Moving was the Easy Part

I’m not cut out to be a missionary.

I’m so over this half-pioneer life; I miss America. I miss potable water straight from the tap. I miss my home being a safe haven, a private escape from the world. I miss TV. I miss dining out. I miss American church. I miss my car! I miss the freedom to wear whatever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want. I miss working out and being admired for it. I miss the casual life of America and the lack of formalities. I miss being a non-entity, being just one of the crowd instead of a sight to be gawked at because of my different looks. I miss the fairness of shopping in America, of not being ripped off merely because of my skin color. I miss being able to call my family at almost any time of day. I miss my friends and the fun we would have together.

I guess this is part of what Paul meant when he said “Everything that was to my gain I count loss for the surpassing greatness of knowing Jesus.” Paul makes things sound so noble—as if he happily and easily accepted the death of his self, his desires, his comfort. After all, you can almost read him saying between the lines (and in some parts of the Bible, the lines actually say this!): what value do those tangible things have when compared to the intangible reality of Jesus?

What Paul fails to mention is how the tangible things grab, they linger, they are not easily forgotten, while the intangible are…well, intangible! Why is it that my brain screams for my five physical senses to be happy, while my heart yearns for my spiritual senses to be revived?

I don’t feel like I’m doing much for God, teaching Western kids, living in a mostly-Western house, surrounded by a bubble of Christian community. Moving to Africa as a missionary? If I had moved to the West Coast of America instead, I probably would be doing more evangelism than I am now. And I’d be comfortable too! Gee, God, I could have been more effective for You, and a lot happier for myself, if I’d stayed in America. What was the point of moving across the world if everyone here already knows You, and knows You deeply??

The answer comes daily, quiet but undeniable: You are here to learn My Presence. You are here to discover what it means to wait on Me. You are here to understand My Power, not your power.

Moving to Africa was the easy part. Living, truly living, in Africa—breathing in every moment as a gift, learning to thank God for hard days, humbling myself in a new culture, daily withheld from accustomed comforts, remembering that this is only a season—that’s the hard part. 

an american thanksgiving during a ugandan summer

The great thing about living amongst a multi-cultural community is that one can generally find fellow expats with whom to celebrate major holidays. The bummer about life as an expat is that often these holidays fall in the middle of a regular workweek...creating quite the craziness as one attempts to continue with normal life while also cramming in celebrations that would normally take two days in America.

The typical 'where do we put all this food??' dilemma 

   My housemate and I contributed three dishes to the celebration: stuffing, roasted carrots, and pumpkin-brownie cupcakes. My students and I ended school early, in honor of the day, and I came home at 2pm to cooking madness in preparation for our 6pm dinner. 

The meal was wonderful, complete with turkeys slaughtered that morning, cranberry sauce (say what?? I was SO stoked), and an amazing American yam casserole (that's Ugandan for sweet potato casserole with sugar and almonds on top!). 

Hannah preparing the roasted carrots

It's a few days late, but here are some things I'm thankful for:

• A month-long visit back to the States, starting in just one week!
• Fun, well-behaved, good students
• My housemate, Hannah
• New friends
• Old friends 
• Warm weather (true story--I love that I wore the equivalent of shorts & a tshirt on Thanksgiving!)
• Growing closer to God along the lines of Ps. 119:71
• Christmas shopping done 
• Internet
• Ugandan sunrises 

And of course, these cupcakes. Who wouldn't be thankful for these???

If you're overflowing with thanksgiving for God's good gifts this year, and you're interested in blessing others, I'd encourage you to consider donating to New Hope Uganda today (Tuesday, Nov. 27). Along with Black Friday and Cyber Monday, there's apparently a movement to start "Giving Tuesday"--a day when we can support our favorite ministries with just a taste of our blessings. If you want to donate to NHU, you can visit their website for a list of needs. 

a Godly conception of beauty

Warning: this post is brutally honest. If you think I’m perfect, stop reading now if you’d like to maintain that conception (though I’m not sure where you would have picked up that idea!).

In Uganda, the bigger one’s hips, the more beautiful one is considered.

In Uganda, what Americans would consider fat is actually beautiful.

Evidence A is provided above: all skirts and dresses are presented with extremely wide hips, as if the salespeople are trying to prove that buying that particular skirt will make one’s hips wider and thus more beautiful. It reminds me of the American trick of clipping the back of shirts together on a mannequin to make it seem that if I purchase that particular shirt, my tummy will seem slim and trim and gorgeous.

There are multiple reasons for why Ugandans value large women, which I won’t discuss. I simply provide you with that background to make the following story more understandable.

The other day, when I came home for lunch, I was chatting with our houseworker and she says excitedly “Oh, you are getting pouf (indicates an expansion from the hip area with her hands) and your brother will not recognize you at home!”

My immediate, gut-level, unfiltered reaction was a mixture of shame, embarrassment, fear, and astonishment.

Shame, because honestly, I have gained a few pounds since arriving in Uganda; 

Embarrassment, because I’d hoped nobody would notice;

Fear, because what if I get fat and can never get skinny and skinny is the only way I’ve ever been called beautiful and if I lose that, then no one will ever love me;

Astonishment, at the perceived audacity of saying such a thing to something and also at my own reaction to such a statement. When did being “skinny” become how I defined my own beauty?

Thankfully, I maintained my composure, reminded myself that she was trying to compliment me (I think!), and laughed it off…but not really. As I walked in the house to make lunch, my first thought was No bread today, let’s eat just veggies. As I washed my hands in the bathroom, I studied myself carefully in the mirror: Maybe it’s just the outfit. And I should do a really good workout tomorrow. The wound, though completely unintentional, was there and there to stay.

All my life, I’ve lived in a culture where skinny is beautiful. All my life, being skinny has come naturally, and thus I’ve been considered somehow attractive, even if not exactly ‘gorgeous’ by Hollywood standards. I was barely a teenager the first time anyone complimented me on my thinness. The compliments disguised as insults from my fellow teens (“how do you eat so much and stay so skinny?”) always made me cringe, but deep down, I was glad to be more than a wallflower, excited to be noticed, even if for something that made them jealous. Step by step, year by year, the idea that my beauty came merely from my ability to avoid excess body fat was pounded into my subconscious…just like into every other American girl. In my head, I said the idea of skinny as beautiful was wrong, but deep down, I clung to what seemed the only definition of beauty that I had in my favor.

And then, on a beautiful, sunny day in the middle of the African bush, I was forced to confront the idea that perhaps this definition of beauty wouldn't always remain in my favor.

I’m not writing this to get sympathy points. I’m not posting this to fish for compliments, to seek reassurance of my beauty apart from my weight, or to rant about American culture. I’m simply sharing, with the hope that maybe it will encourage other women struggling with body image issues. Or maybe it will encourage those of us who fit into our culture’s definition of beauty (whatever that may be) to be more compassionate to those who don’t. Or maybe it will simply remind women and men to consider carefully how they are defining beauty to their daughters, their wives, their coworkers, their friends.

Do I have God’s view of beauty? Not yet.

But maybe God will redeem this wound to bring me closer to it.  

for Bekah

A picture of my kitchen!

It's kinda messy...but that is the normal state. 

My housemate is a gourmet cook, having taken classes on food prep and service. So the messy kitchen generally correlates with awesome food in my tummy.  

a package and a thank you

I received a package about 5 weeks ago that truly made my whole week! The thing about living halfway across the world from my 'home' is that simple things, like a package full of goodies that I'd ordered or requested, are astonishingly exciting. It took a solid 4 weeks for the package to arrive, and the last two weeks were anguishing! My suggestion for anyone sending me a package in the future? Don't tell me it's coming--trust me, you'll know when I've received it. 

And to whomever paid for my World subscription to come to me in Uganda--THANK you!! I haven't a clue who you might be, but please know that I absolutely love catching up on news from an American Christian perspective and your gift is appreciated!

'specialized' bike

I'm sorry for the recent silence! Sometimes I just don't have the energy to think about what to say...or the internet is being stupid (which has been the case for the past two weeks!). Thankfully, NHU was able to increase bandwidth or switch providers or something, so the internet has been better the past few days. So I'll share with you a big praise: I now own a bike!!

Some friends and I went into Kampala a few weeks ago, specifically on a mission to find bikes for myself and another guy. God totally blessed our search, and within an hour of starting the search, we were walking away from the market with our very own custom second-hand bikes. We're pretty sure we got the muzungu "special" (ie, the white person markup!), but hey, I'm willing to pay a little extra for the speed of my own wheels! 

I'm still figuring out how to ride a bike in a skirt modestly. So far, I've discovered that long, NOT flowy skirts work best. I'll confess, it's a little annoying that white skin flashes so much in the sun.

Also, to position oneself for bike riding while wearing a skirt, the best tip I received was to lay the bike on the ground, slide one leg gracefully over and pick the bike up underneath oneself. Works like a dream, no need to lift legs and skirts high!

Ai-yai-yai, the things I never thought about before moving here...

 


While at the market, we were offered a bike for one million (shillings--about $475...for a used bike!). We laughed at that ridiculous offer and moved to another store where the salesmen treated us much more fairly. When you buy a bike here, you're essentially buying the frame--everything else is replaceable, as evidenced by my bike. I receive new handlebars, new gear shifters, new pedals, new mud guards, and a new seat, plus a seemingly thorough tune-up service. The brand is 'Specialized'--I laugh that my bike truly is custom-designed.