A memorable evening

Some moments stand out, as they are happening, as memorable experience, ones that are unusual or foreign enough to me to make me realize that I'm living in a place far removed from my previous experience. I often say of thee moments, "this will make a good blog post." Last night was one of these moments.

Scott Will and I returned home from the Myhres to find our house broken into yet again (at least the fourth time in the last 6 weeks). This seemingly thoughtful thief never trashes the house nor takes electronics - my computer was out in the open - rather he just takes money and usually locks the door behind him. This time, since we've changed and added some locks, we are struggling to figure out how he got in. This time he found my money. It's frustrating and maddening. My emotions were a combination of anger at being robbed, frustration at not having put an end to these thefts, fear that I'll discover the thief is someone I know and trust, and indignation at being treated this way when I'm trying to do good things here. The latter is the hardest part: the feeling of being unwanted, treated poorly or as a source of money by people who I am trying to relate to, to love, to serve. I believe that part of that pain and indignation is legitimate, but part of it stems from an inflated notion of my own importance and a self-righteous sense of what I deserve. I am often frustrated by the sense of entitlement that I feel from some people here, especially those who have known missionaries for a long time, but experiences such as these reveal to me my own sense of entitlement, a revelation that is poignant and painful in its accuracy.

With these emotions swirling in my head, I went to bed. Or rather, I tried to. I climbed under my mosquito net with a book but stopped when I saw something small in the middle of my bed. As I picked it up, I realized that it was a small cluster of what appeared to be insect eggs of some sort. Insects laying eggs on my sheets is simply revolting. I threw them out and started to change my sheets, now frustrated, upset, and disgusted. That was when things really got good. As I started to change my sheets, a large mouse or small rat darted out of my mattress, along the frame of my bed, and into the far corner of the room. Holes chewed in my mattress, mosquito net, and sheets, chunks of foam littering the floor, dried grass brought in from outside. This meant war. One too many things had frustrated me that night, and I focused that anger on this insolent and unfortunate rodent. I called Scott Will, we stuffed a towel under the door to prevent his escape, and started chasing him around my room, sticks in hand crashing wildly on the floor, both of us ready for bed, in our underwear, at midnight in rural Uganda. We laughed at the absurdity of the situation; it was the only appropriate response. It was then that this moment struck me as emblematic, and we both commented that this was a blog post. After several minutes of running, swinging sticks, stomping, and generally tearing my room apart, man triumphed over beast.

So many things went wrong that it brought some levity to the situation. At least life isn't boring.