Life Isn't Fair

"Life isn't fair," I whined.

"'Fair' is when grown men in overalls throw cowchips for prizes," retorted my grandma.

That nugget of wisdom along with "If your nose itches, someone's comin' with a hole in his britches…" have resonated in my mind over decades through various circumstances be they troublesome or some form of allergy.

There are simply days that I can't help but wonder, "How the heck did I get here?"  ("Heck" is as strong as it gets, in case you were getting worried.)  

I was sitting with my new friends "the village ladies" drinking tea and doing my best to begin to understand all of the percussive Arabic being directed toward me.  A small boy about 2 came up alongside me and gave me his biggest smile.  I smiled back and watched as he tried to put his hand in my purse.  He was looking for candy.  I had brought his family some sweets for the holiday last week and he had seen me take small packs of candy from my purse.  He needed a refill.  Before I could even react, one of his aunts smacked his hand and pushed him away as she gave him what I can only assume is their version of "what for" (another one of my grandma's phrases).

Things settled down after that and I chatted with them about their day.  The oldest woman in the group has arthritis and asked me if I could get medicine at the hospital.  I reminded her that I wasn't a nurse (like my friend, Sarah*).  She shook her head remembering a previous discussion about careers and piled the "not working" medicines back in her lap.  The other ladies were wrapping small pieces of paper into a cone that would be filled with roasted peanuts.  The packets would then be put in a box and sold along the Nile to passersby.  Microenterprise?  Very nice.

The 2 year old began to make his way toward me, but was given the eye by his aunt and he backed away again.  I smiled at him and said that I didn't have any candy today.  (No use getting in trouble for a well gone dry!)

The conversation waned a bit and I began my exit conversation which can take as long as the original visit so one must begin preparation at just the right time.  I tell them that I had enjoyed our visit and the tea.  They then insist that I stay longer, so I do.  We visit some more and then a second attempt is made this time with me standing half way up.  Before I can reach a full upright position they have all motioned for me to sit back down.

"You go to bed too early anyway!" they laugh.

"When do you go to bed?" I ask.

"Oh, at 2 am or so."

I laugh and tell them that I can't stay up that late, but that I do get up earlier than they do.  

One lady asks, "Why?"

She tells me that it's cooler at night and it's better to sleep in the day when it's so hot.  Good point.  I've always been a bit of a night owl with no inclinations toward early birding.  This could be my chance.  These could be my people.  Arsenio Hall, them and me.

Someone asks me something else and I have to ask her to repeat it.  So she does what every person in the world does…she said the same thing only LOUDER AND SLOOOOOOWWWWEEEERRRRR.  

Oh, yeah. That helps.  I simply don't have some vocabulary, so no matter how enunciated it is I won't understand (yet).  This is the part where I get a bit deflated.  I just want to understand and to be understood.  At moments like this I have an out of body experience that sees the whole scenario:

A dusty village along the Nile.  A small concrete and mud house on a dirt road.  A group of women all dressed in black sitting on low stools in front of their home.  Children running around playing with sticks.  Then me.  A very pale woman in khaki pants and multi colored, elbow/bum-covering shirt with sunglasses perched on top of her blonde hair straining to somehow take it all in.  To make sense of it all.

Just how did I get here? I'll spare you the 99 cent Kindle version and just tell you this: raw obedience.  Some days it simply doesn't seem fair to try to live this life out among people who are so different than we are, to be away from our daughters and family for extended periods of time, to somehow create a sense of normalcy in a place that boasts pharaohs and Chili's simultaneously.

I have to choose to lay my life down every single day…to live dead.  But just as a farmer may define what is and is not "fair" in life, he also has a deep sense of optimism.  No one plants a seed without the hope that it will grow.  No one tends and nurtures a young shoot without the expectation that it will take root.

So I plant seeds into dry dusty dirt and water them (on some days) with my tears of self-declared unfairness, but not without hope…not without expectation.

Jesus sees my life.  He sees yours.  We don't need to have a compared equitable life, but a life that trusts in the One who loves us dearly, adores our children and weeps for those who don't know Him.  God is good and He does good (Ps. 119:68).  If I believe that, then I don't need "fair." He is growing and nurturing what He's asked me to pour my life into…family, friends and a group of village ladies who put too much sugar in their tea.  I love Him so I love others even if that compels me to the far corners of a cow field...er, desert.

But if I ever do want "fair," there are plenty of donkey chips around my neighborhood to hold a serious competition.