So I Prayed

Preparing to leave for mission work in Cameroon for three years was one of the most challenging and stressful times in my life.  The many transitions and good-byes that we have gone through in the last 6 months were far more than we have experienced in the 6 years we have been a family.   During this time, Maura and I relied on each other.  When times got really tough we were then reminded that “God got us to this and God will get us through this” (thanks to the wise person who shared this with me).   So I prayed.  I prayed for God to protect us and keep us safe.  I prayed for God to watch over our family and loved ones we left behind. 

I have found God has an amazing way of answering prayers.  Those months leading up to our departure we felt fragile, able to be broken at any moment.  During those times, God would appear in those around us.  We could see God in the kind words of encouragement, support or a helping hand to guide us on to the next step on this journey.  During those God moments I was reminded I am exactly where I am supposed to be or God would not have put me here.  So I prayed. I prayed that God would ensure this was the path we were supposed to be on.

No matter what we got through it seemed there was the next obstacle in the way that caused us great concern.  I continued to ask God why so many challenges for such a wonderful thing like mission work.  God assured me to be patient and persistent in our pursuit to serve overseas and the next door would open for us.  So I prayed.  I said, thank you for allowing us to take the next step, but please remain at our sides as we continue.

We are in our new home and it is now obvious that the burden of getting here was not ours, but something much greater.  Yes, we took the next steps on the journey but the heavy lifting of the obstacles that stood in our way were beyond our abilities.   God worked in so many ways through the people that got us here.  It is truly remarkable to see how clearly God was present to us.  So I prayed.  Thank you for Your presence in all the people that have made this a reality. 

I was visiting with our 19 year old neighbor last week and he asked why?  Why would I leave my “comfortable country” to come live in Cameroon?  I understood the question and had reflected on it many times before, but he caught me by surprise.  I shared several reasons I was here, and he seemed satisfied.  As I told Maura about this interaction, she asked if I mentioned God at all.  Nope, totally forgot the whole reason I was here.  In my mind I am unsure why I am here, but in my heart it is obvious why I am here.  God has brought me here, and I will not know the exact reason for some time, maybe never, but for now I know I am supposed to be here.  The only thing I can do is pray.  I continue to pray for God to protect us and keep us safe, to watch over our family and loved ones we left, to remain at our sides and in thanksgiving.  I also ask for the companions that we meet in Cameroon to know why we are here even if we are unsure.  In the meantime I will remain patient and persistent in my prayers.

-Ryan

My First Trip to the Market... Almost

We have been eating good wholesome food for our first week in Cameroon but I had no idea of where it came from or how it got to our table.  Maura had the pleasure of venturing to the market on our third day here.  She described it as “colorful chaos.”  On our fourth day Maura and I had a little time on our own while the kids slept so we decided to go for a walk.  Maura thought it would be good for the two of us to see the market together just to get an idea of the items for sale there.  Once we stepped off the mission grounds (which I had not left since arriving) I entered into the life of true Bamenda.  As we walked the tightrope down the side of the street dodging zooming motorcycles, other vehicles, pedestrians carrying anything possible on their heads and the many other hazards of the side of the road, the thought came to me that maybe we should have stayed in our little mission compound bubble.  By the time that idea came to me I had no idea of how to turn around and not get hit by some moving object so we kept on moving.

As we approached what looked like the center of town it was obvious we were on the wrong side of the street.  No big deal, I thought, just walk across Commercial Avenue to see all the vendors and stores on the other side, not quite.  Crossing the street felt like trying to swim across the Mississippi River, and this is coming from a professional jay walker in Chicago.  There were no breaks in the flow of traffic but somehow I watched several pedestrians safely cross the street.  I didn’t know whether to hold Maura’s hand for dear life or just run, I chose the former option and said a quick prayer.  Maura of course giggled her way across but somehow we made it.

Traveling down Commercial Avenue it was apparent we could probably buy whatever we wanted while breathing diesel fumes and listening to really loud music.  Amidst all this chaos Maura realized she could not find the official market she had been to the day before because she had taken a taxi there.  By the way, the taxi she took was one of those zooming motorcycles.  The area we had walk around had many store front shops but it was not the open air market.  We both decided it was time to retreat back home to our safety bubble but not before crossing the raging Mississippi again.

I will let you know I did successfully make it to the market today (day 7) and saw it for all its glory and action.  Being in the middle of the chaos felt a bit like home for me, like being back on the trading floor.  The merchants were very kind and not nearly as pushy as I have encountered in other countries.   Now I know what a task it is to get food to the table.

-Ryan

Savor

(This post was written the week of July 1st.)

Last week, Honora, my oldest was sick.  She would wake at night in pain, and I found myself praying that somehow I could trade places with her.  She would seem to get better, and then a couple days later she would be sick again.  We were then just a couple weeks away from leaving for Africa, and I could feel the fear creep into me.  What if she is really sick?  What if we don’t figure it out, and then we are in Africa and the help she needs is not there?  I am good at worrying. 

Feed your hopes, not your fears.  I read that on a bumper sticker this morning.  These are words of wisdom I should take to heart.  Well, I am trying, not successfully, but there has been a great deal of effort put forth.  It has to count for something, right?

I have had both peaks and valleys in my life.  It is interesting to me that some of the greatest gifts in my life have been found, not on the peaks, but in the valleys.  While I spend all the time in the darkness hoping and praying to be out, looking back on it I wouldn’t trade those struggles for the world.  The gifts found there have been so great that I have been known to pray for valleys.  It is a prayer that I whisper, and then I hope that God didn’t hear me.  The panic then sets in, because God always hears, and valleys, well valleys are all kinds of inappropriate words that I have to continue to edit out.

The past six months have been difficult.  We have dealt with more illness than we had in the previous six years (thanks in large part to extensive travel and exposure to new germ pools and we have not left the country yet!?!).  We have been far from family and friends at times that we really long to be close.  We have moved into a community of strangers and had to figure out the balance of living well together.  Most difficult of all has been our long list of goodbyes.  Goodbye to work we love.  Goodbye to home.  Goodbye to loved ones, and goodbye does not get easier with experience.

Valleys, yuck.

I said something about gifts in the valleys, right?

They are there.  I just have to wake up to recognize them.  There is nothing like goodbye, to rouse me from the slumber of all that I take for granted.  There is nothing like illness to make me savor the bliss of health.  We have been given the opportunity to recognize our blessings and the space to communicate our gratitude.

Valleys are not so bad, when balanced with the gifts.  Living in gratitude is a gift.

Seeing things that were ordinary with new eyes; family, friends, hot showers, washing machines, dryers, cheese and ice cream.  There is nothing like the prospect of not having something at my fingertips to savor it all the more.

One more week of hot showers.  One more week of comfort food.  One more week of familiar faces before we head home to a place we have never known.  

- Maura

Senseless Truth

Last year at this time, I was looking at schools for our oldest daughter.  I wanted the best.  I yearned for a place where she would be nurtured and challenged.  I would have driven miles and paid a fortune to find that special place that would be her second home in the coming years.

Today we are weeks away from our goodbyes.  Goodbyes that I really don’t want to say.    We are leaving all we have ever known to live with the people of Cameroon.  My children continue to celebrate so many firsts; first day of school, first words, first time to tie her shoes, first lost tooth.  Everyday, they do something new and I am inspired by them.  I had forgotten what it feels like to experience the terror of the first jump off that high dive, but I am remembering now.  Last year we were looking at the best schools, and this year we are moving to a city where I am told that the student to teacher ratio is  50 to 1. 

I must be crazy.  I have to think of some way to explain to my family why we are choosing to do this.  

When we were pregnant with our first child, we decided to wait to find out the sex.  I knew nothing about the little person growing inside me.  I knew nothing, yet heart and soul, I felt to the core of my being that this little person was special, a unique and unrepeatable gift from God.  Daily, I marveled at the miracle of this being growing inside me, and then she was born.  She was perfect.  She was too beautiful to be mine, and my world was rocked.  It was rocked by this raw emotion of holding her for the first time, and watching her open her eyes and stare in awe at the sunlight.  My world was rocked, for although I felt this awe, I knew absolutely nothing about this new little person.  I thought I would, but I didn’t.  How can you truly love someone that you do not know?  This thought came to me and I was terrified.  I thought the wisdom of motherhood would arrive with the birth of our daughter, but like the labor process of birth, it was hard won.   

The first weeks and months with Honora were this horrible, awkward dance.  She would cry and sometimes despite every last ounce of energy being expended, I did not yet understand her language.  Although the translation and response seemed horribly slow, we made progress.  It never felt like progress in the moment, hour, day or week.  It was only months later looking back that I realized it had happened.  I just remember realizing, one day, all the little things that I had learned about her, and I loved every little thing, all her unique ways of being.  Perhaps it would not have been as precious, if it had not been so hard. 

Before Honora was a year old we conceived our second child.  Life was busy and I had less time to stop and marvel.  The moments of amazement would sneak up on me.  I never planned them.  It was in the times where I got to breath that I would realize the miracle of it all, somewhere in between the dirty diapers and sleepless nights.  Becoming a parent was and is a lesson in the spirituality of messy good (sometimes it is just the messy), the spirituality of spending all day cleaning house and at the end of the day having no evidence of your effort.  It is the spirituality of realizing that I am no where near as patient as I always thought I would be. It is the spirituality of humility, knowing that I do not have this figured out and still my babies tell me that they love me.

During this time of early toddlerhood and second pregnancy, Ryan and I were learning the discipline of date night with a baby in the house.  We decided to take a class at the local university, Justice and Peace from a Faith Perspective.  We probably should have focused on “fun” opposed to “interesting”, but there is nothing like the responsibility of a class to make sure that you take the responsibility of date night seriously.  The class was “interesting,” but it also changed the way that I viewed the world as a momma.  

During the reading for the class I learned that “40,000 children under the age of five die from malnutrition and preventable illness every day.”  40,000 is a big number.  That is probably all it would have meant to me except that this sentence was followed with “that is like filling Fenway Park with children every day and at the end of the day they would all be dead.”  Now I am not a baseball fan, but I have been to several sporting venues in my lifetime.  Stadiums are big places.  I could not wipe the mental picture from my mind.

I always thought of myself as a sound sleeper, but that was before children.  I now have these super ears that can hear whimpers and coughs several rooms away (or any other perceived danger that lurks in the dark - who needs an alarm system when you have these ears).  During my second pregnancy I would often find myself awake due to some need of my little one.  Once she had been quieted and was back to sleep, the temptation to feel sorry for myself would creep in, especially if the sleep would not come.  I would find myself numbering the days since I had last slept through the night, but some small voice would then remind me of all the mommas in the world who had lost their loves today.  I remember realizing that the child growing inside me was a mystery, but I knew, because of Honora, that I would love that child more than life.  I realized that the tiny soul growing inside of me, God could have given to a woman in Africa, and the tiny soul that the woman in Africa was nurturing could have been given to me.  Regardless, I would love and she would love, and in that moment I felt that all the children of the world were mine and their mothers were my sisters.          

I think of the love that I feel for my children, and I think of the children of the world and the love their mothers feel for them.  I feed my children, bathe them and put them to bed and I think of the mothers of the 40,000 children that died today of malnutrition and preventable illness and my heart breaks.  

We are going to Africa not because I think we can save them.  I am going to Africa because I love.  It is the messy love of vulnerability.  It is knowing that I need help as much as I am willing to help.  I believe in the depths of my soul in this beautiful God of relationship.  He created this beauty in the meeting the other, where when we come together we heal each others wounds.  How can you truly love someone that you do not know?  We are going to know and be known.  Perhaps this journey is senseless or perhaps its purpose is the only thing that does make sense.   

-Maura