Kevin, Would you Rather?

You know Kevin. That bird from UP who was named before the small mailman knew that Kevin was a mom with baby birds? Well, that bird, Kevin, or at least the caw of Kevin wakes us up every morning. Not like a rooster that picks random moments of the 24-hour cycle to break the silence and your sanity, but at the first sight of the sun around 5:30, they make their Kevin-like sound. If I weren’t so amused by how much this bird makes me think of a bright beautiful Pixar animation, I might be irritated. But alas, these chicken sized birds sit on a wire outside of our window with their long, skinny, curved beaks the length of their bodies and announce the new day at a time that works really well with our current schedule. I call them all Kevin and I chuckle with my “Good morning Kevin” response. I’d take a picture, but they’re not very photogenic, so I’ll just leave Kevin the cartoon Kevin here.

This past week was absolutely draining. Tali is swamped in studying Afrikaans but she actually aced, instead of failed, her first Afrikaans test. Yay! New small groups started, Eric had a birthday, I went to community twice, we met the elders of the church we’re considering joining while we’re here, we spent all Saturday watching our kids prove that South Africans are infinitely better at running and sprinting than any of us Americans (kids and parents) at a school event. Sorry America, we did not represent well. We weren’t last... in everything, but Beth did come in 5th and as an excuse for me and Eric, the grass was very slippery, we were barefoot and we almost ate it.

Fortunately neither of us were the one parent that bit the dust halfway through the race. This school is crazy sport competitive and we found out that they are not even close to being as competitive as most of the other schools in South Africa. Dear Lord, I love me some fitness, but this school is next level. I’m happy for my children that they’ve had the opportunity already to practice high jump, long jump, shot put, and swimming as a part of school, but I’m shaking my head as I witness the level of competition that these people are here for. Sorry to disappoint, our family will be representing some American diversity, unique hairstyles, and people that strive to follow Jesus… just maybe not if he sprints as fast as these record breaking prodigies.

It’s good that Kevin wakes me with a smile, because the current information overload, new responsibilities, and challenges of life in general have me, moment by moment, crying out to Jesus for help. Thank you to those of you who have been praying for us or have just sent up an arrow prayer of “please help them Lord.” I really do believe your prayers united with ours are working together to help sustain us through these learning curves. There are 11-12 official languages of South Africa, and I say that because I’ve found different sources that say 11 or 12 and different people have also voiced discrepancies to those numbers. Regardless, it’s a lot of languages and none of them are Spanish or French, so Eric and I are the odd ones out with our simple understanding of English. At the Hub alone, there are 4 languages spoken around us throughout the day all day long. There’s Shangan, Afrikaans, Siswati, and English. Yes we are working on the other three, but the non-germanic languages are the ones with clicks and we get laughed at when we attempt them. We are not giving up, but it’s rough guys. I am proud to announce that we can confidently pronounce several names and words with clicks in them and sound pretty good. Small victories, God is generous to give us these.

While I’m over here whining about how yellow curry, bagels, citrus fruit in the summer, potstickers and a plethora of other delicious staples that I love are not a thing in South Africa, Beth has adopted a British accent and has announced that she’s ready to stay until our visas expire. Tali’s heart still has yet to leave the tarmac in OAK, Zac is excited that his grade naught (the supposed Kindergarten equivalent) is really more like a pushback to preschool where he gets to play and do crafts for 5 hours before getting picked up and getting only-child attention at home before the sisters are picked up 3 hours later.

Ok, enough of the superficial fluff that briefly scratches the surface of all the feelings and happenings that are going on, let’s play a game.

On the last flight here I watched a movie called “Love Again” it was a rom-com chick flick. It was pretty generic but it hit the spot for feel-good emotions. Anyway, in the movie, the main character kept playing this game of “Would you rather,” which I actually found a bit annoying, but in the movie it was supposed to be endearing and quirky.

This week in community (the time we spend visiting the Hands at Work care points) felt like that game.  We arrived at the care point, checked in with the volunteers, and spent time encouraging them with the watchword (which I’ll be sure to actually reveal this time) and getting things ready for the kids to come later. Then we split up into two groups. Are you ready for it? The groups were: would you rather go visit the guy with an unknown illness who has been waiting all morning (many hours) for an ambulance to show up? Or would you rather go visit a guy who got shot in the back and isn’t doing so hot? See, I remember thinking that serving the most vulnerable simply meant visiting widows and orphans, old people and cute little starving kids. Somehow visiting the family members of the volunteers who were supporting these children didn’t cross my mind as being in my job description before.

My “would you rather” was chosen for me. We got the unknown illness guy. Honestly my mind raced with questions. Are we going to wear masks? What kind of symptoms is this guy exhibiting? Are we going to be inside an enclosed space with this person? What if I get sick? What if I get my kids sick? What if this is how we die? Whoa. So much. We ended up meeting him and his wife outside of their home under a tree. We prayed for them, encouraged them and spent time reminding them that their efforts in the community were valuable. We loved them. Simply, obediently, (fearfully on my behalf), and beautifully. They cried with encouragement and we all washed our hands as soon as we left their property.

Did I get sick? well, it’s been a few days, and not yet. What did God do? Well, other than using us to encourage this family, He reminded me that He sent is only Son to Earth to not just visit, but live amongst the disease, brokenness and sin that had been ravaging the world for thousands of years. I was reminded of Jesus pleading with the Father when His flesh asked for another cup, but bowed in obedience to the will of the Father in completing the task set before Him with the understanding of the joy that would follow as a result after the suffering was over.

While I don’t know what level of suffering I will be called to, this doesn’t seem fair to be measured as suffering on my part. However, it is very difficult and challenging to trust that the Father has good plans and is working on so many things that are beyond what I can see with my eyes. My spirit has to remind my physical body of promises like, “He who began a good work will be faithful to complete it.” Not me on my own strength. Like we are His workmanship created in Christ Jesus for good works which God prepared beforehand that we should walk (walk walk walk walk) in them. Like, we walk by faith and not by sight. It’s easier said than done and I’m still learning these good lessons as I intentionally practice them on a daily basis.

Or how about the week before? Would you rather go visit a kid that is having trouble breathing and has a severe head deformity? Or would you rather go visit a gal who’s pregnant with her fifth kid because she can’t leave an abusive relationship (that one hits a little close to home, if you know about our eldest daughter).

I was walking with another lady to a Holy Home Visit, and she said “Africa has so much drama, I’m sure that America doesn’t have the same level of drama and crazy that we have here.” I quickly reminded her that King Solomon said that there is nothing new under the sun, and that definitely applies to today. Then I shared that I had almost the exact same prayer request that another volunteer had for her family and she was shocked. We, as humanity, are broken and in need of a Savior here, there and everywhere on this planet.  There is no place sin has not reached, but there is also no power greater than that which resurrected Jesus from the dead and offered mercy and grace that we could never earn.

Our team walking in community to a Holy Home visit encourage and pray

Visiting these communities may not seem like much when I break it down to the written agenda. Arrive. Greet in another language. See children (that haven’t eaten all day). Play and wait patiently for food. Go visit their homes and encourage their families in practical ways with words, with actions, listening, and with prayer. In review it sounds simple, but after every day in community my everything is exhausted. My spirit is heavy for their burdens, my emotions are overwhelmed from allowing their problems to enter my heart. I see girls that are the ages of my girls come with their younger siblings and care for them like mothers, but without their mothers. My gratitude for what I have, what I had, for what my children have already been gifted seems cheap. My physical body is tired from the walking, but even more-so from the way “the body keeps the score” as my girlfriends back home echo in my head - the idea that our bodies reflect our emotional exhaustion. This is hard work, and I’m clinging to the Good Shepherd who leads me beside still waters and restores my soul. (Ps.23)

Ok, some lighter notes. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has any idea what I am. It’s actually one of the very first questions they ask and wonder about me. “Oh hi Ashley, it’s so nice to meet you, you’re from America, oh I’m unfamiliar about the diversity there, but where are you… um, I’m not sure how to ask… We are so diverse here, we are known as the rainbow nation, we have so many different African tribes here, and then we have the Afrikaaners.” Oh my Bay Area friends, how I miss your greater cultural diversity and mixed beauty.

We discovered a superstore of sorts about 35 minutes away that has all things that can easily be shipped from China, for sale from floor to ceiling. It’s overwhelming. Don’t go if you have any sensory issues and definitely don’t go with children. We have made this mistake several times already. We have spent too much time in this store, but there’s comfort in the familiarity and being around items that remind you of home. I have secured some silicone reusable bags, a clothes drying rack, cheap toys for my children, a cooler bag with a cheap zipper that I really really hope will last longer than Eric’s cringe says it will, and some tin cups that are just so classically camping and won’t shatter on our cement floor when our kids inevitably drop them. Anyways, the last time we ventured to China Cash and Carry I was looking at some kitchen utensils and two girls walked up to me and asked “excuse me, how much is this?” Mind you, I was wearing a dress, not wearing a name tag, had a basket with items in it, and was taking items off of the shelf and not putting them on. I assured them that I didn’t work here and they looked at each other in shock. Surely this girl is Chinese, no? I’m glad they felt awkward - maybe I was too amused by their confusion, but I feel like I deserved to enjoy their assumption.

A high from this last week was watching Eric enjoy his birthday scavenger hunt. It got him walking all over the Hub as he received clues and gifts from 38 different locations or people to find a birthday card signed by all of our new neighbors. Then he cooked his own birthday dinner of burgers - ha!  Happy Birthday Babe!

Low? When Tali cries, when I feel burned out after visiting community, when I miss my church and my siblings back home, when I don’t understand all the acronyms that this RST (regional support team) uses or when 20 minutes go by in another language and I have no idea what’s going on.

Buffalo? This week’s buffalo could have been dicey, but God protected and helped me through getting pulled over by the police on a routine ID check. To my credit, I was not speeding and these particular police did not hint or ask for a bribe  (I have heard this is all too common. I am terming them bully bonuses.) I’m so glad too because I didn’t have any Rand on hand and I had three kids in the car.

When they pulled me over they said that they had stopped another Hands car earlier, some tall white guy with big hair and his Canadian friend. No idea who that could have been. Again, thank you for your prayers. There is clearly protection placed around our lives that we cannot see and we appreciate your intercession on our behalf.

And now, the promised Watchword. The guiding verse of the year for Hands at Work comes from Exodus 14:13-14. When Moses lead the Israelites out of Egypt and they were trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the Red Sea, “Moses answered the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.” I added some of Psalm 46 in my recording here, because… I felt like it. I have harmonies but have yet to record them, so you’re stuck with my rough voice memo phone recording (children screaming in background) of this year’s Watchword plus psalm 46 verse song. It’s what is on repeat in my head. Enjoy!

Other tid bits:

Work: I have begun to assist with some creative design for upcoming projects, learning budgeting systems to support communities and the flow of paperwork in supporting the regional teams.

Tali: joined the choir at school and has been making many loaves of delicious and beautiful bread on the weekend for us to enjoy.

Beth: is making lots of new friends at school and has the most obvious accent yet of our kids

Eric has been kicking butt at all things, but feeling insecure about his progress behind the scenes. He's been busy setting up our ridiuculously confusing South African Bank account, still shopping for a reasonably priced used car, cutting Zac’s hair, cooking, working on the maintenance team, the communications team and the projects team- so Eric. He says that he’s feeling out of his element, but he’s just learning new strokes in different waters. He’s doing well. He even started making sour dough which looks very ugly, but tastes delicious and really hits the spot because there is no fresh sour dough bread for sale at the stores.

Homesickness comes in waves, but we are still finding joy in our assignments here. It's still a hot and humid summer with bouts of rainstorms, but overall we're getting fewer mosquito bites than at the start.

Zac is teaching his friends American slang: I overheard this conversation just today (just imagine that his friend has a cute little South African slightly British sounding accent):

Zac: when you’re buddies, instead of saying “what’s up” you say “sup”

… and you’re my buddy. Try it.

Owen: zup?

Zac: no, not like a “z”, like an “s”

Owen: sup.

Zac: good job. We’re buddies so we say that.