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

A Moment of Hope

                I was getting frustrated with my 4^th and 5^th grade classes as I tried for several weeks to teach them about nouns and verbs with very little progress.  Aware that some have difficulty with my English and that the style of education is different here, I had them write down the definitions and told them to memorize them.  A few days later, when still no one volunteered to repeat the definitions back to me, I thought, “this is ridiculous.  Am I wasting my time?  Do they just not want to learn?”  Then I pointed out to several students exactly where it was written in their notebooks, and asked them to simply read the definition to the class.  They all just stared blankly at me.  “I guess this one’s too shy,” I thought.  “That one’s too stubborn.  This one’s trying to be funny.” Etc.  Then it hit me like a ton of bricks:  Oh my gosh.  They. Can’t. Read.   Another SLM had off-handedly suggested this possibility previously, but I’d rejected it because a) I couldn’t imagine 5^th graders being illiterate, and b) quite frankly, I just didn’t want it to be true.  But the problem couldn’t be overlooked anymore.

            Suddenly it all made sense – why the teachers read their exam questions to the students one by one, why it takes the kids forever to copy something from the board because they look up after writing each individual letter, and why I see “opus7.r” on a paper instead of “verb”.  After being confronted with the ugly truth, I gave them an alphabet quiz, and almost no one was able to write it correctly in both uppercase and lowercase letters.  So I’ve scrapped my plans for the year, and we will start with A-B-C handwriting, then move on to the sounds of letters, basic reading, and recitation writing.

           Why is this a moment of hope?  Because despite myself, I was finally able to see the problem clearly, and I have the chance to try to fix it.  I am in the unique position of teaching a class we created (English Composition) which is not a government requirement; therefore, I can do whatever I want.  It’s going to be a huge challenge – I know how to tutor one kid in reading with full-on personal attention, but 68 in a class?! – but I know that it’s a God-given gift to have this opportunity.  Imagine how much easier it would be to study if they could actually read and understand their notes.  Maybe even a few kids will stay in school longer.  From here, I can see the light dawning for the rest of their education.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, is more critical than literacy.  Please pray for me that I can help them get a better grasp on that this year (so far, I feel highly incompetent).  For now, there are no books here (and no money to buy them even if there were), but maybe someday that will change and these people will get the chance to fall in love with literature the way I did when I learned how to read.  A whole world of possibilities will hopefully open soon for my 5^th graders, starting with The Cat in the Hat.

PS:  If anyone has any ideas/tactics that come to mind, please send them my way (seymour.caitlin@gmail.com).  I can use all the help I can get!  (Keep in mind the only resources I have are a blackboard & chalk and the dirt outside).

Spiritual Growth

The past two months have been jam-packed with spiritual experiences that have fostered growth both in the breadth of my faith and it’s depth.  Here are three of them.

Penance:

For Lent this year, I prayed the Litany of Humility 3 times a day and slept on the floor instead of in my bed.  The former focused my efforts to possess the quality of humility, and pushed me to see all challenges as gifts sent to help me in my journey.  The latter was my best Lenten sacrifice yet.  As I lay down at night, I actually thought about Christ on the cross.  I was reminded each night that my own slight discomforts in life are (obviously) nothing compared to his suffering, which he did for me, so I have no right to grumble, ever.  Then I read a prayer that put a lot into perspective: “Christ our Redeemer, let us share in your passion by works of penance; let us attain the glory of your resurrection.”  Ooooooh that’s why we do penance: to join Jesus in what he did for us and hopefully grow closer to Heaven through it.  *Mind blown*

There’s Something About Mary:

In March, I did Saint Louis de Montfort’s program of Total Consecration to Mary.  It is the most intense form of Marian devotion there is, and represents a complete dedication or commitment to the Mother of God.  Following de Montfort’s writings, I prayed special prayers for a period of 33 days, and at the end I offered myself to Mary.  The day that I made my consecration (promise) was the Feast of the Annunciation, the day when the Angel Gabriel told Mary she would bear the Son of God and she answered, “YES!”.  Starting with the day I accepted the invitation to come to South Sudan, this entire year has been a journey of my own Fiat (saying “yes” to the call of Christ).  From that time on, I have increasingly yearned to be more like Our Lady in every way.  Never in my life have I wanted anything so fully and so desperately.  This is not a desire that comes from me; it is too strong and too pure.  It must be God’s wish.  It is a serious struggle because of the vast chasm that exists between my own sinful nature and her perfection.   She is patient, I am not; she is simple, I am needlessly complex; she is pure, I am stained; she is humble, I am proud; she is noble, I am selfish; the list goes on ad infinitum.  I am unable to articulate the gravity of the effect that Consecration has had on me, but in short, I am Changed, and belong now to Mary.  Everything I do and am is through her.  Or at least, it’s supposed to be.  I fail a hundred times a day, a thousand even, to live up to my promise, but I am trying.  Through her immaculate graces, I hope to become closer to Jesus, the ultimate end.  At the end of de Montfort’s program, the consecrated person is supposed to attach a chain to his/her ankle to symbolize that he/she has become a willing slave of Mary.  But there are no chain anklets here in Maridi, so I made one out of blue and while paperclips.  I like it this way – it’s simple, just like her.  The best part about the paperclips?  The kids ask about it, and I get to try to draw them closer to our Mother too.

Taking It to the Next Level:

I found myself on a spiritual plateau for a few weeks, which was a deeply upsetting contrast to the steep upwards slope of my faith life since my first day in Africa.  Then a special night-prayer reinvigorated my life.  What I realized was this: I wasn’t being involved in my faith; I just wanted things.  They were good things I wanted, sure (for Christ to light up my heart, to become like Mary, to help the children foster a relationship with Jesus, humility, humility, humility), but still, I was just kind of sitting around expecting God to come along and hand me spiritual gems to add to my collection like He's been doing for the past seven months.  So now it seems I’ve stepped into the next phase, in which I actively engage Jesus and push for my growth.  I think it will be even more rewarding than before.  It’s like the difference between fishing and hunting.  I’ll get fed either way (and since I was starving for a long time, that’s a pretty good deal), but the meal will taste a lot better if I put some extra effort in (says the carnivore who hates seafood).

The Spirit of the Poor

The following is my account of an event that has profoundly affected both me and Grace (my mission partner).  She blogs about it at http://africaslittleflowers.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-least-of-these.html

                I was sitting on the porch chatting with Grace one afternoon, “wasting” time I “should” have been spending on one of the 879,304 things on my to-do list.  But for some reason,  I was uncharacteristically calm and no more able to pull away from the porch than the Earth can pull away from the Sun, though I was unable to figure out why I was so compelled to remain.  Then an angel walked into my life.

                A young woman waved to us from the path beside our home, then paused and as a second thought, slowly made her way over to the gated entrance.  Grace brought her in and sat her down, which made me curious enough to join them.  I gave the young woman the once-over, and suddenly my whole world stopped and proceeded in slow-motion.  The first thing I noticed was her face.  It was caked in dried mud.  There was forgotten drool on her chin.  Her mouth hung half-open as if she had started to say something but reconsidered.  Her body was contorted to accommodate the paralysis of an arm and leg, and her soiled clothes hung off her emaciated body.  Despite all of this, she was mesmerizingly beautiful.  Then she spoke.  Her voice surprised me – it was young, high-pitched, and angelically sweet.  Like the most beautiful music the world’s ever heard, ringing from a tattered-looking record-player with a broken needle.  Grace was conversing with her in Zande, and the woman informed us that she was “sick”.  She lifted her skirt to reveal an absolutely horrifying wound from what looked like a fire burn, which covered her leg knee-to-heel, and another one on her thigh.

Watching their conversation, I was in awe of my partner.  She spoke softly, delicately touching the woman’s knee, in a tone I’d never before heard anywhere – a gentle tone saturated with compassion, tenderness, patience, mercy, and Love.  Their eyes were locked on one another, and they clearly saw each other.  They were connected in such a way that I almost felt my presence to be intrusive.  It struck me that I was witnessing a sort of human miracle, the kind we are capable of creating ourselves but rarely have the wherewithal to do so.  Then Grace went inside to retrieve the necessary medical supplies to assist the woman – her name was Nazenty – and the two of us were left alone for a moment.

That’s when I noticed her eyes.  Dark brown, but not as black as most of the people’s here, with tiny specks of a lighter color around her pupils.  A thought popped into my head: “her soul is so bright it shines right through her eyes.”  A odd thing to think when meeting a stranger.  But what captured me most wasn’t the color of her eyes, it was the way she looked at me.  Or rather I should say the way she looked into me.  I was completely speechless, even thoughtless, as she took account of my soul.  Then Grace began cleaning her wounds, which included slowly ripping off hardened pieces of charred-black skin.  Nazenty didn’t even blink.  “Does she feel pain?” I wondered.  She was absent-mindedly scanning our surroundings, acknowledging things but not spending any more time than that on them.  It looked (or felt) like a spiritual being was simply taking stock with mild interest of how things are on Earth.  I stared into her face, and time stood still.  She looked through me as I sat next to her.  She seemed to me neither bothered nor grateful, but rather like she was patiently allowing us the privilege of tending to her and being with her.  And what a privilege it truly was.  I came to Africa to serve the poor and destitute, and here was the embodiment of that mission right in front of me.  The whole scene suggested I was standing on holy ground.

Before Nazenty left, Grace instructed her to come to the hospital the next day to continue getting care for her wounds (and some medicine for the awful infection), but somehow I felt that the words were useless.  I knew I would never see Nazenty again.  I felt my heart cry silent tears as I watched her hobble away, from sadness or gratitude or something else, I’m not sure.  All I know is that I was Changed by this, and will never be quite the same again.

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A few days after this all happened, I think I have at least some clarity:  God had kept me from running off chasing to-do-list tasks so that I could meet Nazenty.  She had come so that we could serve her.  What a profound gift!  A story that comes to mind is that of a modern woman whom Jesus tells in a dream that he will visit the following day.  She is so busy preparing for the arrival of the King of Kings that she rejects and sends away three impoverished men who come knocking at her door looking for a bit of compassion.  When the woman, disappointed that he never showed up, asks Jesus why he mislead her, Jesus says, “But I did come to you.  Three times in fact.  And you sent me away each time.”  I never want to be that woman.  Whether Nazenty was an angel he sent or Christ himself, I will never know.  What I do know is that if I search for the rest of my life for a better experience to humble me, I won’t find one.