Sharing the Sadness, Part 2...or Eating with my Fingers

And my hope for that family is that someday, out of the hard, rocky ground of trials and sadness, faith will begin to blossom.

When Aisha and I arrived in the village that day,  the baby had already died.  It was a time of mourning for the family and the friends who were gathered there, yet their hospitality customs compelled them to offer me le repas d’un étranger --a meal for the guests.  In one bowl they placed a large mound of rice, topped with a spicy sweet potato leaf sauce, and set it before us.   I was given a spoon, because even though they eat with their hands, they know that foreigners aren't accustomed to that.   And at that point, a small debate broke out in my mind, going something like this, "Oh, no.  Now what do I do?  Should I use the spoon, or try to eat with my hands like Aisha?  I should probably use the spoon.  After all, they did give it to me to use, I mean, they expect me to eat with the spoon.  On the other hand,  if I use the spoon it might look like I think I'm too good to eat with my hands like they do.  But... I just shook hands with all these people in the room...I don't want to use that hand as my utensil!"  And so it went.   I finally decided that since I couldn't change the color of my skin to blend in (you see, I don't really like to be the center of attention),  maybe at least I could try to change my eating habits.  

So I politely declined the spoon, and told them I wanted to learn to eat with my hands.  Actually, I had to convince them that I really didn't want the spoon.  And yes, you do have to learn how to eat with your hands.   It's about as awkward as eating with chopsticks for the first time.  "Toddlers do it all the time," you say.  True, but toddlers have a dear, sweet mommy standing by to wipe away all the evidence of misguided food that missed its mark.   But I digress.  

We were ushered into the main room to wash our hands.  (Oh, thank you!) They didn't have a sink or a faucet, but just  a collection of large buckets and basins of various sizes filled with water.  We used a cup to scoop out enough water to pour over our hands and rinse them.  No soap, but at least wet hands give the impression of being clean hands, right?   We took our places on the floor in front of the bowl of rice, and there was nothing left to do now except eat.  So I watched Aisha closely out of the corner of my eye and tried to do what she did.  I'll spare you the details of the meal, except to say that there is definitely an art to mastering this method of eating.  

After the meal, we were given a cup of water to share.   Again, the dilemma.  To drink, or not to drink?  Did that water come from a well?  If so, was the well deep enough to actually produce clean water?  Everything in my head said that I should NOT drink that water, but everything in my heart said to accept the gift that was given to me and be thankful.  So I drank the water.  Not much, mind you, but enough to soothe the fire on my lips from the hot peppers in the sauce. 

We stayed a little bit longer after the meal, and after awhile it just seemed like it was almost time to go.  I had said very little up to this point, other than the customary greetings and my surprising statement declining the spoon. Where were the words of encouragement and comfort for this mother? Where were the calm assurances that everything would be all right, and that God really does have the  whole world in His hands? Where was  a real missionary when I needed one??  

I didn't know what to say, and even if I did know what to say, I didn't know how to go about saying it.  But I knew I needed to pray for this woman who had just lost a child, for her husband who wasn't a believer, for God to take this brokenness and turn it into a blessing.  So we did. And that was it; then we said our good-byes and left.

Fast forward two weeks.  Aisha comes back to our house to tell me that the husband has decided to become a follower of Christ. They were surprised that I sat on the floor with them, ate the rice with my hand, and drank from their cup.  He said that a God who motivates His people to do these things for others must be worth following.  

God answered our prayers that day.  Faith is beginning to blossom in that man's heart. Logically, it was not a good idea to drink the water.  And yes, I did get sick for a little while--I'm okay now--but I would do it all over again.