Assumptions

Today a friend told me about a book she'd read about a missionary's experience in Haiti.  I looked up the author's blog and one of the first sentences I saw was about a 5-year-old child that everyone called a "baby" because she couldn't speak.  My first thought was that they were probably actually calling her a "bèbè" (deaf-mute) rather than "bebe" (baby) -- there is a subtle difference in pronunciation between the two.  Then I wondered how many other assumptions had been made because of this one (likely) misunderstanding.

Then I directed it back to myself -- how many times do I make assumptions based on a misunderstanding?  In this instance, how am I prejudging this blogger and all of the things she might say next?  sigh

I have been incredibly blessed by my friendship with Rick and Rhonda Hamilton, who interned with us in Haiti in 2011-2012.  Rhonda once wrote a blog post about me  and made it clear that she noticed that I'm kind of obsessed with not making cultural assumptions:

You will conclude a matter and Liz will say “I’m not sure I can say that because I just haven’t studied it out.” “I haven’t been here long enough to say that…maybe it's just a cultural thing”. This happens a lot. It challenges me to examine my own thought processes, has exposed my prejudices and has made me a better missionary.

You see, I have been wrong so many times in my interpretation of events.  And people are often wrong in their assumptions about me, about my country.  And then when language gets in the way -- uff!

Today I got angry about other remembered assumptions and misinterpretations about Haiti from my non-Haitian acquaintances.  Then I got angry about things that people have recently assumed about me.  Then I got angry about things that acquaintances have recently posted that criticize medical professionals due to a whole host of assumptions.  Then I thought I should go exercise to get rid of all of this anger -- and remembered that I've had two bum knees for the past six weeks and couldn't run or bike -- so of course I got angry about that.

Oh, Brother Francis!  Make this be my prayer as well:

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is discord, harmony;

Where there is error, truth;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

And where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.