No, really. Believe it, my fellow Americans. I say to-MAH-to now. I’m not totally sure when that started happening. When I started saying “Is it?” even when it is not grammatically correct, what I started saying tomato sauce instead of ketchup, when I stopped fearing the public taxi, when I turned green.
Kermit the Frog is one wise amphibian; he was spot on when he said that it’s not easy being green… but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me explain to you what it really means to be green.
When I first signed up for YASC, the program that brought me here, and I was at the discernment weekend, I met a woman who served in Liberia with YASC a few years ago. She told us a story about what it means to be in YASC. She said, “As you are now, living in the US, you’re blue. Everything around you is blue: the buildings, the people the culture. When you do YASC, when you go somewhere else, you’re going to be this blue person living in a world where everything is yellow: scary yellow, exciting level, new yellow, challenging yellow. One day, while living in this yellow world, you’ll look into a mirror and realize that some of this yellow has seeped in your blue and you’re green now. As much as that blue will always be in you, that yellow has worked its way into you to, and when you go back to your blue world, you won’t be able to revert to being blue anymore.” I’m pretty sure Kermit and I would also agree on the fact that we wouldn’t trade being green for anything and that being green feels like one of the greatest things that’s ever happened to us.
I’m not sure how to fully explain where I am right now. I know I haven’t written in two months and I’m getting ready to leave. I’m writing this “Goodbye, I love you,” sermon and I don’t want this blog to turn into that sermon. That sermon will have its own time this Sunday evening – my last night in this glorious city.
I’ve reached this point where everything is winding down and I’m finishing up all of my work projects, at least in an official capacity. At AnHouse, I’m finalizing the plans for the formal (aka one of the best ways that I can imagine spending one of my last nights in Cape Town) and tonight’s the last compline. Tomorrow’s the last Alpha and Thursday’s the last Bible Study. As for the ASF office…
I’ve always enjoyed my work with ASF, but it’s only in the last few months that I’ve really, deeply, gotten to know it and really, deeply, gotten to love it. One of the hard parts as I say goodbye (one of the many many parts) is that I say goodbye with the knowledge that with the knowledge I’ve gained this year, I could so much more if I stayed another year. I’m not sure I’d be able to refuse staying another year… but I’m speaking in “What Ifs” now, and “what if” just might be the only phrase worse than “goodbye.”
I know I didn’t blog about the ASF conference as I hoped to and even now I’m not sure I can tell you exactly what being there felt like. I will say that while much time and energy was spent on their Annual General Meeting, the time and energy and spirit spent on worship blew me away. I’m going to miss their choruses in African languages. The singing and dancing and praying with one’s whole body, one’s whole being. It’s going to be late for me when I get back to the US and am standing still with a hymnal and a service in one language. While I miss my church and my Book of Common Prayer and my worship home, I know I’ll miss ASF’s worship – “the home away from home” I’ve found in it - that feeling that I hope to carry with me. There are two somewhat corny quotes that come to mind:
First: “You forget what people said and you forget what people did, but you always remember how they made you feel.”
As much as I’m a word-centric English major who loves to remember the heartfelt words of friends, I cannot deny the key point that is made here. One of the many many beautiful things about living here is the fact that I hear multiple languages every day, especially where ASF is concerned. Pretty much all of those choruses that I was talking about are not in English, but while I was at conference, I realized that that doesn’t matter at all. You can feel the prayer, the community, the Church, the love in the echoes of the clapping and the dancing around you, through you. The noise makes your heart vibrate as it beats in your chest. The Holy Spirit is everywhere around, in every note of the song that speaks to your soul in the words your ears don’t understand.
Ministry is about journey with people. Holding their hand when they need it, even if they don’t know why. It’s sitting in silence or talking for hours. It’s about being the white chick dancing and singing with your ASF family, even at the risk of looking like a goof who doesn’t know the steps. It’s not about knowing the steps it’s about knowing the feeling. The feeling of love I will carry with me always tucked in my heart. The beautiful memories stamped like handprints on my heart. I only hope that until I make it to my next ASF gathering, the feeling that I leave behind with my ASF family, when they conjure me up in their memories (hopefully YOUR memories – I hope some of you darlings are reading this), some of that love is what they feel, even after these words fade.
Second: “You love somebody, and then you don't love them anymore. But if you really love somebody,
You always love them, don't you? Isn't there always some small part of you that reads their horoscope in the paper every day?”
This one is simpler to explain. While I don’t put my stock in horoscopes, I believe that when you love someone in any capacity you’re stuck with them. Years from now, even when the memory of that person’s face or voice starts to fade, the love you carry with you comes with mindfulness for them. For wherever you are and wherever they are and however long ago it was you last spoke, you still always wish them well.
I leave South Africa on Monday night with the fondest of memories and heart that’s swelled in size to make room for all the handprints.
I wish I'd said that! - Love you, Dad
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