Reflections on Mandela......

In the wake of Nelson Mandela's death this week there has been an outpouring of sentiment worldwide.  While most of it is grief, respect, and talk about how one life really can make a difference, there have also been a few articles or posts taking a less than complimentary view of the man.

What Madiba (as he was affectionately called by his fellow South Africans) was or was not throughout the entire course of his 95 years is not what touches me about his legacy.  In youth, many of us did things that we are not proud of, or we held beliefs that as we grew and matured we no longer hold.  

Mandela spent 27 years in prison........and at the end of those almost 3 decades, he came out a changed man - not changed in his dream to have equality, but changed in his spirit and his heart.  After 27 years of being beaten and horribly treated by his oppressors, after 27years of not being in contact with family, and spending a great deal of time in solitary confinement.....I think that a lot of us would be ANGRY.  We would be even more empowered and activist minded than ever to get back at "the man" - or the system - or the government.  

His famous quote saying "As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom I knew that if I didn't leave my bitterness and hate behind, I'd still be in prison" leaves me speechless - and teary.  How self-aware....how HONEST.  I think of how many of us carry bitterness over feeling like we don't get enough recognition, feeling like we are the ones who should have gotten the promotion or the title, feeling like we weren't treated well, feeling like life is just too hard.......and all the while being being able to enjoy "freedom" - we shop, we travel, we talk to who we want, yet we allow ourselves to remain in prison.  

Mandela came out of prison determined to have peace and reconciliation - even with his captors.  Now in my opinion, that is a great man!

He was a one term president, graciously stepping aside and not pulling strings, changing constitutions and basically doing whatever was necessary to desperately hold on to power.  That is not a common thing in this part of the world.  He died at age 95....he could have died still being the president of South Africa if he had wanted - if he had been willing to do whatever it would take to hold onto the power.  Believe me, others have tried, some are in the process of doing it - no names here, but it's not hard to figure out.  

He went on to establish the 46664 campaign for HIV awareness and care.  46664.....I read that some people felt that was a satanic number and further proved his ties to all things dark and evil.  In reality - white people gave him that number, it was his prison number.  He was reduced to a number.  He left prison and entered a South Africa that was suddenly in a growing crisis of death due to HIV.  People were marginalized, shunned, left to die without care.  I remember reading an article where he said that no one should only be known as a number....whether in prison....or whether an HIV statistic.  

I have incredible respect for anyone who can take such difficult circumstances and not only survive, but thrive....and come out of them humble, loving, and full of forgiveness.  We visited Robben Island one year.  We did the tour and at one point they allow you to go into his room that he occupied for ....I can't remember how long - but I want to say for 10-15 years of his imprisonment.  Solitary, he was allowed something like one hour a day out in the yard and the rest of the 23 hours was spent in that very small room.  It had a window, high up, small.  I remember standing there, looking out it, thinking "this is the piece of sky that he was limited to for so many hours, so many years".  On days when I feel claustrophobic by the incredible crowding and stress of life in Kinshasa, on days when I wish that our little mission house had a yard and a bit of beauty on the outside, I stand and look out the window (which looks right to a wall with razor wire on it) and I think of Mandela's window and how blessed I am......my little piece of sky is much bigger than what he had and I can leave it when I want.

That we should all have this commitment to forgiveness and the humility to not see our own self-importance.....that whatever influence we have that we would use it to promote love and kindness and reconciliation.  That our own actions would speak as loud as his.  

I'm not easily impressed by names or titles.  I'm a farm girl - I don't know that that has much to do with it, but I was raised to work hard and appreciate what I had.  As a missionary I've seen many people with many titles......and felt very disillusioned and disappointed at how they flaunt those titles and use their prominence and influence for their own gain.  The people who impress me are the ones who suffer, who take life as it happens and thrive!  Who become even better people through difficulty and use their experience, not as a chip on their shoulder to flout to all, but as a conduit of blessing and positive change in their sphere of influence.  

When my kids were little they'd always ask, "mom, if you could meet anyone in the world - alive or dead - who would you want to meet?"  Well, obviously Jesus.....and to be honest Noah (who doesn't want to hear first person "tales from the ark"??).....and thenI'd always say "Nelson Mandela."  

Home is Where the Heart is…..

"HOME"…..it's a concept that many missionaries struggle with, especially if you've moved several times during your missionary career.  MK's, and even missionaries, laugh about not knowing how to answer a normal, small talk question like, "Where are you from?"  Where am I from?  I'm a farm girl from Iowa, but I haven't lived in Iowa since I graduated from high school.  I haven't lived long-term in the United States for over 20 years now.  

As a family, we've laughed at how easily we call wherever we're going to be sleeping that night, "home".  Be it a hotel, a friends house, our house where we're living in Africa…….if we're going to sleep there, we just call it "home".  Obviously HOME-HOME (somehow when you say it twice it signifies a stronger connection) would be where our own beds and pillows are, but there is still a sense of non-permanence even there.  As an American living in Africa, I always know that I'm a foreigner.  No matter how comfortable I am here, no matter how well I speak the language, I do stand out.  I can't deny the fact that I am here on a visa, I'm not from Africa.  

As a mother, just being together, the five of us, feels like home.  But now, even that concept is being challenged.  I have my home in Kinshasa and I love it.  But two of my kids are in the US.  My heart is constantly torn.  I miss Ben and Abby…….after several months, my heart hurts, wanting to see them.  But I don't want to leave Emily in order to do that.  When I'm here with Emmy I love it, but then Pat travels and I miss him - and I also miss the other two!!  My heart is confused!!

Last January we were getting ready to come back to Congo after a 6 month mini-furlough.  A friend of mine said "I bet you just can't wait to get back there".  I didn't know how to answer.  Kinshasa is not really the type of place that people "can't wait" to get to in the first place.  Don't get me wrong - I am very content here, I am happy to be in God's will, I love the people and the ministry - but let's be honest, it's not one of the easiest places to live and we don't have people coming here for holiday!  But what was really running through my mind was the reality that, while leaving to come back to Africa, I was also leaving Ben and Abby.  That was the first time I'd left Abby in the US, the first time we'd gone to Africa minus a daughter.  And even

after 4 years, I still cry when I say goodbye to Ben!  

Every night, when I go to bed, I make sure my phone is by my bed.  We don't have landlines here, only cell phones.  Because of  having kids in another country, I always want to be accessible to them - in case of an emergency I need to be able to hear my phone at all times, even during the night.  So when we're all together, it's very significant to me that I don't really care where my phone is when I go to bed.  It's a symbol of togetherness…..not having my phone on the bedside stand.  

Emily is now a senior in high school and empty nest is looming.  It's a period of life that you hear a lot of people talk about.  Books are written on the subject.  It looms even larger when there's an ocean between us and our kids.  Ben is preparing to go to a sensitive country in East Africa, Abigail and Emily will be in university in the U.S., Pat and I will be in Central Africa.  We'll be spread across 3 countries, trying to organize Skype calls around various time zones.  

I love Hebrews chapter 11 where it talks about Abraham living in tents - living as a foreigner in a distant land because he knew this was not his home.  HOME-HOME……it's not down here folks!

What Are You Packin'??

Missionaries are professional packers!!  Moving, traveling, and bringing enough Crisco, or chocolate chips, or Crystal Light for several years makes us pros at packing it and getting our luggage to the limit of the weight allowance.  We can also be very picky about suitcases - surprisingly opinionated, in fact.  The all important "carry on" piece is one of particular interest for many of us as it's not safe to put any valuables in our check in luggage…..yet airlines are becoming more and more strict on the size of the carry on.  That said, I just got a new carry on ….I love it.  It's light, it's big enough for my stuff, but not big enough to get me flagged.  I can even fit it in the smaller "United Express" flight overhead compartment when flying from Chicago to Springfield, MO!!  

WARNING: Random, bizarre subject change……and you will see how all of this ties together if you make it to the end of this post…….  

We periodically fight a mouse infestation.  In the U.S. I would never admit this as, as sometimes it can have a certain “stigma” in regards to housekeeping.  Now no one has ever called me a meticulous housekeeper.  But I do have my limits of "mess" and in a "normal" American setting have never had issues with mice.  But in Africa……well, let's just say it's more a question of "control" than "elimination.  We live in a city of over 10 million, with very poor infrastructure.  Waste is tossed wherever it's convenient, poor drainage in the streets, etc. makes for a very habitable place for mice.  We also live on a very busy, populated corner.  There's a taxi stop right across the street, people are everywhere eating, drinking, throwing their garbage on the ground, sewage backs up……you get the picture.  So, although we try to keep things clean, we do go through periods of having mice in the house.  I put out poison to kill them and after a few days, they're gone, only to return again at some point.  Remember – control….not elimination!

We just had one of our "mouse moments"…….seeing little droppings of "evidence" here and there and in the evening, if we were "lucky" we'd see one scurrying across the floor towards the closet.  So I did my thing and put out the poison.  A day or two later I was packing to make a quick trip to the U.S. for Ben's graduation.  I could smell the effects of my rat poison- there was definitely a dead mouse somewhere.  It was found in the closet and removed.  But all day (I was leaving that evening), I still kept smelling it!  I asked the man who helps me in the house to clean the area with bleach water, thinking that maybe the unfortunate mouse had lingered a bit longer than normal.  In the meantime I was packing and preparing. The last thing to be packed, of course, is the all important carry one…….are you seeing where this is going????  

I took my carry on into the bedroom and all of a sudden I could smell dead mouse again.  This was strange - my bedroom hadn't been smelling like dead mouse all day.  It hit me - was there a dead mouse in my carry on????????  I took it to my wonderful helper and told him I couldn't look inside, but to please look.  He found nothing….puzzled I went back to my bedroom to finish packing and there, lying on the carpet was the mouse.  It must have fallen out when I took my carry on out of the room.  We quickly removed the corpse and all was well.  I had my helper wipe out the inside of my carry on with bleach water, just to make sure, packed up and was on my way.

However, at the airport, I kept smelling dead mouse!!!!!  Was this a curse???  Why couldn't I get away from that stupid smell??  I was sitting in a lounge, taking with some businessmen who were on my flight.  My trusty carry on was right there next to me.  You know that little place on the top where the handle pulls out?  There's usually a little zipper there, in case you want to zip that spot closed.  And all of a sudden I saw it, on that opened zipper flap ……mouse…..bodily fluids.  The mouse had not died inside the carry on.  He had died in that little zipper place by the handle!!!  IT STUNK!!  I went into the bathroom and got hand soap and scrubbed and scrubbed.  It helped some, but the entire flight (in fact all 4 flights that it took to get me to Springfield), every time someone opened the overhead compartment where my carry on was stored……that awful mouse smell wafted through the cabin.  

There is, of course, a spiritual analogy here.  What are we packing in our suitcases?  Not the Samsonite ones, but the suitcases of our lives…….if we're not careful, we can lug around a big ole smelly something that is eventually obvious to everyone.  And even if we think we've removed the "body"…..we have to make sure we've given everything to Jesus, dealt with everything we need to deal with - or that smell remains.  

But I also like the very practical lessons here - check all zipped pockets before packing - you never know what might be in there!!

CHANGE

Change takes time.  I realize that this is not a particularly startling revelation for most of us.  We all know that - deep down.  Yet most of us, particularly North Americans, still have that "fast food" concept.  We know that REAL change takes time, but we don't want to wait - we want to drive thru, place our order, and then have our happy meal within minutes.  That's why "instant weight results" diets still make money.  Even though we KNOW that the best way to lose weight and keep it off is slow and steady exercise combined with healthy eating, we really want that instant result!

The same is true in development, Christian character, worldview, relationships, etc.  While we would love to see instant results, most of the time it takes a steady presence, consistent message, and the daily witness of how we live our lives to really see change in non-Christian communities.

It's been a year and a half since I worked with one of our churches on a mosquito net project.  I've talked about this project on this blog as well as in newsletters.  A year and a half……yes, I have gone on and done many other things, but this project, this community, this humble little church, keeps popping up as an example of slow, steady, yet amazing change and impact that local churches can have on their communities.  

Last week I ran into Pastor Yembe (pictured) - the pastor of the church that did this project.  I love him.  He's such a humble, unassuming man.  But he LOVES his church (small church in an extremely needy part of the city) and he LOVES his community.  

A brief recap here……The family that lives right next door to the church are not only non-Christian but incredibly hostile towards the church.  They practice a voodoo/witchcraft traditional religion that encourages open confrontation and hostility towards others.  There were constant fights between the family and church members.  When the church would have a service, the father would literally throw buckets of water into the church, trying to disrupt things.  But when their teen-age daughter had a baby, the church took them a mosquito net and talked to them about Jesus, health, God's love, and how to project the baby from malaria.  

Things changed RADICALLY from that point on.  The family has not only quit throwing water on church goers, but if the church is having some sort of event and needs more chairs - they offer theirs!  Last week Pastor Yembe told me that the father still will not enter the church, but he puts his chair right outside the door and listens to the singing and teachings.  Afterwards he invites the pastor over to discuss what he heard.  Change takes time……I'm thankful that Jesus is patient and that Pastor Yembe is committed to living where he ministers……to give his time to this family.  

I'm thankful that I can live here and participate in facilitating this type of ministry, have relationships with members and pastors, and hear about and see the small increments of change over time.  Yes, change takes time - but it sure can be fun to be a part of!!

Back in Kinshasa

     It’s always amazing to me how you can get on an airplane and a few hours later (okay, more like 24-30hrs later) be in a totally different world.  That’s how it felt when we left Seattle after 7 months there……and then arrived here in Kinshasa.  We left the cold, cloudy, rainy weather  of the Pacific Northwest to arrive in sunny, balmy, warm (i.e. HOT) Kinshasa.  There is so much to love about the Pacific Northwest, and we did enjoy our time there, but since the name of this blog is “Hursts In Africa” I would rather write about life here.

     It has been great to see friends.  I’m always touched at who actually remembers us…a city of over 10 million, yet the car guard at a certain grocery store remembers me and asks where I’ve been for so long, the lab tech at the hospital welcomes me back (Emmy wasn’t feeling well this week and needed a malaria test – negative, thank God), and even the banana lady welcomed me back with some extra bananas.

     Pat went downtown to arrange for our internet hook up.  When he wrote on the form “Assemblies of God” for his employer the entire office suddenly recognized him (HOT tropical sun + bald head = the need to wear a hat)….Ends up everyone in the office is a member of one of our Assemblies of God churches here.  They greeted him and laughed as they told some of their favorite stories that he has preached on over the years.

     Sweet fellowship, pleasant “hello’s”.

     I’m also reminded how people struggle here – daily tasks can be so difficult and time consuming.  People fight to make their way through the day, to earn enough to feed their children at night, and to keep a bit of their dignity. 

     As we live here, observe, and interact with life, here’s a glimpse of what we see…..

     Today I was grocery shopping and was walking up a street when a huge fight broke out.  Three policemen (in uniform!) were yelling and shoving one another…..of course this drew the attention of everyone, soon there was yelling and a crowd.  I quickly got out of there, ducking into a store.  When things calmed down I was able to return to my truck.  Someone told me that the 3 policemen were fighting over 500 congolese francs…...approximately .54 cents. 

     We’ve also had a mentally ill man outside of our gate the last few nights.  There are basically no quality services here for those with mental illness and it can be quite sad.  They often wander around, eventually choosing a corner or street block as their territory.  This particular man was violently angry.  He began YELLING around 10pm, he was very agitated and talking nonsense.  He would walk up and down our little block, banging on doors and ringing bells.  This went on until well after midnight. Emily was unnerved and none of us got much sleep until he settled down.  It was eerie, lying in bed and listening to his angry ranting, it also was sad, thinking of his confusion and anger, knowing that there were no services to help him.  It made me very thankful for our security guards – something that can seem exaggerated or extravagant when you’re not here, but can be very necessary when facing the realities on the ground.  But more than anything, I know that Jesus is our security guard, and that is our ULTIMATAE peace.