A few pics...

This is a view on my walk to school. I really can't do it justice in any way shape or form....it's just breathtakingly beautiful.

I'm not sure I ever put up pictures of my Christmas decorations, but here's the little bit that I did for Easter. The "Easter basket" is actually a special basket here used for flour. Thanks to friends and family for the candy!! I died Easter eggs for the first time in a long time....pretty sure I got the proportions wrong, but they were fun!

These black and white pics were taken by Bret on our way home from Matema Beach. Women carrying loads like this is quite normal here, but I thought you'd all be a bit surprised. Imagine walking an hour to work like that!

Another view of the gorgeous hills of Makete.

I stopped for a quick snack on our way back from Matema...

This is one of the six students I brought to a Girls Empowerment Conference in Mbeya. It was her first time ever using a computer. The first day when they mentioned computer class she was so scared to go, because she was worried people would call her a "mshamba" (Tanzania's version of a hick...). She did great though!

This is Bret and my counterpart Mama Elia. She was showing us how they make local "pombe" (alcohol). The locals like to translate it for us as "bamboo juice." Bret did have a little taste. :-)

This is my God son! Isn't he precious?

This is a hand-made boat. Tanzanians still use them to fish and to get a few extra bucks off the tourists. Bret took this picture at Matema Beach (on Lake Nyasa).

I started a girls soccer team with another teacher at my primary school. (He's like a Tanzanian Coach Meigel). These girls are the most active. They're at my door daily to ask to use the ball.

Matthew 5:32

“Give to him who asks of you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.”—Matthew 5:32.

This one little verse of the Bible has been giving me an awful lot of trouble lately. Maybe that isn’t fair to say since this one verse from the Sermon on the Mount seems to summarize a lot of Jesus’s teachings. Remember these ones?

· If a man wants your tunic give him your coat as well…

· You cannot serve God and mammon.

· Do not worry, saying ‘What shall we eat, what shall we drink, what shall we wear?’

· If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.

These were always very beautiful verses to me. Full of love. Full of compassion. I thought I took them to heart, but the truth is…I did no such thing. I think the problem is that we as Americans feel like we’re so good at living out these verses because we’re so rarely challenged to do so. Because really, the gospel according to our forefathers says something along the lines of “Blessed is he who helps himself. Blessed is she who suffers in silence and dignity. Blessed is he who cherishes freedom. Blessed is she who gives out of her abundance.” And so what have we created? A world of dignified suffers and aloof agents of compassion. It was never hard for me to “give my cloak as well” in America because no one ever asked me for my shirt. They were too proud. Oh sure…I’ve given away lots of clothes and money, but never so that it hurt. Never to a point has that caused me stress, pain, or worry.

Now, after living in Tanzania for two years, I’m seeing the gospel for what Jesus meant it to be—hard as hell. Why is the gospel so different to me here? I’ll tell you this much…it’s not because the need is necessarily greater. Anyone who’s worked three minimum wage jobs to support their kids can tell you that. Anyone of the millions of kids in America who live without health insurance or nutritious meals can tell you that. Anyone who has a mental illness of who lives alone can tell you that. The difference in Tanzania is not the need. It’s the culture.

Tanzanian culture is traditionally a more communalistic one (although that is slowly changing in the name of “progress”). This is a place where a student can ask his friends and relatives for help with school fees without shame. This is a place where you can eat dinner anywhere. This is a place where you can leave your kids at home all day while you go to work and know that they’ll be taken care of. This is a place where friends help each other farm and cut firewood. This is a place here when I have something you want it’s fair game.

So…herein lies the difficulty. I make approximately $200 a month—which in the US would make me a pauper, but here it makes me on the same level as say—an investment banker at home. I’m rich. So it only makes senses that people come to me in their time of need. And usually I’m ok with that. Money for school fees, the hospital, funerals, food—all ok in my mind. I’m usually more than happy to help. (Even now when I know about 9% of people who are “borrowing” from me will ever pay me back).

The part that’s still hard for me is the whole “give to him that asks of you.” If I did that I’d have significantly less clothes, jewelry, shoes, and hair, for that matter. And here is where I start to get testy. Who are they to ask me for stuff they don’t NEED?! Have they no dignity? Why should I give them one of my bracelets just because I have two? So….wanna know what I did?

I stopped wearing bracelets.

And it’s not just that I’m materialistic. That’s not the only problem. The problem is that I like the power. I don’t just want to give when I’m asked. I want to give when I feel like it. One of my friends was recently in the hospital awaiting the birth of her second child. I decided to go and visit her and buy her a soda. She saw me on the path though and from afar yelled to me to buy her some bananas. I was so annoyed, I said no and left without even visiting her. Other times I’ve had people who really helped me with my work badger me to buy them a soda or beer. I always say no. Recently, a friend of mine, a village leader herself asked me about this. “Didn’t you hear him, Jessica?” I explained to her that I was sick of people demanding things of me and that I’d give when I felt like it.

And that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? No matter how I try to rationalize things in my mind….the truth of it is that I give when I feel like it. When I deem someone as worthy. When I deem their cause as worthy. When it’s convenient for me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the gospel isn’t so easy after all and I’m not as generous as I’ve always wanted to believe. I can’t say I have an easy moral for y’all to take away from this blog, because I’m not sure I have even really learned something tangible yet. I guess if I give anyone (including myself) a lesson on generosity, I’d take a break from the gospel and look at Aristotle. Wasn’t it he who said if you wanna be virtuous practice the virtues? Maybe I won’t really be generous until I start buying people some sodas when it actually pisses me off or giving away some of my bracelets. Maybe if I actually start taking Jesus at his word I’ll see the beauty he anticipated. Maybe the freedom that I think I’m clinging to so tightly will actually be revealed when I let go.

Climbing Kili

I think I've been on a total of 5 hikes in my entire life...so what made me think I could climb the tallest free-standing mountain in the world...I'm not really sure. Maybe it was Bret's enthusiasm, excitement, and confidence. Maybe it was my fear of regretting not trying it later. Or maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.

When I first arrived in Tanzania I had no intention of climbing Mountain Kilimanjaro. Too tall. Too cold. Too expensive. Too scary. Four very good reasons to stick to the beach and safaris. But when Bret suggested we climb Kili during his last vacation, I couldn't let the idea drop. I realized that the parts of me that were anti-Kili (aka the cheap and chicken parts) weren't necessarily beasts I wanted to feed. So with a little prodding from my mom--I agreed.

After a bit of research and a whole lot of discussion, Bret and I chose a route (Machame, 6-day) and a trekking company (Gladys Adventures). We only had about a month to prepare mentally and physically. We took one hike to Matema Beach and did a bit of strength training whenever we could find the time. Soon I was doing wall-sits so often I thought I was back on modified basketball (Yes, yes...I played basketball. I believe I accrued more fouls than points...). Before I knew it we were on a 16-hour bus ride from Mbeya to Moshi.

The next day we went in to see Gladys and rent some equipment. When we were there we met a nice Dutch couple who agreed to climb with us the next day. I found I was shockingly not nervous. I would either make it to the top or I'd get a damn-good story trying. So Bret and I stuffed ourselves with mzungu food (hamburgers, ice cream, and Italian food) and watched the World Cup practically forgetting what was coming next.

On Monday morning we began our climb. The first few days were pretty easy and breathtakingly beautiful. Everyday boasted a completely different ecosystem. They split the climb into short pieces to aid acclimatization so that you don't get altitude sickness. Not to say these days weren't hard. I got sick the second day (probably from all the junk food I ate) and had horrible cramps the third day, but I survived. Bret and my Dutch friends and guides were all very encouraging. Plus it didn't hurt to be puking up papaya while enjoying of the most breath-taking views in the world. Perspective, right?

On the night of day four we woke up at 11:30 pm to prepare to summit. After a nice breakfast of lemon-infused oatmeal, tea, and sugar cookies in our tent, I piled on the layers (2 thermal shirts, a wool sweater, a fleece jacket, a down coat, 2 thermal pants, a hat, fleece pajama bottoms, snow pants, 2 pairs of gloves, and 2 pairs of socks) and headed out (I, of course, am not a fan of the cold so I may have gone a bit overboard. The porters laughed hysterically as I gave them a very sweaty strip tease upon returning to camp...).

I've once heard summit Kili described as "the worst night of my life plus four hours." This turned out to be somewhat accurate. The night of the hike was a huge jump in elevation on a difficult trail done in the dark and the cold. But there was something in me that kept me going. Maybe it was the stars over Mwenyezi peak of the glow of head lamps ahead. Maybe it was the Snickers in Bret's bag that he'd been denying me for the last four days. Maybe it was pride. Or maybe it was all the people I was carrying with me in my The Northface backpack. As I climbed in the dark I thought of all the people who had given or lent me something for the climb.

• Sam--my sunglasses
• Hillary--my sports bra and CamelPak
• Sarah--my fleece pants
• Marie--my raincoat and sweater
• Mom and Dad--my packs, socks, hat, boots, sleeping bag, and nearly all my clothes
• My friends at St. Paul's--my sleeping bag lines and bandanna
• Anita--my poles

I wanted to summit with all these people. I wanted to do it for them. And I heard the voices of my friends and relatives encouraging me. Not that I really told anyone we were climbing Kili, but when you've been supported and encouraged your whole life it's not hard to summon those voices. I heard Mrs. Westervelt me to "never say can't" and my PTs and my brother and telling me "you can do it." And they were right.

I made it to the top.

At 6:22 am I had arrived at the highest point in Africa: 5,895 meters...just in time to watch on of the most amazing sunrises of my life. After Bret, my Dutch friends and I had frolicked about and taken ample pictures we headed back down.

The way back down the mountain was no where near as inspirational and exciting. Matter of fact, for me and my bad knees it was tiring and scary. But I made it down. And once I reached the bottom I realized how thankful I was that Bret had encouraged me to climb that mountain. Not only did I get to see what we could do together (and it must have been quite the feat for Bret to point up with my complaints during those cold, windy nights), but I was reminded of what I could do, not on my own, but with 25 years of friendships, relationships, and experiences under my belt. I don't think I've taken nearly enough opportunities to thank my family, friends, teachers, doctors, youth workers, etc. for all the support you've given me over the years. You might think you only played a small role at some random point in my life, but that's not true. I carry you with me. And that's baggage that doesn't weigh down my pack. You helped me climb Kili, move to Africa, graduate from college, win soccer games, walk again, sing in front of hundreds, and accomplish countless other victories throughout my life. I'm eternally grateful to you. And I beg you to stay with me on all of the other treks I have to look forward to in life--no matter how much I might whine on the way. :-)

I've