Your Story

One day recently I was having a sort of mini-meltdown, and went home to rest and muse. After some time (next morning, actually), I was encouraged and strengthened by an insight I want to share: I had been nearly overwhelmed by an unfortunately frequent hassler named Self-Pity, and though I recognized him, and rebuked him, and he in fact did slink away, I needed to get a better understanding of what he is generally up to. I found that his big trick is to counterfeit emotions; self-pity is in fact a fake emotion! He knows how to lure me into feeling seriously upset—but about things that have only to do with myself, my comfort, my status, my. . .. He tags onto real emotions and masks them so I can’t easily identify them, and seduces me into a downward spiral that can end nowhere good or helpful. BUT, having seen what happens when he is sent away, I am now amazed and encouraged: the real emotions are still there—still perhaps troublesome and needing attention—but now I have the heart and spirit to deal with them, with Self-Pity out of the way.

The real emotion that was buried under self-pity was about my being here in Rwanda and the work I do here—especially a new level of understanding that I am here for the duration, and the feelings of grief/loss/giving up that are attached to that. I have always known that my stay here was indefinite, and had considered the possibility that I would stay to the end of my days, but there has always been tucked away in the background a sort of “out”: I have been saying, I’m here “for now.” That phrase includes the idea of possible imminent change; maybe tomorrow, or next year, I will leave. Now, with this new shift in me, I see that what I really need to do is settle. Here I am. In Rwanda. Yes, circumstances can change and I might need to leave, but otherwise, I am here, and grateful for all support—whether advice, responses, prayers, or financial—I couldn’t do this without you!

With love and blessings to all, Jean
Jean McAlister,

I’m very pleased to have a housemate for the next 5 months! My expenses have been very close to outstripping income, and I’ve been praying for a person to share my big house since I moved there in December last year. Now Mark Grayson from First Presbyterian Church, Bellevue has come to work with children (mainly, his vision is to PLAY with them!) at the Center for Champions in Rwamagana, where he will commute by public taxi (minibus). It’s about an hour’s drive from Kigali. It will be good to get to know him and share experiences (and expenses!) with him.

My usage of Kinyarwanda is ramping up a bit, as I’ve been teaching a group of boys (teenagers and early twenties) whom Network member Theoneste has rounded up from the street. He put 19 boys in a couple of rented rooms and brought them to study at his Catch-up School. He invited me to come weekly and teach them from the Bible, so I have been doing that for several weeks. They find benches from the neighbors for us to sit on outside one of the rooms where they live (sleep and cook), and the lesson is in full view of the sometimes interested neighbors who live in extremely shabby buildings all around a large open space. As I drive up, I try to avoid people’s laundry laid out on patches of grass, while a goat skitters out of the way, and a group of Batwa carry on with their pottery making in the hot sun. A bunch of half naked and very dirty children usually assemble and join the teaching time, settling very nicely at the edges of our space and quietly chatting or playing while I teach the boys.
I have been moved so much by these boys’ attentiveness and eagerness to learn, despite their ongoing need for the most basic necessities of life. I’m not sure if this ministry will be able to continue, however, unless some way can be found to help them become somewhat independent and able to support themselves. When they are really hungry, physically, it is difficult to concentrate on lessons. Theoneste has suggested that they might be able to start a little doughnut business, and I’ve asked him to give me a proposal about that. I hope it may be possible to find the small capital needed to start that up and keep it going until it can be profitable.

It was a quiet and powerful reminder to me of the way so many of the people live, in tiny mud huts with a bit of a garden, perhaps a goat, and very little water (they can seldom wash themselves or their clothes). It may seem picturesque, but it is really squalid. In the city of Kigali, it is easy to get lulled into the idea that things are ok in Rwanda. It’s neat, clean, with many modern and attractive buildings, and ICT growing ever more prevalent and complex. Water flows from taps (if people have taps), at least most of the time, and electricity is available, if people are connected to it and have money to buy it. In Kigali, if you don’t look beyond the boulevards, you wouldn’t know you were in a developing country. But in the village, all goes on very much as it always has, only in many ways worse because the genocide has taken such a huge toll—on homes, livestock, fields, families, neighborliness—and it’s important for me to keep that in view.
Jean McAlister
Missionary, living in Kigali, Rwanda
May 2010 Part 2

With the kind assistance of a church member I have been helping Martin, 16, for the last few years to get medical treatment for a badly diseased leg. He is now much improved, but after a period of mingling with bad company in Kigali and not doing well in school, he made the decision to live with his grandmother in the village and attend school there. I recently had the opportunity to drive out to his village for a visit, along with the Pastor and his wife who have been parenting him in Kigali for many years. We were warmly welcomed in typical Rwandan style by his grandmother. Seating was found for all of us in the tiny entry/sitting room/bedroom/closet–including Martin’s father, who lives in much poverty nearby, and a neighbor or two. A sorghum drink was brought for the Rwandese (they knew I wouldn’t like it), and Martin cut up a very sweet pineapple from their garden to share out, after offering a bit of water to pour over our hands before eating. Martin had been given a couple of rabbits, which have multiplied nicely, and will provide a bit of income so he can buy some clothing. Though shy, he was happy to see us.
Jean McAlister
Missionary
May 2010 Part 1

I have, as a gift from God, a love-burden for the people and country of Rwanda. The burden is growing stronger—I almost said heavier, but that would be too much emphasis on me; I need to remind myself that Jesus is carrying the major portion of it alongside me. “The LORD hath laid on him the iniquity [and grief] of us all.

I don’t understand at all “the problem of pain,” to use C.S. Lewis’ phrase. I can only somehow be present and bear witness to it, calling out to God, as David did so long ago, “Why, O LORD, do you stand far off?” But also affirm with David, “O LORD, you will hear the desire of the meek, you will strengthen their heart, you will incline your ear to do justice for the orphan and the oppressed, so that those from earth may strike terror no more.” (Ps. 10:1, 17,18) AMEN, may it be so! 

Jean McAllister in Kigali

I look out from my wide porch upon the view of green valleys and clusters of houses on the hillside, interspersed with terraced fields, and am deeply touched by the beauty of this country, and it makes me weep! I think of Jesus, and about what Isaiah wrote about him centuries before he lived on earth:

Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned everyone to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:4-6, KJV, emphasis mine)

I hear in my mind the portion of Handel’s Messiah where these words have been set to music, while in my living room Sam and his cousin Enias are watching Rwanda TV’s broadcasts of mourning songs, griefs recounted by survivors, and soon, the ceremonies from the national stadium, called Amahoro, which means peace. I am trying to make a space for these young men, and am happy that Enias came to keep Sam company. I served them coffee, in hopes of giving them a little break from the non-stop grieving pouring out of the TV. I wonder, as I do each year, how these images and stories help people to bear and transcend their grief, or if they only cause the wounds to re-open, without end.

Jean McAlister
Missionary

I have been weeping off and on all morning. I went out to greet Sam, the young man who works for me, whose father was imprisoned for 12 years having been falsely accused right after the genocide. This man, whose name is Canaan, had not only not been complicit in any killings, but had managed to help some 17 of his Tutsi neighbors to escape by boat on Lake Kivu, and all reached Congo safely. So I weep for Canaan, and for Sam, who saw his father beaten so badly that bones were broken. They were never healed properly, and now, at home, he is weak and sickly. As I said good morning to Sam, and tried to convey some sort of comfort, I started to weep, and just embraced him, somewhat awkwardly, surely taking him by surprise.
Jean McAlister
Missionary

I fed the small kitten I am taking care of for a few weeks, then sat with him and my journal and Bible to read and pray. At first, the kitten was urgently seeking my attention, needing to leap and scratch and bite. I kept gentling it with stroking and little sharp taps on its nose when it bit, and eventually it settled a little, but was still fairly distracting. However, when I started to weep and pray for Rwanda, the kitten was perfectly still, and stayed still in my lap.
Jean McAlister
Missionary

April 7

This day Rwandese observe a nationwide official day of mourning and commemoration, remembering the same date in 1994 when so many people were killed by their neighbors, friends, church members and even families. The date is one, unfortunately like many others, that will “live in infamy” as President Roosevelt said of the date Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese. I feel somehow moved to write today. It is sixteen years since the terrors and horrors of the genocide happened, and for most Rwandese, the memory is as painful and bitter as ever—perhaps for some, even more so. Memory has a way of building up a kind of reservoir of feelings and perceptions that can pile upon each other press down, and become compacted into something distinct from the events that underlie them. I am pondering all this morning.
Jean McAlister
Missionary