Open My Eyes, Lord

Every once and awhile, there comes a moment that makes you stop in your tracks.  A moment that makes you realize how little you know or how much you’ve taken for granted.  A moment that changes the way you see things:

The other day, I was arranging the jumbled, dirty, all-out-of-sorts storage room in the school.  I love to clean, and organizing is fun for me, so I was happy to have the job.  I danced around to Taylor Swift as I sorted through the materials.

                I thought I was being over-carefully “mission-minded” regarding our resources: 

I saved half-used notebooks with scribbled-on covers because there were blank pages; 

I saved partially-destroyed textbooks because there was some readable material inside; 

I saved every filthy waterlogged box because we can use the cardboard…  You get the idea. 

And I had to fight the urge to throw away all of these things that took away from the look of perfection I was striving to create.  I was sure that what I trashed was truly useless garbage. But what happened next has brought serious reflection on my mission here:

***

I brought the garbage outside and told the kids to take whatever they wanted and burn the rest.  When I gave them free reign on the trash can, you would have thought I just told a bunch of 10 year olds I was taking them to Disney World for a month.  I can’t describe their jubilation.  At first I smiled at their simple, almost silly, happiness.  But as I watched them whip through the contents of the bin, checking for hidden treasures, my emotion started to shift.  They shouted with delight as they found what their stupid, careless teacher had discarded: half of a broken crayon, a tiny piece of chalk, a string, the insert to a pen, a bead, part of a balloon, etc. 

There were also some gems too good to be true that (in all their honesty and goodwill) they brought back to me saying, “Sister, this one’s good.”  An alphabet book had to be put back on the shelf, which devastated the child who had found and fought for it.  I took a calendar back before realizing it was from 2012, and when I returned it to the boy, he literally jumped for joy and screamed at the top of his lungs before racing off to show anyone/everyone.  This was a child whose family could not afford him even one new shirt for Christmas.  That old calendar is probably the biggest ‘gift’ he’ll get all year

***

As I looked around at the faces of children in a state of ecstasy over a trash bin, I suddenly found myself intensely saddened. “This is the face of true poverty," I thought to myself.  “It’s not necessarily the grim, despondent expression on a person staring into the lens of a UNICEF camera.  It’s in the over-elation of these children, right here, right now.”  Tears stung my eyes as I stared at my kids proudly holding up their prizes.  I felt a wave of guilt.  I had danced around to cheerful music as I dumped the “useless” items into a pile of things to be burned.  I was happy to get rid of these things.  I had wanted to get rid of so much more.  All of a sudden, I felt disrespectful.  And ignorant.  And a slew of other things I've had trouble sifting through in the days since.

Later, I thought of something I had written down at orientation (in red ink no less) as something to be constantly aware of: “Social analysis: what is really going on here and why?”  I realized that a) I don’t know, and b) I haven’t even really been paying close attention.  Talk about a challenging recognition.

I have always said that what I want most in life is to Understand.  And coming to South Sudan has been the biggest step I've ever taken in that endeavor.  I want God to open my eyes, I mean really open my eyes, to the realities of life here.  But at the same time, I am afraid of what I will see.

December Celebrations

Here in Africa, people rejoice.  A lot.  In the past month, I’ve sung, danced, laughed, and cheered more than I thought I ever could in such a short time.  It has been wonderful!  I will share with you the top three celebrations.

Centenary
                I spent a few days in mid-December celebrating the Centenary, 100 years of the Catholic faith in this diocese.  It is a crazy thought, that out of over two thousand years of the Church, people here have only known Christ for a hundred.  The faith is young, and in many ways, it is still “on the skin”, but the people have the passion needed to push it forward into the next 100 years and beyond.
                The celebration was huge - 10,000 people.  Most arrived in the back of overcrowded pickup trucks or on bicycles, and a great number of people walked - for 4 days.  And this is South Sudan, so there were no hotels, restaurants, or indoor bathrooms.  People set up tents, ate what they carried on their backs, and made do with what they had.  Some had a piece of cardboard to sleep on and nothing else.  But they didn’t care.  The only thing that mattered is that they were there to celebrate their faith.  Amazing!  There was so much JOY present.  I was overwhelmed  by the sincerity of everyone around me.  The buildings at the site were decrepit, but the people could not have been more alive.
                The masses each day went about 5 ½ hours and included a mass wedding, ordination, and performance of the first missionaries' arrival.  There was a procession of a giant crucifix brought around to each parish’s campsite.  It paused for everyone to kneel, and then the members of that parish joined the crowd moving to the next.  That’s how life should be lived, in my opinion.  People taking time to acknowledge God’s presence in their own lives, and then joining the journey of saints, bringing Christ to those closest to them.   We also did a walking rosary and then danced into the wee hours of the morning.  That’s how faith should be lived, in my opinion.  Part solemnity & deep personal prayer, part communal merriment & joy lived out-loud. 
                HOW blessed am I to be part of a very first Centenary celebration of our faith?!  Talk about a once-in-a-lifetime experience!!!

Centenary vestments.

People kneel before the crucifix.

Christmas

                This Christmas celebration was different from past years.  It was without the one thing many people associate most with Christmas - wrapping paper littering the floor around the tree.  The people here want only one new shirt of skirt for Christmas (the only one they will get for the year).  That's it.  So simple, so humble.  And so terribly heartbreaking, some cannot even afford that.  No one got 3 meals, much less a Christmas feast.  So the day was about one thing and one thing only: celebrating the birth of our Lord.  Inspiring.  Challenging.  Thought-provoking.  Beautiful.
               At Christmas Eve vigil mass, In front of a packed church,  I attempted a reading in Zande.  I butchered it beyond recognition, but everyone was very nice, nobody laughed, and they cheered for me anyway.  I vowed to do better next time.
                Christmas night, we had a celebration at the convent.  Much to my surprise, we all got gifts.  It’s kind of like my being here, in a way.  Before I came, I expected to have a wonderful time.  I expected to be with amazing people.  But I didn’t expect all the extra blessings I’ve gotten.

The tiny nativity scene Aunt Fran gave me in 2010.
It has kept me focused all season with its simplicity.

The nativity scene in front of the altar in the church.
Its glowing lights pierced through the dark,
guiding all to worship on Christmas Eve night.  

New Years
                Wene Vuvu Gara (Happy New Year)!  I rang in the new year in a t-shirt.  This in-it-of-itself is a magical, wondrous, news-worthy thing.  And I have my lucky number 13 in the year.  But these small gems took a back seat to the fabulous celebration that took place here on New Year’s Eve night.
                We started singing at 9pm, had Adoration at 10, and mass at 10:30.  At midnight, we held a mock-trial for the fate of 2012, represented by an 9 foot tall scarecrow-like Old Man.  He was found guilty and sentenced to death by being burned at the stake.  Then we splashed some gasoline on him and lit him up.  Flames 12 feet high turned my gaze upwards.  It continued until I was taking in all the majesty of the stars above.  I got to thinking about how much I am loved.  Both by my family and friends who support me being here, and by God who makes all things possible.  I will never understand the depth of that love, or why God has given me more than I could ever imagine (and certainly more than I deserve), but I am endlessly grateful for it.
                HOW blessed am I to be part of such culturally-rich and faith-focused African New Year’s celebration that blended worship and festive silliness?!  How amazing is it to finish one year and start another inside a packed church?  Perfect.

Peace out, 2012.

The Old Man Grace made for us.

Burning the past.

                2012 had its share of bumps in the road, but ultimately it was very good to me.  It changed my life by changing my location.  2012 brought me to South Sudan, brought me here to Africa so that I may live my dream.  And now I start this new year here where my heart has been for so long.  The year ahead is full of promise and endless possibilities.  It is my hope that I will continue to grow in my faith, learn about myself, be challenged, practice patience and humility, and find the capacity to love, love, love.  I have made a few small new year’s resolutions (don’t oversleep and don’t be late, to start), but my main commitment this year is very simple:  Be God’s tool.  Be Jesus’ hands.  Be a vessel through which the Lord can communicate His undying love for humanity.  And as I cannot in my own strength do this, nor even with a hope of success attempt it, I look to my Father and ask for the gift of the Holy Spirit. 



I gratefully thank you, dear readers, for your company on this journey so far.  2012 was a wonderful adventure.  I hope 2013 will be even better, and bring you as much happiness as your life can hold.