"it is me, myself"

Larissa (my housemate) herself, and me myself

One of the S. Sudanese English idioms I have taken a liking to.  Even better when followed by, "I am the one!"  Significant for the following reasons.

I think maybe you're tired of me posting about my own self reflections and less about S. Sudan, but you'll need to stick with me through this, unfortunately.

I'm just gonna go right ahead and put it all out there on the table.

Missionaries have expectations.  Whether we like to admit it or not, they are there.  There is an ideal (which, I think, is usually also shared by the general missionary support community) of what a good missionary's life should look like, and it is as follows: Language proficiency or even fluency, widely known and well received by the community, loving mostly everything about your host culture....and the list goes on.  The more people that greet you in the market, at church, the higher you climb in the eyes of your teammates and visitors, the more easily you understand and are understood in language - still higher you climb. The more hours you spend with people of your host culture, the more home stays you do, the longer you do them for - all of these things prop you higher and higher on the totem pole of success in this missionary life.

And, the thing is, these are good things.  Really good things.  It shows the utmost respect for people that you are able to speak to them in their language, to spend time with them in their homes, to love and live their approach to life.  I hold these same things in extremely high regard.  I, too, share these expectations, these values.

The thing is, I realized on my bike on the way home from the market today, that I will never be that person.  I'm not that person in the US and never have been in any other context I've spent time in and I will never be that person here in South Sudan.

Hm.  So.  Does that mean I will never make a good missionary?  My first inclination is yes, that's exactly what that means.  However, my growing awareness of shame in my life makes me think twice about that inclination.  Maybe, in fact,  just like everything else in life, it takes all kinds.  What about those tasks that are necessary to our ability to stay here in a relatively remote, newly independent country that require some attention to detail and mindless paperwork and waiting in lines?  What about roles that involve working with your hands more than speaking?  What about those africans who don't fit the typical african mold - they need a friend and need to experience the love of Jesus just as much as the rest of the continent.  Just the same,  just because I don't fit the typical mold doesn't mean that there is no place for me...

So, if it in fact does not mean that, then, pray tell, what does it mean?

It means that my life will look different from the lives of my teammates.  Maybe really different.  It means that's ok.  It means that God made me the way He did, for a reason.  It means that reason has purpose and place and significance here in South Sudan.  It means it's okay to love being a nurse.   It means it's okay to be quiet, and shy.  It means it's okay to take my time, and work at my own speed. It means I may struggle more to remember the validity of my role here.  It means I am called to be a part of things that are not so easy for me, and they will be stretching and difficult for me, but that I don't have to spend all of everyday in that category.  It means diversity is, in fact, the spice of life and I wouldn't want it any other way.

So, Mundri, for better or worse, the one you will meet on the road, the one you who will weigh and stick needles in and smile at and cuddle and coo at your children in the health center, the one who will struggle to come up with the right words, or even words at all, the one who will sit and really enjoy being with you but maybe not know the culturally appropriate way to express it, it is me, myself.   I am the one.