There are things I take for granted in America. Housing. Convenience stores in walking distance. Convenience in general. Clean drinking water. Paved roads. Electricity. If I were to move to a foreign country, like, say, Uganda or Kenya, and those staples of my life were absent, I'd like to think I would adjust.

But safety... safety would be tough. I don't take safety for granted here. I double-lock our doors and tread carefully in traditionally "bad" areas of the city even if I'm in a car. But in Africa, I felt unsafe as a present rather than passive way. There were lots of contributing factors of course - we were regaled with stories of missionaries being bound & held at gunpoint while their small children had to go around the house collecting their valuables. We were somewhat constantly reminded to know where our passports and wallets were at all times. There were big metal doors with big metal locks on them separating the living areas from the sleeping areas in both homes we stayed in. Most of the neighborhoods that we saw that weren't extremely poor were surrounded by gates, barbed wire, armed guards and more. Most people we talked to didn't think about if they would be robbed, but when.

After a few days of this thought occupying unfortunately gigantic spaces in my head, I brought it up with one of our hosts. How do you live like this? She said, in a simple, unpretentious voice...

"After awhile you realize that safety isn't the most important thing."

Of course, this thought quickly spun into every corner of my noggin.

What if I wasn't worried about getting sick? What if I didn't care if I died? What if financial security weren't the most important thing?

Would I live intentionally in one of those "bad" areas of Chicago? Would I devote all of my time to things not of this world?

It's not new information for most of you to hear that the non-Western world is less worried about stuff, or even that the westerners that go there become less attached to stuff pretty quickly (there's hope for us all yet), but it was an important piece of how the trip affected us. And that's what I think is worth talking about. The specific experiences in Africa were hardly mundane, but they also weren't turn-your-world-upside-down exciting. But the way they affected me has lasted.

There was a freedom from stuff over there that I envied. When we got home, I recharged my iPod and booted up my iBook and turned on the DVR and was happy to be reconnected to my stuff. But I was very aware of how my stuff owned me. I looked in our storage area at all of the things I had held onto for years and decided i could pare down and be less handcuffed to stuff. It was liberating putting things on Craigslist and making piles for the Salvation Army and the Harvest. But then I came to the stuff that I really like. The books, the DVDs, the toys... things that I am now aware of and have to sort out. I no longer get the luxury of ignorance. I stare at books I've never read and DVD's I haven't watched in years. What's important and what's not? If something is not important, does that mean I should trash it? Can I enjoy stuff? What would being free to enjoy things look like? What's reasonable? What's unreasonable?

So I wrote a manifesto. For myself. Maybe I'll post it someday. I looked at every corner of my life and decided that some things needed to change. I facilitate a conference each summer whose unofficial theme is "Not changing is not an option given to you by this program". I feel that way about my time in Africa. Confronted with how important all things security (physical, financial, et cetera), I had to make some decisions and stick with them. Luckily I had a lot of momentum to work with.

Next time: momentum. Or, what I learned from 19 Kenyan pastors and one Holy Spirit.

And then maybe we'll get to the giraffes. Oh the giraffes...

Labels: africa, Jesus, Other