Our daily bread
As I waited one recent afternoon for the electricity to come back on, and attempted to plan a dinner meal that would use up as much of our perishable food as possible, a friend texted me. Her home had been without electricity for many hours as well, and she said she would pray that our power would be restored soon. “Living here changes your prayers, doesn’t it?” she said. And it’s true.
We often invite our three children to join us in praying the Lord’s Prayer right before bed, and I watched my littlest watch her older brother pray last night. She stared at him as he spoke, entranced, it seemed, by the common words that filled the mosquito net, a small shelter of liturgy in a stormy sea. As I’ve prayed this prayer of late, I have lingered over the part that says, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Something about life here in Tanzania—some quality of rawness, an edge of inconvenience and desperation—has kept me hungering for daily bread. I can’t count on things I used to; I can’t count on stable electricity and internet, or roads that are consistently repaired, or stores with re-stocked inventory, or rains that come on a regular basis. I feel more at the mercy of circumstance here, forced to dance with a fickle partner, who threatens to trip me up and keeps me on my toes.
We often invite our three children to join us in praying the Lord’s Prayer right before bed, and I watched my littlest watch her older brother pray last night. She stared at him as he spoke, entranced, it seemed, by the common words that filled the mosquito net, a small shelter of liturgy in a stormy sea. As I’ve prayed this prayer of late, I have lingered over the part that says, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Something about life here in Tanzania—some quality of rawness, an edge of inconvenience and desperation—has kept me hungering for daily bread. I can’t count on things I used to; I can’t count on stable electricity and internet, or roads that are consistently repaired, or stores with re-stocked inventory, or rains that come on a regular basis. I feel more at the mercy of circumstance here, forced to dance with a fickle partner, who threatens to trip me up and keeps me on my toes.
Yet I know I am one of the fortunate ones. I am rich by
local standards, rich enough to have money not only for today but also for
tomorrow, money enough for margin and stability for my family. And I think,
daily bread can mean such different things. As my good husband and I drove home
from a dinner date last week to celebrate our ten years of marriage, we mused
upon the disparity of economic realities of people here. We had enjoyed an excellent
meal at a local Indian restaurant—two pots of curry, plus rice, garlic naan,
and some scrumptious tandoori paneer. And, thanks to a recession in the
Tanzanian economy that currently has the shilling dropping in value against the
dollar, it only cost us a little over $20. Pretty reasonable for an anniversary
dinner.
But we thought about the Tanzanian field workers who labor
alongside my husband when he conducts his field research—uncomplaining mamas
who work for hours in the hot sun, bending to hoe and water plants to feed
their families, and eager young men and women, hoping to scrape together some
extra money to attend university. And for all their hours of work they earn the
equivalent of $3 a day. Three dollars to buy some daily bread… which would buy
a loaf of bread but only that, and how then to cover the other needs that crop
up, as plentiful as weeds in a barren field? And we realized that it would take
a whole week of work for one of those Tanzanian mamas or brothers or sisters to
earn enough money to eat dinner at that Indian restaurant. A whole week’s wage
for one meal… how is this anyone’s daily bread?
Earlier this month, our family had the pleasure of meeting
our Compassion child, a small and lovely teenage girl who lives in a rural area
about three hours from Arusha. We drove to that town and then ventured even
farther into “the bush” to visit her at her school, through a gorgeous and
rugged landscape, over roads that barely seemed like roads. When we arrived,
sore but grateful, we roamed the well-kept campus of her boarding school and marveled
at our sponsored child’s accomplishments. We learned that over 1,000 girls
applied for entrance to this school last year, and they only admitted 125
girls, our child among them. We knew she was bright, but we didn’t know she was
so brave. And we didn’t understand the difference one dollar a day makes in her
life, how our small investment offers her a support network in Tanzania,
encouragement, a future and a hope.
If living here has changed the way I pray, I hope it also
changes how I conceive of what I have and what I hold dear. I pray it gives me new
courage to face my circumstances with gratitude. I pray it gives me new grace
to receive as well as give, to accept invitations from Tanzanian colleagues, to
feed the neighbor children who linger in our house each
day. I pray it gives me the wisdom to lift up my daily bread and be willing to
bless it, to break it, and to share it, trusting that the God who is enough
will be enough for me and for all my brothers and sisters around the table.
Such a life changing experience. May you never forget it. May we all be changed through your words. Thanks...
ReplyDeleteI'm so grateful for the Lord's sustaining grace in your life... for the prayers that are changing you and for the generosity of heart to open your home again and again. Please tell Reuben that we love his tiger face! Love you all so much! ~Rachie
ReplyDeleteAlways so encouraging to hear your thoughts, Naomi. I hope you have found an encouraging friend or two down there! Love, Olivia
ReplyDeleteLove this , Naomi!
ReplyDeleteLove this , Naomi!
ReplyDeleteLove this , Naomi!
ReplyDelete