Serenity

Serenity is a funny thing.  The more I chase after it or try to grasp at at, the further away it flies.  I have an energetic, goofy, active, and slightly-scattered personality.  There are a lot of good things that come with being that way.  Inner peace is not one of them.  Body and mind always moving, you could call me restless or fidgety.  Sometimes it’s hard to even have coherent thoughts.  But recently, things have changed.

– I was walking back to school after the team’s last football game of the year.  The African air was misty and cool, the sun was dipping beneath the horizon, and my footballers were walking arm-in-arm in front of me, seeping love.  I felt uncharacteristically tranquil. Life was perfect.

– A week later, I was riding in the back of a pickup truck jammed with 25 football girls after a picnic.  There was movement all around me – dust kicking up, the truck bouncing and buckling, people shouting/singing – yet my soul was still.  A single tear gently rolled down my cheek as I looked deeper, beyond the noise.  In all the excitement, I was calm.  I had inner peace because I saw life as I imagine God must see it – as evidence of love, nothing more nothing less.  Life was perfect.

These moments of powerfully comforting feelings are gifts from Above, little “flowers” sent to encourage, guide, reassure, or reward us.  They are wonderful.  But they are fleeting.  They do not represent or promise personal serenity; they only point us towards its existence.

This morning's sunrise

I have suddenly become a morning person.  This is a big deal, as I’m sure my mother will attest to.  I am normally incoherent before about 9am (which is a full 3 hours after our day begins), and even the bishop is aware of my aversion to all things morning.  I’ve been this way my whole life.  Yet suddenly and inexplicably, I am naturally up before the Sun, patiently waiting for him to join me in prayer.  I soak up the stillness of the early morning, breathe in the crisp pure air, and notice everything around me for the beauty of being God’s creation. I marvel at every tiny detail of life.  Looking through new eyes, I start each day with an hour of isolated calm that’s devoted to dwelling in the gifts of the Holy Spirit.  It is absolutely incredible.

I have serenity, the kind that’s impossible to explain to anyone who doesn’t know it first-hand.  The best attempt I can make is to say this: instead of feeling emotional bursts oriented towards recognizing bits of the Divine in my life (like the feelings with the football girls), I have the delight of feeling how Amazing God’s universe is.   It sticks with me throughout the day.  My highest emotion used to be happiness, then it became joy, and now I experience ecstasy at the simplest of things.  But it’s more than that; I am connected to Christ.  Inside, for the first time in my life, I am calm, at least when I wake up.  And I need that holy reassurance in the mornings, because my soul is deeply troubled to be leaving Africa soon.

This is what I’ve surmised thus far from my encounters with dawn:  Serenity is more than a sprinkling of blessings.  It’s a full-on grace bestowed from Heaven.  It’s more than a feeling; it’s a state of being, a mindset, a way of embracing life.  I used to think it could somehow be attained, but I realize it has to be given to us.  Our part consists of being open, really open, to receiving it.  God delivers His grace when we have the perfect storm within our souls – the proper desire, need, willingness, and awareness.  It's granted us when we most need it, if we consent to fully dwelling in it when it comes.

A friend once told me about a priest Bible-battling a bigot who was misusing God to support his hateful platform.  The priest was not silently meditating or softly whispering.  He was active, engaged, and loud.  But he was still at peace because he was being who God made him to be and he was living The Way the best way he could.  That’s the kind of person I want to be always.  Engaged and at peace.

Tears of Joy

Today I had one of those days where I felt like crying most of the day.  No, I didn’t have an emotional breakdown or a bad day.  Nothing went wrong.  It was that everything went so right – that it always goes so right.  There is profound beauty in my everyday routine.  Each and every day, my life is filled with more blessings than I could have ever thought possible!  Here are a few of the things that brought the satisfying sting of tears to my eyes.

The African Sun

When I start drinking my coffee at 6 o’clock each morning, it’s still dark.  Then just as my eyes are starting to work (thanks coffee!), the sun starts to emerge in all its majesty o’er the top of the convent, and the sky lights up in soft yet brilliant shades of pink and purple.  Before I came here, I had never seen such a beautiful sunrise, and now I start every single day with God smiling at me through the sky.  It takes my breath away every time, still, after a year here.

I say the rosary with the kids outside each evening as the sun sets behind the school.  It’s stunning!  Captivating.  The colors are indescribable.  Such a magnificent sight either elicits an inspired reflection on life or washes away all my thoughts entirely.  I end each day in peace, with a visible reassurance of God’s hand on this place.

Santo’s Affection

Santo has mental disabilities that prevent him from going to school or having many friends, but make him one of the most special kids I know.  He probably spends 85% of his waking moments at Don Bosco, so I run into him at least 5 or 10 times a day.  Every time he sees me, he screams my name and sprints to hug me with his head cocked to the side and a huge sideways grin plastered across his face.  And I mean every time.  In 14 months, there has not been a single interaction in which he has greeted me with anything less than exuberant adoration.  I have sometimes disregarded him with impatience or even annoyance, but never has he returned the unkindness.  He is perfect at love.  Through him, Christ embraces me all throughout each day.

“Sister, MEEEE!”

This is whined at me day in and day out by hordes of small children competing with each other for whatever resource I am giving out (usually my energy).  I could do without the whining tone and the grabbing/pulling/poking, but I love that they want to be around me all day every day.  They see something in me that attracts their pure little hearts.  Each time I hear that whine, I remember how lucky I am to have the opportunity to give them the love that they seek.  It’s an incredible gift to be here for children who are reaching for me.

How could anyone get mad
at these little nuggets?

The Kids Take My Stuff

Camera, ipod, crayons, pens, shoes, keys, eyeglasses… There are many things I have that the kids are not allowed to touch without my expressed permission.  They take them anyway.  It’s happened multiple times this week alone that my camera has gone missing because a student walked off with it.  I tell them it’s not good to do that, but I can’t get mad.  I think it’s a beautiful testament to how free they feel with me, how close we are.  It’s inconvenient when I can’t find my stuff, but I love the feelings and friendship behind it.

My Office

Every time I walk into my office or look around when I’m sitting at my desk, my heart swells.  The walls are completely covered with pictures the kids have drawn for me.  What a wonderful visual reminder of the outpouring of love I receive from them!

All the kids passing my office see this through the open door.

“I love you!”

Where else in the world can a teenage boy publicly tell his teacher that he loves her from the depths of his soul, and everyone knows that it’s as innocent as it is genuine?  The special thing about Don Bosco is the free exchange of deep love.  The kids know how loved they are.  They know it all the way into their souls.  In turn, I am reassured of their love for me about 50 times a day, no exaggeration.  They shout it, sing it, whisper it, and dance about it all day long.

Christ’s Leadership in Others

I now have 3 site partners who teach me daily how to love.  There’s nothing I enjoy more than witnessing a tender moment between one of them and a child.  I am touched when I see Ariel sitting after school with a gifted student to give him extra challenging work and attention, or Theresa making a boy’s day by yelling his name in the special way he loves.  It moves me to see Grace with the Daughters of Mary, teaching them a prayer dance, laughing with them, or just holding one’s hand.  I am in awe of their patience, compassion, enthusiasm, and holiness.  They truly live this mission, and I am a better person each day because of them.

      

  

Of course there are challenges and frustrations in my life.  Difficulties arise sometimes that stop me in my tracks, and my attitude is not always 100%.  But the thing is, the little miracles that sprinkle each day make me realize how perfect God’s plan is for me and this beautiful place.  Because of that, because of His presence here, there is no exotic island that could compare to South Sudan, and no human creation that could rival this paradise.  I am living in Heaven on Earth.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness.  That has been the theme of my life recently. 

I’ve made my share of mistakes this year, but last week was a doozy.  My old self (not exactly the holiest of persons) came out in a selfish, irresponsible act.  Then a week later, I did it again!  But this story isn’t about what I did.  It’s about what was done for me.

The first time it happened, I was expecting my relationships to suffer as a result of the trouble I’d caused, but instead I was treated gently.   I was forgiven, and all was forgotten because “everyone messes up.”  Finished.  The second time, I was deeply ashamed of myself.  I felt that my “sorry” would not be believable because actions speak louder than words.  I was sure that I’d done irreparable damage, and was convinced I would (should) be rejected for it.  Have you ever felt this way after doing something really bad?

In providential display of perfect timing, all three mass readings the next day focused on repentance.  In the first, God’s anger is justified, but He spares the people.  In the second, Timothy admits his sinful past and speaks of Christ’s “utmost patience”.  In the Gospel, the parable of the lost sheep speaks about Heaven’s rejoicing over any sinner who repents.  The message was clear:  Christ came to call sinners, not saints.  He came to purify, not to punish.  To teach, not to torment.  God spoke to my gloomy heart: “Your shame, that feeling of wanting to hide from Me, is the Devil tempting you to run from My Son’s merciful embrace.  Repent from deep within you, and you will be forgiven and loved. ”

That evening, we talked about what had happened.  I was very surprised by the tone of the conversation because again I received immediate forgiveness.  I received mercy and compassion.  Patience, tolerance, kindness, and acceptance.  LOVE, LOVE, LOVE.  Never before had I experienced that level and speed of forgiveness.  My feeble apology was accepted, no reparation requested.  Everyone just wanted things to go back to normal.  We decided to “start over” (what a magical phrase that is!).

 

When I looked into the eyes across from me, I saw holiness shining back.  I saw Christ, and felt the warmth of a mother’s pardoning embrace.  I certainly didn’t deserve this extreme act of love, but it was granted to me anyway.  Being absolved like that, it has the power to transform a life.  I am changed.  It has affected me in the depths of my soul, in the core of my heart.  Am I suddenly going to be perfect at forgiveness now?  Of course not.  But I have seen that it is possible for people to forgive like Jesus forgives, that perfectly.  I am profoundly aware of the grace I received and am deeply humbled by it.

THE LESSON:

The message that has penetrated my heart is one of action: “Go, Cait, and do this for someone else.  Be this for someone else.  Do not let it be in vain that I put this experience in your life.”  Thesaurus suggestions for the word redemption include improvement.  How true that is.  My job now is to move forward with a much better experiential understanding of Christ’s love and to imitate his compassion the way it has been shown to me this week.  C.S. Lewis put it beautifully when he wrote, “To be a Christian is to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven it in us.”   Jesus suffered torture and died to show his forgiveness to us.  We don’t have to go through nearly that much trouble.  We just have to act with love, even if (especially when) the other person doesn’t deserve it.

People have asked me why I became a missionary instead of volunteering with a secular organization.  Experiences like this is why.  Because others were so committed to Jesus, they had the strength, humility, and compassion to forgive me so quickly and fully.  Our role as Christians is to follow and imitate Christ.  That’s hard, but possible.  I became a missionary instead of a volunteer so that I could live with people who would teach me to love as Jesus loves.  Mission accomplished.

The Circle of Life

Last week, I wrote about my first up-close experience with death in Africa.  Well it appears as though that was only the beginning.  God decided this week to give me several lessons about the circle of life (cue The Lion King instrumental).  Two days after the death of Nora’s mother, I held a brand-new-born baby, and five days later, there was a sudden funeral that hit very close to home.

The Tiny Miracle

After mass on Sunday, I tagged along with a group of girls to visit their friend Joice¹ (my former student/footballer) and her newborn baby.  We crammed into her house and took turns holding the precious little angel who was – get this – only 24 hours old!  When I took her into my arms, I was completely unprepared for my reaction.  I was instantly captivated, entranced, and mesmerized, my gaze held hostage by the tiny (tiny!) pale face in front of me.  A surge of love rushed through me like an electric shock, and my eyes welled with tears.  A haze of awe surrounded me, and the other people in the room faded from my vision, their voices quelled into silence.  “What is happening?” I thought.  “I love kids and all, but babies have never made me feel anything like this.  This is amazing!  God’s craftsmanship is... I mean, just… this baby girl is pure perfection.”  Hercules with all his might couldn’t have turned my face away from the precious life I held.  I was intensely aware of the miracle that God had gifted to the world, and my mind swirled round and round thinking of the spiritual significance of what I was holding – pure potential for whatever God has in His great plan for the world.

Being exactly where I was, seeing/feeling/experiencing exactly what I was, was nothing short of sublime.  There was no doubt in my mind that a serious slice of Heaven had fluttered down into the tiny, cramped mud hut in the middle of “the bush” in Africa.  I was standing on holy ground.  While it is normally interpreted under the context of death, a Gospel passage I recently read sprung to mind.  “And Jesus said unto him, ‘verily I say to you, today you shall be with me in paradise’” (Luke 23:43).  I felt the weight of Christ’s words in that moment.  It felt to me like I was in paradise.  Being in this place that I love so much, with these children that I love so much, paying tribute to all the glorious possibilities of the beginning of a human life, was absolutely perfection to me.  It’s not so surprising, though, is it, that a passage about the end of life brought to mind the beginning of it?  They are so intrinsically connected. 

A BIG Miracle?

Time-wise, we are never so close to Heaven as the moments we enter and leave this world.  A spiritual paradox, the time when a person leaves Heaven to become born on Earth is universally acknowledged as the most joyful time there is, while a loved one returning Home (after an arduous human journey) is seen as one of the saddest times.  You would think people would “prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8) but since this is the only world we know, that’s usually not the case, especially for the loved ones left behind.  The pain involved in letting go of someone we cherish can be unbearable.  I had to witness this unspeakable pain in our kids for the second time in a week when Mary died.  Mary was a rock star of a woman with several children I am close with who are involved in our school/church/oratory/community.  When we heard the news it simply came as “Mariam’s mother died”.

By the time I found out, the body had been moved to a church so we rushed right over (community support is everything, people are what matter; the rest of my classes for the day would just have to ‘suffer’ through a free study period).  The experience was very different from when Nora’s mother died, and if you’re interested in the cultural details of what went on, dear reader, I’ll be happy to explain via email, but this post isn’t about that aspect.  After consoling the children for a couple of hours, and shedding several tears myself, I was gazing forlornly at the ground when an outstretched hand appeared under my face.  When I looked up to see who was greeting me, I came face-to-face with the living dead.  I blinked several times and stared in utter disbelief right into the face of, you guessed it, Mary herself.  It gave a whole new meaning to Jesus’ proclamation that “[s]he that believes in me, though [s]he were dead, shall live” (John 11:25). “Why isn’t everyone else reacting to this?” I thought.  “Why aren’t 200 people celebrating that she’s alive right now?  Or is this her ghost appearing only to me?”  I’ve witnessed an inestimable number of small miracles here, but this would be the one to top all miracles.  No such luck.  Long story short, apparently Mariam is actually the biological daughter of another one of her father’s wives (the people are polygamous), despite the fact that she lives with Mary’s family.  Big mistake to make, but actually understandable in this culture.

What a difference it is between someone being “dead” one minute and alive the next!   …But how much of a difference is it really?  After the whole experience, I was reading about the mortality of man and came across an intriguing quote from Romans – “If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord” (14:8).  Certainly something for me to ponder more deeply.

The End.

¹ Background: Last year, Joice was my student in P5, the leader of the Daughters of Mary, and a very promising football player.  Then she disappeared for the same reason droves of young girls in South Sudan drop out of primary school – she got pregnant.  There is no adoption and no support for a girl to remain in school or get a job, so when she gets pregnant, she becomes a full-time, stay-at-home, usually unwed mother, and that’s it.  In my time here, I’ve heard story after story of home abortions done to “escape” this reality, and it absolutely breaks my heart every time.  Sitting next to Joice, I was struck by her strength accepting her new role and the grace that surrounded her.  I was profoundly touched by how grown-up she felt to me.  Ten years my junior, this girl exuded Motherhood.  I thanked God for the gift of her to this world and to the new baby girl she brought into it.  The Bible speaks much better than I can about the perfection of her motherhood.  The same passage seems a fitting reflection for me on these last 7 days here in South Sudan -->

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to His voice, and hold fast to Him. For the Lord is your life.” (Deuteronomy 30:19-20).  (Credit to Miss Rondon for calling up this passage for me to read in her blog and apply to my own recent experiences).

Death as a Teacher

Death here is a sadly common thing.  Yet despite the frequency of students being absent for deaths in the family, I still hadn’t had a terribly up-close encounter with how the people here deal with it in terms of rituals.  The closest I’d come was a couple of visits to the students’ houses in the days following their loss, as the family did what I would most compare to Jews sitting shivah.  Until yesterday.

During lunch, the entire student body suddenly dashed across the field towards the road because “somebody just died.”  We got to the road in time to watch a pickup truck fly past filled with people screaming.  All the girls took off sprinting after it like their lives depended on it.  One of the kids informed me that a student’s mother had just died, that the truck held her body, and that the people were going to her house.  I followed them to pay my respects and support my student.  During the experience that followed, I learned (or re-realized) a great deal about the culture here in South Sudan:

Word travels fast:  I have absolutely no idea how 100 kids simultaneously knew that a corpse was about to pass the school and exactly who had just died and how.  (Needless to say, they don’t have cell phones.)

People are what matters:  There were well over 200 people gathered at the woman’s home within minutes of the arrival of the body.  The adults and elderly literally ran from wherever they were, pouring into the compound from every direction of the surrounding “bush” (forest), and the kids didn’t give a second thought to immediately leaving school.  No one cared about anything in the world but supporting the family of the deceased.  They literally dropped whatever they had in their hands and came.

Dealing with death is personal:  In America, when someone dies, the next of kin are spared a lot of the “messier” aspects of dealing with the body.  Here, it’s strictly a family affair.  The family members carried the deceased around the property simply on a sheet while friends processed after it.  The women formed a circle to shield the body and used buckets of water and their hands to wash it, while the men constructed (out of branches) a tent to use for a sort of wake.  The men in the community dug a hole for burial in the middle of the woman’s yard to lay her alongside the others who’ve passed in their family (there are no cemeteries, so each family creates their own).

Community = family: The family of the deceased, obviously devastated by the sudden death of their loved one, mourned deeply, loudly, and with much movement.  As I tried hard not to stare, I thought to myself, “if my mom died, I would not want the entire town watching me just after I found out.”  In the States, the deepest mourning is done in private, alone or strictly with family.  Then I realized why it’s done here the way it is: everyone watching was family.  The whole community is family.  As I looked around, tears were silently streaming down most people’s faces.  There was a glaring difference between the sympathetic reactions I’d expected to see on the girls’ faces (as classmates of the woman’s daughter) and the profoundly sad tears I saw.  It looked as though the woman had been a real part of all of their lives as well.  Never before have I seen as tight-knit a community as we have here in our little village in Africa.

Afterthought –

I am definitely an outsider:  My mind was teeming with questions about the way they were doing things.  There was a lot that I saw that I didn’t understand, and I’m sure there was much more going on that I didn’t even pick up on.  I had the sense to keep my mouth shut (no one but immediate family spoke), but I was very very aware of my ignorance and out-of-place-ness.  I nervously questioned if I should even be there.  It didn’t help that I wore a sports shirt that screamed my name and favorite number, which I felt made me stick out even more (as if my ghostly skin tone wasn’t enough).  “I am not one of these people,” I thought self-consciously, feeling extremely insecure.

…who belongs?: Though I was trying my absolute best to stay in the very back background, the villagers’ respect for me (which I flat-out don’t deserve in my own right) still showed through.  One old woman came to where the kids and I were huddled under a small tree for shade, and seriously scolded them because I wasn’t being sufficiently sheltered from the sun.  Family members who were shooing others away from the body motioned for me to stay and pray.  Very few people gave me a second glance, and no one looked at me with judgment or questioned my presence.  On the walk back to school, I led the girls in prayer.  All of these things were obviously blessings from God, sent to ease my fears of being an unwelcome intruder into the lives of these people.  “They are allowing me to become one of them,” I thought gratefully, feeling (despite my unworthiness of such an honor) extremely blessed.

The Big 2-5

I’m 25.  As my brother kindly reminded me, I just had the last birthday anyone will remember or care about for at least 5 years.  I am now at that age where I absolutely cannot deny that I am in fact a “grown up” and actually responsible for my own life (uck).  I am at that age where I recognize, across the board, that my mother was right.  I am at that age where I have just the starting twinge of wisdom and life advice to impart to the bottom half of my generation.  I am at that age where I start using the phrase “I am at that age where”.  In thinking about my life, all 25 years and then most especially this past one, two thoughts struck me most:

1. We must be happy in our lives.  God created us why?  To be joyful!  To live in love and love living in it.  He never intended us to “just go through the motions” or to sacrifice our happiness for the sake of perceived responsibilities.  If we are dissatisfied or stagnant, that is a problem we need to act on immediately.  Ultimately, only we are responsible for our lives.  We cannot sit in mediocrity or idleness.  That’s not God’s plan for us.  His plan, as His love, is grander and more wonderful than we could even imagine.  So do what makes you happy!!!  Yes, it is that simple.  Spend your time with people who make you smile and laugh and think good thoughts.  Do the things you enjoy doing.  Be fulfilled.  Those feelings of inner joy, satisfaction of the soul, and inspired energy are God lighting a fire in our hearts.  He wants to give us His Kingdom of Heaven so much that he makes it possible to experience a piece of it while still on Earth – if we want it.  The choice is ours.

2.  There is a holiness that pervades life.  Each moment of our lives, every millisecond, is important and miraculous and should be celebrated.  I mean, think about it for a second – we’re alive!  God loves us so much that He breathed life into our bodies and souls.  Every moment is divinely planned, and thus cannot be anything but deeply and profoundly holy.  Every experience, however minute or seemingly mundane, is in His plan.  Appreciate that walk with the dog, the drive to work, that cup of coffee.  Think getting ready in the morning is meaningless or valueless?  Remember that Jesus is there with you!  Bam – that moment is now sacred.  The same need to appreciate life goes for painful experiences as well.  God doesn’t say, “this is my plan for you, but I’m sorry, you’re going to have to deal with xyz in the process.”  Instead, he says, “xyz all are hand-crafted experiences put specifically in your life by Me for countless reasons you will never understand."  He has a hand in everything.  He Himself is in everything.  Therefore, bless and praise every moment as holy and divine.

Of course God decided to speak to me loud and clear on my birthday so as to give me a hint as to what the new year has in store for me spiritually.  I have a book with all the mass readings for 2013 which I bring it to mass on Sundays so I can follow along (weekend masses are said in Zande).  When I opened it up on my birthday, I was very surprised to see that the illustration was the headshot of a redheaded, blue eyed woman.  God was telling me to pay attention!  The Gospel reading was one I need to hear often, the story of Mary and Martha.  Basically, the story goes that Jesus came to visit the home of two sisters, and while Martha tended to the work of serving Jesus, her sister sat down to listen to him.  Jesus told her that Mary had chosen the best thing to do.  I need to be more like Mary.  I need to slow down, come to a full stop even, and just BE with Christ and his people.  Message received.  This past year has been full of many changes in me.  For this next year, I am clearly supposed to focus on becoming a Mary.  It’s amazing to me the ways God gets my attention.

Lessons from a Picnic

We took the Altar Servers and Daughters of Mary on a picnic, and had a great time.  But more than being just a few laughs, it taught me important things as well.

Raising the Next Generation

In the weeks preceding the picnic, the kids were told to bring 5 pounds each ($1.25).  Some paid outright, but most said that they couldn’t afford it (the abject poverty here is very real).  Many brought 2 or 3 pounds and promised to try to come up with the rest soon.  The money was used to buy their food.  At the end of the day, those who gave nothing were not allowed to come on the picnic, while kids that gave even a single pound were welcomed.

Lesson:  The Salesians are here to build up the kids so that the kids can build themselves up.  But we are not here to encourage an attitude of entitlement.  The kids need to learn the value of contributing towards the betterment of their own lives, and this was one way to help teach them that.  They got a strong sense of pride knowing that they provided for themselves on their special day (no need to disclose how much the Salesians added).  It’s really important for South Sudan as a new developing country to raise a generation that does not rely on charity.  On the other hand, it was devastatingly heartbreaking to know that a couple of deserving kids were left out of all the fun because of money.

Prayerful Living

In the midst of all the hustle and bustle of the afternoon, I came across Grace sitting alone in the nearby church, eyes closed, praying.

Lesson: This was the perfect example of the Christian virtue of possessing peace (even amidst chaos/excitement), something I struggle with a great deal.  Following the directive to “be still and know that I am God,” (Psalm 46) is not exactly at the top of my list of spiritual skills.  I need to be reminded to slow down and take time to simply sit with and in God.  Providentially, I am often blessed with striking examples of this kind of holiness in action; it seems to come naturally to both Dan and Grace (my mission partners), who embody the spirits of prayer and gratitude.  There is a strong humility and a special piety in the way they live their lives.  I must take note.

Find Life’s Purpose – Check

As I was soaking up the happiness of the kids playing all around me, I was joined by Anthony who disapprovingly wanted to know why I was sitting alone.  We sat talking about God’s blessings, His perfect Plan, and why it’s sometimes hard to see both of those things.  We also discussed the idea of being “in church” anywhere/everywhere through an attitude of praise and constant awareness of God’s presence.

Lesson: Through that conversation with him, the deepest desire of my heart was clarified.  I live to share my faith with others, and through that, to help other people grow closer to their Creator.  All the other things – teaching, coaching, playing, praying –are divinely beautiful pieces of my life, but the reason my heart beats is to have conversations like that.  Above all else, I want to be a trusted advisor and friend, one whose explanations elicit more questions (deeper questions) about God and push people forward on their spiritual journeys.

Salesian Preventive System

During lunch, one boy (Thomas) stood up and threw a bone at a girl, hard.  Apparently she’d tossed one his way first, and a fight almost erupted.  I sat them back down and left it at that.  A couple of days later during games, I took Thomas aside to talk to him about what happened.  I asked him if he knew the story about Jesus telling us to “turn the other cheek” (he did).  Then we discussed what forgiveness means, why it’s hard, and how we can foster it in difficult day-to-day situations.

Lesson:  It is the Salesian way to not scold in public but instead approach a child when he’s rational and speak with him instead of at him.  Don Bosco’s philosophy is built on loving kindness.  What a gift to be learning how to employ that this year!  The Holy Spirit was definitely present during our conversation.  And what a gift it is to be able to talk to an attentive/responsive kid about Jesus through examples from his own life!  Through that experience, I learned about the importance of caring enough to follow up with someone on the little things.

Happy Birthday, South Sudan

July 9^th was Independence Day for South Sudan.  The country turned a whopping 2 years old!  Here are a few of my thoughts on the celebration.

1. All of the adults’ speeches were in Arabic (with a spattering of tribal languages), while the children’s performances were strictly English.  Even the 4 year olds spoke confidently into the microphone in their newly-learned language.  What does this indicate?  Progress and commitment to the next generation.  All the schools in South Sudan operate in English, which is inarguably the language of business and arguably the language of global unity.  Parents who do not speak any English encourage their kids to rise through its mastery, and educators take seriously the difficult task of teaching fluency to students who have no reinforcement outside school.  The next generation will be significantly better off because of these efforts.

2. Certain values are universally embedded in the people here.  One small boy gave a speech that stressed the need for South Sudan to have “peace, love, and trust” above all things and for the people to always stand in community with one another.  He was lauded by all subsequent speakers, who expanded upon his words.  What beautiful values to be nationally bonding!  As the speakers all spoke of God’s love for South Sudan, I wondered to myself if the strong societal focus on faith has anything to do with these particular values being chosen above others.

3. There was a strong focus on peace/war, which is a big fat “duh” considering the freshness of their struggle for independence and the current conflicts still going on between Sudan and South Sudan.  It blows my mind how real this holiday is for them.  They’ve only been a country for two years!  They fought hard for decades to be able to celebrate an independence day.  For them, independence means (finally!) peace.  One school performed a song which reminded us that their “fathers all died in the war for independence,” their “mothers all died” and their “sisters and brothers all died in the war for independence,” and I’m sure that’s entirely true for many of the students singing.  Though I thought it was a devastatingly sad song, all the people cheered loudly.  I’m used to peace, so I only heard “death”; they’re so used to war, they only heard “independence”.

4. One sad indication that I am living in a post-war third-world country was a comment in a speech made by a high-ranking leader of the army.  Referencing a petrol (gasoline) robbery a few days before, his message to the thieves was “You steal our petrol, we steal your life.  When we catch you, you are finished.”  He then sarcastically referenced the NGOs’ and international organizations’ ridiculous “talk of ‘human rights’” which he promised “South Sudan will not give into.”

5. One (fairly drunk) army soldier got onstage and lip-synced a song while several other (quite drunk) soldiers took turns dancing around him.  While I laughed at them, the people I was sitting with cheered and said, “they fought hard for this.  They should be celebrating!”  It seemed indeed that the celebration was mainly for the military, or at least 90% of the seated guests were military.  Their comments and my surroundings made me think again about the sacrifices made by these men, and I promptly closed my mouth.

All-in-all, it was a very thought-provoking day for me as an outsider and as a person desperately trying to understand the inside track here.  God Bless South Sudan.

Talking to the kids about S. Sudan at morning mass.

A pre-school performing a dance

The little boy who gave the
speech on S. Sudan values.

The Beauty of Young Women

I sincerely apologize for the lack of a post in… gee wiz two months?!  My life has been frantic lately (in a good way).

So as my last post was about the boys, this time I’ll take a moment to appreciate the girls. 

Madelina

One day, I was absent-mindedly chatting briefly with our cook about the football team and her daughter, who plays.  Then she said to me out of the blue, “Madelina prays for you every night.”  I stopped rushing around and looked up at her, her eyes beaming with love for her daughter and for me.  “Every night in her prayers I hear ‘Sister Cait’ right away.  Every night.”  I was blown away, completely unprepared to hear that, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.  The knowledge that Madelina cares enough about me to ask God every night to bless me is enough to bring me to tears.  And when I try to mentally reflect on it, I find myself uncharacteristically vacuous.  I have no words.  There are no further thoughts.  There is just a swelling of appreciation for that little Godsend and for the Blessing that is my life.  Sometimes I find myself utterly overwhelmed by the love I receive here.  And to think, all of it is merely a drop in the ocean of love that God has for me.  Amazing.

Flowra & Grace

There is a pair of sisters here about 4 and 6 years old who perfectly embody the spirit of joy.  I say joy instead of happiness because it comes from deep within them and is in no way dependent upon the outside world.  It is a quality they possess, not an emotion they feel.  Each day, I hear their distinctive raspy and squeaky voices calling out my name, or the song of their mixed laughter carried by the wind.  They are always together, hand-
in-hand, and always radiantly smiling.  They ask me to spin them in circles again and again (I’m always afraid they’re eventually going to puke… okay, I’m afraid I’m going to puke).  They pinch me and run away or hug me and refuse to let go, all those adorable little-girl things.  But what sets them apart is their harmony with each other and with the world.  When I look at them, I see inner peace and outer bliss.  I often think of Jesus telling us that unless we become like children, we will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven.  Because when I look at them, I see the Kingdom right in front of me.  They are living in it.  I get a very deep message from them about the quality of life being much more important than the length of it.

Mariam S.

A genuinely sweet girl, Mariam is teased and bullied mercilessly.  Sadly, it is not rare for her to come to my office crying.  Despite my tendency to sometimes only want to see the good here, her tears are a reminder that some things are the same everywhere, and that adolescence is hard.  It breaks my heart that I can’t do more for her.  It's frustrating and sad to realize that adults, even in positions of power, are sometimes powerless.

Mariam G.

One sassy girl has a unique way of pointing at the Salesians and calling our names when we displease her or when she has something to say (both of which happen often).  She’s an oh so typical teenager.  We mimic her, and she pretends to get fed up and walk away or chases us.  But it’s clear how much she likes the fact that we notice her quirk.  Please read: she loves that we see her.  It’s a lesson to me in working with kids: pay attention the little things, they’re important.

                   Silla

Silla is a bright young star rising in her own right.  She does well in P6 and shows a courageous determination in school.  She went to Fr. JP with tears in her eyes when school fees were due, and begged him to allow her to study on charity.  Her father, she explained, paid the full amount for all of her brothers, but refused to give her a dime (one example of the vast difference in societal value placed on a girl v. a boy).  She wants desperately to get an education.  She also plays on the football team, a fantastic defender who improves daily due to her focused training.  She demonstrated such commitment, willingness, humility, and natural leadership that she was the obvious choice for captain.  She wants to enjoy her life.  She also joined the Daughters of Mary last month, and always tries to consider what Mary would tell her to do.  She wants to be a good and holy woman.  She also visits me every time I’m sick, even for a day.  She’s deeply and demonstratively caring.  She is an absolute rock star, and I am privileged to have a special closeness with her.  If she were growing up in America, I’d peg her as the future president.  Here in South Sudan, I just pray that she gets the opportunities she deserves to have a good life.

The Daughters of Mary

The Daughters of Mary is the female church group for the youth (under 18) who dance at mass on Sundays.  They don stunning uniforms, tie bright scarves around their heads, and animate the mass with their bodies.  They spent a ton of time preparing for the Feast of Mary Help of Christians.  They worked with Grace day in and day out for months learning special dances, attending catechism classes, and coming to daily mass at 6:45am.  Their commitment was incredible!  There were also many new girls joining the group, ranging from 7-16 years old, and it is amazing how a group that diverse could be so unified by love.  I felt so privileged to observe them all during their preparation time.  Some of my favorite things:

- their tenderness: the veteran members gently and patiently teaching the new girls

- their joyful enthusiasm: laughing and cheering while they learned new ways to praise God

- their unity: sitting together at every mass and often together throughout the school day

- their faith: happily showing up at daily mass because they love Jesus and Mary; singing one of their favorite

songs that simply goes “my name is [name], and I love Mary (yeeeah), and I’ll love Mary (yeeeah) for the rest of my 

life.”

On the Feast Day, the new members made their public Promise to the group (attached at the bottom of this post if you’re interested).  Then their parents, the veteran members, Grace, and the priest blessed each one of them in an emotional ceremony.  From my view as photographer, I watched the faces of these mentors as they blessed the young girls.  Some beamed with pride, some smiled knowingly, and some wept with a mix of emotions running through them.  It struck me hard: these people understand and appreciate the value and intensity of the fact that the girls just promised to follow Our Mother and give their lives to her, and most of all, that the girls all meant it from the bottom of their hearts.  It all hit me like a tidal wave, and suddenly I could almost see the Holy Spirit whipping around the room, filling it completely.  Simply put, it was one of the coolest moments I’ve had yet.

Loving friends

The whole crew

Dancing at mass

Concluding Thought

I am proud of the girls as my students, I am proud of them as soccer players, as helpful members of their families, etc., but I am most proud of them as good Christians.  They inspire me every day, teaching me lesson after lesson after lesson about recognizing Christ, following Mary, what love means, how faith should be, and what it looks like to possess purity of soul.  I love them with every ounce of my being, and I am honored to be a witness to their lives.

The Daughters of Mary Promise 

Lord Jesus, I thank you for calling me to be closer to you and closer to your Mother Mary. Through her, I can come to you easily.   I believe that you are the Son of God and the Son of Mary.   I believe that Mary is the Mother of God, conceived without sin, so she can help me to become holy.  I believe that Mary is the Mother of the Church, Mother of all Christians, and my Mother also.  Lord Jesus, I believe that you are present in the Holy Eucharist, in the Church, in the Word of God, and in each one of us. So I will come every day for the Holy Mass to receive your Body in the Holy Eucharist after making a good confession.  Make me like your Mother. Help me to be obedient to your Will, to be kind, to be humble, and to be ready to love others as she did first.  Jesus, you are my Savior and my friend. Bless my commitment as a Daughter of Mary. I am willing to follow you, I am willing to listen to you, I am willing to serve you all my life. Mary, my Mother, be my guide to grow in holiness, day by day, hour by hour, until I take my last breath. Mary, Help of Christians, pray for me.  Amen.  

Don Bosco Is Here

As a Salesian missionary, I often think about the charism of Don Bosco.  His focus was on the poor, troubled youth who had no one to look after them.  His spirit of evangelization was to connect the boys to Jesus directly, and then let them spread the message themselves.  Here in South Sudan, Don Bosco’s spirit is very much alive and well in the young boys!  They are constantly leaving me in awe, and indirectly challenging me to examine my own convictions.  Their witnesses of faith are inspiring to say the least.

Joseph

On Holy Thursday, we designated a back corner of the church for Adoration.  The mass ended with the holy Eucharist being placed inside the tabernacle there, and there was some shuffling around while most people exited and the remainder re-positioned themselves.  At this point, a 6 year old named Joseph wanted me to play with him.  I told him it was still prayer time, and when he looked confused, I pointed at the tabernacle.  “Jesus is in there,” I told him.  His face shifted, he gasped in a short breath of air, and his eyes darted back and forth between the tabernacle and me.  “Jesus is there?!?” he exclaimed, pointing.  When I nodded, he beamed ear-to-ear.  For a moment, his eyes shined with all the wonder, amazement, excitement, and Joy that little boys can pack into a single glance.  He didn’t question it; he just embraced the beauty and greatness of what was just explained to him.  He paused and, in his own way, paid reverence to Christ's presence.  Then, after taking in just how cool it all really is, he ran off, presumably to find a replacement playmate.  His reaction has stuck with me.  I should be as enthusiastic about the Lord each and every time I encounter Him in the act of Adoration.

7 Disciples

Adoration that night went from about 9:30 until midnight.  For the first hour, some of the more faithful parishioners stayed to pray, and then we were left with just our Salesian community… and 7 school boys.  7 stoic, faithful rock stars.  The boys, ages 12 to 16, sat up half the night to pray with us and then slept here at the mission in order to be ready for mass on time the following morning.  I asked one why, and he said simply, “If Jesus is here, I am here also.”  What a perfect statement to make and attitude to have.

Anthony

One day, I was playing music for some of the boys as we waited for rain to subside.  Anthony (15 years old) asked me to play a slow song, and I put on a melodic version of the Divine Mercy Chaplet being sung over and over (for the story behind the prayer, click here).  After swiftly and sharply squashing the cries of protests from the others who wanted Michael Jackson, he swayed gently along, lost in a half-trance.  Days later, I caught up with him after school to tell him I would pray the DMC with him or lend him the song whenever he wanted.  “Right now?” he asked.  Of course not, I told him, because I’m sure he wanted to go play ball with his friends.  He glanced towards the football field, then back at me and said, “We can go now.”  I was worried he was regretting his decision when I let the song play for its entirety of over 18 min, that he felt somehow compelled by me to be doing this, but when I got up quietly and left, he stayed to continue praying.  We’ve repeated this a few times since.  He was able to focus on God so much more than I was, and seems to have mastered what I struggle with daily: the command to "be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46)

Michael

One night, only a few boys stayed after oratory to pray the rosary.  This never happens where there are so few, so at the end when it was my turn to deliver a short talk, I instead sat with them and asked them questions.  I asked why they stayed.  10 year old Michael answered me, “because of Jesus.”  What about Jesus?  “I love Jesus.”  Why do you love Jesus?  He just stared blankly at me, not understanding what I’m sure he thought was a ridiculous question.  I asked what the difference was between those few children and the ones who didn’t come to pray.  He said sadly, “Jesus is not important to them.  I don’t know why.”  I asked more questions, more specific questions, trying to draw out of the kids more complicated reasons for or explanations of their faith, but the reality is that they don’t have complicated faiths.  Everything about life here is extremely simple, and the pure beauty of that never fails to strike me.  I had a profound realization that evening: that the best answer as to why I do anything, that the litmus test for my life, should be "because I love Jesus," simple as that.

Saba

After 7 hours of being bedridden from being sick one day, I emerged briefly to try to soak up the last of the fading light and the energy of the kids playing at oratory.  As the field came into view, I heard my name being called by a full symphony of voices.  Instantly my heart swelled up, overcome by the outpouring of love that I receive here.  Then, as I was walking across the field, I turned to see Saba (Sa-BAH) sprinting towards me like he was on fire.  He slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave and squeezed me as tight as he could with his tiny arms.  His eyes were the widest and brightest I’ve ever seen on him.  I was not expecting this from Saba.  He is normally oddly calm for a 6 year old, moves slowly, and carries a muted expression on his face.  From where did he get this sudden burst of energy, and why was he spending it on me?

Staring into his beaming face, time stopped for a moment.  Normally, the kids come and greet me then quickly return to their games, but Saba just stood there grinning at me in silence for well over a minute.  I felt like God was sending me an angel to whisper in my ear that I am loved more than I will ever be able to understand, both by these children in South Sudan and by His Son.  It was a reminder not to become discouraged.  Sometimes I get sick, or I fail as a teacher, or I miss my family, or I don’t love how I should, but no matter how depleted I feel, God will send a shock to recharge my battery in the most unexpected of ways.  He did say anything, but I felt Saba’s faith through his tiny pounding heart, because he allowed himself to be used as an instrument of God, even if he didn’t know it.  He was chosen to be there for me because his spirit was open to Love, and I needed it so much.

Saba

Joseph