Humility... sweet and holy and to the tune of my favorite worship song. That's how I like it.
Yesterday it came in the tune of house music, SiSwati speeches and culture shock.
I've lived here almost two years, and I find myself continuously surprised. I count it as an honor that I don't stand out as the only white person present anymore and that special allowances aren't made for me. I feel my way through language barriers, unspoken and unexplained norms, and things that sometimes make me grit my teeth and stomp my feet.
Yesterday I experienced a gamut of feelings and reminders that I'm created for heaven, as I live and love completely out of place- from right where I belong.
I had flurries of feeling angry that no one had translated or helped me understand... that I had shown up not knowing I was supposed to bring a gift for Lifa.
I laughed to myself as I hung up my cheesy construction paper decorations, with the kids and moms oogling over the sparkly glitter, only to watch them come behind me and hang up everything they could get their hands on with the help of my stapler and tape.
I felt even more out of place when I started following the herds of parents, hand-in-hand with their children, only to realize they were going to change their kids into their traditional clothing for Swazi culture dancing. I didn't even know that stuff existed in such small sizes, much less have anything for Lifa.
I celebrated that, for at least two months, Lifa was going to a school where he was learning his culture traditions, dance and beliefs since he comes home to an English-speaking mama from an American culture.
I was proud to be living with him and attending his school parties amongst his own culture, rather than heading straight for the red, white and blue.
I felt sad and a little embarrassed that, between his dad's house and mine, Lifa had only been to this school for a patchy 2 months of the year, so he didn't know all the songs and routines the other kids did. And he wasn't given an award.
I was thrilled to hear his laugh and watch his resilient joy as he sang and danced with his friends, oblivious to any differences between their houses and his.
I was shocked and mortified to see a bunch of 4-year old girls put on bathing suits for a beauty competition - and to be asked to be the DJ for it because I was the one with the car that had a radio.
I felt used and thrilled to wait in my car, away from the beauty competition, with all the other kids who didn't have a seat as I waited for the teacher to come scream, "MUSIC!" or "VOLUME!" as my cue.
I was relieved and frustrated when I couldn't understand more than a hand full of words during the entire 6 hour party. I resorted to reading my Bible, taking photos and kissing kids.
I felt completely like I belonged as part of the family and community, and completely embarrassed and out of place at the same time.
On days when I am just reading or praying or listening to music, humility is sweet baby Jesus wrapped up in swaddling clothes in a manger, sleeping to the lullaby melodies of donkeys and sheep. It's not so much the part about a teenage virgin carrying the Messiah, being rejected at every inn and forced to give birth without her midwife in a dirty, flea-infested barn with little protection from the weather.
When I'm praying and giving praise, humility is like the sinless King of Kings taking on my sins and yours to pay off debts we could never repay for our forgiveness and to usher in grace so that we could be adopted eternally into the Family of God... and live happily ever after. It's not so much that part about him being publicly mocked, stripped, beaten and murdered with people casting lots for his clothes standing below him and a sign with the last insult, "King of the Jews" hanging above him.
There is now something even stronger and deeper between Lifa and I as a cross-cultural family who chooses to stick together, even though there's no comfortable balance between cultures. One day of overwhelming partying was just a morsel of a reminder that humility is a posture of holiness... but is still humiliation. That those swaddling clothes were itchy, infested and uncomfortable. And there was nothing flashy or bedazzled about that crown of thorns Jesus wore that Friday afternoon.
Today I am thankful to remember that I am being folded into a family, just as I have been folded into the Family. That I am chosen, predestined out of His perfect love... Just because He wanted to. (Ephesians 1)
So I hope you enjoy the pictures of the most beautiful children, the most enchanting culture and the sweetest reminder that we are citizens of heaven.
We get to enjoy the glimpses of heaven on earth in every tribe and every tongue on the way Home.
Click here to see the videos!
There's always a party in reveling in the creativity of our Family and our Creator.
Let's alway be party people.
Yesterday it came in the tune of house music, SiSwati speeches and culture shock.
I've lived here almost two years, and I find myself continuously surprised. I count it as an honor that I don't stand out as the only white person present anymore and that special allowances aren't made for me. I feel my way through language barriers, unspoken and unexplained norms, and things that sometimes make me grit my teeth and stomp my feet.
Yesterday I experienced a gamut of feelings and reminders that I'm created for heaven, as I live and love completely out of place- from right where I belong.
I had flurries of feeling angry that no one had translated or helped me understand... that I had shown up not knowing I was supposed to bring a gift for Lifa.
I laughed to myself as I hung up my cheesy construction paper decorations, with the kids and moms oogling over the sparkly glitter, only to watch them come behind me and hang up everything they could get their hands on with the help of my stapler and tape.
I felt even more out of place when I started following the herds of parents, hand-in-hand with their children, only to realize they were going to change their kids into their traditional clothing for Swazi culture dancing. I didn't even know that stuff existed in such small sizes, much less have anything for Lifa.
I celebrated that, for at least two months, Lifa was going to a school where he was learning his culture traditions, dance and beliefs since he comes home to an English-speaking mama from an American culture.
I was proud to be living with him and attending his school parties amongst his own culture, rather than heading straight for the red, white and blue.
I felt sad and a little embarrassed that, between his dad's house and mine, Lifa had only been to this school for a patchy 2 months of the year, so he didn't know all the songs and routines the other kids did. And he wasn't given an award.
I was thrilled to hear his laugh and watch his resilient joy as he sang and danced with his friends, oblivious to any differences between their houses and his.
I was shocked and mortified to see a bunch of 4-year old girls put on bathing suits for a beauty competition - and to be asked to be the DJ for it because I was the one with the car that had a radio.
I felt used and thrilled to wait in my car, away from the beauty competition, with all the other kids who didn't have a seat as I waited for the teacher to come scream, "MUSIC!" or "VOLUME!" as my cue.
I was relieved and frustrated when I couldn't understand more than a hand full of words during the entire 6 hour party. I resorted to reading my Bible, taking photos and kissing kids.
I felt completely like I belonged as part of the family and community, and completely embarrassed and out of place at the same time.
(Click slideshow to see bigger pics in new window)
At the end of the day, exhausted, thankful and about 4,800 other adjectives, it got me thinking about the real Jesus-style humility.
On days when I am just reading or praying or listening to music, humility is sweet baby Jesus wrapped up in swaddling clothes in a manger, sleeping to the lullaby melodies of donkeys and sheep. It's not so much the part about a teenage virgin carrying the Messiah, being rejected at every inn and forced to give birth without her midwife in a dirty, flea-infested barn with little protection from the weather.
When I'm praying and giving praise, humility is like the sinless King of Kings taking on my sins and yours to pay off debts we could never repay for our forgiveness and to usher in grace so that we could be adopted eternally into the Family of God... and live happily ever after. It's not so much that part about him being publicly mocked, stripped, beaten and murdered with people casting lots for his clothes standing below him and a sign with the last insult, "King of the Jews" hanging above him.
There is now something even stronger and deeper between Lifa and I as a cross-cultural family who chooses to stick together, even though there's no comfortable balance between cultures. One day of overwhelming partying was just a morsel of a reminder that humility is a posture of holiness... but is still humiliation. That those swaddling clothes were itchy, infested and uncomfortable. And there was nothing flashy or bedazzled about that crown of thorns Jesus wore that Friday afternoon.
Today I am thankful to remember that I am being folded into a family, just as I have been folded into the Family. That I am chosen, predestined out of His perfect love... Just because He wanted to. (Ephesians 1)
So I hope you enjoy the pictures of the most beautiful children, the most enchanting culture and the sweetest reminder that we are citizens of heaven.
We get to enjoy the glimpses of heaven on earth in every tribe and every tongue on the way Home.
Click here to see the videos!
There's always a party in reveling in the creativity of our Family and our Creator.
Let's alway be party people.
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