a sheepish correction...

So everything I wrote in this last post is true, except for one small detail....after some in-depth google mapping, I discovered that the water I saw with my family, False Bay, is actually part of the Atlantic Ocean, not the Indian Ocean. Oops. This makes the title of my last post slightly untrue. But to make up for it, here’s a few pictures of the Cape of Good Hope, and the dividing line between the Atlantic Ocean and False Bay. Looking at the pictures, you have to give me a little credit. I mean, Cape Point, in all it’s incredible beauty, ought to be the dividing line between two oceans, really.

This is Cape Point, to the left is False Bay, and to the right is the rest of the Atlantic.

A photo of the Cape of Good Hope from Cape Point.

The old lighthouse on Cape Point.

The view from Cape Point back toward the rest of Cape Town. (Incredible, eh?)

Sitting on the Cape of Good Hope...

Thanks for sticking with me, geographical errors and all!

Peace,
Meredith

between two oceans.

I saw two oceans in the space of two days.  

Last Sunday afternoon, my host mom, brother and I drove over to our Aunt and Uncle's house, where we all piled into my uncle's bucky (truck) and drove out to their niece's home.  (If that confused you, don't worry, I'm still trying to work out all the family relationships!)  We were driving along, talking and laughing, when all of a sudden a huge body of water was in front of us.  I stared out the window, eyes wide, and asked which ocean I was looking at.  My uncle said it was the Indian Ocean.  As I tried to hold back a giant grin, I told them it was my first time ever seeing the Indian Ocean.  They all looked at me, slightly astonished, and then my uncle proceeded to drive up and down the road that ran next to the ocean, telling me about the different towns and beaches that we passed.  I stared out the window, amazed at the incredible beauty of this place I get to live.

I then spent my 4th of July with two other American interns traveling around the city bowl via giant red bus taking pictures– probably the most American thing we could have done for the holiday. But we had a beautiful day, getting a chance to see the side of Cape Town most visitors see first. We drove partway up Table Mountain, and the view there left me completely convinced that Cape Town has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Later in the day, we stood on the beach of the Atlantic Ocean taking pictures and accidentally getting our feet wet, laughing and enjoying a day of relaxation.

One of my favorite musicians (Josh Garrels, look him up), has a new CD out called Love and War and the Sea In Between. I’ve loved listening to his songs since I’ve been here, one, because they’re just really great, and two, because they’ve been speaking so much into what I’ve experienced so far. In Cape Town, it feels like there is no sea between love and war. Both exist so clearly, and they live right next to each other in every day and every space. Here, it’s both Love and War in between the Seas. Clearly, it’s been a few weeks since I wrote the first part of this post, and since then I’ve gotten the chance to see a few more pieces of Cape Town in all its complexity. As cool as it was to see two oceans in the space of two days, it’s been even more powerful to see two worlds in the space of one city. And just like I'm between two oceans, I'm between these two worlds. My prayer is that God would draw them back together again.

beauty and pain.

It's funny that I'm only just now watching the final episodes of Oprah with my family here, even though her show was finished in the States over a month ago.  I'm not really a big fan of daytime television, but I figure, since I'm already watching soap operas, it's only right to watch Oprah as well.  I have never watched Oprah before in my life, but as I sat Sunday night watching the world celebrate her and the legacy she has created, I could not help but feel the emotional impact of countless of stories of despair transformed into stories of joy.

You might be reading my posts and thinking that the most impactful parts of my time here come from watching tv.  Thankfully, this is false.  I'm not going to lie, I do have a new-found love for South African soap operas and the Oprah Winfrey show.  But Sunday, Oprah provided for me a connection point.  This past week was filled with so many experiences, and so much emotion.  I witnessed incredible beauty, followed immediately by deep, deep pain.  The juxtaposition of the two has left me dazed, and I have struggled for several nights now to even begin to find the right words to fill a seemingly insurmountable blank page.  But then, Oprah.  Stories of pain, and stories of beauty.  Stories of despair, and stories of joy.  Most of all, stories of hope.  So I'm going to tell you a few stories from this past week.

Tuesday morning after prayer, I sat at my temporary desk, planning to finish a HNGR paper for the work day.  After five minutes, my boss came in, asking if I wanted instead to go spend the day in Khayelitsha, one of the largest impoverished communities in Cape Town.  I said absolutely yes, walked outside, hopped in a van with a few co-workers, and off we went.  We drove over to Sweet Home Farm, an informal settlement built on a garbage dump that the Warehouse works closely alongside, and picked up nine young boys to come with us and help build a house.  At this point, I realized just how unprepared I was for this spontaneous adventure.  We arrived in Khayelitsha, and I was introduced to Mama Chop Chop, the woman whose home we were working on.  I helped Mama Chop Chop make tea for the boys, and then the real work began.  As they started mixing cement, I was faced with a decision: did I stand back, watch, and maybe help make food later, or participate, guaranteeing wet feet, destroyed boots and cemented clothing?  The choice was clear.  I mixed and threw cement until my boots, pants, hands, and hair were covered with the stuff.  And then I helped make lunch.  It was a day of beauty, of laughing with boys even though I spoke English and they spoke Xhosa, of feeding hungry boys until we ran out of food, of helping provide shelter for a woman in need.  Yet in the midst of the beauty, it was impossible to ignore the painful facts: the boys were hungry, and yet we could provide only one meal; Mama Chop Chop's extension is built out of sand bags, two by fours, and cement; Khayelitsha is Cape Town's largest township, and extends for miles.  The tension between beauty and pain was vivid that day.

Though I felt joy mixed with sorrow while in Khayelitsha, I felt as though I were drowning in pain by Wednesday morning.  On the drive back to the Warehouse, we found out that a young boy had been attacked and killed in Sweet Home Farm by a pack of stray dogs.  The shock of the news left me numb; such a thing couldn't be possible.  But it was possible; the layers of poverty and the family situation led to a horrifying tragedy.  As we sat and prayed in the Warehouse on Wednesday morning, I wept tears of sorrow and anger.  How could God allow such poverty to even exist?  I felt swallowed up in despair, held under a heavy weight of hopelessness.  The pain of the story felt insurmountable.

Yet somehow, God brought hope back into a community steeped in hopelessness.  Over the weekend, thirty youth from a wealthier neighborhood's church slept in the Warehouse and partnered with some youth from Sweet Home Farm to run a kid's club in the community.  Even in the short time I spent there, I couldn't help but see love filling the playground, flying across the tiny lumpy soccer field with the kids playing, and pouring out of every child's laugh, smile, and embrace.  After such a pain-filled week, the weekend was an incredibly beautiful picture of reconciliation, joy, and hope.  Though the pain was not forgotten, the fuller picture of God's redemption was once again visible.

As I sat and watched God work this weekend, I felt my hope restored as well.  Beauty is real, just as pain is real.  I saw them both so clearly this past week.  It's easy to choose to place hope in the beauty, but beauty often is overcome by pain, and hope crumbles.  For hope to stand, it must be rooted in God, His power, and His goodness, mercy, and love.  I choose to cling to those truths, to place all my hope there.  I know joy and sorrow, beauty and pain will be the reality of these six months.  My prayer is that I would see and experience everything in the light of the hope of the Gospel, and that I would see that hope well up throughout the city of Cape Town.  That, friends, is good hope.

city snapshots

You probably saw the title of this post and got excited to see pictures of EVERYTHING.  You expected snapshots of the most beautiful city in the world, from the Table Mountain and the ocean to my workplace, my family, and my home.  Unfortunately, this is not that post.  Honestly, up until today, my camera hasn't left the cupboard I placed it in when I first unpacked.  There are a couple of reasons for this: 1- I'm chronically terrible at remembering to take pictures.  2- I feel a little awkward beginning my work and home relationships as the girl who lives behind a camera.  (Also, taking pictures of and with people you don't really know yet is just a little strange.)  3- Taking pictures leaves me feeling very much like a touristy white American, a stereotypes I would love to escape as much as possible.  But in all honesty, even if I had diligently photographed every moment here from day one, I still don't know if I would be able to share those pictures.

The problem is that I'm afraid– I'm afraid that a picture will inaccurately portray the context in which I'm living.  Cape Town is a complex and diverse city, in more ways than one.  So before I begin posting photos of people and places here (or even begin taking pictures, for that matter...), I need to "show" you a few city snapshots.  So imagine with me for a minute...

From an aerial view, you see the city sitting on the edge of South Africa, the historical entry of colonists in 1652.  Table Mountain and the rest trail south along the western seacoast, and just north of mountains sits the "city bowl," the center of the city.  All roads fan out from the city center eastward, to the interior of the country.  Once you get past the city bowl, you move into the "suburbs" (kind of a cross between Chicago neighborhoods and greater Chicago-land, as far as I can tell).  Now, this is where history gets important.  (Let's be real, history is always important.)  During the days of apartheid, the city was forcefully segregated.  Black and coloured (not a racial slur, but a separate racial group in South Africa) South Africans were forced to move further out east from the city center into the Cape Flats, an area further from the mountains, less desirable, and, under apartheid, held in deep poverty.  A certain road called the M5, that runs north and south a certain distance from the mountains, marked the dividing line between white and black, wealthy and impoverished.

Apartheid ended over fifteen years ago, but the history of segregation continues to shape the city.  Though racial separation is no longer law, in some ways it is perpetuated via class.  Everyone knows that the closer you live to the mountains, the wealthier you are.  And the fact is, the closer you get to the mountains, the more white people you see.

I get to see Cape Town from a different point of view than most.  You see, my family lives about five minutes east of the M5, in the Cape Flats.  The Cape Flats itself is diverse, ranging from nice neighborhoods with modest homes (like where I live) to dangerous neighborhoods with low-rise apartments, to the townships of today, which expose poverty unlike anything I have ever seen.  These areas are all mixed together to form the Cape Flats. This is the part of Cape Town I have seen most.  The wealthy part of Cape Town is foreign to me.  I've only crossed the M5 a couple times since I've arrived.  I have not been to the city bowl, and I have not seen the ocean.  But I have been able to catch a glimpse of the city from the periphery.  I've begun to hear stories, of the past and of the present, of poverty and injustice intermingled with stories of joy and redemption.  From my perspective, I get to see both beauty and pain vibrantly. To me, that is worth more than a thousand views from atop Table Mountain.

Soon (hopefully!) I will take some pictures, so I can show actual snapshots of the context I've tried to describe.  The only photos I have to share are two pictures of the mountains I took from the window in my bedroom.  Though they're a long ways off, I love to look at them.  They remind me where I am, and they remind me why I am here.  Because as much as God lives on the mountain, God also lives in the Cape Flats.  My hope is that I can see Him as I live here too.

the view through my window bars

a closer view (zooming in)

baby steps.

In the movie What About Bob, Bill Murray is slightly insane but looking for a way to cope in his overwhelming life.  When he goes to see a psychologist, he's told that the best way to deal with the difficulties of everyday life is to take baby steps.  Bob took that advice and applied it literally, taking baby steps to the door, baby steps out of the office, baby steps down the hall, baby steps into the elevator...

This movie has always cracked me up, mostly because of how ridiculous Bob is.  (Just seeing it in the Taylor's movie collection is enough to have me rolling on the floor...) Somehow though, the movie somehow seems a little less humorous, because this past week has left me feeling a lot like Bob.  Not in a I'm-suddenly-neurotic-and-psychotic-and-think-I-have-every-mental-illness-in-the-book-but-still-manage-to-crack-people-up kind of way, but in an I'm-in-a-totally-new-and-slightly-overwhelming-context-and-have-no-idea-how-to-cope-in-everyday-life sort of way.  The only possible way for me to manage is by taking baby steps.  I've been suddenly plunged into a new place full of new people, and though I've had to enter the experience head-first at full speed, I still feel like I'm taking baby steps. 

Baby steps into my family.  Who are wonderful.  My host mom and brother are hilarious, and I love sitting with them and hearing stories or watching tv.  I'm working on learning Afrikaans by watching 7 de Laan, my family's favorite soap.  (One of the actors looks just like Amy Poehler, it's the funniest thing to watch her speak Afrikaans and act like a soap star.)  But I'm learning how to be a part of the family, whether that means following the plot of 7 de Laan nightly, figuring out where all the dishes go in the cupboards, or picking up the lingo. (and a bit of the accent, eh man?) 

Baby steps to work.  That one's sort of literal, I live three blocks from the Warehouse, but since I don't have a key yet my host mom still drives me there and picks me up.  She's trying really hard to help me acclimate slowly.  Soon, though, it'll be literal baby steps to the Warehouse. 

Baby steps at the Warehouse.   I'm beginning my internship slowly, but learning more about the Warehouse and how it works daily.  This week has consisted of me sitting like a fly on the wall in a bunch of meetings, trying to soak up all the information about the different programs the Warehouse run and the new structure they're proposing. It's definitely baby steps to understanding all of the ideas there.  Luckily, I get to hear the basic information like six times, so I think by the end of the week I'll have it down.  I'm also getting to know the staff team slowly.  I can see already what an awesome group of people they are, which is slightly intimidating for an introvert who's generally awkward at making small talk.  I'm baby-stepping my way into the family (as they call themselves), drinking about four cups of rooibos tea a day, laughing at all the jokes, and even beginning to crack a few of my own.  I'm really really loving it, and am looking forward to the internship and friendships to come. 

So I'm baby-stepping.  And slowly but surely, my baby steps are taking me somewhere.  I'm hoping, unlike Bob, to soon move past the baby-step phase.  Because I want to run.  I want to take everything in, to experience life here in South Africa, and to walk the path here that God has laid before me, in faith.  Thanks for the prayers and love, and for walking this journey with me. (See how I did that??) 

With hope (and a good pair of sneakers),
Mer

24 hours later...

I'm in cape town!  My parents and I left my house at 2:30 in the morning tuesday night (wednesday morning?) to head to the Detroit airport. We said our goodbyes, and I began my journey to South Africa. I flew Detroit to New York, switched airport in NYC (I was pretty proud of that accomplishment), flew 15 hours from New York to Johannesburg, and finally from Jo-burg to Cape Town.  Somehow, both my luggage and I managed to arrive in one piece Thursday afternoon exhausted, but successful.  Craig, the director of the Warehouse, met me at the airport with a sign his kids had made for me.  It's incredible how welcome one hand-colored construction paper sign can make you feel.

Craig drove me back to the Warehouse for a moment, and then two blocks further, to my host family's home.  My host mom, Joan, welcomed me in, introduced me to my host brother, and showed me my room.  I suddenly had not only a sign, but a whole family and place to call home, at least for the next six months!  I got unpacked, and fell asleep for a much needed nap, only after my host mom made me some delicious soup.  I got up the next morning and came here, to the Warehouse, where I'm now sitting, slightly stunned that I get the opportunity to work at such an incredible place for my HNGR internship.  I've only just arrived, but I've already felt so welcomed in.  Just the thought of it fills my heart with joy.  I can't wait to share how God works in this community, and in me.  TTFN!

Peace,
Meredith

here we go!

Hey there everybody!

I'm less than 24 hours away from flying out from Detroit to Cape Town!  So I figured now was a good time to start blogging.  I've never really done this before, so I'm just going to write what I want, and hope it makes even a little bit of sense to you all.  I've been thinking and preparing to go for so long, now that the time is finally here, it doesn't quite feel real.  I'm about the venture off into the great unknown of a new place, new people, and a new community, which is incredibly exciting, but slightly terrifying.  After spending this past year as an RA on Fischer 5 West at Wheaton (shout-out to 5 Southwest and staff team!), immersed in such an amazing community, it's going to be a big transition to see community in such a different place, and in such a different way.  In spite of that, though, I'm expectantly looking forward to seeing God's faithfulness in every aspect of life in Cape Town.

I decided to call my blog good hope for a couple reasons.  First, I figured it was pretty practical.  I will be living and working in Cape Town, which is located on the Cape of Good Hope.  so, good hope.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that hope is an idea I want to focus on and live in throughout the six months of my HNGR internship with the Warehouse (see the links for more information on either of these).  I spent a lot of time this past year thinking about the intersection between joy, peace, and hope, and role community and the church play in growing those fruit in a way that transforms society.  Not only am I looking for those characteristics within and for myself, but my greater desire is to see hope in the communities in which I will be living and working.  I've spent a lot of time reading and learning about South Africa and the role apartheid has played in society there.  It is an easy place to lose hope, as the process of reconciliation and healing is a long and difficult one.  As I go, and begin to see real life for the people of South Africa, I want to be able to place my hope solely in Christ.

So as I leave home and arrive in Cape Town, pray that I would be filled with good hope, hope that trusts fully in God and His goodness.  Pray against fear as I leave the familiar, fly for 24 hours, and arrive in the unknown.  And pray that I would see and participate in the body of Christ at work in South Africa.  Thanks so much for coming alongside me on this journey, your thoughts and prayers mean so much to me.  And I'll post again soon once I have my feel firmly planted in Southern Hemisphere (and South African!) soil!

Much love,
Mer