Those of us who know and love Beth could tell immediately upon her return last June that this trip was unlike her previous trips. It had effected her soul like no other trip before. It rocked her world. She came back from a mission with a mission. That mission now has a name, eXile international.
“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress.”
James 1:27
********************************************************************************* LOOKING DARKNESS IN THE EYE - IN CONGO
What do you do when you look darkness in the eye? What is our natural reaction? Ill tell you. We look away. We look very far away. Why? It makes us feel uncomfortable. It makes us feel uneasy….even disturbed. I have only been back home from Congo a few days – and I can easily say that, on many levels, I have looked darkness in the eye. From that deep gaze has come many thoughts and questions. Many of which I will not share – some of which I will. The most important one is this:
What am I to do with all of this? I think over my experiences – the stories shared, the sights seen, the tears cried – and I ask Him: What would you have me to do with this, Lord? I think about the child soldier at the orphanage asking me in his broken English if I would be his “father” (wishing to ask me to be his mother, but getting his words mixed up), I think about the mother I sat with whose baby was literally snatched from her by the rebels as she ran away from her village, I think about the hollow eyes of the little 6 year old boy who had witnessed something so tragic that he has disengaged from reality around him, I think about the more than 60% of women in the Congo who have been raped……the women trying to give us their children……the displaced persons/refugees (IDPs) in the camps whose food supplies had been cut in half. Darkness. Heaviness. Twisted as it is - this is their normal. Though their trials overwhelm me, I am equally amazed at their strength….at their smiles. Their joyful worship. I recall the children at the refugee camp who had gathered plastic bags to wrap around and around, tying it with strings to eventually form a home-aid soccer ball. Resilience. The widows who have 6-7 children of their own (and taking care of 2-3 other orphans) who have started their own business of selling flour made from tree roots so all of them may eat each day. Persistence. I think about the laughter of the girls at the orphanage after showing them how to blow bubbles and then to chase them. Joy. I think about the smiles on the faces of the displaced women as they left the conference after learning - for the first time - how to begin healing from their heart wounds. And then I remember back to the first few days…..the feeling I had of smallness. Feeling so small compared to the size of their pain and questioning if I could make a difference at all. It was so much bigger than I was. SO much bigger than I was. I think about these things: seeing their faces, remembering their stories – and I ask Him: Lord, what do I do with it all?
This is my answer…
I will do something. Some Thing. There is much I cannot do. I cannot stop the violence, violation, starvation, or government corruption. But I will not let that stop what I Can do: Some Thing. I will see the fact that I am here and they are there as a responsibility – and now that I know - I am even more responsible. I will resist the temptation to place my knowledge in a target bag and cram it under the bed, pretending that these things don’t go on, just because it makes me uncomfortable - even disturbed. Yes, I am tempted – but not tempted enough.
This is my answer…
I will do something. Some Thing. There is much I cannot do. I cannot stop the violence, violation, starvation, or government corruption. But I will not let that stop what I Can do: Some Thing. I will see the fact that I am here and they are there as a responsibility – and now that I know - I am even more responsible. I will resist the temptation to place my knowledge in a target bag and cram it under the bed, pretending that these things don’t go on, just because it makes me uncomfortable - even disturbed. Yes, I am tempted – but not tempted enough.
“I don’t see how you can do it….how you can hear that….how you can help.” I hear that often. My answer: If they can go through it – survive it – how can I not? How can I not merely sit with them in it for a little while, grieve for them, pray for them, give them just the seeds of healing? No, I will not feel small. I will feel ….I will Feel. I will be courageous enough to sit with it in prayer, asking how God may make baskets of bread out of the tiny loaves I hand Him. That may be as small as sponsoring an orphan to make sure (first and foremost) they will live and die knowing the Lord as their Savior – and then being fed and clothed along the way Home; or large enough as developing a trauma counseling curriculum to be used with the War-Torn Children of Africa. Regardless – I will do something. I ask you to courageously join me. We all have our gifts to be used in different ways to make some sort of difference. But may we not see the gravity of the problem as a means to tuck our gifts away in the “it won’t make a difference” corner. Because it will. It simply will.
He teaches me….In the strangest ways He teaches me. For example, let’s just say in a 3 year old autistic little Kenyan boy who sat next to me on the plane ride home, after 2 weeks of Wonderful Weariness and being used by the Lord more than I deserve to be. My mind racing trying to wrap my head around what I have witnessed and heard. Realizing that maybe the problem is that my head is getting in the way. He and I are looking out the window at the beautiful clouds, seemingly hovering at 20,000 feet above the ground, and he starts to repeat something that sounded oh so familiar to my heart. Something that I seem to have been repeating to myself in the few weeks before - over and over again in my head. Something profound. Looking at the universe outside the small window of plastic, he started saying this: “It is bigger than we are……It is bigger than we are….It is ….It is….bigger than we are.”
Eyes glazed over with the feeling of disbelief and the beginning of tears. I looked at him and knew….God speaking through the mouth of a babe. “Yes,” I said, “Yes, it is.” I looked away and I smiled a little. Wanting to look up in the sky – as if I were actually closer to Him up there – to say, “Thank You. It IS so much bigger than we are, isn’t it?…..the heavens. The Heaven. And so is Life - SO much bigger than we are, but the beauty is that so are You. And Y O U are in the middle of it all.
Lord, You are not on the outside looking in. Not sitting in your rocking chair shaking your head in disbelief. No – you are not us….but you are IN us. WITH us….through our tears, through our violation, through our orphaned journey, through our loss….you are not hiding. You are in the midst. And the hope of Heaven (especially for these hurting ones) is Bigger than it all. So maybe the question is not, where are you in all of this? I know, now, where you are: You are on the battlefield. Maybe the question is, ‘Where are we?’”
He teaches me….In the strangest ways He teaches me. For example, let’s just say in a 3 year old autistic little Kenyan boy who sat next to me on the plane ride home, after 2 weeks of Wonderful Weariness and being used by the Lord more than I deserve to be. My mind racing trying to wrap my head around what I have witnessed and heard. Realizing that maybe the problem is that my head is getting in the way. He and I are looking out the window at the beautiful clouds, seemingly hovering at 20,000 feet above the ground, and he starts to repeat something that sounded oh so familiar to my heart. Something that I seem to have been repeating to myself in the few weeks before - over and over again in my head. Something profound. Looking at the universe outside the small window of plastic, he started saying this: “It is bigger than we are……It is bigger than we are….It is ….It is….bigger than we are.”
Eyes glazed over with the feeling of disbelief and the beginning of tears. I looked at him and knew….God speaking through the mouth of a babe. “Yes,” I said, “Yes, it is.” I looked away and I smiled a little. Wanting to look up in the sky – as if I were actually closer to Him up there – to say, “Thank You. It IS so much bigger than we are, isn’t it?…..the heavens. The Heaven. And so is Life - SO much bigger than we are, but the beauty is that so are You. And Y O U are in the middle of it all.
Lord, You are not on the outside looking in. Not sitting in your rocking chair shaking your head in disbelief. No – you are not us….but you are IN us. WITH us….through our tears, through our violation, through our orphaned journey, through our loss….you are not hiding. You are in the midst. And the hope of Heaven (especially for these hurting ones) is Bigger than it all. So maybe the question is not, where are you in all of this? I know, now, where you are: You are on the battlefield. Maybe the question is, ‘Where are we?’”
THE BEGINNING:
I am here
Monday, June 9, 2008
There is something about sleeping underneath a mosquito net that is mysterious and romantic - even if the only mysticism is that which I am protected from. I am finally here in Africa - Kenya to be exact. I will be here a week before I meet the other team for Congo. After delay after delay (and some precious and unexpected time at Westminster Abbey) - I am here. Remembering how much I love this place and why I am so drawn to her people. They have such a kindness about them - a gracious kindness, taking nothing for granted and appreciating the tiniest of inconveniences. I had also forgotten how "tidy" they were in Kenya and how much I loved it when they said "tidy." Being in London for a day and getting to practice my fake British accent, I am appreciating the formality of language more and more.
So here I sit - on my bed - underneath my whimsical net of protection. Finding myself alone with God and being so thankful. I have been amazed at His patience with me and His guidance of my preparations. I just happened to be on the same flight as my favorite missionary family who I visited in Haiti a few years ago. A wonderful s-prize! They are my age with two beautiful girls and a 2 year old Haitian orphaned boy on the way. I had a fleeting dream of being married as part of such an incredible team for Him, as these two are... I was water to my soul to be able to visit with them. His providence never ceases to amaze me, yet I am even more amazed at myself for being surprised when he displays it. What about "as small as a grain of mustard seed" do I not understand?
As I begin to take on the next few weeks, Lord, I ask you this - simply this:
May my heart reflect your warmth
May my soul mirror your light
May my fingertips hold your touch and my eyes radiate your brilliance
May my words be your pearls scattered among the dreary and
My presence simply be solely your love
May I show them your salvation and proclaim to them your freedom
May I bring them you.....May I be....You
Yours, b
********************************************************************************* Behind their eyes
Monday, June 9, 2008 at 10:14am
I have never experienced being surrounded by blind pain until today. Pain that is so present that it must be covered by silence so that survival can take place. I have never witnessed such strength in youth until today....
I have just returned from a boarding school which houses 80 children who have been taken from their families as a result of the "clashes" in Kenya. I knew they had been hurt: taken from their families - witnessed burning of their homes - experiencing rape first hand (at the age of 12 - 14)- seeing crimes of war that no adult should have to see - having their only security of a parental figure being taken from them. I knew this going in.....I knew it in my head, but not my heart. Even as I spoke with them about how much God is holding them (when, maybe, they could not feel it), capturing their tears in His bottle, promising them hope....even as I broke them down into groups, encouraged them to speak about what they have seen..... (understanding that even That was too difficult for them)....and finally having them write down their stories. Even then I did not fully understand. Not until I read what they had written in their own words - out of their heart wounds - amidst their African penmanship - I began to understand:
"I was afraid when war started in our beloved country Kenya and I became a refugee in my own country."
"I was sad the day the Election Violence began and my house was burned to the ground and I saw many people being killed. It makes my heart feel pain."
"When my neighbor was killed in pieces. My mind remembers that day."
"I was worried when I saw people killing each other after the election and the worst thing was they were friends for a long time and the friendship turned to be enemies."
"When my neighbor killed my brother"
"When my father chased away my mother and now I have no mother to encourage me."
Sitting down after the day and reading these - I can now see how such beautiful brown eyes can hide such pain....
Lord, help me not to be afraid to feel - to weep for them - to weep with them - to hold them as you would if you were sitting beside me. Beside me...And you are...
And I am
Yours, b
********************************************************************************* ....And He Took The Knife
Tuesday, June 1o, 2008
There is a tired you feel after being in the tobacco patches all day long, there is a tired you feel when you have been counseling needy ones all day, then there is a tired you feel after spending the day teaching, speaking with, and loving on hurting African children and their teachers. It’s a strange tired.....a rejuvenating tired....actually, not a tiredness at all. More of a - "Man, God, that was great!!" feeling....with a "and tell me, Lord, how did you pull that one off?" tacked to the end.
The words of my new sweet-angel-of-a-missionary idol gave me words before I left on this trip that could not have range truer today. "We go and let Him work through us and we get to sit back and watch what He does...marveling in Him." That was today.
After yesterday - realizing how traumatized these children actually were - recognizing my original plans of working with them were not going to cut it - seeing the steel cage they had around their heart - wondering how I could even begin melting that down in one day - being overwhelmed at the task....I sat down last night at the dial up internet to try to research what had been done on traumatized children of war in Africa. A Big Fat "Not A Whole Lot Of Anything" was the answer. Much of what I found before I left. Back to the room to attempt to carve out a skeleton of a plan...and He took the knife. The end result was amazing. In one day HE was able to help these children to recognize their feelings, actually begin feeling them, recognize HIM as the great physician of healing our hearts, talk about what they had experienced, laugh, cry, and even leave with a sense of hope, strength, and power In The Lord that makes my heart want to burst : ) I think I must have prayed for at least 40 of them individually before I left ..... and prayed for the rest in groups.
The training I now have in front of me can easily be an outline used in countries across Africa for many, many others to use in working with traumatized teens and children. There is no way I could have put this together in one night - or even ever - on my own. The price of seeing them smile as we left today, after leaving blank faces of nothingness yesterday, is more than this keyboard could even begin to trace.
Tomorrow lies ahead. We will be gathering women from IDP/Refugee camps to attend teaching on trauma and grief healing and, most importantly, finding God in their pain. About seven hours of teaching and training and counseling.....maybe new stories of hope to tell....maybe more of God's craftsmanship...maybe even a new kind of tired...and I will welcome it!
Funny, I just remembered Ruth asking me tonight, after hearing me yawn as I was getting out of the van, "Are you tired?" My answer, "No - not really."
I mean, really, how could I be? : )
Lord, how can I thank you for such a magnificent gift? How can I begin to praise such awesomeness and do it justice? I will not. You know my heart...but I do ask this. I pray tonight as the children sleep....for the first time in months, I pray you give them sweet slumber. Help them to remember to pray to you, to feel strong for the first time in a long time, and to feel you holding them as they drift off to sleep...free from nightmares...free from fear...free...in you.
Fully, Completely, Wholly -
I am -
Yours, b
********************************************************************************** Tears for the Tearless
Thursday, June 12, 2008
She looked at me as if to say, "How can you even begin to understand." I looked back as if to say, "I never could."
She: A 70-some-odd-year-old grey haired large sturdy African woman with a bold colored head covering. Deep wrinkled face that dared to show any emotion. She was strong. She was broken. She was angry. She was brave...and I felt small in her presence. She was there - but not sure if she wanted any part of this "healing thing." I noticed her as I was taking pictures of the war-torn ladies who were putting aside their pain to worship - and worship they did! It was joyful - amazingly joyful before the Lord! I noticed her because she was not....joyful. Later when I had everyone get into groups, I noticed her again as I pulled up a chair. The language barrier seemed to be like a 20 foot steel wall. There was one refugee (IDP) lady who spoke broken English and agreed to translate the older woman's story for me.
"I was a seller of clothes. I business woman. They burnt my house, they burnt it all - I lost everything." (She just kept saying that phrase. As if to say - that's all you need to know. That's my story. End of story. Period.) "I lost everything. I lost everything. I went from place to place and walked by foot a 2 days journey to get here. I lost everything."
She would say little more than that, eye contact to the ground, and I felt more than inadequate. What could I offer her - this young, white, American who had just spent over an hour teaching about finding God in the middle of darkness. I could talk a good talk - but there was no way I could understand what lived behind her heart. She saw no point of living any more - she was old and she was lost and she was done.
So tonight there are tears. Tears for my new African Strong Tower, sleeping in her tent tonight, lying there alone, maybe not even knowing how to cry. Tears because I want so badly to explain that it will get better. Tears because I want her to hold on. Her and her fellow displaced sisters. I think back on them around her in the group: one holding her infant as she told me how she escaped her attackers being three months pregnant.....another telling me how she "lost" her 2 children and grandchild in the attacks....she doesn't know where they are, or IF they are...one with eyes glazed over telling me how she had seen her relatives being burnt in the church - she is there alone with her 6 month old baby girl. Praise God for her baby. How I wish I could just touch them and give them hope.
Oddly, there are tears because, as I speak to them about their nightmares and trauma, I can now speak from a side of the fence that looks much different that some time ago. Tears because I want her to hold on - knowing that when you are in it (even the raindrops I experienced compared to their tsunami) you cannot see you hand in front of your face. So hope becomes something you have to Choose to believe in - not something you feel at all. Finally, tears because of a moment in time. A realization that for the first time, I am actually ministering from a place I never thought I would speak OF....and place I am not speaking FROM. Suddenly the word "Redeemer" takes on a new meaning : )
Lord God - Mighty Healer and Comforter. I am at a loss as to how I can make a difference. Their pain is so great and I am so small....help me to realize that I am not here to represent myself, but You - and there could never be anything SMALL about you. Wake me with a knowledge of the anointing. I am: your humble messenger, because I am fully
Yours,
b
********************************************************************************* Day of Days....
June 12th, 2008
It began with a question of How and ended with an answer of Hope.
Feeling a bit despondent at what to do with the degree of pain that I witnessed after meeting with 100 refugee (IDP) women yesterday (who had walked to the local church for the trauma healing workshop I was giving), I felt lost. Small would actually be a better word. Their pain was so much bigger than my plan. Their stories overshadowed any training I could have received. But what I realized was that what they needed was not my head knowledge or my topical outline. What they needed was my heart - which thankfully had been captured long ago by something much bigger than I was.
When I woke this morning, I was determined not to let any insecurities distract me from simply being HIM. I could not short change their need for love in that way. I would not. I talked to these poor women yesterday about a strength that lived inside of them. How we had been given a power and authority by wearing the name of Jesus to overcome tragedy and heartache - but we must USE that anointing as His people....and in remembering that, I woke up this morning with a peace - and it only got better from there : )
We started the day with letting the ladies who were not able to share their stories continue to do so. I heard more of their heartache:
"My baby was taken from my back as I was running away. I don't know where she is...she is gone."
"My mother was killed and I had to leave my father to come to this camp. I have no husband" - From the most beautiful young African woman I think I have seen....as she was breastfeeding her newborn.
Story after story...and where is God they ask. Where is he? Hearing more and more heartache, I asked someone right before I got up to speak how you said something in Swahili. (Trying to give them God's message is difficult, but try to do it when they don't understand a word you are saying is a totally different ballgame : )
"Mungu Ukanari" I told them that sometimes the pain is so bad that there are no words to say. There are no answers - other than praying with each other, reading scriptures of Hope, and telling each other this...
"Mungu Ukanari" - God is with you.
Where is God in their pain? He is right beside them...He is holding their hand....He is lying beside them when they sleep...He is capturing their tears in His bottle. We talked about Grief and Trauma. We talked about Anger, Bitterness, Guilt, and Unforgiveness. I told them about Victor Frankl - how he had been a survivor, much like they are. I shared with them how during his trials in the concentration camps, he realized that the greatest power a man has is to choose how he responds to any given situation. It is the one thing you cannot take away from a man...you can burn their houses, steal their children, rape them, or kill their family....but you cannot take away their strength. Not unless they give it up. It is amazing how an African Refugee Woman can suddenly relate to a Jewish Prisoner in a matter of seconds. It captured them...and the most amazing thing was to see them slowly, slowly melt into His arms of healing.
To see them yesterday - broken, some of them unable to cry or to feel much of anything, some of them unable to stop crying at some points, some of them so angry at their attackers that their bitterness oozed from them - and to see them when they left was more than amazing.
Before lunch we had prayer - and I noticed something shocking. Yesterday I mentioned the African Strong Tower....the aged tree of a woman whose heart was as steel. During prayer before lunch, their guide began praying for them and asked them all to join in the prayer. Speaking in tongues took on a new meaning. Their voices were so beautiful...like a sweet aroma to the Lord. A mumble that grew into almost a pleading that, for some, grew into simply weeping before Him. One lady in particular was crying - almost wailing. You could hear her above everyone else. I was on my knees in prayer and I could not see who it was, though I wondered. We ended prayer and I got up to see who it was that was hurting so badly, and I could not believe my eyes. It was her. Sitting there, once in her boldness and brevity - now letting her tears melt her heart before the Lord. I smiled.....watching Him work is a beautiful thing.
Then there was the most amazing part of all. After lunch I had them to go out to the front of the church and to choose a stone. Some chose large ones and some chose small ones. I had planned even before I left to end the conference with them taking stones and coming up front to lay down their stones, symbolically at the foot of the cross, in exchange for a plastic golden coin which would remind them of three things: 1. That they were bought with a price and are so worthy in His eyes 2. To remind them of their strength and 3. of New Beginnings. As I was preparing last night for today, a song came on my MP3 player: Bebo Norman's "I Know Now." In God's providence, his CD has been accidently downloaded onto my MP3 player before I left. I didn't know it until I was on the plane. Listening to the words, I knew I had to read it to these women.
"I took a walk down to the river, a broken heart in my hand, to the taker and the giver to make my final stand. I waded out into the water and I sank just like a stone, but I was lifted by the angel to never be alone. And I never knew I could lay my burdens down. And I never knew redemption could be found. but I know now....I know now."
I read them the verses and explained to them the secret of why they had been asked to choose a stone. I told them that it was time to lay down their burdens of pain, guilt, anger, unforgiveness, and hopelessness before the Lord in exchange for His newness. I was the luckiest one in the room to have been able to watch their faces light up. To be able to see them make two lines as they came up and put down their stones to take their new golden coin from my hand. To be able to hear them begin to sing a song to the top of their lungs in their own native tongue called "Lay My Burden Down..." as they then went straight from getting their coin to forming a circle around the room, walking in a circle and dancing before the Lord as they walked around and around and around for what seemed like forever. I was in the middle, just taking it all in and trying to keep myself from a full on tear fest as to take away from their joy. J O Y. They had found it....
Before I left - I was hugging the two guides that had led them down to the church. I was telling them how blessed I was to have been able to come. I noticed someone beside of them. Someone beaming. Someone smiling. My African Strong Tower. It was the first time I had seen her smile.....
She has a beautiful smile.
********************************************************************************* The Newness of Reality
June 13, 2008 Congo
June 13th -
I wondered. I wondered why when I came to Africa last week that my heart didn't hurt like before. It seemed not to be so abnormal...well that's relative. I guess I should say I had gotten used to it from my past travels, and maybe it didn't effect me so deeply. Not so heart breaking. I hurt for the women and children I worked with last week in Kenya, but mainly, I have been ok - until I arrived in Congo. As we were landing, we drove over hundreds of tiny tin shacks with their roofs gleaming off of the sunlight. How ironic. Tin roofs. Tin sides. Tin boxes....they call these home. No wonder heaven is so ever-longing for them. Driving from the airport it was as if we were entering another world. On the way to our destination, the world of this continent came back into focus for me...as if I were looking into a camera and the lens had been adjusted. The road filled with holes surrounded by broken up volcanic rock. Half of it being present - half of it having disappeared over time. People. People. So many people. Women walking alongside the road with their babies tied to their backs with their brightly colored scarves while balancing the "randomness-of-anything-you-can-imagine" on their heads. Children running barefoot with torn clothing. Half on - half off. A man standing on a wooden handmade flatbed wagon holding the reigns of a pencil-thin donkey leading the way. Boys pushing a giant-size wooden peddle-less bicycle that cannot even begin to be described with words (and a picture would not even do it justice). My guess is that it's used for carrying the many whatevers they need to transport....and they let gravity pull its weight for movement. Must be faster than walking.
Then there are the marketplaces. Rows of shanty shacks made out of wood, tin, leaves, newspapers, magazines, and plastic - displaying a wide array of (again) whatevers: from bananas to shoes to briefcases. People. People. So many people. Walking along the road, walking in the road, sitting alongside the road. The unemployment rate here is over 60%, so they must do what they must do. "Do what they must do." Interesting. That statement goes so much deeper for these people than just selling things.
Looking around as we drive by - it is overwhelming to say the least. Even now, my 4th time to Africa, I never cease to be amazed. We stop to enter into the gates of the ALARM office (the ministry we are working with) and there are 2 boys walking along the road - both walking with handmade wooden crutches. On the way back to the hotel we listen to Paster Kevi - one of the leaders of ALARM CONGO - talk about the village he was raised in which is no longer a village. He told the story of the results of war destroying "everything" - to the point that there was basically nothing left. Destroyed and never to be lived in again. In telling his own experiences of being a refugee, he said this:
“During the attack on my village, the people fled. They did not save anything. They ran with only their lives. Now the village is no more. It is only a forest…..so we fled to another country for safety and then we came back. What we realized is that God ran ahead of us to wait for us….”
God ran ahead of us. Wow. What Faith. What Courage. What Respect I have for them. How to put it into words……I simply can’t.
Lord, thank you for today. A day of - yet another- a new reality. Thank you for the realness of pain it brings, and help me to know what to do with that pain. Behold the handmaiden of the Lord - be it to be according to your will. For I am
Yours, b
********************************************************************************* The Hollow Stare
June 14th, 2008 Congo
How do you put today into words? How can you attempt to use letters that make up words that make up sentences to describe what I have seen today?
Five Refugee Camps in one day. Five. The first one had 11,000 refugees (Internally Displaced Persons - IDPs - as they are now coined). We exited our white vans in our clean clothes, full tummies, and $300 cameras to emerge onto another world. Their world. Unable to speak Swahili, we felt as if we were on display. All eyes on the white women from America who had come to witness their tragedy. A tragedy that they do not know they were even living in. Amazing. This is their normal.
So they stared at us - we stared at them. "Overwhelmed" would be the word I think I would choose here. Slowly we unthawed - as did they. The wonderful ladies of our group began to play with the kiddos, kiss the sweet women, and touch....just touch them. I vowed that I would touch them, love them, hug them. I knew I had no words to give them. Even if I did, I couldn't say it in their tongue - save one phrase that I had memorized from my week before in Kenya. "Jesu Ukanari." “Jesus is with you”....and, oh, how I said it. Over and over and over and over. To the kids, to the young women carrying their babies, to the old women inside their tattered skin, to the men of scars, to the youth of old. They needed to know that - if they knew nothing else - they needed to know that.
During the first camp, we were led down the pathway, past the lined tiny straw shacks of houses (each "roof" covered by a small white tarp. All camp-combined housing 11,000 refugees). We were followed by the children who couldn't get enough of us taking their picture. If nothing else we provided their entertainment of the week. Something somewhat new (and of a lighter color) in their life of darkness. But you would not think it was dark by looking at their faces...their smiles....even their eyes. What their eyes have seen and what they reflected were two different things.
The camp leaders lead us through the camp to climb a large hill to our destination. To the top of the hill - where the large water containers sat overlooking the camp. These large basins containing CLEAN water had considerably cut down disease and death in the camps. Praise God for that... and they were so proud. Displaying them like a badge of honor, but then passing along the information that the food supply for all of the refugee camps had been cut in HALF recently because of the economy.
The day went forth with more camps. More poverty. More stories. More heaviness. Camp after camp. Child after child. They were all so hungry for something - for something….
There were not allowed to leave the camp. So for us to come was a nice break up in their monotony of life. But we refused to simply be that. We would not be just one more group of white people who came and saw and shook their heads and left. So we would sing with them and we would love on them and we would pray for them and we would cry our tears and we would leave. But we would see some of them soon. ALARM had gotten approval from the UN to remove 40 women from each camp for tomorrow. They will come in vans and take them back to the church in town where we will have them for the day. We will feed them, clothe them, love them, and teach them about the Hope and Healing of the Lord. Something more important than anything else we could do or give to them.
One thing stood out to me today. One strange thing that happened over and over. While we were praying for them. Often and naturally, we would become teary…..evidently so. Voices would crack, sniffles could be heard, and tears could be seen….and looks would be given. The blank stare of confusion. The blank stares of strength. At least on 2 occasions today - I got it. The stare. Me - tears coming down my cheeks, slowly and nonchalantly as I was praying. Looking up at one point and seeing a 12 year old girl look at me as if to say, “What’s wrong with you?” At one point, she tapped her friend to look at us…”Look at the freaky white American women who are crying!” At the time I did not understand it. I do now.
If their look could have words, I think it would say this:
“What’s the big deal? We live in this. Welcome to our world. Day in and day out and we know no different. So - seriously - why the tears? It is what it is….part of the package.”
But for me in my world and in my heart - I think I just wanted to change the package. To make it a little less heavy or at least a little more nicely wrapped. The sad part is that this is SO their normal that even grieving it was a strange concept for them, so much so that even when other people were grieving it FOR them - it was confusing.
What did I see today? Strength like I have never seen it. What did I feel? Humble admiration. Yes, that is what I have for them. And in the middle of it, in witnessing their strength, I had this revelation.....In our quest for comfort we have actually shot ourselves in the foot by weakening our resilient muscle. We have actually atrophied our own ability to thrive and survive by the drive for "quick and easy." So we now have quick and we now have easy - but we no longer have true resilience. Out of the love of comfort, we have deteriorated our ability to be uncomfortable.....to the point that if something becomes uneasy, uncomfortable, or unsettling we do one of two things. We bail or we demand. We leave that what we cannot make better (according to our terms) or, in our entitlement, we stomp our foot and talk about our "rights." THEN after we have caused a stink or a scene or a large wound in someone else - we bail. Funny how we think in our Super-Power Americanism that we think we are the strong ones. Funny….
********************************************************************************* Here in the Congo....
Sunday, June 15, 2008 at 11:14am
Here in Congo.... Forgive me in advance for the errors as I am using a French keyboard. Just wanted to thank everyone for the prayers and questions about updates. I was able to use a computer in Kenya for blog updates: Here in Congo things are much different to say the least. Updates and blogs from Kenya can be found on bethanyhaley.livejournal.com. Updates from Congo probably won’t be happening due to lack of access.....but for the time being please keep us in your prayers.
Yesterday was heavy on the heart to say the least. Visited 5 refugee camps yesterday. One lady had died the day before from starvation. Poverty at a different level but reminds me how important the bread of Life is: I realized I cannot give them enough food. I cannot make their government less corrupt. I cannot make the raping stop. I cannot make the fighting to stop or make sure they get back home ...something they hope for each hour of every day....but I can give them a hope of heaven and the hope of a healing heart from their trauma.
Our teaching and counseling starts tomorrow. Pray that God speaks through me to give them hope and at least the beginning of healing all through Him = For Him = In Him
b
********************************************************************************* Looking Darkness in the Eye...In The Congo. Brave Readers Only.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008 at 5:25am
What do you do when you look darkness in the eye? What is our natural reaction? I’ll tell you. We look away. We look very far away. Why? It makes us feel uncomfortable. It makes us feel uneasy….even disturbed. I have only been back home from Congo a few days - and I can easily say that, on many levels, I have looked darkness in the eye. From that deep gaze have come many thoughts and questions. Many of which I will not share - some of which I will. The most important one is this: What am I to do with all of this? I think over my experiences - the stories shared, the sights seen, the tears cried - and I ask Him: What would you have me to do with this? I think about the child soldier at the orphanage asking me in his broken English if I would be his “father” (wishing to ask me to be his mother, but getting his words mixed up), I think about the mother I sat with whose baby was literally snatched from her by the rebels as she ran away from her village, I think about the hollow eyes of the little 6 year old boy who had witnessed something so tragic that he has disengaged from reality around him, I think about the 60% of women in the Congo who have been raped……the women trying to give us their children……the refugees (IDPs) in the camps whose food supplies have been cut in half. Darkness. Heaviness. Twisted as it is - this is their normal. Though their trials overwhelm me, I am equally amazed at their strength….at their smiles. Their joyful worship. I recall the children at the refugee camp who had gathered plastic bags to wrap around and around, tying it with strings to eventually form a home-aid soccer ball. Resilience. The widows who have 6-7 children of their own (and taking care of 2-3 other orphans) who have started their own business of selling flour made from tree roots so all of them may eat each day. Persistence. I think about the laughter of the girls at the orphanage after showing them how to blow bubbles and then to chase them. Joy. I think about the smiles on the faces of the refugee women as they left the conference after learning - for the first time - how to begin healing from their heart wounds. And then I remember back to the first few days…..the feeling I had of smallness. Feeling so small compared to the size of their pain and questioning if I could make a difference at all. It was so much bigger than I was. SO much bigger than I was. I think about these things: seeing their faces, remembering their stories - and I ask Him: Lord, what do I do with it all?
This is my answer…
I will do something. Some Thing. There is much I cannot do. I cannot stop the violence, violation, starvation, or government corruption. But I will not let that stop what I Can do: Some Thing. I will see the fact that I am here and they are there as a responsibility - and now that I know - I am even more responsible. I will resist the temptation to place my knowledge in a target bag and cram it under the bed, pretending that these things don’t go on, just because it makes me uncomfortable - even disturbed. Yes, I am tempted - but not tempted enough. “I don’t see how you can do it….how you can hear that….how you can help.” I hear that often. My answer: If they can go through it - survive it - how can I not? How can I not merely sit with them in it for a little while, grieve for them, pray for them, give them just the seeds of healing? No, I will not feel small. I will feel ….I will Feel. I will be courageous enough to sit with it in prayer, asking how God may make baskets of bread out of the tiny loaves I hand Him. That may be as small as sponsoring an orphan to make sure (first and foremost) they will live and die knowing the Lord as their Savior - and then being fed and clothed along the way Home; or large enough as developing a trauma counseling curriculum to be used with the War-Torn Children of Africa. Regardless - I will do something. I ask you to courageously join me. We all have our gifts to be used in different ways to make some sort of difference. But may we not see the gravity of the problem as a means to tuck our gifts away in the “it won’t make a difference” corner. Because it will. It simply will.
He teaches me….In the strangest ways He teaches me. For example, let’s just say in a 3 year old autistic little Kenyan boy who sat next to me on the plane ride home, after 2 weeks of Wonderful Weariness and being used by the Lord more than I deserve to be. My mind racing trying to wrap my head around what I have witnessed and heard. Realizing that maybe the problem is that my head is getting in the way. He and I are looking out the window at the beautiful clouds, seemingly hovering at 20,000 feet above the ground, and he starts to repeat something that sounded oh so familiar to my heart. Something that I seem to have been repeating to myself in the few weeks before - over and over again in my head. Something profound. Looking at the universe outside the small window of plastic, he started saying this: “It is bigger than we are……It is bigger than we are….It is ….It is….bigger than we are.”
Eyes glazed over with the feeling of disbelief and the beginning of tears. I looked at him and knew….God speaking through the mouth of a babe. “Yes,” I said, “Yes, it is.” I looked away and I smiled a little. Wanting to look up in the sky - as if I were actually closer to Him up there - to say, “Thank You. It IS so much bigger than we are, isn’t it?…..the heavens. The Heaven. And so is Life - SO much bigger than we are, but the beauty is that so are You. And Y O U are in the middle of it all. Not on the outside looking in. Not sitting in your rocking chair shaking your head in disbelief. No - you are not us….but you are IN us. WITH us….through our tears, through our violation, through our orphaned journey, through our loss….you are not hiding. You are in the midst. And the hope of Heaven (especially for these hurting ones) is Bigger than it all. So maybe the question is not, where are you in all of this? I know, now, where you are: You are on the battlefield. Maybe the question is, ‘Where are we?’”
From the bottom of my heart I wish to say a simple and humble "Thank You" for all of you who have given encouragement, prayers, money, and time in making this happen. It is only the beginning. I just wanted to thank you….and so do they.
All My Love,
His, b
********************************************************************************* "Go and tell..."
Sunday, June 29, 2008 at 8:15pm
It’s funny - I thought I would be burning up the blogs upon my return. I have not. Not to the degree I thought I would be. I have been burning up my journal (my real one ; ) ). But not full-on entries. They are little statements - snip-its - thoughts - sayings - revelations. I have come to understand that I am still in the "soaking" stage. "Soaking in" what I have experienced. Trying to finds words for it all. I have been to Africa before. Three times. I have seen poverty before. Severe. I have seen heartache before. Surrounded by it in my office, often daily. But this........T H I S.....was different. This week I have been asked one question many times. The question to which I have not been able to answer quite as effectively as I wish I could. The simple question: "How was Africa?" Being back a week now, you think I would know - but I don't know. I simply don't. But I think, somehow, I need to find out. So I sit here.....In the trustworthiness of Fido.....bible beside my laptop, a journal on either side, protected by the brim of my hat, and surrounded by the sunlight of the upcoming sunset. And I wonder. What is my answer?
Maybe this: wonderful, horrible, incredible, horrific, awesome, awful, inspiring, defeating, overwhelming, over stimulating, hopeless, hopeful, lost, found, confusing, clear, blurry, enlightening, and empowering - all rolled into one. But maybe the answer in one word is this: HUMBLING. Humbling on many levels. Yes, if there was something I became from this trip it was HUMBLED.
HUMBLED when we witnessed them singing and dancing for joy after being given one large piece of cloth for one outfit. ONE piece of cloth for ONE outfit. Then again when we saw them fill small bags with food to overflowing....wondering how many meals they were going to make out of the contents.
HUMBLED at the young women telling their stories of escaping from burning houses, seeing their relatives being burned in churches, and outliving their toddlers - while holding their newborn baby in their hands. There is little I have found stronger than an African woman who has survived a war.
HUMBLED as we sat across from the boys at the orphanage. Though smaller than us in statue - realizing they had been forced to become Giants of Strength from living their life of war, slave soldiers, and, often, seeing the death of their parents.
HUMBLED at the kisses upon kisses we received from the refugee women as they left with hope and healing for the first time since their world of wounds began. Looking at me as if I were a savior - me (unable to speak their language) simply pointing my small finger upward to the heavens to redirect their respect.
HUMBLED, yet again, at the last words of the African ministry staff of A.L.A.R.M. who had worked tirelessly before and during our time in Congo and Kenya. Having visited refugee camp after refugee camp together - we had ministered to, cried for, prayed over, encouraged, hoped for, kissed, hugged, played with, blew bubbles with, put stickers on, and loved these African Congolese Women and Children. Side by side for days now. Standing before us, Pastor Kevi - in his beautiful African dialect - said this: something I will never forget.....
"IN THE WORD, IT OFTEN SAYS 'GO AND TELL THE THINGS YOU HAVE SEEN AND HEARD' AND SO WE ASK YOU TO DO THE SAME. NOW THAT YOU HAVE SEEN ..................GO AND TELL."
And so I will
And so I am
After many requests, I have made a commitment to update my blog every day or so from my journal entries on the trip. I am inviting you to journey along with me, if you would like - so you can also....Go and Tell : )
His, b
********************************************************************************* Eyes of Nothingness
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Nights like these I wish sleep actually was overrated. Head so full of thoughts I could stay up all night "making love to my computer" as I used to call it in graduate school days. Fingers dancing with my keyboard. Heart so full of stories I don't know what to do with them all. Spent some time tonight with a wonderful friend telling story after story, crying tear after tear. I have learned to stop apologizing for my tears....realizing that maybe I should apologize when I resist them. If they have been strong enough to have gone through this, how can I not feel weak enough to cry for them?
I often say that the key to my heart is through my writings.... especially in reading the long winded ones : ) They ARE my heart. But it was kinda nice to share with someone who knew little of my experiences. Healing in a way... Spawned some new revelations. As I talked - I remembered stories that I had already forgotten - and I become afraid. Afraid that I will not only forget the stories, but forget the prick - that somehow I will become numb or desensitized to it all. As they are...As they have to be.
I remembered:
~ The boy who was orphaned at 8 and spent 3 - 4 years living on the streets of Goma. No family. No parents. No home. EIGHT years old...a few years ago he found out about Bethseda - the boys orphanage, and walked miles to get there. Happy ending to a sad story.
~ The answer of the boy’s orphanage's administrator when I asked him how their parents had died. He pointed to the "forest' and held his hands over each other as if he were holding something.”You know" he said "You know..." His English was better than my Swahili, but not good enough. Me looking confused - Him laughing at our inability to communicate. He held his hands up again and pointed..."You know...." Having shot a few, I knew. "Guns?" He was laughing now...”Oh yes yes. The guns. It was the guns. It was the forest." I wanted to just shake my head, but out of respect I stayed composed. Remarkable how casually someone can speak of orphan boys' parent being killed in the forest by weapons. Laughing as if he were talking about someone tripping and falling over a tree in the woods. Old Hat. Common Practice. What's the big deal?
~ Getting ready to leave the orphanage, after looking the former child soldiers in the eyes, wondering what was behind them....I was cornered by a young man who spoke surprisingly understandable English. His articulation was quite impressive - but his sentence structure made it difficult for me to understand. You could tell than he and his older brother had practiced what to say. It was as if they knew we were coming, and had mapped out their strategic plan of action. They had chosen a representative. So much so that when I was having difficulty understanding what he was asking me, the older brother became frustrated. They acted as if they had one chance. One chance to get this little white American girl to save them. Acting as if the plan was falling apart and they only had a few minutes to get it back together, the older brother yelled, "No! No!!" The younger brother would look up at him as if looking to a father who was disappointed. "Its ok," I kept saying,"Its ok.." The younger one tried again....no....I just didn't get it. The others in the van were beckoning me to come, It was past the time to go. We had other orphans to meet with. Pulled in two different directions - all I could do was pray for them. I took one by the arm and laying my other hand on the head of the other brother...I prayed for them. Such a feeling of desperation. Not only could I not be the mother they had earlier asked me to be for them - I could not even understand what they were asking me. All I could give them was a prayer to our common Father that was not even in their own language. Following us out as we drove away.....we left. I left. Honestly, feeling as if I had somehow abandoned them.
Earlier this week at the missions conference, I met with a man for around an hour from Burundi. He stayed in Congo for a while. I was candid with my questions of why the rapes, why the darkness, why the war was so bad (Side note: I have decided to stop calling it a war. A war has a starting point and a stopping place. This is a way of life - a life of despair and destruction. A war has some sort of structure that you can wrap your head around. No - it’s bigger than a war. It’s even bigger than a word,). During our conversation, he said something about Congo that struck me.
"I have been wondering what would come and relieve this place...”
He asked where I was and what city I was in. I told him. He said this, "Oh, you are a lucky woman."
Lucky woman?!?! What I saw and experienced rocked my world. The pain. The darkness. He went on to say (....confirmed by what I found in talking to my new-kindred-of-a spirit, Sean), that what I had seen in Goma was the "good" part of Congo. By listening to them both, I understood that I had only scratched the surface to what this place Congo was all about. In hearing Sean's stories and experiences, I realize that my small taste of this country left much to be desired in the understanding of its True Reality.
Tonight, in telling the story of the blank young boy who was one of the 50 orphans ALARM cares for at their office....the 6 year old who had watched his father be killed in a horrific-enough-way that his mind had detached from his surroundings as a means to be able to live in his body without living in his head. Never had I seen a child so traumatized. I told his story. How he came into the room looking like he had just woken up from a deep sleep, walking in a robot-like fashion....sitting there. Being lavished with candy, stuffed animals, shirts, food, etc etc. He could not carry all of the gifts he had been given from the women in our group. In his emotionless state, he walked outside. Nothing. Nothing behind his eyes. Nothing behind his heart. Nothing. And I knew. Seeing him for not even 60 seconds, I knew he had seen something so awful that his mind was forced to disassociate from his surroundings just to be able to live. I found Pastor Kevi and asked him what had happened to that little boy. "His daddy was his best friend and he watched him die."
I pulled our translator aside to see if I might be able to get into his heart, just a bit, in the short time I had with him.
"Ask him if he misses his daddy....." She translated. Nothing. Nothing behind his eyes. Nothing behind his heart. Nothing.
"Tell him that his daddy misses him from Heaven. Tell him his daddy loves him in heaven."
She paused, as if to say, "Really, you want me to tell him that?" Slowly....she translated. Slowly....he began to cry. Quickly - my heart was breaking. He said something in Swahili that I couldn't understand. Looking over at Espi, I asked what he had said.
"He is saying that he wants his mother." She took him to her.....
In telling that story tonight, something came over me.
For Him.....For Him....if for no other reason, I have to go back for him. Because for every one of "him" there are hundreds.... thousands...of others living in Nothingness. Needing to feel, but being terrified of opening up their heart. For some, not even knowing how.
Lord, so many children.....wounds so deep that the emotional blood supply has been cut off for mere survival. I don't know how, or what, or by what means...but I know you do and you will. Because you A R E. and that is what I will trust. Laying my life at your alter - I will wait - with an open heart - I will wait - with a faithful spirit - I will wait - with a humble mind - I will wait. I will wait on you. Awaiting you to renew my strength so I can mount up on wings of Eagles, and I will run and not grow weary, and I will walk and not grow faint. For Y O U are my God, and I am your servant. Honored to be used by you... Humbled I am,
Yours, b
********************************************************************************* Breaded Hope
Tuesday, July 15, 2008 at 6:19pm
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when dreams come true, there is life and joy..." Proverbs 13:12”
Strangely, for the first time since I returned from Congo I watched the videos I had taken (Coming to a You Tube near you... ; ) ). Now wishing that I had taken more (and adding that to one more reason for me to return there sooner than later). One in particular captured me. It was one at the first refugee (IDP) camp showing the children singing to us. Clapping their hands. Smiling. I watched intently as the video zoomed in on each dirty little face - and I wondered...what does your future look like? What does your life look like?
When telling people of my times in third world countries, I often get one blanket statement, "I guess it makes you appreciate what you have." I've thought about that in regards to this trip. True? Yes - but then again - No. God stretched me on this trip. It went so much deeper than that. It went to a core place of changing my perspective of life...at a heart level. Even questioning my definition of hope. Africans have something they say a lot. Even without knowing it....It is this: "Can you imagine?" When telling a story or explaining something, they often say that phrase. It, possibly, could be interchanged for our phrase, "You know what I mean?" But I realized that maybe they say it for a reason. Maybe, unknowingly, they say it because we can only - I m a g i n e - because that is all we could ever do.
For instance, can you imagine your only hope of a "good" life coming to pass when you die? Can you imagine your only "hope" of true peace being that of heaven? Granted, it depends on your definition of "good' and of "hope". As I have said before in many of my blogs - in a strange way - the fact that they do not know how "bad" things are in their World of Normal actually becomes their greatest blessing....Living life as WE know it and then living life as THEY know it would be simply almost intolerable. God has a strange way of saving people.
Visiting the Congo, I have had to redefine my meaning of hope and happiness..... desperately trying to wrap my head around having hope for these people "living in hell" as Ben Affleck calls it. It has stretched me at the minimum. I was born to be Pollyanna sprinkled with Mary Poppins topped with David the Shepherd Boy and all wrapped up in the heart of God. Not normal. Actually, (to be honest) a little weird. Having Faith to almost a fault. Believing in the unbelievable. "Out-Hoping" the heaviest of situations, circumstances, and lost souls. OK, you get the point. But this place. T H I S situation was a different story.
How can you find hope for the hopeless?
How? You redefine hope....
I remember looking around me at one point in the middle of the third refugee camp and thinking, "How, Lord? How? How can you use me? How can I even begin to help these people?" We went back to the hotel that night and all of the ladies began to share their own experience. It got to me. I read them a little of what I had written in my journal....
"I began the day being overtaken with the lack of physical needs of these people. These strong, mighty, tenacious people. Overwhelmed by the half clothed children, the (obvious) sickness and looming death, the lack of basic sustenance....water, food, bread. Refugee camp one: 11,000. Then camp two: 8,000. Then camp three: 3,000...on and on. More stories, more poverty, more tears - L E S S H O P E. More realization of the fact that (as I have said many times) they cannot...they simply, honestly, cannot hope for much else. The raping will likely continue, the poverty will likely get worse before it gets better, the tearing of war will go on. All of these things, Lord Willing, will eventually get better, but (realistically) what can they REALLY TRULY hope for?
I began the day wanting so desperately to feed them, clothe them, wash them - to give them bread....by the end of the day I wanted to give them one thing and one thing only:
The Bread Of Life. An inner Peace from the Prince and an Eternal Hope of something greater to look forward to. I had such a deep understanding that the clothing I would give them would tear, the food I would give them would be gone by tomorrow, the cup of water I would hand them would leave them thirsty tomorrow. But the BREAD of Life took on a whole new meaning. It was eternal - It was lasting - It was Hope. It would give them the sustenance needed to cope. To handle living in the world that they live in. To heal from the residue of pain. To hold on to a Mighty God who loves them and gives them strength in the middle of the storm, and holds them as they wash the grief away with their tears. Someone who believes in them when the rest of the world has turned their face in disturbance.
And so for us: as we live in our world of Peace - being one of the largest people groups in inward unrest - I have to wonder if we are short-changing ourselves when it comes to hope. What WE hope for is for superficial happiness. What we hope for is for our heart wishes to be granted. What we hope for is to be financially secure, to have a happy marriage, to be in love, to have well-rounded children, to not die a horrid death of cancer. We can hope for that because it is possible. What they hope for is to return home and to find some sort of peace. Two things that will likely not happen - at least in their lifetime. But the awesomeness comes from looking into their smiling faces and wonder how they can....Smile. And in realizing they do -most of them. They are simply - amazing."
So what CAN they hope for? To hope for it to at least get better? Yes. But at a deeper level: Heaven. To die and close their physical eyes to rest and open them again only to see and experience a peacefulness they could have never.....
Imagined.
Can you?.....Imagine?
My thoughts about Congo have often seemed dim and dingy. I guess they are. But this past week, I have been given a revitalizing of hope for the hopeless. God is forming certain pathways along my journey that are leading me back to Congo. Leading me back to these people whom I felt I have left behind....a pathway to help them (through Him) see a Peace that surpasses any attempts to understand "Why?"...a Healing of the Spirit that supersedes the body...... and a Hope of a Glorious heaven without guns, or violation, or murder, or burnings, or brutality. A redefined Hope.
Lord, in trying to find the words to thank you for this past week, I am at a loss. For bringing me to a place of hope for those which I was once hopeless. For fulfilling the desires of my heart... which is simply is to be used by you more and more each day. For a new heart perspective that weighs far more than rubies. I pray that you keep me focused. So deeply that I am not even tempted to look away from your eyes in all that is swirling around me. So deeply that all I can see is what I can do IN you, who I should be FOR you, and there - my heart will become my fingertips. May my ears be muted to all of the scattered static of the flesh that I may hear only your voice.....for I am
Soulfully Yours,
b
Monday, June 9, 2008
There is something about sleeping underneath a mosquito net that is mysterious and romantic - even if the only mysticism is that which I am protected from. I am finally here in Africa - Kenya to be exact. I will be here a week before I meet the other team for Congo. After delay after delay (and some precious and unexpected time at Westminster Abbey) - I am here. Remembering how much I love this place and why I am so drawn to her people. They have such a kindness about them - a gracious kindness, taking nothing for granted and appreciating the tiniest of inconveniences. I had also forgotten how "tidy" they were in Kenya and how much I loved it when they said "tidy." Being in London for a day and getting to practice my fake British accent, I am appreciating the formality of language more and more.
So here I sit - on my bed - underneath my whimsical net of protection. Finding myself alone with God and being so thankful. I have been amazed at His patience with me and His guidance of my preparations. I just happened to be on the same flight as my favorite missionary family who I visited in Haiti a few years ago. A wonderful s-prize! They are my age with two beautiful girls and a 2 year old Haitian orphaned boy on the way. I had a fleeting dream of being married as part of such an incredible team for Him, as these two are... I was water to my soul to be able to visit with them. His providence never ceases to amaze me, yet I am even more amazed at myself for being surprised when he displays it. What about "as small as a grain of mustard seed" do I not understand?
As I begin to take on the next few weeks, Lord, I ask you this - simply this:
May my heart reflect your warmth
May my soul mirror your light
May my fingertips hold your touch and my eyes radiate your brilliance
May my words be your pearls scattered among the dreary and
My presence simply be solely your love
May I show them your salvation and proclaim to them your freedom
May I bring them you.....May I be....You
Yours, b
********************************************************************************* Behind their eyes
Monday, June 9, 2008 at 10:14am
I have never experienced being surrounded by blind pain until today. Pain that is so present that it must be covered by silence so that survival can take place. I have never witnessed such strength in youth until today....
I have just returned from a boarding school which houses 80 children who have been taken from their families as a result of the "clashes" in Kenya. I knew they had been hurt: taken from their families - witnessed burning of their homes - experiencing rape first hand (at the age of 12 - 14)- seeing crimes of war that no adult should have to see - having their only security of a parental figure being taken from them. I knew this going in.....I knew it in my head, but not my heart. Even as I spoke with them about how much God is holding them (when, maybe, they could not feel it), capturing their tears in His bottle, promising them hope....even as I broke them down into groups, encouraged them to speak about what they have seen..... (understanding that even That was too difficult for them)....and finally having them write down their stories. Even then I did not fully understand. Not until I read what they had written in their own words - out of their heart wounds - amidst their African penmanship - I began to understand:
"I was afraid when war started in our beloved country Kenya and I became a refugee in my own country."
"I was sad the day the Election Violence began and my house was burned to the ground and I saw many people being killed. It makes my heart feel pain."
"When my neighbor was killed in pieces. My mind remembers that day."
"I was worried when I saw people killing each other after the election and the worst thing was they were friends for a long time and the friendship turned to be enemies."
"When my neighbor killed my brother"
"When my father chased away my mother and now I have no mother to encourage me."
Sitting down after the day and reading these - I can now see how such beautiful brown eyes can hide such pain....
Lord, help me not to be afraid to feel - to weep for them - to weep with them - to hold them as you would if you were sitting beside me. Beside me...And you are...
And I am
Yours, b
********************************************************************************* ....And He Took The Knife
Tuesday, June 1o, 2008
There is a tired you feel after being in the tobacco patches all day long, there is a tired you feel when you have been counseling needy ones all day, then there is a tired you feel after spending the day teaching, speaking with, and loving on hurting African children and their teachers. It’s a strange tired.....a rejuvenating tired....actually, not a tiredness at all. More of a - "Man, God, that was great!!" feeling....with a "and tell me, Lord, how did you pull that one off?" tacked to the end.
The words of my new sweet-angel-of-a-missionary idol gave me words before I left on this trip that could not have range truer today. "We go and let Him work through us and we get to sit back and watch what He does...marveling in Him." That was today.
After yesterday - realizing how traumatized these children actually were - recognizing my original plans of working with them were not going to cut it - seeing the steel cage they had around their heart - wondering how I could even begin melting that down in one day - being overwhelmed at the task....I sat down last night at the dial up internet to try to research what had been done on traumatized children of war in Africa. A Big Fat "Not A Whole Lot Of Anything" was the answer. Much of what I found before I left. Back to the room to attempt to carve out a skeleton of a plan...and He took the knife. The end result was amazing. In one day HE was able to help these children to recognize their feelings, actually begin feeling them, recognize HIM as the great physician of healing our hearts, talk about what they had experienced, laugh, cry, and even leave with a sense of hope, strength, and power In The Lord that makes my heart want to burst : ) I think I must have prayed for at least 40 of them individually before I left ..... and prayed for the rest in groups.
The training I now have in front of me can easily be an outline used in countries across Africa for many, many others to use in working with traumatized teens and children. There is no way I could have put this together in one night - or even ever - on my own. The price of seeing them smile as we left today, after leaving blank faces of nothingness yesterday, is more than this keyboard could even begin to trace.
Tomorrow lies ahead. We will be gathering women from IDP/Refugee camps to attend teaching on trauma and grief healing and, most importantly, finding God in their pain. About seven hours of teaching and training and counseling.....maybe new stories of hope to tell....maybe more of God's craftsmanship...maybe even a new kind of tired...and I will welcome it!
Funny, I just remembered Ruth asking me tonight, after hearing me yawn as I was getting out of the van, "Are you tired?" My answer, "No - not really."
I mean, really, how could I be? : )
Lord, how can I thank you for such a magnificent gift? How can I begin to praise such awesomeness and do it justice? I will not. You know my heart...but I do ask this. I pray tonight as the children sleep....for the first time in months, I pray you give them sweet slumber. Help them to remember to pray to you, to feel strong for the first time in a long time, and to feel you holding them as they drift off to sleep...free from nightmares...free from fear...free...in you.
Fully, Completely, Wholly -
I am -
Yours, b
********************************************************************************** Tears for the Tearless
Thursday, June 12, 2008
She looked at me as if to say, "How can you even begin to understand." I looked back as if to say, "I never could."
She: A 70-some-odd-year-old grey haired large sturdy African woman with a bold colored head covering. Deep wrinkled face that dared to show any emotion. She was strong. She was broken. She was angry. She was brave...and I felt small in her presence. She was there - but not sure if she wanted any part of this "healing thing." I noticed her as I was taking pictures of the war-torn ladies who were putting aside their pain to worship - and worship they did! It was joyful - amazingly joyful before the Lord! I noticed her because she was not....joyful. Later when I had everyone get into groups, I noticed her again as I pulled up a chair. The language barrier seemed to be like a 20 foot steel wall. There was one refugee (IDP) lady who spoke broken English and agreed to translate the older woman's story for me.
"I was a seller of clothes. I business woman. They burnt my house, they burnt it all - I lost everything." (She just kept saying that phrase. As if to say - that's all you need to know. That's my story. End of story. Period.) "I lost everything. I lost everything. I went from place to place and walked by foot a 2 days journey to get here. I lost everything."
She would say little more than that, eye contact to the ground, and I felt more than inadequate. What could I offer her - this young, white, American who had just spent over an hour teaching about finding God in the middle of darkness. I could talk a good talk - but there was no way I could understand what lived behind her heart. She saw no point of living any more - she was old and she was lost and she was done.
So tonight there are tears. Tears for my new African Strong Tower, sleeping in her tent tonight, lying there alone, maybe not even knowing how to cry. Tears because I want so badly to explain that it will get better. Tears because I want her to hold on. Her and her fellow displaced sisters. I think back on them around her in the group: one holding her infant as she told me how she escaped her attackers being three months pregnant.....another telling me how she "lost" her 2 children and grandchild in the attacks....she doesn't know where they are, or IF they are...one with eyes glazed over telling me how she had seen her relatives being burnt in the church - she is there alone with her 6 month old baby girl. Praise God for her baby. How I wish I could just touch them and give them hope.
Oddly, there are tears because, as I speak to them about their nightmares and trauma, I can now speak from a side of the fence that looks much different that some time ago. Tears because I want her to hold on - knowing that when you are in it (even the raindrops I experienced compared to their tsunami) you cannot see you hand in front of your face. So hope becomes something you have to Choose to believe in - not something you feel at all. Finally, tears because of a moment in time. A realization that for the first time, I am actually ministering from a place I never thought I would speak OF....and place I am not speaking FROM. Suddenly the word "Redeemer" takes on a new meaning : )
Lord God - Mighty Healer and Comforter. I am at a loss as to how I can make a difference. Their pain is so great and I am so small....help me to realize that I am not here to represent myself, but You - and there could never be anything SMALL about you. Wake me with a knowledge of the anointing. I am: your humble messenger, because I am fully
Yours,
b
********************************************************************************* Day of Days....
June 12th, 2008
It began with a question of How and ended with an answer of Hope.
Feeling a bit despondent at what to do with the degree of pain that I witnessed after meeting with 100 refugee (IDP) women yesterday (who had walked to the local church for the trauma healing workshop I was giving), I felt lost. Small would actually be a better word. Their pain was so much bigger than my plan. Their stories overshadowed any training I could have received. But what I realized was that what they needed was not my head knowledge or my topical outline. What they needed was my heart - which thankfully had been captured long ago by something much bigger than I was.
When I woke this morning, I was determined not to let any insecurities distract me from simply being HIM. I could not short change their need for love in that way. I would not. I talked to these poor women yesterday about a strength that lived inside of them. How we had been given a power and authority by wearing the name of Jesus to overcome tragedy and heartache - but we must USE that anointing as His people....and in remembering that, I woke up this morning with a peace - and it only got better from there : )
We started the day with letting the ladies who were not able to share their stories continue to do so. I heard more of their heartache:
"My baby was taken from my back as I was running away. I don't know where she is...she is gone."
"My mother was killed and I had to leave my father to come to this camp. I have no husband" - From the most beautiful young African woman I think I have seen....as she was breastfeeding her newborn.
Story after story...and where is God they ask. Where is he? Hearing more and more heartache, I asked someone right before I got up to speak how you said something in Swahili. (Trying to give them God's message is difficult, but try to do it when they don't understand a word you are saying is a totally different ballgame : )
"Mungu Ukanari" I told them that sometimes the pain is so bad that there are no words to say. There are no answers - other than praying with each other, reading scriptures of Hope, and telling each other this...
"Mungu Ukanari" - God is with you.
Where is God in their pain? He is right beside them...He is holding their hand....He is lying beside them when they sleep...He is capturing their tears in His bottle. We talked about Grief and Trauma. We talked about Anger, Bitterness, Guilt, and Unforgiveness. I told them about Victor Frankl - how he had been a survivor, much like they are. I shared with them how during his trials in the concentration camps, he realized that the greatest power a man has is to choose how he responds to any given situation. It is the one thing you cannot take away from a man...you can burn their houses, steal their children, rape them, or kill their family....but you cannot take away their strength. Not unless they give it up. It is amazing how an African Refugee Woman can suddenly relate to a Jewish Prisoner in a matter of seconds. It captured them...and the most amazing thing was to see them slowly, slowly melt into His arms of healing.
To see them yesterday - broken, some of them unable to cry or to feel much of anything, some of them unable to stop crying at some points, some of them so angry at their attackers that their bitterness oozed from them - and to see them when they left was more than amazing.
Before lunch we had prayer - and I noticed something shocking. Yesterday I mentioned the African Strong Tower....the aged tree of a woman whose heart was as steel. During prayer before lunch, their guide began praying for them and asked them all to join in the prayer. Speaking in tongues took on a new meaning. Their voices were so beautiful...like a sweet aroma to the Lord. A mumble that grew into almost a pleading that, for some, grew into simply weeping before Him. One lady in particular was crying - almost wailing. You could hear her above everyone else. I was on my knees in prayer and I could not see who it was, though I wondered. We ended prayer and I got up to see who it was that was hurting so badly, and I could not believe my eyes. It was her. Sitting there, once in her boldness and brevity - now letting her tears melt her heart before the Lord. I smiled.....watching Him work is a beautiful thing.
Then there was the most amazing part of all. After lunch I had them to go out to the front of the church and to choose a stone. Some chose large ones and some chose small ones. I had planned even before I left to end the conference with them taking stones and coming up front to lay down their stones, symbolically at the foot of the cross, in exchange for a plastic golden coin which would remind them of three things: 1. That they were bought with a price and are so worthy in His eyes 2. To remind them of their strength and 3. of New Beginnings. As I was preparing last night for today, a song came on my MP3 player: Bebo Norman's "I Know Now." In God's providence, his CD has been accidently downloaded onto my MP3 player before I left. I didn't know it until I was on the plane. Listening to the words, I knew I had to read it to these women.
"I took a walk down to the river, a broken heart in my hand, to the taker and the giver to make my final stand. I waded out into the water and I sank just like a stone, but I was lifted by the angel to never be alone. And I never knew I could lay my burdens down. And I never knew redemption could be found. but I know now....I know now."
I read them the verses and explained to them the secret of why they had been asked to choose a stone. I told them that it was time to lay down their burdens of pain, guilt, anger, unforgiveness, and hopelessness before the Lord in exchange for His newness. I was the luckiest one in the room to have been able to watch their faces light up. To be able to see them make two lines as they came up and put down their stones to take their new golden coin from my hand. To be able to hear them begin to sing a song to the top of their lungs in their own native tongue called "Lay My Burden Down..." as they then went straight from getting their coin to forming a circle around the room, walking in a circle and dancing before the Lord as they walked around and around and around for what seemed like forever. I was in the middle, just taking it all in and trying to keep myself from a full on tear fest as to take away from their joy. J O Y. They had found it....
Before I left - I was hugging the two guides that had led them down to the church. I was telling them how blessed I was to have been able to come. I noticed someone beside of them. Someone beaming. Someone smiling. My African Strong Tower. It was the first time I had seen her smile.....
She has a beautiful smile.
********************************************************************************* The Newness of Reality
June 13, 2008 Congo
June 13th -
I wondered. I wondered why when I came to Africa last week that my heart didn't hurt like before. It seemed not to be so abnormal...well that's relative. I guess I should say I had gotten used to it from my past travels, and maybe it didn't effect me so deeply. Not so heart breaking. I hurt for the women and children I worked with last week in Kenya, but mainly, I have been ok - until I arrived in Congo. As we were landing, we drove over hundreds of tiny tin shacks with their roofs gleaming off of the sunlight. How ironic. Tin roofs. Tin sides. Tin boxes....they call these home. No wonder heaven is so ever-longing for them. Driving from the airport it was as if we were entering another world. On the way to our destination, the world of this continent came back into focus for me...as if I were looking into a camera and the lens had been adjusted. The road filled with holes surrounded by broken up volcanic rock. Half of it being present - half of it having disappeared over time. People. People. So many people. Women walking alongside the road with their babies tied to their backs with their brightly colored scarves while balancing the "randomness-of-anything-you-can-imagine" on their heads. Children running barefoot with torn clothing. Half on - half off. A man standing on a wooden handmade flatbed wagon holding the reigns of a pencil-thin donkey leading the way. Boys pushing a giant-size wooden peddle-less bicycle that cannot even begin to be described with words (and a picture would not even do it justice). My guess is that it's used for carrying the many whatevers they need to transport....and they let gravity pull its weight for movement. Must be faster than walking.
Then there are the marketplaces. Rows of shanty shacks made out of wood, tin, leaves, newspapers, magazines, and plastic - displaying a wide array of (again) whatevers: from bananas to shoes to briefcases. People. People. So many people. Walking along the road, walking in the road, sitting alongside the road. The unemployment rate here is over 60%, so they must do what they must do. "Do what they must do." Interesting. That statement goes so much deeper for these people than just selling things.
Looking around as we drive by - it is overwhelming to say the least. Even now, my 4th time to Africa, I never cease to be amazed. We stop to enter into the gates of the ALARM office (the ministry we are working with) and there are 2 boys walking along the road - both walking with handmade wooden crutches. On the way back to the hotel we listen to Paster Kevi - one of the leaders of ALARM CONGO - talk about the village he was raised in which is no longer a village. He told the story of the results of war destroying "everything" - to the point that there was basically nothing left. Destroyed and never to be lived in again. In telling his own experiences of being a refugee, he said this:
“During the attack on my village, the people fled. They did not save anything. They ran with only their lives. Now the village is no more. It is only a forest…..so we fled to another country for safety and then we came back. What we realized is that God ran ahead of us to wait for us….”
God ran ahead of us. Wow. What Faith. What Courage. What Respect I have for them. How to put it into words……I simply can’t.
Lord, thank you for today. A day of - yet another- a new reality. Thank you for the realness of pain it brings, and help me to know what to do with that pain. Behold the handmaiden of the Lord - be it to be according to your will. For I am
Yours, b
********************************************************************************* The Hollow Stare
June 14th, 2008 Congo
How do you put today into words? How can you attempt to use letters that make up words that make up sentences to describe what I have seen today?
Five Refugee Camps in one day. Five. The first one had 11,000 refugees (Internally Displaced Persons - IDPs - as they are now coined). We exited our white vans in our clean clothes, full tummies, and $300 cameras to emerge onto another world. Their world. Unable to speak Swahili, we felt as if we were on display. All eyes on the white women from America who had come to witness their tragedy. A tragedy that they do not know they were even living in. Amazing. This is their normal.
So they stared at us - we stared at them. "Overwhelmed" would be the word I think I would choose here. Slowly we unthawed - as did they. The wonderful ladies of our group began to play with the kiddos, kiss the sweet women, and touch....just touch them. I vowed that I would touch them, love them, hug them. I knew I had no words to give them. Even if I did, I couldn't say it in their tongue - save one phrase that I had memorized from my week before in Kenya. "Jesu Ukanari." “Jesus is with you”....and, oh, how I said it. Over and over and over and over. To the kids, to the young women carrying their babies, to the old women inside their tattered skin, to the men of scars, to the youth of old. They needed to know that - if they knew nothing else - they needed to know that.
During the first camp, we were led down the pathway, past the lined tiny straw shacks of houses (each "roof" covered by a small white tarp. All camp-combined housing 11,000 refugees). We were followed by the children who couldn't get enough of us taking their picture. If nothing else we provided their entertainment of the week. Something somewhat new (and of a lighter color) in their life of darkness. But you would not think it was dark by looking at their faces...their smiles....even their eyes. What their eyes have seen and what they reflected were two different things.
The camp leaders lead us through the camp to climb a large hill to our destination. To the top of the hill - where the large water containers sat overlooking the camp. These large basins containing CLEAN water had considerably cut down disease and death in the camps. Praise God for that... and they were so proud. Displaying them like a badge of honor, but then passing along the information that the food supply for all of the refugee camps had been cut in HALF recently because of the economy.
The day went forth with more camps. More poverty. More stories. More heaviness. Camp after camp. Child after child. They were all so hungry for something - for something….
There were not allowed to leave the camp. So for us to come was a nice break up in their monotony of life. But we refused to simply be that. We would not be just one more group of white people who came and saw and shook their heads and left. So we would sing with them and we would love on them and we would pray for them and we would cry our tears and we would leave. But we would see some of them soon. ALARM had gotten approval from the UN to remove 40 women from each camp for tomorrow. They will come in vans and take them back to the church in town where we will have them for the day. We will feed them, clothe them, love them, and teach them about the Hope and Healing of the Lord. Something more important than anything else we could do or give to them.
One thing stood out to me today. One strange thing that happened over and over. While we were praying for them. Often and naturally, we would become teary…..evidently so. Voices would crack, sniffles could be heard, and tears could be seen….and looks would be given. The blank stare of confusion. The blank stares of strength. At least on 2 occasions today - I got it. The stare. Me - tears coming down my cheeks, slowly and nonchalantly as I was praying. Looking up at one point and seeing a 12 year old girl look at me as if to say, “What’s wrong with you?” At one point, she tapped her friend to look at us…”Look at the freaky white American women who are crying!” At the time I did not understand it. I do now.
If their look could have words, I think it would say this:
“What’s the big deal? We live in this. Welcome to our world. Day in and day out and we know no different. So - seriously - why the tears? It is what it is….part of the package.”
But for me in my world and in my heart - I think I just wanted to change the package. To make it a little less heavy or at least a little more nicely wrapped. The sad part is that this is SO their normal that even grieving it was a strange concept for them, so much so that even when other people were grieving it FOR them - it was confusing.
What did I see today? Strength like I have never seen it. What did I feel? Humble admiration. Yes, that is what I have for them. And in the middle of it, in witnessing their strength, I had this revelation.....In our quest for comfort we have actually shot ourselves in the foot by weakening our resilient muscle. We have actually atrophied our own ability to thrive and survive by the drive for "quick and easy." So we now have quick and we now have easy - but we no longer have true resilience. Out of the love of comfort, we have deteriorated our ability to be uncomfortable.....to the point that if something becomes uneasy, uncomfortable, or unsettling we do one of two things. We bail or we demand. We leave that what we cannot make better (according to our terms) or, in our entitlement, we stomp our foot and talk about our "rights." THEN after we have caused a stink or a scene or a large wound in someone else - we bail. Funny how we think in our Super-Power Americanism that we think we are the strong ones. Funny….
********************************************************************************* Here in the Congo....
Sunday, June 15, 2008 at 11:14am
Here in Congo.... Forgive me in advance for the errors as I am using a French keyboard. Just wanted to thank everyone for the prayers and questions about updates. I was able to use a computer in Kenya for blog updates: Here in Congo things are much different to say the least. Updates and blogs from Kenya can be found on bethanyhaley.livejournal.com. Updates from Congo probably won’t be happening due to lack of access.....but for the time being please keep us in your prayers.
Yesterday was heavy on the heart to say the least. Visited 5 refugee camps yesterday. One lady had died the day before from starvation. Poverty at a different level but reminds me how important the bread of Life is: I realized I cannot give them enough food. I cannot make their government less corrupt. I cannot make the raping stop. I cannot make the fighting to stop or make sure they get back home ...something they hope for each hour of every day....but I can give them a hope of heaven and the hope of a healing heart from their trauma.
Our teaching and counseling starts tomorrow. Pray that God speaks through me to give them hope and at least the beginning of healing all through Him = For Him = In Him
b
********************************************************************************* Looking Darkness in the Eye...In The Congo. Brave Readers Only.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008 at 5:25am
What do you do when you look darkness in the eye? What is our natural reaction? I’ll tell you. We look away. We look very far away. Why? It makes us feel uncomfortable. It makes us feel uneasy….even disturbed. I have only been back home from Congo a few days - and I can easily say that, on many levels, I have looked darkness in the eye. From that deep gaze have come many thoughts and questions. Many of which I will not share - some of which I will. The most important one is this: What am I to do with all of this? I think over my experiences - the stories shared, the sights seen, the tears cried - and I ask Him: What would you have me to do with this? I think about the child soldier at the orphanage asking me in his broken English if I would be his “father” (wishing to ask me to be his mother, but getting his words mixed up), I think about the mother I sat with whose baby was literally snatched from her by the rebels as she ran away from her village, I think about the hollow eyes of the little 6 year old boy who had witnessed something so tragic that he has disengaged from reality around him, I think about the 60% of women in the Congo who have been raped……the women trying to give us their children……the refugees (IDPs) in the camps whose food supplies have been cut in half. Darkness. Heaviness. Twisted as it is - this is their normal. Though their trials overwhelm me, I am equally amazed at their strength….at their smiles. Their joyful worship. I recall the children at the refugee camp who had gathered plastic bags to wrap around and around, tying it with strings to eventually form a home-aid soccer ball. Resilience. The widows who have 6-7 children of their own (and taking care of 2-3 other orphans) who have started their own business of selling flour made from tree roots so all of them may eat each day. Persistence. I think about the laughter of the girls at the orphanage after showing them how to blow bubbles and then to chase them. Joy. I think about the smiles on the faces of the refugee women as they left the conference after learning - for the first time - how to begin healing from their heart wounds. And then I remember back to the first few days…..the feeling I had of smallness. Feeling so small compared to the size of their pain and questioning if I could make a difference at all. It was so much bigger than I was. SO much bigger than I was. I think about these things: seeing their faces, remembering their stories - and I ask Him: Lord, what do I do with it all?
This is my answer…
I will do something. Some Thing. There is much I cannot do. I cannot stop the violence, violation, starvation, or government corruption. But I will not let that stop what I Can do: Some Thing. I will see the fact that I am here and they are there as a responsibility - and now that I know - I am even more responsible. I will resist the temptation to place my knowledge in a target bag and cram it under the bed, pretending that these things don’t go on, just because it makes me uncomfortable - even disturbed. Yes, I am tempted - but not tempted enough. “I don’t see how you can do it….how you can hear that….how you can help.” I hear that often. My answer: If they can go through it - survive it - how can I not? How can I not merely sit with them in it for a little while, grieve for them, pray for them, give them just the seeds of healing? No, I will not feel small. I will feel ….I will Feel. I will be courageous enough to sit with it in prayer, asking how God may make baskets of bread out of the tiny loaves I hand Him. That may be as small as sponsoring an orphan to make sure (first and foremost) they will live and die knowing the Lord as their Savior - and then being fed and clothed along the way Home; or large enough as developing a trauma counseling curriculum to be used with the War-Torn Children of Africa. Regardless - I will do something. I ask you to courageously join me. We all have our gifts to be used in different ways to make some sort of difference. But may we not see the gravity of the problem as a means to tuck our gifts away in the “it won’t make a difference” corner. Because it will. It simply will.
He teaches me….In the strangest ways He teaches me. For example, let’s just say in a 3 year old autistic little Kenyan boy who sat next to me on the plane ride home, after 2 weeks of Wonderful Weariness and being used by the Lord more than I deserve to be. My mind racing trying to wrap my head around what I have witnessed and heard. Realizing that maybe the problem is that my head is getting in the way. He and I are looking out the window at the beautiful clouds, seemingly hovering at 20,000 feet above the ground, and he starts to repeat something that sounded oh so familiar to my heart. Something that I seem to have been repeating to myself in the few weeks before - over and over again in my head. Something profound. Looking at the universe outside the small window of plastic, he started saying this: “It is bigger than we are……It is bigger than we are….It is ….It is….bigger than we are.”
Eyes glazed over with the feeling of disbelief and the beginning of tears. I looked at him and knew….God speaking through the mouth of a babe. “Yes,” I said, “Yes, it is.” I looked away and I smiled a little. Wanting to look up in the sky - as if I were actually closer to Him up there - to say, “Thank You. It IS so much bigger than we are, isn’t it?…..the heavens. The Heaven. And so is Life - SO much bigger than we are, but the beauty is that so are You. And Y O U are in the middle of it all. Not on the outside looking in. Not sitting in your rocking chair shaking your head in disbelief. No - you are not us….but you are IN us. WITH us….through our tears, through our violation, through our orphaned journey, through our loss….you are not hiding. You are in the midst. And the hope of Heaven (especially for these hurting ones) is Bigger than it all. So maybe the question is not, where are you in all of this? I know, now, where you are: You are on the battlefield. Maybe the question is, ‘Where are we?’”
From the bottom of my heart I wish to say a simple and humble "Thank You" for all of you who have given encouragement, prayers, money, and time in making this happen. It is only the beginning. I just wanted to thank you….and so do they.
All My Love,
His, b
********************************************************************************* "Go and tell..."
Sunday, June 29, 2008 at 8:15pm
It’s funny - I thought I would be burning up the blogs upon my return. I have not. Not to the degree I thought I would be. I have been burning up my journal (my real one ; ) ). But not full-on entries. They are little statements - snip-its - thoughts - sayings - revelations. I have come to understand that I am still in the "soaking" stage. "Soaking in" what I have experienced. Trying to finds words for it all. I have been to Africa before. Three times. I have seen poverty before. Severe. I have seen heartache before. Surrounded by it in my office, often daily. But this........T H I S.....was different. This week I have been asked one question many times. The question to which I have not been able to answer quite as effectively as I wish I could. The simple question: "How was Africa?" Being back a week now, you think I would know - but I don't know. I simply don't. But I think, somehow, I need to find out. So I sit here.....In the trustworthiness of Fido.....bible beside my laptop, a journal on either side, protected by the brim of my hat, and surrounded by the sunlight of the upcoming sunset. And I wonder. What is my answer?
Maybe this: wonderful, horrible, incredible, horrific, awesome, awful, inspiring, defeating, overwhelming, over stimulating, hopeless, hopeful, lost, found, confusing, clear, blurry, enlightening, and empowering - all rolled into one. But maybe the answer in one word is this: HUMBLING. Humbling on many levels. Yes, if there was something I became from this trip it was HUMBLED.
HUMBLED when we witnessed them singing and dancing for joy after being given one large piece of cloth for one outfit. ONE piece of cloth for ONE outfit. Then again when we saw them fill small bags with food to overflowing....wondering how many meals they were going to make out of the contents.
HUMBLED at the young women telling their stories of escaping from burning houses, seeing their relatives being burned in churches, and outliving their toddlers - while holding their newborn baby in their hands. There is little I have found stronger than an African woman who has survived a war.
HUMBLED as we sat across from the boys at the orphanage. Though smaller than us in statue - realizing they had been forced to become Giants of Strength from living their life of war, slave soldiers, and, often, seeing the death of their parents.
HUMBLED at the kisses upon kisses we received from the refugee women as they left with hope and healing for the first time since their world of wounds began. Looking at me as if I were a savior - me (unable to speak their language) simply pointing my small finger upward to the heavens to redirect their respect.
HUMBLED, yet again, at the last words of the African ministry staff of A.L.A.R.M. who had worked tirelessly before and during our time in Congo and Kenya. Having visited refugee camp after refugee camp together - we had ministered to, cried for, prayed over, encouraged, hoped for, kissed, hugged, played with, blew bubbles with, put stickers on, and loved these African Congolese Women and Children. Side by side for days now. Standing before us, Pastor Kevi - in his beautiful African dialect - said this: something I will never forget.....
"IN THE WORD, IT OFTEN SAYS 'GO AND TELL THE THINGS YOU HAVE SEEN AND HEARD' AND SO WE ASK YOU TO DO THE SAME. NOW THAT YOU HAVE SEEN ..................GO AND TELL."
And so I will
And so I am
After many requests, I have made a commitment to update my blog every day or so from my journal entries on the trip. I am inviting you to journey along with me, if you would like - so you can also....Go and Tell : )
His, b
********************************************************************************* Eyes of Nothingness
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Nights like these I wish sleep actually was overrated. Head so full of thoughts I could stay up all night "making love to my computer" as I used to call it in graduate school days. Fingers dancing with my keyboard. Heart so full of stories I don't know what to do with them all. Spent some time tonight with a wonderful friend telling story after story, crying tear after tear. I have learned to stop apologizing for my tears....realizing that maybe I should apologize when I resist them. If they have been strong enough to have gone through this, how can I not feel weak enough to cry for them?
I often say that the key to my heart is through my writings.... especially in reading the long winded ones : ) They ARE my heart. But it was kinda nice to share with someone who knew little of my experiences. Healing in a way... Spawned some new revelations. As I talked - I remembered stories that I had already forgotten - and I become afraid. Afraid that I will not only forget the stories, but forget the prick - that somehow I will become numb or desensitized to it all. As they are...As they have to be.
I remembered:
~ The boy who was orphaned at 8 and spent 3 - 4 years living on the streets of Goma. No family. No parents. No home. EIGHT years old...a few years ago he found out about Bethseda - the boys orphanage, and walked miles to get there. Happy ending to a sad story.
~ The answer of the boy’s orphanage's administrator when I asked him how their parents had died. He pointed to the "forest' and held his hands over each other as if he were holding something.”You know" he said "You know..." His English was better than my Swahili, but not good enough. Me looking confused - Him laughing at our inability to communicate. He held his hands up again and pointed..."You know...." Having shot a few, I knew. "Guns?" He was laughing now...”Oh yes yes. The guns. It was the guns. It was the forest." I wanted to just shake my head, but out of respect I stayed composed. Remarkable how casually someone can speak of orphan boys' parent being killed in the forest by weapons. Laughing as if he were talking about someone tripping and falling over a tree in the woods. Old Hat. Common Practice. What's the big deal?
~ Getting ready to leave the orphanage, after looking the former child soldiers in the eyes, wondering what was behind them....I was cornered by a young man who spoke surprisingly understandable English. His articulation was quite impressive - but his sentence structure made it difficult for me to understand. You could tell than he and his older brother had practiced what to say. It was as if they knew we were coming, and had mapped out their strategic plan of action. They had chosen a representative. So much so that when I was having difficulty understanding what he was asking me, the older brother became frustrated. They acted as if they had one chance. One chance to get this little white American girl to save them. Acting as if the plan was falling apart and they only had a few minutes to get it back together, the older brother yelled, "No! No!!" The younger brother would look up at him as if looking to a father who was disappointed. "Its ok," I kept saying,"Its ok.." The younger one tried again....no....I just didn't get it. The others in the van were beckoning me to come, It was past the time to go. We had other orphans to meet with. Pulled in two different directions - all I could do was pray for them. I took one by the arm and laying my other hand on the head of the other brother...I prayed for them. Such a feeling of desperation. Not only could I not be the mother they had earlier asked me to be for them - I could not even understand what they were asking me. All I could give them was a prayer to our common Father that was not even in their own language. Following us out as we drove away.....we left. I left. Honestly, feeling as if I had somehow abandoned them.
Earlier this week at the missions conference, I met with a man for around an hour from Burundi. He stayed in Congo for a while. I was candid with my questions of why the rapes, why the darkness, why the war was so bad (Side note: I have decided to stop calling it a war. A war has a starting point and a stopping place. This is a way of life - a life of despair and destruction. A war has some sort of structure that you can wrap your head around. No - it’s bigger than a war. It’s even bigger than a word,). During our conversation, he said something about Congo that struck me.
"I have been wondering what would come and relieve this place...”
He asked where I was and what city I was in. I told him. He said this, "Oh, you are a lucky woman."
Lucky woman?!?! What I saw and experienced rocked my world. The pain. The darkness. He went on to say (....confirmed by what I found in talking to my new-kindred-of-a spirit, Sean), that what I had seen in Goma was the "good" part of Congo. By listening to them both, I understood that I had only scratched the surface to what this place Congo was all about. In hearing Sean's stories and experiences, I realize that my small taste of this country left much to be desired in the understanding of its True Reality.
Tonight, in telling the story of the blank young boy who was one of the 50 orphans ALARM cares for at their office....the 6 year old who had watched his father be killed in a horrific-enough-way that his mind had detached from his surroundings as a means to be able to live in his body without living in his head. Never had I seen a child so traumatized. I told his story. How he came into the room looking like he had just woken up from a deep sleep, walking in a robot-like fashion....sitting there. Being lavished with candy, stuffed animals, shirts, food, etc etc. He could not carry all of the gifts he had been given from the women in our group. In his emotionless state, he walked outside. Nothing. Nothing behind his eyes. Nothing behind his heart. Nothing. And I knew. Seeing him for not even 60 seconds, I knew he had seen something so awful that his mind was forced to disassociate from his surroundings just to be able to live. I found Pastor Kevi and asked him what had happened to that little boy. "His daddy was his best friend and he watched him die."
I pulled our translator aside to see if I might be able to get into his heart, just a bit, in the short time I had with him.
"Ask him if he misses his daddy....." She translated. Nothing. Nothing behind his eyes. Nothing behind his heart. Nothing.
"Tell him that his daddy misses him from Heaven. Tell him his daddy loves him in heaven."
She paused, as if to say, "Really, you want me to tell him that?" Slowly....she translated. Slowly....he began to cry. Quickly - my heart was breaking. He said something in Swahili that I couldn't understand. Looking over at Espi, I asked what he had said.
"He is saying that he wants his mother." She took him to her.....
In telling that story tonight, something came over me.
For Him.....For Him....if for no other reason, I have to go back for him. Because for every one of "him" there are hundreds.... thousands...of others living in Nothingness. Needing to feel, but being terrified of opening up their heart. For some, not even knowing how.
Lord, so many children.....wounds so deep that the emotional blood supply has been cut off for mere survival. I don't know how, or what, or by what means...but I know you do and you will. Because you A R E. and that is what I will trust. Laying my life at your alter - I will wait - with an open heart - I will wait - with a faithful spirit - I will wait - with a humble mind - I will wait. I will wait on you. Awaiting you to renew my strength so I can mount up on wings of Eagles, and I will run and not grow weary, and I will walk and not grow faint. For Y O U are my God, and I am your servant. Honored to be used by you... Humbled I am,
Yours, b
********************************************************************************* Breaded Hope
Tuesday, July 15, 2008 at 6:19pm
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when dreams come true, there is life and joy..." Proverbs 13:12”
Strangely, for the first time since I returned from Congo I watched the videos I had taken (Coming to a You Tube near you... ; ) ). Now wishing that I had taken more (and adding that to one more reason for me to return there sooner than later). One in particular captured me. It was one at the first refugee (IDP) camp showing the children singing to us. Clapping their hands. Smiling. I watched intently as the video zoomed in on each dirty little face - and I wondered...what does your future look like? What does your life look like?
When telling people of my times in third world countries, I often get one blanket statement, "I guess it makes you appreciate what you have." I've thought about that in regards to this trip. True? Yes - but then again - No. God stretched me on this trip. It went so much deeper than that. It went to a core place of changing my perspective of life...at a heart level. Even questioning my definition of hope. Africans have something they say a lot. Even without knowing it....It is this: "Can you imagine?" When telling a story or explaining something, they often say that phrase. It, possibly, could be interchanged for our phrase, "You know what I mean?" But I realized that maybe they say it for a reason. Maybe, unknowingly, they say it because we can only - I m a g i n e - because that is all we could ever do.
For instance, can you imagine your only hope of a "good" life coming to pass when you die? Can you imagine your only "hope" of true peace being that of heaven? Granted, it depends on your definition of "good' and of "hope". As I have said before in many of my blogs - in a strange way - the fact that they do not know how "bad" things are in their World of Normal actually becomes their greatest blessing....Living life as WE know it and then living life as THEY know it would be simply almost intolerable. God has a strange way of saving people.
Visiting the Congo, I have had to redefine my meaning of hope and happiness..... desperately trying to wrap my head around having hope for these people "living in hell" as Ben Affleck calls it. It has stretched me at the minimum. I was born to be Pollyanna sprinkled with Mary Poppins topped with David the Shepherd Boy and all wrapped up in the heart of God. Not normal. Actually, (to be honest) a little weird. Having Faith to almost a fault. Believing in the unbelievable. "Out-Hoping" the heaviest of situations, circumstances, and lost souls. OK, you get the point. But this place. T H I S situation was a different story.
How can you find hope for the hopeless?
How? You redefine hope....
I remember looking around me at one point in the middle of the third refugee camp and thinking, "How, Lord? How? How can you use me? How can I even begin to help these people?" We went back to the hotel that night and all of the ladies began to share their own experience. It got to me. I read them a little of what I had written in my journal....
"I began the day being overtaken with the lack of physical needs of these people. These strong, mighty, tenacious people. Overwhelmed by the half clothed children, the (obvious) sickness and looming death, the lack of basic sustenance....water, food, bread. Refugee camp one: 11,000. Then camp two: 8,000. Then camp three: 3,000...on and on. More stories, more poverty, more tears - L E S S H O P E. More realization of the fact that (as I have said many times) they cannot...they simply, honestly, cannot hope for much else. The raping will likely continue, the poverty will likely get worse before it gets better, the tearing of war will go on. All of these things, Lord Willing, will eventually get better, but (realistically) what can they REALLY TRULY hope for?
I began the day wanting so desperately to feed them, clothe them, wash them - to give them bread....by the end of the day I wanted to give them one thing and one thing only:
The Bread Of Life. An inner Peace from the Prince and an Eternal Hope of something greater to look forward to. I had such a deep understanding that the clothing I would give them would tear, the food I would give them would be gone by tomorrow, the cup of water I would hand them would leave them thirsty tomorrow. But the BREAD of Life took on a whole new meaning. It was eternal - It was lasting - It was Hope. It would give them the sustenance needed to cope. To handle living in the world that they live in. To heal from the residue of pain. To hold on to a Mighty God who loves them and gives them strength in the middle of the storm, and holds them as they wash the grief away with their tears. Someone who believes in them when the rest of the world has turned their face in disturbance.
And so for us: as we live in our world of Peace - being one of the largest people groups in inward unrest - I have to wonder if we are short-changing ourselves when it comes to hope. What WE hope for is for superficial happiness. What we hope for is for our heart wishes to be granted. What we hope for is to be financially secure, to have a happy marriage, to be in love, to have well-rounded children, to not die a horrid death of cancer. We can hope for that because it is possible. What they hope for is to return home and to find some sort of peace. Two things that will likely not happen - at least in their lifetime. But the awesomeness comes from looking into their smiling faces and wonder how they can....Smile. And in realizing they do -most of them. They are simply - amazing."
So what CAN they hope for? To hope for it to at least get better? Yes. But at a deeper level: Heaven. To die and close their physical eyes to rest and open them again only to see and experience a peacefulness they could have never.....
Imagined.
Can you?.....Imagine?
My thoughts about Congo have often seemed dim and dingy. I guess they are. But this past week, I have been given a revitalizing of hope for the hopeless. God is forming certain pathways along my journey that are leading me back to Congo. Leading me back to these people whom I felt I have left behind....a pathway to help them (through Him) see a Peace that surpasses any attempts to understand "Why?"...a Healing of the Spirit that supersedes the body...... and a Hope of a Glorious heaven without guns, or violation, or murder, or burnings, or brutality. A redefined Hope.
Lord, in trying to find the words to thank you for this past week, I am at a loss. For bringing me to a place of hope for those which I was once hopeless. For fulfilling the desires of my heart... which is simply is to be used by you more and more each day. For a new heart perspective that weighs far more than rubies. I pray that you keep me focused. So deeply that I am not even tempted to look away from your eyes in all that is swirling around me. So deeply that all I can see is what I can do IN you, who I should be FOR you, and there - my heart will become my fingertips. May my ears be muted to all of the scattered static of the flesh that I may hear only your voice.....for I am
Soulfully Yours,
b
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