Africa Has Wrecked My Son

 

 

I am in the middle of reading a book called Wrecked: When a Broken World Slams into Your Comfortable Life written by Jeff Goins. It is a smallish book that packs a big punch (and I’m not even halfway through it yet!). I would describe the book as a guide, of sorts, in allowing yourself to step out of your comfort zone into that awkward place where the Truth of the Gospel intersects with the pain of the human condition and then staying in that discomfort longer than you want to in order to try and ease some of that pain which, in turn, deeply changes you. In short, allow yourself to be wrecked. Goins defines wrecked in the book as follows:

“To be wrecked is to be disabused of the status quo. It means to have a transformation that goes beyond mere words – to be introduced to another way of life, to follow in the footsteps of a teacher who is calling you through the eye of a needle. Often it involves being catalyzed by an encounter with pain. The process is horrible and ugly and completely gut-wrenching – and at the same time, beautiful. It is real and hard and true. Most of all, it is necessary.”

 

As we anticipate leaving Swaziland to return to the United States in less than two months I have spent a considerable amount of time reflecting on the time we have spent here. One of the main reasons we have decided to return to the US is for our kids; Claire (almost) 15 and Jacob, 12. We feel it important for their education, their social relationships and their emotional health. Living here they have been quite isolated; missing friends and family. We all have gone through periods of intense loneliness and a longing to interact with people who just “get us” without having to filter everything through a cultural sieve.

The other side of that same coin is this: we are going to really miss this place, these people, and this life! Living and ministering here for the past two years has transformed us in ways we are just beginning to truly understand. We are not the same four individuals who arrived here two years ago. We are not the same family. We all have been stretched and challenged and…wrecked. I think, though, I have seen the most remarkable change in our son, Jacob. When we came here for the first time in September of 2010 he was just ten years old. I look at pictures from those first months in Swaziland and to me he looks like a little boy. That boy has grown about a foot taller, has grown out of five shoe sizes (at least!), no longer has braces on his teeth, now wears glasses and speaks in a noticeably lower voice! The real changes, though, are not the ones you can observe from the outside. The real changes have occurred within his heart.

Jacob is not one to say too much. He holds a lot of his emotions close and keeps his thoughts to himself. He has a great sense of humor and his always quick to lighten the moment with a wise crack or a funny anecdote. Underneath all of that, though, I have been witness to a slow and steady shift in how he interacts with the world around him. I have seen the beautiful complexity of the man God is growing him up to be. As I write this blog, Jacob is asleep in a chair. His arms are both thrown up over his head in complete abandon just as he has slept since he was an infant. I still love watching him sleep now as I did then…

He is exhausted because he was up at 5AM today. Jacob went hunting at one of the local reserves this morning with a friend of ours. This was not his first hunting trip (that happened last year, with the same friend), but it was the first hunting trip that he was allowed to carry a rifle on his own! Now, let me say here: I hate guns. I was not brought up in a hunting family. We never had any guns in the house. When Jacob was born I swore that he would never play with any type of guns or gun-like toys. Little did I know that small boys will make guns out of anything! Tinker toys, Legos, sticks, their own hands…it seems to be somewhat programmed into the lads!  

When we moved to Africa, I surprised myself when I agreed to the decision for Jacob to purchase a pellet gun (with his own money, of course). He has used it to shoot many deadly snakes in our wild back yard as well as target practice with empty bottles and cans on an old fence post. He has even killed a couple of doves to give to our Swazi gardener who brings them home to his family for food. Last year he went along on a hunt for wildebeest, but didn’t take the shot which was reserved for one of the older, more seasoned hunters. Yesterday, he and the young man he was going hunting with this morning went to a shooting range to check Jacob’s accuracy with an actual rifle. He came back after about an hour. He could hardly contain the smile on his face as he brought me the paper target he had shot at. Two distinct holes; both touching the bulls – eye! “They are kill shots, Mom!” Not exactly the words I ever thought I’d want to hear from my young son’s mouth. What got to me, though, was the pride and satisfaction on his face as he said them. He had done it. He had proven his skill and earned the right to carry a rifle on this morning’s hunt and take a shot!

Last night before bed he came to me and said quietly: “I’m nervous for tomorrow”. As I gathered him into my arms I told him he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t feel comfortable doing and to just enjoy the experience. Inside my heart I whispered: “I’m nervous too…” The African bush, guns, snakes, scorpions, crocodiles…sometimes it is just too much for a mom of boy with such an adventurous spirit. At the same time, however, I know it is necessary to let him go. This is his journey to manhood. Not that guns and hunting have to be a part of manhood, but this is his.

He left his morning just after the sun came up. I sent up another prayer as I heard them drive off. “Protect him, Lord, protect his body and protect his heart.” You see, I really didn’t believe he would be able to kill anything like the impala (a type of African antelope) they would be hunting. This was not just a hunt for sport. It is part of a conservation effort that happens here on reserves regularly to keep the numbers of various game at a manageable level. The meat is often given as rations to the field workers. Yet, I believed that when it came time to actually pull the trigger…Jacob would defer to one of the other hunters in the group. This tender boy who I’ve seen cuddle Swazi toddlers on his lap and run around kicking a soccer ball for hours with the little boys at the care points. This compassionate boy who stood over the hospital bed of a tiny baby that had been disposed of and rescued from a pit toilet, tears falling down his cheeks. This respectful boy who has sat on a grass mat hand woven by a Swazi gogo (grandmother) and listened to her tell stories of how God has been faithful. No, I didn’t believe he would have the heart to do it. Not this boy. Then I’m reminded of the cow he helped butcher for a community celebration and the chicken he killed for a local pastor’s family and the turkey he slaughtered for our own Thanksgiving feast this year. So it really should not have come as much of a surprise when Jacob returned home from the hunt today, covered in red dirt and sweat. His face was lit from within and he could hardly keep his mouth from turning up in a smile. “Well?” I asked as he approached the house. “One shot, one kill” was Jacob’s response. He hit a 65 pound impala with one shot. I’m shocked. I’m proud. I’m amazed at this young man in front of me. He has ventured out and experienced something that is so far from the life he was living before we came to Swaziland, so far from the life I had imagined for him as I rocked a newborn Jacob in the wee hours of the night. He is experiencing the adventure that God has designed for him. Something bigger and better than anything I could have dreamed. It may seem strange to anyone else, but I know that this unique juxtaposition of the tender and the tough; the merciful and the macho will serve Jacob extremely well as he continues to navigate the waters toward manhood. He has seen that being a man isn’t defined by any one thing. He has learned that being a man encompasses a wide range of feelings and emotions. He has come to understand that a real man has brothers and sisters all around the world and has a responsibility to them all.  He has had such a variety of experiences at such an early age and at such a crucial time in his development. He has been wrecked for the ordinary. He has surpassed the status quo for boys his age. He still enjoys video games and Star Wars movies and he looks forward to playing on a baseball team once we return to America. Sometimes he still rolls his eyes when I ask him to take out the trash or straighten up his room, but…somehow…he will never be the same. In ways I can’t completely identify he is no longer my little boy. Africa has wrecked him.  And, believe it or not, I am eternally grateful for that!