Prepared to Fail?

I spoke to a good man today. He is Canadian but has lived most of his life in Africa. He annoyed me a little but that’s because he is a good man. I am in Africa doing the ultimate young idealistic thing. When the man asked what I do, in stead of giving my vague, I-don’t-want-you-think-I’m-a-freak answer, I told him. He asked how long I have been here then nodded knowingly and gently tried to prepare me for failure. He explained that politics is poison in Africa and told of his experiences in Uganda and Kenya. The implication was, of course, that any sensible person would avoid poison and that since politics (mostly) always has been poison in Africa, it always will be and so it is best left alone. It was an imminently sensible thing to say. It was based on experience much deeper than mine and came from what is probably a much wiser person that me. Had I been in his shoes, I probably would have said the same.

You see, seasoned missionaries and aid workers “know the type.” They’re young, they’re idealistic, many of them are talented, and they want to save the world. They know the type because that’s who they were 20, 30, and 40 years ago and they look with concern on people like me because it has been a journey of heart-break and disappointment. Many have tried and the ones who claim success are only those who have taken the approach of blessing a little corner of the world, the ones who have learned not to save the world, not to save Africa, not to save Malawi, not to save a city, not to save a village, but to save a person and then venture to influence a village.

Almost to a person, everyone who has tried to change the system has failed. They’ve tried and failed for decades, hundreds and thousands of people have tried and failed. They’ve tried through force, persuasion, money, industry, and faith – and they have failed. Individuals have changed and gotten better and systems have changed but they have not gotten better. And because these people have tried and failed, they think it cannot be done. They tell me how it is in Africa, they believe it will never change, and history is on their side.

I’m tempted to resent people who try to prepare me for the "inevitable" failure. But I know it comes from concern and evidence. They do it because they care about me, because they see me as they were and they’ve been hurt. And I persist like the child who jumps off the roof onto the trampoline after being told that he’s going to hurt himself. Everyone who does it hurts himself. I did it and I hurt myself. And they cringe like an adult who sees a child who is determined to hurt himself and cannot learn from others’ hard knocks.

They prepare me to fail because they care, and yet, I am not prepared to fail. Because to learn the lesson they are trying to teach is the surest way to fail. And so long as there is a five percent chance of success I will try for it as if I am sure to win and if 19 more people will come behind me with the same attitude the odds are that one of us will win and the efforts of 20 young idealists will have changed the world.

Blessed to Receive

I am not good at receiving gifts. But I am learning. I have had a lot of practice in the past two weeks and it has been refreshing. I know that it is more blessed to give than to receive, that I should love my neighbor as myself, and that money can’t make you happy. But I also know that it can be a wonderful blessing to receive, that I should love myself, and that money is also a blessing.

In the past two weeks I have spent nights in Washington, DC; Raleigh, NC; Paris, TX; Gruver, TX; Greeley, CO; and Alexandria, VA. And I have not spent a cent for housing. I stayed with a generous ministry in Washington, at the Marriott in Raleigh (paid for by someone who supports my boss), with my great aunt in Paris, with my parents in Gruver, with my brother in Greeley, and with my former roommate Evan and his wife in Alexandria. My friends and family have lent me cars and given me rides from NC to TX and then from TX to CO. They have fed me free meals and offered generous amounts of free technical advice and services for my work. My little brother even drove to CO to go skiing with me.

It could seem frivolous but there is something serene about being in the thin air where the chill wind comes over the mountain and no trees can grow, then turning to follow the wind as it sweeps over the snow and down the mountain.

I did something stupid though and tried to ski a black diamond slope that was very steep and shaped like a giant egg carton. It put my bum knee in such serious jeopardy that I minorly damaged it and walked the last bit in my ski boots. By the end I was so tired that I lost a ski when I was racing down a straight stretch. I went into a one-skied skid to slow down and then fell over the edge of the road I was on. I landed in a 5-foot snow drift. It was a serious struggle to get out since my efforts mostly pushed the snow down the mountain instead of pushing me up. It gave a good-natured laugh to my brother and one of medics who had clued into my distress and was following me down the mountain at a respectful distance. I'm glad no one had a camera but it was kind of funny when you get over your pride. The whole day was pure therapy – a gift from God.

I know it is more blessed to give than to receive, but I have no shame in saying it has been a profound blessing to receive as my loved ones wittingly and unwittingly took turns feeding the parts of me that were hungry.

I know that we are to love our neighbors as ourselves but I am also learning to love myself enough to be grateful and think it is worthwhile when someone goes out of his way and gratuitously blesses me.

I know that money can’t by happiness, but I freely admit that I relish and thank God for many expensive things that have refreshed me on this trip. Abundant, nutritious, convenient, food; hot showers; air travel; high speed internet; carpet; good cars and roads; clean air; beautiful landscaping; and thick, soft mattresses – I love these things. They take money, they’re a blessing, and many of my friends have never had them. I’m drinking them in and thanking God.

It’s a change for me because I was raised to pull my own weight and be a burden to no one. I learned to give and expect nothing in return and I prided myself on being independent. I fooled myself into thinking that my happiness was not affected by material things. I thought I was only supposed to give and I never learned the art of gracefully receiving. It made me uncomfortable when people did things for me and I somehow thought it was virtuous to decline or at least protest.

With God’s grace I will continue to give to others and I will pray that they are more gracious receivers than I have been. If they are, the gifts will be more of a blessing and both the giver and receiver more blessed.

It is better to give than to receive because giving is even better than a very good thing. Loving our neighbors as ourselves only means something when we love ourselves very much. And money cannot buy happiness but it can buy something that will bless those who have a need.

On Being Alone

It is strange to be alone
A life and experience that others do not know
Loneliness is a hunger
And hunger a part of life
A good part of life
For from hunger we know satisfaction

But there is a hunger that goes beyond
A bitter hunger
The body grows desperate and the soul to despair

When a soul is left to its joys and its sorrows unknown
Joys unexpressed
And distress turned upon itself
The timely word ungiven and unrecieved
The love that does not reach across the distance
Known but to itself
And the soul starts to die

It is good to be alone
To know the hunger that ends with satisfaction
And not in death

A Night of Daydreams

It is 4 a.m. and it has been a great evening.

I dreaded it. Late this afternoon I promised my boss that in the morning I would give him a draft of his for-publication, 9-page, mostly-bullet-points, strategic plan. It’s the sort of thing you’ll use for reference and it won’t get much attention from anyone unless they think you did a bad job. Then it will be relentlessly mocked and used as proof that you’re really an idiot who has no business trying to play with the big boys. It’s not an opportunity to win; the goal is not to lose. You merely hope to be ignored and if someone ventures a yawn, you bask in the attention – honored by this faint evidence that he actually read it.

So why the great evening? Well, it stirred sweet memories of late-night college papers – sweet memories of bitter experiences that were retrospectively satisfying. (The smug thought that this professor had no idea that I started writing the 18-page paper 12 hours before it was due at 9 a.m. If he’d known, he would have denied me an A out of principle.) And there is the mellow company of successive cups of tea and cheery IMs from my friends several time zones away. They are surprised to find me awake. Besides, even if all the ideas in that paper don’t inspire anyone else, they kind of get me cranked up. I will pay the prince of weariness in days to come but for now, it has been a very comfortable night.

In three or four hours I have to get up, submit the draft, and get my boss to seriously engage it since he will be publicly expected to follow through on everything I have written. Then I need to use it and some other materials to talk through and possibly write some less comprehensive and more catchy materials we will publish for broad consumption. Then I have to shoot some footage of my boss in action as he speaks to a group of chiefs then gives a speech. Then I need to pack for a 2.5-week trip that will take me half way around the world and back. I really should do a little work on the details of the trip too.

Yes, it’s been a comfortable evening of trying to describe the dream of Malawi's future. Thanks friends for keeping me company.

In Stead of a Post

My internet was out over the weekend so appologies for the delayed post. I lieu of a blog post this weekend, I have sent an email. Feel free to ask about it. Thanks.

micahsbox@gmail.com

Rain, a Motorcycle, and the Inauguration of Barack Obama

The weather has been treacherous the past week or two. It has been ambushing me on my motorcycle. And it has spent a lot of ammunition too. I called its bluff when it looked clear this morning and then it wasted several inches of rain while I sat smugly in my house. (If the roof over my kitchen didn’t leak I would have been more smug.)

Then it cleared off, the sun came out, I looked at the withered rain clouds, and knew I had my chance. I put on the shoes that didn’t get soaked in yesterday’s ambush and merrily rode to the store enjoying the rush of rain-freshened air. An hour at the store then I went and checked the last two of my six motorcycle repairs off the list. I grabbed some lunch at the Baptist center nearby.

But then I saw the problem. The rain had been creeping up behind the store and the Baptist building. And the pavement was already wet when I finished lunch. But it was only light rain and my house was away from the storm. So I put on my rain suit, mounted the bike, and smirked to think that the rain had not managed to block my retreat.

But I had not judged well and, as I raced home, it closed in from the side. I was exposed with nowhere to go and it came with wind too. I was hurrying but it came in torrents. The wind currents swirled the water on the pavement in front of me and it made me think new thoughts. Can enough wind blow a motorcycle over? What would happen if a motorcycle hydroplaned? Why did that bus have to drive through that mud puddle just now and splash it’s contents all over me? At least there’s plenty of clean rain to wash the mud off my visor. I should have gotten gloves because raindrops hurt when they hit your knuckles. This elastic doesn’t really seal around my wrists and there are pools of water in my sleeves. How do you close the “air” vents on this helmet? How was I supposed to see that pothole underwater? I hope it doesn’t rain again tomorrow because now I have to choose between wearing wet shoes and nice shoes and I don’t want to get my nice shoes wet.

In case you are wondering, I didn’t hydroplane or get blown off the road. But this time the ammunition wasn’t wasted. I got wet. And about the time I got home, the rain settled down to a placid little sprinkle. Its work was done for the day.

Malawians actually label and number their potholes, presumably for repair. I wonder if I should get a copy of their pothole map and memorize it before next time it rains.

You see, the motorcycle-rain complex is a significant part of my life, and it was also part of Barack Obama’s inauguration. I watched the inauguration at the U.S. embassy watch party which was probably considerably more comfortable than actually being there. You stood there at a reception while people kept walking past trying to give beer, wine, soft drinks, and dainty finger food. Some TV screens were playing CNN. And, of course, there was the upper that the new president is black and the downer that he has really bad policies.

I almost didn't go because of the rain. But I knew it could be my best opportunity to meet the ambassador. Besides, I’m always afraid history won’t quite work if I’m not there. So, while all these dignitaries were arriving in chauffeured cars, I drove up dripping with grocery bags tied over my shoes to keep them dry. Then I walked up to the porch area where all the formal, starched people were filing in and proceeded to pull off my (rain) pants and take the muddy, dripping bags off my shoes. For some reason I've always kind of enjoyed being an ordinary fellow in uppity crowds. It was my favorite part.

You see, in Washington, DC the U.S. Ambassador to Malawi hardly ranks in the hierarchy of things. But in Lilongwe, he’s one of the most important dignitaries. (Same size fish, different size pond.) The Chinese ambassador was also there working the crowd. So just in case all those starched people were offended by this muddy Texan, I walked up to the ambassador, introduced myself and chatted about a mutual acquaintance.

I’m not much of a socialite and neither am I a party-crasher, but I am a bit of a contrarian and I rather enjoyed the evening.

But I still wish the rain would cut me some slack.

Here's the bike. My boss's son is modeling the helmet.

From Motorcycle

Malawi, the Bible, and the West

It struck me some time back that the Bible doesn’t take as much translation to make sense in Malawian culture. In my experience, people who read and explain the Bible need to spend a good bit of time trying to get inside the ancient audiences’ heads to recapture the original impact of a particular set of words. And the more your culture is different from the ancient culture, the more you have to study and use your imagination to get it.

This leads to my point. The culture here in modern-day Malawi seems to be more similar to the Palestine of Joshua, David, Nehemiah, and Jesus than is modern-day America. It first struck me when I was listening to someone use examples from Kings and Chronicles to illustrate good leadership. He was speaking to an audience of chiefs and somehow I think all those stories of good and bad rulers made a lot of sense to them. And it wasn’t because they went through the intellectual gymnastics to put themselves in an ancient culture’s shoes. It is because they are a lot like the guys in that ancient culture.

I’ve always thought I have a little more connection to the agricultural illustrations in the Bible since I grew up in a family that lived by farming. This has actually been a minor point of pride with me because I think most people only have an intellectual understanding of a great harvest with few laborers to harvest it. And they don’t quite grasp the significance of a seed that must die before it can become a new life. I think it is legitimate for me to claim a deeper understanding of these things since I have measured the price of a good crop in sweat, lost sleep, bruised knuckles, and patience.

But if I can make this claim, most of the people here can make it ten times over. And there is also much more they have in common with the Ancient Culture. Here are a few things I have seen:

Irregular or Insufficient Rain Bringing Famine. This is a problem now because last years’ rains were not good.

Salt is a treasure. We read about Christians being like salt in the world and we have to realize that this was not said in our context where the cost of salt is about the same as sand. It was in a place where people knew that salt is a treasure that gives life to an otherwise bleak diet. Here, I have seen people and even Chiefs clinging, begging, and cheating to get salt. Try eating unsalted bread or pancakes sometime and you will see why.

Witchcraft and even Child Sacrifice. There are the sections of town where you get car parts or food and there is the place you go for witches. You can go through the capital city and see all the witch-doctors’ booths with their strange concoctions on display. I have even heard people tell us their children cannot walk to school because they will be caught by the witches and killed so their parts can be used in certain rituals. I do not know how pervasive this is.

Beggars – the Blind and the Lame. Perhaps half the beggars here keep a stark physical deformity on display -- blindness, a leg that is three times the normal size, a foot that is doubled around backwards or missing altogether . . . You start to recognize them after a while. Even in a large city the same people turn up over and over again in different places, always asking for money. They don’t have many prostheses. The beggars remind me of the stories in the gospels and Acts.

Corrupt Tax Collectors. The way to make money here is to go into government. Enough said.

Polygamy – Especially with Rulers. Chiefs often have many women and even many wives. They are expected to. There is a dark and horrible belief that, if a man sleeps with a virgin, he will be cured of AIDS. And, as a point of hospitality, a man may offer his young wife to an overnight guest. It is only considered rape if the man did not offer her. This is reminiscent of some of the darker stories in the Old Testament.

Masters and Servants. Malawi generally does not have slavery in the sense of one person owning another. But it does have big households with many people hired to do everything – cleaning, cooking, gardening, laundry, ironing, shoe-polishing, driving, guarding . . . Nice houses are built with servants’ quarters. Servants are often paid less than $50 per month and they treat their employers like masters. They’re expected to.

“Possessed” People. I have heard it said that the main difference between rich people and poor people is that the poor people do not have the luxury of hiding their problems. I think there is some truth to this. In our society people’s mental troubles are generally hidden from view. They are medicated and counseled, and for the people and times where this is not enough, they are kept in a place out of sight until it is resolved.

Here, people with mental troubles here are presumed to be bewitched. They live untreated and in full view. Those close to them will have to choose between fear and retaliation toward the one who is thought to have bewitched them.

Again, I don’t mean this as a critical analysis of either system but as an observation of how this one might be closer to what we find in Biblical times.

Outside Oppression. Malawi was dominated by the British for nearly 100 years. The British knew how to make things run in some ways, but they were still an occupier. And the people resented it. It deprived them of the dignity of being equals. I think this is something in common with first-century Jews in the Roman Empire.

I had been thinking of all these things, then a couple of mornings ago, I sat down to read the Old Testament book of Ezra. Ezra was angry about how the people were living so he gave three days notice for all the men to assemble in one place. He said that anyone who did not come would have his property seized. I don’t know for sure how these Malawian Chiefs call a council and get such good attendance but I’m guessing they use some of the same tactics. When they had all gathered, Ezra told the people in very definite terms to mend their ways. And they responded, “You are right! We must do as you say. But there are many people here and it is the rainy season; so we cannot stand outside. Besides, this matter cannot be taken care of in a day or two, because we have sinned greatly in this thing. Let our officials act for the whole assembly” (Ezra 10:12-14, NIV). Somehow I could almost see this very scene – albeit with different details – being played out in a Malawian village.

Really, I think modern-day Malawi (outside the cities) is probably more like the Ancient Culture than it is modern-day America. Which leads me to another impression I have had: going to Malawi is a lot like time-traveling. It is going from a post-industrial to a pre-industrial world. I know a lot of people who have wistfully wondered what it would be like to go back in time to medieval Europe. Well, you can’t do that. But you can go to another place in the world where people are just as different and just as intriguing. It’s not medieval Europe by any stretch but it is probably more like that than your suburban neighborhood.

And yes, I am arguing that you should come see me. When you think about it, this modern world allows you to walk into a pressurized metal tube then walk out haggard and bleary-eyed two days later into a strange and wonderful iron-age world. Imagine putting the Bibles’ cultures and medieval Europe into a blender, pouring Africa sauce over it, and placing it in one of the world’s most beautiful climates. Visiting is an incredible experience – the sort of thing we’d give our firstborn to do if it wasn’t so accessible.

Now, in writing this, I have committed a few crimes. The greatest of these is to have conflated all the Biblical cultures into one. There are many different cultures over time in the Bible and, at any given time, the Bible tells of several different cultures interacting with each other. And of course Malawi is not uniform either; any given place in Malawi is not really like any given place in the Bible. But there are striking parallels that could very well make understanding the Bible more natural for Malawians than it is for most Western Christians. In this, I think they have an intuitive insight that we never will.

These are the witch doctors' booths in Lilongwe.


These are the children who, we are told, cannot go to school for fear of being killed by witches.