Even still

Two hours ago, I posted this on Twitter:

Grateful beyond words for a peaceful Easter Sunday in Jos. Yet even if it hadn’t been, He still reigns… “O grave, where is your victory?”

One hour ago, I had to respond with this:

……….spoke too soon. Even yet, He still reigns. Even still, “O grave, where is your victory?”

Not even an hour after I spoke those first words via social media, news came of a bombing just down the road. Nothing major this time. No casualties reported. Jos has seen worse. 

But it’s still a bomb. But it’s still a vivid reminder of brokenness. Of sin. Of evil. Of our desperate, desperate need for a Savior. For redemption. For resurrection. 

And it’s Easter. And I sign into Facebook and see pictures of bunnies and baskets brimming with trinkets and read comments about egg coloring and food feasting taking place in a land I have called home. 

And I sit back, reeling from the clash of worlds. Pastel-colored-chocolate-bunny-Easter with fear-laden-bomb-blasting-Easter.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, the resurrection. 

 

 

P.S.

If you are awaiting a reply from me on something.. if it’s been days, weeks, even months since you emailed me, and you have yet to hear a response.. if we’ve discussed Skype dates and I haven’t followed through.. if you’ve messaged me on Facebook and have seen my activity elsewhere but still no reply has reached your Inbox..

If you’ve been on the receiving end of any of these…. I am so sorry. So very sorry. Please bear with me as I wrestle with reconciling these two worlds.

I love and need you all the same. 

Soon and very soon. 

You know what I want?

I want a Sunday that allows for my students to attend their churches without fear of a suicide bomber blowing it to pieces.

A Monday that I don’t have to spend class time debriefing my students about the carnage they witnessed the day before.

A Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday that allow for the whole school to actually attend school, for outdoor sports to actually take place, for the suya man and kosai lady to be able to return to their stands, for the students to be able to walk outside once again…

A Friday that doesn’t hold fear surrounding venturing downtown during prayer time.

A Saturday that doesn’t anticipate a repeat of the week prior.

That’s what I want.

Oh, and a temporal glimpse of Kingdom-come.

Yes. Kingdom, come.

I’ve never experienced tears of righteous anger before today.

J-town, 9ja

Nicknames. Most of us have them, whether we care to admit them aloud or not. They can be fitting or funny, true or tasteless, humiliating or honoring… And even, yes sometimes even, slightly affirming…

I came to Nigeria about two months ago now with an already established, and well-known, nickname:  J9.  

It began as a catchy way to explain the spelling of my full name:  Jea-nine… Jea-9… And then caught on as it’s own nickname over time… J9.

It has progressed over the years, at the hands of my little cousins, to incorporate Battleship references and odd buzzing noises, but the original nickname seems to have stuck across the board and across the years:  from home and extended family, to church circles, to Hope friends.

And now, to Africa.

One of my first weeks here in Nigeria, this nickname came up in conversation with a now close Nigerian friend. His excitement over this (what I thought to be) rather unimportant piece of my past (as in, life in the States) seemed to be slightly overinflated, at least in my opinion…

And then he explained:

“Jeanine, you’ve just moved to Jos, Nigeria. Don’t you see?!”

Jos, or otherwise known as J-town.

Nigeria, or otherwise known as Naija, or written as 9ja.

J-town, 9ja.  J9.    Jeanine. J9.

It was one of those moments, when in explaining to Joe-Shmoe on the street, that may seem to make for just a lighthearted coincidence.

But for me, it was more. Silly as it may be, it was a moment of overwhelming affirmation. A moment of wonder and amazement and awe that the Lord of the universe would choose to affirm this calling and new work in my life in even this, the most simple and insignificant of ways. How beautiful. And what a blessing.

And so, needless to say, J9 has not only followed me across the pond, but it has stuck quite readily.

Here’s to moments of undeserved grace.