The Discipline of Letting Go

One day a disciple came to his master and asked, “Master, what can I do to become enlightened?”  The master replied, “As much as you can do to make the sun rise.”  Confused, the disciple replied, “Then of what use are all these disciplines?”  The Master said, “So that when the sun begins to rise, you do not miss it.” 

         –Spiritual Literacy by Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat

When I said yes to this call to go to Rwanda, I knew that the year would be less planned and much more uncertain than I had a remained in Minnesota.  But I was okay with that.  I was more at peace with this unknown call than the predictability of my own plans.  I found certainty in the call if not in the experiences that would fill it.  But now, here in Rwanda, I have found that each day I have to again reconcile with the unknown.  Because although I tried to come without my own agenda, I have found it hard to not have some kind of expectations about what may days will look like; how I should be feeling; and how, when, and with whom I will form relationships.

Much of my life up to this point has been very planned, scheduled, and structured.  During college, my weeks were full of scheduled classes, meetings, extracurriculars, and work.  I would make plans with friends for the weekend and mentally map out when I would fit in homework, a run, and a few extra hours of sleep.  Here in Rwanda, I am slowly learning the discipline of giving up control.

I have been in my new home here in Rwamagana for less than two weeks.  Just settling in and still unsure of how to spend my time, I didn't have any plans for my weekend.  So when school got out Friday afternoon, I headed home for what I thought was going to be a quiet few days.  However, on my way I came across a group of little girls practicing a traditional dance.  There were people drumming and clapping along.  These little girls in their dusty school uniforms, probably no older than ten years old, danced with such grace and confidence to the pulsing drum.  Thankful for nowhere to be, I stayed and watched.

When the dancing stopped, I began towards home again and soon my cell phone rang.  It was one of the local Lutheran pastors who I had not yet met, announcing that he would like to come visit... like right now.  Well, I thought, now is my time to practice some of the African hospitality I had been learning.  When he arrived, I offered him tea.  It was nearing dinner time and I knew I should offer him something to eat.  My roommate Becca and I looked in our pantry.  It was pretty empty because we had planned to go to the market the next morning.  We had some rice, half a cabbage, and an eggplant.  Becca graciously cooked what we had.  We ate with our guest and talked about his new congregation.  After a few bites of our quickly thrown together meal, he suggested that he come back on Monday with his sister and she would teach us how to cook like Rwandans.  I smiled and said that would be nice.

Saturday Becca and I wandered around a craft expo that was in town for the weekend and then joined our students for a game of basketball.  A friend texted us and said he would come over that night and teach us how to make chapatti (a fried Indian flat bread).  I sent him a text back: Yes, that would be great.

Sunday morning I ventured off on my own to the local Lutheran congregation for worship.  My students sat by me and invited me to stay for lunch afterwards.  “Yes,” I told them, “I would love to.”  On my way home my phone buzzed again, this time a text from another friend asking me if I would like to go out for dinner.  “Sounds great,” I replied.

My weekend did not go as planned.  And I am so grateful for that.  I am slowly learning how to let go of my expectations, my need to plan, and my desire to be in control.  The experiences and enlightenment that this year will bring cannot be planned.  Letting go is easier said than done.  But if we don’t stop trying to be in control, we might miss the sunrise.  Or a beautiful display of dancing.  Or a dinner guest.  Or a game of basketball.  Or chapatti…

... I had planned to sit down and blog earlier today.  But my computer was dead.  And the power was out again.  My instinct was to be frustrated but then I sat back and smiled.  Yes, Lord, I’ll let go.

Museums, Cows, and Kinyarwanda

On Wednesday morning Lars, Emily, Luke, Jake, Ryan, and I will depart for various placement sites throughout the country.  We have spent the last three weeks together in Kigali.  Our fearless leader and country coordinator, Kate, has been guiding us as we learn more about the culture, the language, and how God is at work here.  Here are some of the highlights of the past few weeks:

The Kigali Memorial Museum provided powerful and humbling insight into the country’s past.  It is hard to imagine a genocide taking place in a country that today is so full of life and optimism.  We met a few youth that were part of a campaign to collect one million messages of hope in remembrance of the genocide that took place twenty years ago.

We took an excursion to Kigali’s second largest city, Huye, where we visited a couple of Rwanda’s national museums.  We toured a replica of a traditional home of a Rwandan king.

Cows are an important part of Rwandan culture.  Traditionally symbols of wealth and beauty, cows were decorated for weddings and celebrations.  These cows at the museum were “the royal breed” of the past kings.  They looked rather majestic with their long horns.  The cows must have felt pretty special too because they even had their own royal cow singer to keep them happy.  Here's a picture of the cows being serenaded.  I think one of them is smiling. 

One of our new friends, Frank, taught us how to dance like a cow (which is much more elegant than it sounds) with arms spread wide to mimic the giant horns.

Saturday morning, we joined the youth at the church to help clean the church grounds.  Afterwards, they shared Fantas with us and showed us some of their dance moves.

Uyu ni umwarimu wacu, Peter.  Yigisha Ikinyarwanda.   This is our teacher, Peter.  He teaches Kinyarwanda.  Much of our past few weeks have been spent trying to learn the language.  Kinyarwanda has proved to be a difficult language but everyone seems eager to help us learn:  A man on the bus taught me how to count.  The guest house staff helps us practice; the conversations getting a little longer each day.

When we were learning basic greetings and conversation starters, Peter taught us how to say we are working as partners of the Lutheran Church.  So next time I'm making small talk and someone asks me what I do, all I have to say is, "Nkora k' urusengero rw' Abaruteri nk' umufatanyabikorwa."  Try saying that fives times fast.