Abby (2nd from right, front row) with fellow workers at a Lutheran center for children. These women were an important part of Abby’s community for the year.
Before leaving South Africa, YAGM participant Abby J. wrote the following reflection in her newsletter to supporters, family and friends:
What Words Could Hold
None, I’m afraid. Which changes the hope from telling these stories in their completion to humming them at best; a subtle vibration you can feel, a familiar melody tucked inside for interpretation. In 2014, when I transitioned home from living in Ghana [after a study abroad term], I struggled feeling so full; without a knowledge of how to organize it and what to do with it all. Two years later, a hundred moments fuller on the edge of leaving, I struggle feeling so charged; hopeful and seeking for where to direct this energy, sensitivity and love and how to keep it. Love for the simple, the differences, and the marginalized. YAGM were told this year would be our training for the life that shapes afterwards and the world waiting at home. I’m equipped yet unprepared but what a waste of time is it to wait for “ready.” What friend could be waiting to meet? What wisdom could be harboring to share? What voice could breach from your throat? Life could be claimed as yours? I don’t have any idea and there is that fear that these words are just words; lofty, polished, hopeful. Words can be rewritten and spell-checked. Life is your best shot at the first draft; authenticities often dirty, scratched and squeezing. So I don’t know what versions are coming… and there is something exciting about that (I, as a compulsive planner, am learning to treasuring this foreign mindset). Whatever is included ahead, there’s certain to be goodness, togetherness and the Greatest Great holding it all.
by Abby J.
Through the rocky roads, tight between small, tin homes, tucked in the hill overlooking the Schoemansdal Valley is Jeppes Reef Lutheran Church. It’s a single cement room, arranged with plastic chairs for 250 people. Instead of a bell in a tower, the beginnings of services are signaled by the songs of those who gather early. Sunday is 2-3 hours and Tuesday prayer group is 1 hour. I’ve been going early to assist with Sunday School. This month meant practices for the first ever Nativity play!
Our pastor, Reverend Pereira, oversees many churches so is only able to come every 2 months. The hidden blessing surfaces as united care. My host mom leads the congregation but everyone holds equal responsibility for the worship created. When the scripture is presented, anyone is welcome to walk up and read. During testimonies, all are invited to share. The children, youth and adult choirs perform each week though in times of transition, someone always begins a song, committing proudly to its melody until the rest quickly join in. It is neither an obligation nor a performance. Whether you need to dance, cry, kneel at the altar, speak in tongues, step out for a snack or come in late, nobody scorns. The children are not hushed but rather lay in the aisle listening or munching on popcorn; the older ones caring for the younger.
Perhaps we fear that ‘holiness’ is fragile. It must be kept clean, orderly and infused with tight tradition to be safe. Here, there is still incredible respect but it’s lived in. It has breath and authenticity. And ‘holy’ is what God paints a space where love is uninhibited and thankfulness is organic. This church is not cement; it’s a body indeed.