One of the most striking differences between most Americans and the Babwisi is our source of security.
Have you ever noticed how many layers of security lie between many Americans and trouble? We have home insurance, health insurance, car insurance, life insurance . . . Insurance for our mistakes, others’ mistakes, and catastrophes. And one of the first things we learn about what it means to be a responsible adult is that we start paying into the funds that provide security for us and our loved ones; 401ks, mortgages,college funds, disability, social security, long-term care.
I really noticed this difference a week or so ago at small group when I contrasted our sources of security to the Babwisis’, summed up in a word - relationships. In a place with no forms of insurance and where very few have even savings accounts at a bank, relationships provide all this and more . . . . As the family comes together for funerals, money is handed in to help pay for the burial costs and family care of the one who died. When a child is sick, extended family and friends pool resources to buy necessary medicine. And of course the old and those who have lost parents rely on the compassion and generosity of the family around them to care for them. Our part of Ugandan currently has no orphanages, a testament to the strong traditional families within our villages . . . Every child is cared for by someone.
I met recently with a small group of women, discussing “stuff” and our complicated lives. And I realized again how much our material possessions are a part of the form of security that we as Americans depend so much on. As we talked about simplifying our lives many of us felt compelled to hold on to our things, ” just in case . . . ” We’re holding on to baby things in case we have another, holding on to extra toys in case our children get bored one day and want them to play with, holding on to clothes that used to fit us just in case we’re that weight again someday. We hold on to things that no longer work for our lives or homes because they provide the security of a memory of a loved person, time or place. We hold on to old music that no longer works in our modern players because it reminds us of the people we used to be, that we remember fondly or perhaps with fear.
Interestingly enough, those of us who have had to get rid of all of it, or nearly all (we ourselves winnowed down to eight trunks and about twenty boxes and now realize how little of the stuff in the twenty boxes we saved we really need) - now find joy in purging even more. Two of my closest friends were raised in other cultures and came to the States as young adults, with little to their names. Now both of their homes are spare; comfortable and livable but without so many of the accoutrements that we Americans find, well, comforting. Looking around there is not so much to do in these homes. No big screen TVs with cable to watch or pool or foosball tables to fool around on. The toys are few and well-loved and perhaps there aren’t so many for the age or interest of my own children. In fact, as I think about it, there is precious little to do in these homes besides RELATE. Cooking together, eating together, talking, reading or working in the same spaces, enjoying the outdoors together, sharing the conflicts that rise out of boredom together! This is what happens in a simple home. And what is so curious for me to notice about these friends is that their urge is to GET RID OF EVEN MORE. And for me too, hence the purging of those twenty boxes to about 7 over the last and next weeks. Now I’m not dissing insurance, or big beautiful homes. I am convicted that each of us can be convicted differently by the complex God we serve. God is often honored in abundance and in good stewardship and I am thankful for them. Both material possessions and accounts holding the solutions to someday-crisies, are meant as gifts from a Creator who knows our real joy and security will only be found in relationship with Him. Even as He showers us with good things, providing for our needs and delighting us with abundance, He longs for us to turn our eyes toward the one who “sends rain on the just and the unjust” and recognize that the gift is only a faint message from the Giver. Every single remarkable joy of our remarkable lives as blessed inhabitants of a developed country speaks of the One who holds it and us in His hands. Just as He holds in his hands each person in my small village of Bundimalinga who is the insurance, retirement, and savings account for His neighbor. And just like us, each of those neighbors’ greatest delight will be found in each other and in Him.
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