Ihangane. Patience.

I want to tell you a story about two kind, faithful souls on opposite sides of the globe.

Dan was a friend and mentor that played the bass guitar in the praise band I sang with at my church in Texas. Though he was older than the next member of the band by maybe 20 years, Dan always showed up to practice with a kind word, a smile, and of course, a rumbling bass groove that echoed in your bones. Dan constantly encouraged me when I was nervous to sing, and from my very first practice made me feel like I had been a part of the team forever. When I left for my year in Rwanda, Dan told me “Please be careful, have fun, and remember: God’s work, our hands.”

The Faith Lutheran worship band (including Dan and I) praying before
leading worship at Synod Assembly last year.

Dan passed away two days ago.

When I heard the news, I was shocked. I mourned for Dan’s family, for my church community, and for myself. I mourned that I couldn’t be there to say goodbye, to support the people I love and the people that loved Dan.

And in the midst of my grief, Mose came home for his night guard shift.

Mose and I when I visited his family at home!

Mose, maybe 10 years younger than Dan, is the closest person I have to a Rwandan host family member. Mose took one look at my face and knew I was not ok. So after I told him what had happened, he grabbed my hand and told me (in kinyarwanda):

“God has each of our names written down. We don’t know when we will go to be with God, but God knows. God knows the year, the month, and the day. So to some of us, God says ‘buretse’ (wait) it’s not time for you yet. But to others of us, God says ‘gwino’ (come).” He said, “’Inshuti’ (my friend), I know your heart hurts. ‘Ihangane.’”

Patience.

“Ihangane” is a word often used in Kinyarwanda when someone is in pain-physical pain or emotional pain. Not “I’m sorry”, not “Hang in there.”“Patience.”

It is a sentiment filled with so much more hope than "sorry." Patience, there will be a way. Patience, one day pain will end. Patience, don’t give up.

And after he said all of this to me, Mose made me grilled corn on the charcoal stove in the back yard. He chatted with me about his family.  He gave me part of the avocado he brought from home. I was hurting, and Mose accompanied me.

So often, especially this year, I find that even as I seek to accompany others, I am constantly being accompanied myself. Dan and Mose are two of the accompanying saints walking with me on this journey, and it pains me that these two beautiful souls will never know each other in this life. But.

But I heard God’s voice in Mose’s yesterday. I heard God saying “ihangane”. Patience.

Romans 8:24-25 says: "Hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently."

I hope. I hope to meet Dan again. I hope to reunite with all those that my heart aches for right now. And in my hoping, I get this response: "Patience."

Patience, Dan has been called to “gwino”, to come home. Patience, you have been called to “buretse”, to “wait”, to keep sowing seeds where you are. Patience, one day, the Kingdom will be realized in all its fullness.

And the Kingdom is like this: a place where all the saints from all corners of the globe will sing, and play the bass, and eat corn cooked on a charcoal fire, together.

Be hopeful. Be patient. Ihangane.