Writer's block

In America, most of the books on my dilapidated shelf have been neglected for years. But why? I can only answer this in two ways. Some have met this fate because they no longer relate to my age-specific interests, in part due to my extended absence while at boarding academy and college (and now Africa). The other category includes books that I still like, but cannot read due to insufficient weight allowances of airlines. Furthermore, the included facts can be had with but a doddle of Googling. In coming to Africa, I brought three books. One a Dan Brown novel (no, it's not the Da Vinci Code), one a Clive Cussler novel, and my Bible. The first two now reside in Malawi, but my Bible accompanies me, either physically (the big honkin' book) or digitally (on my iPod). In both Malawi and Ethiopia, I devoured books at a pace only matched by long-gone summers of...well...nothing. But since then, only my Bible has occupied my eyes. Does this pose a problem?

The great authors of human history do lots of things. They delve into the character of the proletariat, noting that even a humble humanitarian should be honored for his contribution, no matter how mundane. Proficient professors of the prose enrapture an audience more varied than their diction, straddling generations and cultures. Aristocrats of articulate expression, assign a temperament and disposition to an individual, and yet nearly every reader can associate. These authors...do not include me in their ranks.

I know I speak for many when I say this. Writing is hard, especially for missionaries. There was the initial onset of a brand new way of everything when we arrived. But thus began a problem, which has three facets. Writing versus understanding versus novelty. Everything was new, almost everything was exciting, but nothing was understood. Because of this inundation, as well as the onset of a new job, culture, and lifestyle, writing just couldn't cover the topics. After a few weeks or months, the novelty factor diminished, but didn't necessarily vanish. Time to write existed because we managed to get a grasp on our responsibilities. However, understanding generally eluded us, except for the most keen observers. By Christmas, most of those who left in August or September didn't gasp at (insert local people group) anymore, although they certainly gawked at us. Riding in a cramped/broken bus was as commonplace as mosquitos. We didn't feel like a foreigner, although we couldn't qualify as a local either. We began to uncover the how and why of the ways of life. And though we may occasionally have had a spare moment to inform you of our recent revelation, we usually didn't. Why? It didn't register as noteworthy. The original problem still exists, although the exact nature has changed. At most, we can have two of the facets, but not all of them. By this time in the year, most of us are struggling to find something that fits all these criteria about which to write: we noticed as odd/cool/new, that we know you will show even the least bit of interest, that we haven't already said eighteen thousand times, and that you will be able to understand. With the exception of a few doctors' work (ahem Cristy and Ryan) and the occasional highlight of extraordinary adventure, the daily reviews of our working life are as mundane as yours. Please, forgive our lack of news from the battle front. For us, it is nothing but the normal, no matter how atypical it might be.

As I mentioned, only my Bible do I now have to read (reading the whole internet takes a little bit longer). Do I consider this a hindrance? Hardly. Just two days ago, I enjoyed a conversation with two Catholics visiting the orphanage. They had been volunteering for about ten days and were surrounded by Adventists. We discussed the afterlife, this life, tradition, laws, and prophecy. Had my nose endlessly perused the latest John Grisham works, would I have been able to stand by my faith unafraid? Would my life be the same? Believe so, I do not (to be read with a hint of Yoda).

(And yes, writing this was quite difficult).