Growth in Classrooms & Gardens: Service Projects in Kenya with IWIL Part I

Growth happens all around us, and if we're lucky and intentional about it, we can seek out ways to be a part of it, too.

Our Illinois Women in Leadership (IWIL) group partnered with the Outreach Foundation in Kikuyu, Kenya, which in turn partners with PCEA (Presbyterian Church of East Africa) to build infrastructure there. With your donations added to more from around the world, the Outreach Foundation builds churches, schools, and hospitals. They employ Kenyan workers for every step of the building process, and they are gracious enough to let donors like us participate in some of the more cosmetic tasks when we arrive for a visit. 

Stu Ross, the Outreach volunteer living in Kikuyu for the last 27 years, organized projects for us that correlated with our interests as an all-female leadership organization. 

Our first stop was a girls' rescue center about an hour and a half drive from Kikuyu into Maasai tribal land. The rescue center serves as a safe haven for girls, between the ages of 7 and 14 by my observations, who are in danger of forced childhood marriage and/or female genital mutilation (FGM). Some girls are brought to the center by their mothers, aunts, sisters, cousins, or neighbors; others walk on their own to seek safety there. They are then adopted in the rescue center's community, boarding there while taking classes at the local primary school (also built by Outreach). The rescue center began with a few families nearby taking girls in this situation in, but the need became too great for a few households to welcome them all. Thus the rescue center was born -- and they've been helping hundreds of young girls ever since. 

Upon arriving at the center, we met Beatrice, the dorm mother who lives on-site with 97 girls and raises them as her own, as well as Samson, the chair of the school. 

After living and studying with the rescue center community for three months, the girl is always accompanied home over the school break by the principal, dorm mother, pastor, Maasai chief, and Stu. Together they reconcile the girl with her family and her tribe, ensuring she isn't exiled from her community, and educate the family and tribe on why both childhood marriage and FGM are illegal. While Beatrice and Samson gave us a tour of the dormitories, lined with bunk beds and trunks filled with school uniforms, they both repeatedly said, "We teach the girls their rights. Their rights are human rights." They do not take their job of bringing positive change to each individual and to the Kenyan community lightly. Beatrice added, "We build their confidence to be leaders in our world. We teach them that their no's mean no, and their yeses mean yes." On the wall of each dorm, a beautiful tapestry read, "You are beautiful." 

Your generous donations built a new classroom building and filled it with tables, and chairs for the girls at the rescue center to use while they study. Eventually, it will also serve as a classroom for preschool-aged children who reside at the rescue center, many of whom are orphans. 

For two days, our job was to help with the finishing touches of the building so that we might feel connected to the structure beyond the finances that built it. We were the first all-female service team to work with Stu in his entire time in Kenya -- and it didn't go unnoticed. When Samson met us at the building, his first comment was, "But there is no balance in the genders in your team." We assured him we were able to rise to the tasks! Along with laborers hired by Stu and from the nearby village, we painted the metal doors and window frames and drilled tin sheets around the building as exterior walls. It was good to work alongside our Kenyan friends as they told us about life there. Later on, we were careful in our reflections to realize they did not need our team to finish that work on the building for them; in fact, Samson said they postponed the last steps and dedication so that we could be there with them. Instead, they generously allowed us to be a part of the building process as we build our relationships with the community there as well.

Nearby community members, including the chair of the church, prepared delicious lunches for us -- naan bread, rice, chicken with seasoning and peppers and tomatoes, watermelon, and beans. Before leaving each day, we were able to talk with some of the girls, too, and my teacher-heart just overflowed with joy. I asked them what they like to study and what they want to do after high school. Their eyes lit up as they shared their passions and their dreams, and I was so blessed to share my enthusiasm with them. They wrapped up our days by singing to us, and my heart sang right along with them.

School Supplies

Quick Links: 

Click here for the District 186 & Salvation Army List 

Click here for Cindy's Classroom List 

A few days ago, my friends Sarah and AnneMarie encouraged me to make an Amazon Wish List for my classroom, and at first, I shrugged off the idea. I don't have any big project ideas for this year, so we don't need anything special when we begin next week.

But then I remembered that I had thought about buying erasable pens to give my kiddos. My Alumni from the last several years know how much we love erasable pens -- and they certainly fit our philosophy of how mistakes are a part of learning.

Before clicking "Add to Cart," though, I had decided that they were too expensive for me to front the cost myself, and in the end, they felt frivolous. We don't *need* erasable pens to do our job well; they'd simply make it a bit easier and certainly more fun.

And that's when I realized this is where my amazing community here might like to help. I can't make this happen on my own, but perhaps you all would like to help in a small way.

So I started to make an Amazon Wish List this morning...and then the story took a new turn.

As I fiddled with my Amazon Wish List, I got a call back from the Salvation Army of Springfield. Yesterday I'd called to ask when I could help them sort their school supply donations for the junior and senior high schools of Springfield District 186...but the director called me to say they received so few donations that they didn't need more volunteers to sort them.

I sat on the phone, staring at my Amazon Wish List, hearing her say they didn't have enough donations for kiddos who really need them. And so, my amazing community, I'm here to ask for your help in a different way.

I've created an Amazon Wish List for us to send school supplies directly to the Salvation Army, who will in turn send them to the District 186 schools. I've included items that I know kids need to be successful, items they might not have if we don't help.

And of course I included those amazing erasable pens -- because all students should have the chance to make mistakes and learning a little more fun.

I did include my own classroom's wish list here, too, but please know nothing on my list is as high a priority as the 186 list. But I could hear Sarah and AnneMarie in my head asking me to post it if I'd left it off.

Before I even click "Post," I am SO grateful for a loving community who has supported me in the past and who I know will step up to help kiddos here, too. I can't wait to see how this turns out.

Quick Addition: All items have been assigned arbitrary "needs" numbers simply to make the purchasing process easier. Without the numbers I enter, it defaults to needing only 1 of each. I really don't need 10 of anything, and 186 likely needs more than 20 of all of them. I'll adjust the numbers if necessary later, but for now, they help us as people make purchases. Thank you!

The Peace of Advent

 

Today we focus on the Advent theme of peace. We often hear a lot about peace this time of year – but why? Why do peace and Christmas go together?

            Personally, the idea of peace has intrigued me for as long as I can remember. When I was around 12 or 13, I was fascinated with one of those quotes you see floating around the internet these days – “Peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of God no matter the conflict.” Now, I took some time this week to find out who said that, and it seems no one on the interwebs quite knows where or how that quote originated. There are lots of different versions of it out there, and lots of different people they attribute it to. I don’t know where I first read it, either, but I do know it struck me as something amazing – because I, by nature, am not very peaceful. I’m actually very good at finding at least one reason to be a little anxious, a little agitated, a little worried, and I always have been. When I read that quote as a new Christian, I think I was drawn to it because the idea was so foreign to me – feeling peace no matter what the conflict is? How does that even happen? I’m really good at finding all the possible, albeit little, conflicts all around me.

            But throughout scripture, God reminds us that He is the God of peace and that He wants to share that peace with us. As early as the book of Numbers 6:24-26, God blesses Israel, saying, “The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.” We hear that blessing even today when some pastors use it as a benediction for worship services. Hundreds of years later, we hear David petition to God in Psalm 29. After describing how God is mightier than the storm that is raging outside, David says in verse 11: “May the Lord give strength to his people! May the Lord bless his people with peace!” David knew God could provide the kind of peace that nothing else can.

Then later in the New Testament, the apostle Paul tells his friends all over the known world that God offers them peace, too. He tells the Thessalonians in his second letter to them – in 3:16 he says, “Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times in all ways.” To the Colossians, Paul says in 3:15, “And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts.” To the Philippians, Paul says, “Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

But most importantly, Jesus himself offers his disciples peace – which means he offers us peace today, too. On the night before Jesus is betrayed, he tells his disciples that even though he is about to leave them, the Holy Spirit will be with them forever more. In John 14:27, he describes the Holy Spirit, and then Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” Later in John, chapter 16:32-33, as their entire world is about to be turned upside down, Jesus says, “Yet I am not alone because the Father is with me. I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace.”

Now this is the kind of peace I’d like to sign up for. No matter the description, it sounds like the peace of God is exactly what I’ve been looking for, especially in 2020. With all of the chaos and uncertainty that we face, with all of the fear and worry and utter lack of control that we’re dealing with these days – a little bit of peace would go a long way. And Paul says this peace Jesus is offering us isn’t just a tiny little bit of peace – he says it can rule our hearts. Overflow at all times and in all ways. Transcend our understanding, he says.

That’s the peace that happens in the midst of chaos, I think – the kind that transcends our understanding. When the rest of the world tells us we should be worried, when the evidence piles up in favor of fear, when nothing around us is making sense and a clear plan has not emerged – God’s peace can still exist in our hearts.

Now, I don’t know about you, but some of us have experienced that kind of peace, at one point or another. Like I said earlier, I am naturally a rather anxious person (and 2020 hasn’t helped that cause at all), but I have felt that peace of God from time to time. When God’s peace just takes over, and my heart is still within me. When I know God is God and I am not, and I am finally okay with that. When I know I can rest by surrendering in and to God – that I don’t have to keep struggling or worrying or making a big deal out of what I cannot control. God’s peace is something I search for and yearn for, and when my focus is on God, I find it…every time I seek it out. Every time I seek God out with my whole heart, God is here.

Often those moments are monumental ones in my life – one afternoon on a mission trip, as I sat far from home but so certain that God was there with us. On the morning when my new boss offered me my job, after I’d been praying about it for days. One afternoon on a prayer retreat here in Springfield, after I’d been sitting next to a small creek talking with God for a very long time.

But peace just in my every day life? Just at 10am on some Tuesday? Well, I want that peace, too, but it’s a little bit more rare. Paul did say at all times, in all ways, though. How does that peace become a constant in my life instead of markers of those really awesome but rather infrequent and monumental moments?

And back to the topic at hand, what’s all this got to do with Christmas and Advent? If God offers us this life-changing peace – why do we focus on it so much this time of year? Why now?

I think it’s because Advent is when we focus on God coming to be with us in the form of Jesus – God with us, Emmanuel. This whole idea comes up in the Christmas story told in Matthew 1:22-23: “All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us.’”

God is with us. When we recognize and acknowledge that God is actually with us, right this moment, in whatever chaos we’re experiencing (and goodness knows we’ve been experiencing a lot of it lately), that peace He promises us can settle in our hearts. Take over, really. Advent is when we celebrate that God, the creator of the entire universe, walked this earth in the form of Jesus Christ – God as a man, walking around in sandals with dirty feet just like us. God loves us so much that He came to earth 2000 years ago as a person, and He didn’t even skip the hard parts of being a vulnerable baby and a child. He loved us so much that He came to earth that first Christmas, and He hasn’t really left since. He’s still with us. Every single moment, every single one of us.

And knowing that, believing that, can give us peace, if we hold onto it. If God is with us, right now, do we have to be afraid? If God is with us, do we have to worry and stress out? Or if God is with us, can we rest in the peace that He offers to us? Can we let it rule in our hearts?

God is offering us a great Christmas gift, and we don’t even have to wait until the end of the month to unwrap it. God’s peace is right here, waiting for each one of us. We just have to open our hands and our hearts to receive it.

O Lord, Prince of Peace, thank you. Thank you for reminding us that in you we can find peace. Peace so strong that it will rule our hearts if we let it. Thank you for coming to this earth to bring us the peace that transcends all of our understanding. Now just help us surrender enough that we can know it, too. And Lord, use the peace that we feel as a beacon for your light so that others might see you in us. In Christ’s name, Amen.

 

*All scripture references are from the NRSV translation.

One Serving

Supper was time for the four of us. Always. My friends in high school and college talked about how they would make themselves something to eat on the evenings when their families were scattered from one athletic practice to another, or when their parents had other obligations away from home. Not us. We sat down together, we all ate the same meal, and we stayed there talking for a while after everyone was finished. We must've talked about our days and school and the farm -- I don't really remember any conversation in particular. But there we stayed, long enough that I kept my hands busy by making little sculptures out of bread wrapper twist ties. People. A bicycle. The Eiffel Tower.

Since moving into my own home alone, I've often lamented about the difficulties surrounding cooking for one. Bread goes stale. Fresh fruits and vegetables rot. Servings aren't often packaged for one; even half-sized cans of peas have more than one serving in them. Leftovers fill my house. Tonight, though, I realized that's only half the problem. I'm missing the conversation after the meal.

I listened to a podcast on pockets in women's clothing as I ate my nearly leftover-free meal -- vacuum sealed fish filet, one serving of noodles, but the rest of those pesky peas will have to just sit in my refrigerator -- and I wondered if I'd finish eating before the episode was over. As the host kept talking, I pushed my empty plate a few inches from me and leaned back. A few weeks ago, my best friend told me that's how I've finished every meal she's ever seen me eat. Pause, slide the empty plate away, lean back. Until that night, I didn't even know I did it...but tonight I realized I was hoping to have a moment after the meal before cleaning up. I dread finishing the last bite and then bouncing out of my seat to put all the food away and load the dishwasher...I dread missing out on the time after the meal. So I sat there and finished the podcast before rushing off to clean up the aluminum foil and peas.

But it's not just eating alone in my own home that lacks that final conversation time; eating alone at restaurants magnifies the lack. My family has been known to stay for hours -- yes, hours -- after a meal in a restaurant while the waitress just keeps refilling our glasses of ice tea.

But I don't think it's just us, while I do believe we take it to a new extreme. Perhaps it's within the culture of the Midwest, but I know more people who would rather eat alone in their cars than alone in a restaurant. It's especially difficult in small communities where people recognize everyone else's faces, whether or not they know each other. Last month, I decided to eat at a pizza joint a few towns away. As I stood in line for a table, the busy waitress actually looked right past me to the family behind me to ask how many were with them. She had assumed I was waiting for more to arrive, she shrugged. After I piped up and asked the waitress for a table, she furrowed her brow and looked in the adjoining room.

"Is a round table okay?" she asked. I had no idea why the shape of the table mattered...until I followed her into the room. She pointed to a table for six. The only available table.

While I waited for my pizza, I scrolled on my phone and texted my friends about how ridiculous I felt, sitting there with five empty chairs around me. They applauded my courage, and I was a bit proud of myself, too. As I finished, the owner -- with a thick Italian accent and one hand on my shoulder -- thanked me for coming and asked how the meal was. We chatted for a moment; quick and unexpected conversations like that are usually the best part about eating out alone. Well, that and people watching. Both remind me of just how big this world can be, of how connection can happen in a million different ways. Of how breaking bread together isn't always about sitting at the same table.

As I talked to the owner of that little pizza place, I probably slid my plate back a few inches and leaned back in my seat. At least there was a speck of conversation between the last bite and leaving.

Be Not Afraid: The Fear of Not Being Good Enough

I was asked to preach a sermon on the fear of not being good enough, tying it to Mary's story in Luke. God showed up when I picked up my pen, and this is what we came up with. 

Good morning! Some of you have heard me preach before, and some of you have heard me say that when the pastors ask me to preach a sermon, it’s always on a topic that God knows I need to learn a whole lot about. Well, today’s sermon is called, “Be Not Afraid: The Fear of Not Being Good Enough.” And God knew full well that I needed to work on this all week as I wrote it and practiced in my kitchen…so I just want to start off saying we are in this together today, guys. So before we begin, will you pray with me?

            Good morning, Lord. Thank you for bringing us together this morning to learn about how you view us and who we really are because of you, and thank you for never giving up on helping us learn and grow. Open our hearts and minds to hear exactly what you what you are saying to us today. In Christ’s name, Amen.

            So, we all know that it’s common to hear that Americans are becoming more and more afraid. Despite millions of advances that can improve our lives and statistics that show that our country is actually getting safer, I don’t doubt at all that fear is on the rise. I can feel it. Some people blame this change on the bad news that we hear and see in the media; others blame the new ways social media messes with our brains and with our hearts. Whatever the reasons, though, lots of people say that our culture is becoming more and more afraid.  

            Researchers have asked Americans what they fear the most, and many of the top things are external events that could possibly happen: war, corruption, pollution, losing a loved one. All of these things could happen to someone. But when they asked about what people fear in themselves, people talked about their fear of the unknown, and of not measuring up, of being inadequate, of not being good enough.

            As a high school math teacher, I talk about this with my students all the time. We talk about it most in AP Calculus. In that class, I have students who tell me they worry about their grades so much that they stay up all night studying. They come to me, terrified of what will happen if they get that test back with a grade on it that will drop their grade in our class, which will then drop their GPA, which means they won’t be able to get into the college of their dreams, and then they will surely never get the best job that they find both fulfilling and financially stable – surely, their whole life will be ruined. All because they weren’t good enough that one day in AP Calculus. At that moment, it feels like everything hinges on that one test grade. And they just keep working harder and harder, trying to be good enough.

            But my high school students are not the only people who struggle with this, right? Not that long ago, I learned about an experience called “imposter syndrome.” It’s the feeling that deep down, we’re about to be exposed as a fraud, as someone who doesn’t really belong here because we’re not good enough. When I first heard about it, I was so surprised – there was a name for the feeling I’d had during my first year as department chair, when I thought no one believed I should be sitting in that seat during the meetings. There was a name for the feeling of fear that someone is going to realize I have no theological background and no formal public speaking training, but they still let me stand up here and talk to you. Because you see, I was a kid who thought my life would hinge on that one grade in school, and there are many days now when I’m an adult who worries that I’m not good enough.

            The more I talk about this topic with other people, though, the more I realize I am not alone. After I found out I’d be preaching this sermon, I told a lot of people about the title, and so many of them said, “Mmmhhhm. Send that one my way when you’re done.” There are highly successful people all around us, people who have achieved incredible things in life, who outwardly convey confidence and ease – and so many of these same people also carry within themselves crippling self-doubt and intense fear of not being good enough.

Not good enough to run the meeting we were in charge of.

Not good enough to get that job we really wanted.

Not good enough for the promotion we worked so hard for.

Not good enough for that relationship to last.

Not good enough for God to want us in His story.

Not good enough for God to love us.

Not really good enough at all.

            So, you may be thinking by now – Cindy, it’s Advent. Aren’t we supposed to be talking about Christmasy things? Baby Jesus and Bethlehem and shepherds and angels and Mary? Well, you are right – so today we’re going to look at Mary’s role in the Christmas story to learn how we might deal with this fear of not being good enough.   

            So before we go any further, let’s read the story. Our scripture comes from Luke 1:26-38. (NIV)

In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.” Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?” The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”

            “I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled.” Then the angel left her.

We are going to pick up her story again in a minute, but I want to pause right now and point out a few things that might help us when we’re afraid that we’re not good enough. I’m going to be honest, though – this is a tricky lesson for us to tackle. We have no proof that Mary felt the fear of not being good enough. None. Nothing in that passage I just read said she felt that way. However – by the end of the scripture we’re reading today, we will see very clearly that she definitely was not struggling with feeling good enough. So I’m not going to talk about how Mary dealt with the fear of not being good enough…but I am going to focus on the parts of her story that can help us get to the same trust in God that she clearly displays throughout her story.

So, the first thing I want to point out is how the angel greeted Mary – right off the bat, he says, “The Lord is with you.” Gabriel doesn’t say he’s there because Mary met all of God’s requirements for being the mother of His son. He just says God is already with her – before she had even heard of this crazy idea of a baby, much less before she could agree to it. God doesn’t come to us with a checklist of requirements that we have to meet before He calls us His beloved. He was with Mary before He called her to this special adventure…and God is with us before we realize it or acknowledge it, too. So God tells us we don’t have to be afraid of being good enough for Him to love us or use us because He is with us before we can do anything to be good enough. 

Second, Mary’s reaction to the angel makes me feel like we can be honest with God when we’re feeling afraid. Like I mentioned earlier, we don’t know if Mary struggled specifically with the fear of being good enough, but we do read here that she was greatly troubled, so much so that the angel decided to tell her not to be afraid. And then she asked a question – specifically, she asked about the very mysterious biological component of it all. Sometimes we think we’re not good enough because we’re afraid, because we’re confused, because our doubts outweigh our faith, because we just can’t figure out how to believe that God is in all of this – but these are all very human reactions and emotions. And while God will help us grow and learn and have more faith and trust in Him the longer we walk with Him, He understands that we’re going to feel this way from time to time. Even Mary asked, “How will this be?” If she can ask that, we can bring questions and fears to God, too. They don’t disqualify us from receiving God’s love or from being a part of His story.

            But if we’re feeling that fear of not being good enough, how do we move past it? How do we let go of the fear of not being good enough for God to love us and use us in his story? Well, let’s look again at what Mary heard that helped her say yes and jump into that role God called her to be in. When Mary asked “How will this be…since I am a virgin?”, she was asking about her own role and responsibilities in all of this. Maybe she wanted to know what she had to do to make it happen. But the angel redirected her focus. He didn’t reply with anything about her. Instead, he answered, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” It wasn’t up to her to get the job done. It wasn’t up to her to be good enough to live out the role God called her to. It was up to the Holy Spirit to make all these impossible things happen – all Mary had to do was say yes. All she had to do was agree to go on this adventure with God to change the world…and God promised to take care of the rest.

And that’s what God calls us to do, too. He doesn’t look at us and ask if we’re good enough to live out the life He wants for us. He doesn’t ask if we’re good enough to earn His love or tell others about Him wherever we are. God does ask if we want to join him. And like Mary, we can say yes, regardless of whether or not we feel like we can do what He’s calling us to. We don’t know what all went through her mind and heart to help her say yes – but somehow, she decided to trust God’s promises and say yes to God even when she didn’t have many details about how it was all going to play out. It’s not like the angel was terribly specific about the whole plan, right? And we don’t get a lot of details, either. But God asks us to trust Him, trust that He is good and that He will be with us the entire time.

There’s one more part of Mary’s story that I want to look at today through the lens of this fear of not being good enough. So here’s the setup – after the angel left Mary, she went to visit her cousin, Elizabeth, and when she got there, she was so joyful about God’s plan for her life that she broke out into song. Here’s what she says in verses 46-55 (NIV):

And Mary said:

“My soul glorifies the Lord

and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has been mindful

            of the humble state of his servant.

From now on all generations will call me blessed,

for the Mighty One has done great things for me—

              holy is his name.

His mercy extends to those who fear him,

             from generation to generation.

He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;

            he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.

He has brought down rulers from their thrones

            but has lifted up the humble.

He has filled the hungry with good things

            but has sent the rich away empty.

He has helped his servant Israel,

            remembering to be merciful

to Abraham and his descendants forever,

            just as he promised our ancestors.”

Reading Mary’s song makes me think she’s no longer “greatly troubled” like she was when the angel first arrived, and she’s not even asking questions about the logistics of the plan anymore – instead, she’s focused solely on how awesome God is. She praises God “for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.” She says, “From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me.” That does not sound like a woman who’s worried that she’s not good enough. So what is she holding onto to believe that she can live out this incredible plan for God? Well, God. She’s holding onto God, not herself. She doesn’t talk about what she’s done to be ready for this role. She doesn’t talk about why she’s the best choice for being the mother of the Messiah. She talks about the awesome things God has done, and how much He loves all of us.

            I’m starting to realize that my fear of not being good enough stems from what I’m focusing on – it’s not about whether or not I’ve done the right things or avoided the wrong things to be good enough for God to use me where I am and love me for who I am. It’s not about what I’ve done to earn anything. It is about what God has already done for all of us, and what I trust He will do so that I can live out His will for my life. God knows we’re not perfect and that we’re not going to get everything right, but he asks us to be a part of his story anyway. Mary looks back and references God’s promises and actions from the past…so that’s what we can do, too. We can go back and read scriptures like Ephesians 2:10 that says we are God’s masterpiece to remind us that He made us and loves us. We can read Colossians 3:12 that calls us God’s beloved, His dearly loved children. God is telling us He loves us because He made us. The question is, will we trust Him the way Mary did?

            I’ll end today with another story from my classroom, and I'll try not to cry like I have when I practiced. A few weeks ago, I was rattling off all the homework assignments I wanted my kids in first hour to do before the next test. One of my darlings asked, “What’s it gonna get us?” In my very typical and sassy way, I told him, “My love and affection.” And in all seriousness, he looked at me and said, “Don’t we already have that?” I stopped passing out the papers I was holding and just smiled at him. “Yeah, kiddo,” I said. “You do.”

            If my students, who I’ve only known a few months and who I work with for less than an hour a day, know that I’m going to love them whether or not they do their homework, if they know they don’t have to earn my love…then why do I have to earn God’s love? Why do I have to work so hard to be good enough to successfully live out the life He’s called me to live? I don’t. Plain and simple. And even though I understand it here in my head, sometimes that’s hard to believe here in my heart…but it is getting easier the more I talk about it here with our faith community. I can’t tell you to just stop being afraid of not being good enough. It doesn’t fade away that quickly. But what I can tell you is that today, I believe that God loves you and that God loves me, right this very moment, just as we are. And just like Mary, we can say yes right now to a life with Him, to whatever adventure He’s calling us to. We don’t have to wait until we think we’re good enough – because God loves us and wants to be with us right now, just the way we are.

Let’s pray.

Thank you, Lord, for loving us so much that you remind us we don’t have to earn your love, that a life with you isn’t something we work toward – it’s something we can say yes to every single morning. Thank you for telling us that we are enough. Help us believe it, and help us share that good news with others. In Christ’s name, Amen.

Immense gratitude goes out to Rev. Justin Snider for the freedom to write this as well as the sermon and conversations that served as my springboard for it. 

The Fish Fries

Tonight I spent the evening with my parents at the Oconee Fish Fry, chatting with old friends and making a few new ones along the way. We've spent the third Saturday evening at the Fish Fry almost every month for the last 23 years -- that's over 270 fish fries -- but next month is likely the last one. It's the end of an era in our family.

When we started going, I was just a kid. We'd meet my grandparents there and talk with everyone else who walked by...in a town of 200 or so, everyone knows everyone else. And my family knows no stranger, so even if we didn't know someone when we arrived, we knew them by the time we left.

Usually we walked through the door during the last half hour or so. The American Legion members and their wives working the meal -- all in my grandparents' generation -- would throw their hands in the air, exclaiming the end of the night was clearly near since the Arnold family had finally arrived. They'd all talk to my parents, but they made a point to include me and my sister in the conversation, too.

The man who Mom paid, making four more tally marks on his legal pad as we passed through the line. The bachelor brothers who served us from behind the window, flashing us big smiles as they filled our plates with french fries and fish. The woman who filled cups of tea and lemonade, asking us how school was and what we were learning. The woman who sold 50/50 tickets, chatting with my sister when she'd offer to pay for them and fill out each little slip of paper.

About five years in, my driver's licence was burning a hole in my pocket, and I made plans for a Saturday evening out with my friends. Mom reminded me that I'd be missing a night with my grandparents, and her tone told me the choice she expected me to make. True to my nature, I found a way around having to choose between time with family and time with friends -- I talked my friends into joining us at the Fish Fry. Looking back, I have no idea how I sold the idea to them, considering it wasn't exactly the cool new hangout for high school kids. Somehow, though, it quickly became "our thing." We'd waltz in with my family, sit and eat with them, and then head out to catch the late movie three towns over. My friends' families started eating with us, too, and we'd take over most of the long center table, talking and laughing and carrying on and generally making a scene.

Over the years, I've invited new friends and their families to the Fish Fry, too. The people working the event have changed...they're now my parents' peers, and our old friends aren't with us any more. I don't make it to as many as I used to, but that doesn't seem to matter once I'm through the door. So many of the faces have changed, but the sense of community and belonging hasn't. Tonight they still asked how we are, what we're up to, how the farm is, what's happening in my classes.

We still sat talking as they picked up the salt and pepper shakers and wiped down the tables. We still stood talking, coats already on and inching toward the door, as they drew the name of the 50/50 winner. For the first time, Mom won.

What a way to end on a high note.

The Alchemy of Potato Salad

As I grabbed the recipe for Grandma's potato salad, my second favorite food as a kid, I intended merely to scan it to see if I needed to buy any ingredients for the family reunion tomorrow. I stopped short on the first line, though: "Boil and mash lots of potatoes."

I am a decent baker. I enjoy creating food by following precise steps, using carefully measured out ingredients, and I'm pretty good at it.  I am also an excellent sous chef; I love to obey whoever is actually in charge of the food. I immediately knew that "lots of potatoes" meant that, despite the tablespoon measurements of mustard and Miracle Whip listed below, making Grandma's potato salad wouldn't be easy. 

In fact, my first reaction was to call my mother, who had written up the recipe for me when I graduated college, to tease her a bit and demand to know how to measure "lots." But I knew what she'd say: "Fill the pan. See if that's enough." I already knew she had just guessed on the tablespoon measurements in hopes of avoiding this type of phone call. 

So I did just fill the pan to see if that was enough. And it seemed like it would be. But as I began mixing it all together, the texture wasn't quite right; my first taste of it clearly needed more mustard. 

That's when I caved. I called Mom.

Moments after saying hello, I asked how much more mustard to add, and without really answering my question she told me it might need more pickle juice or Miracle Whip, too. She reminded me that Grandma never followed a recipe, and that I had to just add to it until it was right. 

I kept mixing as she told me her travel plans for the next day and about where they'd had dinner that evening. I muttered that the mustard had helped a little, but I was going to try more pickle juice next. She paused for a moment, and my thoughts tumbled out of my mouth. 

"I am much better with a specific recipe. Like your cookies. I'm great at making those. This alchemy of making potato salad is just not the way I work." 

"What's alchemy?" she asked. 

"It's the word they used a million years ago when people tried to make everyday things into gold. They just kept fiddling around with things trying to make it work. Like what I'm trying to do with this potato salad. Only they never figured it out..." I trailed off. 

I just don't like cooking like this. I'm not good at it. I like a detailed recipe. I like steps, with specific requirements. 

And as the thoughts formed in my mind, I realized I sounded an awful lot like my students when they say they just can't learn our math lesson. I never let them stop there -- we always buckle down together, keep practicing, and even if their results aren't a perfect 100%, we see growth.

I've learned recently that most times if I need to hear the advice I would give my students, God is nudging me to hear it.  

The monologue in my mind sounded familiar. I've been telling God something like this for months, years. I like plans. I like knowing where I'm going. I like having goals to work toward and to-do lists to complete. I would like to know what life is going to look like around the next corner. And the next. And preferably the one after that, too.

But I'm slowly learning that's not how this whole life and adulthood thing works. And it's not how faith works, either. God's not giving me a five-year plan to follow or even much of a big picture these days. I think sometimes we do get that kind of vision, but that's definitely not where I am right now. God's been asking me to trust Him more and more, live today in His grace the best I can and then try again tomorrow. 

See if it needs more mustard, and then try again. Maybe try pickle juice if that doesn't work. But always try again. No one is on the sidelines saying I should have followed the recipe; it was always meant to be made one step at a time, taste-tested, and adjusted as we go along.

********************

Afterward: I finally stopped fiddling with the potato salad after a while and just put it away, unsure of whether or not it was really ready. When we tasted it the next day, my whole family agreed it was just right. It's amazing what waiting a bit can do...but that's a lesson for a different blog post.

Sprinkled with Stones

     When I was growing up, my sister and I would sit in the decorative rocks that surrounded our house, sifting through the stones, searching for interesting ones. Pink ones, blue ones, multicolored ones; ones that showed fossils of what was surely a prehistoric lizard, ones that showed a million years of sediment gathering in a single space. Our dad worked with rock quarries, too, so sometimes he brought rocks home for us -- some were smooth and chipped off in thin sheets; others were crusty with layers of other rock or even concrete. Some he'd break open with a hammer, and we'd look over his hands, hoping he would reveal colorful crystals. By the time I was ten or so, we had two ice cream buckets full of stones sitting in the shed where we kept our bikes. We wanted to keep them separate, in their place of honor, revered as the beauties we believed them to be.

    As an adult, I started picking up interesting stones whenever I was out and about on adventures of different kinds. I kept them on my knick-knack shelf next to my framed family photos, my tiny china teacup, my penguin statue. The stone on the footpath in France that looked like an eye gazing back up at me as I finally felt God walking with me. The flat worry stone from Spain, found on a day when worries were hard to find. The handful of tiny stones from the beach on Lake Michigan, from that afternoon when we knew our friendships were changing but still held hope that they would last. 

     I wanted to keep something from those days that I could hold -- something tangible from those places that held so many fleeting memories, so many lessons, so much emotion. I wanted to be able to point to one and say, "That's the evidence. That day was real. I was there. I won't forget."

     Now I've been collecting these stones for over a decade, and they sprinkle my home in a dozen different places. Some still grace my shelves for all to see.

     But I find others in the most unexpected places. Next to my jewelry box, all mixed up with my hairpins and makeup brushes. In the bottom of a tote bag. On top my bookshelf in the corner of the living room. These stones still tell stories of lessons learned and adventures had and the spectrum of tears wept to laughter shared. But I can't remember which of them came from which place anymore.

     The path on the day I spent quietly watching the deer work her way around the pond.

     The top of the Great Wall of China.

     The banks of the lake after we'd all just floated there together, laughing, when hours felt like days. 

     Did I bring one home last summer?

     As I held the rough, pink one in my hand and thought of the smooth, brown rippled one in the next room, I knew it doesn't matter where they're from anymore. Doesn't really matter which one is which. They're now as much a part of my home's landscape as they were once a part of the places where I gathered them; this is now where they belong. They still strike a chord within me each time they catch my eye, and the memories -- whichever they happen to conjure -- are so woven into who I am that I no longer need to hold the stones just to relive the moments.

Fasting and Connecting

With my earbuds in, my breathing was louder than the cars driving by behind me. I closed my eyes and listened to the bird songs instead of the playlist cued up on the other end of those earbuds. When you looked plugged in, passers-by don't often strike up a conversation.

But plugged in I was not. Am not. Have not been for a mere week and a half.

What's the withdrawal timeline for social media? When will the symptoms of jitters, mild to moderate loneliness, and a general fear-of-missing-out, the dreaded FOMO, subside?

My social media fast is simultaneously liberating and painful. As one friend put it, I've given up being social, which explains the boughts of loneliness that have settled like tea leaves in the bottom of a cup after a bag has broken -- dark flecks in what is otherwise clear.

I'm no longer feeling the knee-jerking need to check my phone every three minutes to see if someone has posted something new. To see if someone's pet has done something funny, to see if a child whose parents I know has discovered four-letter words, to see if a friend has visited an event that I wish I had attended, too. I'm not watching the world around me through the lens of Instagram filters, and I'm not wondering how many likes a post about my cat or my students might get. I'm not thinking about how to share my own exciting news of being called "professor" for the first time, or when I should post to maximize the number of reactions.

That's what it had come to. That's why the fast was so important.

But there are still moments when I fear I've missed someone's engagement or pregnancy announcement or prayer request. And fear is not an exaggeration -- it grips at my chest, increases my heart rate, puts a pit in my stomach the size and weight of a bocce ball.

All of these visceral reactions have continued to flare up despite the phone calls from loved ones sharing their exciting news with me and the text messages from friends just asking how my day was or telling me about theirs. See? I want to tell my addicted brain. They didn't forget you.

And yet -- that's the real fear underlying all of this. Who might forget me?

******************

It's been five and a half weeks since I've been on Facebook or Instagram. 

Some days I don't miss it at all. Days when I would have been highly sensitive to how my potential posts would have been woven into my adventures, my interactions, my insights are now spent living right there in the moment. Some days I leave my phone in a different room and don't think to check it for the latest updates for hours. Some days I can even refrain from rushing to my phone if I hear a message come through.

Other days I still yearn to connect with everyone out there. Well, yearn to feel connected -- which doesn't always mean I'm actually connected with those people. Scrolling does not always result in authentic connection. In fact, I've found the ratio of time spent scrolling to time spent truly connecting is 100:1. That's just an estimate, of course.

Instead, when my people-homesickness settled into that space just under my collar bone, when my chest felt heavy and my brain started over-analyzing every detail it could cling to, I reached out for that authentic connection with people I love. Called. Texted. Emailed. Called again.

Prayed.

Listened.

Woke up and prayed some more. (Because that's also a real struggle.)

And I have learned from these intentional connections. I am loved. I am not alone. I don't have to know all the details for those details to fall into perfect place. I still love intensely -- it's not just a line on my Facebook profile; it's really who I am.

I don't yet know what it will feel like to scroll again the Monday after Easter. I don't know if I'll fall back into old habits, if I'll look for connection just to find a stale substitute but call it good enough. But I have hope that I might be building the stamina to simultaneously let go and reach out.

***

Making My Way Back to Words

"So why aren't you writing now?" he asked.

"I do miss words." I shrugged despite knowing it wasn't a video call.

"So why aren't you writing now?"

I articulated a list of responsibilities neither of us believed, and we moved on with the conversation. But words looking for an audience kept whispering in my mind.

Words are always in my mind. Always. I can think of only one moment in my entire 33 years when my mind did not have words in it, and it was fleeting and monumental. Spiritual. Even eleven years later, I am still amazed at how simultaneously my mind can feel full and yet empty of words.

Weeks passed. I talked with two friends on different occasions about their blogs, talked about the importance of drafting and then brought drafting up again with a student lamenting about timed writing assignments. I listened to another friend sing his original songs, heard his own words tell us of his heart. I picked up journaling again, started a list of reasons to praise God, considered a second trip through #100happydays, searching for a way to record my words.

I wrote more poetry than usual, thinking people might be willing to read about my mundane experiences as long as they were in verse. And if they were paired with a picture -- it had to have a picture -- then people would read it. I typed up my travel journal, a vulnerable one for myself and an abridged version that I shared with the rest of my mission team. I wrote a sermon on my adventure, and I collaborated with my friend on the pre-writing stage of a different sermon we gave.

And then the words pushed to the front of the crowd, demanding an audience. I stood in my kitchen, fork in one hand and bowl of scrambled eggs in the other, holding two separate verbal thought processes simultaneously --

Every time I make Mom's noodles, I start off thinking I've forgotten how to do this. It'll come back as soon as my hands start moving.

This will have to be a longer poem than usual. I have to say the part about the muscle memory taking over -- kicking in -- no, taking over. This poem will make T. S. Elliot look concise. 

Use my hands to mix the eggs and flour, add more flour to the sticky ball in the bowl, move this slightly less sticky and much larger ball to the rolling pad, and --

Now it smells like Grandma's house. That will have to be a line all its own. What if I just make this one prose? There's too much they need to know that would just be left out in a poem. 

The flour is flying everywhere -- it's on my shirt just above my waist, just like Grandma's all those years ago...Mom was wise to insist on a shorter counter in her kitchen.

Some people read essays. I think they publish books of them. Blogs are probably taking the place of essays. But who would read this? It's just me making noodles. 

"So why aren't you writing now?"

I know why I left words for a while. Because when the words are painful, or confusing, or lonely, or frustrating, or even just unsure, I don't want to leave evidence of it. For heaven's sake, what if my grandkids find it some day? What an awful legacy...
...of truth. Of learning. Of growth. Of reflection. Of the journey.

My fist immediately found the pressure the noodle cutter needed, but I frowned at how the noodles stuck in it. I shook my head. I sprinkled in more flour and, like the women before me, blamed the humidity. I sifted the noodles between my fingers, breaking them apart, letting them fall back into the bowl where the ball of dough had started. Again I picked them up, sprinkled them into the boiling broth, mine from an aluminum can instead of the re-purposed plastic butter bowls from the deep freeze.

Maybe I just don't know the audience yet. Maybe it's not about finding the audience at all. 

***

My Liberian God-Adventure: The Gbarnga Tranining & Final Thoughts

Over the weekend, we spent time with our United Methodist hosts – having meals together and seeing the city together. I got to know Dehkontee, Sam, and Rose the most. Dehkontee and Sam showed us Monrovia – we saw the beach that was just on the other side of our compound wall – we could hear the waves crashing on the beach at night. We went shopping for fabric to make clothes, and then we went out to eat at a fancy hotel restaurant. They welcomed artisans into the compound to sell us their crafts – crosses made out of bullets, dolls, purses, jewelry, wood carvings. Our friends took us to important Liberian historical sites, like the National History Museum, a ceremonial government building, First United Methodist Church, and the monument to their first president, JJ Roberts. We got a feel for the city on these trips out – we could see people just doing their daily routine and the effects of their history still impacting them today. We saw the Ducor Palace, once a five-star resort hotel looking over the ocean, but that was all but destroyed during their fourteen year civil war. That war ended in 2003, the year I graduated high school, and the ruins of the Ducor Palace still stand there, a physical reminder of the tragedy they endured. We heard their stories of survival – through the civil war and then through the Ebola crisis – and our hearts broke for the tragedies they endured. More importantly, our hearts rejoiced that they survived, that God was still telling a story of love and hope through their lives.  

            On Sunday we worshiped at a United Methodist church in the city – the congregation welcomed us like old friends. Worshipping with them, like worshiping with our teacher colleagues throughout the week, was incredibly powerful. That afternoon, we visited West Point, a neighborhood located on a peninsula on the edge of the city. Over 70,000 people live there, in a one square mile area. Sam is closely tied to the community – and so are we. In 2012, the Illinois Great Rivers Annual Conference paid to build a school there, their first high school. This year they graduated their first senior class. The school is furnished with desks made at the Midwest Mission Distribution Center, and our Annual Conference is still active in supporting the teachers and the students at West Point.

            On Monday, we traveled to Gbarnga, a city 120 miles east of Monrovia. People here in Illinois had described it to me as, “going to the country,” even though it’s the fourth largest city in Liberia. It took a record-breaking two and a half hours to drive there – we had planned for four hours, which is down from ten hours that a friend of mine took six years ago when he went. You see, back then, the beautiful highway wasn’t there – instead, they traveled on dirt roads between cities…so this highway was a really big deal.

            We passed small villages, rice patties, rubber tree plantations, mountains and valleys full of jungle forest. And then we drove into the Gbarnga Mission Station, 300 acres of land that house a school of theology, St. John’s United Methodist Church, Tubman Gray K-12 School, farmland, and the homes of the people who work there.

            When we pulled up, I could already hear the sounds of the country – birds and bugs and puppies and chickens and children playing. And yet it was so quiet compared to Monrovia. And then we met Dr. Anna – the principal of Tubman Gray School.

            I didn’t realize at first how influential Anna would be to me. Upon arriving at the Mission Station, Anna introduced herself to us, we met her husband James, and they helped their cooks serve us lunch. I learned about Anna’s background in education, ministry, and leadership. After a few hours, she took us on a tour of her school – and as we stood in her high school library, full of books and visual aids donated by US schools – she told us about her teachers. How she hoped we would teach them about learning styles (one of my most favorite topics in the whole world) and engagement strategies. She said she often taught them about lessons that are more than just taking notes…which is literally a discussion I had with my department in Jacksonville last May. She said that it was possible her teachers would be more likely to believe us, since we were seen as the experts from outside…which is, again, something I’ve had to deal with many times in my career. I stood there in awe – this woman who is living a half a world away was telling me she faces the very same leadership difficulties I do. Over the course of the next four days, Anna and I had several conversations about teaching and leadership, particularly as a woman. We talked about having high expectations for the people we work with and for our students, and how difficult it can be to support them while they reach those expectations. She and I have struck up a friendship that I hope flourishes in the future. In fact, I’ve already had lunch with her in Peoria, when she was here in August visiting churches who help support her school.

            Our team spent the next three days following the same schedule in the trainings as we did in Monrovia. Like before, we started and ended each day with devotions with our teachers – and it always ended with us holding hands in a big circle, singing to God about the great things He has done in our lives. Carol and I even covered a few more lessons on how to teach writing because the teachers there had a stronger foundation of training to begin with – Anna is building up her faculty with highly qualified teachers.

            Our afternoons in Gbarnga were different than they’d been in Monrovia, though. The guest house where we stayed was just a ten minute walk from the school, so we didn’t have the long commute to fill our afternoon. So we just sat on the porch of the guest house – and in those hours on the porch, I felt God’s peace like I had never felt it before. The sounds of the country, the butterflies floating by, the neighborhood children playing with the baseball and bat we brought, the 4 o’clock flowers opening slowly before us, the rainbow fading away as quickly as it had come. I spent hours just being in that very moment. Being still, knowing God is in control. Being still has never been so easy before.

During those hours, I talked with Bunny about other missions she’s been on, and I talked to her and Rose about becoming a better prayer warrior and how to fast. As we sat there one afternoon, we heard our cooks singing, “How Great Thou Art,” at the top of their lungs – it left me speechless. I nearly cried, but let’s be honest, that was a common occurrence by that time. Praising God in Liberia showed me what it means to really praise God – like we hear in Psalm 86. In versus 11-13, it says, “Teach me your way, Lord, that I may rely on your faithfulness; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name. I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart; I will glorify your name forever. For great is your love toward me; you have delivered me from the depths, from the realm of the dead.” Our friends helped me praise God with all my heart because they showed me how they did; they showed what it was like to rely on His faithfulness when they had nothing else, when He had literally delivered them from the realm of the dead – first during their civil war, and then during the Ebola crisis. They taught me how to praise God in a way that shows that I know He is truly God.

We ended our training in Gbarnga like in Monrovia – with a closing ceremony complete with gifts for our colleagues and friends. And again, their gratitude was so immense, so magnificent – they spoke of the things they learned in the training, of how they had grown during our time together. One teacher said that their hunger for learning was more than satisfied. James reminded us that we cannot fully measure the impact of the seeds we planted during our training, that God will grow those seeds. Anna spoke, holding back tears and thanking us for coming, thanking God for providing even in the most unlikely times. I did not hold back my tears – yet again I was overcome with the love they felt for us. Then one by one they gave us each a gift, again chosen specifically for each of us. Anna and her teachers gave me this dress, and she said it was just a small token of the immense gratitude she felt for us coming.

We left Gbarnga the next day, eyes full of tears but hearts full of peace, love, and gratitude, and we headed back to Monrovia for two short days before returning home. That leg of the trip was full of adventures, including a flat tire and seeing someone drive by with a goat on top their car. On our way, we made a short stop in the Weala District, another United Methodist Mission Station. Since 2008, Springfield First has built a strong relationship with the Weala District. Bunny made sure we stopped there during our travels since my church is so closely tied to it, so that I could see firsthand what our generosity has provided – a high school wing to the school, a church, a parsonage, a well, an operation theater. Just standing there, where we have sent so many prayers and so much support, brought me to tears.

            We arrived back at the guest house in Monrovia on Friday afternoon and started packing and preparing to go home. Something in the day’s travels left me feeling a bit off, you know there’s nothing worse than feeling a bit off when you’re away from home. Bunny seized the opportunity to teach me even more about prayer – she prayed for me, and she asked her friend Cynthia, whom we had met a few days before, to pray for me. The next morning, I felt just fine – wonderful, in fact. Before breakfast, Rose asked me how I was, and I told her I felt great. She looked at me and calmly replied, “Because when you’re about God’s business, God’s about your business.” She said it twice; she knew I needed to hear it twice. I was speechless, again. God doesn’t promise living out His call will be easy, but He does promise He will be with us. “Do not fear, for I am with you,” he says to us in Joshua, and again in Isaiah. Always. And that’s enough, if we learn to look to Him, rely on Him. That’s not easy, either, but God remains constant.

            In Matthew 28:19, Jesus charges us in the Great Commission to go to the ends of the earth for Him, sharing His love with everyone. I did actually travel half way around the world to share the best way I could – through teaching and education – because that’s who God made me to be, so that’s how He asked me to show His love. That was God’s business that He wanted me to be about. The more I followed, the more He paved the way for it to all work out. Our friends in Liberia, they don’t have the means to travel, so they show God’s love to the ends of the earth who come to them. The teachers we trained, the United Methodist staff who hosted us, the cooks who fed us, the drivers and guards who took care of us – they loved us unconditionally. They don’t love me because they know me all that well. They love me because God loves me and because we are in this crazy, amazing, pain-stricken, and beauty-filled life together.

            Just before I left, a friend of mine told me that my “Be still” verse from Psalm 46:10 had more to it than I’d been reading – the entire verse is, “Be still and know that I am God. I am exalted among all the nations, I am exalted in the earth.” To the ends of the earth, Jesus said. I want to leave you today with this -- be still, and ask God where and how He’s calling you. Maybe it’s serving others right here in Nokomis, or far away like Liberia, or anywhere in between. Maybe it’s financial support for people who need your help, or maybe it’s giving your time and energy to serving them. Be still. God is calling you to share His love in some way. What part of God’s business is He calling you to be about?

My Liberian God-Adventure: The Monrovia Training

After three and a half months of planning and praying – far more of the latter than the former – I boarded the plane to Monrovia, Liberia, on July 10. We arrived on a Tuesday, and the next two weeks were some of the most transformational experiences of my life.

            When we arrived at Roberts Airport, tired and kinda gross from being on airplanes for 16 hours, our United Methodist hosts picked us up. Dehkontee is the volunteer coordinator for the Liberian conference, and Sam is the manager of the United Methodist Missionaries Compound, which is where we stayed while we were in Monrovia. The sign on the door of the compound had our familiar United Methodist cross and flame – one thing that felt like home. The concrete brick wall that surrounded the compound and that was adorned with barbed wire and upside-down broken glass bottles, however, did not feel like home. Sam and Dehkontee helped us settle into our guest house for the night. We brought mosquito nets – tents really – to sleep in, and then we left them for our friends to use after we left. We met more of our friends who work at the compound that night – like Rose, who owns a catering business and is always the resident cook when Bunny brings a team to Liberia. Throughout our trip, she made amazing meals for us – eggs and oatmeal for breakfast, rice and stew of all flavors, fried chicken and plantains, donuts and coconut tarts. And fresh pineapple. Guys, I didn’t know pineapple could be so sweet.

            We hit the ground running – the very next day, we started the teacher training in Monrovia. First we held three days of training for five local schools there in the city. We started each day with a big breakfast and a devotion, and we drove for about an hour to Elaine Chapman United Methodist School and church. The commute was a bumpy one, but our drivers, Roland and Harrison, always delivered us to our destination safely. Our hosts gathered us all in the sanctuary for a moving opening ceremony – one teacher preached, and others led us in several songs. Our friends lifted their praises to God around us, hands clapping, voices singing. And I was in awe.

            We then split up into small groups, each with one American teacher and five Liberian teachers. We asked them about their greatest joys in teaching, about their biggest challenges, and what we needed to know about their situation so that we could best serve them. As we shared in our group, Jenny, Anthony, Benedict, Arkie, and Alvin shared their teacher-hearts with me – they said they love seeing a student finally get it, finally understand something they’ve been struggling with. That moment of success, that moment of breakthrough – that’s what I’ve described as my favorite part of teaching since I was a tutor in middle school. That was the first of many times that I realized, even though we are in such drastically different situations, we are so very similar. And those similarities are, in the end, far more important than our differences.

            They also shared their challenges – not enough funding to buy books and other materials. Not enough funding to pay teachers. Sounds familiar, too, huh? And yet I tried to be very careful to acknowledge the drastic disparity in their lack versus our lack here. The words we use may be the same, but the gravity of the situation is certainly different.

            We spent the rest of the day and the majority of the next two days separated into grade level groups for our training. Two of our teachers, Jeremy and Tanya, led the kindergarten through third grade group; Carol and I led fourth grade and up group. Some of the teachers taught the same class of students all day, like our elementary teachers here; others specialized in math, science, French, or reading like our middle and high school teachers. Their primary teaching method is direct instruction – teachers write on the chalkboard, while students silently copy it all down in their notebooks. I call that “sit and get,” and in my classes, it doesn’t happen much. Less than half my lessons are days when students take notes, and even when we do take notes, I have students collaborating and talking with each other throughout the period. So our training focused on ways they can help their students collaborate more, do more hands-on work, and generally be more engaged than just writing down information. Carol and I read stories that they could read with their students, and then we talked about how to connect lessons in other subjects to those stories. Our first book was about two friends who travel to visit each other, so we talked about social studies lessons on map reading, math lessons on calculating distance, speed, and time traveled, and science lessons on land formations. I taught them about studying four representations of a single math concept – graphs, equations, numbers, and words – and we worked together to adapt the idea of deepening their students’ understanding to English, French, and science classes. We taught how to ask students to graph numbers and functions by standing in different places in the room, and we played card games to foster number sense. I also taught about brain breaks – little exercises that we do with our kids when they get lethargic or overwhelmed or just because they’ve been working too long and they need a break. I love studying how brain research can improve instruction and learning, so this was one of my favorite activities.

            Later, Carol and I discussed another book on music and emphasized having students read dialogue aloud, and I tied it to a fractions scavenger hunt lesson. We finished our training with a book called What Do You Do with an Idea?, and we asked the teachers to use something we had covered to create their own lesson plan. Carol and I gave them time to work and helped them write lesson plans that they could implement in their own classrooms. Some were excellent, and some needed extra help, just like in any classroom.

            Between sessions, the teachers often broke out in spontaneous praise and worship. They’d come back from break or lunch, walk up to the piano and drums, and just start singing. Some songs were from their Liberian tradition – ones with lyrics that said,

“God you are able, you are able, God.”

“Jesus, we just want to say thank you…for our friends, for this day.”

“Good morning, Jesus, Good morning, Lord. I know you come from heaven above. The Holy Spirit is in control. Good morning, Jesus, Good morning, Lord. In the morning, I will rise and praise the Lord.”

Other songs, though, were familiar to me after singing them here, in this very room – “I Surrender All” struck a particular chord in me. Our friends were passionate – they weren’t just singing to sing along. They were really giving everything over to God – everything.

Singing alongside our friends, praising God with them, helped me realize something – there’s a difference between singing because it’s Sunday morning and praising Jesus because you know He’s God, because you know the Holy Spirit is in control. “Know that I am God,” from the Psalm took on a whole new meaning in Liberia.

            As the trainings wrapped up, Bunny took pictures of students who attend the schools on a scholarship sponsored by the Illinois Great Rivers Conference. Dozens of students filed through to have their pictures taken, and even more milled around asking how they could get a scholarship, too. I’ve been giving to this scholarship advance for five years. Right now, $175 sends a single child to school for an entire year – it covers their uniforms, their books, and their tuition. If you’re interested in helping students like these attend school in Liberia, there is a way to give directly to schools through the Illinois Great Rivers Conference. Just contact me if you’re interested in supporting that mission financially.  

Each morning with breakfast, and each evening after dinner, Bunny led us in a devotion and prayer. During some of those times, she reminded us that we don’t arrive in Liberia, or anywhere else for that matter, assuming we can change the entire culture or the entire country, much less solve all their problems, fix their entire school system. We can’t do it in the mere three days we held the trainings, and we certainly can’t in a single trip or even multiple trips. We emphasized this idea in our lesson planning session, too – not everything we discussed would be applicable for everyone, but that’s okay. We just gave them the tools to make one change, and we had to trust God would magnify and multiply it as He sees fit.

            Bunny emphasized that idea during our closing ceremony, too. During our last afternoon with the group, we gave another devotion and gave each teacher a bag full of school supplies and a certificate of completion for them. Bunny talked about how we didn’t come with all the answers, but instead we came to be their friends who worked alongside them – not ahead merely leading, not behind just telling them what to do, but alongside collaborating with them.

As we were getting ready to serve them, before we could even give them what we’d brought them, they told us of their gratitude – some teachers stood to tell us how thankful they were for our help, for our sacrifice of traveling so far to join them there. And then, before we could offer our gifts, they gave us gifts – beautiful shirts made there in the city. Each gift was selected specifically for the recipient – and we knew what kind of sacrifice they had made to give us these gifts.

            And in those moments, I know, we were living out God’s intention for the church – in Acts 4:32 it says, “All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had,” and that is what we were doing. We came together as a family of faith, and we shared what we had. I just so happened to have educational background to share with them. They shared finances that were already more limited than I can imagine, and more importantly, they shared their deep understanding of praising God and going to God in prayer honestly and humbly about everything.

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Interested in how this trip started? Check out the first post in this series.