Three Months Later...

It still seems like I was just in Ethiopia a few weeks ago. When in reality I’ve been back for three months. Some days are good, some days are rough. Ethiopia will forever have a piece of me. I think I’ll always want to go back, even if it’s just for a visit.

The thing I have been struggling with a lot lately, in regard to my heart being in two countries, seemed quite trivial (insignificant) to me. I almost had myself convinced I was being a little overboard with it. Until today, when I talked to a friend and fellow missionary who just returned from the field, Jordan Shelton. It was the first time I had heard said out loud what I was thinking and feeling, and it’s because Jordan is experiencing the same thing. I feel like I’m forgetting all of the language I have learned in Ethiopia.

Language connects you to a culture. We speak English in America. If you were to go to Mexico, you would have a harder time connecting with Spanish speaking people at first, especially if you are limited in your Spanish and they in their English. Finding people in Mexico who speak English gives you a sense of home, and you can’t help but be excited about speaking fluently, with no mistakes, mistranslations, or misunderstandings. You are free to speak your language.

Try to imagine speaking a language that is not Spanish, or French, or German. A language that is found in a place on the opposite side of the world; in Africa. That language probably will not be easily found in America. It is much harder to feel connected to the culture through language, because it just isn’t being used.

To not be so vague, I’ll make it personal. I learned afan Oromoo. It is spoken in Ethiopia - on the opposite side of the world. There aren’t too many people in America who can speak this language. I haven’t found anyone in Manhattan who can. Because of that, I feel like I’m becoming more and more disconnected from Ethiopia, and in my mind it’s a tragedy. Sure, I have all of my notes from our language tutor, Kalbessa. Sometimes I chat with him in afan Oromoo over Facebook chat. Don’t get me wrong, I cherish those brief conversations where I can communicate in a language that is now so dear to my heart. But it still doesn’t stop the sadness I feel when I realize the language that connects me to my friends in Ethiopia is fading faster with every passing week.

So there you have it. An update on my thoughts concerning my life in Ethiopia. 

Being a Pebble

One thing I learned in Ethiopia, probably the most difficult to learn, was how to be in the background of the battlefield instead of on the front lines. It took a while, but the Lord revealed it to me in this way:

When you drop a pebble in the water you get a ripple, then another ripple, then another ripple, and so on. You have to have something to make the initial ripple, otherwise the ripples will never be created in the first place.

While in Ethiopia I taught mainly one of the missionary’s boys. I was really discontent and unsatisfied in my ‘ministry’ because my primary ‘ministry’ was with an American boy. Over a few weeks God showed me how I was placing limits and boundaries on what it ‘ministry’ means, and how ‘missions’ is supposed to look. Day after day I would cry out to the Lord, “Why! Why am I here in Africa teaching an American boy? It makes no sense!” I was frustrated – really frustrated. Every time I would cry out to God He would soften my heart. Day after day the bitterness and the boundaries were dissipating.

One day the Lord told me, “You are the pebble. Every ripple is created from something, and you, My beloved, are the pebble to keep this ripple going.”

What?

Then He explained. If I hadn’t been teaching Ethan, Jennifer wouldn’t have been able to focus on the Home School moms all across Ethiopia. If she isn’t supporting the home school moms across Ethiopia, they would be getting burnt out and restless, not being effective in their ministries. If the moms are having a really hard time being there, the husbands wouldn’t be as effective in their ministries – which means people aren’t hearing the Gospel, and are not accepting Jesus Christ as their Savior.

Ministry is such a large, ambiguous term. It encompasses so much. I didn't know that before. I was teaching an American boy, and it was ministry. We talked about the Lord. We grew in our faith and knowledge of Him everyday. The Lord blessed us because we were seeking Him. That is ministry. Missions doesn't have to be living with another culture. My mission was to live in Africa, among Ethiopians, to teach an American boy. 

Although being at the frontlines, preaching the Gospel to the Ethiopians, watching people being saved by the dozens was something I was, dare I say, expecting, it is definitely not what God had planned for me in my time in Africa. I did get to teach and witness to young Ethiopian ladies, and it was awesome – my favorite thing I did while I was there. I have to remind myself not to be bitter about the time I didn't get to do that, and instead remember that I did, and the Lord was with us, and it was good. The most important thing was that God used me exactly the way that was needed, and His Kingdom will be furthered because of it.

“For the Lord is good, and His love endures forever.” –Psalm 100:5a

Another Amoeba?

The day to fly out of Ethiopia has finally arrived. We load our suitcases, say goodbye to the Giles family, and head into town. Before we head to the airport we have a full day ahead of us.

Our first stop: Bingham Academy. The entire drive to Bingham I was crying. So I told myself: stop crying (because we all know that works). Then I made a deal with myself: “You can cry when you see Joy Heddleston. But not before.” So we pulled into the parking lot, and I get ahold of myself. I hop out of the van and start walking. The first person I see: Joy Heddleston. I made a deal with myself, and you better believe I kept it.

We spend our time with the Bingham staff. We pray together a few times. Kait was sick, so we prayed for her. Then we went to Mallory’s piano recital. After Kait and I ran over to Joy’s apartment to say ‘Ciao!’ we loaded up and drove away from Bingham.

We decided to eat at Tivoli’s. Kait puked on the way there. My stomach started acting a little funky, but not enough to concern me. We ate dinner, except the puking Kaitlyn, and hopped back in the van. We had to stop at Sishu’s, a local restaurant with super awesome burgers, to deliver some pottery. Then came our last drive – the drive to the airport.

The drive was mostly hilarious. I was quoting Hot Rod when Rod Kimble and Kevin Powell were talking about the ‘safety word’. Rod says, “Why am I saying what what whay?” Darby, Mallory, and I could not stop laughing. We get to the airport, get all thousand bags onto carts, and say our goodbyes to the Fehllas (my hilarious and loving nickname for the Fehl family). Kait and I get our luggage checked, through security, and to our gate in no time. As we are waiting for our plane my stomach starts acting up. It’s mostly fine. Until we are about two hours from D.C. Then I start puking, and other things. My symptoms are eerily similar to last month when I had Bert, my amoeba.

After we landed in D.C. I texted Bethany to tell her I’m about to die and need to go to the doctor when we get into Indianapolis. Bethany picked us up from the airport in Indy, we grabbed some dinner, and went to the hotel. Kait and I drove to a clinic to get a prescription for Bert 2.0. Of course, it wasn’t that easy.

I am in the room, chillin’ on the bed, freezing my tail off. A nurse walks in; a young, African American woman. She takes my vitals and asks me what is going on. I told her that I was in Ethiopia for about 6 months, just got into the States earlier that day, had an amoeba last month, took metronidazole and it made me sick, and now I think I have another amoeba. Not a big deal. I just need some medicine to kill it, and I’ll be on my way. She asked me my symptoms from the metronidazole, so I told her. I became really dehydrated, weakness, slight fever, and black urine. The woman almost had a heart attack. She slapped the cabinet door, looked at me and said, “NUH! UH! NO YOU DID NOT!” Naturally, I laughed.

The doctor came in and I told him the same thing. His reaction was something else. He told me this: “You need to see a GI (gastro intestinal) specialist immediately. You’ve had this going on for over a month. You might have to have surgery and get part of your intestine taken out. You could DIE!” Naturally, I laughed. I reminded him that I had an amoeba last month and it was taken care of. He did not give me any medicine, or a prescription. He did give me information for a GI Specialist. And a stool sample kit.

Whatever was wrong is gone now, no thanks to the doctor. And CMF now has a full stool sample kit to use at their disposal. 

Like a Missionary

I wanted to write a quick little note here for all of my lovely supporters!

Kait and I head out on Tuesday. Yes. This Tuesday. December 17th.

A lot of people want to know how I'm feeling about it. So, here is an attempt at it. I have things that I am looking forward to about being back, such as spending time with family and friends, eating American food, and having a snowy Christmas.

However, I will be leaving behind a piece of my heart. The people that I work with, live with, and see on a daily basis will forever remain in my memories. They will be cherished and missed. As for the Ethiopian people and culture: there will be many times that bring me to tears either from laughing at something that had happened, or because I miss it that much.  The beauty of Ethiopia is something that I'll remember, as well. It isn't northwest Montana, but it's still beautiful. I love looking out across the valleys, seeing acacia trees, donkeys, cows, and skinny horses.

Although there are many differences in Ethiopian culture and American culture, God is at work in both places. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. His people are working to spread the Gospel in both places. Although I am leaving this mission field, I am going back to another mission field. How do I feel about that?

Like a missionary.

Filling Buckets

Today I was at Bingham Academy helping out in the 1^st grade class. I have been assigned the task of helping the students with words. The teacher calls it Working with Words. When I walked into the classroom today, she had all of the kids sitting in the ‘library’ and she was reading to them – always a precious site. Then in walks another dude. This man does a character trait activity with the kids once a month. Today he talked about fillings people’s buckets.

He also read a book to them. The book told the children that everyone has an invisible bucket. Everyone needs to have their buckets filled by someone. We need to have our buckets filled by someone. We also need to fill other peoples’ buckets. The opposite of a bucket filler is a bucket dipper. A bucket dipper is someone who says mean things, does mean things, or ignores people. We don’t want people dipping out of our buckets; and we shouldn't dip out of other people’s buckets.

After talking about ways we can fill other people’s buckets, the man says something that was so profound. This is the part I really need to you to hear; the part that needs to sink in. He told them that often times we think nice things about people, but we never tell them. We need to tell people the nice thoughts we have about them.

In the American culture, people get so awkward when you compliment another person, particularly if they are the opposite gender. Why? I have zero idea. We need to kick that to the curb and start complimenting (within reason, of course. People don’t need to go crazy with it.). Why should we suppress a thought if it’s going to fill someone else up?

What are you: a bucket filler, a bucket dipper, or a compliment keeper?

I challenge you to be more of a bucket filler. Watch what happens. Filling people’s buckets fills your bucket in return. 

[Lack of] Freedom of Education

“I don’t want to go to school!” We hear these words, we say these words, we think these words. Why? Because in America we have to go to school. We have to. The government tells us we have to go to school or be homeschooled. There are states that if we aren’t sending our kids to school, we can get in trouble with the law. Students are unmotivated. Students fake sick, slack on their homework, joke around too much, deliberately just skip class - they just don’t care. Don’t get me wrong, I know there are students who do take school seriously, and sometimes even a little “too seriously” by some peoples standards. Kids all across the globe dread going to school….

Actually they don’t.

This isn’t a bashing on America post. Well, it isn’t intended to be one, so hopefully I don’t do that. Time and time again I am reminded of how little we Americans, especially those who are in middle school and high school, appreciate the fact that we are ‘forced’ to go to school. When did becoming educated become a bad thing in America?

That is not how it is everywhere. Here in Ethiopia, students are lucky to get passed the 8^th grade. Let me stop you right there. It is not, and I repeat not, because they are undereducated or unable to do school. It is because there is an extremely hard test that every student must take in order to pass 8^th grade. What happens if they don’t pass? Their education is stopped. So they study. Night and day. More than I have ever studied throughout high school and college. And they are in 8^th grade. For those that pass the test, they have  one year to study more, and more, and more, because they have to take another test in order to get to 10^th grade. Finally when they make it to grade 12 there is even more pressure to study their brains out because if they don’t score well enough on this one test, the chances of them getting into college goes down severely. Why? Because they can’t afford to go to a good University. Let me make it a little more personal.

My friend, Gilany, from Nekempte is a good student. She studied, and made it to 9^th grade. Then she studied, and studied, and praise God she made it to 10^th grade. Her entire high school career she devoted to educating herself, absorbing as much knowledge as she possibly could. Why? Because senior year she has to take a test that will determine the course of her life.  She took the test. We eagerly awaited the results, prayed, and waited, and prayed, and waited. Finally the day came that she got her results. She came to Bible Study. She spoke in afan Oromoo to Doretha. On the way home Doretha told us the results: she didn’t score high enough.

She doesn’t know where her life will go. She doesn’t know what she’ll do. All she knows is she failed.

For those that pass the test and are able to go onto University, they don’t hold much weight in the decision of their career path. You get to put down 7 choices of majors, starting from the one you want most. The school can, and often does, deny the major you want. They’ll tell you what you are going to study. Let me make this a little more personal. 

One of our workers, Zenbaba, has four kids, two of which are in school. Her eldest daughter wanted to be in medicine. The school put her in computer science. Her second daughter had a similar outcome. Neither were even close to what they hoped and dreamed for.  It doesn’t matter what their passions are. It doesn’t matter what they want. What matters is what the people in charge say. They don’t drop out because they need an education to get a good job. If they stopped going to school what could they become? A nanny? A house worker? A driver? I’m not talking down on these jobs, because these are important and good jobs here. People are honored to have these jobs. What I am saying is if they have the opportunity to get a good education, regardless it’s the field they want or not, they almost have to do what they are told.

What I want you to take from this is that the education system in America gives us freedom. We don’t have to put on more stress than should be allowed as a 13 year old. We don’t have to study ourselves sick just to make it to 10^th grade. We don’t have to worry ourselves to death that we won’t be able to get into a college. For those of us that go to college, we have the freedom to choose our major. We get to decide the course of our life. We all need to stop taking our education for granted. We all need to own our education. We all need to start taking our education a little more seriously. We all need to take a step back and realize how privileged we really are to be “forced” to go to school.  

Overseas Missionary

What is the purpose of a missionary? To evangelize to the broken. To share the Gospel with the needy. To introduce the Savior to the unsaved.

I can go on and on and on about being “overseas”, living as a missionary, having a part in God’s plan with the African people. But I’m not going to. I had a revelation yesterday that I think you need to hear.

I was talking to a dear friend yesterday via Facebook messaging (praise God for FB messaging!).  This friend is having some issues with a family member. One snippet that is sticking in my mind from what Friend said is this, “If you put me and (family member) overseas with a common purpose it wouldn’t make us get along.” It kind of made me stop and think for a minute before I made my reply.

First of all, you are overseas. In my eyes, you are overseas; from African’s eyes, you are overseas, from anybody who isn’t currently in North America, you are overseas.

The second thing I realized was this: if you are a Christian you do have a common purpose: making disciples. When you don’t get along with someone, when you don’t really care for someone, when someone rubs you the wrong way – you still have the common goal of making disciples. You do not need to be in Ethiopia, in Chile, in Ukraine to be doing what the Lord has commanded of those who love Him. Make disciples.

There are a lot of people with the mindset, “Oh, I could never live in another country to share the Gospel.” I have two things to say to that. 1.) If it’s the Lord’s will, you’ll go. 2.) GOOD! That means you have a heart for the people around you. Make disciples of them. They need the Gospel just as much as the unreached Gumuz people in Ethiopia.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’ve heard this kind of talk before. Talk of reaching out to those who don’t know Christ that are in your neighborhood. But I’ll bet (not literally bet) that you have not had someone who is sitting in Africa as a missionary telling you that it is EQUALLY important to share the Savior with those around you.

Get out of the mindset that you are not a missionary. You are. Missionaries are people that are on a ‘religious mission, especially one to promote Christianity’ (from Googling missionary).  There are people all around you are not living their lives for Jesus. Notice I did not say “are Christians?” Many people will claim Christianity, but they aren’t living it out. If that’s you, I’m calling you out as well – if you are going to claim to be a follower of Jesus, be a follower of Jesus. If you are truly following Jesus then  you are missionary where ever you are.