On Incomprehensible Grace

On Monday, classes will begin here at the University of Ghana and I will once again be engaged in that work of a student to which I am so well accustomed. I am eager to have work to do again. Traveling during the month of January was lovely; it was an incredible opportunity to see so much of Ghana in such a short amount of time. However, we came here as students and it seems only right that we settle into that role at the University now and cease our traveling for a little while.

And yet there is a sense in which this is particularly hard to do. I have never spent time abroad for the sole purpose of studying; I have always traveled with some sense of broader purpose or mission, naïvely thinking that I might have something special to offer to people overseas. I learned many things during these trips, and yet none of them included formal education experiences of any kind. I know how to be a student in the U.S., but do I know how to be a student abroad?

There is a deeper reason I am struggling to settle into this role, though, and that is the nagging reality that to be in this position is an immense luxury that I do not deserve. Not only am I one of a tiny global minority who is currently receiving a college education but I am one of an even smaller minority who is getting to study abroad during my time in college. How can this be happening to me?

Throughout our time traveling so far we have met numerous hardworking, brilliant, kind individuals who have never been to university and certainly have never had the opportunity to cross the Atlantic or any other ocean. I am definitely no more deserving of this opportunity than any of these people are. If anything, their abundant generosity compared with my stinginess should qualify them even more.

I am still struggling to understand the generosity of my heavenly Father that allows me to be here today, to be here to simply attend classes here in Ghana. I am once again stripped down to the basics of my faith, attempting to understand the abundant, lavish grace that has been offered me. This grace that is felt with every sunrise, with every drop of water on my lips, with every bite of fresh mango, with every smile from a stranger—in all the little joys that make up each day. While I am feeling especially unworthy of God’s grace at this time, the truth is that I am equally unworthy of all that I have back in the States.

All that I have, and all that I am is the fruit of a God who refuses to let go of those whom he loves.

Sunset over Mole National Park

On “Home”

Over the course of the past week our group has made our way from the southern coast of Ghana up to the north, as far as Bolgatanga. The northern and southern regions of Ghana are quite different from one another. Without going into too much detail, the northern regions are much more sparsely populated (migration tends to follow a pattern of north to south due to the location of Accra and the fishing industry) and tend to deal with more issues of poverty overall (especially illiteracy, sanitation and hygiene deficiencies, lack of access to clean water, and underdeveloped methods for sustainable agriculture). The northern regions are hotter but also less humid, which our group really enjoyed after the hot mugginess of Cape Coast. This understandably has an impact on the vegetation and lifestyles that can be observed while driving through the north.

Since these differences were noticeable as we neared Tamale—the first “northern” town we stayed in—I can truly say I have fallen in love with this country. Up here in the north, I see many scenes that remind me of pictures my dad has showed us from his childhood, which was spent almost entirely in northern Nigeria. From circular mud huts with thatched roofs, to Range Rovers navigating dirt roads, to whole families squished onto motorbikes, something about northern Ghana feels vaguely familiar and deeply known. I have been reminded of (surprise, surprise) the descriptions of the children who return to Narnia after they have been breathing Narnian air for a while again; I feel stronger, more determined, more eager to learn, more resilient here.

I have this deep sense that a piece of me that I have never before understood now makes sense, and that a part of me that was always restless has found its home.

The concept of home is such a funny thing. Especially since getting engaged I have realized that “home” will never mean the same thing for me ever again. But I don’t know that “home” is ever really one single place. Over the past couple months I have realized just how fluid the concept of home really is.

There is a sense in which my home is with my fiancé, as I know that everything I’m experiencing here would be even more fun if I got to share it with him. There is a sense in which my home is with my family, as they have poured so much into me and I have spent the majority of my life in my parents’ home. And there is a sense in which home is none of these places or any physical space at all.

I am enjoying exploring this and so many other questions during my time here in Ghana and am so excited to see what the rest of this semester brings.

On the Stranger

Hello from Ghana! The transition to life here has not been entirely easy but has been generally smooth and I am certainly enjoying life here so far. I am especially thankful for some immediately noticeable similarities between Ghana and Kenya, where I spent a month during the summer before my senior year of high school. Each day brings a bit more comfort as we establish some routines and learn more about the culture we are inhabiting. I am so excited to see what the rest of our time here will bring.

I wanted to share a story with you all from our trip over here. Our flight from Detroit to Amsterdam was through the night and most of us got some chance to sleep and it was a generally smooth flight except for the landing, which was a little turbulent.

Our flight from Amsterdam to Accra was much, much different. It was two hours shorter than our flight to Europe but we all agreed it felt like it lasted a day. I was seated between two Ghanaians—a middle-aged man who was returning to Ghana from London for the first time in 10 years, and a woman about the age of my mom who was returning to Ghana after a trip to the States to visit family. We did not talk much initially; I was feeling a little ill and fell asleep at the beginning of the flight for about a half hour.

 

Just a few hours into the flight, however, the woman and I were clinging to each other as the plane pitched up and down, back and forth due to the worst turbulence I have ever experienced in my life. You know the turbulence is bad when gasps simultaneously fill the plane upon every drop, and you know it must be awful when the pilot announces that although it may not feel like it, the plane really can handle much worse than it’s experiencing at the moment. If you know me even a little bit, you probably know that I get motion sickness at the drop of a hat, so I was feeling pretty terrible. The emotional toll of the day—see previous post for a window into that—only made things worse, and soon hot tears were rolling down my face. It only took my neighbor (her name is Diana so I’ll use it!) a moment to realize my distress. She took my hand and I buried my face in her shoulder and she began to pray fervently for peace, comfort and safety.

There is something oddly beautiful about fear that drives you to cling tightly to the stranger next to you. There is something undeniably beautiful about a woman who prays over and holds the child of someone she will never meet on this side of heaven. 

This was my welcome to Ghana. Whenever the plane began to rock again, Diana would grab my hand or stroke my hair. She got water for me throughout the flight. She reassured me with gentle words and quiet prayers.

Throughout the Bible, God repeatedly calls his people to love three groups of people in particular: the widows, the orphans, and the strangers. I pray that spending just a few months living in one of these categories will help me to live into this call better.

On Fighting Shame

I’m sitting in an airport in Amsterdam after completing the first leg of my trip to Accra, Ghana. Getting on the plane in Detroit was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Leaving my family and my fiancé after two lovely weeks at home was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do; no amount of time could be enough.

Preparing for this trip has been an odd experience. I’ve been planning on spending this semester in Ghana since I came to Calvin, knowing that the program I chose required majors to spend a semester abroad, and that I wanted to return to the African continent. I am excited to be in West Africa for the first time, just a few countries over from the country in which my dad was born. There’s a piece of me that feels like it’s returning home, even though I’ve never been to Ghana.

And then there’s this other piece of me. A part of me that tells me I shouldn’t be intimidated by spending nearly five months living in conditions different from those with which I am familiar because I shouldn’t be materialistic. A part of me that tells me I shouldn’t be so sad to leave the people I love because the communication technology that is available to us means I can communicate with them almost whenever I want. A part of me that tells me I should feel more prepared to witness the harsh realities of poverty because I’ve been to far more impoverished places before. A part of me that says this semester should be easy for me because I’m an International Development Studies major.

This is the part of me that is too prideful to admit my utter need for a Savior. This is the part of me that is too wound up in myself and how I appear to others to humbly sit in a learning posture. This is the part of me that is angry at myself for being human.

So I’m praying for God’s voice to drown out the voices in my head that are trying to shame me into giving up. I’m praying for God to sustain me, knowing that he’s the only one who can. I’m praying for a deeper willingness to fail and make mistakes. I’m praying for humility and peace as I admit my fears and attempt to work past them. This right now is my calling.