Undressing

Thoughts on writing this one...
Well, I just finished reading through Benno's last entry, and I don't want mine, perhaps coming too quickly on its heels to supercede it since he's got some really great things to say about what we are both experiencing here--so do make sure to read through it. At the same time, though, I just felt that I wanted to share this experience. It really reflects a lot of the way I am feeling about teaching right now, and I know it applies to all of life, not just teaching.

This morning I was just reflecting on the craziness that has more frequently become my life since coming to this place of teaching; like yesterday…Oh! I just can’t even get into yesterday! It was all about crazy: an irresponsible, rebellious young gal whose history placed in jeopardy others opportunities, and politics, and directives, and “problem solving 101” to get two students out of Boarding and to a poetry event that they were performing at, and confusing car keys, and embarrassment, and no ‘airtime’, and changed venues for the event, and not being notified, and Plan B, and finally getting there, and hearing a great—really wonderful—poet, and hearing my great—really wonderful—students perform, and getting home after midnight on a Friday night, and feeling that it was all worth it, just for the memory of having done it. Thinking of all the crazy things I’ve done for and with my students, I KNOW, I really do know that these are the things—these acts of sometimes irrational, crazy, “You shouldn’t do that, it might be viewed as ‘unprofessional’.”
“You shouldn’t do that—they don’t pay us enough.”
“You shouldn’t do that—what about…this, what about…that?”
You get the picture? There’s a lot of things I’ve done that if I was going to be safe and comfortable, I wouldn’t have done. But…the thing is that if I hadn’t done those things, then I would have missed out on so much, so much, SO MUCH.

Yes, “You gotta undress”. In my first class of my teaching degree, a graduating student came to do an orientation session for my class and that was the shocking statement that he made to begin his session, and it truly was profound for me, because I’ve never forgotten it, and I try to put it into practice, often. Those things--those acts of undressing—being open to all kinds of risks, being vulnerable—have given me some of the very best memories of my teaching career—of my life. I have had the joy of reaching deeper into the lives of my students. I’ve had more hugs, more smiles, more shared laughter, shared memories; the joy of standing back and watching them grow, experience, and shine! So, I recommend—very highly—this life philosophy that that wise graduating student taught me. Not just in teaching, but in so much of life, really, it’s about THEM and not about me.

Undress
(In the teaching profession, you gotta undress.)

You wanna hear a story
of how my life came to be
If you wanna listen
If you wanna listen
there’s an important lesson
for you to see

You see…
Before I got this degree
I had a lesson
on how it should be
Okay, I’ll confess
here’s the lesson:
You see,
before I go into a lesson
I gotta undress
Yeh, in this profession
You gotta undress

“Before you go in that room,” he said,
“you gotta undress.
Take off that ego and
put it on the shelf
cause it’s not about SELF.”

Hey, I say, that’s the lesson I learned
It’s NOT about “me”
It’s about everything—everything
that my students WANT and NEED to be.

He told me, he said,
“Before you go into that room, now,
you gotta undress—
take off the inhibitions
‘cause sometimes you gotta
be on the stage
sometimes you gotta
just let loose and rage
to help them see that
life is NOT about stayin’ in a cage
help them see that
life IS about writin’ their own page…
Take off the inhibitions
Sometimes you gotta just be a fool
and that’s cool.”

Hch … hch, that’s cool?
In school?
Are you crazy?
Look at me,
I’m a PROFESSIONAL
and you want be to be…CRAZY?
“Yeh
You do what it takes
to help them awake
to the possibilities
so they can see
everything that they can be
‘cause you know
you KNOW
It’s not about YOU or me
It’s about everything—everything
that THEY need to be…

‘cause you see
life is NOT about stayin’ in a cage
they can’t stay in that cage
they need to find the stage
their lives need to be
everything that they WANT and NEED to be
‘cause
it’s not about me
it’s not about me
it’s about everything
it’s about everything that
my students WANT and NEED to be

so
that’s what I learned
I confess
that I gotta undress
be selfless
leave the ego on the shelf
‘cause it’s not about self
It’s about THEM not me
It’s about everything
that they WANT and NEED to be
It’s about everything
that they
WANT and NEED to be

The Good, the Great, and the Ugly

What a diversity of experiences that last seven days have offered. It has been a week where God has reminded me anew to rest in him and trust that he is able.

The ‘good’. We have a place to live, sort of. YWAM had graciously ‘sub-let’ a unit to us when they had no staff in need of it. Now they need the unit and we have been asked to move. Finding accommodation here in Maseru is not easy, and the rents for accommodation with basic amenities like water, sewer and electricity continue to increase. In each of the two previous places we have lived, Wendy and I have seen God use where we were living to do things for his kingdom. Things we would not have had the joy of being part of, had we not been where we were. So God must have something else planned, something that requires us to be somewhere else. But there are downsides to this next move, from my human perspective.

We have a place for seven months. That is the ‘sort of’ part. We will be house sitting, which really means looking for a place again in seven months. Yet, in the circumstances God seems to be clearly saying, “Trust me.” The house sitting opportunity almost fell from the sky, and if he provided this place for us without us even looking, I think he is asking me to trust him to take care of us seven months done the road. I need to let go of the downsides and accept what Jesus said about the lilies and sparrows, and about not worrying*. So we have a place to stay for seven months and an admonition not to worry about beyond that.

The ‘great’. Ah, Oct. 31/Nov.01 was a great weekend. On the Saturday we had the Founding General Meeting for the Mustard Seed (Lesotho) Society. The Basotho women on the board wanted to celebrate so we had a traditional Lesotho dinner with moroho and papa. The leaders did the preparation and clean up for the members, a wonderful example of servant leadership.

The leaders, aka cooks.

Dinner.

Ntate Kuena masquerading as a cook.

I was so impressed with them, and how the general meeting went with active participation from the members. Now I need to trust that I can get through all the work that comes to me as the secretary. We are anticipating that the number of girl orphans we will serve next year may double or even triple.

The other ‘great’ from the weekend was the Basotho wedding that we attended. It started with the gift from my Basotho ‘daughter’ that Wendy wrote about. How humbling to receive such a gift from one with so little materially to give. Her sacrifice to show her love, like the widow’s mite**, cost her more than the things I have done for her from my abundance. Then there was the wedding itself, the following day.

Here in Lesotho, when a wedding starts truly is the bride’s prerogative, irrespective of what the invitation says. The invitation said 9:30 a.m. Verbally we were told not to worry about arriving before 10:00. The groom showed up at about 11:30, and the bride finally arrived a bit after 1:00.

The bride and her entourage arrive.

And the guests, they arrived anytime between 9:30 and 1:00. So what do folks do while waiting? The men hang around outside visiting. The women were singing and dancing in the little church that was able to accommodate only about a third of the guests. And the ceremony/reception, which finally got under way at about 1:30, lasted for two hours. What I found so delightful was that the wedding was a true celebration. In contrast, our western weddings seem to be so much more an ‘event’ with those attending mere spectators. This wedding was a celebration, of marriage and of God’s goodness. Everyone was part of the celebration whether singing and dancing before, or cheering and clapping during, the ceremony. It was a living, breathing, refreshing, joyous celebration.

They both seemed uncertain when offered opportunity to kiss.

The ‘ugly’. All thing work out for good for those that love God***, but sometimes, in the moment, it is a challenge to hold onto this promise. I have twice this week taken individuals for medical care for injuries sustained due to domestic violence. Both individuals were connected to the Mustard Seed. In addition to supporting the victims, I have sat with the abusers, both men (inevitabily). I have witnessed the tender compassion of a doctor (a woman), as well as the sensitive and resolute committment of a police officer (a man, somewhat surprisingly) to see justice pursued. The violence was ugly, but I also saw goodness. In addition, individuals from past experiences here in Lesotho have reappeared as players in this current scene. So despite the ugliness of what has occurred, it is impossible for me to think that all is random circumstance. God must be weaving something; something that he promises will turn out for good. I am again reminded of Shane Claiborne’s comments that serving and trusting God can mean having “no idea what is going to happen next.”

The last week of our journey has seen it all - the good, the great, and the ugly. Where and how all the pieces of the last week will fit together, only God knows. He only asks of me that I trust that he is in control, and that I follow, step by step, where he leads.

~ Benno ~

* Matt. 6:25-

** Mark 12:41-44

***Romans 8:28

My Mom...

My mom is in the hospital. Big changes. For everyone. But most of all for her. Change is so very difficult when one is old and the mind is no longer strong. Change is confusing. Frightening. Terrifying. Too much like dying. That is what mom is really afraid of, I think. She worked in an old folks home where people 'always went to die' and that is etched into the granite of her long term memory--her psyche--her schema of aging and what terrifies her about aging.

So, she was taken to the hospital with congestive heart failure. She's 92. Not too surprising that the heart is weakening. She was taken to the hospital. Kicking. And screaming--well, okay, not screaming, but pulling hair and fighting the whole way. She was not happy. And she made even the patient nurses not happy.

But, it would seem that she is adjusting. That she IS being taken care of quite well, despite all of our concerns. It's been a very difficult and traumatic adjustment for all of us. My brother and sister in law who've had the primary responsibility for her care. My sisters, all three who rushed out to see her and who've done so much to help my brother sort through the legalities of guardianship and all the other messy legal things about having an aged person cared for...and just visiting with mom and reassuring her of their love. And my brother who is so bound with his work that he'll squeeze in four days in November to drive out with his family to see her...

Then there's me. I feel so very--very--far away at times like this. So torn. So torn between what I need to be doing here and my NEED to be there just to let mom know by my presence that I love her, that I honor her. Just to assure her of my love, because she is my mom.

You know, there's something--and I'm sure that most people would relate--about mom's--about family--that ties us together. It's in our common cellular structure--in our DNA and our RNA and maybe that's where our spirits reside, in our RNA--that binds us to one another, even when we are half a world away...

ODE to Mom

I pay tribute to the portal of my existence
You
paved the pathway of my entry into this world
You
nurtured me from the moment of conception
to that reception of birth
You
paved the pathways of my childhood
nurtured me, blessed me with a fighter's spirit--
in you a stubborn Scottish streak,
in me dauntless determination.
You
have always defended
have always supported
have consistently loved
me
through all the stages of my life
You
have been an anchor of consistency
consistently loving me
supporting me
believing in me.

You
have been the bond of love
that has held the scattered fragments of family
together
We
keep coming back
to you
for you
because of you
We
are connected
We continue to connect
because of you

Indeed, I wonder,
What will we do without
You

I pay tribute to the portal of my existence
Our DNA binds us
Our love holds us
Our spirits meld us

I love
You


~ Wendy ~

Shopping -- Basotho female style!

Ah, yesterday was a bit of fun! I must preface this entry by stating that Basotho, despite the fact that they will wear gumboots or bedroom slippers anywhere, or plastic grocery bags on their heads in the rain, ARE very--very fashion conscious. I know it. I SEE how fashionably women here dress. Make us Westerners look like dishrags!

So...yesterday, Benno got a lovely (fashionable) gift. Now, anyone who truly KNOWS Benno would understand that fashion is on the bottom of his priority list; and I've given up and left him to fend for himself on that front (which may not be the wisest wifely thing to do). Anyway, we are blessed with people who ARE fashion conscious and care! So...yesterday, Benno's Basotho 'daughter', Bokang brought him a present. You see, a few weeks back she heard that we are going to a wedding this weekend--today actually--and she just kept asking Ntate Benno, "What are you wearing". His responses, not surprisingly, were less than satisfactory to her, so she devised a plan. 'Fixing his collar' one Sunday in church, she was actually checking his shirt size ;-) So...yesterday she presented him with a lovely present of a shirt and tie.

Benno and his fashion benefactor.

Whew! He looks GOOD! She was right, bless her loving heart! He NEEDED that shirt and tie.

Wow, now he's stylin'.

Then...my Basotho daughter, 'M'e Lerato gave me her Seshoeshoe (special Basotho dress) a few weeks back, because, well...she's expanded out of it. I was touched and blessed...and, well, yesterday was payback time. She was pouting because she had NOTHING to wear to the wedding, so, "Maybe I just won't go".

My response, in true Wendy style, was sympathetic, of course ;-) "Good grief, this is a wedding! They're looking at the bride and groom. Not you! Isn't your friendship with Ntate more important than how you look? Eeish! ..." (Now those of you who truly know and love me will understand that that's a pretty typical Wendy-type response ;-)

Anyway, she tried on whatever I had that MIGHT work (giggle, giggle...NO, come on, seriously, we tried. Let's just say, it was a squeeze) and the two Basotho women present: Bokang and one of my students...WELL! The words were FLYIN' in Sesotho. Apparently I was crazy to even THINK that these items looked EVEN HALF decent! "Come on, Mrs. Fath," retorts my student, "you dress well all the time. Can't you SEE..." was the gist of it.

So... we had about half an hour before the shops closed. We piled into the car. I drove furiously downtown. We jumped out. Told the parkin' lot guy. "NO, don't wash the car. We'll be right back!" Yeh! Walked into the FIRST shop. Paced the aisles. Sesotho...Sesotho...Sesotho. Something, something... Dress down. Jacket down. 'M'e Lerato into the change room...Dress on. Too small. Bigger size. Dress on. Jacket on. Jacket too small. Bigger jacket. Different jacket. Money from me ;-) to Bokang. Bokang at the till paying. 'M'e Lerato getting dressed into her street clothes. DONE! Gosh! I SHOULD have timed it. No kidding, it could not have been more than fifteen minutes! Never, never in my life have I seen such efficiency in shopping. These women are a wonder! Basotho women rule! My jaw is just now getting realigned.

And we're stylin, too'.

So... we're off to wedding pretty soon! It'll be an all-day affair. The last one we went to was stunningly beautiful. Gorgeous blend of Basotho and Western traditions. White, black, gold... lovely. Invitation indicated it would begin and 10 am. Began at noon. This one: invitation indicates will begin at 10 am... Well, we'll enjoy visiting while we wait. It'll be worth the wait. Wonderful young man from Beautiful Gate is getting married ;-) It'll be worth the wait. It'll be good to reconnect with BG folks.

Cheers and a toast to the bride and groom!

Wendy

Ah Lesotho

Ah Lesotho, where the street sweepers wear orange overalls, and brave the traffic whizzing by as they push their brooms, sweeping up the dirt and grit and garbage along the main streets of Maseru.

Ah Lesotho, where being a bricklayer includes knowing the in and outs of manning a bucket, or rather brick, brigade to move a load of bricks from a truck, or to an upper floor of a building, where the more skilled toss and catch two bricks at a time.

Ah Lesotho, where a little girl’s glamour is stepping into/onto a couple of mismatched pop cans which fold around and clamp onto her heels. Then, in mincing steps, she parades down the runway in her mind.

Ah Lesotho, where the rain is just another burden to bear on the way to work or church or other commitment. I often wonder what it is like, for few have an umbrella, to arrive at work or church or wherever, damp and cold. Yet they stoically carry on, dressed in their best, committed to getting where they are going despite the rain.

Ah Lesotho, where the parking hawkers (those that find you a parking space for a handout) double and triple park vehicles to increase their take. For the past number of months part of one two-lane street has been down to one lane, due to the triple parked cars. More recently drivers have had to brave oncoming traffic to skirt the now sometimes quadruple parked vehicles. (I often wonder how the guys parked next to the curb ever get out.)

Ah Lesotho, where there is always a vehicle or more on a street with a wheel off, maybe a flat, but more often a bearing or other front end failure being repaired.

Ah Lesotho, where taking my vehicle to the repair shop, lest I end up being one of those break downs on the street, has resulted in innumerable trips back and calls to the shop. “Are the parts in yet?” “Have they been ordered?” Three weeks after the initial visit, “Okay, yes, I can bring the car in?” Six hours later, “Ntate, no one in town had the parts, but maybe tomorrow.” My car sits in the shop, apart, overnight. The next day, still no parts, the old parts are put back on so I have the car for the weekend. The next week, “We have the parts.” The car is taken in. Six hours later, “Ntate, the number on the box indicated it was the right part but it does not fit. We will try to … .” I had to pay a deposit to start this process. Will I ever see my car fixed? Can I get my deposit back? It is now five weeks on. Things take time I guess.

Ah Lesotho, where despite their general reputation for surly customer service, I have met many friendly and helpful people in my recent business dealings. Even the folks where I am ostensibly getting my car repaired have been friendly and sympathetic, despite being frustratingly inefficient.

Ah Lesotho, where my troubles, put into perspective really are of little consequence. A recent news headline proclaims that one in four goes to bed hungry. Where the King in his address to the national university graduating class cautions the graduates about their limited job opportunities in an economy where unemployment exceeds forty percent.

Ah Lesotho, where yet the sounds of children’s laughter echoes up from yards and streets. Where young athletes train (running up a hill** - sometimes backwards - that this one time marathoner can barely make half way up) dreaming their dreams of stardom, where the rhythms of life carry on and the human spirit still strives to rise above the shackles and deprivation of want and need.

Ah Lesotho.

~ Benno ~

**(Few vehicles can make it to the top of that hill without downshifting - for many it means downshifting all the way to first gear.)

Mad Dog of Mohololi Street

We live on Mohololi St. (pronounced Moh-hoh-loh-dee). It is a reasonably quiet and safe neighborhood, though we have had intruders on a couple of occasions. After one such intrusion when our duplex neighbors had their car damaged we borrowed a dog to create at least the illusion of some security. Well the dog’s owner is our new neighbor so now the dog, Spodge, is back.

Spodge is a black lab. He is most dangerous when he sometimes slams into ones legs when you are playing with him. On the plus side he does bark when someone strange is at the gate, though once he gets to know someone he is pretty ambivalent about them coming or going.

The other day as I was driving up to the gate a number of boys from the neighborhood greeted me. “Can we play with the dog,” one asked? Great, I thought, just what I need, a guard dog who is the friend of everyone in the neighborhood. I hastily concocted a little lie, “Aah, but the dog might bite you.” (Spodge has not bitten anyone to my knowledge.) I parked the car and went back to close the gate. The boys were still there. They seemed undeterred by my comments about being bitten.

Likely they had seen Spodge laying around, sleeping in the sun, or playing with our Basotho friends, knocking little kids over with his wagging tail, or nonchalantly wandering around the neighborhood. At any rate, they were not buying my comments about Spodge biting them. They had a come back, “We will just get him to play with our soccer ball if we think he might bite.” So there I am fumbling over what to say to deflect that offer. “Aww ... , the dog might bite the ball and deflate it.” It was then that Spodge intervened.

Either he interpreted the pheromones I was giving off in my angst as me feeling threatened or he felt he had to live up to my suggestion that he was a ferocious guard dog. At any rate, this blaze of black ferocity comes charging up behind me, barking and woofing and growling. Right past me he blasts and kids go scattering like chickens before a fox; the soccer ball rolling to my feet, cast aside in the boys’ head long dash for safety.

When I returned the ball, there were no more questions about 'playing' with the dog. After closing the gate, I gave Spodge a good scratch and chuckled. The stories those boys would be telling their friends and family would do nicely in creating the myth of the “Mad Dog of Mohololi Street”.

~ Benno ~

Waiting and Other Things

Waiting. I find myself waiting often here in Lesotho. It is just part of life. Right now I am waiting. A meeting is scheduled, but no one is yet here and the meeting was set for twenty minutes back. The other day I sent someone a note, asking whether we should meet at a certain time on Saturday or set a time for Monday. No response. But then around the tentative meeting time a call. “I am waiting.” Her response to my cajoling about letting me know in advance was simply, “I thought I would let you know when I arrived, and then I would wait for you.” She thought nothing of having to wait, and really, in this case she was being thoughtful of this 'lehooa'; she didn’t wish to keep me waiting.

Or maybe folks here like meetings no better than anywhere. When it is going hiking with the same folks, they are right on time. I sure enjoyed a couple of recent hikes we took. Instead of heading for the mountain tops, we went down into the river valleys. It is spring and the air and days are still cool, but come the hot days of summer I will be looking forward to getting back to some of the falls and beautiful pools we found.

Reflections

Wendy had most everyone on the 'water slide'

and into this pool.

Climbing up a water fall.

In my last entry I mentioned wondering where and how God would lead in the days ahead. It looks like another move for us. Again, we have been asked to vacate our premises, to make room for someone else. I was telling Wendy that folks are not too interested in places until she gets her hands into them, adds her touch of charm and turns a bland, unkept space becomes a welcoming home. Then those who were ambivalent about the space decide they would like to have the space back. Our current home is actually a YWAM location. Their suggestion was they had no need for it back in late 2008, so we could stay in it, ostensibly for as long as we desired. However, folks from YWAM who have recently visited have commented on how nice it now looks. So now … now we will see where God has for us next. Wendy commented that it is God’s way of reminding her not to put down roots in a place, but rather, in the lives of others.

The sunsets we will miss when we have to move.

The Mustard Seed (Lesotho) Society (MSS) is now a registered entity in Lesotho. The process went reasonably smoothly everything considered. Today when the team again met, we developed a modest plan to have some small programs in place by December. The most important initial program will be simply to compile information on how to access school funding for girl orphans, and to assist them in the application process. We also want to offer opportunities for the girls to develop confidence and a sense of self worth, as well as teamwork skills. There is an organization here that offers one and two day such workshops so we will be looking to organize such an event in the New Year. So, though the Mustard Seed still feels a bit unstructured we are beginning to develop some programs. Hopefully in the next couple of months I will feel more comfortable, and less in that ‘in between place’, as we begin to provide concrete supports to girl orphans and young women here in Lesotho.

The Mustard Seed - Mark 4:30-32

But back to waiting. When folks finally all arrived today and we at last got started (only an hour late), I asked the group why it was that for hiking they were ready on time, but for meetings not so? Were the meetings that bad? They verbally said it was not the meetings, but the unreliability of the local transport system on weekends. There may be some truth to their excuse, as when hiking I tend to pick them up at their homes. Maybe I don’t’ need to go scrounging up a John Cleese video on meetings after all.

~ Benno ~

This pool was clear, but cold.

I'm looking forward to coming back on a hot day this summer.