in the small things

Most of the wisdom I have to share comes from something I have read. A few days ago I read something most timely and thought I would share. Compliments of Ms. Katie Shultz, I have been reading the book Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals. Yesterday the devotional included a small anecdote about a lay brother named Brother Lawrence from the 17th century who learned to integrate passion for Christ into the mundane and ordinary tasks of washing dishes and keeping the kitchen. He challenged others to “do our common business wholly for the love of Him.”
Right now, my life is a bunch of common business, a collection of mundane and frankly frustrating at times, tasks. I must learn to live the small moments, do the menial tasks with great passion and zeal for Christ and his kingdom. Glorifying God in the small things. I mean when you get down to it, I guess that’s what its all about. Oswald Chambers writes a lot about the challenge of being a disciple in the in-between times. The human spirit is resilient and can get us through the tragedies and “big moments.” Its being radical in the small things and living it day in and day out through the small moments that is what really defines our disciple status.
Today is my one week anniversary of being at my site, my small village of Rukara. It’s hard to believe that I have over 100 more weeks here. I truthfully have not been in one place that long in over 5 years!
This week has been packed and the days have been long. There have been so many minutes both high and low and the emotional whirl wind of trying to get my head around what I am doing here has left me on the brink of tears more than once. A few highlights from the week have been: my craft projects as I have been making my two concrete rooms into a home (its coming a long….my favorite projects being the transformation of my metal trunk into a padded bench with fantastic Rwandan fabric on top and my makeshift pantry made from cinder blocks and scrap wood from the local carpenter that I painted bright orange and green); I cooked for everyone in our little row house (about ten people) Mexican fajitas and they loved it (or were really good at acting like it-highly possible because Rwandans are not too keen on new food); I have tried to go on long walks every day to talk to people and introduce myself and that’s been really fun and a big test of my Kinyarwanda; I made (sort of) kettle corn and had a movie night with my neighbors and 6 girls ranging in age from 3 to 30 climbed into one bed to watch Prince Caspian as I tried to (fairly unsuccessfully) translate for them; I have found a great running route that goes through a lot of very beautiful, very peaceful farmland; AND I had a wonderful visit with the nuns I stayed with last time I was here and I am going to go over there twice a week to teach them English, do crafts (and eat food with them-they have an oven!!!); also I have a new friend named Magnific who is six and practically my shadow-haha. Peace Corps recommended that we not let kids into our home but on day one that proved impossible as she made herself right home among my things and just kept saying over and over “ni munsi mukuru, ni munsi mukuru!” which means “it’s a holiday, it’s a party!” hahaha and she has barely left my side ever since. Sometimes I guiltily lock my door to get a little privacy and keep her out. The funniest part is that she seems to be under the impression that I am fluent in Kinyarwanda and therefore has a constant stream of words coming out of her mouth at a low mumble so that even the words I know I can’t understand! Hahah it doesn’t keep to bother her that I just make little ”mmm” and “ooo” noises instead of actually responding.
School started(ish) on Monday which was certainly noteworthy day even if not especially meaningful. Apparently school here only fake starts on the day it is publicized to start. We were warned about this but its just so much more frustrating to experience it! I showed up a few minutes to 7 (starting time) on Monday and found myself alone with the headmaster. He informed me I might as well go home and he would call me when things started happening. And slowly slowly kids started trickling, their mothers behind them. About two thousand of the 6 thousand showed up the first day. Now I think of myself as a pretty savvy muzungu-you know I have been to east Africa, I know how things work, I am used to being stared at and yelled at and answer pretty patiently to the name “muzungu” and the kids who charge you to shake your hand. But let me just tell you, two thousand kids charging you and screaming at you is another story entirely. Frankly I was terrified. I mean kids were getting run over and trampled! Madness. I now know I have to go around the primary school and not through it to get to the secondary school if I don’t want a high intensity, near death experience at 7 in the morning.
Second surprise is that the grade I am teaching-Senior 1-doesn’t start until February because the Ministry has not yet finished grading their exams from last year. So for the next month I will just be stuck in random classes to teach random, disjointed lessons. (does my tone let you know how I feel about that) and observing Rwandan teachers. Also I will be starting an English club, creative expressions club, teaching English to the other teachers, and teaching the nuns in theory in the next month but things just kind of move on their own time so who knows when these things will actually happen. I am learning, however, that I don’t have to wait to be radically loving and justice seeking until my official “job” starts. I am trying to be radical and passionate in the way I love the people in my row house, in the way I treat and talk to the umukozi (house help who cleans the other houses) and respond to irritatingly forward men in the town. There does not have to be this big divide between your Job and the rest of your life…in fact their shouldn’t be! I am here to serve and love people and hopefully make their lives better in the long term by my existence here.
Well Magnific is getting antsy watching me write this so I am going to go and take the (sort of ) chocolate chip cookies I baked in my makeshift dutchoven over to her aunt’s house to share them☺
So the moral of the story, team, is be radical in the small things, talk to your neighbors, talk to the town crazy, be kind in unexpected ways, make things beautiful-especially things that aren’t usually beautiful like concrete walls and sidewalks!
Much much love to you all and a happy, shalom filled and sought new year!