back

When we were younger, the Ryan kids all loved a certain vacation destination: Mendocino.  A rugged county in Northern California, always known for its most beautiful coastline and stunning State Parks.  The steep cliffs meet the crashing waves of the incredible (and mis-named) Pacific Ocean.  It was like my own dramatic place...like Wuthering Heights. When we visited the shore, I was usually overlooking the scape on a large rock with a pen and notebook, while my brothers and sisters looked for shells, observed tide pools or fished with my Dad.  

Mendocino connotes gusts in summer; tastes of camping food; conversations around campfires, and great fun with my family. 

Here, Scottsburg has become my "new Mendocino".  We just got back from 5 days off (together- in a row!!) spent at the small city just South of Durban on the Indian Ocean.  My friend, Debbie invited us to her family's place, and she spent three of our five days there with us.  It never got cool, and in the warmth of the "autumn" days we were dunking ourselves in the pool in the garden or getting in the warm and salty waves of the neighboring beach.  It was wonderful, fresh and absent of cell phones or internet connection.  My laptop stayed in its case.

It's been a long time since I went on vacation in Mendocino...at least 25 years.  Then, the thought of appearing on the beach in my swimsuit left me a knock-kneed, self-conscious mess about not being pretty enough, or having enough curves for a swim suit.  I never felt comfortable on the beach, where California girls with baked brown skin and long, blonde hair were around.   I think the poor girl I was back then would be absolutely shocked to see the woman I have become: running around in a swimsuit!! This plump 48-year-old with no business showing herself on any beach!!

Youth is wasted on the young.

My week off was spent without any makeup, my hair pulled back in an unflattering pony tail and me not caring how I looked because it felt so good to be so anonymous...and to relax.  That is, until I saw pictures of myself.  "Who the hell is that woman?" I thought to myself... only to comfort myself  in a loving embrace.  I have wasted too many years believing that I am not pretty, thin or stylish enough and I won't do it to myself anymore.   I am precious, and have as much right to wear my swimsuit on a beach as anyone else.  

Just not a bikini.   

During one night of intense South Coast heat - and in a house with windows for air conditioning , we were flopping on the comfortable couches and watching a movie.  I got up to get another glass of wine, catching a glimpse of myself  in the TV screen.  "Is that me or my mom?" I said aloud.  Mario, playing a game on his ipad, answered without thinking.  "Stop it, Janet," he said. "You are an incredibly beautiful and sexy woman." Thank God I have him.... he always knows just what to say.  Married 24 years this year, he has learned how to switch on the auto-pilot and schmooze his way to a perfect 10 on the scale of good husband support. 

The best part of time away is the time I get with Mario.  We share our rest times, our meals, and (my favorite time) our study time in the  morning.  Under a shade umbrella, outside with good coffee and the Word of God, I can look across the table and see the man I married, and who he has become. He soaks himself in studying the intricacies of the Word of God:  Biblical chapters and reference materials in front of him, he is seldom distracted by sounds or butterflies or geckos.  My orange pen (with which I have a special relationship) is a simple fine point.  My notes are made right in my Bible.  

We both seek His Voice.  

He who is our heavenly father, who is our Great Comfort...our Direction, our reason for living....

In the times of vacation I miss my family, and am reminded of many vacations past.  If I mention them more than ever, it is because this season has been particularly hard being separated from them.  I guess vacations are reminders of family and family times.  

Back in Johannesburg this morning, we are again confronted with reality.  A friend and church leader weakening with sickness and in the hospital.  Japan's quake and its damage affects us all.  Friends taxed and working toward their weekend.... and everyone happy to see us back.  

Happy to be back... very.  Rest is good, but we are called to Africa to be with others and love them in the best way we know how.  Pray,I ask you again, for us to be effective for the Kingdom of God.... and bearers of light.  

belly

Gustave Dore's wood engraving of Jonah being "beached"

To repent is to make a "U-turn" - to go back, to change direction.  A U shape implies falling, then returning to the right way.  Repentance is a gift, since most of us don't know when we are on the wrong path.  

The first book I ever read in the Bible was Jonah.  It is a reason I remember well: it was short.  Four chapters, readable and juicy as ripe peach.  

I was drawn in by the story: A man who hears God, ignores Him.  He then buys a ticket for an ocean voyage, gets in a boat and hides.  After a few hours, the sea and the sky toss up a storm so violent that it looks like they're all going to die, and the sailors cast lots (throw dice) to see whose fault this is (even heathens have their ways of supernatural experiences).  They find Jonah and tell him they know it's his fault (the lot said so), who admits he's running from God, who they tell him to pray to.  Jonah has another idea: "Throw me into the sea!" 

They do. 

The storm settles and everyone prays to Jonah's God, the all-powerful, who calmed the sea and the storm.  Jonah, in the mean time is swallowed by (my Bible said) a fish.  He makes it to the fish's belly and spends (wait for it....) THREE DAYS there.   He vascilates from feeling sorry for himself and then praying to God for forgiveness.  As the Spirit of God breaks through, Jonah's heart is changed, and he's vomited up on shore.   

The thing God asked Jonah to do was something he was good at: preaching.  God asked him to go to a city called Nineveh and tell them to change the way they were living, or else He wouldn't be their God.  Jonah didn't want to do it for one reason: he knew they would hear and change and God would forgive them.  Since Jonah hated Nineveh (they were easy to hate, apparently), he wanted to see them burn in hell...or earlier.  

Nevertheless, as a servant of God, Jonah makes the hike from the shore where he is vomited and into the big city of Nineveh, where he preaches.  The Bible makes no mention of him being shunned for smelling like fish...but rather, wherever he went people listened.  The "mayor" of the city actually declares a time to go without food and pray as a city to God, who they have forgotten.  Jonah tells them - "Do this or else you'll all burn!!" 

After delivering the message, Jonah heads for high ground and waits for the fire of God to fall and wipe out those terrible, awful Ninevites.  As he waits, he gets hot (there is no shade) but a vine grows quickly and shades him.  Then it withers from heat...no fire for for Nineveh, no vine to shade him...and Jonah is mad at God again. God asks him why he's upset about a little vine that died....when he's not even concerned that Nineveh will now live.  Which is more important?? God asks...all of Nineveh, women and children included, or a little shade plant??  Jonah doesn't answer...the book ends with God's question.

I didn't question the story as a young eleven year old.  I just read it.  I thought it was cool that I could read the book in one night.  After all, reading the Bible was about the third most boring thing you could do as an eleven year old, right?  

Now, at 48 and here in South Africa, our pastor is preaching this on Sundays.  It is years after I have been in the place of a Ninevite (a jerk not worthy of saving, who had forgotten about God); and not so long in the place of Jonah (being asked by God to do something I didn't want to do...and then not doing it).  I listen from the front row, seated next to Mario. 

Even today, the story of Jonah has grown.  It has become a personal story to me... one that makes me sure that I do not know the limits of God's mercy...and love.  

I can't imagine the literal reaches of the story.  Written in Hebrew, the book of Jonah says God PREPARED a great fish (Dag Gadol) to swallow him.  Some historians say the words 

Dag Gadol  is one that was used because at the time there was no Hebrew word for "whale".  I find this hard to believe, since the Hebrew language, so high and technical, would be lacking in anything.  

A whale is a mammal and must resurface for air.  With very few exceptions, most whales eat small things, and wouldn't be tempted to swallow a human being thrown over a boat.  Futhermore, most whales don't visit the Mediterranean Sea because of its deep and shallow so close together, but sharks are prevalent.  

If you know sharks, and people are like sharks, they constantly are hungry.  They swallow things they later realize they shouldn't have.  Bodies of whole men have been found in their bellies, but never alive.  

Most sharks are cold-blooded, and live in different waters than most whales.  To maintain their body temperature, they must burn fuel (food) like a furnace.  This process is called "endothermy", and is ...ahem, "costly" to those who are swimming near them.  A few sharks are warm blooded, and surprisingly have to eat even more than their cold blooded cousins.   

Most seas can't support the high-energy carnivores of the sea.  They literally can't produce enough fish to support one shark.   So....sharks are known for eating anything floating (or on its way down).  The Great White Shark (seen in Jaws), undeniably one of the sea's greatest predators, can (and does) feed on virtually anything that swims.   

The food is then moved to its U-shaped stomach (full of very strong acids and enzymes) and begins to dissolve most of what is eaten. The stomach then converts everything in it to an easily absorbed, soupy mush. Indigestible things, (like very large bones) are vomited. 

In a sense, a shark swallowing Jonah is less hard to believe than Jonah being kept alive in its belly for three days.  Even if you get into the complicated (and mathematical) argument of Hebrew days not being 24 hour days (Esther 4:16 ; 5:1), a shark usually likes or dislikes its food within a 24 hour process.  Jonah, by all accounts,  was in there longer.  

The thought of Jonah actually repenting in an acid-filled stomach where not much oxygen is... is not palatable, shall we say?  I would rather see him, like Gipetto and Pinocchio, in a vast cave inside of a whale. BUT...this is reality.

It makes me laugh...a belly- laugh.  If it were not so familiar, I'd say it was impossible: someone so recently "repentant" turning quickly into a person demanding the hell-fire and brimstone to wipe out the people who were running from God.   Jonah forgets, as I do, that he was just as guilty not so long ago.   It is a sin, or condition, of people who walk closely with God...and it warns me to be careful. 

Our Father,who is capable of more mercy than we could ever dream, has a way of redeeming everything.  He got Jonah's attention while he was burned by acids inside of a belly, and then had the fish vomit him up.  He sent a smelly prophet to a big city, who preached nothing but damnation, and the whole city changed.  

It is easy to repent when you realize you are lost without Him stepping in and making things right.  

It is true...and I believe it.  

justice

The LORD says, "I love justice and I hate oppression and crime. I will faithfully reward my people And make an eternal covenant with them. They will be famous among the nations; Everyone who sees them will know That they are a people whom I have blessed."   (Isaiah 61:8-9)

Lourens, Chris and Lele, taken on a trip in 2007

Last Tuesday night, one of my best friends here, Portia, had a murder/robbery occur next door to her.

A gang of robbers, armed with guns and knives, broke into a dwelling that was attached to a "spaza shop"(a small market in a township neighborhood).  After taking money and everything of value, the gang began to leave, until one of them tried to rape the 14 year old daughter.  One of the robbers yelled "Get off of her!  That's not what we came here to do!"  In the argument, the would-be rapist was shot by his fellow thief, and killed.  The rest made off, and came back with a stolen truck to collect the valuables they left behind.  Instead of meeting the awaiting victims, they met a band of police, who quickly arrested them.  

The story is unusual.  I heard it the next day (Wednesday) at my ladies' prayer meeting.  One of the members, Trish, told the story as I listened.  Apparently she heard from her employee (and my friend) Lele.  I marveled at the story, but wondered why I hadn't heard before Trish (kind of a 12 year-old reaction).  I left prayer and called Portia who told me the same story.  I asked if she was okay.  She said that God had not only protected them, but He had "kept the boys asleep" during the shooting and later commotion with the police.  I asked her if she wanted to stay the night.  She politely refused, and said she'd call me later.  

The next day (Thursday) the school where she works was robbed by two armed gunmen.  They made off with a great deal of cash, but were apprehended on the highway going to Soweto.  Again, a traumatic event, but again, God's intervention.   I asked her if she wanted to stay the night; this time she said  "Maybe tomorrow." 

The next day (Friday) Portia's private transport to work was shot at and a window was broken.  Again, no one was hurt.  She didn't want to come over that night, but asked if I could pick her up the following day.  I agreed.  

On Saturday, after a meeting with Dumisani and Monica, then another with the City Ministry Group leaders in Diepsloot, I took Portia and the boys home and made dinner.  Our meal nearly ready, Mario answered a phone call and went outside.  

We were nearly ready to eat, but could see that the phone call was important.  Mario came in from the patio and said, "Lele, Lourens and Chris have been arrested." I thought I heard wrong.  Our golden boys, our adopted "sons" here in South Africa, the church leaders who spoke several different languages and all worked in well-paying professions....could not possibly have been arrested.  

I choked on my drink.  "WHAT??!!" I asked, almost at the same time Portia rang out the same question.  

"That was Chris, and there's a bunch of racket in the background and he says he's being beaten by the police." I couldn't believe it.  Questions flooded my head, and made their way quickly out of my mouth: "Where are they?" "What do you mean, beaten by the police?" "What are we going to do?"  Mario was getting his shoes on.  He answered one by one.

Chris, Lele and Lourens, all under 30, were travelling in a car together and were stopped by the police.  They were being searched and one of them asked why they were stopped, or what they were being searched for.  The policemen said "That's it..." and arrested them.  They took them to the Florida Police station (well known for corruption and misdeeds) and beat them, either on the way, or while they were there.  Mario, fueled and ready to go, kissed me on the way out the door, leaving me with meat still frying on the stove.  He was going to pick up Dumisani and would come home with the boys.  

Mario and I hosting our first Christmas in South Africa (2008)
 with Lourens in blue, Chris in white and Lele in black.

It was 2006 when we made a trial move to Johannesburg.  Among the many people we had a connection with were the three amazing guys about the same age as our own sons, all from Diepsloot: Lele Radebe, Lourens Malatjie, and Chris Malanthwa.  They were "brothers from another mother", or covenant friends, and they fit into our hearts quickly.  

They loved us, quickly warming to us enough to call me "mom".  Equally, they respected Mario as a leader and trusted him as a friend.  Before long I referred to them as "the boys" like I used to our own sons... until someone corrected me. 

 "You shouldn't call them 'the boys', since it's a derogatory term here for a man-servant that belongs to you." The country's climate, still recovering from Apartheid, didn't make allowances for ignorant American party-crashers.  I was horrified and quickly apologized to them.  They all laughed, saying that  I was exempt from this, since they well knew my heart.  "We are your boys, mom," Lourens said, "and you are our mother."

So, fast forward four years...and it's yesterday.  I stood, frozen in my own kitchen, with Portia beside me in the same state.  It didn't take long for me to see that Mario was on a mission and Portia and I would be on another: to pray!  We began, praying right through dinner, after singing and praying, then later, after a movie, praying some more.  

Mario sent word from the police station that our friends had indeed been detained and it looked hopeless to bring them home that night.  There was no way to arrange bail, no way to get a straight answer, no way to see them, since it was after dark.  What was wonderful, however, was that everyone else close to them was on the case like we were.  Joanna, Lourens' employer, had arranged for our mutual friend (and member of Parliament), Greg to meet them there at the jail.  He brought along a ward councilman, and both worked with the police to find a resolve that would satisfy us all.  

To get answers was the most challenging.  No one seemed to know why they were arrested, other than the charge of "interference with duties of a police officer".  No one could tell them if they were okay, until the team of guys there  made it clear that the boys had been beaten .... and by the police.  As this was investigated, the captain came out, asking questions of Mario, Dumi, Greg, and the councilor.  They asked again to see the boys, but clearly understood that this would not happen.  The captain offered to go see them, and make sure "they were okay".

Mario said she came back later, saying that she had seen them and they were alright (they didn't or couldn't know how accurate this was).  She also said that one of them said they were beaten by the police and that she would launch an official investigation in the morning.  She was adamant; telling them to come back then.  

The Junction eldership has been a part of a movement in South Africa called "Nation Building".  It works by partnering with those in Justice, education and government to build a social responsibility network among the most influential in our country.  The team strives to further the justice and freedoms and rights of every individual in South Africa, specifically for the poor and unrepresented.  

Craig, our lead elder, the founder of Nation Building, South Africa, was keenly aware and interested in the progress of the fate of the boys, and as Mario and Dumi and Greg left the station, he asked to be further updated in the morning,as they went back.  

Church in the morning.  Portia and I made preparations to go to the service with Darrel and Eby as Mario prepared to go to the jail.  His car had a pesky service light blinking, but he decided to take it anyway.  

It died in our driveway. 

So, he left with my Volvo and I made arrangements for Kim (our neighbor) to take us to church.  

The first service began with prayer for the guys, led by Jim, a leader in the Justice Department.  Lots of questions about the guys came our way, and we scthced the story as well as we could.  People didn't seem surprised.  Corruption in the Police Department was part of South Africa.  

Soon Mario messaged me to tell me he would see me soon, at the second service, the one translated into Zulu.  I asked him if he was coming with the guys.  His answer was no, but before my heart could sink, I read the encouraging message: "I got to see them, to touch them.  I couldn't hug them, but they're okay."  Tears came into my eyes.   He said a lot had happened, and Jo and Gladys were going to take over the vigil at the jail.  

Before long, Mario came into church and began to jump in as if the events of the last week were normal.  We were updating the congregation about the guys, but also made room for Portia's testimonies of faith, of protection.  Cynthia and Michael testified of healings. Bessie testified of prosperity and change.  I could feel the encouragement we all needed...and then Mario preached.  It was amazing.  It fired the whole church to believe for the incredible, the unexpected.  

We came home and ate.  Soon, an sms from Jo: "The boys are about to be released." came through.  

Then another: "There has been trouble getting case numbers."  "There has been theft of some of their property".  There were, Jo relayed, issues of the police using condescending and manipulative tactics to get the boys scared of laying a case against the arresting officers.  All for the sake of "justice"...a corrupt department trying to cover its own tail.  

BUT...the boys were being released.  Jim insisted they be examined by a private doctor.  He offered to cover the cost.  Jo sms'ed that we should meet all of them at Life 4-ways hospital...the same hospital that Mario had his stones removed...kidney stones, that is.  

We drove to the hospital, first picking up the church 4x4 to fill in for our car, still lame and defunct in our driveway.  We made our way there, and came in, seeing a table filled with friends:  Lele, Lourens, Chris, Jo, Gladys, Jim and another young man, Sipho (the fourth man in the arrest).  They were diligently retelling their story to Jim, where details unfolded of abuse of power, of friendship and of injuries they had sustained.  Upon seeing us, the boys, tired but relieved, smiled and hugged us. 

I expected to cry, to fall apart.  Instead, I was so happy to see them as themselves that I just returned their smiles.  Chris and Lele, the ones who had reported being beaten, were making preparations to have an examination.  Lorens and his friend, Sipho, continued to sit with us and tell us the whole story.  

Tomorrow is the court arraignment.  Instead of leaving early for our scheduled vacation, Mario will take the boys to court in Roodeport, a local court in Northern Joburg.  

Tonight, my blog is long and disjointed, but I type as a woman satisfied.  Not with the injustice of attacks on my friends, but in the justice of our mutual Father, who will be the boys chief defender and chief cornerstone.  He saw them through the fiery furnace of the jail, He can see them through the days ahead...and this case against them will fall, crashing with the usual sound that justice makes: 

A whisper of satisfaction.

Breakfast before World Cup - 2010.   Eby and Darrel in yellow,
Portia in Orange, Chris in blue jersey with stripes.

award

The AMPAS statuette that is called "Oscar"

For most of my life I have been watching movies.

For half of my life I have paid attention to the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences' Awards, also known as The Academy Awards, aka "The Oscars".  The trivia about the statue's name is that Academy's secretary, unimpressed by the design, said it resembled her Uncle Oscar.  The leading diva in those days, Bette Davis, was married to a man named Oscar, so upon receiving hers, she named him Oscar, after her husband.  Largely disputed who named the nude statue, it remains an example of how Hollywood can't agree on even the simplest issues surrounding the statue.  


Still, the night that the statues are handed out in Hollywood has had a  history of fun, food and sharing stories in my life.  The talk that day has been of who should win, who WILL win, and who our personal pick is.  The buzzing is second to only the program: where for the last twenty years has been accompanied by a party. 


Certain movies take me back to places in my life where I have been, some pleasant; some painful.  Their lines, actors, direction, cinematography and scores can conjure up emotion in me immediately reminding me of another period:

Sleeping Beauty: (I was 5) A yellow station wagon at the drive-in movies, where the three fairies descended in coordinating pastel sparkles and captivated me beyond my world;

Sound of Music: (10) My first trip to a walk-in theater where tears were hidden by darkness.  I was Maria;
The Hiding Place: (13) a school field trip that changed my life and called me to live beyond the normal, and be outrageous...for God;

Young Frankenstein: (13)seeing it with my parents and seeing them laugh uncontrollably....it made me love Mel Brooks (the first director I ever noticed for directing);
Kramer vs. Kramer: (16) a date movie I picked with a less-appreciating boyfriend who said the movie was boring and lacked flavor, Meryl Streep and Dustin Hoffman were the most amazing pictures of people.  I forgot they were acting....

Ghostbusters (21) I laughed so hard my boyfriend abandoned me at the movie theater... we later broke up.  I remember the day for the movie lines -- which were incredibly quotable and repeatable.


Amadeus (22) the first film of epic proportions that began my extreme love and appreciation for every facet of movie making....

You get the picture (no pun intended).  The films weave themselves in and out of memories of my life... and are lasting testaments of time.  A good film can make us punctuate our lives with it.  It serves as a marker, a historical landmark of where we were.

I think the reason I have grown in my love of film is that so many others, no matter what their education, economic status or religious affiliation share my love and enthusiasm of the medium.  I also have an uncanny ability to memorize movie lines without even trying, I think because down deep...it is the writing that I appreciate the most.

Some of you have known me so long that you can play the movie-line game with me.  Quote a movie line that we've both seen and I can (usually) tell you where its from.  It's not a precious talent, just a fun one.

Living here in South Africa, we are slower to get the Hollywood releases. No one really plays the movie-line game with me.  I don't know which films are showing in America, unless I watch American news shows.   The last film I have seen in the cinema here was "A Serious Man" by the Coens, and I just found out they directed and produced the new True Grit...so we'll see it soon.

I thought I'd miss the lifestyle knowing all about newly-released films and who made them more than I do... Cultures here are much different; values are very different.   It is difficult to explain, but you can't miss what is not heavily valued, unless it is sacred to you.

What I do miss is hearing my friends opinions about the newest flicks... and I really had a lot.  I miss Matt and Shannon hosting us for the Oscars with our private ballots... and Patrick and I playing "six degrees" before church.  I miss comparing films with Vince (also an oficianado) and Alicia (who can quote a funny movie line better than I can).

I miss going to the movies to be alone to see, Like Mia Farrow in The Purple Rose of Cairo, a world outside of my own, an escape for two hours that will stay with me all day.  I miss seeing films with Mario, and our friends... sharing a passionate look at the world , like with Hotel Rwanda; laughing it up (and almost wetting my pants) with them,like Meet the Parents, and seeing the super-quotables that have almost a peanut butter quality of guilt and protein at the same time...and can stick to you for years, like The Royal Tenenbaums.

This last week the Oscars aired one day after it did in the States, and a local movie channel showed it.   Mario taped it while I was at book club.

The whole thing was amazing.  I loved the dual hosts (Anne Hathaway reminds me of my friend, Nicole, and James Franco reminds me of my brother, Steve).  They were pretty hilarious...but not as good as Billy Crystal.

On any night.

Last year I was dismayed about the more than 5 nominees for Best Picture...it made it even harder to choose.  What would we do at Matt and Shannon's???
Can you imagine how the limited releases are released here? "What the hell is The Hurt Locker?" I said to Mario the day after the awards last year.  I still haven't seen it.  Mario has.

This year I was more used to the idea of more films being nominated for "Best Picture".  Even though I haven't seen ANY film that was nominated, the awards were enjoyable.  Why? Because... because... because....

I love movies.  I love actors.  I love screenwriters.  I appreciate the medium and it is easy to appreciate the ones who make it.

The trailers for each release are available on youtube, and just recently I have watched a few.  The trailer for  The King's Speech made me well up with tears (not just because of its stellar cast or its incredible premise) but the writing and the score seemed beautifully coordinated. The Black Swan trailer is gorgeous and horrific at the same time, which, I understand is the world of the prima ballerina in the film.

Want to know a family secret?? (Lean closer to your screen while I whisper) Mario can't play the movie-line game...unless he quotes True Grit...the old True Grit.  How's the new one??

First-run movies have taken a back seat in my life... and it is surprising on Academy Awards Night.  Still, it is a life-change here I am required to accept.  I have stepped into a culture and a world that isn't as escape-oriented and that doesn't champion film the way Americans do.  I expected withdrawal, but instead, I found I can manage without the newest films here.  I can also get less upset by the Academy's choice for picture/actor/actress than I used to.

So, last Monday Mario and I watched the Awards he had taped...fast-forwarded the commercials and enjoyed ourselves.  There was no special candy (our family Academy Awards parties came with the privilege of our kids picking a large package of their favorite candy from the store, even Alicia, who has type 1 diabetes); there was no popcorn (my mom used to make Jiffy-pop...we had microwave bags with Butter!); no vibrating cushions (in Matt and Shannon's old house I sat on the floor and propped myself up against the most comfortable pillow-chair with a "magic massage" option) and no other friends.

Just me and my only American friend here...my best friend, watching a pre-recorded show with a bottle of slow red wine and sharing our feelings about all I've written here.


It was a good night.

 An escape.

I loved it.

cost

"Suppose you want to build a tower. You would first sit down and figure out what it costs. Then you would see if you have enough money to finish it. Otherwise, if you lay a foundation and can't finish the building, everyone who watches will make fun of you. They'll say, 'This person started to build but couldn't finish the job.' (Luke 14:28-30)

Mario, Alicia, David, Joe and Vince - 1990 

Yesterday you read about our new building.  Anyone who's ever built before will know that  building involves more than you expected it would.  Each estimate submitted by each sub-contracted builder is submitted  to be attractive.  They tempt us into thinking that we may be able to do what we want for what we expect to pay.

If there's problems (and there's always problems), that estimate  goes out the window and real costs become apparent...and significantly more.

Sometimes the costs are not just financial.

As I've watched the eldership of Junction go through the ups and downs and faith-building exercises of putting up that Center, I have developed a new-found respect for them.  How reasonable they all seemed, so level-headed and able to shoulder the huge amount of reality during the building.  I didn't witness any tantrums or division between them.  It was amazing.

I needed to see this so that I could make the comparison that I am going to make tonight: building costs are always more than you expect they will be.

Today (Sunday) was a typical day of activity and celebration (what I'm supposed to say as a Christian saved by grace) at church.   In reality, it was a reminder to organize certain ministries better (especially for the Diepsloot contingency) and I felt weary at the end of it, and came home a little tired.  Mario and I talked it through, and before a nap, I decided to return to a long-overdue task- typing up policies for our church.

Some days in ministry are electrically charged with the Holy Spirit and as I try to type about them I am at a loss.  This was not one of those days.  Typing up policies is not what I came here for.  It was a mundane task, dry... but necessary.

It is days like this that I ask the dreaded question: What am I doing here?

That question is becomes heavier when I converse on SKYPE with our pregnant daughter, Alicia, in the States.   When we talked today, her morning my night, I hung up and cried.  I can hear the pain in her voice as she tells me that everyone goes through their pregnancies with their mother near by.  I see tears well up in her eyes and see Harmony actively bouncing around in the background.  I am aching to hold both of them.  There is a lot of underlying things...

It is further weighted down by my ordering a birthday e-card tonight for David and Lennae's youngest, Lauren, who barely knows me.  Her mother, my daughter-in-law, Lennae,  reminds her of who I am and buys the girls their favorite books with the Amazon cash we send for birthdays and signs the inside cover from me and Mario.  It makes me tenderly thankful  when I realize how she wants the girls to know us.  We haven't seen them for two years.

The question is even further weighted down by not being able to get ahold of Vince, who is most likely sleeping or working.  His schedule is gladly interrupted to talk to me, and he writes instant messages so creatively and full of life that I know that the acorn hasn't fallen far from the tree.  Still, it's been crickets when I've tried to reach him this week....

Even further weight on the question is missing Joe, who just had a long conversation last night with Mario.    I slept through the one-hour exchange last night, from the son who has been weathering his own changes in his life.  He's fiercely private with his heart, and when he comes clean to us, it's like an ocean of emotion.  I missed it, and Mario's description of the call was "Wonderful".  Cricket, cricket...no details.  Prodding only makes it worse.

As we were driving home the other day, I asked Mario what he would think if I blogged about "the kids".  He thought, then said "They probably won't like it."  It may be true... but it may not be.  Sometimes the things I have to give them are only encouraging words, and this is the way I know how to love them.

Being here, as people with a calling to Africa, specifically here in South Africa, there are two questions we have to consider: "Am I really called by God to be here?" (and since the answer is yes)  The next question is "Will I stay and finish what I've begun?"

That question has to be answered everyday....

days

Teach us to number each of our days so that we may grow in wisdom.    (Psalms 90:12)

The Junxion Center from the far north entrance to our new church property.  

Our church, The Junction, has just celebrated ten years in existence.  We have been members of Junction for four years.

I still remember sitting in our office, upstairs in our Sacramento home, reading an email from Mario telling me he had found our new church.  He was in South Africa, with our friend and soon-to-be-employer-in-ministry, Hennie.

The name, he wrote, of our new church was The Junction.  Its lead elder, Craig Elliott had just met with Mario over coffee to share stories and testimonies...and vision for the future. Because of a God-ordained instant connection, Mario decided that this church was the one we were supposed to be a part of, and cancelled any future meetings with the other church leaders that Hennie had scheduled.

Thank God.

As I read his email, I have to admit that then I was basically under the assumption that we would stay in Johannesburg, South Africa just to base ourselves near an airport.  We were determined that, as part of a team led by Hennie Keyter, we would need to be near an airport so we could easily go in and out of Africa, and also go back home now and then, to the USA.  Hennie had insisted that Mario first find a local church to connect with before we made a decision to move here.  His suggestion was more of an ultimatum than advice.  Hennie knew that real relationships were built at a local level, and the local church would be our new family.  He was right.

Junction (with all of its quirks and warts) became our family, in the fullest sense of the word.  While we traveled internationally, our new "home church" became our main grounding and support.  It encouraged relationship on the local level...and accountability.  We grew part of Junction the same way that an adopted child becomes a true member of the family.

Today,as I write this, I think of how life is strange.  It never goes the way you envision it going.  We don't travel in and out of Africa (as we thought we would), and my main relationships are here, in this church home.  In 2010, we saw Hennie- our first link to this wild continent- once.   "It is God's calling," he once told us, "that will bring you here and keep you here."

We "found" our calling in the recesses of our local church and its ministry to the poor in South Africa.  Junction is a church with half of its population well above the economic level of wealth in this world.  This select group of people had hearts (and position) to fight for the rights and spiritual well-being of  the other half of the church population.  These were folks well below the poor in America.  Well below.  Because of the unusual economic diversity of its members, Junction is seen as unusual in a country well-known for class separation.

It has been four years (almost) since we moved here.  Through it all, we have ridden the waves of change that Junction (and we) have endured, the only way we know how: transparently and among friends.  The reward of last Sunday was particularly sweet.

Craig and Suzanne cut the birthday cake.

Craig and Suzanne, our elders, envisioned, long ago, a center for the rich and poor to come and meet as family in a community center that was a testament to God and His faithfulness.  On Sunday, the Grand opening of Junxion Center, this community center long ago seen in Craig's mind, was held.


It was a beautiful day, after four days of heat and rain... God saw fit to gift us with a day of puffy white kisses in the clouds, and no rain.
                                                            
At all.

Jo and I

The day was an end to many of preparing for this fabulous event, which not only celebrated our birthday, but the convergence of "sports-meets-the-arts" in one space for the good of the community.  Joanna, my friend (and someone I had traveled into Africa with) was the official coordinator, but I worked closely with her and Paula (my new-found friend in event-hosting).  Under Jo's eye, the Center opening and Birthday Celebration took place.

The main challenge from my side was that my husband had been attacked by a strange illness: one that brought unusual stress into our relationship.   Three surgeries within six weeks crippled us as a couple.
I also had been asked by the church if "I wouldn't mind" taking "my awesome administrative gifting" and using it to help run the new Junxion Center until we could find a full-time person to manage bookings.  I'm a world class schmooze, and I recognize a snow job coming...and I still said yes.

I became quickly involved in the business end of the Center and its partners, or its tenants. I began collaborating (with tenants renting space from us) to plan this day of the Center opening.  They all had invested so much of themselves (as we had) into the new space, and wanted to make it work.  So the launch of the Center was important to their businesses and to their lives.  I had super-organized Jo and Paula on one side and the tenants (whose administrative personalities surpassed mine) on the other.

I was a fish out of water.

My new "job" as Center manager I shared with my friend, Terri, who like me, had a desire to help where needed.  We both are pretty good administrators, but were also deeply relational and thrived on ministry.  We  have the same hearts for shepherding, and we both seemed to struggle with balancing everything.  Sharing the job, Terri braved the morning traffic (working 8-12), and I took on the afternoon commute (working 12-4).

In the week I agreed to take the job (just a week and a half ago), I felt overwhelmed with the re-entry into "the workplace" and planning for the party and the Center opening.  I also had offered to bake the cake for the party.  Jo quickly suggested we buy it (but we were over-budget already and I LOVE TO COOK!) to "take some pressure off".  I politely disagreed, and asked if I could make it, knowing my strengths are in the simple arts -and baking is relaxing for me.

The Elder's luncheon upstairs.

I also asked if I could host the upstairs meeting, meant to be the luncheon for all of the church leaders in the area...and for our own Junction eldership.  Jo and Paula said yes, with the stipulation that I would raise a white flag at any moment and they could take over.

It was a day that surprised even me, with all of our preparation paying off in a smooth party, where food was sponsored and served with a smile and where old and new friends came together in thankfulness.  It was like any other birthday, where the one-time baby is celebrated for who they have become, and loved by everyone around.

Mike and Lena with their gift,
the much-coveted Madiba, with
the artist, Marc Alexander

The center was buzzing with activity and everyone seemed to have a good time.  The whole church was happy and playful.  We gave Mike and Lena the most beautiful painting of Madiba (Mandela) to take with them to the South Coast when they will leave next month, and we gave Rob and Bridget an ipad for their new life in Germany.

Everywhere you looked there was music and activity and celebration.  I was so happy that it was all happening with so much life and wonder.  Mario and I looked around, more than once, and said "This is the most amazing party!  Everything is going well, and we're hardly doing anything!!"

The Center, designed by our friend,
Roger Boden, from the west

The truth of the matter was that we were part of a tem, the truth of our lives here in Africa, and especially at Junction.  We were part of a team that was bringing together a celebration of a church anniversary and a community center opening - marrying the two and having them make sense.

In a world of no absolutes, we live with one: we are absolutely children of a Father who loves us.  We are absolutely unable to celebrate with any kind of sincerity without him.  We are absolutely sure that this could not have happened without him.

I sit here, tonight, back to my love, my love of writing and telling the story.  It is my first day off in two weeks, and I am smiling, remembering the party.  It was beyond what we could have imagined.

I am absolutely sure that tomorrow morning I will sleep in.

Hopefully.

valentine's

Cupid, in Roman mythology, was the son of Mars and Venus, the god of war and the goddess of beauty.  He was told by his mother to go into a mortal’s room to destroy her with a poisoned arrow, making her fall madly in love with an evil man.  Venus knew the way to wreck a woman’s life is to make her fall in love with a jerk.

Cupid has become a symbol of love (and of Valentine’s Day)  often depicted as an angel with a bow and arrows.  No one bothers to remember that he was a mama’s boy who tripped on his way into Psyche’s bedroom and cut himself with his own arrow and fell in love with the woman Venus was trying to destroy.  OY!  Cupid's weakness and stupidity makes him a good mascot for the oddest holiday of the year.

I have a top ten list about why Valentine’s Day sucks... and around this time, each year, I am reminded of it. 

I’m happily married to the love of my life.  Not only does he remember gifts and foo-foo favors, but he also remembers to put the seat down every single time.  That is a romantic gesture!  He has never let me down on this day...he once sent me a Valentine that was so big it had to be hand-delivered – it was the size of a poster. 

Nevertheless, I still believe, by its very nature, the holiday still sucks - big time. 

My main reason I feel this way is that this holiday is a day that we have made to celebrate romance (many times our twisted version of romance) and inflates the normal prices of chocolates, cards, and flowers on and around that day.  It exploits romance, not celebrates it.

Secondly, it makes single people feel so unloved and so alone.  I never have been alone on Valentine’s Day, but I’m literally protective and perturbed for the people who are.  These are amazing, awesome people who have to be reminded that they (on this one day) are not in a significant relationship where they can have an overpriced dinner with their significant other, looking goopily into each other’s eyes and telling each other how they are the bees knees...and so on.  The next day most water cooler conversations turn into competitive comparisons of how dearly loved each others’ significant other has made them feel .  I know of no single person who has ever said “Get a life!” or “Thank God you both kow-tow to holiday pressure!” 

Lastly, I think the holiday has (more than any other) made me and most people I know feel unloved or unworthy more than any other holiday, by a flippin long shot.

 In Latin, valor means “brave”.  Valentine’s Day is a day that evokes thoughts of bravery, specifically my bravery through the years of elementary school and enduring Valentine’s Day parties where I got the cheapest, least cute cards from all of my classmates...sometimes the one that was the “bonus” one on the back of the box that you had to cut out.  That one didn’t have its own envelope.  How many times had I wished to be pretty and popular...and get the large cards, the “best firend” cards, even from people who I thought were my best friends!  It was not to be, and I joined the rank of many who saw the day as a day to be humiliated or ignored. 

In High School, when everyone finally admitted I was pretty and worth a damn, I collected handfuls of roses sold by the Asilomar delegates on Valentine’s Day.  No one dared to put them in their locker.  It was the oil of the anointed, the flavor of love in our small little world.  I proudly carried mine around to show how loved I was.  There were always those with more; there were always those with much less, even none.  I ignored the pangs of my heart for them, and listened, instead, to the voices of the admiring friends, proclaiming me popular and queen of roses.  How pathetic. 

The Legenda Aurea of Jacobus de Voragine, written in 1260 was one of the most-read books of the High Middle Ages.  It gives sufficient details of Catholic saints for each day of the liturgical year, and is one of the only references we have for St. Valentine.  Its very brief description portrays him as an evangelical man, preaching Jesus Christ and calling everyone to know Him...and His love.  The story has him refusing to deny Christ before Claudius, Emporer of Rome, in the year 280.  Claudius opposed proselytizing in any religion, even in those regions where he allowed natives to worship freely. The act of wilful defiance to an emperor was punishable by death, and Claudius ordered it for Valentine the following day.  Before his head was cut off, Valentine restored sight and hearing to the young daughter of his jailer. The girl was poor, and left orphaned would not be able to earn a living.  There was no romantic relationship, just the last act of a man condemned to die. 

As a result of the miraculous transformation of his daughter, the Roman jailer became Catholic and reported the event to the church, who pronounced him a martyr and considered “Sainthood” for him.  The day they eventually pronounced St. Valentine’s Day (February 14) is the anniversary of his execution, not his birthday.  We are celebrating the execution of a good man who healed and blind and deaf girl and was led to his slaughter by a corrupt king. How romantic!

Chaucer, who wrote Canterbury Tales, also wrote a long poem called  “Parlement of Foules” (Assembly of Birds) where he proclaims St. Valentine’s Day to be “A Day for Lovers”.  

So it’s Chaucer’s fault that the holiday became the heavily marketed guilt tool of chocolatiers and restaurateurs  around the world.  It’s his fault that my single friends all need pep talks on how they are highly valued and dearly loved on this day. 

I’m not falling for that.  My husband loves me and he doesn’t need to jump through hoops to prove it.  We buy discounted cards and candy for each other the following day (or a week after) that are 50% off. 

This makes me smile... we beat the holiday pressure at its own game.

 

And Canterbury Tales sucks, too.