Purpose

Why are we here?  I ask myself this several times a day. I mean this both in the broader Kierkegaardian sense, and also specifically – what I am hoping to accomplish in Africa during these two months.  This question takes me back to my early 20’s, when I found myself on a plane bound for London, England.  I was on my way to Oxford University – not as a student – but in order to follow a US Naval Academy grad with whom I was romantically involved, who was there on a prestigious scholarship.  The midshipman’s colleague happened to be on the plane as well, a polished, handsome, articulate young man by the name of Reuben.  The former Brigade Commander of the USNA (“head boy,” as they say in Harry Potter), with one year at Oxford under his belt, Reuben turned to me and said – at once both loftily and reasonably –

“So Liz, what are your goals for Oxford?” 

I gulped.  I was to be spending two years there.  One would think this answer would be quickly and enthusiastically forthcoming.   Instead, I stammered,

“Well, I guess I want to make sure I find the right bus from Heathrow to Gloucester Green.  I think all the signs will be in English though?” 

Despite the fact that I had just been hired as a consultant by British Aerospace, and thus at least had a set of purported work goals (such as “don’t get fired”), I not only had no answer, but I panicked at my lack thereof. Honestly, I had no idea.  I was really only focused on getting there in one piece.   

Now (considerably) older, I do give international moves more thought.  Conor and I had a few goals in coming to Africa, some joint, some individual.  My primary individual goal was this:  “Hearing from God.”  Not because I’m super spiritual (because I am neither holy nor roller).  But because I had grown quite deaf.  In both ears.

Most of you folks reading this know that I believe firmly in God.  I believe He is real, and I believe He is personal.  At times in my life, I have felt that God is more real than anything around me.  (How I’ve loved those times!)  At other times however, like over the past two years, I have felt so distant from Him that at times I question whether my faith is just me being “duped.”  Christians would call the phase I’m in “the desert,” or “the valley.”  Like “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” (lyrics you might recall from that rap song from the Michelle Pfeiffer movie, Dangerous Minds, with the gang bangers who finally get A’s and write poignant essays).

Africa, selfishly, was a means to go close to where God is working.  (Because don’t we all sort of think that God hangs out a lot in Africa, caring for all the “starving children”?)  To go close, and then to get to chat with Him.  Here’s what I wanted to ask Him:

“What am I supposed to be doing with my life, if I don’t want to be a partner at a law firm?”

“What is it that will make me feel fulfilled, professionally, and how the heck do I balance that with raising a toddler and being a good mom?”

“What do you do when you get closer to 40 than to 30, and you’re wearing more jeans and button downs, and less mini-dresses and leggings, and you go to brunch on the Lower East Side and feel so out of place that you want to cry and wonder if you’ve been permanently relegated to Murray Hill?”

“Why is the Bible the heaviest book in the world to pick up sometimes?”

“Why do so many New Yorkers that I meet think that Christians (on the whole) are less thoughtful, more close-minded, Sarah Palin supporters who can’t name a single periodical?”

Also, I wanted to have my heart changed.  I’m so weary of comparing myself in angst to the other mothers in my son’s music class.  (The former ballerina with the gargantuan diamonds and the permanently on-call car and driver.  The beautiful blonde wife of a hedge fund owner who wore only Hermės.)  I didn’t want to measure my success by how many all-nighters I had pulled that month, or how close I was getting to becoming a true “deal jockey.” 

And lastly (but admittedly far down the list), I wanted to, you know, help people.    

We’ve been here for almost two weeks now.  As far as I can tell, I have heard only two things from God.   I’m sure that God is speaking –through these Graceland preschoolers, through stunning creation, through Finn’s first soccer ball kicks (yeah!!!!).  But I’m very dense.  So only two things seem clear.   

Number One:  I heard God respond to a very selfish but earnest prayer, in which I laid out all of the things I was hoping for:  an amazing, challenging job with funny and interesting colleagues, but one with good hours so I can also see my family, a big house in Connecticut, with a fireplace and a huge yard where Emma could run, and the ability to develop a strong sense of “home” and “community.” 

God’s answer (I think, that is, I’m never 100% sure) was simply,

“I’m providing for you now.”

So… Right.  Ok.  Shoot.  He’s right.  Our lives are so amazing right now!  And He does ask us to pray for our “daily” bread.  So I felt a bit chagrined, but also a bit peaceful.  I’m “chilled” as the South Africans would say.  Those things may or may not come to pass, but we are definitely provided for today.

Number Two:  The second thing I’ve heard from God (again, I think), comes from a Jon Foreman song about God.  (He’s the super cute lead singer of Switchfoot – a band from my home town San Diego – and  he’s also a strong Christian.)  One line from one of his songs goes like this:

“Two things You’ve told me:  that You are strong, and that You love me.”

And that line has just struck me.  Over and over, since I’ve been there.   I really like the way that leaves me…feeling protected here.  I take that line to be from God as well.  Simply that – He is strong and loving.

Tomorrow morning Conor, Jillian and I will join a Thembalitsha care worker, walking through the slums in a community called Grabouw.  We are tasked with gathering data about community health, income, chronic or terminal diseases (which many/most have), and crime, for the municipality.  Ultimately, we hope this data will serve as a benchmark for future, increased funding for the community.

We’re packing sandwiches for the day now.  Our daily bread (and peanut butter).  Just enough for the day.  

I should also have said, I’m trying to listen, as well as hear, too.

Chat soon,

Liz