I have some vivid memories of what church was like when I was little. I remember how my friends and I would wait completely impatiently for the mandatory Wednesday night pre-Bible class worship time to be over so we could race upstairs to our room... Who finished first on a weekly basis was of the utmost importance in our lives. I remember every Bible class teacher I ever had, from Miss Ruth, to Miss Cindy, to Mr...oh wait, men aren't allowed to teach Bible class to kids until they are in high school :) Before that, it's a woman's role (please acknowledge the bleeding sarcasm in that sentence!).
What will my kids remember about church? I ask myself that most Sundays. Will they have any recollection that they were the only kid with the same color skin as them? Or will they be color blind, as we all should be? Will they remember chasing chickens and goats? Or will they remember being chased by African kids who would give anything just to touch their curly blond hair? Will they remember being passed around from woman to woman, each one taking their once in a very long while turn with the Yovo baby? Or will they remember passing person after person on the road, wondering if they have yet come to know Jesus? Will they remember playing on the wooden logs being used to prop up the falling mud wall of the church building? Or will they remember playing on the jungle gym at our traditional Sunday afternoon lunch spot?
Whatever it is that my boys remember, I desperately hope that they remember it well. Our time in Africa will always be a part of who they are, and I want that to only be for the better. I pray for my boys each and every day, that they will be better people for what they have experienced here. Their memories will be different than just about everyone else's, and I trust that God will use their unique upbringing to bring glory to His name...
What will my kids remember about church? I ask myself that most Sundays. Will they have any recollection that they were the only kid with the same color skin as them? Or will they be color blind, as we all should be? Will they remember chasing chickens and goats? Or will they remember being chased by African kids who would give anything just to touch their curly blond hair? Will they remember being passed around from woman to woman, each one taking their once in a very long while turn with the Yovo baby? Or will they remember passing person after person on the road, wondering if they have yet come to know Jesus? Will they remember playing on the wooden logs being used to prop up the falling mud wall of the church building? Or will they remember playing on the jungle gym at our traditional Sunday afternoon lunch spot?
Whatever it is that my boys remember, I desperately hope that they remember it well. Our time in Africa will always be a part of who they are, and I want that to only be for the better. I pray for my boys each and every day, that they will be better people for what they have experienced here. Their memories will be different than just about everyone else's, and I trust that God will use their unique upbringing to bring glory to His name...
1 comment:
Ah, the memories! Here's what I remember - chasing chickens, of course! Children always wanting to touch my hair. Sitting on grass mats and wooden chairs under mango trees. Chai so hot it burned your tongue. Singing and more singing during harambee (giving) times. Giving people rides in the back of our Daihatsu. Getting stuck in the mud. Dirt roads and eating dust. Flies. Looong church services. Stewed chicken and ugali in dark smoky huts. I wouldn't trade it for the world!
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