When We Lift Our Pack and Go

"When we lift our pack and go,

When we seek another country,

Moving far from all we know,

When we long to journey free-

God is in the other place,

God is in another's face,

In the faith we travel by,

God is in the other place."

-- Shirley Erena Murray, 1988

I left Nashville for the final time on Sunday, June 22nd, following a week of intense packing and wedding to-dos. While Friday and Saturday were occupied with my friend's wedding, it was also underlined with the realization that I was finally embarking on this amazing journey. In fact, not usually given to shows of intense emotion, I wept like an overzealous fountain the moment I wished my newlywedded friend goodbye- it was the moment I understood that we were both leaving and that our futures may never realign again. That's a tough pill to swallow when you consider my vast family of Tennessee, Mississippi, and Oklahoma friends. Suddenly Costa Rica seems even further away.

The trip home was long and uneventful, unless you count the mandatory stop for high-grade explosives at Sevierville's amazing Fireworks emporium and the stultifying crawl through the gorge that connects Tennessee's I-40 with the North Carolina portion. Add to that the 14 ft Diesel moving truck Daddy had rented that couldn't move faster than 60 mph, and I'd say that it was the easiest (and slowest) trip home I'd ever made!

After a day of respite, I ventured into Winston Salem for an orientation meeting with the good folks at the Board of World Missions and the Moravian Music Foundation, where I quickly discovered that a) I am much better at lesson planning when others are giving me their ideas, and b) I will be NO MATCH for the various parasites in my drinking water and food... at least I have been warned!

The meeting was comforting- it was good to know that provisions were in place and that I could reliably say that I knew what I was doing. Or at least I could pretend that I knew. My partner seems much more confident than I feel, despite my tenuous but comparitively superior grasp of Spanish. We are very well matched- Roman brings the passion and creativity I lack, while I am more pragmatic and better at the management side of things. Between the two of us I am excited for him to join me in Limon because I know that he will so greatly amplify our outreach. This doesn't even take in to consideration his profound passion for Christ, which has impressed me since we met 5 years ago. He is an incredible asset to our ministry- I'm thrilled that he is my sole companion for this project.

After hours of preliminary lesson planning and sorting handfuls of Costa Rican Colones for me to buy my first meal in San Jose, we tore into boxes of materials that the good people at Brentwood Benson donated for our school. Now this says alot about the wonderful depth of character at my former place of employment- when approached about donations, they did not hesitate to volunteer the materials of my choice. This has resulted in the generous contribution of $2000 worth of great hymnals, Gospel piano books, and general worship resources. (By the way, my BBMPI friends, they FLIPPED OUT over the Praise and Worship Fakebook CD-ROM- it was adored by one and all!)

From there I received my first mission assignment- I am teaching music for two hours every day to children at an entirely Spanish speaking Moravian congregation called Iglesia de Cordero del Dio. Yesterday I had the pleasure of meeting the Pastor, Enrique. He is a slight man from Peru who may be 5' when he stands on his tiptoes, and he speaks little to no English. He's very funny though, and while I can't speak Spanish well enough to tell exactly what I want to, I do understand about 95% of what he says to me, which makes communication easier than I initially expected.

At my first class at Cordero today I had only Enrique's children, Emiliano and Zulema, and his wife Rosita in my class despite the earlier estimate of 10 children. Rosita speaks English pretty well, and the children are absolutely brilliant, so I admit that I am inclined to cheat a little and speak only English when we work together.

Class was slow going at first- I was initially prepared to teach an entire class of 7-11 year olds, so having the class diminished to what amounted to be a long private lesson was awkward and really threw me off. I started by teaching two rudimentary camp songs that I thought they might know from Laurel Ridge Summer Camp, but neither had attended and I quickly discovered that songs I had no trouble picking up when I was in third grade don't necessarily make sense to non-native English speakers. In fact, they're pretty darn hard to explain and teach! Also, upper elementary aged kids don't really like to sing by themselves, even if they're related. That cut down my lesson plan substantially, as I could garner no participation from my audience.

I handed out a recorder to each child and Mom and immediately launched into how we read music. Now this really surprised me- Emiliano, who may be 7 years old, could tell me the names of each beat type I drew on the board, and even how many beats each was valued at. Zulema, although notably less willing to participate, could go even further than that- both children had a very firm grasp on meter and time signatures. We started by clapping some basic rhythms, which went well, and then I drew incorrect rhythm patterns on the board, allowing them to make the appropriate additions and subtractions to each pattern in order to suit the time signature. Rhythm came so easily that I went full-speed ahead and got them started with note-reading.

At this point, both had only done basic rhythmic practice, although Zulema vaguely remembered how many lines were in a staff and which clef was the bass clef. We began discussing the treble clef, and I drew a C major scale for them to see how music is notated. Then, with the goal of playing "Hot Cross Buns" in mind, I had them come up and find B-A-G on the scale. One by one I had the come up to the chalkboard and write a measure of music that I would dictate verbally. They had no difficulty remembering where each note belonged and what note value needed to be written. In no time at all they had handwritten the music for "Hot Cross Buns," and were playing away. Zulema especially picked it up quickly, while Emiliano struggled a little with keeping the finger holes properly covered. In the meantime, however, Zulema had already begun to try figuring out new songs.

For the final exercise I had them choose a song that sounded like "Hot Cross Buns." They chose "Mary Had a Little Lamb," which Zulema had already begun to decode while I had been helping Emiliano. Together, with no pomp or circumstance, I led my 7 year old Emiliano and 11 year old Zulema through their first melodic dictation project- and the results were incredible. Not only were they able to successfully write the tune to "Mary Had a Little Lamb," but they had it spot-on with only the most basic assistance. We wrapped up the lesson by playing through the tune and talking about the goals they had for our mini-workshop. Both answered that they wanted to learn reading skills, which is good since they already show an inclination towards it.

Right now I am crafting the lesson plan for our next adventure, but I hardly know what to do. These kids have obvious talent... can I come through with a fun but challenging offering for tomorrow? I guess only time will tell. Perhaps the old teacher is finally coming out of her shell...

Ubi Caritas

"God is love,

and where true love is God himself is there.

*

Here in Christ we gather,

love of Christ our calling.

Christ, our love, is with us,

gladness be his greeting.

Let us fear and love him,

Holy God eternal.

Loving him, let each love

Christ in one another.

*

God is love,

and where true love is God himself is there."

--Ubi Caritas, tr. James Quinn

There are exactly 34 days left until I leave the United States. Of those 34 days, there are 19 left until I leave Tennessee, and 6 days until my time at Brentwood-Benson is at an end. I struggle to see the 34 days as something that will pass quickly, however if there is anything I have learned in the world of sales, it is that days pass frustratingly quickly. That said, there is an urgent desire present for me to divvy up my free time among my Nashville friends and Brentwood Customers- I don't want to leave this stage of my life without making sure that I make contact with everyone I care about.

I have a theory that this sense of urgency is also due to the wonderful meeting I attended over Memorial Day weekend. Finally able to get together with my fellow missionary and site coordinator, we spent a long morning discussing the materials available and curriculum for the school year. It was surprisingly liberating to have the details on paper in front of me, and to see pictures of the home where I'll be staying. I guess it was the reality setting in- I am actually going to do this!

Spurred on by the realization that I was truly going to leave this phase of my life, I decided to spend my last weekend as the Mississippi representative at Brentwood going out on the road and actually making it a priority to meet customers that have supported me during my brief stay in Middle Tennessee. I knew already that a customer of mine was preparing one of our musicals, so I scheduled an entire trip around that performance. By the time I left Nashville at 6 in the morning, I had made plans to visit one of my best bookstores, have dinner with the Music Minister at my highest grossing church account, worship and celebrate a birthday with one of my sweetest customers, all culminating in the worship concert at Calvary Baptist in Meridian.

To say that my customers have supported the mission I'm pursuing is an understatement, and that was evident along every leg of my trip. At every stop there were questions about my plans, prayers for support, and personal stories about missions taken and friends who pursued the call. It was, officially, the first time I truly felt like my decision was valid and encouraged. That's not to say that I felt discouraged in my pursuit of this mission, but rather that I was afraid of disappointing the people to whom I had become so close.

And the Lord had something to say to me this weekend, sitting in a church hundreds of miles away from Nashville, and nearly a thousand miles from Greensboro.

Let me preface this by saying that the Moravian church in North America is not exactly known for it's charisma, and beyond that, mission work had been something that many of us have only heard of and not experienced. Not surprisingly for the South, most of the churches I visited this weekend were Baptists- a denomination known for it's modern day commitment to missions and passionate Evangelical worship

As I was sitting in this warm and friendly church in Pass Christian, I noticed that there was a scheduled speaker who had been asked to speak about her pending mission to India. I was thrilled to hear this; not only was I getting the opportunity to talk person-to-person with someone much like myself, but I also have a strong passion for India and was eager to share my knowledge with her as well.

Shemane, as was her name, had never been on an international mission. In fact, she had never been out of the country at all. She had discovered this mission, which was a short-term trip to an orphanage in New Delhi, from her 16 year old daughter who had herself heard of it from someone in her dance studio. Shemane was quick to say that she was hesitant to agree when her daughter approached her with the idea, but it was only a matter of time before God had put the call on her heart. Now she was organizing her first trip out of the country with her young daughter, and heading into a place where there was no chance for her to adequately communicate, and perhaps what is more frightening, she was not at liberty to do so.

Together in the church office, we talked about our fears- how we as, let's face it, white people might be perceived in our host countries, how we were raising the necessary funds for our programs, and our hopes for what we might accomplish while we where there. She was surprised at the length of my committment, and I was amazed by her willingness to go into a land where Christianity is not encouraged. At least in Costa Rica most people are already Christians... Hindus may believe in the universal God (despite his many manifestations), but the Muslim population there seems to be at odds with everyone in opposition to their beliefs.

By the time I left Pass Christian, I had given Shemane a copy of my favorite Indian film (to help her Hindi along), and she had confirmed something very important for me. I have always viewed other missionaries as people who managed to live a life above the stresses of human necessity. I don't know why that is- the logical and rational side of me is more than aware of the numbers of missionaries who risk all that they have for the sake of the call- but for some reason, I think of missionaries other than myself as people who are never frustrated, never tired, and never second-guessing their decisions. I certainly didn't fit that description , and I had secretly been beating myself up over whether I was the right person for the mission because of my fears and frustrations. Shemane put all of that into perspective, voicing many of the same concerns as I had been harboring; it was reassuring to know that a fellow servant had many of the same reservations. I felt like I had been validated.

Before heading back up the interstate towards Meridian (where, incidentally, I was blessed with the opportunity to SING with the choir I was originally just going to hear), I drove through the tiny town of DeLisle and down to Highway 90, just Northwest of Long Beach. I followed the Highway, which is oceanfront and still largely devasted from Hurricane Katrina years ago, through to Gulfport. This had been my first serious mission trip- rebuilding homes, cleaning beaches, and bringing food and comfort to the people of Gulfport, a city that my Aunt had reminisced fondly over and where my Great Aunt (whose husband had been the President of Gulfport Womens College) had survived Hurricane Camille and brought me the stories that dotted my childhood memories.

Gulfport remained largely the same as I remembered it, but I was inspired with the new growth occuring here and there. I drove off the main street and back to the Mississippi National Guard post that had been my home during my stay, but it had long been abandoned. I felt this to be a sign of sorts. This chapter of my life was quickly closing. While relationships and landmarks would be certain to change, my memories would remain... eagerly awaiting new ones I have yet to make.

And so I am sitting at the computer and studying the calendar next to it, and reminiscing over the past three years of my life. There are 34 days left until I leave this country. 19 days left before I leave Tennessee. 6 days until I leave Brentwood-Benson. And while I still fear the unknown, I know I will remember these last days for as long as I live.