you met her because sad isn't a word you think of when you are with her. She is extremely happy. She behaves with a grace beyond her years.

She is lovely.

I don't know what to do with this one. All I can think right now is that I am thankful to live by her. She may not have known spoiling and hugs and birthdays before...

but the Smiths are in town and things are about to change....

The Fish Market

There is absolutely no moral to this story.

That should be a welcome treat for those of you who frequent this blog. Today I just want to take you along on a trip into Conakry.

We recently hired a chef...and I do mean "chef". He is amazing! He also has serious connections in the food community. So, we were thrilled when he led us behind the curtain to the inner realm of the food trade. He managed to bring us across the lines of "white people shopping" (and prices) and opened a new world to us. I thought I had gotten a little grasp on shopping in Conakry--I had nooo idea.

One of the places Henry* took me was to the wharf. To find this particular wharf, you really have to know someone local. WildHeart went with us since, as you know, she's always game for a wild new adventure. We drove down narrow streets and back roads until we finally reached a driveway leading into a wide gate. A little further we came upon this wide open air fish market:

My cook's fisherman friend saw us when we pulled in and ran up to greet his friend and sell us a supply of seafood. He wasn't the only one with that idea. It wasn't long before the "rich" American was spotted and we began to be swarmed by several fisherman.

From the moment I emerged from the vehicle, I was engulfed by a smell so powerful it seemed to be its own entity. I didn't have much time to think about it though, because from every direction bodies crowded around us and voices were calling out "lobster!" "squid!" "baracuda!" "swordfish!" and hands thrusted dead fish in our faces for us to inspect.

Once they realized I was only a spectator and all the purchasing decisions were up to Henry, I was able to walk around a little bit. These three little gems were waiting for our attention outside the crowd of salesman.

They smiled and giggled and ran away when I would pretend I was going to grab them. ( Ok, I wasn't pretending...but come on, how many children does Guinea really need? Let's not be greedy.) WildHeart was watching but soon wanted to join the fun. She pretended to grab them--only they were too intelligent for that. They weren't running from that beauty. When she opened her arms they stopped in their tracks and waited for the embrace. She looked at me, confused at why the game took a new direction with her. Get used to it, honey.

Not much later we loaded up and began the long, heavily trafficked journey home with our treasures.

Have a look at these shrimp-

I'm amazed as I look at that picture. I find it such an irony that a place with such desperate poverty, disease and need can produce such treasure.

The shrimp are pretty nice too.

Next time I think I'll stay home...

I have been reading a book about etiquette. I had just read about the protocol at social gatherings. So, when were invited to a party of "important people" I thought I was all ready.

Truthfully, I am as crazy about wealthy, well-educated people as I am my banana lady. I just tend to fit in better with the latter. I thought maybe learning what I can would prove beneficial for those times I engage in that end of the spectrum.

When we pulled up to the house, I was floored by its grandeur. It boasted huge, wide marble porches off each of the floors. Not too many people in Guinea live in houses like these.

I reminded my children that they were to be little ladies and gentleman. It was a privilege to be invited to a grownup party and we wanted to be a blessing, I instructed them.

They did great!

They spent most of their time in the kitchen talking to and helping the African ladies who served pass out desserts and drinks. By the time one of the guests pulled me aside to tell me how well behaved my children were, I was oozing with pride.

You can see this coming, can't you?

The guests mingled in the large open living area with high ceilings and tall, wide windows all around. I'd just finished an incredibly interesting conversation with a Harvard alumnus about teaching logic to children. I moved on to a chair facing a large window overlooking the back yard and sat down to chat with two world travelers.They sat opposite me with their backs to the window. As we spoke, I commented that I hadn't seen my son for several minutes. "He's probably just cleaning up the game he was playing," I said. (Cue the angelic music.)

The words had hardly left my mouth when a small figure passed the window behind my seated companions.

Little Aggie, in his adorable A&M jersey....and only his A&M jersey, was passing by naked from the waist down. He carried poop-covered shorts and underwear and his legs were covered in excrement.

The realization of what I was seeing, coincided with Little Aggie's realization of being seen.

"Mom!!!!!" He yelled and approached the window. "Mom!! I pooped!!"

I jumped up and hurried around the back of the house desperately trying to get him out of the line of sight. I did my best to clean him up and seeing there was no hope, sent Curly Girl to quietly whisper to my Man that it was time to go.

I've read enough of my book to feel quite certain I violated some rule of etiquette by leaving so abruptly...but then again, maybe its permissible.

I don't know...I haven't made it to the section yet labeled "Pomp and Poop."