What’s in a name?
Here in South Sudan, a name means much, and each person has three. It tells how you came into this world
and how your mother will remember you.
It gives your father’s name and your tribe’s religious history. Your three names follow you like a
shadow, whispering family stories of dead siblings, beloved pastors, difficult
births, and earth-shaking storms.
These stories of self greet all of those with whom you come into
contact. I have been able to meet
people with names like Sesame, Sunshine, Wind, Circle, Tired, Deny, Problem,
and even Trash. (These names are all spoken in the Moru language, of course.) My friends here are always surprised
when I tell them that “Jennifer” doesn’t really mean anything in English
today. I shamefully admit that
people from America tend to pick names that just sound pretty—further proving
the idea that Kawajas completely ignore history for the sake of vanity. (This is no knock to my parents, by the
way. I love my name, “Jennifer,”
and my middle name, “Marie,” is from my grandmother.) However, the Moru people here take it a bit further. Luckily for those of us here on the
World Harvest Team, we have Sudanese friends who want to invite us into their
culture of captivating names.
Last
year, my friends at the Kotobi Institute for Teacher Education (KITE) decided I
had gone long enough without taking a Moru name. Granted, I can’t speak a lick of Moru, only some pigeon
Arabic; however, it’s not your language proficiency that warrants a second
name. My friends at KITE care for
me like a sister, and they wanted me to feel welcomed into their community—so
they gave me the name that they thought was most fitting—Ria. In Moru, it means, “joy.” They told me it was a no-brainer, since
I am always smiling. They said
that I have a happy way about me and never appear angry or upset. I was surprised by how unanimous their
belief was; I am always a nervous wreck each Friday when I show up to teach (a
combination of stress from last minute lesson preparations and difficult
driving). I didn’t even notice I
smiled that much.
My
Kotobi friends haven’t been the only ones to agree on the “Ria” thing. In one of his classic quotes, Grant
Lazarus (ECS Education Coordinator) tells me emphatically, “Jonifa…you are always smiling…that is,
uh…socialism!” As I play with the
neighbors’ dog, who nibbles at the edge of my skirt and prances around my feet,
worker Simon tells me, “Ooh, you are so happy!” I’m glad to know that people deem me a happy
individual. However, if my Moru
friends had seen me in previous years, they might have decided on a much
different name. There were many
times in my life when I breathed nothing but stress and fear (and didn’t know
how to do any different.) My body
was weak from nerves and my general lack of direction made me prone to
sleep. Nothing seemed certain and
nothing felt safe. I owe my recent,
personal heart-shift to the Lord and His gracious hand. He has blessed me with the opportunity
to do what my heart desires most— to teach English cross-culturally. The Lord has opened the door for me to
live and work in east-central Africa, biking down dusty roads onto open
compounds of busy primary schools and renovated colleges, which are all trying
to make improvements to go along with their newly acquired independence.
I
am so happy here; however, I find
myself realizing that this “ria” thing is conditional, based solely on
circumstance. What happens when
the teacher workshop doesn’t go as smoothly as I had planned or when I have
awkward interactions with people from my church. What posture does my heart take when members of my team are
in bitter argument and I feel caught in the middle? If anything, I tend to shut down and close off myself,
losing that spark of joy that comes with knowing and believing you are a
beloved child of God.
My
joy has been temperamental this past month, proving where my heart truly
lies. It has been placed on the
shaky platform of earthly idols, like those of relational comfort, work,
reputation, body, and success.
Setting my heart in these places puts me on an emotional rollercoaster,
soaring happily (and pridefully) when things go well, and then plummeting
desperately (and fearfully) when things go wrong. I so want to be the joyful person that God has made me to
be. I want to quote the Psalms
daily, saying, “I praise you, Lord, because I am fearfully and wonderfully
made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” I want to believe it when I sing that,
“The joy of the Lord is my strength.”
Sometimes joy is a choice; and it all comes down to choosing to believe
that God’s promises are true, even when my heart feels heavy and my mind begins
to race. And in those moments when
I can’t choose joy—when my heart is covered with an icy layer from frozen
idols, I can trust that the Holy Spirit is there to do some melting.
As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not
return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that
it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes
out from my mouth: It will not
return to me empty, but will accomplish the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out in joy and be led forth
in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and the
trees of the field will clap their hands.
-Isaiah 55:10-12
