Early decision at Mayfair.

I didn't know what to expect from the church where we'd be serving.  When we first arrived at Mayfair Baptist Church in Johannesburg, at first glance, it was much more modern than I imagined.  It didn't take long to see evidence of a shinier past, and I remembered Kyle telling us about how originally, the church congregation had consisted of primarily white, affluent South Africans.  When apartheid was abolished (in the 1990's!), the black community moved in, and a massive Squatter Camp was quickly erected just down the road.  The Whites moved out and Willie had a choice to make: Follow his congregation (and the money) to a safer part of town, or minister to the overwhelming need of the impoverished, somewhat uncivilized black community now knocking on his church doors.  Willie decided to stay.  This was his church, and these were now his people.  Since then, the highly under-resourced church and its ministries gained a whole new focus.

In typical American-fashion, my mind immediately thought about how cheap it would be to "fix up" the lobby, etc.  I started thinking about how I could raise funds for certain repairs they obviously needed.  I even considered taking pics of certain areas of disrepair... to go with my new 'plan' I had already started subconsciously brewing to communicate this "need" back home.

I noticed a bulletin board on the wall of the foyer with pictures of the previous Grace Point missionaries who had lived there.  I saw Ryan, and Kyle, and Stefani, and Tiffany and several Short-term Mission teams with familiar faces.  It was clear that the people of Mayfair see us as partners the same way we see them as partners.  I didn't really understand the long-term mission partner model until I saw this billboard.  The congregation began to arrive, hours before the service, one van-load at a time.  The same vans that tightly seated 14 Americans, were unloading 20-25 Africans, ready for church.  As soon as they unloaded, they went to collect another group.  The two vans made eight trips that morning.  As they got out, they warmly welcomed Kyle and clearly loved him and had missed him.  All of a sudden Kyle busted out a South African accent while talking to them and I laughed inside.  (It was like when Jeff talks to Indian people and immediately takes on their accent.)  Little did I know, I'd soon find myself talking the same way.

We were there with Jeff R. and Kristin C., Grace Pointers who had been on a previous trip and as the Mayfair church members saw them, they were greeted by name, with tight hugs and loving handshakes.  I was immediately thinking, "Wow, this bond was made in a ten-day trip?  I mean, that was at least a year ago!"  I wondered, "Will they know ME like this before I leave at the end of my 10-day stay?  Was this what Kyle meant when he described the Africans as a "relational" people?"  I realized it would only happen if I opened my heart to let them in.
 
So right then and there, in those first moments in the church, I decided I would do just that.  I'd let them in.  I'd let them teach me.  I'd let go of trying to control the situation and trying to control my emotions, and let go of expectations, and just go with it... and let the Spirit lead.  What a relief.  I stopped thinking about what I had to offer them, or what they could learn from me, because it was soon very clear: For the next ten days, I would most definitely be the student.

Bright lights and Garbage Pizza.

When we arrived in Johannesburg, it was super dark, which I still don't really understand.  We drove through the city in two "combis" or hand buses - one carrying our team, the other carrying one suitcase per person.   After immediately backing into a light pole in the airport parking lot, we set off, driving on the left side of the road, and sat quietly, looking out the window to see a sprawling city full of lights.  In the dark, it could have been Dallas.  Except, of course, for the burglar cages over the business doors and windows.  It was surprisingly modern, and there were towers and skyscrapers, and restaurants and billboards.  Written in English.  I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting.  I felt suddenly really intimidated, thinking about how much easier it would have been to go to a remote African village than this cold, hard concrete city.  Why had we chosen urban ministry?

As we drove half an hour, it was soon very clear we were getting to the poorer area of town.  The street lights were farther apart, and there was NO ONE out on the streets. Every home was surrounded by ten-foot concrete fences, most topped with barbed wire, broken glass or sharpened iron poles.  You don't see houses. Just fences, locked gates, and guards.  It was so cold, you could see the guards' breath as they stood along the fences. 

One driver (church member) took our things to the church, while the other took us to dinner at Ciro's Pizza in a dark shopping mall.  It looked like we were being let in to a closed mall after hours, but it's just that almost all businesses close as soon as it gets dark as it's unsafe to be outside after sunset.  Theft, assault, and carjacking are the main concerns.  Ciro's was the only store open in the entire mall.  When we parked, we saw a man loitering in the lot, and Kyle pitched him a dollar or so to watch our van while we ate.  He stood there and guarded our car to make sure nothing was stolen.  I'm not sure how we knew he was trustworthy, but it was the first time I saw Pastor Willie's influence as a friend of the community. 

It was clear that the owner of Ciro's Pizza also respected and admired Pastor Willie.  You could tell he had invested in this family for years.  We later find out that Willie has brought them much business, offered the family assistance in hard times and had shared the Gospel with them on many occasions.

< It just hit me how risky it was ordering what we did.  It was called the "Garbage Pizza" and was pretty much described as having "everything" on it.  That it did, and many of the ingredients I couldn't even identify.  Since our last three meals had been on a plane, we scarfed it down.  It was deeelish, but I'm still surprised no one got sick. >

We definitely stood out - fourteen loud Americans at one long u-shaped table.  Futbol was playing on the TV up in the corner of the room.  It kinda felt like we were in Africa, but strangely, it also kinda felt like we were just in downtown San Antonio.  We paid our van-watcher and headed back to the church for the night. 

The men slept in the loft in the sanctuary (think Baptist church, where the sound crew would be.) on thin futon-like "mattresses" with no heat in the middle of winter.  The nearest bathroom was upstairs behind the pulpit through a locked gate.  We left them and headed to where the women were staying, a few miles away. 

I didn't love this idea of being away from the men, and am not sure if I felt better or worse when we were introduced to the male guard who would be assigned to protect our cottage gate all through the night... all week.  We unlocked an iron gate (then locked it behind us) which led to another locked iron door (which we locked behind us), which led to double dead bolts on the wooden cottage door.  We had a pre-paid cell phone and so did the guys.  Kyle told us to "rest up" because ministry would begin bright and early... so we triple locked ourselves in, claimed our beds, and felt a tinge of guilt for how nice our quarters were.  We had space heaters, plenty of blankets, and even had a mini fridge.  Oh, and a hot tea maker.  Oh, and microwave.  We had an enclosed tub, no hot water, but we decided not to tell the guys how nice we had it.  We prayed together, set our alarm for 6:45 am, and turned out the lights.

And if you know me at all, you know I had absolutely no trouble falling or staying asleep the whole night.


(Oh, and I'll get back to the journal entry from the plane. We just had frozen Tony's Pizza for dinner and it reminded me to write about Ciro's.)

"I suggest you try to sleep."

When we got on the plane for our trip, I hadn't mentally processed that the flight was 18 hours and what that really meant.  I was so amped, anxious, and nervous, but definitely a novice to long flights.  We boarded our flight in Atlanta with our motley crew of 14 Grace Pointers, lead by our Missions Pastor Kyle Burkholder, former Jo'burg resident and expert for our trip.  I sat in the middle seat between Jeff and a small South African girl.  I was excited that my cultural experience would start early, imagining after a full day strapped in adjacent seats, we'd end up pen pals at the very least.

We got in the air and I wish I could remember what time it was that they turned out the lights and declared over the loudspeaker that it was night time.  All I know is that just because you pull all the windows down and turn off the lights, does not make me forget that it's the middle of the afternoon and TRICK me into thinking it's bedtime.  Especially since we were running on adrenaline.  So, lights are out, and Kyle says to us, all smart-like, "I suggest you try to sleep."  We laugh, and start watching movies and getting to know each other while he crashes as though he didn't just finish eating lunch.

Fast forward to the REAL middle of the night.  There's a button on the back of the seat that gives you the time remaining on your trip and provides a long arched line along which a little plane travels over the big blue ocean so you can track your trip progress.  Um... that's a lot of water.  Time remaining: 12 hours.  I watch "The King's Speech" in its entirety.  Time remaining: 10 hours.  I try to watch "Babies: the Documentary."  Way too many boobs.  I get embarrassed and turn it off because I think people are looking at my screen.  Time remaining: 9.25 hours.  I watch two documentaries, play about ten games of "Memory", write in my journal, lament the fact that had I lost that last fifteen pounds I TOO might be able to curl into a ball and lay my head on the food tray, but alas, I did not.  Bending was not happening. 

Anyway, when I finally decided to close my eyes and managed to fall asleep, the lights come on and people start opening their windows.  I'm so confused.  Kyle is all awake and his body is all fresh and adjusted.  We all look like college kids who've overslept and Mom's pulling back the shades telling you it's noon.  Time remaining: 6 hours. 

I start to panic.  I can't do this.  What is something happens?  When is that freaking little plane going to be over land?  Why did we BOTH come?  Should one parent have stayed behind with our kids?  Why in the world did I give up soda when I had this flight ahead of me, and why do the cups they bring you hold only 2 ounces??  And why won't my future South African pen pal even look over at me?

I decided to take a deep breath and journal about what I expected from the trip, what I hoped to learn, what I wanted God to do (I'm sure He'd appreciate me providing Him an agenda), and what I was feeling about our decision to follow His call, and all the things He had already done to show His hand was ALL over this trip.  I'll post what I wrote in my next blog entry. 

Re-reading my first journal entry is like when you've become a Mother, and then you go back and read the words you penned right before the baby was born.  You realize you had NO idea what you were about to experience.  You had such low expectations for the blessings you were about to receive.  You realize you were so naive about the challenges you'd face and the difficult choices you'd soon be forced to make. 

Most of all, you couldn't even fathom how this child, this gift, would bring you so much closer to understanding the fullness of the unconditional love of God.

Souf Apricot.

That's what Davis called it last year, as we prepped him for our being away in South Africa for 10 days.  He was 2 1/2, and all he knew was he would get to go night-night at Grammy's, then night-night at Mamaw's, then at Nana's, and then Aunt Mel's, and then at home.  We knew it would be a long ten days, but also knew that this trip required sacrifice for a LOT of people, and our little blondie was no exception.  Jack understood more, but I'm quite certain he thought we'd be seeing safari animals, so he was excited.  And we were bringing him a surprise.

We knew the trip would be amazing, would open our eyes to another culture, and we hoped it would re-connect us with our faith.  After all, we'd watched teams come and go on short-term mission trips at Grace Point.  We wanted to be fired up too.  We wanted to see the world.  We wanted to become closer as a couple.

Not only did God fulfill our hopes for the trip, He revealed much, much bigger plans for us and put us on a path we did not expect.  In the next series of posts, I hope to record the highlights of last year's trip using pictures, diary and journal entries, and vivid memories (and hopefully some guest posts from the huz... no promises) and take you along as we return to South Africa in just 90 days.  The nine months that have passed since the trip have been some of our hardest, and the stories I plan to tell are not all easy to share. 

Thank you for sharing this journey with us, praying for us, and financially supporting us.  To know you believe in us, believe in this ministry, and believe these lives are worth saving means the world to me, to Jeff, and to the precious people of Souf Apricot.

More to come!