john piper makes me think crazy thoughts

I've been listening to some of John Piper's sermons recently, which strikes me as odd because I am definitely not a 5-point Calvinist (not even close!). It's like I've been wanting something more, and since Piper's on my iPod...well, why not?

All personal theology aside, I've been gleaning some legit motivation from the messages I've listened to. In the midst of my current employment struggle and aimlessness, this guy...he's reminding me of my eternal purpose.

These are the 3 take-away themes I've picked up: America is comfortable and Christians aren't called to comfort, missions and suffering go hand in hand, and relationships matter.

I'm not sure how to make sense of all this, but I've been reading Philippians, and I think God is beginning to call me to what's next. I don't know where that is, or when I'm going, but I do know that something is tugging at me. And I'm EXCITED.

Countdown: 24 days

a verse, an image, a thought

I'd like to share an opinion today. Okay, I guess I do that every day, but I'm raiding the secret archives of my brain and sharing something that I've often thought but never spoken.

A fellow blogger recently called Psalm 139 to mind. While the psalm in its entirety is worth a read (and a re-read, for that matter) it is verse 5 specifically that has always stood out to me:

"You hem me in, behind and before. Your hand is on me."

Simply put, I adore this verse. I love that my God is so personally invested in my life: not in a wind-the-watch-sit-back-and-watch-it-tick kind of way, but in the created-me-knows-my-thoughts-his-hand-is-ON-me kind of way.

I've been aware of this verse for a very long time--years, in fact--and it has always conjured up a certain image in my mind. For self-preservation, I have never shared this image with anyone, because it's kind of girly and a little embarrassing, like having an iTunes playlist called Sad Songs that you listen to for a couple days each month. Wait, what? Did I just admit that? Never mind.

I watch a lot of movies, right? Especially here in Nigeria, where I can buy 15 on one disc and not feel bad about watching them ALL because I have to get my money's worth. Romantic comedies are a personal favorite. I mean, I really like action movies, Bogey-and-Hepburn-type movies, and the ones that make me think, but for brainless entertainment, I'll take a corny romantic comedy, extra cheese.

In most of these fluffy favorites, there's a ridiculously overwrought moment in which the female protagonist struggles against the male protagonist. His arms are braced against her shoulders; she may or may not be crying, screaming, and throwing punches. She carries on like this for a while, but invariably, she surrenders herself, tired of struggling, tired of resisting, just flat-out exhausted. And in the moment she decides she can't do it any longer, she lets herself be loved.

Ladies and gents, welcome to verse 5.

This is what I do. I get all stubborn and pushy. I think I can do God's job better than He can. I try to fake Him out. But He knows me. He knows my thoughts while I think them, He knows my words before I say them. So He holds my shoulders while I thrash around and waits for me to tire myself out. Which I do, of course, and then I realize I am literally caught in the most mind-blowing, deep-as-an-ocean, knows-all-my-faults-and-doesn't-care kind of love I will ever know. Exhausted as I am, I just rest in the knowledge that my life is not my own. I am hemmed in, behind and before, by Love that will not let me go.

Amen and amen.

All About Abuja Ark

We sang the following refrain in church today. In the Igbo language, it simply says, "Thank you. God, thank you." There is power in its simplicity.

Ime...Imela
Imela, Chineke Imela.
Ime...Imela
Imela, Jehovah Imela

Add guitar, bongos, and a tambourine and you've got an idea of what it was like this morning at my church, Abuja Ark International.

Since our pastor relocated suddenly to South Africa, our church has elected a leadership team as the operating body, with different laypersons preaching and teaching each week. Some are missionaries, some are ambassadors, some are teachers, some are doctors. It has been encouraging, though, to learn from my brothers (and sisters!) as fellow believers. Apparently, I have a tendency to put pastors on pedestals and forget how much I can learn from those sitting in the pew (ahem, plastic chair) next to me.
There's a sign-up sheet that gets passed around each Sunday, and people sign up for responsibilities from teaching Sunday School to making coffee to leading worship to running the projector. I usually sign up for projector duty or the Scripture reading. Talk about being the elbow, knee, left ear, or ankle of the body of Christ!

Today was Communion Sunday (we celebrate twice a month) and the accompanying liturgy really stuck with me: The gifts of God for the people of God. The body of His only Son is offered as a gift to me--lowly me--who has been grafted into the family of God.
I chewed on that during the sermon, which was delivered by the Hon. Sekonte Davies, a member of the Nigerian House of Representatives and member of our church. His sermon addressed the lessons we learn from our children which we can apply to our relationship with God. Blind trust, easy forgiveness, willing openness, unconditional love, eager expectancy--these are all examples shown us by little children which we ought to mirror in our relationship with God.

Each quarter, our church selects a ministry to support with special offerings. This quarter, we're sponsoring an interfaith conference here in Abuja in April. The emphasis of the conference is on recognizing the common ground between the Islamic and Christian faiths and using that as a starting place for healthy and free discussion.
It is our prayer that this conference will bring together leaders from both faiths and bring about a mutual understanding and peace between the two groups, especially in light of the recent conflict in Plateau State, which is half-religious, half-ethnic in nature.

Abuja Ark is approximately 50% responsible for my sense of belonging, security, and well-being since arriving in Nigeria an astonishing 7.5 months ago (how has it been that long?!). It has truly been a place of inclusion, appreciation, community, and growth for me, and for all of that, I simply say, Imela, Jehovah, Imela.

It's been a while...

...but I'm still here, don't worry.

If you're interested in reading my excuses, here they are (if not, skip down a paragraph): I haven't had internet at home for a week, grades were due yesterday so I've been calculating 59 grades in the past 3 days, and there have been no significant changes in my life to warrant a new blog post (based on the last life-altering update).

I'm now approximately 90 days away from leaving Nigeria and am definitely in denial. I experience two strains of thought in some sort of mental inhale-exhale pattern. They are:
1. I can't believe I'm leaving. I am abandoning my students and everyone I've tried to invest in this year. Walking away is the most irresponsible thing I could do. I don't even have a job in the States. I just hope that when I leave, it's not forever. I hope I get to come back someday.
2. I am so excited to go home. I'm so excited to be with people I love, to be known and familiar to people who have known me since before I was Miss Thomas the Literature teacher. I can't wait to read to my nephew, take a road trip with my brother, go on a run in my favorite forest preserve, and experience the change of seasons (Can you say "sweatshirt weather"???).

This is where I am. Some people call it a rock and a hard place. It's not comfortable.

As to the fear of the unknown, a great friend reminded me today, "Look what happened last time you didn't have a job." She's so right - God got me to Nigeria in 5 weeks and I have had some of the happiest months of my life here. He can totally handle the next phase of my life, whatever and wherever that may be.

As another great friend reminded me, He is able.

Hear Me Out

If you don't believe in miracles, just hear me out.
I'm about to rock you.

Shortly after I moved to Nigeria, my paternal grandfather was diagnosed with cancer. He underwent surgery while I was home for Christmas, and we were able to be with him, Grandma, my aunt & two uncles during the holidays.

(at my college graduation last May)

Since my return to Nigeria, Grandpa has been back to the hospital, undergoing further tests and scans to determine the type of cancer he has and how prevalent it is in his body.

Mom called me this week with the results of that PET scan:
(Are you ready? Are you ready?)

There is no cancer anywhere in his body.

The doctors' reaction was something along the lines of, "We know you have cancer because we left some in there during surgery." (They couldn't get it all.) And now there's none. He hasn't even had chemo or radiation yet.

Tell me there's not something supernatural about this. Go ahead, I dare you. My family will laugh you out of the room. This has miracle written all over it. My. God. heals.

All blessing and honor, glory and power and praise.

My Heart and the Life Verse Phenomenon, Part II

I have a confession:

Africa was never the desire of my heart.

Which, in a 20/20 hindsight kind of way, is how I know I'm exactly where God wants me to be.

Let's examine the reasons I never wanted to move to Africa:
1. I speak Spanish. I love Spanish. Why would I move to a continent entirely incompatible with 8 years of linguistic training?
2. I generally enjoy living in a nation with a stable infrastructure & an organized government, and without an international reputation for scams.
3. I bargained with God at the age of 9: I would go wherever He wanted me, except Africa.

Oh, sorry, you thought bargaining was only something adults do in the 4th stage of grief? Nope, kids do it, too. Here's how it went down for me:

I have a distinct memory of reading a collection of missionary stories which told about some place in Africa that had these killer ants that sting and bite their way into your ears and wreck your brain. Or something like that.

I sat on the floor of my basement reading about these ants and saying to God, "Okay, buddy, look. You can send me anywhere you want. But I am not going there. Got it?" We learn to bargain with God at such a very young age.

I toyed with the idea of mission work for the better half of my young life, and by my last semester at Wheaton College, my perception of mission work had changed drastically. I'm more in tune with the Humanitarian Work + Jesus model.

As in, "Yes, I'll build a well for your village, supplying you with safe drinking water that will potentially extend your life expectancy. When I'm finished with the well, can I tell you about some Living Water? It extends life expectancy, too." I'm all about that approach.

By May 2009, the "Reasons Maggie Never Wants to Live in Africa" list had grown:

4. I have a bunch of student loans, and few missions organizations will sign on full-time missionaries with debt.
5. I spent all 4 years of college answering the question, "What are you going to do with an English degree? Teach?" with an emphatic "NO WAY, NOT ME."
6. I need a salary. I'm not comfortable taking a job that requires me to itinerate support.
7. My brother Jake moved to Wheaton, and frankly, I want to be in the same state after a 4-year separation.

The list was getting longer, you see. But as I added bullet points to that list, another list was forming: The "Reasons Maggie Will End Up Moving to Africa" list:

1. The economy tanked. Any job is a good job.
2. My English degree does allow me to teach in private schools. Talk about keeping options open.
3. 6-month and 9-month grace periods on federal student loans have this tendency to creep up on you.
4. As much as I love my parents and appreciate their hospitality, the whole being a jobless bum thing was really unflattering. It was the first time I'd been unemployed since the 8th grade, and I hated it. I wanted out.

I have a feeling God knew I would flake out on the living overseas thing. I spent 13 years second-guessing, doubting, questioning, evading, avoiding, ignoring, making excuses, and running in the opposite direction. I imagine God was shaking his head, because I played the part of Israel perfectly.

In Hosea 2, Israel was unfaithful to God like a wife returning to a life of prostitution. God's response?
6 Therefore I will block her path with thornbushes;
I will wall her in so that she cannot find her way
7 She will chase after her lovers but not catch them;
she will look for them but not find them.
Then she will say,
'I will go back to my husband as at first,
for then I was better off than now.'

I was so content in my mud that God had to frustrate me relationally, economically, professionally, physically, financially, and emotionally just to get my attention.

All the while, Africa waited.

God was blocking my path with thorns, backing me into a corner with job loss and breakups, making sure that when I tried to get out of my corner, the open path was Nigeria.

Honestly, I feel that all the events of the past 15 months of my life occurred if solely for the purpose of getting me to Africa, which is both terrifying and relieving. It's terrifying because that means that "such a time as this" is really important. It's relieving because for all my wandering and wrong turns, God still brought me to this place. I didn't screw it up. God is bigger than my ignorance.

For 13 years, Africa was not my desire, but it is now.

That's how I know I'm not in the mud anymore.

My Heart and the Life Verse Phenomenon

I don't remember exactly when, in my churched childhood, I first came across the idea of "The Life Verse." I must have been young, because I can't recall ever hearing the phrase and not immediately comprehending it.

In my opinion, The Life Verse exists at the place where the church meets consumerist culture. Which is not to say that the concept of The Life Verse is heretical or blasphemous. It's one way that we make Scripture pertain specifically to ourselves as individuals (i.e. "How can Scripture meet my needs?") and another way that Christians succeed in marketing religion back to ourselves. If that statement made you angry, I would be happy to forward you my senior-year thesis on the purchasing of Brand Jesus, which will help you understand where I'm coming from. You could also read Tyler Wigg Stevenson's book of the same name.

The timeline goes as follows: somewhere in my early childhood, I learned that I could claim a Scripture verse to be the theme of my as-yet-unlived life. I could claim it and it could be a guidepost, a veritable memorial stone--just like in Joshua 4--representing the times when God showed up: a testament to enduring faithfulness. Some time after this, I came to see Psalm 37:4 as my Life Verse:

"Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart."

Fast-forward ten years. In the fall of my senior year, during a quarter-life crisis (in which the soon-to-be college graduate freaks out about the impending doom of her aimless life), my very wise roommate Sarah shared with me that my life verse can be understood in two ways. Yes, she said, most people interpret it in the way I had, believing that delighting oneself in the Lord will result in assured happiness, indeed, in the things you most want in life: the deepest desires of your heart. But, she informed me, some read it this way: when you are so deep in the will of God, when His will is the only thing you care to pursue and when His face is the only thing filling your line of vision, you will find that the things your heart wants most are--in an ironic twist--the things HE most wants. Those, she said, are the desires of your heart when you delight yourself in Him: His desires.

Can I get an amen?

It took a few days to sink in, but I cannot be more convinced that this second, newer (new, at least, to me) interpretation is more accurate. The first seems too consumerist to be true: that God would give me what I want as long as I am delighting in Him (whatever that unidentified term delight means). It seems much more probable that in my love affair with a God who knows me better than I know myself, He would exchange what I think I want for what is actually better for me to have. We recognize this today as a mother's love.

This is how I picture it. I was sitting, happily mucking about, in puddle of mud, completely oblivious to my own filth. In comes Jesus Christ, who takes me by the hand and leads pulls yanks me out of the mud. I protest; I kick and I scream. "But I like it here," I say. "I want to stay; I want this - it's fun!"
As He washes the mud from body, he quiets me in a whisper: "My child, you don't know what you want. That is, what you say you want, you don't actually know it. It's mud. You're dirty. I want to give you what I want for you."
It's then that I realize the mud is washed away, pooled on the floor at my feet. I'm standing, shivering, wet, cold, and naked. I can see that the mud is dirty, filthy, wretched and has been drowning me in its filth and making me dirty and wretched. And I want nothing more than to have what He wants to give me: a garment of praise and a crown of righteousness.

That's what Psalm 37:4 means to me. It means that all the things I want in this world, all the dreams I can dream up for myself, all the places I want to go, all the plans I make for my future- they are all mud. I think I know what it is I want, I think I understand what I'm asking for, but what He wants to give me is so. much. better. than what I desire. And as I busy myself in my mud, perfectly content with the nearsighted visions that placate me, Psalm 37:4 reminds me that when I delight myself in Him, the things I want fall away and are replaced by the grandiose treasures He desires on my behalf.

Please understand that this new reading of my so-called Life Verse does not, in fact, make my life easier. It's more complicated now. It involves deep internal questions: These things I want, are they what He wants? This situation I'm sitting in, is it mud? That goal I've set, is it too narrow in scope?

In the midst of my questions, though, comes the reassurance that as long as I'm delighting myself in Him--seeking His will instead of living for myself--my desires will align with His until mine don't even exist anymore.

That is worth climbing out of the mud for.

I have a social life!

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back my social life! After an extended absence, featuring several instances of lesson planning on Friday nights and various weeks of going only to work and straight home, I'm pleased to announce that my extroversion has made a long-awaited appearance!

All joking aside, I spent Friday afternoon at the home of a lovely American coworker. She's been inviting me over since August, and we finally got around to it! Mrs. C is married to a Nigerian and has two delightful young boys. It was so wonderful to spend the afternoon and evening in the midst of a family. We had lunch - some delicious Nigerian rice and plantain and chicken - and the boys kept bringing me balloons to blow up for them. It brought me so much rest to talk about adapting to culture and staying in touch with family and making long-term decisions that affect everything.

Saturday morning Jan and I made our way to another friend's home. Their daughter is currently at Wheaton (my alma mater) but spent Christmas visiting her parents, who work for the U.S. Embassy. They made us brunch (Waffles and fruit? Sign me up!) and then we spent a delightful afternoon at their pool, chatting and catching up on everything Wheaton.

It was so refreshing to speak with someone who feels such a deep love for all that Wheaton is, as opposed to some of the disillusioned, jaded Wheaton "survivors" I spent the last year talking with. I share this young woman's appreciation for the ways Wheaton has shaped us as individuals and helped us grow, and it felt something like closure for me to reminisce on my Wheaton experience, reflecting on the positive, instead of the negative. The sunshine and 92 degree weather only sweetened the conversation. (Don't worry, Mom, I wore sunscreen!)

This morning was church, and though Sunday mornings look a lot different than it did in August, what with the absence of an official pastor, I know that God is still present in our continually-changing community.
I give thanks today for the blessing of a church family: people who noted my absence and welcomed me back, people who nodded with understanding when I said that leaving home this time was infinitely more difficult than in August, people who asked eagerly if I will return next fall because they want me to come back. People want me to come back. I am wanted here.
As difficult as it is to leave behind the familiar and come back for another 6 months in this place that is not home, it is easier knowing that my presence is desired, and that people will miss me when I leave (and come June 18, I will leave).

On that note, I have not decided yet if I will return for a second year. Some days I lean one way and some days I lean another. Making an objective decision is impossible--emotions are implicitly involved--so prayer is my method. I am praying that God will reveal His plan to me. You may agree with me in that prayer, but I will ask that you do not pray that I will come home (or, conversely, that I will stay).
I'm serving a holy God in a place that makes me uncomfortable, and I'm finding joy and fulfillment in that obedience. Obedience, then, is my primary objective. If obedience means Nigeria, America, or the Galapagos Islands, I will follow where He leads. Pray, please, that I will be obedient, whatever that means for my future trajectory. Thank you for praying. It is sustaining me in this Hot Season.

Give me an antonym for subtle... 'cause that's what this shout-out is

Someone asked me today who my heroes are. I didn't even have to voice a pensive "hmm..." I knew so quickly and with so much certainty. (One who speaks in cliches might add 'beyond a shadow of a doubt' but I'm no longer such a one.)

These folks are my heroes. They are my 3 best friends, my kindred spirits, my might-as-well-be-blood-they-know-me-so-well sisters.
And their husbands, on New Year's Eve (best night of 2009).
Meet L, T&C, A&K. When we were silly high school girls, we gave ourselves the acronym CALM. (I voted for CLAM, personally...) Now we're [mostly] grown-up, some with husbands, one with a baby, all with careers. The Constant, of course, throughout the last 5 years has been our God, who has kept us knitted together against time, distance, and change.

I could go on an on about how crazy successful these women are. I could tell you about graduating college in 2 years, graduating cum laude, graduating Ivy League, weddings, nursing school, medical school, first apartments, first houses, India, Haiti, Switzerland, Maine, Minnesota, and the 16-month-old heart-stealer named J. I could tell you all that. Or I could simply tell you how lucky I am to call them my friends. Yeah, let's stick to that. It's less obvious.

I just want you to know that I have the best friends in the world. Underscore on the "God has blessed me richly" part.

As if it wasn't obvious already, I really love and miss these women.

Diving Back Into Life

I've been back in Abuja for all of 40 hours now, and I'm diving right back into life. Routine feels good. So did the clobbering hug I got from my 6th graders when I walked into class. It feels good to be missed, too.

The New Year is a really really big deal here, much more than I expected. Christians go to church on New Year's Day, people set big resolutions, and "Happy New Year" has totally replaced the standard Nigerian greetings. Now I understand why people were so shocked that I left America on the first day of the year!

My 8th graders asked me about my New Year's Resolutions. (I think they were just trying to delay starting class, sneaky little things.) Their query gave me pause because I rarely set New Year's Resolutions; I generally shy away from imminent failure. Now that I've had a few hours to think it over, I've come up with a few small resolutions (lowercase r because I'm still hesitant to declare it with as much finality).

1. Stop using cliches. I've noticed that my blog post are disgustingly and shockingly overrun with the most trite phrases in my vocabulary. If I want to be serious about my writing and be taken seriously, I need to learn how to state things in an original way!

2. Practice more self-control in the classroom. I'm sure this will shock you, but one can lose one's temper patience quite easily in a room full of middle-school children. I don't want to be a teacher that gets red-faced when students won't settle down. I want to be the teacher who makes Literature so alive that my students don't have time to be distracted. I've seen a few "enraptured" moments happen this year, and it leaves me feeling quite triumphant. For their sake, if not for my own selfish pride, I want to see more of those moments!

3. Figure out my passion in life. I feel like, at 22, there is no overarching or uniting theme to my life. I feel very much like an anthology of loosely connected snippets and scraps; the only connective tissue is the grace of God. My life is full of people who know their life passion, and I want the same direction. Being blindly obedient has brought me many blessings, but this whole "I have no idea where I'm going be in 9 months" thing is more than a little frustrating. That being said, I will continue to follow God wherever he leads me, regardless of whether or not I know where we're going. It worked for Abraham...

Little things: It's hot here. KLM lost my bags; I don't have deodorant or a hairbrush. Our whole house is a hot dusty mess from Harmattan.

Big things: God is still faithful. I'm where I need to be. Amen and amen.

You NEED to read this

This is the most inspirational blog young woman I've ever read about:

KissesFromKatie.blogspot.com

She makes me feel surprised, convicted, inspired, and ultimately, she makes me want to do MORE. More than I'm already doing in my marble-floored, granite-countertopped, air-conditioned apartment in the (arguably) wealthiest city in Nigeria.

Oh, God, that I would endeavor to center myself in the middle of your plan for my life, following Katie's example.

Prayer / General Update

For those of you keeping up with the, ahem, "prayer concerns" of my life, I have an update.

5-year-old I has been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Her prognosis is upwards of 90%. She begins chemo tomorrow, and will continue treatment for the next 3 years. Thus, our pastor's family will be leaving Nigeria to be together in South Africa for the first part of her treatment. I'm so glad they'll be united as a family, but selfishly, I'm sad to see them leave Abuja Ark. There are many questions (When? How? Who?) that will be resolved in the next few weeks. Pray for I's parents to have divine wisdom, for their 6-year-old twin girls to have understanding beyond their years, and above all else, for healing for little I.

Secondly, please pray for my flatmate Jan. She was widowed a year and a half ago, and she's still walking through the grieving process. She's been particularly down the past few weeks, and I suspect the upcoming holiday season isn't going to help things. Pray specifically that she is able to spend Christmas with her son. (While I'm gone, she'll be alone.) I'm very unsure of what role I'm supposed to take to support her--all I'm doing now is listening and trying to understand, which feels very futile--so prayer for me to know how to comfort her is also welcome.

Lastly, the next two weeks are going to either fly by or creep very slowly. Whichever the case may be, I need grace to make it to December 12th. This Friday is the Christmas program at school, for which I am the emcee (M.C.?). I'm pretty nervous about appearing in front of everyone, just because I am the new kid on the block...I feel like this is my opportunity to prove to the parents that I deserve to be here educating their kids. Not to put too fine a point on it. :) Somewhere in following week, I have to gather all the information for my visa, pack up my stuff, teach a full week of lessons while maintaining patience and sanity, and try to squeeze out 2 more sets of curriculum so that I don't have to bring work home with me. Then I have to jam 30 hours of travel into a 24-hour day, hopping through 6 cities. Weather permitting. (Speaking of which, I have a 7-hour layover at Heathrow...do I have any readers in London who want to help me pass the time?)

I am so thankful for this chance to be reunited with my WHOLE family (both sides of extended family, too!), get my fill of friends, watch movies with my brother, and generally stock up on some American love for the next 6-month push. I also can't wait to know what it feels like to miss Nigeria. In August, I felt a pull towards this mysterious place, and now that I know all the life that it entails, I can't wait to feel a pull towards familiarity.

Thanks in advance for your prayers. Can't wait to see you!

The Birds and the Bees

Heads up! Today's update is a frank look at Nigeria's cultural attitudes towards sex. Younger readers, redirect your browsers now. :)

I unwittingly entered into a discussion about sex today with a fellow teacher. It was one of those kinds of conversations that completely broadsides you and makes you say How did we get here?--one that I consequently couldn't escape. So, since I couldn't back out, I stepped up. And I learned a lot about Nigeria's general attitude towards sex. Some of it was shocking, and most of it was saddening.

Mr. L works in the science lab at school. He's 25, and the coworker closest in age to mine. We've become friends, but in that culture-clash way where I still occasionally leave our conversations confused about what just happened. Please factor that element into today's story. This bature still doesn't understand Nigerian humor. Or their idea of water-cooler conversation.

He told me the story of last weekend, in which he traveled to visit a relative, which happens all the time for Nigerians with family outside of Abuja. When he arrived, he found a woman staying in his uncle's house (again, not out of the ordinary, since most Nigerians are very generous). His uncle also decided to travel, leaving Mr. L alone in the house with the woman.

One can piece the story together from there, but the crucial detail is that Mr. L denied any fault. He says she made herself available to him and his actual words were: "Well, you know, I'm a man and I can't help myself."

Oh, how grieved I was to hear this. Unfortunately, it's not the first time, either. It seems that in Nigerian culture--and even in the Church--sons are raised believing that "boys will be boys" and are therefore not held accountable for their sexual actions. I have heard many stories of Nigerian men being unfaithful to their wives, and I don't know what makes me sadder: that men think this is normal behavior, or that their wives think this is normal behavior.

Back to the story, though...

Mr. L then asked me what I thought about his story. Baffled, I asked him if he felt any regret over his actions. He said he did indeed feel guilty. I advised him to never let something like this happen again, and to definitely not return to his uncle's while the woman was there. He agreed that that was good advice.

I asked if he had a girlfriend (he alluded to one in a conversation last week), but he said no. I bridged the cultural gap by explaining to him that where I come from, we would call that cheating, and it would be grounds for the woman to leave the man. Mr. L actually laughed at the thought. In Nigeria, it all depends on the woman, he told me. As long as the man still makes time for the girlfriend, most women (in his estimation) don't care who their men are sleeping with.

But really, what does one say to that?

In a society so touched by Islam--a religion which allows a man to take 4 wives "as long as he loves them equally," and to divorce them by saying the words "I divorce you" on 3 separate occasions--I find Mr. L's story a drop in the bucket. This is the one point of cultural diversity I have tried to "appreciate" but cannot. I draw the line at a cultural practice which encourages men to dishonor their women by breaking the marriage covenant and which teaches women that their right to be cherished by one man is subservient to his sexual impluses. If for no other reason, the fact that this principle is so culturally ingrained in Nigerian men will be the reason I would not marry a Nigerian man (and oh, how it has been overtly suggested to me).

On a religious note, the standard is supposed to be different amongst Nigerian Christians. It's supposed to be, but often isn't. I heard recently the story of a woman who discovered that her husband, a pastor, just fathered a child by another woman. What do you with a situation like that?

Don't even get me started on the double standard between male infidelity and female infidelity. I'll give you a hint: in one scenario, no action is required, and in the other, public shaming and scornful divorce is the consequence.

Green Oranges and Other Confessions

I have a couple confessions to make:

1. I didn't write this update over the weekend because I procrastinated too long on my lesson plans and correcting. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

2. My oranges here are green. No, for real. That's not an oversized lime, that's an orange, and it legitimately disturbs me. Oranges are called oranges because they're orange. Come on Nigeria; get with the program.

3. Sometimes I strip God of His omnipotence. Hello, subject change. Yesterday in church, we talked about Psalm 30. The psalmist praises God for delivering him from trouble. The credit for the deliverance is given to God. God is given praise for being, well, God.

And yet, how many times do I say or do things that strip God of the praise He deserves?

Exhibit A: I mentioned that I had a conversation last week with a new neighbor. Part of our exchange went like this:
L: I feel so bad that you have to live with old ladies and go to church all the time.
Me: I don't mind. Really, I don't.
L: Well, do you drink?
Me: Occasionally. Why?
L: Oh, good. Just making sure you're not one of those people who lived in the substance-free dorm at your college.
[Pause here to appreciate the irony.]
Me: Actually, my whole college was substance-free. It's a Christian school.
L: Oh. I knew some crazy girls like that. They were all anti-drinking and 'saving themselves for marriage' or something like that.
[Spoiler Alert: I'm about to deny God.]
Me: Oh. Well, I'm not crazy. I do drink and stuff. It's hard to associate yourself with a particular group of people like evangelical Christians because I'm not, like, extreme like everyone else.

WHAT?! DID YOU JUST HEAR ME?!

Why didn't I take the opportunity to tell him about the incredible, life-changing redemption I have received from Jehovah Mephalti, the Lord my Deliverer? (yep, I Googled it.) Why did I show no hesitation in severing myself from the community of saints I would otherwise call the Body of Christ, the Church? Why did I back down?

My rationale at the time was, Oh I don't want to scare him off. This could turn into a great example of "Relational Christianity."

Ooh, that R. C. gets me every time. I can justify just about any action (or inaction) with Relational Christianity (i.e. I don't want to ram my religion down people's throats; I want to develop a relationship with them so they can see there's something different about me.).
It's a benign concept enough, but I struggle with elevating it above Jesus in importance. Legitimately. Sometimes I take my eyes off Jesus and focus on being relevant and culturally palatable and relational instead of on the one I call Savior.

But that's not the kind of life Jesus called me to live. He's called me to live a life apart: a crazy, radical, that's-not-how-the-rest-of-the-world-works kind of life that points people to Jesus.

And honestly, you guys, it's a struggle for me to keep my finger off Backspace right now, because I'm human, I mess up, I make a mockery of that purpose, and I don't live like I believe any of that stuff I just typed. If you've known me for more than 5 minutes, you know that when I screw up, I go all out. And the last thing Christianity needs is another hypocrite. For all my failings, though, I am never outside the grace of God, and neither are you.

So for all the times I've missed the opportunity, for all the "L conversations" I've had, let me just say this:

I believe it. It's some pretty messed up stuff like human sacrifice and eternity and a God I can't even see, but I believe it. All of it. I believe that if I was the only human left on earth, God still would have loved me enough to send His Son to be the redemption for all my mistakes. I believe that this truth should permeate every level of my existence and that it should grieve me when it does not. I believe that there is a world beyond this one, and when I come to the end of my life, I will be spared an eternity apart from God because of a sacrifice that has already been made, a debt that has already been paid. (Hey, that rhymed.) (English teacher, remember?)

And frankly, my friends, that is why I'm in Nigeria. Because I also believe that God created me, is mindful of me, and cares about what I do with my life. I believe that my purpose is to bring God glory in everything I say and do. Being here is an act of obedience to a God who is bigger than I can imagine and who loves ME, even when I strip him of all his omnipotence.

So actually, yes, I am crazy.

P.S. I tried really hard to leave all the "Christianese" out of this post, but it's hard to undo 22 years of a specific learned vocabulary. If words like sacrifice, debt, deliverance, eternity and omnipotence are confusing to you, give me a chance to tell you what I mean.

First Quarter and Answered Prayer

The past 8 weeks have been baptism by fire, for sure. As of today, I've survived the 1st Quarter marking period and lived to talk about it. This is a specific answer to the prayer that God would equip me for this career.

I had some tough spots this week, including:
- Grading 26 Rough Drafts and Final Drafts (that's a total of 52 essays graded in the past 3 days!)
- Reading Devouring Redeeming Love in 2 days (making said grading very procrastinated difficult)
- Really sporadic electricity (resulting in a candlelight grading session on Sunday night)
- Adding a second ESL student (G's older sister, I)
- Giving a student an F in my class (It really was harder for me than for him, I think)
- Coming down with a nasty cold, complete with cough and congestion

On Sunday night, I prayed a very impassioned prayer, pleading with God to heal me of this cold. I know it's just a cold, but it arrived at the worst possible time of the Quarter. I prayed James 5:15 over and over ("And the prayer offered up in faith will make the sick person well"), believing that God would heal me. I even promised that when He did heal me, I would tell all my students about it. (Some people call this tactic "bargaining.")

I've had the cold for 5 days now. No healing.

My energy is nonexistant. My appetite is gone. Cramming in all these grades resulted in a string of late late nights - I slept 4 hours yesterday. I fell asleep at my desk during recess today.

But HOLY TESTIMONY, BATMAN! It's almost Friday, I've computed all my grades (59 students!), graded all the catch-up work from the past 8 weeks (by candle, no less!), and I didn't have to miss any school! I wasn't healed of this cold, but I have proof of Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me"!

Sometimes the answer to prayer isn't the Sunday School refrain of "Yes," "No," or "Wait." Sometimes the answer is: "I will strengthen you."

And for THAT, God deserves the glory.

Today, while struggling to make it through my 6th grade class, a student raised his hand and said with concern, "Miss Thomas, can you please sit down?" God love him, a 12-year-old boy cares more about my health than I do.

Lord, thank you for answered prayer.

Fully Alive

The following stories, anecdotes, and glimpses into my new life cohere together to create a feeling my best friend Laura calls being fully alive. (Shout-out to Saint Irenaeus of Lyons, who coined it first: "The glory of God is man fully alive.") I am, perhaps for the first time, in that state of feeling fully alive, and it is so glorious (pun intended) I don't ever want to leave.

First: Spanish. I have always loved this language. Even when the subjunctive verb tense threatened to undo me, I still thought it was beautiful. Moving to Nigeria, I realized, would not give me much opportunity to use my Spanish, but here I am, nonetheless.
On Sunday I remarked to Jan (my flatmate) that I might like to introduce a Spanish language and culture club to the school in the Spring, because I miss speaking it so badly. Maybe some of the students would enjoy learning a new language, in addition to the French they already take in school.
But then again, my God knows me well. Even before a word is on my tongue, my Lord knows it altogether. (Psalm 139:3-4)
Yesterday, ICS received a new student in 3rd grade. He is from Cuba, and doesn't speak any English at all. Guess who his new ESL teacher is?! I've been designated to help him find his feet as quickly as possible, and couldn't be happier with the prospect.
I found him on the playground today and introduced myself in Spanish. He didn't say much, but then after school when his father came to pick him up, Gabriel brought him to me and introduced us. We had a full conversation in Spanish, and I managed not to confuse my verb conjugations too much!
This is fully alive - using a passion that God has given to benefit someone else. Glory to God!

Second: representing Wheaton. The college fair went well yesterday. I think there were a few hundred students there with their teachers, from schools all over Abuja. We brought our 15 10th-12th graders, but there were easily 10 other schools there. I gave my little presentation in the morning session ("Deadlines are fixed, not fluid...") and everyone was very attentive. I wasn't nervous, but my kids told me afterward that I spoke too fast. I suppose some habits die hard.
When the tables were open later in the day, I settled in, expecting a few kids to stop by and ask a question or two. I did not expect the floods of students flocking to me because they'd seen me on stage, or the rapid-fire questions about studying medicine and law in the U.S., or the frenzy to sign up on the Wheaton list, even though they knew nothing about the school! I recognized some patterns in them that I've learned are classically Nigerian, and I finally refused to give them handouts unless they listened to my explanation of Wheaton.
Oh, my dear friends, please tell me how to explain the concept of a liberal arts college to a young man who wants to get to America at any cost, regardless of the fact that his English is virtually incomprehensible. Please also tell me how to inform two Muslim young women that Wheaton is a Christian school and accepts only Christian students. Given the dual nature of this city, I found that a particularly difficult burden.
The fair was organized like any typical American college fair, but the students brought the Nigerian flavor. Most of them approached my table and held out their hands, face-up, for whatever paperwork I would give them. Most did not greet, or ask questions, or even bother to look at what college I was representing. They just wanted the information, quick and dirty.
As frustrated as that left me, I thought about the possibilities of that day. Even if just one student follows up on the information I gave him, and goes to the website, or emails the Admissions Office for more information, it will be one more student that would never have heard about Wheaton otherwise.
And that's all my job is - to tell people about an experience that changed my life and that could change theirs, too. Besides, I don't think the Admissions Office can afford to send a counselor out this way very often, and since I'm already on the ground...
This is fully alive - to testify to the ways God changed your life by using the college you attended, and to know that the telling brings glory to the One who ordained it.

Third: Drama Club. We're already preparing our presentation for the Christmas program - The Nativity. Today, I taught 20 1st-3rd graders the song "We Three Kings." Then I convinced Kamsi to be an innkeeper, Tasneem to be a Wise Man, and Anisa to be a shepherd, even though all 3 wanted to be angels. Kamsi and Tasneem didn't take much convincing - I just told them that the angel parts require very little acting, so we needed to utilize their incredible acting talents for the more difficult roles (which, let's be honest, was speaking a little prophetically).
Tasneem's response? "You mean you give me the important part because you know I can do it?" Yes, my dear little one, and because the birth of Christ was attended by more than just 20 Nigerian angels.
Little Anisa didn't want to be a shepherd, but when I asked her if she was a very good big sister, she assured me she was. "All right, then," I explained, "Shepherds have to be very responsible people. They have to protect their sheep at all costs. And in the drama, they have to lead the other students onstage. Do you think you can handle that responsibility?" In response, I got a huge smile and the sweetest little neck-strangling hug there ever was.
This is fully alive - making my precious little ones proud of themselves. His Kingdom belongs to such as these, I get to love on them and receive love in return. Glory to God!

Fourth: Sixth Grade. This class can be talkative to the point of disrespect, and mischievous to the point of amusement. Days with them are a toss-up; it's just as likely to end in frustration or glee. Today was tough. The four loudest boys could not keep their mouths shut. While I followed the guidelines Mrs. O taught us yesterday at our staff training on discipline and told the boys to talk to me after class, they still didn't quiet down. After class, I sent them all out into the hall, and before I could even open my mouth to tell them how disappointed I was in their behavior, I began to affirm them. Respect and love, not anger or disappointment, controlled my voice, and I found myself telling the boys that they steer the behavior of the rest of the class. "You four boys are a very powerful group," I told them, "and if we work together, everyone else will follow you, too. But if you're distracting, no one else will listen to me. I need you to help me keep the class attentive. Can you do that?" Of course, the boys nodded, they will help me keep order in the class, because I told them they have the ability to do it.
Now, tomorrow, we'll know if that approach worked, but I loved that I didn't have to yell or get angry or even show my disappointment in them. We ended the day on a happy note, those 4 and I, and that left me grateful.
This is fully alive - encouraging a child to his highest potential and expecting them to live up to it. To call out the best in someone else because God calls out the best in you makes me feel purposeful and satisfied. Praise the Lord.

And I just showed up for my own life
and I'm standing here, taking it in,
and it sure looks bright...
- Sara Groves

Hiking in the Bush and Seeing God

Every other Saturday, expatriates gather in Abuja for what is known as The Hash. Apparently, The Hash House Harriers (HHH) is a worldwide organization that I never heard about in the US. There are hash walks in most major cities throughout the world, and Abuja is no exception.

Expats meet and convoy out to the bush, where they follow a trail marked by paper confetti. A spot of confetti means "you're going in the right direction." A circle shape means "checkpoint," where you have to wander around until you find the trail again. If you find an X of confetti, it means "false trail" and you go back to the checkpoint and set off again in a different direction. There are people who have walked the trail before, and they are called "hares." They wear special t-shirts and walk in front of and behind the rest of the crowd to make sure nobody gets lost.

To be fair, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. No one stopped to explain the whole concept to me, and I didn't understand where we were going to be walking. I wasn't really dressed properly, and just felt like I was along for the ride.

And what a ride it was.

Corey drove us to the starting point, making good use of his 4-wheel drive. The roads weren't really roads at all, and realization began to set in. This will be no casual walk in the countryside. No it most certainly will not.

We set off walking on a red clay dirt path. It was downhill, but it was easy enough. Did I mention the insane number of children on the hash? They were everywhere - some as young as 3 (although credit is due to their parents who carried hauled their sweaty little bodies all over the bush).

When the path ended, we kept going. Up and down hills, crossing streams and farmer's fields, fighting our way through the undergrowth, sweating all the way. At the tops of the hills, we could see for miles the outskirts of Abuja, which was spectacular (and of course today was the day I decided not to carry my camera). Most of the time I had to concentrate on what was going on at my feet, so I couldn't really appreciate the scenery. It's hard work keeping up with people already adjusted to the heat and terrain.

After walking about 4 km, there was a pit stop where everyone got water, soft drinks and beer (in other parts of the world, HHH is regarded as a social drinking group that happens to go on walks). As we left the rest stop, the clouds moved in. Since arriving here in the rainy season, I've watched the sky turn from pink to black in 45 seconds - these clouds move fast. The winds picked up and things got cold and dark quickly. When the rains began, we were still 2 km away from the end and still had to climb up the face of a hill with a river of red clay mud rushing down at us.

We did make it back without falling or losing anyone, and I managed not to get cut up by the brush or sunburned or bitten by mosquitoes. All the kids made it, too, although most of them were piggybacking it for the last miserable kilometer.

At the end, we piled into cars and chopped (Nigerian for "ate dinner") at the house of one of the hares (hash leaders). All told, it was a pretty miserable end to the day. I hate being cold and wet. Next time, I'll bring a change of clothes!

There was one image from the day that I will carry with me forever. The pastor of my church here brought his wife and 3 daughters to the hash. They are little girls, and the smallest can't be more than 5 or 6.
Honestly, I was impressed she made it without being carried. I thought I had it rough getting smacked in the face with trees, and that poor little thing was getting smacked in the face with all the brush.
When Iona began to complain (I'm not blaming her; I would have, too), her father simply stepped directly in front of her, with one hand behind his back so she could hold on to his finger. For every step he took, Iona took 3, but her father was taking the brunt of all the brush.
After a while of shielding her, we came upon some rough terrain, and my pastor had to step aside to navigate them both. When he moved, however, and little Iona had to forge her own way through the undergrowth, he continuously encouraged her. "You're doing brilliantly, Iona." "Imagine how strong your legs will be when we're finished." He encouraged her all the way.

My heart was touched (read: I teared up) as I imagined how much more our heavenly Father shields us and encourages us as different times in our lives. Sometimes we need shielding, and sometimes his encouragement has to be enough sustain us while we're getting hit in the face with the brush.

It also reminded me of the daddy-daughter dates I had when I was small. (It doesn't help that Iona looks a lot like I did as a little girl.) My memories aren't as clear as the pictures taken, but I remember the puppy dog backpack filled with our sandwiches and picnicking in a forest. I also remember picking my way through a field (or a marsh maybe?) of reeds/grasses that were taller than me.

Hiking in the bush is a little bit different than that, but the idea is the same. Sometimes a little girl needs her Dad to shield her; sometimes his encouragement is enough, even when she's no longer a little girl and living far away in Nigeria.

I love you, Dad.