Every Sunday I go to the local church and put in my prayer requests on a piece of paper.
At times, I have looked back to thank God for what He has done. Other times like today, I wonder if it really matters what I write, because I still struggle with the same things.
Worse, some things don’t ever get better but merely deteriorate over time.
God, are you there?
Last night I awoke at 1am filled with indignation— I felt betrayed by a system that keeps making promises but never keeps them. And as I learn more about African culture and its focus on relational preservation, I understand more about why people feel it’s honoring to say yes and agree and make promises even if they don’t intend to do any of it.
But with my own cultural lens, I just feel worn, betrayed and incensed.
Yesterday, the daughter of a good friend of mine was hit by a bajaji (tuktuk) on the road and I saw the remains of the accident without knowing she was involved.
Treatment did not mean going to the mission hospital nearby where I serve at. It meant driving up to two hours to an another hospital, staying overnight, then making arrangements to fly overseas to get surgery done.
I shuddered at the thought of anything happening to any of us and what we might need to do. Would I manage with emergency evacuation? Would I feel adequate enough to activate it? Would the system actually work?
Just a few weeks ago, our own Swahili teacher was on a bajaji when it completely flipped by the roadside, leaving him with several stitches from a deep gnash.
As I reflect on the brokenness of systems, the disparity between what is promised and what is delivered, and the lack of standards here, I grapple and gasp for air wondering how long more I can live here with an attitude of gratitude and wonder.
Yet, deep down, I feel a sense of tremendous peace and joy of our our family being here.
In spite of all the hardships and inconsistencies, I feel thankful and grateful, even if I do feel angry and frustrated often.
I arrived home, to much loud barking and the sound of welding metals, but my girls cosied up to me and asked, “Mama can you do something with us?”
And in that hour, as we made something beautiful in the garden together, it was peaceful. Miraculously quiet.
It is moments like that I find every day to give radical thanks to God for.
Who would know little moments could be filled with such tremendous gratitude?
My kids and Cliff are looking forward to attending church camp in Malaysia when we head back to Singapore. But I’m finding myself unable to.
I’m afraid of being overwhelmed and of all the conversations I don’t want to have because they are hard.
Is it okay to stay back instead? I think I will stay back in Singapore instead and handle the media interviews lined up.
I want to try not to judge myself for doing so.
Today is a day of weeping and tears before God, and letting Him mould us into His likeness.
Actually I realize, I don’t have any rights to comfortable living, health, safety, quiet… they are all gifts.
And I can thank God for them.
Thank you for remembering us in prayer 💛💌