It was an amazing thing that we were in the middle of the West African jungle with limited electricity, popping ice cubes into tea glasses or pulling out frozen chicken to thaw. Though my kitchen perpetually smelled of kerosene, I complained very little. Funny, the things I would have not tolerated for very long in America, I embraced and was thankful for in Liberia. It was Jeff’s job to keep the flame burning constantly by adding kerosene as necessary. We looked at it as his contribution to the food process. Never really having learned to cook, he knew he was at my mercy for meal preparations. In those early days, it was a heady feeling to know that my ministry of taking care of my husband, who was busy learning so much about the Liberian ministry, was very important. As I am a front line kind of gal, I did struggle with being in the shadows at times, but with the privilege of feeding and caring for that incredible new missionary, I perceived that his crowns were my crowns.
Inflatable Christmas Tree
After nearly two weeks in Tappi, my journal of December 20, 1985, reads:
Liberia is feeling more like home, even though at times I pine away for America. I’m sure this is normal. The house is coming along fine. It thrills me to know that it’s mine! I can’t wait to get settled. No one will ever know what I felt those last few weeks in America before we left. No real place to call my own. A woman has got to have her nest, right?
Christmas is in five days! I would love to be able to decorate more, but it’s just not feasible. I found a ceramic nativity scene in a barrel (left by a missionary who lived here previously), so I put it up and hung a red bow by the door. And thank you, MawMaw (my mother) for the inflatable Christmas tree because that’s what we are using! But just wait until next year! I’ll go all out.
I desire to start a ministry, but I know I must get settled first. I am so excited about serving the Lord here. Jeff really enjoys working on the helicopter and airplane, and being able to fly again. Many of the Liberian men come to visit and talk to him. He’s going to be a continued blessing to these men, I just know it. God has given us a great peace and joy about being here.
Sometimes I am amazed how my mother anticipated my needs as a woman heading to West Africa before I even did. Now that I am a mother of grown daughters, I understand it more. I am so thankful for the support and beyond that, the practical ways my mother and mother-in-law found to touch my life, even when they were certainly struggling with the separation from their children and grandchild. The inflatable Christmas tree was a perfect example of that. It was exactly right for that first, quickly put together Christmas in our African home. The pictures of Michelle sitting beside that tree are some of my favorites! In retrospect, and now, because I have lived a little life, I know that Christmas is not in the size of the tree nor in how many decorations in your house. If the spirit of Christmas is not lived out in our lives 365 days of the year, none of the rest of it really matters.
Little Things That Get You
Taken from my December 21, 1985, journal:
Perhaps the most aggravating thing today is that I don’t have a stopper for my kitchen sink and I have to put a cloth under another smaller drain stopper to keep the water in. Sometimes I pull it out by mistake and lose all the hot water that has been heated on our wood stove outside. It’s very frustrating!
There was no hot water available in our house, so I would have to step outside my back door and pour water from a container into a metal bucket already setting on top of the wood fire. After the water was heated, I lugged the steamy container into my kitchen. Bringing in hot water in a slopping metal bucket was a dangerous thing, and I had many burns on my arms and legs to prove it.
It took me a little while, but I discovered by carrying only a half bucket at a time, that this proved to be safer and easier. It was quite an ordeal just to get the hot water in the house without losing it down the drain before I was finished washing the dishes. That was a BIG deal! Sometimes it would take me almost an hour to wash a few dishes from lunch and breakfast because of that problem. Granted, our Bible school students who worked for us did it all the time, but it was something they had always known to do. For me, it was foreign, frustrating, and tedious. Occasionally, I would find myself looking around for a hidden dishwasher, but it never appeared. I have to admit that, for the first few months, I cried quite a bit over those small things in my new life that seemed so big.
Feet First
After our first week in Tappi during a weekly station meeting, I was asked if we could host the station Christmas party. Our house, we came to find out, had always been used for these kind of gatherings because of how the front rooms were long, spacious, giving ample space for tables and guests. Our zinc-covered porch would accommodate tables for the children. My disposition towards hospitality was already being put to the test. So, I agreed. I mean, why change tradition just because I had only been in that strange country for a couple of weeks?
Jumping to the challenge, it took three days to get the boxes out of the family room, rugs laid, and pictures hung. I wanted everything to be as homey and lived in as possible. I do have to remember that I was only 27 years old then and nothing seemed impossible. Today, I would probably most likely still host the Christmas dinner, but the boxes would be stashed in another room or at least a tablecloth thrown over them. I now know that endless mounds of boxes were just an integral part of a missionary home more often than not.
As Christmas approached, we settled into a strange, nostalgic funk. Everything seemed a little surreal and looking back, I realize now that our bodies and emotions were in “survival” mode. We were completely out of our element, had never faced a Christmas without our families before, and found ourselves in an environment that in no way felt like the Yuletide merriment to which we were accustomed. Our emotions changed like the tide, and so tempted was I to lie down and sleep until the day after New Year’s Day. At first, we eluded the real issues which were no doubt causing us to react so strangely by staying busy unpacking, learning, organizing. Jeff and I became snappy at each other over the smallest things as we succumbed to pressures that we had never known and feelings we chose to suppress out of fear of sounding weak. Ever been there?
Looming closely in my mind was the reality that, come Christmas Day, sixteen people, most whom we barely knew, were coming to my disorganized, albeit spacious home for holiday cheer. I grumpily quipped that they had better be bringing that cheer with them! Granted, I was cooking very little of the meal, but the thought of having missionaries that were familiar with jungle living, those houses, the African people, the smells, and the confounded inconveniences at times seemed too much. I peaked high as one more picture was hung and then I would crash hard when I looked at the sparse Christmas items with which I had to decorate. I began to see the seemingly mile-long stretch of spider webs, the dust that multiplied hourly on everything wood, and the concrete floors that glared ominously from alongside my braided living room rug.
It was one of my first, but certainly not my last disillusioned moment at where God had placed me. I was both disappointed with myself for what I was thinking and perplexed with God for “allowing” me to think in such a defeating way. I had not yet embraced that biblical principle of taking hold of my thoughts and not allowing them to consume me.
It’s 6:00 p.m. in the States now, and they are probably eating Christmas Eve supper at Grandma Horrell’s. Oh, how we long to be there! This is the most homesick I have been yet. But I know they are missing us, too, and that also hurts. Michelle had a rough day (or maybe it was just me projecting on her). She cried and whined most of the day. We also found out that some missionary kids were giving Michelle something for Christmas and a missionary couple was giving us something. I feel terrible because I did not anticipate that.
I was very hard on myself for even the little things that I did not think to pack in our container. As a lesson to pass on to someone heading to a foreign country, I wish I would have brought out little gifts from America for the other missionary children on the field for Christmas, and perhaps some small treats for the adults, too. We were unversed missionaries with so many large and small things to learn. No one was harder judges on us than ourselves.
The Day After Christmas
My journal