Community and Contentment

This past week, a friend of mine confessed that she was struggling with contentment in solitude. She has spent the last month away from her college community and realized, as a result of this, just how dependent she is on other people. I responded by saying, “Life is meant to be shared.” Now this is true, but it is an incomplete statement to her situation, and I regretted it as soon as I walked away. I failed to really put myself in her shoes, and as a result, I ignored how vital solitude has been to my growth since graduating.

After college, my friends and I all spread out to different corners of the world, and while our day-to-day experiences were quite different, we all felt the same sense of isolation, exile, and disillusionment. We realized that we had been raised in a bio-dome of community of sorts, through school and college, and that fantasy-land is forever past. When we spread out, each of us were left with ourselves, and that was it.

When left with myself, I found that, in the words of St. Theophan the Recluse, I was “like a shaving of wood which is curled around its central emptiness.” I was left alone, and in that solitude, I felt empty. I had this great need for another person – just one person – to link arms with me and share my life and work with. The ironic aspect was that I had always thought of myself as independent. But I wasn’t. Most of my life had been centered around fulfilling the expectations of others, and exile was necessary for me to see that emptiness and learn who I truly was, separate from what I did and what others said of me. There were no more tests to pass, no more friends to help, no more sermons to preach, no more praise to receive.

I experienced a lot of loneliness in that first year, but if I could turn back time and trade the solitude I experienced after college for a full and constant swirl of friends and activity… I wouldn’t. We were made for community, but we need solitude in our life to confront our own emptiness. It is in our emptiness, our desperation, that we are filled with the Spirit. Therefore, let us accept solitude so that when we do share our lives with others, it is a life worth sharing. “Life is meant to be shared, but if God has you in a time of solitude, accept it as an opportunity to gaze inward and face the emptiness. When you return to your community, it will be more satisfying than ever before.” I wish that is what I had told my friend.

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The Headmaster

Anitha told me that we were about to meet her headmaster, a man who introduced her to Christ and forever changed her life. She went on to tell me about what a great leader he is, how he is like a father to his students, and how excited she is that I would get to meet him. And so we walk in to the room, and I greet those who were there.

Sam, Philip, Johnson, Nathan. All of them looked to be in their twenties. And then a much older man with a long beard hobbles in and takes a seat, and I’m introduced to Muzei. It was great honor to meet this man, I spend quite a lot of time talking to him, as do the other graduates of Cornerstone. Afterwards, we hop in the car and drive to Kigali Institute of Science and Technology where the headmaster is going to speak on leadership to a student organization. I am confused, because the old man is not in the car. I now realize that I have don’t actually know who the headmaster is…

When the host of the event calls up the headmaster, Johnson stood up and took the microphone. He looked to be my age, although he is 34. With a compassionate smile, he begins talking.

“Leaders do not need to make sure people know they’re leaders. They just lead. They just serve.”

I had no idea the man in the corner of the living room at dinner was the headmaster. I had no idea that he had changed the lives of everyone there. I had no idea that he started one of the most successful Christian boarding schools in East Africa by the age of 27. It is no wonder that he is a father figure to his students… He does not lord his authority over them. He walks alongside them, serves them, leads them, but does not try to control them.

No matter what our profession may be, we can take a lesson from this man. Instead of trying to “be a leader,” just lead. Just serve.

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Allen

The further I get from home, the less inclined I am to report events. It’s not that my world has been turned, or that things here are really different. They’re not. It’s just a second life that seems to have little to do with the first. But I know I must write, and so I will write about somebody else. Her name is Allen.

Allen is the “Auntie” at Lighthouse Children’s Home, a home for orphans set up by my dear friend and traveling partner, Anitha Kobusingye. Their home is on the eastern edge of Rwanda, in one of the least populated regions in the country, only 20 miles from the border of Tanzania. In other words, it is three hours’ drive from friends, family, and the only major city. This town defines “village life” in rural Rwanda, and Allen’s life defines that of a village mother. Only, she has 13 kids… and she is only 19.

Every day Allen wakes up at 4 a.m. sharp to make breakfast porridge for the kids, who are mostly 6 to 7, but range from 2 to 13. After breakfast, she wakes them up at 5 a.m., serves them, gets them ready for the day and takes them to school. After taking them to school, she returns home and prepares lunch. This takes a few hours, because their kitchen is simply an enclosed campfire. About the time lunch is finished, she picks up the kids from school, feeds them lunch and takes them back. At this point, she has just a few hours to get more firewood, make sure there’s enough water, clean the house, wash any extra clothes or dirty bedsheets by hand, and then she has to pick the kids back up from school. They have just a small amount of time for tutoring or a sort of Bible fellowship, and then, it is time to prepare supper. Supper is served about 8-9pm. Afterwards, Allen cleans the pots and dishes by hand, gathers the dirty clothes, washes them by hand and hangs them to dry overnight so they will have clean clothes in the morning. On a good day, she is free by 10 or 11pm to read for a bit before going to bed and waking up the next day at 4 a.m.

Allen is only 19 years old, and she has put off college to take care of these 13 children. Her only “connection” to her former life is a cell phone. When you read this, you might think to yourself, “Oh, poor soul!” But it’s a foolish mistake to make. Christ tells us that if we give, we shall receive, and she has received more joy and faith than we can know.

When I asked Allen what should we pray for, not once did she mention herself in any way. She did not need joy, love, or perseverance. She had those qualities in spades. Her answer? “Food, water, clothing, housing…”
(This is something anyone can help with. Email me if you’re interested).

Personally, I see the capacity for love she has and I feel divided. I’m attracted to such a character, desiring to exhibit it in my own life, but then I remember my plans for my life, my desires and comfort, and I shrink back.

Do we really believe that he who gives much, receives much?

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