Consistent Love

One of my favorite teachers says that God's love is consistent. It never changes. The only thing that changes is my ability to receive it.

Here is an excerpt from an email to two of my friends: In 2006 my friend wrote me a prophecy. It was a gift for working in the healing rooms. She asked God for a number and a color for each person. I was sitting right next to her and watched as she flipped through the cards. The numbers and colors were printed on the covers. They were mostly 4's and 6's, smaller numbers. But, one was 200. I thought wow! Who is going to get that number. It was saved for last and it turned out to be mine. Inside the card she wrote that bright pink or magenta means emotions and love. Blue means communion, revelation. The number 200 means double return for the hundred fold (2 meaning multiplication and 100= 100 fold). She wrote that I am one who naturally has a lot of love to share-but God is going to increase it so that I will receive into my life a double return of the 100 fold of prior years. This anointing will also flow out from me to others as my communion with the Holy Spirit increases. Prophetic revelation will blanket all releases that are to come regarding this. It still rocks me every time I read and I've been reading it almost every day and declaring it back to God. I've been reminding him of his promise and telling him I want this fulfilled. I've always thought that it would be my husband. And recently God has told me yes, it will be it will be others as well. And as I was reflecting on this I realized I'm so loved. I'm radically, beyond imagination loved. I think being here where a lot of things are superficial and a lot of interactions revolve around the topics of sex and being drunk I've come to realize the richness of my friendships. Those friends that see the treasure in me and who call it out.

I've been thinking about this a lot. It's been like a marble in my pocket. I keep on fingering it and rolling it around. I've come to know this word deeply. I know the shape, the texture, the nicks. And I've been wanting to see this radical love that I'm supposed to receive double hundred fold.

And it's been happening. For years now, but it's been slowly growing, little by little. Rising little by little until I'm more convinced now than I was yesterday, and the day before. It's like a grain of sand being added each day. At first the amount is not noticeable, it's just a pinch. But through the years it's become a handful, and eventually it will fill a room.

And I can confidently say that I am loved. My ability to see love has changed me.

Mother Teresa says, "Love is the fruit in season at all times and within reach of every soul."

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I've been introduced to a new author since living in Nigeria. Since then I've gobbled up all of her writing and have her new one on the docket for my next read. She depicts the life of Nigeria with vividness and accuracy. Months after I finish the book she has me wondering about the characters while I drive through the city and villages.

I listened to her talk about the danger of a single story today on TED talks.

http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html

It aligned perfectly to what I blogged about earlier last week. I like how she address the stories we heard about Africa from a Western view and she continues on to challenge us to tell the other stories as well. Those stories of the successful heart surgery in a Lagos hospital, or of the female Lawyer fighting the law that says a woman must need to the consent of a man before renewing her visa. There is wonderful people and events here in Nigeria. And it struck my heart that as I get ready to leave I need to have a balanced collection of stories. I have the opportunity when returning home to change the stereotypes of Nigeria. You can make this your personal challenge as well. To find balance in the stories we tell and listen to. No more one sided reports. Get a new perspective.

willing to be dazzled

Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled-
to cast aside the weight of facts


and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.

-Mary Oliver

The prize

Over vacation I bought two boxes of cereal for my friend Queen Lizzy. Cereal at home is so healthy and we have all these great choices for so reasonable. When I pulled the boxes of cereal out of my duffle bag I made a mental note to next time pack them in a harder cased suitcase. They looked like they had been in a wrestling match. Both of them were rumpled and the box lids were unglued and popped open.

When home Mike had given me a phone to bring to his friend. I packed it, but when I unpacked I just found the chord but no phone. I concluded either I would find it on my bedroom floor when returning in June, or it had sneakily fallen into the hands of someone somewhere in commute from Oregon to Lagos. Never would I have dreamt of the answer that unfolded.

Queeny came and got her cereal and was back in her classroom about to munch and crunch on it when she discovered her cereal box prize. She won a shiny, red, phone! She waltzed back up to my classroom with the treasure in hand. It had slid into the crumpled cereal box. Mystery solved! Funny huh?

I'm in a pull. A great battle. In one corner; bitterness and self-preserving. In the other corner the; sweetness and loving.

I fight this great battle that at times seems completely overwhelming. Often I'm exhausted from the very effort to simply live. Nothing is threatening my life, no guns to my head, no kidnapping rampages. But, the very quality of life is threatened each day. I'm noticing it comes down to the simple little decisions. Either I can get by, scraping by on the meager bones thrown my way. Or I can choose to create my own feasts by adding meaning and beauty. Tonight, I put on an uplifting music, music that's light hearted and steers away from serious themes. I sit down at the table instead of eating the meal hovering over a pan. I lit a candle and let the amber glow warm the empty apartment and the bare rooms of my lonely heart. I read poetry about August berries and cramming the black honey of them into mouths. In America for me I don't ever have to be so deliberate about being peaceful or happy or thankful. Yet, here it's the great battle. I breath deeply, and choose to surround myself with beauty. Force myself to recognize it's presence around me.

And this slows me down enough to let my thoughts catch up with me. Not the ones that are always fluttering, pestering near my ears. Buzzing with constant accusations and views of jaded perspectives. Instead slowing down allows those thoughts that are deep, meaningful ones of hopefulness and promise. It's easier to identify the life lessons attached to experiences in traffic jams or those life lessons attached to those difficult relationships. Gradually, ever so slowly these thoughts both the jaded and hopeful land on my heart and ever so slightly begin to change the tilt. That's why I'm convinced this great battle must be settled. The victory must belong to the contestant of sweetness and love.

I think about the spiritual battles hovering around me, and try to put words to these invisible yet ever influencing entities.

As I mentioned before when I slow I can see the life lessons attached to experiences. There are a lot attached to my experience in Nigeria. Nigeria teaches you quickly to always keep up your guard. To keep the gloves right up next to your chin, covering and protecting you from the precisely aimed jabs and upper cuts.

I've noticed I've begun to see everyone as a potential threat and enemy. A potential opponent out to entangle me in complications and demands. This view doesn't bring life. I've noticed it's caused me to cut off conversations short, causes me to unsympathetic to my steward who slipped on the puddles from our leaky air conditioner, causes me to retreat to my bedroom to keep the company of myself.

And I can't help but be very saddened by this. This thick skin doesn't flatter me. The color is totally wrong for my complexion. The texture of this fabric doesn't complement my eyes or hair. The whole mindset is itchy and uncomfortable. Yet, when I try to live in my natural design I get taken advantage of, and robbed from.

The fact that I've given into wearing this thick skin embarrasses me. Because it's also an judgement toward Nigerians. I've become increasingly irritated with them as a people. Those Nigerians who cut me in line at the airport. Those who cram everything into the overhead compartments. Those who make excuses about not being able to finish their work but when the addressed by the principal suddenly solutions are found. I have to remind myself that they aren't to blame. They are the result of a crooked government. They have been told countless times through daily life that they don't matter. Every time NEPA fails and they are left with out any power it's a reminder. Every time their universities go on strike and their degree is postponed yt another year it's a reminder. Every time they are crammed like animals into a bus after a long days work it's a reminder.

Injustice is the season of every meal they eat. It clothes their children and is the fare hollered from speeding buses competing for your meager nira.

I realize that it's not the common Nigeria I should be fighting against. Contrarily, they are those I should be joining forces with. The government has us so busy fighting each other that instead of uniting and accomplishing something great we are distracted and forced to steal the bread out of our brothers hand. Divide we are falling.

In my last five months here I want to work on my perspective. I want this bitter bile in my heart to become discerning and understanding. For me this starts in little ways like taking time to talk and explain myself to my IA. Stopping and thinking about how I can add sunshine to another life. Thinking about how to reword my responses so they divert the conversation away from negative towards the positive.

In these five months I'm open to being proven wrong. I'm daring them. Prove me wrong! Prove me wrong that if I give you my minute you wont demand for my hour. Prove me wrong! Prove me wrong that a act of kindness wont be repaid with the stealing of food. Prove me wrong that when I try to be your friend you will see me as such and not only as a way to get a job. Prove me wrong that if I care for you you wont suck me dry!Prove me wrong!

Gifts

I'm home alone. I've not been alone for almost three weeks, except for the time I sleep and that one time I drove to the Debords for a short quick and sweet visit. It's been great to be surrounded. Surrounded by such a steady and overwhelming love, such yummy foods, and such deep insightful conservators and conversations.

Every time I come home to the Northwest I'm reminded of my richness. The choices I have to eat healthy. My moms fridge is always full of fresh pressed juice, sushi is a quick drive away and is only 1.00 per striped plate. I have choices of who to spend time with. Jeremy while mixing, spreading and covering a pizza taught Mike about the beauty and intricacy of wood. Mardie and I stuffed cotton diapers while cooing at Jasmine. Katy and I snapped and captured the beauty and curiosity of a the Taylor family in drizzly downtown Tacoma. James and Katy learned Yoruaba words and rifled away question after question. Kathy and Bill grilled an amazing steak and salad for a brunch. Mike and I cozied in the McBee cottage on a blustery rain slanting day at Cannon Beach. Cards and dominoes at one point scattered our kitchen table after we ventured for a wander through Mikes first snow.

All of this richness just confirms my choice to return to the Northwest after my 2 year contract ends in early June. I'm ready to find a small living place where I can paint the walls maybe avocado green and egg shell blue perfect for hanging my African baskets and pictures on. I'm ready to teach at a school that is diverse and aligns with my teaching philosophy of inquiry and exploration. I'm giddy about getting more snotty kisses from Nora and teaching her some more sign language. I'm excited to watch Jasmine grow more hair and see her newest stunts. I'm anticipating brainstorming and dreaming with Katy about the possibilities of our photography.

But, in the mean time I'm going to enjoy the bounty of Nigeria. I'm going to drink deep of the car exhaust and savor the harmony of demanding horns and sirens. I'm going to pause and appreciate the cutest 21 Sparkle Diamonds. And when those five months are over I will zip my bags and shoulder them knowing these two years of dedication were full of purpose. I'm going to confidently leave a changed person who has rubbed noses with danger, African culture and bright colorful friendships.

Here are some of the pictures from the holidays.

Nora Jean Jumping Bean

Mardie and Jeremy team up on the stubborn pizza.

Peaceful Jasmine

Pizza prep

Christmas Day stocking discoveries

Cuddling in Seattle

Enjoying Whip It at the Bagdad theater on Hawthorne.

Nachos while watching the Ducks in the Rose Bowl.

Mike bundling me in his jacket in freezing Seattle.

Lovely Katy

Experience Music Project

Where's Mike?

Found him!

Space Needle view from the bottom.

Lunch at the Crab Pot.

Bundled

Last bit of shrimp

Cannon Beach view of Haystack rock from Moe's.

We love fresh air!

Bad to the bone in my new boots.