Buckets of Community

It rained last night. (And yes, only in Africa would this topic merit a post.) The perfect kind of thunderstorm that begins in the afternoon so you can see the dark clouds along with the lightning rolling in, then the bottom fell out just as we were leaving to meet some friends for our Wednesday night ladies gathering.

As the rain was barreling down, we were amazed at how quickly the streets were flooding. Pools of water everywhere. I suppose the Sahara doesn't absorb rain so well. When we arrived to our friends' house, the front gate was ajar, so I jumped out of the truck and into ankle deep water! At this point we were all so excited about the rain and realized that it was only a matter of time before we were completely drenched, so four of us ladies giggled our way up the flooding driveway, across the house and into the rain-blowing wind, before we huddled around the front door.

We knocked and knocked but no one answered the door. We tried to call but the phones weren't working. So we peeked around the corner to see our friends in a small studio behind their house that is used as a schoolroom.

We sent one fearless member of our group, Beth, to investigate matters. When we got the motion to follow, we learned, halfway to the schoolroom, that the school was flooding and our friends have been locked out of their house.

So away went our giddiness, as we all got to work moving books and other easily damaged things off the floor while one man began putting down boards and mud to create a dam at the front door. Thirty minutes later, the water was pooling outside the front door instead of inside, nothing had been damaged, and we had each received an additional work out and a shower for the day by mopping up water.

Then another family arrives to help with finding a way to get into the house. Here's where we all get to use our imagination because while we were waiting in the schoolroom, these two men were pushing a ladder through a barred, open window, across the small kitchen to the locked door, and opening the latch. Living in Africa breeds creativity, right? 

So as we sat around their large table, water pooling underneath our seats as we shivered it off and warming ourselves with hot spiced apple cider, tea, or hot chocolate, we each thanked the Father for the rain and his beautiful provision. If they hadn't accidentally been locked out of the house, they wouldn't have known til morning about the flooding problem. And how funny is it that it all happened less than an hour before a number of people we expected to come over. With their phones and keys locked in the house, it could've been a much longer night for them. So this week instead of listening to a Beth Moore video, we had the chance to live in community and left with bucket loads of memories to carry out with us. 

"Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity!" Ps. 133:1


*I think someone snapped a few pictures, so I'll try to add them when I get them.

Grandpa's beard

Sometimes the adventure of learning a new language gives you a beautiful nugget of joy to treasure. For me it generally comes by the way of watching myself or someone else making a funny mistake, but then you sometimes you stumble upon a word that is just great all on it's own. Recently, while visiting friends in another city, we went to an amusement park kind of place (the word for this 'fair' is funny in it's own right because it sounds like the word for worm...kinda. Well, if you add a few consonants it does.) that had cotton candy. Here we learned that the word/phrase for cotton candy is  لحية متى جد (leHya mtaa jed) which literally translated means, "My grandfather's beard." For the first time ever, I enjoyed the language lesson more than the actual sweets! haha!

Enjoying 'my grandfather's beard" and ice cream with friends!

It was quite odd but the cotton candy was melting nearly as quick as the ice cream.

"Friends Night Out!"

Road trip: Carthage

The first weekend in October, we were able to travel to the capital city to explore some of the amazing historical ruins. Some of you may not know just how nerdy I am, so if you're not into history, just enjoy the pictures.

Along the shore line you can also see an important port where ships were brought in for repairs.

Phoenician and Roman ruins in Carthage, present day city in the background.

Carthage was first founded by an Phoenician princess named Alissa or Dido, who was fleeing her homeland in Tyre after her brother killed her uncle and husband. Legend has it that when she arrived to the area the local leadership promised her all the land she could cover with a cow's hide. So Alissa and her servants wove one cow's hide together to encircle this hill called Bardo. It was an obviously desired location that she was later granted. The Phoenician city was conquered several years later by the Romans. So here you can see the original Phoenician structure and the strong, square blocks of the Romans.

Overlooking Carthage

Exploring Carthage with great friends!

Roman sized catapult - imagine that coming through your front door!

The most beautiful flowers growing out of the ancient stones. A reminder to bloom where you're planted. 

Did you know that in ancient times the way to show disrespect to a place was by vandalizing statues? Nearly all of the statues found at Carthage are missing a head or at least a nose, hence they have been de-faced.

Ancient mosaics are a dime a dozen but no less stunning in these parts.

Phoenician writing on a stone tablet dating back to 3 B.C. 

Off the beaten path, mosaic floor tiles.

Ruins of the city of Carthage.

tombstone bearing the symbol of the Caanite warrior goddess, Tanit or Tophet. It is believed that thousands sacrificed their children to this false god in hopes of victory in battle.

Roman coliseum in Carthage. 

The Roman coliseum in Carthage has experienced a great deal of damage due to a recent earthquake, but remembering the events that took place here are equally shaking. Read the touching story of two young women who were martyred in this very place. While we were visiting these ruins, there was a group of locals gathered under the trees who were laughing, grilling out, and carrying on. It nearly made me sick to my stomach to think the place where so many gave their lives was treated with such little respect, but then I guess it's not so different from the Roman roots of coliseum "sports", is it?

Coffee shop along the Med

Hitting the touristy "hot spots"

Beautiful streets with white washed walls, blue doors, and a glistening Med in the distance!

The Journey to Retrieval

Mail, cards, letters, or treats from home, these are a few of my favorite things (yes, it's ok. You have my permission to burst into "My Favorite Things" like you're Julie Andrews dancing to the Sound of Music. You know you want to sing it). But have you ever wondered about the journey a package or letter must take in order to reach you? If only I'd been all the places my letters, packages, or luggage had been...on second thought...If the condition it reaches it's destination is any sign of the travel, I might need to rethink that. So instead of imaging the journey of every sent item, I'll just show you the journey that we must take in order to retrieve it once it finally arrives. 

Apparently, the first step to success is asking your night guard where you would pick up a package if one arrived. When we asked our guy, he tells us that there should be a slip of paper in you mailbox telling you to go to the postoffice to get your package. A few hours after we asked about it, the same night guard shows up at our door with said piece of paper and we see him delivering mail all around...a good reminder never hurt anyone, right?

Outside our door with that beautiful pink slip, ready to begin the quest! 

There's a fair amount of walking involved but thankfully we live only a few blocks from a large post office.

The post office was closed 2 hours for lunch.  Sad faces, comforting language helper

"Well, we're here and we have a camera, we might as well take a cute pic along the sidewalk."
The big [closed for lunch] post office is in the background on the left.

If they're eating lunch, we probably should too. So we ate at a knock-off replica of McDonalds, called McDonners. As they say here moosh keef keef (not alike or the same)

Two extra hours, a big lunch, lots of fun pictures, a few acts of Congress, signing my life away, and paying a little moola later - we have retrieved a package!!

A special thanks to my brother, Joshua, and the rest of the family for the teas and things! It was a delight to get your letters as well. And thank you to everyone who wrote birthday cards, or sent things from the States, it means so much to know that you're thinking of us!

"Every good and perfect gift is sent from above!"

Abnormality to Normality

Just a few weeks after arriving to Africa, another ex-pat asked me, "So how has your week been? Anything out of the normal happened?" 

At that point in time I was like, "Well, everyday is still pretty much all out of the normal for me." And I wondered what 'normal' would look like here, and if I'd ever achieve it. 

The beginning of September was when our washing machine drain pipe decided it was clogged, resulting in a mini flood in our apartment.

No, our floors aren't squeaky clean...just flooded.

Needless to say, an event like this forced us to reconfigure our plans for the day and delay language studies. But as we were playing in the puddles, I realized that this was an out of the ordinary day. I don't when or how it happened, but somewhere along the way, life in Africa became, dare I say it, normal. It's certainly a new kind of normal, that bares little resemblance to things I formerly used the word to reference, but it still seems like some small kind of victory.

"For [He] is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations." Ps. 100:5  

- a few inches

Quite randomly one night I asked Beth to cut my hair. This qualifies as a haircut, too! None of that trimming business. Allow this sequence of pictures to tell the story.

Before (Sept. 19)

scariness

After - Sooo much hair! (Sept. 19)

After I learned how to style it (Oct. 1) 

Just for fun - "Look how short my hair is!"

I'm fairly certain that this is the shortest length my hair has ever been, definitely the shortest since I've been in charge of it. haha! It's the kind of hair cut I always wanted but have never been bold enough to attempt. But hey, when in Africa...

I'll leave you with one last picture and let you figure out how it applies to this post. ;)

Wound-licking good

Do you ever encounter moments in your life where you want to ask the Father, "Really? Do we really have to deal with this right now? Aren't you even gonna give me a few days to tend my wounded pride or lick my wounds?"

That was my first reaction this morning as Beth Moore led me into the Word to a sensitive issue that come to my (and everyone else in the room's) attention just last night. 

Let me explain.

We went to our landlord's house for dinner last night. To be honest, I didn't want to go in the first place because I just "don't click" with this lady. It probably has nothing to do with the day she said,"You've been studying Arabic for 5 months now and you don't speak it fluently?!"

Like I said, we just "don't click". Language learning happens to be a source of constant humiliation already without someone directly judging your progress with their broken English.

As we sat around chatting before the meal, we heard the same advice literally like 20 times, "You must practice Arabic with people to be good at it." This, of course, came after the interrogation of our schooling methods and on and on and on they went about learning the language. It would have been helpful the first time they mentioned, but by 437 millionth time, we were scrambling for a subject change. 

Politics and religion ought to do the trick. And it did, until we were talking after the (yes, I must admit) delicious meal. As I'm trying to construct a sentence in Arabic at 9:30 pm, this lady interrupts me and says, "[that person] speaks better Arabic than you." Followed by her whole family nodding in agreement. Now, I know this is surprising to you, but that didn't really help my "not clicking" or bonding with her issue much.

In an effort to regain some lost pride, I spoke only in English for the rest of the night. Beth was gracious to recount and make excuses for me, when we all know that what the lady said was true, just the way she said it wasn't kind. 

It was an icky situation because Beth and I have tried really, really hard not to make language learning a competition. But it's hard not to compare yourself to someone else when your landlord says something like "You suck at this thing you've been trying really hard at for 6 months" (So, she didn't say that, but that's what my heart felt like she said).

After we got home, I had started working through my feelings about the evening and had even asked Him to help me see her as He does. But it didn't take long for me to feel the need to watch tv and then read a book before bed; hence, leaving the things that needed to be dealt with for another time. 

Oh but no, Father's got to bring it up first thing this morning - in a study of James of all places.

In Galatians 2:1-10, we see several leaders trying to figure out how to work together.

Moore writes, "Stand back and watch how many observers will try to nudge you into a competition with someone who fills a similar slot. The idea is that anything comparable is automatically competitive." She goes on to discuss comparison traps and, of course, makes us like...I dunno...deal with it.

Insert moment of, "Really? Do we really have to deal with this right now? Aren't you even gonna give me a few days to tend my wounded pride or lick my wounds?"

Yet, He loves us too much to leave us where we are!

The beauty of our Father is that he uses us in our strengths but all the more in our weaknesses and that He judges us on our obedience, not our performance.