Offerings and Confessions (UB#12)

There is a book I have been reading all semester. It is not about thanksgiving. Yesterday, on American Thanksgiving, the chapter I read just happened to be about thanksgiving. This is a quote the author used:

 "In the world to come all sacrifices will cease,

but the thank-offering will remain for ever; 

likewise all confessions will cease, 

but the confession of thanks will remain for ever." 

This is apparently a saying from the Tannaitic times (1st-2nd century AD). How crazy is it that in the 1st century AD thanksgiving was probably just as important or more important than it is now... also whoever started this pretty much hit the nail on the head... at least for our culture.

How often do I forget to be thankful?!? I get caught up in complaining, whining, and just doing life and not only do I forget what there is to be thankful for I somehow manage to forget the joy of giving thanks.

Pretty much everyone has what I like to call a fallback sermon. One of the PAs (basically an RAs) for the program I'm doing right now has a personal mantra of thanksgiving. On two occasions she has brought to our attention, as a group, different issues and then proceeded to suggest that we overcome those issues by putting on attitudes of thanksgiving.

It is a beautiful thing to watch people who have struggled together begin to purposefully confess their thanks. It is an even more beautiful thing to witness the difference that purposeful giving of thanks can make within a community. Giving thanks brings people and communities into joy. Persistent confession of thanks will slowly change your heart.

I am grateful for at least one day every year on which I am reminded of the joy of giving thanks.

(Also.. I'm thankful that yesterday I got to bake sugar cookies and pumpkin bread... in Uganda!)

Lake Victoria Venture (UB#10)

Yesterday I walked along the shores of Lake Victoria with a group of people from my practicum. We wound our way through the fish market and then sat on the shore and watched the sun set as we snacked on fresh fried tilapia. Lake Victoria- like most large bodies of water- is beautiful. The lapping of the waves brings a sense of peace even to the busy (and somewhat smelly) marketplace. I thought it was beautiful. Then I noticed the awe of one of the men I work with, he is about sixty-five years old but his excitement was similar to that of a five-year old boy who has spotted a sweet tractor. He watched in awe as boats came and went, pondered where the boats could be going, and ended with a short speech about how he could not understand the complexity of living near the water. At sixty-five he had only been to the lake once before and had never ridden in a boat.

I am privy to a hoard of experiences unimaginable to some people. Yet my life is not fuller or deeper than Mr. Senjuwa’s. Those experiences in themselves have not given me greater wisdom or understanding. Standing there on the lakeshore I experienced maybe one quarter the joy that Mr. Senjuwa was experiencing.

May my past experiences never dull my ability to rejoice in the little things because those little things probably aren’t as little as they might seem.

(Photo Credit: this photo was stolen... from google... sorry)

The Joy of Knowing

We are so intricately made that we don’t even know ourselves. How mind-boggling is that? We blink and suddenly we’ve changed… yet somehow we convince ourselves that we know and understand each other. That we know all there is to know about the friend we’ve known for three months or a year… or at least all that is worth knowing. Man. There are so many layers to every person I’ve ever met. How can I continue being content knowing people for four months and then moving on?

I want to settle into one place. One set of people. I want to spend years and years, the rest of my life really, focusing on knowing one set of people. And I don’t just want to know. I want to love. I don’t want to back away when I figure out that you’re not perfect. I want to embrace that imperfection because it is exactly the same imperfection I see in myself. We’re all walking around missing the mark and we’re all covering it up. I want to be with people who know my depravity. I want to live into the truth that I am corrupt, not because I want to be more corrupt but because I don’t think that corruption can be escaped until I admit it and I don’t think admitting it to myself carries nearly as much weight as allowing other people into my life to see me for who I really am.

I wasn’t made to run to God alone. I can sometimes convince myself that my relationship with God was meant to be a ‘me and God strolling through a quiet meadow’ type relationship. Then I mess up. And God uses someone else to turn me back in the right direction. God uses my friends, my acquaintances, my professors, even strangers to turn me around- to fill me up with hope. Only when I enter into the stampede of people running towards God do I ever seem to experience meadow-moments. I want this shared experience to be deepened by time. We are dreadfully wicked and delightfully liberated by the same God. With this knowledge, why would we not want to strive for greater knowledge of who we are- together? Simply put- let us endeavor to be friends.

Story Time (UB#9)

Story of the day: 

Sometimes a Ugandan guy will want your number.

Like. Really-really-really want your number. 

At first you wont want to give it to him. 

Then you really wont want to give it to him. 

Then he will give a 30 minute speech on how phone numbers represent relationships (because clearly you aren't friends until you are willing to share your number... but as soon as you share your number, then you are brother and sister... and also, sharing your Ugandan number will help you to remain in contact even when you go back to the United States... it all makes sense). 

Then you still will not want to give it to him. 

Then he will tell you that you seem like a very good person. 

Then you will cave and give him your number. 

Jokes. 

You will then decide that you should probably run away.

(but before you get a chance to run) He will tell you that not giving him your number is mis-representing white people and next time a white person asks for his number he will not give it. 

Then you laugh. And tell him how sad that is. 

Then your normal Ugandan friend rescues you.

The End.

(yes. this blog should disappoint you considering it comes directly 

after me telling you that I wanted this blog to be quality.)

Bllogoogoggging

This blog is about my blog. It is so easy to feel like I ‘should’ blog, like for some reason it is another obligation in my life. I put blogging on my to-do list, but I don’t think that is actually where it belongs. Let’s be honest, there aren’t very many people who read this blog, and I love the people who do, so why would I want to force them to read junk? I want this blog to be a place where I can share what I’m learning and not a place where I have to fabricate something so that people think I am learning. I don’t want to have a daily blog, or even a weekly blog, because I don’t want to blog just to blog. I'm sorry for the blogs I have posted that have been pointless. My goal from here on out is to only post blogs that actually help you to know more about what I am learning and experiencing… so if the blogging gets sparse, so be it.