The great dilemma

Should teachers get personally involved in the lives of their students? This is a common dilemma in the profession.

In my current situation, I am getting personally involved in the lives of my students—often—and this is my only answer:

I do recall some sage advice I received a while back when someone suggested that he had learned, in his study of psychology, that it is important to help people but not to get personally involved. There is wisdom in this advice—I cannot deny that—because common sense would tell us that it would be so easy to get ‘burned out’ emotionally by getting too involved in the lives of all the people we serve, but I have come to see things somewhat differently. Although I realize that the advice is sound, and that it would be impossible emotionally to take on the burdens of many, that, as a Christian, God calls me to get personally involved in the lives of at least some.

What would have happened if God had decided, “We need to help out these people that we’ve created, so go do what you can, Jesus, but don’t get too personally involved”? The ultimate sacrifice was to get totally personally involved by having Christ Jesus go through the ultimate experience of pain. He took on all of human pain in the ultimate experience of human suffering: his death on the cross.

The weight of sin’s result leads to every form of human suffering. When people say to me, “How could a God of love allow such an extent of human suffering as we see on this earth?” my response is that God did not create human suffering; God did create people will a free will and hence we have chosen to create suffering for ourselves—it is the pain that we bring upon ourselves and each other through our choices that is the epitome of all suffering.

Hence comes the cross. As a pacifist, I have always—always—struggled with a God of love requiring such a horrific sacrifice, but I have finally come to understand. It is the ultimate act of showing personal involvement that a God who is totally pure and who does not need to carry any of our pain, should take on every bit of it—should be totally personally involved. How else could a God of love show love for us? If He had done anything less, there would be people who could TRULY say, “God could not possibly relate to what I’m going through. Where is God in this?”

So, following this example, when Jesus instructs: “Take up my cross, daily, and follow me,” the implication is that I DO get personally involved in the pain of others, and not just when I have time or when it is appropriate, but daily, when the pain confronts me. The pain of others IS the cross that Jesus speaks of because that is what He took on. There is no other way to explain this instruction of Christ.

But there is a paradox in this pain because as Christ gives us this instruction, He also promises to send us a Comforter as we carry these loads of pain. What I am discovering is that this promise is so true! It seems to me that as I see the pain and suffering that others bear, these are the crosses of Jesus that I am called to carry—to offer to bear at least some of the weight with my brothers and sisters on this earth. According to psychology, carrying others crosses would not be wise, would it? Yet the paradox I discover is the mystery of the Holy Spirit’s empowering. If I DON’T take up these crosses daily and follow Christ, in my life I experience far more pain that if I DO help to carry the burdens of others. Yes, there is no doubt that the loads are heavy but that somehow the act of helping to carry brings a sense of peace. It is strange, perhaps, but with all the extent of my direct involvement in my student’s lives and in the lives of others around me, I have a much greater sense of fulfillment and peace.

Perhaps it is partly because, how else could I ever answer the question, “Where is God in all of this?” If I can see, feel, and say that God is with US—in US--that we are His hands and feet—his arms to reach out and wrap around those in pain—then I at least have an answer to that question. The answer is that WE have created pain through our choices—we are stuck with pain as long as we live on this earth, but through the perfect example of Jesus, we have been shown a better way through this pain-filled existence--that we are called to help each other and as we do so, the pain is lessened for them and for us. It is through this relationship of love that we cope.

Adventure and Perspective

Adventure and perspective. In addition to busy, the last month has provided adventure and new perspectives about Lesotho and its people, the Basotho.

In mid-January the father of a friend died. As I have written before, the death of a family member in Lesotho is a huge financial burden as the deceased's family is expected to feed the whole village the day of the funeral. In the case of our friends it also meant getting everything needed to their village - a three hour taxi or bus ride followed my an seven kilometre walk into the village. An alternative is to hire a friend with a four wheeled drive vehicle to drive all the way in. Of the three hour drive in, two hours are for the last 30 kms and that is when the roads are dry.

Early in the week before the funeral, it rained and rained and rained. The friend with the four by four was not available, so I became part of an alternate plan, driving out on a different, better road with the supplies and other things, meeting Ntate Kuena at some rendezvous from which everything would be transported by donkey into the village. My little SUV was packed to the limit. As I surveyed it I could not imagine the effort of hauling all this stuff, some two hours through the mountains on donkeys, so that the funeral could be held. Ntate Kuena's wife and an elderly aunt drove out with me, squeezed in among the bags of carrots and beets and cabbages, maize meal and rice, pots and bowls and "what what", as the people here would say. I asked about the tough walk ahead and the wife's stoic response to a task that would have overwhelmed me was, "There is no choice, it just has to be done."

I didn't fully realize how much "had to be done" until we met Ntate Kuena on some distance section of the road and unloaded the packed little vehicle. The three little donkeys Ntate Kuena had with him looked woefully inadequate for the pile of things on the side of the road; plus it was now getting late in the afternoon. Where I would have been complaining and fretting, my Basotho friends simply began to do what had to be done. A passing Basotho 'stranger' inquired about what was happening and then offered to fetch two of his own donkeys to help. I left once all the bags for the donkeys were packed. I wanted to get home before dark, and left my friends on the side of the road, facing a two hour journey in the waning light. They made it, but later confirmed that it had been a challenge, especially for the elderly aunt.

We then had a couple of days of hot dry weather, so we decided to brave the direct road in to attend the funeral. Our little SUV made it in, this time packed with people, catching a few rocks on the underside in the very rough patches. I was fretting all the way in, as the sun seemed to be battling it out with a band of gathering clouds. If it rained while we were in there, would we get out? It rained. Two heavy showers. We tried to leave after the first shower, but the road was so muddy that touching the brakes locked up the wheels and I had little control when going downhill. I gave up after a couple hundred metres, and we thought we would wait and see if it would dry up a bit. It didn't, it rained some more. We had come prepared with a tent and sleeping bag, but were not looking forward to camping for the night with more rain threatening.

Another friend of Ntate Kuena, one with a four by four, had also driven in, and some of the mourners in attendance needed to get out that evening. He agreed to drive them out. The plan became that I would follow him out. He had a chain, such as it was, and would pull me through should it be too muddy or too steep for for my untried SUV. Off we went. I was worried about getting home before it was dark when I had hauled out the supplies. There was no way I would be getting back to the tarred road before dark on this trip. It was a trip to remember, bumping and grinding through the mud, up steep and rocky sections, sliding down muddy inclines; the last 8 kms in the dark. However, by then I had gained a whole lot of appreciation for and confidence in my little Honda. This story ends with a unabashed endorsement of the 1996 all wheel drive Honda CR-V. The road was even worse than I had anticipated as there had been more rain further along, but neither mud nor grade nor dark held us back. There were even moments when I had to come to a stop on a muddy steep incline, but no problem. That little CR-V pulled us through everything that road had to offer. Still, it was an immense comfort to have another vehicle with us, just in case something had gone wrong. I was very relieved when we got back home in Maseru at about 9:30 p.m., and I am not so sure I will go looking for that kind of driving again anytime soon. Whew, it was adventure enough for this old guy.

Wendy however, lives for adventure. This week she had time off from school, so let's be off to the mountains was her refrain. Off we went again. Fortunately all roads are not as bad as the one to Ntate Kuena's village, but it still took three and a half hours to travel 120 kms. The end of the trip was a pleasant surprise, allowing me to even entertain the thought of considering that trip again sometime in the future. After driving up and down and around through the mountains we came out on a broad rolling plateau. Here there were fewer maize fields and much more wheat grown, and the road, while still rough and winding, was without the steep grades of the mountains.

We arrived in Semongkong, our destination, at mid day. A horse culture lives on, here, deep in the mountains. On both sides of the dusty main street, tied to poles and posts and hitching rails, were saddled horses waiting for their owners to conclude their business. Men, women, and young people rode past, at ease and at home in their saddles, riding to and from villages near and far. The tourist information on Lesotho makes frequent mention of the Basotho pony, but here was the first time I had seen it in living action, truly part of the day to day life and culture of the Basotho.

Later that day we hiked into Maletsunyane Falls. Sitting in the mist and spray near the bottom of the falls was enjoyable, yet it was the four km hike that offered some of the more interesting vignettes of Basotho life. Along the trail the horses and riders were coming and going. Herd boys with their flocks of sheep, crossed our path, and most interesting was watching the wheat harvest.

In one field a large group of people were working. It was a picture that reminded me of the story of Ruth in the Bible. The men with their small scythes cut handfuls of the standing grain. Behind them came the women who gathered the handfuls and tied them into bundles with grass for twine. Then they carried the bundles on their heads, singing and ululating as they went, to where other men were carefully piling the bundles into a water shedding stack where they would be left to dry further. The pile was being built right beside an exposed reasonably flat rock outcrop. When dried, the bundles would be broken open and the wheat spread out on the rock and "threshed" by oxen walking around and around over the stalks until the heads were broken open and the kernels would collect in the shallow recesses of the rock. Walking through the field and seeing the odd missed heads of grain it was easy to imagine Ruth gleaning in the fields of Boaz, Boaz instructing his workers to leave the odd extra handful of cut grain for her, and the oxen at the threshing floor.

I was witnessing a scene, foreign to our western experience, that has been repeated across the world for millennium. A scene, where in such a real sense, man still lives by the sweat of his brow. In some small way, witnessing this scene, I felt a connection with the human spirit which has struggled and survived through the millennium and has brought us to where we are today. Without my forebears and the burdens and hardships they endured and overcame, rather than adventure this day, might I have been somewhere else, harvesting my daily bread, in some such similar manner.

Khotso,

~ Benno ~

Moving Forward

Whew, December through January was a busy time. From the beginning of December until the end of January it seemed our doors were revolving. Nary a day passed without someone visiting whether Wendy's students working on applications of one sort or another, Mustard Seed volunteers working on something, our sons over for a few weeks, and an assortment of others - some often spending a night or two. At one point it felt like a hotel. I found myself thinking that God must have done the bookings as it seemed that one person would leave just before the next would arrive. Now it is trying to get back into a work rhythm, get caught up on a some things, and move forward on some others.

Since the last week of January I have been busy with the Mustard Seed project. This year we are accepting new participants into the program and this has presented new challenges. Yes, there are the challenges of managing the application process - things like forms and procedures and getting the volunteers together to review applications that have arrived; but the biggest challenge is having my complacency about poverty in Lesotho shaken up. When we first arrived in Lesotho I was brought face to face with extreme poverty. But how quickly what was shocking has become normal. Poverty is everywhere. I have become inured to it, or worse, maybe now often just purposely turn a blind eye.

The little we have been able to offer those we first met has taken the brutal edge off of their poverty. It is remarkable how a little support to a family can make such a big difference. Certainly by any western standard a family of seven living on about $150 Cdn per month is extreme poverty, but the edge has been taken off and they are imagining a future. So, with the four families we have been involved with, while finances do remain a challenge for them, they are coping. I had begun to see their situations as what it means to be in poverty here in Lesotho. Reviewing the applications to the Mustard Seed and meeting some of the applicants was a stark reminder that this view falls far short of the real daily grind that so many face.

One girl is from a family of five children, no parents. She is 16, her older brother 22, and together they are trying to sustain their three younger siblings aged 13, 10, and 7. The older brother has not finished school and is only able to get piece work. They did have their deceased parents house to live in, though it was nigh unto inhabitable with a dirt floor and water leaking in, even flowing in, whenever it rained. A recent heavy rain saw the house flooded in about 75 cm (30 inches) of water. The house is now all but uninhabitable. Yet, despite cooking, and laundry, and caring for her younger siblings in difficult circumstances, this girl still dreams of going to school. She has even jumped through all the hoops to qualify for the government tuition bursary for double orphans, but where does she get the funds for a uniform.

Another girl lives in a rural area. There they often have at least one good meal a day, even if it is only "papa and moroho" (papa = maize meal and moroho = cooked green leafy things, cabbage or swiss chard but often what we consider weeds in our gardens). However, to apply for some of the services available to girl orphans means traveling to urban centres. For lack of the $20 Cdn to travel to apply for the necessary documents, an orphan girl may miss out on tuition funding for the five years of her high school education. Then there is the frustration of working with the bureaucracy here. Standing in queues, sent from office to office and back, then being told that, "Oh, you are from a different district so you need to travel to a different centre," which entails more travel costs for grandparents or other caregivers that do not have that extra cash.

And these stories only brush the surface of the needs of children. In December 2009 the Bureau of Statistics revised the estimated number of Basotho children who are orphaned upwards, from 180,000 to 270,000. Of these the vast majority are estimated to have lost both parents. Nearly 30% of the children of Lesotho have lost one or both parents. The handful that we are able to support through the Mustard Seed Society seems so small, yet like the first families that Wendy and I met, the little the Mustard Seed can provide will make a big difference.

We are providing the costs of a uniform. For just under $100 Cdn we can outfit a girl in a school uniform. If she needs new shoes it can go up to $125. We are helping with transportation costs so caregivers can obtain the documents they need to apply for the school bursary available to orphans. And members of our team are helping walk grandparents through the various processes to access tuition funding. That is where we can make such a difference, just guiding and supporting caregivers to access the services that are available.

We are moving forward as a little organization. Learning and sharing the daunting challenges orphan girls and their families and caregivers face every day. Yes, the number in need is great and our efforts seem so paltry, but one government official recently encouraged us. She said not to worry about big numbers, but rather to focus on success for those we do support. As an organization we have plans and I look forward to what God will accomplish through our efforts, small as they are.

~ Benno ~

(An aside on "need" in Lesotho. A recent newspaper article mentions a donation of 10 computers from the Chinese embassy for the national police force, the Lesotho Mounted Police Service (LMPS).)