The more I’m here, the more I can’t ignore the truth that each day is brimming with blessings. Here, yes. But everywhere else too. I’m afraid we simply busy ourselves with mundane, routine tasks, and hence fail to notice the beautiful gifts from heaven woven throughout our days. What a tragedy. I’m not sure if the blessings are more amplified here, or perhaps more abundant. Or maybe the pace of life is just more conducive to having the time to notice all the good. Right now, for instance, I am sitting on my couch, rays of the freshly risen sun are stretching through the window and warming my skin. A big mug (the only size worth having) of rooibos chai is streaming by my side. Outside, a continuous choir of birds chirps and tweets and cackles in wonderful harmony.
We just passed through the change of seasons, summer to fall, and you know what blows my mind? Leaves in autumn. They blaze yellow or red, a glorious burst of finality, before a blustery wind breaks them from their life source and carries them off. Yet, a few weeks ago, on the other side of the equator, the Frankfurt trees were exploding with new life, a fresh breath of color and fragrance after winter. Astounding, that those two opposite but equally phenomenal occasions happen simultaneously on the same globe. They’re whispers of love woven into our existence by the God that holds the whole wide universe in His palm. Unfortunately we let the world around us get too loud, and a lot of these God-breathed whispers go unnoticed. Pity, really. I pray that I can be so in tune with God, that instead the monotonous things of life are drowned out by the good gifts that God strings together for each one of us, each day.
The sunny slab of concrete outside the preschool is my favorite place to stand in the morning, because 1) I can bask in the sunshine, and 2) I can greet every boy and girl as they trot to their classrooms, bundled as can be, but excited about life and another day to discover new things. When there’s a big wave that arrives all at the same time, I can’t get a hug from everyone, but one thing is certain: I will get a hug from Sylvia. Sylvia’s hugs are my favorite, because she smiles with the anticipation of them, stretches her sweet arms around my neck and coos, “good morning, Ma’am Tayla,” as her precious little hands pat my back. Oh my goodness, I hope I never lose the joy that those little, divinely-woven hugs bring to my morning.
One relationship that I’m particularly blessed by is the one God is forming between me and the Grade R teacher. We get along famously, and spend a lot of time laughing. A lot. It’s a joy to shadow her and be an extra pair of hands in her classroom. She suggested that the class compete in head-to-head footraces the other day, and after all the pairs of kids had gone, I challenged her to a race. The kids were shocked when she obliged, and cheered for us like crazy. During circle time, it’s fun to watch the kids interact with her while she expressively teaches them. She always translates the funny things they say for me, which is a fairly regular occurrence. Here’s one for you: this pint-sized little guy, dwarfed by his classmates, was teaching us some Tswana words. Upon thanking him for teaching us, we asked, “Are you going to be a teacher some day?” He responded, serious as could be, “No, I’m going to be fat.” Trust me, there is not an ounce of fat on his tiny body, so the prospects aren’t promising, however sure of it he may be. And so, inspired by my own kindergarten teacher, I have started a log of kinder quotes, because I love it when moments of laughter are woven into my days.
During recess, the kids are usually coached through an organized game for the first half, then let loose for the second half. One sweetheart, who we barely hear a peep out of, usually just sits in the grass by herself, smile-less. One day I walked over to see if she might be interested in a little game of catch. It’s hard to describe the light that filled Thuto’s face when I tossed her the ball. Now it’s common practice; we find each other and a ball and throw it back and forth countless times like it could never get old. Those moments, and the grins we now share back in the classroom, are courtesy of the Kings of kings, who delivered a simple but profound present, like tossing a ball, especially for us.
From time to time, when kids are waiting to be picked up after school, I plop myself down in the bean-bag chair. That is the unspoken cue for story time, so they forage through the book crate, then plop themselves down around me. When the books rhyme, I read them straight through, because even though they can’t hear all the English, it’s kinda like a song, and they smile as they listen. Otherwise, I point out colors and shapes and animals they might know in English, so they can proudly shout out the answers. The circle gets smaller and smaller as kids leave, until just a few remain, squeezed together and piled on top of an oversized bean-bag, and that’s the best.
I’m pretty sure God wove Africa into my being before I was a blip, and have to pinch myself most days, because, “am I really living here now?” On top of that, He’s weaving a smattering of my favorite people on the planet into my days here. Friends who also have Africa etched onto their hearts, are here now, and it’s especially special to share our affinity for the continent while soaking up the joys and the heartaches that ooze from said continent. My mom would probably have no desire to undertake the travel saga of traversing entire oceans and land masses to arrive in a place plagued by poverty and disease—but she’s coming to see me. My sister is coming, too, despite being pregnant and having a not-yet-two-year-old in a cast up to his diaper to cope with on a pair of 10-hour flights. And, yes, my bright-eyed nephew, who I really, really try not to miss, but it’s just plain impossible. While I can watch the heart-melting videos that he sends me, when he starts crying at the end, my eyes get wet and I just wanna squeeze him for a long time. And soon I can. Praise Jesus.
Before I go, I want you to know that God has woven together, strand by strand, the most beautiful mantel to cover me. You people. I am completely awe-struck and humbled by God’s provision for me, and not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for you, and pray that he showers you with heaps of blessings. I would absolutely not be here if it wasn’t for your prayers and support. The love and encouragement in the messages you’ve sent me is tangible, and truly appreciated. I so wish I could teleport each of you here, so that you can have a firsthand taste of God’s goodness as it rests on this place. I would love for you to receive a Sylvia hug, or join a circle of catch with me and Thuto, or maybe just sip some rooibos as the last rays of the sun cast long shadows and paint the sky all sorts of pastel.
Of course, not every day is perfectly peachy. Discouragement and headaches and ants in my kettle like it’s a jacuzzi and ornery kids who take advantage of my inability to speak Twsana are part of reality. But such things are quite pale when contrasted with the brightness of divine blessings. As long as we don’t allow the seemingly plain days to bore us, or the frustrating days to overwhelm us. As long as we prune our senses to taste and see that God is good. All the time. And He’s actively weaving bits of that goodness into our existence.
