Down to the Chapel to Pray

Several weeks ago I was in the chapel for a time of prayer with the BVS Team. We try to take time every morning for prayer. We'll read a scripture and have five minutes of silence and conclude with a prayer. It was during one of these sessions that I found myself paying particular interest in the walls that create the chapel at the Church of the Brethren offices. It is an amazing design. One that I have never seen before. And it's probably one of my favorite places to worship that isn't outside.

You walk into an oblong room where the walls are made entirely out of varying kinds of stone. Sporadically placed throughout the wall are a dozen or more miniature stained glass windows. It is absolutely beautiful. The colors in the stained glass are so incredibly rich and bright and amazing. I could look at them for hours. Then in the front of the chapel, there is a hanging wooden cross underneath a skylight. It's a great space.

So this morning during prayer time I focused almost the entire time on the space I was in. And wondered how it came to be. I usually have a very short attention span. My mind tends to wander a great deal during those five minutes. Everything from work I need to do, to friends I'd like to be in touch with or what I'm planning on eating for lunch. Not exactly a prayerful time. But this morning I couldn't stop thinking about these walls, these stone, the glass. The time and energy and sweat that would have gone into putting each stone into place and slowly building the wall. They tell me that the men who constructed the walls learned their trade in Sicily, Italy. You know that many hands were used in the making of something as exquisite as this room.

I am incredibly thankful for those who worked so hard to create our chapel at the offices. For me it truly is a place of worship. When the room is filled with harmonizing voices during a Wednesday morning chapel service. Or when I need a few minutes alone to collect my thoughts it is a great place to go.

Many mornings I find myself not wanting to go pray, but then I get there and it's good. Great even. I often wonder why this is and I don't know the answer to that. But I am glad it's something that we do together as a team. In a place where we each work every day to minister to others, it's very important to take the time to minister to ourselves and support one another. Very important indeed.

Chiquitita

This is a song by Abba that I have had in my head for awhile. So I thought I'd stick the lyrics up here. Here is a link if you want to hear the song itself:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=poxthfG109o

Chiquitita, tell me whats wrong
You're enchained by your own sorrow
In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow
How I hate to see you like this
There is no way you can deny it
I can see that you're oh so sad, so quiet

Chiquitita, tell me the truth
I'm a shoulder you can cry on
Your best friend, I'm the one you must rely on
You were always sure of yourself
Now I see you've broken a feather
I hope we can patch it up together

Chiquitita, you and I know
How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leaving
You'll be dancing once again and the pain will end
You will have no time for grieving
Chiquitita, you and I cry
But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you
Let me hear you sing once more like you did before
Sing a new song, chiquitita
Try once more like you did before
Sing a new song, chiquitita

So the walls came tumbling down
And your loves a blown out candle
All is gone and it seems too hard to handle
Chiquitita, tell me the truth
There is no way you can deny it
I see that you're oh so sad, so quiet

Chiquitita, you and I know
How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leaving
You'll be dancing once again and the pain will end
You will have no time for grieving
Chiquitita, you and I cry
But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you
Let me hear you sing once more like you did before
Sing a new song, chiquitita
Try once more like you did before
Sing a new song, chiquitita
Try once more like you did before
Sing a new song, chiquitita

Lost

There are so many things that I find myelf wanting to write about, but sometimes I find it hard to sit down and remember what it is that I want to say! It's like my thoughts end up being lost in my own head!

Like the fact that it's finally spring here. Everything is finally growing. The grass is a rich green and the trees have leaves on them again. The flowers are budding and everything is so incredibly beautiful. One of my favorite things to do is to be outside. Whether I'm taking a walk or playing Frisbee or football (soccer). All I want to do is be outside! Many people have a favorite season, whether it's spring, summer, fall or winter, but for me I love them all. I love the heat of summer, the beautiful colors of the trees in the fall, the snow and cold of winter, and then all the new life in the spring. It makes me smile just to think about it.

Then there's the fact that I sprained my thumb last week and couldn't play frisbee for a few days. So what did I do instead? I went to the park and got in on a game of pick up soccer. The guys that play at the park all speak Spanish, so I have no idea what it is they are saying, which is okay with me. There are always games of soccer going on in the afternoon/evenings at Wing Park that involve dozens of people just playing for the fun of it. It's pretty awesome really. And they're nice enough to humor me by letting me play. I have realized though that the muscles you use playing frisbee and the muscles you use playing soccer are VERY different. I could barely move last week I was so sore! But it doesn't stop me from going back.

Of course there are always more stories to tell from my time in Nigeria. And those will come. I have to tell of the woman I danced with at a fellowship dinner with the Garkida EYN #2 congregation. And the dog-like female turkey and the crazy male turkey who was, well crazy. And the fact that all I wanted to eat when I returned to the states was fruit and hard boiled eggs. I could go on and on. Not to worry, I will elaborate more soon!

I have so many thoughts in my head that it's hard to get it all down. But I am working on it.

I am Bahago

While in Nigeria I often heard the term "bahago" used when I was around, especially if I was eating or writing something down. Bahago mean "left-handed" in Hausa, and since I am left handed, it is only fitting that they would call me this. Being left handed was the identity that I received during my weeks there. When it came to meals I would try to eat using my right hand but I found it to be a slow going process. This wouldn't have been a huge deal except for the fact that when it was time for the children to go through the line and get food there would be no plates or spoons/forks left so they would go and gather the empty plates from those who had been served first. And that was us, the bature, the guests of honor. In other words, I needed to eat at a normal pace, if not quickly, so the children could take and use my plate. So, I used my left hand.

The girls that I played with most every day that we spent at the EYN loved that I was bahago. One of our last mornings together they came while I was on my porch writing and they wanted to write their names in my journal. After they did that, they wanted to see me write my name. As soon as I began writing I heard laughter and giggling and excited chatter. I was able to recognise that they were calling me bahago. I just laughed and smiled and kept on writing.

Our last evening in Kwarhi, EYN hosted a farewell and thank you dinner for us. After the meal I was asked for my mailing address by one of the gentlemen sitting near me. He knew me not by name, but as the Young and Strong Girl. Later that evening he came visiting at my house to greet me and give me a small gift of groundnuts (peanuts). More importantly he wanted to introduce me to his daughter, whom he introduced as being bahago, like me.

I get the feeling that not many in this culture are left handed. My guess is that if a child begins to show left handed tendencies that they are taught otherwise. For many years that is how it was here in the States as well. My grandmother should have been left handed, but she wasn't allowed. So to meet this child, although briefly, was a very special moment for me. There was also a young man working with us some days who was clearly left handed while he was doing the work. But when it came to meals he ate with his right hand.

In many cultures, the left hand is dirty. It is the hand that is used to clean up after oneself. It is of great offense if you extend your left hand to another person in greeting, or offer something using your left hand. It isn't done. In some senses, the fact that we live in a right handed world is beneficial. At the same time I feel as though people who are right handed don't think about these things. Those of us who are left handed have had to make many adjustments. Honestly I probably don't even know how many adjustments I've made to this right handed world. But I've hade to. And I'm okay with that.

I am bahago. It is a part of who I am. And I love it.