And then there are the other smells. Like the scent of the unfamiliar soap used to clean our clothes. Not bad, just unfamiliar. But often there is a strong smell of garbage, naturally, from the piles we walk by to get to school. Some of them are near dumpsters, others just on the side of the street. And you know when they’ve become too full because the next day that spot is black from being burned. So there’s the garbage, mixed with some sort of sharp sour smell, like when there is ketchup left in the trash. And other times there are wafts of poop when we walk through the neighborhood streets. Sometimes my bath water has a hint of fish smell to it as well, making me wonder how clean I’m getting. But its clear, cool and running, so I fell refreshed. Then there is my own sweat. I’m just going to be honest, okay, because TIA. We don’t always smell 100% nice. Who am I trying to impress though?
The door next to ours in the apartment complex it a place where Muslim children go called “tuition.” We hear them singing almost nightly. As Ryan pointed our at mass last week, “why do African voices always sound so good?” it reminds me of my family singing in Arusha, where I’ll be back to next week. Below our window the road provides us with plenty to hear. Cars driving by and the high zipping of motorcycles speeding unregulated it seems, normally late at night. I’ve seen two café racers, for those who know of my slight obsession. The sound of motors coming close, reaching their peak and then drifting away is actually pretty relaxing. If there is ever any silence on the road the voices of men still come through louder than our ceiling fan (also a soothing noise. We hear the young men across the street where they sit on their bikes outside one of the lil’ dukas (shops). These are scattered around town, selling food, toothpaste, air time and powdered milk. Voices rise up to greet each other or yell playful jests. We hear laughing a lot and sometimes kids and women’s voices. We hear a lot of “We!” (WHEY) which is short for “wewe,” meaning “you.” Get’s peoples attention. Things bang and break, like wood carts being dropped or bottles being ran over in the street. Horns warm people of the approaching vehicle. A few people are probably checking their mufflers after the loud exploding noises we’ve heard also. As the guys hang out at the duka, popular music plays and fills our room when the prayers from the near by mosque aren’t. I’m amazed at how much I can visualize of what’s going on outside just from what I hear.
I’ve fallen into the latest fad here among the Whitworth group though: The Hunger Games. Kate brought the first book and went into such a fuss about it when she found our Krista shared the same love for them, that she and Ryan bought the second and third books before leaving the
I’ve been at the same church since 1997, almost 15 years. I’ve had no reason to leave, it’s my home. Now I’m four months away from it. This is giving me ample time to see other denominations more closely, complete with special African bonus. My third Sunday here I went to a Calvary Chapel church which is more similar to my home church than the others and I’d like to go back when I return to Arusha. I’ve been to two very different Catholic services and an Anglican one. And, of course, I’m exposed to the 99% Muslims here. What I’ve been exposed to has made me reflect on my own personal honor and dedication to the Lord. (Nothing to do with my actual church. Note, I’m not comparing churches here, totally personal faith).
The catholic service is very scripted, more than I’m used to. As I watched and attempted to copy the guys in front of me and listen for the que, I finally saw beyond the rituals. Like kneeling next to the pew before sitting, or before entering or leaving the alter. Or dipping your fingers in the holy water before entering the sanctuary. I saw the honor behind all of it. Honoring the house with cleansing, honoring God’s alter by bowing, honoring the house of God so fervently. Coming to the Lord to be cleansed first then to ask for his blessing. I though about how often I jump into desperate, or even simple, prayers before saying, “Lord, thank you and forgive me, making me clean as I come to you.” I know that these are actions and that any religion can have things that become habitual, but God is using them to examine my heart. And I really enjoyed the Catholic rituals! Seeing the heart I was meant to have behind it.
I even started thinking about the structured dress of the bishop, the helper people (I’m so formal with my titles) and the one nun I saw. So clean cut and pure, white with a light blue head dress. A symbol of how anyone would want to present themselves before the Lord. And then it got really personal. Why do I wear my best dress on Sundays? Surely to show the Lord my great ability to produce new outfits. No, to look good! My Sunday attire, I have realized, always reflects back to me. How selfish. Am I going to start dressing like a nun? No. I’m also a practical thinker. But this was a personal heart check that God used from my experience at Mass, and it was good.
Most people know about the Muslim dedication to pray five times a day. Our religion professor in Arusha said an Indian student once told one of his Christian students “you only pray once a week!” The student rightly tried to correct his peer, saying he prayed daily, even multiple times a day, but it wasn’t enough for the Muslim student. Examining me, I think myself dedicated. But the Muslims here have really taught me something. I praise myself for the prayers I throw up lying in bed at night, and the little comments I make throughout the day. While these men, and women, make their way, multiple times a day, to sit facedown to Allah, God? Allah? It’s the same to them. How can I praise myself when I hardly give a sacrifice? And it’s so dumb of me too! To not spend time with Jesus, because its benefits me as well. It’s dedication and honor to my God, and it’s salvation and refreshment love that I so need. To not dedicate quality time to the Lord is spiritual suicide. And it’s my choice. I was hoping to become better at spending time with God, praying and reading my Bible, here in Africa , but it hasn’t actually happened until the last week and a half, after finally having these exposures and revelations.
So, while none of this has gotten into theological doctrine on faith, like being exposed to other religions often does, I’m glad because I don’t want to open that can of worms right now. God is using it to rework my relationship with him. (So don’t anyone start going at it the faith and works argument, because I’m not arguing nothin’). I’m sure my view will be challenged while I’m here too. But for now, will I bow when I pray? Will I only do it more rituality now? Maybe, probably not. Who knows. I am lead by the Holy Spirit and not worried about my actions, just how they reflect my heart. Because they don’t come from nothing, these rituals and actions. When I lift my arms in worship I do feel more free. When I speak out loud it is more powerful, declaring life, battling death. These things are very real and what I do does matter. My heart and my actions have been examined lately. So examine what you do, and don’t do, and why. How are you feeling lately? Have you spent time with your loving God today?
I do believe that heart leads to actions.
Jesus loved, Jesus acted.
Go love. Go do.
Hey sweetie. I've been carefully reading each of your posts. You are learning so much! Mostly, you're learning that you have much to learn. So proud of you. I can't wait to have conversations with you when you get home. Especially about some of your insights in this post. It's so exciting!
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