Day 1
Saturday morning we gathered at Esther’s House, met our translators, and were sent out into the nearby village to start meeting people and inviting them to church the following day. “It was nerve-wracking at first, trying to make conversation (with the interpreters) and trying to understand each other. My first experience in the village was horrible…the people were very reserved and I didn’t know what to say.”
My interpreter was Evelyn, wife to Joseph, one of the guys on staff at Esther’s House. She has a young boy named Zach (after Zach Kennedy) that she carried around with us on her back. I paired up with another teammate, Rodney, and his interpreter Jailosi (Giles). Both of us mainly just stumbled around together that first day, taking the lame tactic of saying…”We’re, um, from the United States…and we’ve, um, come to invite you to church at Esther’s House, and um, do you have any questions about Jesus? No? Oh, ok, um, good. Well, we hope to see you tomorrow…” Need I say more?
When we got back to Esther’s House to reconvene at the end, I was horrified to hear of others that had many conversions that day and had shared Jesus with their Evangecube and the Roman’s Road. We were sent out with very little direction that morning, and it didn’t even occur to me to witness. I was struggling to simply make conversation. I felt more inept than ever. I tucked myself into a single window seat on the bus that afternoon, and cried all the way back to the house. I dreaded the next day, Sunday, when I would have to lead a discipleship time for the 50 non-residential widows that our church cares for through Esther’s House, and I dreaded even more having to go back out into the villages on Monday after that.
That night there was much logistical work to do: sorting clothes, preparing gift bags for the widows and orphans, preparing toothbrushes and fluoride for the hygiene session, etc. We were all exhausted and tensions were high. There were differing opinions on what we should do and how we should do it. Because I was head of logistics, I was forced to make unpopular calls, and because I was exhausted and feeling the lowest of lows about myself, I am quite certain that my leadership efforts, while given with the best of intentions, did not come across as…nicely and diplomatic…as perhaps they should have. As a result, there were tensions between myself and a fellow team member, and a confrontation followed later that night which left me in tears and more certain of anything that I did not belong on this trip (even as I was certain that God wanted me there). So, ok, I was organizing things. I was cooking supper for the group. I was “being mama” to two of the younger girls in my room. My beef with God was that I could (and did) already do all of those kinds of jobs at home. Did I really need to come all the way to Africa just to play Mom to a mission team? Seriously?
I did not journal that night.
Saturday morning we gathered at Esther’s House, met our translators, and were sent out into the nearby village to start meeting people and inviting them to church the following day. “It was nerve-wracking at first, trying to make conversation (with the interpreters) and trying to understand each other. My first experience in the village was horrible…the people were very reserved and I didn’t know what to say.”
My interpreter was Evelyn, wife to Joseph, one of the guys on staff at Esther’s House. She has a young boy named Zach (after Zach Kennedy) that she carried around with us on her back. I paired up with another teammate, Rodney, and his interpreter Jailosi (Giles). Both of us mainly just stumbled around together that first day, taking the lame tactic of saying…”We’re, um, from the United States…and we’ve, um, come to invite you to church at Esther’s House, and um, do you have any questions about Jesus? No? Oh, ok, um, good. Well, we hope to see you tomorrow…” Need I say more?
When we got back to Esther’s House to reconvene at the end, I was horrified to hear of others that had many conversions that day and had shared Jesus with their Evangecube and the Roman’s Road. We were sent out with very little direction that morning, and it didn’t even occur to me to witness. I was struggling to simply make conversation. I felt more inept than ever. I tucked myself into a single window seat on the bus that afternoon, and cried all the way back to the house. I dreaded the next day, Sunday, when I would have to lead a discipleship time for the 50 non-residential widows that our church cares for through Esther’s House, and I dreaded even more having to go back out into the villages on Monday after that.
That night there was much logistical work to do: sorting clothes, preparing gift bags for the widows and orphans, preparing toothbrushes and fluoride for the hygiene session, etc. We were all exhausted and tensions were high. There were differing opinions on what we should do and how we should do it. Because I was head of logistics, I was forced to make unpopular calls, and because I was exhausted and feeling the lowest of lows about myself, I am quite certain that my leadership efforts, while given with the best of intentions, did not come across as…nicely and diplomatic…as perhaps they should have. As a result, there were tensions between myself and a fellow team member, and a confrontation followed later that night which left me in tears and more certain of anything that I did not belong on this trip (even as I was certain that God wanted me there). So, ok, I was organizing things. I was cooking supper for the group. I was “being mama” to two of the younger girls in my room. My beef with God was that I could (and did) already do all of those kinds of jobs at home. Did I really need to come all the way to Africa just to play Mom to a mission team? Seriously?
I did not journal that night.
No comments:
Post a Comment