Bigger than All of Us

This Week of Missions was bigger than any of its participants. Pat’s devos got us in gear for a great day, but each day was bigger than him. My cousin J.J. Peterson gave AMAZING Bible talks, but even with each of us plastered to our seats at the end of his lecture, it was bigger than that. Jake, Allison, Nathan, Steven and Cole brought their instruments and gave us AMAZING worship music. But the amazing teachers, the awesome worship, and the incredible company that surrounded this week was much too small to describe it with.

The theme, I saw as I walked in on Monday, was Heroes. Personally, I sighed inwardly, because I had been through this theme many times and never really gleaned much from it before. Boy, was I wrong. But this week would have been just as huge even if the theme had been “The End of the World” or something—no, this week was bigger than that.

Each night the worship got progressively more and more deep into my soul. The songs didn’t really change much. The motions were the same, but the hearts involved in it weren’t. It was bigger than the music—it was something that touched each soul at exactly the same moment with a different feel and intensity.

It had to have been God. We all felt the Holy Spirit just move through the little building we gathered in. Pat taught the needed qualities of a hero—Empathy, Thankfulness, Trust and Humility. Everyone I talked to throughout the day used that word in some way in his convo.

It had to have been God. After each sermon-thingy that J.J. taught, there was a silence that told of wheels turning in heads and heavy breathing that clued those who would hear in to the fact that we had been holding our breath. It was awesome.

What if being a Christian is not so much believing in Jesus, as believing that He believes in you?      ~J.J. Peterson

It had to have been God. No one else could have gathered the amount of praise our group of 60 teens could muster and fill the space left with so much abundantly more than they could ever imagine. Each night we left with “glowing faces” (as told us by one of our missionary speakers) and hearts full to overflowing. But each day we awoke ready for more.

On Thursday, we had the main missions speaker, Dr. Mark Moore, come and speak to us. He challenged us to not just leave with a camp high, but to live it—to carry our Bibles around, to pray out loud and to start Bible studies on campus. We all nodded our heads and I whispered my approving “amen.” But that’s not as far as it went. Tim, one of our leaders, got up and said, “Now, I know Mark just gave you a challenge. But I challenge you to do his challenge. To really live it. … Now, I’m gonna pray in a moment, and when I pray, if you want to go home and live out this challenge, stand up. Just stand with me and pray. Okay?”

We all bowed our heads.

“Father,” Tim began with emotion flooding his voice. He paused as the sound of an ocean filled the room. Chairs moved back. Shoes rubbed the carpet floor. Almost the whole room stood at that one word.

For two moments, the whole room was quiet. The only sound to be heard was Tim trying to catch his breath. Over the microphone it was amplified and when his breath was knocked away by the roar we all felt the same. After a moment more, he began his prayer: “Father, I want to thank you for every person standing here tonight.”

And Friday? Friday was to equip us for carrying out our new mission. Our tool? Prayer. Prayer was to allow us to change from the rejects Jesus chose to the ones He calls us to be. And the reason we need prayer is because everything in life is supposed to be bigger than us. It’s bigger than the air we breath or this world we’ll leave—it has to be God.

Des Points des Villas <<Of Viewpoints>>

Sitting on the plane, your viewpoint is often much different from your normal vantage point. The giants you faced on the ground now seem little more than  grasshoppers. The skyscrapers you admired may very well seem as a cat’s scratching post. Nothing really looks the same.

Becoming a third-culture kid scrambles viewpoints like no other experience I’ve ever had. The world is not only America, Canada and Mexico. In fact, the world is not even about  America! No, no. In most places, America is like a bit of honey dripped on their dry bread or rice. Children dying of starvation are more real than most celebrities. Their skeletons have a thin canvas of skin straining to cover them. Their arms and legs have not the muscle needed for the strenuous activities they love. No, the myths cultivated by the American culture don’t hold their own when seen through unAmericanized spectacles.

Not everything is made in China. Not every item of food on any given menu is delectable—or edible for that matter. Not all people understand what you say, even if you are both speaking English. Not all roads are smooth. Not all people pay attention to time’s rules. No matter how different a person is from you, your hearts can still blend into a life-long friendship. And not all things sold for high prices have a high value.

Even if we’re shipwrecked in a sea of faces, each water droplet that makes up the ocean is real. Every pair of eyes we observe has a story behind them. And once we realize that, our points des villas can change—and I’m not talking about altitude.

Saying Good-bye: Take 2

I was unprepared for this. Nobody told us we’d have to say goodbye to friends over and over again. Some farewells are for forever (as far into the future as we can see, at least), while others are for months at a time. Neither of these are easy.

After I left my friends in Dufur, I didn’t think I’d have to leave anyone else. And then after leaving my friends I made in Independence, I thought I’d not have anymore goodbyes to say until I left America again. I was wrong.

I haven’t had to deal with the death of any of my friends yet, but part of my life dies when each leaves. When a Ugandan (or, in this case Sudanese) girlfriend moves, it not only changes how you live, but how you pray. You never know if they’ll be treated well or if you’ll ever get news on their life again.

When a fellow missionary kid leaves, you watch part of your heart walk off and some of your most intimate secrets and memorable experiences fly over the ocean. These I have more of a chance of seeing again, but only the Lord knows when or how—or even if. Memories are still as much a part of your mind as when the Ugandan shifts, but your lives are connected easier and more completely with the fellow American—or, more precisely, third culture kid.

When you leave it’s a different matter. Not only do you know the life you left will change, but you know you will change. Not only do you know you will miss many experiences at home, but you don’t know what experiences await you. I am leaving not know for sure that I’m going to come back to the same people. Not only will my life change again, but my friends’ lives will change, too. Not only will I be different, but when I return my life will be different again.

I wasn’t prepared for this—and I wasn’t ready for so much change. I don’t think anyone could be.  

Little Joys

Sunday School at Acacia Community Church can never be uneventful. :)

Today was my family’s last time there for 3 and a half months. I don’t even know if the kids will remember me.  But I’ll remember them and… many memories as well.

Today? After the Israelites (a.k.a. the kids) defeated the Mideonites (a.k.a. the crayons on the carpet) by following what God had told Gideon (a.k.a. me), and the trumpets blew and God confused the enemy, we continued to the outdoors.

“1, 2, 19, 16, 91, 100, 94!” the chant went randomly, but they managed to shout in harmony. After about 125, I stopped counting correctly for them to echo me and at that point, Josh came and began teasing them from beside the swing.

“Uncle Josh! Uncle Josh! Ucle Goss! Ucle Joss! Ucle Joyce! Uncle Joyce!!” Their chant transformed the words they began with and they ended with renaming Josh Uncle Joyce.

A Sunday in the Life of Janae and Josh Peterson in Uganda at Acacia? Eventful!

Lessons

Question: “What are some of the lessons you’ve learned while in Uganda?”
To this, my pride would want to answer, “Lessons? Who needs to be taught any lessons?” But my honesty would give a much longer explanation.
I believe that God took me off the continent of North America to try me in new ways. I was holding on tight to the ideas I’d always known. Moving from Dufur to Independence was not one of those ideas. How much more not so was moving from America to—to a country I’d never even heard of before! He moved me from my friends, my comforts and my lifestyle.
But I see I don’t need them now. That, right there, is number one lesson I’ve learned in this journey of eight thousand miles, two years and a million tears. I don’t need those things I called my life. NOT that I don’t WANT them. I just don’t NEED them.
One of my dad’s favourite mottos is “Plans change.” Being a missionary is being flexible from the very essence of it’s beginning. I planned to spend my whole life in Dufur, as far as my subconscious ideas went. With one “plan” changed, I figured I’d have a miserable life in a remote place far from any American civilization.  And those plans, plus many others, have made me realize flexibility is a necessity.
One more lesson everyone should learn and apply: fitting in is more of something you allow than something you do. If I tried to make people like me, they thought me petty and annoying. But if I gave up—which I did—they found I, in myself, was someone worth hanging out with. I am so thankful they gave me a second chance. So thankful.
All in all, time is of WAY less importance than we Americans usually value it as. Relationships--with God or with others--are what I found really deserves emphasis. 

Be a Missionary

Be a missionary every day.

Tell the world that Jesus is the way.

Here, at camp Wi-Ne-Ma, or on the avenue,

Africa or Asia, the choice is up to you!

So, be a missionary,

be extraordinary!

Be a missionary today! Let’s go!

Be a missionary. That, my friends, is an imperative sentence. The subject is you. It leaves no doubt whether or not we should be a missionary. It does leave the question yet to be answered, “where?” For me, I can say I live in Africa. For you? You don’t have to come half-way around the world to fulfill God’s calling. But I’m sure you’ve heard this before.

This song we sang at Wi-Ne-Ma every year I went. I knew the words, I loved the tune, and so did all the other kids who bothered to sing along. But I didn’t follow the song.

Be extraordinary! Yes, this is indeed an imperative sentence. But it’s also an exclamatory sentence. Being a missionary takes thought and work. It also takes faith. Being extraordinary takes guts. Daring to step out, walk away, change the flow, stand up.

On the avenue. Get the Grammar lesson? This is not a sentence, I’m sorry. But where does the song suggest we be a missionary? On the avenue.

Why are we so callous to this!? Loving and caring for people around you shouldn’t stop when you come home from a mission trip. In our back yard, if we have to, is where we should invest in others’ lives! What’s your neighbor’s middle name? Uh-huh. Me neither.

In other words, you don’t have to come half-way around the world to fulfill God’s calling for you. I did, but that’s ‘cause God had (and still has!) some important lessons to teach me. Will you allow Him to teach you, too? 

“Being a missionary is being flexible. When God changes your plans, you have to be flexible and let Him work.”

The Sickness of Not Being “Normal”

American Rejects are what we call ourselves. We won’t ever quite fit in America anymore, I believe, but we’re still Americans. I’ve mentioned this before, but I can’t help but think on this as our time for “furlough” nears.
A dear friend once said, “God is preparing us to go to America [through our homesickness].” But preparation hurts. I feel the homesickness they say comes and goes, but I can’t see how this will help in America. 31 days, I’ll be the first to tell you, is how many days we have until we’re flying out to “our country.”
Today, America is 225 years old. It and its culture are at the very heart of who I am. But America is not a “normal” country.
If all we see are people like us, we never see how weird we really are. America is often seen as a “melting pot” and it’s totally true! I was telling my Ugandan friend just the other day: “If you were to go to America and find a ‘Ugandan’ food restaurant, even the posh wouldn’t taste the same.” We cultivate everything to our liking. Bigger, better, sweeter, easier, longer, funner.
And this is not normal.
I’m not “normal”, not even by American standards! Pastor’s kid, missionaries’ kid—and now my grammar is WAY off of what my English teacher instructs me of. America won’t be normal to me. It won’t even be the “normal” I left. Its going to be America: a strange place on the other side of the world. At least until the day I forget what is forever implanted in my heart.

So, if you see me in America and ask me how I’m doing, I’m likely to say, “Fine,” or if you ask if I liked the peanut butter sandwich (I didn’t, by the way.), “Eh, somehowly.” Or when I mix up my verb tenses and turn adverbs to adjective, just know—I have the sickness of not being normal.