let them eat cake

when i arrived in the kitchen this morning, blurry eyed and in need of coffee, to begin a day full with the things it's full of, hoping to carve out some time to be still, i found a mass of ants. there were so many ants that i thought the counter was moving.  hundreds of ants, tiny ants everywhere, working so hard together, in constant motion, busily finding and licking and hauling whatever they could scavenge from the counter.  i think today it was mostly licking because i couldn't see any crumbs.  perhaps those had already been removed, but they were eagerly devouring the left-over spilled chicken broth, which had already been wiped up the night before. i watched for a minute, spilled some water on the counter and watched them quickly disperse. it was impressive.

the first foreign missions experience i had was in pucalpa peru when i was 15.  i remember one afternoon we went to the home of some missionaries who had been kind enough to loan out all the mans t-shirts and boxer shorts for the 17 of us kids to wear, as our luggage had been lost en route. we must have been quite a site- visions in plaid underwear and white t-shirts. 

when we arrived at their house, the wife had made a chocolate cake for us.  it was perfectly propped up on  several overturned cups that lay in a larger pan, filled with an inch of water.  that was for ant protection.  then several toothpicks had been placed in the cake and a cloth dishtowel was draped over the cake.  that was fly protection. the woman seemed thrilled with her contraption.  it was her masterpiece. her victory over the pests of her life in the tropics.  man vs. wild. 

most of my memories of those three weeks were of impressive poverty.  the filth of it, the stench of it, trash and dirt and ripped t-shirts over protruding bellies, and bare feet. or the intense relational issues that arose between our group of 14 teenage boys and 3 teenage girls- dealing with hormones and internal conflict over true disparity.  but this memory of the cake stuck with me as well. i think because as i tried to process the incredible differences of my american upper-middle class teenage life, and the level of poverty in rural peru in 1986, it was surprising to me that something as irrelevant as a cake, could matter so much to this woman. that her victory was over insects.  there was so much there to fight against- to strive for.  there were so many big things to put energy into- why take the time to bake a cake and protect it so thoroughly?



but i kind of get it now.  not just because of this mornings ant fiasco, or because of my sincere love of chocolate cake.  i get it because sometimes life is best lived in the small things, maybe always.  i get it because the big victories, the 'solving' of the worlds problems, the issues that scream at us, the injustice and the wrongness and the disparity, - achieving those things and fighting those things are what lifetimes are made of- sometimes even many lifetimes. many generations.  improving health, educating people, building self-efficacy, sharing the love of God in spite of the distrust religion has created,  connecting with a very different culture-  those things take much time.  those things can suck energy- can bring seasons of great discouragement- or, in their success, can bring pride and arrogance.


but cake is cake.  it takes less than an hour, and it tastes good.  it revives.  for her, it was 'home'.  her making it and protecting it was living out hospitality, and generosity, and teaching us that it's okay to have small victories.  it showed her acceptance of her reality- there will always be ants and flies- but we do what we can.  there will always be poverty and injustice too, but we do what we can. 


i saw one sliver of her life.  one afternoon.  i'm sure she didn't bake cakes every day- or draft plans for their protection.  i'm sure most of her days were out in that filth and stench.

maybe she didn't even like cake- maybe she is not a baker- maybe she just listened to a still small voice that told her that morning to get up and bake a cake for a bunch of impressionable teenagers.

maybe she fought it for a while. maybe she argued with it and said she should show us instead all the big things she was doing. maybe she thought she'd even be judged for being a missionary who eats chocolate cake when there are more important things to be doing. but maybe she was obedient and baked a cake anyway because her years of big things had taught her to listen to that voice, even when it made no sense. 


maybe she made that cake because twenty five years later one of those impressionable teenagers would be living across the globe in the tropics too- with ants and poverty- with small annoyances and big tragedies,  and would need to know that sometimes, you need to bake a cake.  that sometimes the lessons come in the baking of it, or the eating of it, or the protecting of it, or even in the ants themselves. that sometimes it's about obedience, or tasting sweetness, or accepting our realities, or innovating, or learning from our challenges- even the very small ones. that sometimes big things happen because of the small things. that life is lived in our little moments.


a few months after arriving in uganda, a college student group came through lead by my second cousin, and they wanted to meet with us and learn about our life here- about what we did and thought as missionaries.  i knew they would come with lots of questions, and i thought of what we should say- about what would be most important to share.  but instead of preparing, i baked chocolate chip cookies.

i wanted them to enjoy their hour with us, to feel revived and cared for as we talked about the big issues.  i wanted them to know it's okay to be surrounded by poverty- and allow yourself to still taste sweetness. that life here should be lived in the gray- not in black or white- not in stark contrast to life in the US, when you'd never think twice about baking a cake.  i wanted them to know that there are times for fasting and times for dessert.  that Jesus cared for the poor, but allowed perfume to be poured on his feet.  that our years are made of our days and our hours, great movement requires stillness, action requires rest. 

i wonder if that missionary lady in peru is still alive.  if she's still there- fighting the big and the small things.  i wonder what she did in her life, what she's most proud of and most humbled by. and i wonder if she knows the value of her chocolate cake, baked that august in 1986.

dependence

the other night there was a 'super moon'.  that is actually what it's called when the moon is closer to the earth and appears bigger and brighter than usual. it doesn't happen very often and it deserves its name.
it was gigantic and full and magnificent.

photo of oregon coast by rockaway beach chamber of commerce

i was driving home as it climbed from just above the trees to the top of the sky. i was driving home from a day doing clinic in a village in luweero as the sun set on one end and this awesome moon rose on the other and i felt full of sky and life and thanks.

sometimes writing is like cooking. it can take a long time to simmer, it can be left on the back burner when other things take priority while it stews- it can grow in strength and flavor as it sits doing its own thing, waiting to be stirred. writing also feels like eating- it needs to be done. thinking about my day in luweero has taken some time but now i'm hungry.

i spent the day as the doctor for a mobile clinic caring for HIV+ people in a village 25 km down a dirt road from a town that was 70km outside of kampala.  the day started early- i left at 7am to pick up the members of the community based organization 'action for the needy' which began this endeavor to bring health care to a poor village of subsistence farming families about four years ago.  it started because one woman, jane, from the village, moved to kampala, tested positive for HIV, got on meds, and wanted to identify and support others in her village with HIV. she wanted to send a message of hope that you can live well with HIV.  she wanted to de-stigmatize the disease, she wanted to improve the health and livelihood of her people, to educate them and do for them, what 'reach out' clinic had done for her- so she did.

jane and henry

we stopped at her brothers house to have tea when we arrived in the village.

jane with her family

it was african tea- sweet, spice and milk- delicious.
then we went to see the land they've procured for a school and clinic.  a beautiful five acres in a farming community.  they need to turn the mobile clinic into a permanent clinic- if they want the government to provide antiretroviral drugs.

the local children came out to welcome us with a song.

and then in perfect uganda style there was a ceremony of sorts.  the chairman of the village gave a speech, there were introductions and i was the special guest of honor.  he spoke luganda, he said they were so thankful i was there and that anything i could do to help them was most welcome. i was most welcome.  it was unexpected and honoring and wonderful.

the clinic was held in a small church in the center of the village.  we arrived to a room full of people- some waiting to be tested, most with HIV waiting to see the doctor, all decked out in their best dresses.

the clinic was busy and we did the best we could with the few medicines we had with us.  i was able to see both the great need and the incredible success of this small organization.  the high point was being a part of something so very real and compassionate.  this clinic was started and maintained with out a funding base, with out a doctor, without any payment to anyone- pure desire to care for those in need.  wow.  the low point was having a woman initially refuse a gyn exam because she thought i was a man.  yes.  a man.  that is what the translator said.  so i promptly unleashed my hair from it's functional bun, and pointed to my chest and said, "i am a woman!"  the woman said,  "well you're a doctor and you're wearing pants, and you walk too fast to be a woman."  oh.  i see.  that is how we distinguish! (note to self- next time where a skirt, slow down and catwalk.)

but it was like being in a time machine, even more than i already feel in my life near kampala.  i was back to before Reach out clinic had a building, or computers, before we had antiretrovirals- because we didn't. this clinic has no building, no lab, no way to even measure CD4 counts to see if clients should be on ARVs.  

on the way home i had a lot of time to think as the conversations in the car were in lugandan.  i felt inspired, somewhat overwhelmed and also sad that this is where uganda is- people in rural areas with out access to testing and treatment.  i began to think about all the things to do, to help, to reach out to them, to connect with this village, to get the clinic going- but going well.  to make it self sustaining, to assist with development and some economic growth- because poverty, again, is the problem.

there is a clinic 25 kms down the dirt road- but there is almost no transportation, and what there is, is prohibitively expensive for a community with no income,  to walk would take about 5 hours each way.  i thought about roads and infrastructure- mike said it would cost about 5 million dollars to pave that road. i thought about what the chairman had said to me in his speech- about need and the tremendous gratitude for help.  i thought about the continued dependence i see here- that has come to be so abundant and ingrained and well, depended on.  and i thought about our being here as missionaries- and something clicked.  i realized something foundational.

there are many ways to land in uganda as western professionals.  there are many hospitals here where i could get a job- perhaps mike could open an architecture firm.  we could make enough money to live- so why on earth did we come here as missionaries?  why did we come here on other peoples dimes?  why did we raise support to be here?

the most obvious reason is that we came here to serve God by working with people and places that couldn't afford to pay us- we wanted to work with the poor.

i've never been poor- i mean poor, poor.  i've had seasons of having "no money"- of watching what we we spend- of not eating out, not buying meat, not doing the extras, but i've never been with out food, i've never not brought my kids to the doctor, or pulled them out of school because of school fees- i've never been with out a home.  so i don't know what poor feels like.  but i do understand dependence.

and that is something we share with those in need.  we have dependence in common. by coming here as missionaries, as volunteers, we are completely dependent on our senders, really ultimately we are dependent on God.  there is no- 'oh i'll just moonlight." or "pick up some extra shifts" - we depend on others for everything. if our funds run out- we have to come home.  we are also accountable to other people for how we spend our money- our resources.  this is incredibly humbling and teaches us much about life for most of the world.

as western professionals, we aren't used to "needing" other people.  we aren't accustomed to depending on anyone but ourselves.  this experience gives us a small window of insight into how the people that we are serving, spend life and for that i'm incredibly thankful to God and to those who support us, who enable us to be here in a way that helps us to both do our work and understand those in a way that we couldn't without this level of dependence.

of course it also helps us remember the truth about life for everyone.  ultimately, like it or not, much of it is out of our control- here we feel that more acutely.  but it's true and scary and we all fight it most of the time and then act surprised when life feels out of control.  faith helps- actually, faith cures the fear of being out of control in an ultimate way- i still struggle with the minutes.

we do what we can.  for each other, for the world, for ourselves.

as that moon rose- i was thankful that i am supported but such amazing, generous, loving people who believe that the world isn't so big.  who believe that we can make a difference - that we can make things better and bring hope and care and medicines and empowerment and love and connection and joy to parts of the world that live the reality of dependence- at least for now.

thank you!!