Somehow we have been here longer than a year. Some days pass quick and others much slower. Currently my weeks consist of three mornings at the hospital and one morning in the outpatient clinic with afternoons full with daily life requirements, team responsibilities, or spending time with local friends. By 1pm as I walk out of the hospital I am typically drained mentally and I consider myself a high energy, extroverted person so that’s really telling of the setting where we work.
Over the last year my brain has spent energy on learning a new language, saying English words in a manner that translates, trying not to totally disregard cultural norms, be alert for the possible Ebola symptoms lurking on the next vomiting patient, pay attention to the increase in solider presence and security, be aware of the needs of the person in front of me but don’t shame them by too obviously helping them. That’s a lot. One or two of those things are a lot. And in less than 6 months my brain will try to rewind. To undue. To go back and reverse the transition and shock and adjustments. To untweak all that I’ve spent the last year tweaking.
In one sense, we’re asked to dive in. To dig up our comfort zone and start carving out a spot in terribly uncomfortable ground. To find peace in the awkwardness. And then all of a sudden, we return home and it flips. And we have to rewire. But as a new person. As a changed person. As a person who has seen hard things and been stretched in unwanted ways and drawn in to new places and shown love in the most unlikely situations.
But why?
Well, Jesus crossed cultures. He sat with people and he probably got their customs wrong. Sometimes he intentionally talked to the woman whom wasn’t supposed to be spoken to. He let those touch him who were seen as barely anything above trash. He stuck with a mix matched crew that were the average joes of his time through thick and thin. And somehow he did it with grace. He did it with little sleep, no belongings, probably few cultural insights. He took risk. He dared greatly. He sacrificed HUGELY. He spent his life, literally. Gosh it’s hard to even live up to 5% of that.
And yet I’m grateful I don’t have to. I can sit in the tension of the here and not yet. Of the hurry up and wait. The tension of wanting more but not being there yet and still expectantly waiting for more. It is finished. For us. For me. For you. I can sit in my father’s presence when I feel inadequate and recognize his adequacy. I can recognize that I have physical limits and so did Jesus. And that’s what crossing cultures beautifully asks us to do. To get present. Or rather get proximate as Bryan Stevenson likes to put it. Because it will teach you to get to your knees, see your sin and your imperfections and start to praise his sufficiency. And sometimes in the proximity when we pay attention we see glimpses of him making all things new despite the suffering or sin around us and in us.
I see the tiny but mighty patient with the cleft palate gain weight slow and steady. I see the new nurse show up with a smile on her face, eager to ask questions. I see the mother of a boy with HIV begin to follow our guidance and watch her child come back to life. These are not big things - these aren’t changes in the broken system. But these are small ways Jesus is renewing life amongst the brokenness that have big impact. And I get to see it because He put me in the mind draining, daily struggle of life in Bundibugyo and it’s a gift. All of it.
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