MK Experiences

I am not normal; I am a missionary’s kid. MKs, as they’re called, have their own “normal” and are redefining youth. I get asked a lot "What experience was the most exciting?" That's as hard to answer as "Where is home?" So, I'll just go for it. These all happened to me within the last four years. If you got questions, just ask, I got stories :)

If I hadn’t moved to Uganda as an MK, I’d never have…

been to Africa,
handed out stuffed animals to dying African children on Christmas Eve,
worried about the threat of a terrorist attack on my church on Sunday,
been the only white person in a room of starving children,
flown over an ocean,
been excited to get “American food” for Christmas or a birthday,
sung “Jesus Loves Me” in a language other than English, Spanish or French,
felt my “home” lies over an ocean,
had to turn down MULIPLE marriage proposals in one day,
ridden on a wooden boat built to hold 30 people with 45+ other people, chickens, goats and luggage during a thunderstorm,
had a friend that was a mother at 13 because of slavery and racism,
had to explain to a perfect stranger why I wasn’t married and a mother yet,
dealt daily in a currency other than American dollars,
had a deep conversation with a stranger (also an MK),
had Christmas in February or a birthday a month late because that’s when the presents arrived,
cooked on a gas stove (and tried to light an electric stove with a match),
used a generator when the power goes out every night,
had a monitor lizard attack our guard dogs,
used, reused, and rereused Ziploc bags or plastic forks,
used inverters to convert 220 to 110 power,
travelled all over America so that my daddy could preach at churches around the country,
had to choose one desired possession over another to take to have for the next three years due to luggage limits,
rode in an airplane more than 12 hours straight,
broken out from being allergic to and eating green mangos,
killed a snake not native to America,
killed a poisonous snake in my church “sanctuary” during worship,
gone without a microwave for more than two years,
rafted the Nile river,
spelled color and favorite with a U in it and crossed their sevens,
held a Bible in a language other than English,
gotten invited to board at a boarding school in another country,
depended on solar electricity to do school,
not really wanted anything for Christmas because I haven’t seen things I wanted,
worried that the mosquito that just bit me might have given me malaria,
had a milkman and veterinarian that makes house calls,
listened to a sermon in three different languages at a time,
done school on a dirt floor in a cement “hut",
called my suitcases “home” without thinking,
been on the opposite side of the world from both my parents at the same time,
learned first-hand how inflation works before reaching high school,
referred to their grade as “P6” or “S2” instead of “7th grade” or “sophomore”,
purposefully not worn a specific color in public because it may cause a riot during elections,
been almost tear-gassed,
unconsciously thought in a language my parents don’t speak,
been told to my face that I was not allowed to pray for a dying child by that child’s mother,
perfected the art of wearing a self-created mask while on display Sunday after Sunday morning,
spent the night at their best friend’s house and talked about the possibility they might die from a terrorist attack the next day because the US Embassy warned of such things,
played an ultimate Frisbee game with my youth group where people are shouting in three different languages,
or got up at 2 in the morning to watch the Superbowl, even though the commercials weren’t shown.

Yup, the life of an MK is diverse, but… I wouldn’t give it up for anything yet. :) 

Trust...

Me: God, can I ask You a question?
God: Sure.
Me: Promise You won't get mad?
God: I promise.
Me: Why did You let so much stuff happen to me today? 
God: ...What do you mean?
Me: Well, I woke up late.
God: Yes...
Me: My car took forever to start.
God: Okay.
Me: At lunch they made my sandwich wrong & I had to wait.
God: Huummm
Me: On the way home, my phone went DEAD, just as I picked up a call
God: All right.
Me: And to top it all off, when I got home, I just want to soak my feet in my new foot massager & relax. BUT it wouldn't work!!! Nothing went right today! Why did You do that?
God: Let me see, the death angel was at your bed this morning & I had to send one of My Angels to battle him for your life. I let you sleep through that.
Me (humbled): OH...
GOD: I didn't let your car start because there was a drunk driver on your route that would have hit you if you were on the road.
Me: (ashamed)
God: The first person who made your sandwich today was sick & I didn't want you to catch what they have, I knew you couldn't afford to miss work.
Me (embarrassed):Okay...
God: Your phone went dead because the person that was calling was going to give false witness about what you said on that call, I didn't even let you talk to them so you would be covered.
Me (softly): I see God...
God: Oh and that foot massager, it had a shortage that was going to throw out all of the power in your house tonight. I didn't think you wanted to be in the dark.
Me: I'm Sorry God.
God: Don't be sorry, just learn to Trust Me.... in All things , the Good & the bad.
Me: I will trust You.
God: And don't doubt that My plan for your day is Always Better than your plan.
Me: I won't God. And let me just tell you God, Thank You for Everything today.
God: You're welcome child. It was just another day being your God and I Love looking after My Children... 

What do I know of Holy?

by Addison Road

I didn’t write these words, but I can’t think of a better way to paraphrase this.

I’ve made you promises a thousand times.
I try to hear from heaven, but I talk the whole time.
I think I made you too small
I never feared you at all.
If you touched my face would I know you?
Look into my eyes could I behold you?

What do I know of you who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood but the shore along your ocean?
Are you fire, are you fury?
Are you sacred, are you beautiful?
So what do I know? What do I know of holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured you out.
Knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
how you were mighty to save.
Those were only empty words on a page.
Then I caught a glimpse of who you might be.
The slightest hint of you brought me down to my knees.

So what do I know of you who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood but the shore along your ocean?
Are you fire, are you fury?
Are you sacred, are you beautiful?
So what do I know? What do I know of holy?

What do I know of holy?
What do I know of wounds will heal my shame
and a God who gave life its name?
What do I know of holy?
Of the one who the angels praise?
All creation knows your Name.
On earth and heaven above,
what do I know of this love?

So what do I know of you who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood but the shore along your ocean?
Are you fire, are you fury?
Are you sacred, are you beautiful?
Oh what do I know, what do I know of holy?

Little Black Snake

I bet most of you have never killed a "poisonous" snake during church before, huh? That's what I thought. Yeah, I have, right after the pausing prayers, too. See, I was sitting next to Kenna and Mrs. Davis with my brother and family behind me. Pr. Terry's son Jonah was preaching.
"In Jesus' name, amen." As soon as Jonah finished praying Josh (my brother) leaned forward and asked Kenna, "Can I have your water bottle?" We both turned to him to inquire why he'd ask such an odd request in the middle of church, no less. "Well, there's a snake by your Bible." I jumped up with the rest of the congregation as the intro for the next song started, but Kenna stayed quite still. I can't blame her for being afraid of snakes, I very much dislike them myself. Josh grabbed her water bottle and sure, enough, out slithered a little black snake.
"Should I kill it?" I don't know why I asked, I definitely wasn't expecting any answer, let alone the one that came. "NO!" I don't know who said it, but no one came up to save the thing, so I commenced smashing. I picked up my plastic chair and placed the leg squarely on the head of the "beast." All six inches of it wiggled and writhed, while Josh waded through the isles to go find a stick. Mrs. Long from the row ahead of us parted the chairs and stepped in front of me with her sharp shoes. I don't know what she did, but the snake was still alive when she went back to her seat, so I continued smashing. Some guy I didn't recognise came up with his pocket knife and stood about three feet away pointing the blade at the thing. Big help, dude.
As soon as the murmuring rustled through the crowd that there was a snake among us, ladies began exclaiming, "Should we get up on the chairs now!?" and "Ohhh, I bet there's more where that came from!" Mrs. Davis reminded us that "It's the smaller ones that have the most poison. Watch out! Don't let it bite you" as she backed out of the isle. I didn't say anything, but kept moving the leg of the chair to puncture the squirming head and break the open jaw. By the time I could hear the strains of the song again, Josh had returned with a twig and told me to just sit down on it. Not an inch of it was moving, but I thought a little extra weight on the point wouldn't hurt. Kenna returned from wherever she had gone and we kept singing. I finally stood back up, but at any little bug on my ankle or breeze in the grass tickling my feet, I did look down, I'll admit.
It didn't bite anyone. It's dead. All six inches of quarter-inch thick muscle terror are defeated.

Moral of the story: Don't ever let your brother close his eyes while praying in an outdoor church. He might miss a snake by your feet.

The Story We Missed

I could have chosen any place or any time period to come to you. I am the only one who ever had or ever will have that choice. I chose to come in shame and disgrace, in darkness, distrust and discomfort, in a dirty, grimy no-count town’s stable. I chose Bethlehem and I chose the rugged manger I used as a bed. I designed my very birth and planned it centuries beforehand. But it was nothing like what you sang about today at church.

I can see it now… every little detail from Gabrielle telling the girl Mary to the old kings from afar laying down their gifts of devotion to me. You know the story. I’ve heard you read it every year on the day you call my birthday.

When I sent Gabrielle down, I watched as Mary dropped her basket of bread rolls and fall to her knees at the sight of him. Her family was going to have a small gathering for her brother’s bar mitzvah and she had a lot to do to get ready for it. I watched her expression turn from fright to awe to wonder to submission. That’s why I chose her. Not because she was somebody special, but because in her mind she wasn’t. I loved her, and saw her heart was one of submission and devotion to me. As she knelt with her face to the ground, her very hands trembled from the realization of what she did not understand. I remember the shock and fear in her face as she gathered up the rolls and later told her mother what the angel had told her. She herself did not understand it, so she had no way of making her mother understand it. They waiting to tell her father, but that didn’t soothe his anger. I wish she would have been able to take comfort in my love during that hard time.

I remember the pain and hurt in Joseph’s eyes as Mary stood behind her parents and they told him and his parents what had happened. The young man could hardly believe his ears, but when his eyes confirmed his hearing, he knew he had to make a choice. Divorcing Mary was the only suitable thing to do in his eyes. The night before he broke off the engagement, I sent Gabrielle again. The relief his heart felt after the dream was immense. He was to marry Mary anyways. But to those around him, it would appear his guilty conscience was forcing him to marry the woman he had made pregnant, not God telling him to marry the virgin he loved. That rumor would never allow him peace. But as a man of honor, he never even mentioned the stress the marriage put on him to Mary.

When Joseph was informed of the decree Caesar Augustus, he and Mary went trusting me for safety and their future. But when there was no room in the inns, and the only room offered them was a dirty old stable, they had a hard time not thinking twice. The many, many people that had come to Bethlehem made the once small, meaningless town a bustling, over-crowded mob trying to get to everywhere at once. Joseph left Mary with a wary farewell in the stable as she cried out for the pain of birth, to go and find someone, some willing soul that might help him and his wife. He knew he ought to find food, too, but the markets were too densely populated and no food was in the stalls anyways. When he found a woman, she was carrying water or bringing in the last of the vegetables from the garden on her way to the kitchen. Not one would help him. When he saw a family member of his and without thought greeted them hastily, they snubbed him and went on. So he returned to hold Mary’s hand with no more than he left with except a few more bruises. With no light, Mary strangled his hands and arms, writhing with pain. When it was finally over, the only light was the points of light from the sky that angled in the cave of a stable. The only noise was the cattle and the chickens running around the couple and I. And I was put in a manger. The only food available was straw for the animals. Dirty, grimy, slobbery and itchy from the straw, the manger my mother put me in wrapped with what rags she had with her was not one you would offer an earthly king. And I had entered the world as one I had created. But, in the middle of an over-crowded town, Mary, Joseph and I were so alone. Although they held the God that made them, they felt they had not a soul in the world that cared whether they breathed their next breath.

The shepards woke me, but they were a welcome sight. Not a soul disturbed from their yelling and laughing cared to come out of their rooms or houses to see the One they had awaited hundreds of years if “crazy” shepards were sent to tell them of him.

Oh, Bethlehem, I came to you, but you sent me the ones you despised and to the only place you yourselves would never sleep. But I knew you would do that, and I planned it that way before Micah wrote of it. In the pageants I’ve seen lately, for lack of participants, the streets of Bethlehem are empty and only a few people wander the streets. I can’t help but shake my head—there was no way to see the new roman cobblestones laid on the streets for the number of feet trodding them.

So, that’s why I wonder why you celebrate it with candles, beauty and feasts. In years past, people celebrated Christmas Eve not with cheer, but with a pageant of how Adam and Eve failed. They went to sleep in deep thoughts of how much they needed the one promised. Those of you that know why you are doing the traditions you do, are seeming to fail at letting the world around you know the same. Even if people grasp that I was born that day, they don’t focus on it most times. “Santa Claus and his elves” have become more important to this day than I. It hurts when you leave me out, even in name.

I miss Christmas. I miss hearing you say that word, I miss being with you on my birthday, I miss being included. I miss you.

Loved you before you were born, as you are now and will continue to for the rest of eternity,

Jesus of Nazareth

Power

In underdeveloped countries there are some privileges not available that are in developed countries. You won’t find many smooth roads. You can’t get Reese’s peanut butter cups. You can’t buy 2% pasteurized milk. There are very few public parks. But the biggest fear of the American family is … duh-duh-duhn … no power.

Without power… think about it in your American home. No TV. No oven. No microwave. No fridge. No hot water for showers. No charging your phone or iPod.

But for us, recently, it’s been a way of life. The power goes off in the evening not to return until midmorning the next day. That’s just the way it goes. We have numerous candles located in logical positions around the house so that we can light them and have enough shine to not trip over things wherever we walk. We watch our movies before it gets dark, just in case we’d be blocked from finishing it due to power. Our oven is gas-operated. We haven’t had a microwave since we lived in America. We heat our water in the water-heater tank in the evening so that the water will remain hot into the next morning, then ration the length of use and amount of hot water. It’s life. I’m not complaining.

Okay, honestly, when have you ever said the claim, “I’m not complaining” and meant it? I’ll admit it, I kinda am complaining. I don’t mind the power going off at night, because I am the only one in my family that doesn’t use a fan at night. But when the power stays out all day long (like today) and prevents me from doing the school I need to catch up on is when I wish Eumeme (our power company) would turn our lights back on.

The generally assumed reason for the power outages was the dam they are building across the Nile river a few miles north of here. But, after reading a newspaper article, we found out that Eumeme (power company) didn’t pay its bill and is now on strict rations for the amount of power it receives. Then, we found out that it wasn’t Eumeme only that didn’t pay, it was the government itself. Who would have thought to blame the government for power outages?

When we were on furlough in America, the power went out once for about ten minutes. Oh man, were we excited about that. We missed the power going out once a week. I like candle-lit dinners and reading my Bible at night by candle flames. It has a sort of simplicity that brings one back to appreciating that simplicity.

The fan is now blowing its grace on me. The power is back. The boys are turning on the wii, the Christmas tree is aglow again. Dad turned off our generator. And our neighbors are starting up their music to blast out the night. (It’s Saturday.) Our anthem for our power goes along the tune of “There is Power in the Blood”

“There is power! Power!

wonder-working power in the house!

that we li-i-ive in!” 

Flight Night Sight

As the pinpoints of light form magnificent webs along the midnight horizon and tickle the opaque ground, I lean toward my window and watch America run away from me. Listening to music that resembles classic Chinese, I cherish my reveries and reminisce over my life. A cotton ball blanket warms the scene and blurs the pinpoints to a collage of beautiful auras and are a wonder to behold. The scene playing below my screen is an inspiring one, and so prods my mind to embrace its ironic symbolism and compare it to my life itself.

The web of lights that portray the complex civilization Americans live in depicts the complex working of my inner heart. Roads reflect threads that shine to meet my eyes and intricately intertwine neighborhoods and homes. They connect one complexity to the next. They may not be easy to travel or quick to arrive, but they deliver many to their desired destinations. Like the airplane I now sit in, they not only change destinations, but destinies.

If you know me, it’s not surprising to you the movie I chose to watch on my in-flight monitor is The Lion King. As lions, gazelles, hyenas and tropical savannah plant life flash in front of my face, I reconsider my MK (missionary kid) life. The best and worst part of being in such a life story is the hellos and the goodbyes that bring more hellos. Simba knew this and he is now experiencing the results of such a drastic change in lifestyle and surroundings. He goes from pride life to lone man with the guys. All he ever knew was turned upside down and his world flipped. This eventually leaves him unsure of who he is and what he is about, like it MKs like me. “You are the one who is confused! You don’t even know who you are!” Old Rafikki’s words resound in my heart.

The advice given Simba can apply to my heart as well. My very soul struggles with where I belong, who I am and what I am to be. Have I forgotten my Father? Is that why I have forgotten who I am? Or did I just lose myself along the way? But Mufasa says, “You are more than what you have become.” I still don’t get it, God. You definitely have a plan, You said so. But I just can’t understand Your superior logic.

Dismayed by these thoughts, I shift my head towards the ever shifting window view. The complexity of the light show is over. It was turned to a hazy navy blue with only the beacons on the wing to break the wonderful mesh of cotton clouds and soothing sky. The simplicity of the scene beckons me to rest on the confession that he knows better than I ever will or ever have to. The very thought that unnerved me just moments ago brings peace to my mind. He knows. I can forget all the memories in the world, if I only remember one thing—I am His, that’s who I am, and He knows me and my future. He knows. Amen. And one day, He’ll show me His world. And then we’ll never have to change again.