Souvenirs

Several more to take home with me:

* I was distracted by a conversation with the woodcarver when Little Aggie decided to wander off.  I spent a couple frantic minutes trying to find him.  Finally, I saw him walking toward me followed by an old African woman who promptly spanked him and returned him to me with an explanation (in French and a few hand motions) that he had wandered up the road.  I loved it.  It meant we are officially part of the neighborhood. 

*  We drove four hours into Guinea to a town named Boke'.  There, the kids and I entered an underground cell where slave traders once held their captives until it was time to ship them away.  Then we walked in a trench that had been their pathway down to the river where a boat awaited to take them from their home.  With every step I was overwhelmed with the reality that the people I love, ripped from their homes and their lives, once walked over this same unsteady ground.  I was walking the path led by beautiful, old African women who waved branches while they sang and danced their way ahead of me. But they would have walked this in chains and hunger and pain.  The trench weaved through heavy woods and eventually the trees cleared where I could see the river.  I thought about how terrifying the first glimpse of the river must have been for them.  In a few minutes I would turn around and walk back up the trench and go home. It was a one way trip for them.  I was grieved at the depravity of humanity who could destroy his brother.  I was grateful for the GOD-HUMAN who came to rescue us from such depravity. The GOD who didn't come to make slaves, but to free them.

* A few days ago, I left my house in such a hurry to retrieve my kids from a neighbor's house that I left my shoes behind.  My guard was watching us next door and noticing I had no shoes, took off his own and gave them to me while he walked home barefoot.

*  When I got home yesterday,  my girls told me they'd had a tea party with the highest of society--our cook and our housekeeper.  <3

*  This last souvenir will go without a name.  It is the gift of all the stories that moved me deeply but I am unable to share.  It didn't feel right to go without acknowledging their existence at all. So I leave it simply at this--sometimes it is the things we cannot speak of that say the most in our lives.

Out of Africa

It's not much longer now.

We will board a plane and fly away.  We will leave people who have so tangled themselves up in my heart that there will be no way to separate.  They will come with me and I will stay with them.

Tonight I stood on my back balcony and watched the boys play soccer. All they need is a ball and each other. That's probably why there's a soccer game on every street in the evening.  I thought about how a year ago I got off the plane expecting to feel so sorry for the people here. Now that we're leaving soon, I confess that I don't feel sorry for them. I feel sorry for us.

They don't have washing machines. So, the women get together to scrub their clothes, while they talk and laugh with their sisters and girlfriends.

They don't have electricity most of the time. So, they stay outside and visit with their neighbors and friends.

Their kids don't have video games and televisions. So, they create toys out of cans and string and other treasures they've rescued from the trash.

They don't have privacy.  So, they go with it. They live their lives out loud, with their neighbors.

They don't have a sophisticated trash and recycling system. But they don't throw most things away. They are extremely creative at new uses for things.  I am convinced Guineans are the world's best recyclers.

They don't have their own cars, or labor-free ways to transport things. So, they carry most everything on their heads and leave their hands free. From the rich to the poor, everyone has impeccable posture.

They can't afford the grocery stores. So, they grow and make their own food.

Africa has its problems.  So does America.
Africa does without many things---but they are rich in love and community and friendships.
While we overindulge in more and more things to make our lives "convenient"; While we try to hold on to our privacy; While we hide away in our houses staring at TVs and computers like statues; While we spend more time looking at things with our family instead of looking AT our family;  They are spending every waking moment talking to, looking at and living out their lives with the people they love...and the people they don't.

But when it comes down to it, that's what it's all about isn't it? Life...it's all about people.

And on that front---they've got us creamed.

Change of Plans

We were excited. We were going on a day trip with a group of friends to see the waterfalls and eat lunch.  It took us about an hour to just get out of Conakry.  We had to navigate our cars through a sea of crowded taxis and vans, animals wandering beside...and in the road, and people everywhere trying to sell something through our window.  

Slowly the crowd thinned, cars dispersed and we came upon forests and fields full of green vegetation. The paved road continued for about another hour and we would occasionally pass small communities.   Finally, we turned off the road onto a dirt path that weaved several miles through one small village after another until we arrived at the waterfalls.  The restaurant takes a while but they made great food. The kids frolicked and swan in the river and we all drove home exhausted and happy with our day.

....well, that was the plan, anyway.

Actually, we only made it to where we turned off the paved road.  At that point, some men sitting by the road began to motion to us.  We stopped and they warned us not to continue saying that the falls were closed. Confused, we got out of our vehicles to talk to them. Since several of my friends spoke the local tribal language, we scored big points.  They began to share that all the villages down the road had gotten together and decided that the owner of the restaurant should drill them a well for drinking water.  Until he did, they were blockading the road with trees and sticks and refusing to let anyone pass.  My Man and his buddy decided they wanted to check it out themselves. So, they left the rest of us with the villagers there and went to find adventure.  They told us to come for them if they were gone more than 40 minutes.  

I said if they were gone more than 40 minutes, we were leaving them.  

Since the Smith Kids make themselves at home everywhere, it only took a few minutes before they were off running through the village with all the local children, playing with a monkey, climbing in and out of a pit, digging in the dirt and having a ball.  

See for yourself.

At one point, Little Aggie was chasing some of the boys with a large stick threatening to...well,ok, actually, hitting them.  One of the locals who knows this particular tribe told me that the boys like to beat up on "foreigner" boys as sort of a test to see if they belong.  

He passed.

We were getting up on 40 minutes when our men came driving up in a cloud of dust. They had spoken with the village chief and elders and won their favor.  They decided to grant them permission to park in their village and walk to the waterfalls.  But he warned them that no cars must come through or the other villagers would likely kill them for allowing people in.  

That's where they lost me.  We're going home, I declared.  

My Man and his friend seemed a little surprised that I didn't want to partake of the spoils of their hard-fought victory. 

We loaded up and headed home for a last minute barbecue, swimming, game time and lots of laughter.  

So, it wasn't the day we'd planned but as I once again learned...

that is life with a wild Man.  (Both of them)

Now that I have seen...

...I am responsible

I have heard this song many times before...but I didn't hear it until today.  I was sitting at my desk working and all of a sudden as she sang the words "Now that I have seen, I am responsible", I understood.  

I think of Pastor Mike who saw the suffering of war-torn orphans and took responsibility to house, clothe and educate them.  

I think of Esther who saw mothers dying and their babies following along and took responsibility to feed them.  

I think of my closest friends, the DuPrees whose feet follow their eyes.  Wherever they see suffering, they run with JESUS toward it.  

I think of my parents who saw the city without foundations and took responsibility to engage in building it...no matter the cost.  And it cost.  

We will walk through this world and see many many things.  If we are willing, there will be times that GOD will open our eyes and we will really see...a situation, a need...but always a person.  

When that happens, you are responsible.  I am responsible. 

GOD open our eyes. 

Suffering

Suffering is a teacher.

I have had a heavy week.  It's been a heavy year.  I know that the things that grieve my heart are small compared to what many people have been through and are going through.  Yet, pain is a personal thing, isn't it? When it enters our lives it knows just how to reach those deep places and when it does, it taps right into the center of our ability to receive a teaching.  
Suffering is a teacher.

Yesterday my Man, my kids and a few friends went to Call of Hope to deliver some CHRISTmas presents.  They knew we were coming. When we arrived, one of the teachers met us and said, "we've prepared a table for you" It was set up at the front of a dark, extremely crowded room.  They had placed their best tablecloth on the table and set up a fan to blow directly on those seated at it.  
The kids had all prepared something to perform for us.  The youngest little children sang a song, the older kids performed skits and danced tribal dances and many of the children quoted Scriptures from the CHRISTmas passages of the Bible.   Every part was precious. The children are taught from very young how to speak in front of people. There's no stage fright, no one too shy. On their turn, each child would come to the front and say "Good Afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen, Instructors, Colleagues and Students of this Honorable Institution"  (I loved the irony of such a grand statement in such an incredibly humble setting.)  Then they would continue with giving their name and what they intended to recite.  
Nothing compared to one sweet girl in a little brown dress. She was probably the age of CurlyGirl.  
When she walked up to recite her verse I noticed her eyes had tears.  She began to recite and as she said each word, more tears came. By the end of the Scripture, the last few words of the verse were spoken through her sobs.  She finished and walked off still crying loudly.  
She wasn't nervous.  She wasn't scared.  
She was crying because she understood the words she read: "Then Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, became furious, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had ascertained from the wise men."
It made me wonder how I could have ever read that verse without crying as she did.  
It is probably because I hadn't read it as one so familiar with the kind of death that steals life from children every day.  
Suffering taught her the reality of GOD's Word. And it teaches me. 

Suffering creates communion.

For the first time this week, I felt like I was not a visitor in Guinea any more. I felt like I was one of them.  How could I even pretend to understand or think I am part of the life here if I don't suffer as they do?  When I drive down the streets, even their faces look different to me snow.  I feel a connection to them.
Suffering creates communion.
 This week I lay down on my bed and cried like a little child. I cried for the injustice and the suffering and the poverty that is like a plague among the people I love. When I looked up, my housekeeper was standing there....crying too.  
Suffering creates communion.
I grieve over Abu. It hurt me that he never belonged to anyone.  I shared that feeling with a wise friend. She corrected me, saying that exactly the opposite was true! He belonged to many, she said.  Everyone who knew him, loved him and felt invested in his life. In a way, he was all of ours.  I think she is right.  His suffering made us all feel connected to him. 
 Suffering creates communion.  

I don't like suffering. I don't want it.  But I know I need it.   It has a way of making life real, of driving out the unimportant and the wasteful. It makes you grasp the things that are right and real and true. 

So, that was my CHRISTmas gift this year:  suffering.
I didn't ask for it but I am so grateful.  
Without it, I wouldn't be so hungry for my other CHRISTmas gift:
JOY!


   

Abu died last night.
My friend called to tell me. I went home to tell my kids.
I arrived at my house to find that I had to deliver other bad news to the guard we love the most.  He put his hands on his head, bent down and began to wail.  
From my living room, I could still hear him crying...although I am not sure how I heard him over my own.
Then the phone rang with more bad news from one of our closest missionary friends here.

Suffering.

Now I know Africa.

Keepers

I keep a file in my email inbox called, "Keepers".  It's for the emails that I never want to delete.  Like whenever my Man sends me a little note that shows me he is still completely mad for me.  Into the Keepers file it goes.

My heart is kind of like that this year.  It makes me think of Mary. At least twice in the Gospels we read that "Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart".  I don't really understand all that that means, but I get this much: the moment stuck with her. In that breath, the reality reached the depths of who she was.  

The year is winding down, and as I look back over it, I have treasured up several keepers of my own. 

* Watching my man deal so straightforward and so tenderly with one of our employees who was in pain, that at the end of the talk, all he did was embrace My Man and sob.  Did that make my Bull-Riding, Wildhearted Texas Man pull back? Not a bit.

*  Walking with my kids and watching a man stand in front of his one room hovel, reach out with a piece of bread and offer it to my well-fed, healthy little boy.  

*  Being told by a local  colleague, "I really trust you."

*  Driving home one evening and seeing a boy the same age as Little Aggie asleep on the street cuddled beside his mother.  A normal sight here but it wasn't normal to me this time. This time, I saw my boy reflected in his ebony frame.

*  I once passed a fruit stand where I passed in time to see a nursing baby reach up to touch his mother's face while he ate. My babies did that. That's normal. Not just normal for Africa, normal for America...and Asia and everywhere. We're the same. We're sisters.

* Teaching a zoology lesson on hyenas followed up a couple hours later by a spontaneous discussion with a friend describing to us her first hand account of watching lions and hyenas in Kenya.  The lives people live!

To Be Continued...