Wednesday, March 28, 2012

You walk tall and strong like a young man...


Sometimes I just have to laugh.  I was walking down the road the other day when a young beggar approached.  He said "I am just a poor boy I have no mother, no father".  I could tell by the twinkle in his eye, he was playing the game, so I replied, "I am just a poor old woman and I have no one to help me either." 

He said, "Do you have children?"  I said "Yes, and grandchildren"

He said, "Then you are rich. You walk tall and strong like a young man.  You must be very rich".

I had to laugh, then I had to stop and think…I told him, “Yes, I guess I am very, very rich, but not in money, just other ways.”

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “That’s all that matters” and went on his way.

Sometimes the best sermons are preached when we stop to look at those we would normally pass by.  That little boy, dirty grimy, bare footed in ragged clothes preached a whole sermon in a few words.

I pray that God blesses you as much as he blessed me in those few short words, and that you have many, many riches.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012


The Journey
03.16.12
Three Cups of Africa…

"you must take time to share three cups of tea. We may be uneducated but we are not stupid. We have lived and survived here for a long time.’ That day, Haji Ali taught me the most important lesson I’ve ever learned in my life. We Americans think you have to accomplish everything quickly…Haji Ali taught me to share three cups of tea, to slow down and make building relationships as important as building projects. He taught me that I had more to learn from the people I work with than I could ever hope to teach them.”  aji Ali, Three Cups of Tea


I was walking back across the compound, coming home from Rachel’s after enjoying an evening of fun, food and fellowship that we topped off with a nice cup of tea. As I came around the corner and looked up at the sky and saw three bright stars in a row.  It dawned on me, I have shared cups of tea in three different parts of Africa since I arrived  three months ago, almost to the day. I arrived December 15th, as I write this it is March 17th.

How different life has been that what I expected it to be.  We all know I planned on being happily settled in Akobo now.  We all know how wrong that turned out to be. 

Akobo is a tiny village, a quiet place set along the river, where people go about their daily business.  From all appearances, life probably hasn’t changed much here in hundreds of years.  Yes, technology is infiltrating.  Power boats are taking the place of dug outs and papyrus canoes along the river.  Cell phones are everywhere.  Satellite dishes are popping up on NGO compounds lit by solar energy.  But for the most part, life goes on.  Children walk to the river with plastic basins on their heads full of laundry and dishes to be washed.  Women still gather at the local well to share the latest news and gossip as they fill their jerri cans with water to meet their family’s needs.  Men still gather, and  unfortunately, soldiers still walk the streets to keep the peace.   And so, I was sent to Malakal to live.

Malakal is as far from Akobo as you can possibly imagine.  Malkal is dry, dusty, dirty, and very desert like.  Yes the river is there, but not where I could go sit and enjoy the peace of an evening sunset.    Malakal is a bustling village that is home to many different NGO’s and their vehicles barreling down the road stirring up the dust even more.  Malakal has the look and feel of a busy town and the Western attitudes that are sometimes reflected in the NGO workers are spreading to the locals.  There are those that hang on to the village attitudes and life is good. They walk the roads as they always have.  They gather for tea at the tea shops that seem to be everywhere, they gather at the market chatting and visiting, just like old times.  They take time to make a stranger feel welcomed and loved and invite you to sit and share a cup of tea.

Next it was off to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for my R&R which, it turns out, turned into my R,R & R.  Addis the “capital of Africa” is a huge city of several million people and experiencing the building boom that hit the US a few years ago.  As our economy has declined, it appears theirs is booming and new multi-story buildings are going up everywhere.   Don’t get me wrong, Addis still has all the things I loved about it when I was here before.  The mini bus taxies still going barreling down the streets with a “shouter” hanging out the door who hollers “Pazza, pazza,pazza” (Piazza – the center of the city) or what ever the destination is, and slings the door open for people to pile off and pile on on the way to their destination.  Addis still has street vendors selling the best tomatoes and bananas from wheel barrows along the streets.  There are still the street children selling packages of kleenix and walking down the road singing songs to you.  There are still the harder things to see. The blanket I almost stepped on that turns out a foot slipped out and someone was sleeping there, along with the plastic tarps that people call home and the people who think they aren’t worthy enough to enter the church grounds so they hang on the gates worshipping from afar.  

With all its clashing of time and cultures, I love Addis.  It has its own kind of magic.  The church guest house where I am staying has been a revolving door of visitors since I arrived and for every visitor, there are many cups of tea and stories and much laughter shared around the dining room or living room tables.

That is the lessons of Africa – shared from Greg Mortenson’s book, “Haji Ali taught me to share three cups of tea, to slow down and make building relationships as important as building projects.” And that is what happens here as well.  We slow down, we take time and we listen and we share and rejoice in the joys and comfort the sorrows,  native and foreigner alike.  Our agendas are never too full to take time for a cup of tea and enjoy the beautiful gifts each one has to offer.  That is the magic of being here.

I invite you to take time from your busy schedule, sip a cup of tea with a friend or family member and rejoice in the gifts you both bring to the table.

Peace,
Sharon





Friday, March 16, 2012

03.16.12 Where God is Working

The Journey
03.16.12
Where God is Working...


This started out as a letter to a few people on my communications team and I decided to share...



It has been an interesting couple of weeks here in Addis.  There is just something special about spending half of your R&R days either in the physical therapy department of a foreign hospital or getting there and back.  The PT department is located right next door to the ICU unit.  It makes it a little easier to work through the pain of stretching short muscles when you know the person on the wall next to you is fighting for their life and you have seen the pain on the faces of the family members waiting in the hall.

A friend sent me a reminder that if it was anyone else I would be the one to look for how God was working in this situation.  So, I have been trying really hard and discovered I find myself doing a lot of praying in that hospital. Not for me, but for the people and situations around me. I wonder what they are going to say when I put on my annual review form that one of my spiritual practices is physical therapy?  : )

Today I learned that the shoulder really isn’t going to heal right because the adhesions aren’t breaking down like they should.  So Monday morning, they will put me to sleep and “manipulate” it.  I don’t really know what that means, but when he described it as “breaking it apart”, I am thinking it is probably a good thing I will be asleep for it. So, if you don’t mind, say a prayer for Dr. Pearson about the time you drop off to sleep, because that is about the time he will be “breaking it apart”.  

The was another attack between the Murle and Nuer this past weekend when the church leaders were going to get together to discuss if I could come back to Akobo or not.  That probably put an end to me returning anytime soon.  The latest word is for me to keep hanging out in Addis for now.

So, here I sit, with lots of time to rejoice in God’s blessings and pray for you guys. I hope you have a great day!
Peace be with you,
Sharon

03.15.12 Give Thanks with a Grateful Heart...

The Journey
03.15.2012
Give Thanks with a Grateful Heart

Sometimes thanks comes for the little blessings in life.  Today it was for a computer guy who helped me.   I have been trying and trying to get the right programs on my little computer.  Nothing seemed to work.  In South Sudan I couldn’t use my credit card on line.  Our ISP (internet service provider) is registered through Khartoum.  The US government has sanctions against Sudan so you can’t spend any monety there.
I waited anxiously to get to Addis Ababa where I can use my card online. I was finally able to do it one day and decided, before I put my cc# out there, to download the 60 day trial version.  That should last me until about the end of May when I come back to the states.  Perfect.  I didn’t have to use my card and I can have the programs I need!  FIVE DAYS to download.  That is what it told me!  Scratch that.  I can live with a couple of more months of telling me that my software may be counterfeit.  I know it is not, but I can’t upgrade it.

Today, we were in a computer shop and I asked the computer man if he could do it.  Yes.  He can.  Perfect I said.  How much?  150 birr.  150 birr??  Yes.  Ok.  Do it.  150 birr is $8.57 USD!  To get all the programs I needed off the internet was over $350 USD!!  They are a little older version of what I needed but for more than $300 I can say “Thank you God once more for your provision! Thank you for the little ways you bless my life as much as for the big ways.  Thank you!”

It was like God reached down from heaven and gave me a little hug.

How can I say thanks for the things you have done for me?
Things so undeserved, yet you gave to prove your love for me;
the voices of a million angles could not express my gratitude.
My Tribute, Trinity Hymnal


03.12.12 - Adventures in Taxi Land...


The Journey
03.12.12
Taxis- There are no rules…

There comes a point in life where you have to put your trust and faith in the hands of others.  We’ve all experienced that feeling of truly letting go and realizing that everything is completely and totally out of our hands.  The best we can do is hang on and enjoy the ride. That I have come to believe is the basis of my theory about riding in taxies in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

I know my facebook friends are aware of how I have been spending the restful days of my R&R in Addis.  Other followers may not know.  The first week of R&R was great!  I had the opportunity to catch up with old friends and make new friends.  By the middle of the second week, my arm hurt so bad I couldn’t stand it anymore and couldn’t put off going to get it looked at any more, so off I took on my first contract taxi drive across town to the Korean Hospital.  Where, by the way, I have received excellent care from an American orthopedic doctor and an Ethiopian physical therapist – Robo – is his name.

PT is nice – if that is what you want to call paying for the privilege of being tortured and forced to stretch muscles that say they don’t want to stretch anymore.  But it is working, I can use my shoulder again and mostly it doesn’t hurt.  It is just those reminders that it is not healed when I move certain ways I it feels like I have hit my funny bone from the top of my shoulder to the tips of my fingers.  It is a small price to pay for the joy of experiencing Addis taxis and their drivers.

Addis taxis are NOT like anything you Americans have ever seen unless you have been here or perhaps other places in Africa.  They are small blue cars called Lada’s.  They are Russian made and I am certain they probably are all left over from before the Derg.  They come with as varied a décor as they do drivers.  After four days of going across town and back I have had the honor of driving with seven different drivers, in seven different taxis.  I thought I might try to explain a few of them.

First there is the one I called “MIA”.  Abebe, a friend of John and Gwen’s, summoned his friend on the first day.  MIA never showed. 

Second there was “Grandpa”.  Abebe summoned him off the street. Now Grandpa might have been all of about twenty years old, 25 if I push it. He was great -very nice, very polite, very clean cab and very careful driver.  I suspect that some drivers secretly chew chet – a stimulant.  Not Grandpa.  There must be something that is the exact opposite; something that makes you go extremely slow. Don’t get me wrong.  I liked him.  He was very methodical and very safety conscious, coming to a complete stop in the middle of every roundabout. That sounds great unless you know the secret of roundabouts is you work your way to the center and then back out again to get off at the street you need to be on. You can’t stop and wait for a break in the traffic!  He faithfully stopped at every cross walk and let the pedestrians go. HHeHHHHPeople get angry.  They honk.  They wave.  They shout at you and shake their fists; especially when they go around you. It took every ounce of self control I had not to reach over and push my foot on the accelerator to make that taxi go faster. Grandpa did deliver me safely to the hospital for my first visit.  He even told me where to catch another taxi when I came out.

Sure enough, you walk out the front doors of the hospital, across the parking lot to the street and there are taxi drivers of all shapes and sizes gathered around the curb, just waiting for someone to come out and need a ride.  It appears to be a jumbled mess of taxis parked every which way and drivers siting on boxes along the side of the road or gathered chattering over the tops of their taxis, some are enjoying a cup of tea while they wait.

That is where I met taxi driver number three.  I think we will call him “Chatty Cathy”.  Chatty was very, very entertaining.  I am not sure I ever understood much of what he said, but he chatted all the way  across town.  I should have known he would be that way.  He was the one to say “yes”.  The first driver – Mario – emphatically said “no” when I tried to bargain with him.   I asked how much.  He said 250.  I  said no.  I paid 150 to get here.  He said 250. I said no and walked off and asked the next driver.  He said 200.  I said no; 150.  He said 200.  I started to walk off and he shook his head and said ok, with a smile on his face.  He was making money, the other guy was left standing  with an empty taxi.   I did understand a few things Chatty said, now that I think about it.  One was that when driving in Addis the rule is there are no rules. I believe it.

Taxi driver #4 – Chatty Cathy was kind enough to return to the guest house and pick me up for the trip back to the hospital the next day, although he was quick to point out, that I can take any taxi in line for the trip home.  I understand.  It is a long trip across town and back. Especially, when something has traffic backed up for a long time at one of the roundabouts.

On Friday, I met driver #6 – the Cheater – now I should explain the Cheater…I  took a mini taxi up to the Piazza and did some looking around and shopping before I left for therapy.  Since I was much closer to the hospital I didn’t think I should pay the full price.  So, being finished with all I had to do, I looked for a contract taxi.  Cheater says “250”.  I say, “No 100”.  He says 200, I say no, 100, I pay 150 from Pastuer (that is how you identify the part of town I stay in) He says 150 and I say no 100 and walk off. 

I hear OK 100, get in.  So I get in.  I am very impressed with the Cheater.  He is kind, he is considerate, he is polite and respectful.  His cab is immaculately clean, even has white, fluffy seat covers and you can see out of the windows.  I was sure I was going to like him, especially when he crossed himself as we passed a church and held his hand up to stop me from talking until he crossed himself again as we crossed the far property line.  I did like him.  Right until we pulled up at the door of the hospital and he demanded 150 birr, not the 100 we agreed to.  I argued with him. 

I even lost my temper, which is really hard for me to do, when he pulled out his cross, held it up to me and said, “I won’t cheat you.”  I told him yes he did.  We agreed to 100 or I would have come another way.

You know what I really didn’t like about the Cheater?  I didn’t like myself and the way I was acting.  Just as I almost said “Don’t show your cross to me if you aren’t going to be a Christian, it doesn’t mean a thing.” God slapped his hand over my mouth and I realized I wasn’t being a Christian either, so I paid him the 150 and got out.

Taxi driver #5- “Mario Andretti” – he was almost driver #3¸but he didn’t want to reduce his price.  I should explain here.  It is the same bunch of drivers waiting for passengers every day when I come out the front doors and across the parking lot.  Thursday, I had to argue with them.  My 150 was not enough.  They wanted 250.  I am not paying it!  I got here for 150 and I will go home for 150.  So I walked off down the road.  All of them were telling me “you can’t go”.  Yes, I can.  If you are going to charge me 250, I will walk.  No!  You can’t walk.  Yes.  I can.  And that is how the conversation went as I walked off down the street.

One chased me on foot.  “You can’t walk! Wait.  I will do it for 150”.  As he raced back up the hill to get his taxi “Mario” pulled up next to me and said “Get in.  I will do it.”  So I got in.  Now, I should stop here and explain Mario.  Most Ethiopians are slender.  Mario is overweight, he hunched down, both hands securely on the steering wheel, belly hanging out of the bottom of his too tight shirt with the buttons about to pop off, dirty spots on his shirt and dirty fingernails. He was the B rated movie version of a typical taxi driver.  Laughing as he sped off from the curb and said “The rules for driving in Ethiopia are there are no rules”.

As careful as Grandpa was, Mario was reckless.  Maybe reckless is a harsh word, more like daredevil.  Hunched over, chin almost propped on his steering wheel, eyes popping out,  he careened down the road, daring any pedestrians to cross his path.  I am sure I saw white eyeballs on a few as they jumped out of the way.  Where oncoming traffic seemed to be a little close for me, it was a challenge to him to see how close they could get to each other and who was going to pull over first.  Size didn’t matter – little taxis like his regular city busses, mini taxies or giant dump trucks – all were the same to him as we went zooming past or around or straight into. 
Where Grandpa cautiously made his way around the roundabouts Mario sped through them daring anyone to cross his path.  Foot on the accelerator, car leaning into the curves, we sped through and heaven help the cars that were in his way when it was time to make his exit!  That is what a horn is for – to honk and tell them to move – we are coming through! And come through we did.

The main streets and ring road (our version of a loop around the city) were an experience as well.  Center lines are not dividing lines.  You do not stay on either side of them.  They are something to line up the center of the car with and anything on either side are targets.  They are usually straight shots with other streets intersecting them.   The general “rule” is that the vehicle going downhill has the right of way.  Not for Mario.  

Those are targets too and you can completely forget about stop signs and red lights for traffic control.  They either  don’t exist, don’t work or are completely ignored.  I don’t know why, but there is just something about Mario’s sense of adventure in driving that I really liked.

Driver #6 – The Coaster – he will probably be the last.  I picked him up on the main road outside the compound yesterday, after I walked off and left him too.  250 seems to be the going rate to go across town to the Korean Hospital, but I am still not paying it.  150 is my top price.  The end.  I am done and I can walk or take a mini taxi, if I can figure out how to get there on one.  But that turns out not to be necessary.  There is just something about being chased down the road by a man saying “don’t go, don’t go, I will do it.”  I got in.

The Coaster is very nice.  He doesn’t speak much English, but in the first few blocks I knew that he was very excited about his brother coming from Washington DC.  He told me at least a dozen times.  I was beginning to think that was all he could say in English.  It turns out, he can say a little more, not much, but a little – “British Embassy”  and “No Rules” are two of his phrases.   I don’t have to worry about rules with the Coaster.  He is very slow, very methodical and he takes his car out of gear to coast down every hill.  If you know Addis, that is a LOT of coasting!  He is also very friendly.  Honking, waving and shouting greetings to shop keepers and fellow taxi drivers all across town.

I say he will probably be my last because he has become my self-appointed driver – himself not my self.  He was waiting when I came out of therapy yesterday.  He was waiting at the gate when it was time to go today and he was waiting when I finished today.  He even said he would be waiting to take me back tomorrow.  At least I don’t have to argue with anyone about prices again!

I almost forgot!  There is one rule.   Turn signals.  Horns, I have figured out are for  telling the drivers around you where you are going.  One honk , I am turning right.  Two honks – turning left.  That little stick on the side of the steering wheel that you push up and down.  That is NOT to tell you where I am going.  It is to tell you where to go.   If I turn the left turn signal on and pull to the right it means you are to pass me on the left.  Go figure!

I was trying to think of how I could tie God into this, then it occurred to me, people are a lot like taxi drivers.  There are the slow methodical ones, there are the daredevils, there are the ones that will talk your ears off and there are the ones that will cheat you and then make you open your eyes to your own behavior.  There are the very serious ones who take your safety and protection seriously.  There are the ones that throw caution to the wind and “drive” as the Spirit leads them.  But in the end, we are all God’s people and how great is that?






03.09.12 The God of Hard Places...God Loves Difficult Places


The Journey
03.09.2012
The God of Hard Places…God Loves Difficult Places
That is how the newsletter started from an organization I keep up with.  They do church planting and ministry in closed countries.  They do amazing work.  They also made me think.

I am sitting here in Addis with an arm that is throbbing from the physical therapy they did on it today.  And a heart that is sore because I really want to go back and do the work that I feel I was called to do and another week spending a minimum of four hours a day for pt is just not in my plans!

And then, I get this message from my friend Sue, “And btw (by the way) -  you are on God’s time and I am pretty sure he knows what you are going through.  If it was one of us you would gently remind us to look for what he is doing with the circumstances.”
Thanks Sue!

I am on God’s time and I do need to look at what he is doing with the circumstances.  He is giving me time to share with old and new friends.  I almost didn’t come to Addis right now.  It seemed there wasn’t any reason everyone I know here was out of town except Samson and I knew he was busy.  But, I came any way and I am so grateful I did.  

Rachel was back in town and met me at the airport. Michael was in town and when I came to the guest house I was met by Jo Ann Griffith, a fixture at BESS and in Ethiopia for many years.  That was a great surprise.  So was Gummachu – the director at BESS.  And friends and students of hers that dropped by for visits and catching up.

I was surprised to learn that John and Gwen Haspels were here too.  They are also long term Ethiopia mission co-workers and have been working down with the Suri for many, many years.

A few days later, just as Jo Ann was leaving, in walks Doug Sensabaugh, a leader in Shennendoah Presbytery from Virginia, whom I had met on my first trip to Ethiopia.  What a great surprise that turned out to be also.  I met his friends Millie and Randy and we had great fun and many laughs over the course of the week.

Samuel showed up outside one day.  He was the vice director at Berhane Yesus when I taught there.  He needs many, many prayers.  He is here for treatment for a blockage in his esophagus that prevents him from swallowing food.  And today, I met Ragaa in the compound, another old friend from Dembi Dollo. 

I think that is the magic of the guest house.  You never know who will walk through the door.  Old friendships are renewed.  New friendships are created.  And there is so much love, laughter and stories being told and retold, meals shared around the table and in the breaking of the bread you truly realize you are part of God’s family.

And in the stories you remember the God of the hard places, the God who loves the difficult places.  And that is what I will carry forward from here.  The stories and the memories shared by others here of the times that God was there for them in the hard places.  There is much strength to be found for us “newbies” in that sharing.  There is courage to be learned and carried forward into the times that lie ahead as a reminder that God loves the difficult places.  That is where we are stretched and grow.  There is wisdom to be learned that will serve as reminders in the days and months ahead. 

Yes, Sue, you are right.  I need to remember to look for what He is doing in these circumstances. 

He is giving me about 45 minutes a day I can spend with him as I lay on the PT table, wrapped in warm towels listening to my tizae music. A time to rest and relax before the “torture” begins.  

But that hour to hour and a half of “torture”  is also where the healing begins.  Not just for my shoulder, but for my soul as well. Both are being stretched during this time.  My shoulder so it can heal.  My soul so it can grow.  I am learning to use that time of stretching and pulling and working on those muscles that are hurt to work on the words that God has given to me in my daily Bible readings.  I am also learning to use that time to pray in a deeper way than I usually would.

So, perhaps, God is using this time of physical therapy for soul therapy as well. I just need to remember the God of Hard Places loves the difficult places and will use them as he sees fit, if  I just get out of his way…



Sunday, March 4, 2012

02.07.12 Simple Games...


The Journey
02/07/2012
Simple Games…

A Simple Game #1 – Permission to Travel??
Or, getting permission to travel is anything but simple…You cannot just hop in a car or on a bus and go whenever you get good and ready.  No, you must have permission to travel.  It is a lengthy process that requires permission from many sources.  All I wanted to do was to go to Renk, to help Elizabeth with the women’s program….

The first step in the process was I had to go to the church office and request a letter from Rev.  Gideon, giving me permission to leave Malakal.  No problem. I have his permission.  Come back tomorrow.  He will make the letter “tonight” and it will be typed tomorrow so come in the afternoon.  So in the afternoon I go to   collect my letter.  There was no electric so I will have to  wait. I came back the next day picked up my letter and went to the SSRRC office – South Sudan Relief annnd Rehabilitation Commission – to  ask their permission to travel.

Permission granted.  Delayed - Elizabeth's granddaughter is in the hospital.  We wll go tomorrow.  Tomorrow came and off we went...all the way to the bus station where we were delayed for a day because there wasn't a car to take us!  Come back tomorrow!  Tomorrow came and off we went.  Another day another car we were on our way (and that is another story all in itself!)


Lesson learned – make sure your permission extends a day or two beyond what you think you need…Remember this is Africa and nothing goes as planned.  It is a simple game.  Before you travel you to a government office and ask for permission.  The next day you go back and pick up a letter that says how long you can be gone.  Then when you arrive where you are going, you go to the security office and report you are there.  They write your name and passport information in a ledger book. Then you ask for permission to leave the area. They tell you to come back tomorrow and that is where my simple game became complicated.

Plan A:  The man who speaks English, that took me on Monday can not go.  They were going to send me with Stephen. 

Plan B:  Stephen speak Arabic but no English.  He could communicate with the security office, but not with me to tell me what they need.

Plan C:  Send me with one of the women.  She didn’t speak enough English to help me  We wait.

Plan D:  Mark will come.  We waited.  He came.  He speaks English!  He speaks Arabic!  We can communicate! 

We go now and off we went in a taxi, back to yesterday’s office.  Again, they pull out the big blue ledger, again they write my name and passport information, again we wait. Mark told our story to a very serious looking man who came in a greeted us and sat looking very stern.  A few minutes later a third man came.  He passed his greetings and sat looking more stern than the last with his chin propped on his hand, squinted eyes and seriously contemplating the situation.  Suddenly, all three men left the room.  Two more men came to sit with us, not saying a word but looking very “official” in spite of their plain clothes. 

In a few minutes one of the first three men came and asked for my passport.  I asked if I could go with it.  “No”. I said I was told to never leave my passport and documents.  Mark assured me they would bring it back.  And so, I sat waiting, wondering what would happen if they didn’t bring it back.  Holding my breath; a few minutes later he appeared;  travel permit waiving from my passport. 

Whew! I could breathe!  It is a simple game that requires the patience of Job as each step in the bureaucracy plays its role.

Simple Game #2 – Tales from the Market   As we exited the taxi Mark said “I heard about you in the market yesterday”.  Puzzled I asked why.  “The boy told me he saw an English lady wearing a luwalla.  The people were talking”.  I couldn’t help but laugh, a big, belly deep laugh.  Who would have thought that wearing something as simple as a “tablecloth”, I would have people in a small village in Africa talking about me all over the market!

A Simple Game #3 – A Rock, Some Dirt and a Few Lines on the Ground…
Who would have dreamed they could lead to so much fun, love and laugher as thirty plus women of all ages lined up to try their luck at hopscotch.  I was a little surprised at first, then it made sense.  They have never been taught how to play.  Their lives have been spent in hard work and struggle for survival.  There hasn’t been time for games when family survival depends on the hard work of fetching wood and water, cooking and foraging for food.  Years of struggling during times of war…

Oh, how much fun it was to watch and listen to their puzzlement as I took a rock and started drawing lines in the dirt.  And then, to see their wide eyed wonder as I picked up my skirts and started hopping – one, two, one, one, two feet on the ground – and they lined up waiting to try; young and old alike, laughing, jumping, stumbling and falling only to get up and try again. 

A simple game that we play from the time we are little girls, big enough to jump, brought so much joy and laughter to women half a world away.








The Journey
02.04.12
Showered in Blessings…
You came to greet him with rich blessings and placed a crown of pure gold on his head.


 I am sitting in my church in Malakal, South Sudan.  It was a beautiful walk to church this morning, one of those rare days here where the sky is blue and not filled with the brown, hazy dust that so often permeates the air.  There is just a hint of cool.  People on the road seemed a little brighter, a little happier, it is amazing why a clear blue sky can do to lighten the moods.

 I was sitting in the church looking out the door and noticed it was raining golden leaves from the nim tree outside the door.  As each woman elder and deacon stepped under the tree and entered the church, the she entered in a shower of golden leaves with the sunlight streaming behind them.

It was almost as each one received a special blessing before entering the church.

I had to wonder, how many blessings are showered on us that we don't see or are so caught up in our own thoughts we don't notice... 

02.01.12 - Kissed By God


The Journey
02/01/12
Kissed By God…

I admit these last two weeks have been some of the hardest I have experienced both physically and emotionally  Every day is a challenge to stay healthy and avoid becoming sick in these harsh living circumstances.  And no matter how hard I have tried to be I got sick anyway.  I don’t know if it was from being tired and worn down from the fight, something I ate or what.  I just know that the creatures that invaded by body made it a long walk to the latrine in the middle of the night.

Perhaps it is the frustration of not knowing what God’s purpose is for me here.  I am not teaching.  I am not learning Nuer.  I am not learning culture.  I am not learning anything that will help me when I return to Akobo.  There are no kids to play with, no one to build relationships with around the compound where I am living.  At times, I admit, it feels very dark and hopeless.  At times I want to throw in the towel and say “I quit.  I can’t do this.”  And then I get caught up in the pattern that is life here – hurry up and wait.

And in the slowing down I have time to realize this journey isn’t about what I want in the first place.  It is about what God wants.  And if God wants me to sit here on the veranda at the church office waiting to see if someone will come, then I will rejoice in the people I am blessed to meet and the laughter we share in the waiting. 

If God’s plan is for me to walk down the road in my pink or blue lowalla and be “dressed” a hundred different ways as the women greet me with happy surprises, then I will rejoice in the happiness it brings to them.

If God’s plan is to bring smiles to the faces of the “grandfathers” who pointed their fingers, chattered and chastised me at a tea shop yesterday, then I will rejoice in that too.  I felt like I was five years old and had done something to disappoint my grandfather as I stood before them.  I didn’t understand a word they said except shaking fingers and “No” and “lowalla”.  The jist of it was I was not wearing a lowalla!  Today I did wear one and was rewarded by big smiles and happy handshakes and I rejoiced in that as well. 

So, as I sat on the veranda at the church office today contemplating all of this I was watching three kites (birds) fly high overheard.  Floating on the thermals, they seemed to hang in midair before swooping down to brush the tops of the trees, before climbing high into the sky and coming back again. Soon they floated off and were replaced by three gulls from the river.  I had to laugh, it seemed I was surrounded by groups of three today.  I was busy watching the birds when I caught a flutter out of the corner of my eye- there were three white butterflies flitting through the bottom of the trees on the edge of the road.  Here I sat, three sets of three had caught my eye this morning.  I had to stop and think, God is here; especially when the three white butterflies showed up.  

White butterflies have been my symbol that God is with me for as long as I can remember.  Hiking on trails in the dead of winter with no sign of life anywhere, white butterfly floating just above the tops of the dead grass – God is there.  In the dark times in my life, when I had given up hope, a simple prayer and a white butterfly would appear out of nowhere – God was there.  Days filled with more joy than my heart could hold, white butterfly dancing on the breeze; God was there.

So this morning when the three white butterflies were dancing on the edge of the road, I had to laugh and say thank you for being here God.  A quiet peace filled my heart and surrounded me.  I noticed there were only two butterflies and I wondered where the third one went.  Just then a flutter caught the corner of my eye, and there was the third one, sitting on my shoulder.  It brushed my cheek and went to join the other two just before all three disappeared from site.

Yes, God was here.  God was with me.  God, gave me peace about 
where I was and what I was doing, and yes, I have to say, I was kissed by God…