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To extrapolate: I'm the Prodigal myself. Do I go back to the
Father with abject ideas of how I want to serve? Do I plan ways
to go above and beyond how I'm asked to serve? And when I'm more
than graciously received, do I give joyous thanks? I don't. I
forget. So God blesses me with little reminders.
Technically, Kevin is a big and now daily reminder. Knowing him
and his enthusiasm, his sense of humor, his delight in other people
and his issues—Jjajja (grandmother) is most put out with
his conversion and forbids him to leave the house on Sunday mornings;
grandpa was a big witch doctor; brother, an infamous military
hitman. All these things I know because Kevin didn't take my subtle
American-style hints that he wasn't invited every day. I'm glad
he didn't. Who knew Christianity was such an adventure? Ironically
"Isa" was Kevin's Muslim name; it means "Jesus"
in the Qur'an.
Two weeks ago I was walking home at dusk. There were three sisters
carrying home jerrycans of water (big rectangular jugs that hold
five gallons). The first two had full-sized cans balanced on their
heads—tallest first, the next one a yard behind, both taking
large casual steps. The third sister was three or four years younger
and ten yards behind. She had a one-gallon jug in her hand and
she was struggling with it. Everybody was working together to
get the job done—the clothes washed, the family bathed. the
dishes cleaned, the posho cooked. Over and over, every day. No
wonder feces get in the food and make them sick.
Sometimes I start walking for home, thinking, "Gotta build
a fire in the stove, purify some water, prepare food (my housemate
usually cooks), make juice, go to the market, wash some clothes,
finish my Bible study, and mark these papers." Wow. It seems
like a lot. But I don't have to carry all the water to do it.
And I don't have to contend with eight other people in a one-room
house to do it.
My fellow teachers all have the same kind of situation. Some
of them stayed over at my house last weekend. One of the women
said, "You have so much," and she's right. Another one
got really surly and impolite a few hours before they were to
leave. Later she said, "I'm staying here. I like electric
lights and irons." Me too. Kerosene lamps and charcoal irons
are dangerous, and she has a baby girl who is about to crawl.
But they went back to the teachers' quarters at Mwera School
where there are rats and uneven footing where they cook (many
children have burns) and only so much daylight before you have
to use the expensive kerosene. You can imagine that Christmas
isn't the only time that money is short. As for me, I am blatantly
blessed to live here with your support. I've told you before I
need almost nothing. What could we do for them?
Peace in Christ's name,
Ruth
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