Have you ever wondered why God used light to lead the wisemen to Jesus? Why a star? Why not a sheep that they followed to Bethlehem or a pre-pathed trail leading to the Savior's manger? So many ways that could have led to the same baby King on that night. Ever think about it? Countless options and He chose one - a Star - a Light. I, personally, believe that was the most symbolic part of the whole story. The fact that the King of Kings was born in such degrading surroundings teaches us about the honor of humility. The fact that God was born to an unwed virgin mother speaks to the power He has to use the tiniest of us for the greatest of His glory. Believing in us even when we don't believe in ourselves. But the fact that He used a light to usher in the Glory of Grace has Hope nestled all around it. Starlight surrounded by Darkness. Brilliance peeking through The world's Pain. Pure Love and Goodness gifting the Lost. I think of one word:
Hope - Gift Five. And what a precious gift it is.
If you have read any of my other blogs, you know that this has been a theme of this past year for me. After Congo - my previous view of hope was unraveled. Having a patient at the first of the year commit suicide, I was forced to understand it's vitality at a different level. Hope - to be without it has been described as "living as the dead". Which is why many often choose to end their lives........at that very moment, they can see absolutely no hope. This hit home for me, yet again, yesterday as the phone rang to let us know that our cousin, still in his twenties, had taken his life. Hopeless....Lost....Loneliness at such a deep level that Darkness takes on an entirely different meaning.
What drowns out Darkness? It is Light. What Looks Evil in the Eye? Goodness. Love. What sits across from Despair? Challenging it - Taunting it - Boldly standing tall in Strength and Confidence? Fighting it tooth and nail? Hope. H O P E.
The Star that night represented so much more than just something to follow that lead to the ending of the Scavenger Hunts of all Scavenger Hunts. It was more than a compass. It was a Hope like no other. You see, what this past year has taught me is this: It is all about what you are Hoping FOR. In Congo, if they wait for their hopes of raping and warring to end then they may never find it. If we, in our daily lives, wait for our hopes of total security, a phenomenal marriage or mate, the perfect size, recognition, someone to be proud of us, or for a situation to be as it should be - then disappointment will ever linger in our hearts. We simply have no guarantee of anything - anything other than Something. Something wonderful. What I have learned this year is it is when we are able to dig deep within ourselves and eyegazing as high as we possible can.....looking beyond our situation, past our pain, and into the eyes of a Savior - born many years ago. We become the Wisemen surrendering our will. We become the followers of a Celestial Being bigger than our own situation. We become hopeful of two things: Above all - the Hope of Heaven. And Beyond that: The Hope of the hand of God reaching out for ours, holding it gently in His palm....Guiding. Loving. Comforting. Going before us to providentially pave a way. Looking out. Looking up. Beneath a
"Star of wonder. Star of Light. Star of Royal Beauty Bright. Westward leading. Still proceeding. Guide us to thy Perfect Light" That's a Hope bigger than Life. Literally.
Wishing you the Merriest of Christmases and Hoping that you Never Ever Look at the Stars the same....
All My Love, b
p.s. Thanks for going on thie five day journey with me. It has been enlightening for me, for sure. Now....off to make a Gingerbread House with a Princess ; )
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Passing of Peace
Three Down - Two to go... BLOG: So, what's your favorite Christmas song? Have you ever listened to the lyrics of Oh Holy Night? No, I mean REALLY listened to them. Soaked them in like you were listening to poetry? Actually, it is poetry. The song originally was a poem written by a seller of wine in 1847. I hadn't truly listened to the words until a few years ago. But for some reason, one night I heard them as if I had never heard them before......it truly became my favorite Christmas song. The words melted my heart.
One of the the lines in particular has spoken to my spirit this year: "His law is love and His gospel is peace." This past year, I have experienced war from the sidelines. I have cried with the orphans from rebellious murder. I have held the hands of mothers who have lost child after child. I have had the utter and humbling privilege of looking into the eyes of women who have been war-raped to tell them they are beautiful in His sight. I have seen the aftermath of a war like no other, and I have understood the needed sustenance of peace. I have seen things this year that I have not and can not understand........and I am thankful for a peace that passes my lack of understanding.
"His Law Is Love and His Gospel Is Peace."
Peace. Gift number three. One of my favorite sayings is this: "Peace is not to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It is to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart." If my clients have heard this once, they have heard it fourteen times. It's funny - regardless of the reason they walk through that door -they all (we all) are searching for the same thing.
To find a peace that supersedes our attempts to reason or to understand and a love that is bigger than our pain.... You see, His birth was so much more than a birth of a Savior. With that birth ignited spiritual gifts that we could know no other way. And it all happened....
One Holy Night:
Lyrics below. Soak them in:
______________________________________________
O Holy Night
O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here came the wise men from Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger,
In all our trials born to be our friend!
Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!
Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His Gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His Name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy Name!
Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!
All My Love - All His Peace..... b
One of the the lines in particular has spoken to my spirit this year: "His law is love and His gospel is peace." This past year, I have experienced war from the sidelines. I have cried with the orphans from rebellious murder. I have held the hands of mothers who have lost child after child. I have had the utter and humbling privilege of looking into the eyes of women who have been war-raped to tell them they are beautiful in His sight. I have seen the aftermath of a war like no other, and I have understood the needed sustenance of peace. I have seen things this year that I have not and can not understand........and I am thankful for a peace that passes my lack of understanding.
"His Law Is Love and His Gospel Is Peace."
Peace. Gift number three. One of my favorite sayings is this: "Peace is not to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It is to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart." If my clients have heard this once, they have heard it fourteen times. It's funny - regardless of the reason they walk through that door -they all (we all) are searching for the same thing.
To find a peace that supersedes our attempts to reason or to understand and a love that is bigger than our pain.... You see, His birth was so much more than a birth of a Savior. With that birth ignited spiritual gifts that we could know no other way. And it all happened....
One Holy Night:
Lyrics below. Soak them in:
______________________________________________
O Holy Night
O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here came the wise men from Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger,
In all our trials born to be our friend!
Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!
Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His Gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His Name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy Name!
Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!
All My Love - All His Peace..... b
Monday, December 22, 2008
Her Name Was GLORIA
This is my gift. Elton sings that his gift is his song (and this one's for you... : ). My gift to you is my small words from my small mind. I had a strange thought in worship this morning about the five remaining days until Christmas, and I wondered if there were five gifts God were to teach us from His Christmas Story - what they would be? I took a stab at coming up with them, and I decided that I would use each day until Christmas to share each of them (for anyone who would want to read - though this one is coming a bit late : ):
~GLORIA~ (from journal in Uganda)
She had captured my heart from the day the children from the orphanage met us after we landed in Uganda. Her smile was not a normal one - her eyes, radiant - and there was something.....something I couldn't quite put my finger on. One by one each of the children came up and gave us a hug individually - as if it were wrapped in a gift and custom made for each person. Her embrace was as special as her smile. It was a shy, side hug and she looked down as she gave it. "What's your name?" I asked as I cradled the left side of her face with my right hand.
"Gloria" She said timidly. "My name is Glooooria," she repeated, in her Acholi accent.
Gloria.....and That she was. I watched her on and off during the week. I found her often standing next to me or looking down to find her seated beside me on the way to the IDP camp. She was subtle in wanting my attention - yet she sought it nonetheless, and I so desired to give it. I asked Rose about her story. They all had a story...but her's was unique.
"She and her parents were abducted by the rebels. She watched her parents die but was spared and then went to live with her auntie.....who died the next year from HIV. She then went to live with her grandmother who soon also died. She was found in a hut living alone."
"Did she have any siblings at all?"
"No - None"
ALONE.....such a powerful word. Cutting. Deep. Barren.
I watched her tonight as the children had their nightly bible study, said their memory verses aloud, and placed their small hands over their eyes as they prayed so diligently. Youth seems to know small boundaries in a war with no limits. I watched her look around the room with a look in her eyes of lostness. Searching - as if out of place. I watched her as she prayed. As she stated her memory verse. She watched back.
As my eyes followed her, I couldn't help but remember a song that must be playing about now back in the states. A song that captured her - a song that God must sing as He looks down on her every day - remembering her story of abandonment and lonliness. Most, if not all, of the other orphans are in sibling groups - but there is only one Gloria. Ironically wearing her green tied died tank top and her red corduroy pants - she simply looked lost - but her smile covered such a multitude of pain. She seemed to be missing something - yet if it were not for the orphanage, she would simply be Missing. So I watched her, and I hugged her goodbye, and I hurt for her, and I sang that sweet Christmas song in my head over and over on the ride home.
"Gloooooria in excelsis Deo"
And I thought about all of the orphans there - why did I hurt for her? Why?
She was alone. She was in a room full of orphans just like her and she was alone. There is little worse in life. Isolation left to its own will kill - if not the body then the spirit. When I got home I opened my bible and looked down to see what i was to read for the night. Matthew One. The first page of the book. I looked down and there were four words underlined. Four Words.
"God Is With Us." The previous sentence was this. "She will give birth to a son, and he will be called Immanuel." Yeah, He never ceases to amaze me.
What is the opposite of being alone? Of being lonely? It is simply to be "together." That's it. So simply. To simply be WITH. When asked what my favorite part of the first week in Sudan was I said this. When I had given each of the children a red heart and told them that represented God. I asked them to hold it close to their chest while they thought of their heartache and to then picture God being there.....somewhere.....with them. Then I had them to stand up and say together in their native tongue and their loudest voices, "GOD WILL NEVER LEAVE ME. GOD WILL NEVER FORSAKE ME. GOD LOVES ME." I captured that moment in my mind......and it will stay there forever.
You know, there are many things that God could have named Jesus. Many names that would have had different meanings. Thousands upon thousands of names He could have chosen. But out of all of those thousands upon thousands He chose one. G O D I S W I T H Y O U....and me.....and Gloria. He wanted us to know that so badly that he came down to show us. Maybe we had to see it for ourselves. Maybe it wasn't enough for Him just to tell us.
So on this long-winded "Day Five" - we find one word: Togetherness. There is a quote that I have struggled believing, "If we could truly grasp how deeply we are loved by God, we would never feel lonely again." Is it true? I have come to believe this: The question is not if it is true - the question is how deeply can we grasp the depth of His love? How diligently are we to pursue it? How welcoming are we to receive it? To be loved? If we can do that.....well, it would truly be.......
Glorious.
Tune in tomorrow for Day Four.
~GLORIA~ (from journal in Uganda)
She had captured my heart from the day the children from the orphanage met us after we landed in Uganda. Her smile was not a normal one - her eyes, radiant - and there was something.....something I couldn't quite put my finger on. One by one each of the children came up and gave us a hug individually - as if it were wrapped in a gift and custom made for each person. Her embrace was as special as her smile. It was a shy, side hug and she looked down as she gave it. "What's your name?" I asked as I cradled the left side of her face with my right hand.
"Gloria" She said timidly. "My name is Glooooria," she repeated, in her Acholi accent.
Gloria.....and That she was. I watched her on and off during the week. I found her often standing next to me or looking down to find her seated beside me on the way to the IDP camp. She was subtle in wanting my attention - yet she sought it nonetheless, and I so desired to give it. I asked Rose about her story. They all had a story...but her's was unique.
"She and her parents were abducted by the rebels. She watched her parents die but was spared and then went to live with her auntie.....who died the next year from HIV. She then went to live with her grandmother who soon also died. She was found in a hut living alone."
"Did she have any siblings at all?"
"No - None"
ALONE.....such a powerful word. Cutting. Deep. Barren.
I watched her tonight as the children had their nightly bible study, said their memory verses aloud, and placed their small hands over their eyes as they prayed so diligently. Youth seems to know small boundaries in a war with no limits. I watched her look around the room with a look in her eyes of lostness. Searching - as if out of place. I watched her as she prayed. As she stated her memory verse. She watched back.
As my eyes followed her, I couldn't help but remember a song that must be playing about now back in the states. A song that captured her - a song that God must sing as He looks down on her every day - remembering her story of abandonment and lonliness. Most, if not all, of the other orphans are in sibling groups - but there is only one Gloria. Ironically wearing her green tied died tank top and her red corduroy pants - she simply looked lost - but her smile covered such a multitude of pain. She seemed to be missing something - yet if it were not for the orphanage, she would simply be Missing. So I watched her, and I hugged her goodbye, and I hurt for her, and I sang that sweet Christmas song in my head over and over on the ride home.
"Gloooooria in excelsis Deo"
And I thought about all of the orphans there - why did I hurt for her? Why?
She was alone. She was in a room full of orphans just like her and she was alone. There is little worse in life. Isolation left to its own will kill - if not the body then the spirit. When I got home I opened my bible and looked down to see what i was to read for the night. Matthew One. The first page of the book. I looked down and there were four words underlined. Four Words.
"God Is With Us." The previous sentence was this. "She will give birth to a son, and he will be called Immanuel." Yeah, He never ceases to amaze me.
What is the opposite of being alone? Of being lonely? It is simply to be "together." That's it. So simply. To simply be WITH. When asked what my favorite part of the first week in Sudan was I said this. When I had given each of the children a red heart and told them that represented God. I asked them to hold it close to their chest while they thought of their heartache and to then picture God being there.....somewhere.....with them. Then I had them to stand up and say together in their native tongue and their loudest voices, "GOD WILL NEVER LEAVE ME. GOD WILL NEVER FORSAKE ME. GOD LOVES ME." I captured that moment in my mind......and it will stay there forever.
You know, there are many things that God could have named Jesus. Many names that would have had different meanings. Thousands upon thousands of names He could have chosen. But out of all of those thousands upon thousands He chose one. G O D I S W I T H Y O U....and me.....and Gloria. He wanted us to know that so badly that he came down to show us. Maybe we had to see it for ourselves. Maybe it wasn't enough for Him just to tell us.
So on this long-winded "Day Five" - we find one word: Togetherness. There is a quote that I have struggled believing, "If we could truly grasp how deeply we are loved by God, we would never feel lonely again." Is it true? I have come to believe this: The question is not if it is true - the question is how deeply can we grasp the depth of His love? How diligently are we to pursue it? How welcoming are we to receive it? To be loved? If we can do that.....well, it would truly be.......
Glorious.
Tune in tomorrow for Day Four.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
The Are Precious In His Sight.....
Amost Home...dealys in Amsterdam caused a missed connection to Nashville and I have a few hours to spare - and to share. Hearing the voices of my sweet nieces over the phone brought much joy. I always say if I were half the woman they see me as, I will be doing just fine : ) Hearing their screams, laughter, liveliness, and sweet voices.....two worlds seemed to collide. As soon as we hung up, my mind went back to the children we were just with at the orphanage. I keep hearing Rose's words, "All of them have been previously abducted...seen their parents killed...." The graphic explanations went on and on in heart wrenching detail. Because of their disturbance, I will likely be able to share the stories with only a few others. It amazes me how they LIVED something that I will only feel comfortable REPEATING a few times.
I listened to Julia laugh...Haley's loving spirit. They are so sheltered - and I wouldn't have it any other way. From Hendersonville, Tn to Gulu, Uganda - they are miles apart in more ways than one. The sorrow for those little ones comes over me like a heavy wave. To even fathom my little nieces having to remotely experince any of the pain those orphans have experienced ignites an anger that I hope never dies. It would be just as wrong - just as evil - for those so much a part of my heart compared to those living so far away. For them I will fight. For the Haleys and Emmas and Julias and Emersons in a skin of a different color and a country by a different name. For them I will fight. I think of Peter and Gloria and Richard. I see their smiles and am still in awe of their strength.
They are just as precious in His sight. They are just as weak. He is just as strong.
I saw hope there in Uganda. Hope that what is happening in Congo has a stopping point. Hope that there can be healing. Hope that love is still alive and that God is a God of restoration...if not in this life, then in the next.
Lord, in their beds tonight I pray they will feel you next to them as they sleep - bunk on top of bunk on top of bunk. For those 500 child soldiers still in Uganda, I pray. For the over 700 in Congo, I pray. I pray that although taken from their homes - this world will not forget them......just because they are quiet - just because they are unheard - just because they are far away. May then never be forgotten. May we, as a nation and as a world, realize that they are worth fighting for - and may we fight.
For we are - and they are......
Yours, b
I listened to Julia laugh...Haley's loving spirit. They are so sheltered - and I wouldn't have it any other way. From Hendersonville, Tn to Gulu, Uganda - they are miles apart in more ways than one. The sorrow for those little ones comes over me like a heavy wave. To even fathom my little nieces having to remotely experince any of the pain those orphans have experienced ignites an anger that I hope never dies. It would be just as wrong - just as evil - for those so much a part of my heart compared to those living so far away. For them I will fight. For the Haleys and Emmas and Julias and Emersons in a skin of a different color and a country by a different name. For them I will fight. I think of Peter and Gloria and Richard. I see their smiles and am still in awe of their strength.
They are just as precious in His sight. They are just as weak. He is just as strong.
I saw hope there in Uganda. Hope that what is happening in Congo has a stopping point. Hope that there can be healing. Hope that love is still alive and that God is a God of restoration...if not in this life, then in the next.
Lord, in their beds tonight I pray they will feel you next to them as they sleep - bunk on top of bunk on top of bunk. For those 500 child soldiers still in Uganda, I pray. For the over 700 in Congo, I pray. I pray that although taken from their homes - this world will not forget them......just because they are quiet - just because they are unheard - just because they are far away. May then never be forgotten. May we, as a nation and as a world, realize that they are worth fighting for - and may we fight.
For we are - and they are......
Yours, b
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Praying with a Lepor
Again - only a few minutes, but just wanted to share a moment. After meeting with three NGOs yesterday to learn about trauma healing with formally abducted child soldiers and young girls, brainstoming about peace teaching in the schools, and soaking in an amazing ride on a motorbike.....I was full to overflowing.
Re-reading "The Shack" this morning to escape for a bit and discussing life with Michelle....we saw him. He wheeled himself up to the gate and said something in Acholi that we couldn't understand. Looking at him more closely - his wounds were unmistakeable. He clasped his fingertips together and put his hand toward his lips as the universal sign of "i am hungy." After a little discussion we found out that he has leprosy. My heart sank. I asked if I could give him my crackers and pray with him. The closer i got, the more i realized that he actually had no fingertips at all. most of his fingers were not even complete fingers and his feet were even more decayed. Realizing he would not be able to open the package, I opened it for him and slid my hand through the gate. He took it and smiled. Kneeling down i began to pray for him. A few seconds later Michelle was there beside me. Looking down at his feet as i prayed for him, i was asonished. What do you pray for such a man?
I walked away thinking simply what an honor it had been to bring him before the throne of God. Who am I Lord, that you would use me? Who am I.........
we fly back to kenya tomorrow. so much to learn here....i need weeks instead of days.
thanks to all for the prayers. xo b
Re-reading "The Shack" this morning to escape for a bit and discussing life with Michelle....we saw him. He wheeled himself up to the gate and said something in Acholi that we couldn't understand. Looking at him more closely - his wounds were unmistakeable. He clasped his fingertips together and put his hand toward his lips as the universal sign of "i am hungy." After a little discussion we found out that he has leprosy. My heart sank. I asked if I could give him my crackers and pray with him. The closer i got, the more i realized that he actually had no fingertips at all. most of his fingers were not even complete fingers and his feet were even more decayed. Realizing he would not be able to open the package, I opened it for him and slid my hand through the gate. He took it and smiled. Kneeling down i began to pray for him. A few seconds later Michelle was there beside me. Looking down at his feet as i prayed for him, i was asonished. What do you pray for such a man?
I walked away thinking simply what an honor it had been to bring him before the throne of God. Who am I Lord, that you would use me? Who am I.........
we fly back to kenya tomorrow. so much to learn here....i need weeks instead of days.
thanks to all for the prayers. xo b
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Forced To Kill
After over an hour of internet attempts - I am finally in...My computer tells me that I have nine minutes and 13 seconds left. How do you begin to fill up this space with that much time.
Sudan was humbling and facinating. Kenya proved to be a tower of strength. Uganda.....Uganda......what an incredible place of hope and healing. I dream of seeing this in Goma one day. As we sat around Village of Hope orphanage last night and listened to the singing and prayers of the formally abducted child soldiers and young girls who have experienced horrific events, it was all I could do to keep from crying. I was doing good until I saw them cover their faces with their hands and pray and pray and pray.......each one sporadically and unrehearsed calling out to God and praising Him for their safety and security. After we left I was told that all of them had either seen their parents killed at the mercy of the LRA rebel army or were forced to kill their parents themselves - yet most smile (now). And some don't. Love is an amazing creature. God is a humbling healer.
We were greeted by the children from the orphanage after landing. Each of them - one by one - came up to give us individual hugs. It was well worth the wait. One child (who seemed to possibly be one of the oldest) hugged us tightly. Michelle made a comment on his dimples and how sweet his face was. As he exited the van, Cindy turned to us and said calmly and quietly, "He was forced to kill his parents." Those words haunted me throughout the day... "Forced To Kill."
Sudan was humbling and facinating. Kenya proved to be a tower of strength. Uganda.....Uganda......what an incredible place of hope and healing. I dream of seeing this in Goma one day. As we sat around Village of Hope orphanage last night and listened to the singing and prayers of the formally abducted child soldiers and young girls who have experienced horrific events, it was all I could do to keep from crying. I was doing good until I saw them cover their faces with their hands and pray and pray and pray.......each one sporadically and unrehearsed calling out to God and praising Him for their safety and security. After we left I was told that all of them had either seen their parents killed at the mercy of the LRA rebel army or were forced to kill their parents themselves - yet most smile (now). And some don't. Love is an amazing creature. God is a humbling healer.
We were greeted by the children from the orphanage after landing. Each of them - one by one - came up to give us individual hugs. It was well worth the wait. One child (who seemed to possibly be one of the oldest) hugged us tightly. Michelle made a comment on his dimples and how sweet his face was. As he exited the van, Cindy turned to us and said calmly and quietly, "He was forced to kill his parents." Those words haunted me throughout the day... "Forced To Kill."
I am so grateful that out of the thousands like him (and much worse), he was able to find a place of love and acceptance.....and a Father who he can pray to for strength. Who will holds him as he sleeps in safety.
I am going to the IDP camps tonight to dance, sing, and pray with the children. Healing takes on a new level here as heartaches are etched at a deeper core. Much to learn. Much to know. God has been more than gracious already in leading me to those here who have been in the trenches (literally) and have loved in great ways.
Two minutes.....
I am keeping a blog in my journal and will update as I can.
Much love to all....b
I am going to the IDP camps tonight to dance, sing, and pray with the children. Healing takes on a new level here as heartaches are etched at a deeper core. Much to learn. Much to know. God has been more than gracious already in leading me to those here who have been in the trenches (literally) and have loved in great ways.
Two minutes.....
I am keeping a blog in my journal and will update as I can.
Much love to all....b
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Hopeful Spirits - Tired Eyes...and update from Sudan.
Just leaving the immersion of culture in remote Sudan - I am adjusting. A few days ago I was buying spears from cattle farmers in the middle of 500 cows, holding hands with naked babies outside of mud huts, and talking to children about their heart wounds from the most recent attack on their village... It is now 1:50 am in Kenya and I will soon be off to bed to await what God has in store for tomorrow. It seems that Facebook is the only means of communication right now as Comcast and even blogspot takes too much juice for the computer to process.
Though i could write a book of the happenings and fascinations of the past week, for now.... just a few words. Mostly of thanks for all of the prayers and sweet encouragement. (My apologies for all who I was not able to call in the few days before I left). Gods love, guidance, and providence has been used in so many ways in just 7 days. Too much for this tired mind to write right now. But I will say this: The heart of the African people never ceases to amaze me. In Congo, i saw darkness. A darkness veiled in a transparent Hope to which my eyes are just now adjusting. A Hope that will slowly and surely come to fruition. In Sudan, I found a Joy and a spirit of Gratitude that continues to humble me. They praise a God of faithfulness in the middle of a disaster for which many would blame Him. They fast from food they do not have in order to petition the grace a great Savior. They find strength in their weaknesses and joy amidst great suffering.
Watching the children as they drew guns and burnings huts for their memories of heartaches.....holding their upside down hearts as a symbol of their pain was heartbreaking at the least. Yet - even among such obvious pain - their was a joy that was evident. Their needs are great - sick babies and starving infants were present. But when you looked deeper - past their surroundings - you could see it. Hope.
Four letters making up one powerful word......hope. It is there. It is everywhere as long as we look deep enough. Look Deeply.
More to come. Thankful for your continued prayers.
Internet may be sparce.....but updates will come slowly.
All My Love - b
Thu, Dec 4, 2008 at 9:47 AM
“We’re sorry we haven’t called sooner, but we have been engrossed – it has been amazing. We just listened to Abraham under the stars telling the story of fleeing from the attack in Lietnhom. It was so colorful listening to how he was able to add to what we already knew. The training has gone spectacularly – every area. The people have been very receptive. The comraderie with the team has been great. The connection with the people just seems to be getting better and better every year. We are so impressed with Abraham and we couldn’t be more happy with how things are going. The closing ceremonies are tomorrow afternoon. We are so grateful that we have this opportunity! It is like water on dry ground – they are just soaking this up. They are so appreciative of everything that is going on. Everyone is healthy, happy and doing well. We are eating a lot of rice and beans! Spirits are very high.”
Michelle York
Though i could write a book of the happenings and fascinations of the past week, for now.... just a few words. Mostly of thanks for all of the prayers and sweet encouragement. (My apologies for all who I was not able to call in the few days before I left). Gods love, guidance, and providence has been used in so many ways in just 7 days. Too much for this tired mind to write right now. But I will say this: The heart of the African people never ceases to amaze me. In Congo, i saw darkness. A darkness veiled in a transparent Hope to which my eyes are just now adjusting. A Hope that will slowly and surely come to fruition. In Sudan, I found a Joy and a spirit of Gratitude that continues to humble me. They praise a God of faithfulness in the middle of a disaster for which many would blame Him. They fast from food they do not have in order to petition the grace a great Savior. They find strength in their weaknesses and joy amidst great suffering.
Watching the children as they drew guns and burnings huts for their memories of heartaches.....holding their upside down hearts as a symbol of their pain was heartbreaking at the least. Yet - even among such obvious pain - their was a joy that was evident. Their needs are great - sick babies and starving infants were present. But when you looked deeper - past their surroundings - you could see it. Hope.
Four letters making up one powerful word......hope. It is there. It is everywhere as long as we look deep enough. Look Deeply.
More to come. Thankful for your continued prayers.
Internet may be sparce.....but updates will come slowly.
All My Love - b
Thu, Dec 4, 2008 at 9:47 AM
“We’re sorry we haven’t called sooner, but we have been engrossed – it has been amazing. We just listened to Abraham under the stars telling the story of fleeing from the attack in Lietnhom. It was so colorful listening to how he was able to add to what we already knew. The training has gone spectacularly – every area. The people have been very receptive. The comraderie with the team has been great. The connection with the people just seems to be getting better and better every year. We are so impressed with Abraham and we couldn’t be more happy with how things are going. The closing ceremonies are tomorrow afternoon. We are so grateful that we have this opportunity! It is like water on dry ground – they are just soaking this up. They are so appreciative of everything that is going on. Everyone is healthy, happy and doing well. We are eating a lot of rice and beans! Spirits are very high.”
Michelle York
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Tree of Lament
We found it today. No, Abraham found it. I stood under it's branches and felt what seemed to be the coolest breeze I had felt all week in this continent of heat - heat from the sun - heat from the violence - heat from the bottled up pain - heat from the joy they seem to have in the middle of it all.
I had told Abraham of my idea (an idea that was not my own - it woke me up in the middle of the night as I sat up in bed : ) I rarely feel intimidation - but for whatever reason, a bit sheepishly, I told him of my idea....not knowing how he would take it or what he would think of it.
"I was thinking that maybe we could find a special tree in the village. A tree where the people could go to grieve when they are sad - to pray to God - to lament. We could call it the Lamenting Tree." I told him how I was going to ask the women to choose stones at the end of our time together. That the stones would represent their burdens of pain, anger, unforgiveness, loss, shame... I was going to draw a cross and have them place their burdens at the foot of the cross - but thought the Lamenting Tree might be a perfect place. It would be a way to begin the practice of going to that special place in the village to be with the Lord. His eyes began to light up as my strange feelings of sheepishness faded.
"So I have these pipe cleaners that I was going to use with the children, but I thought we could use those for the women to tie on the lower branches of the tree - to represent their painful memories that they were giving back to God. It would have to be a tree that has lower branches. I wondered if you thought that might be a good idea and if you know of a tree." I had been with him all week, and I had never seen this look before. "I know of the tree." Abraham said. "You know of one already? Do you think that's a good idea?'
"It is good." He said....as he smiled brightly. He went on to say that it would be a good place for the people to go and pray. "We have times of prayer and fasting in our culture. It will be a good place they can go when they want to be alone. When they need to cry alone. During this time of fasting and grieving."
I couldn't help but think the thought. FASTING? You have to be kidding me...there are people here that are so very hungry. After the attacks, there is not enough food to go around - yet they fast. Fasting from food they do not have to pray to a God they petition for grace. Amazing.
And so it was. The tree was perfect and beautiful and full of life amidst the Sudanese Dust. The last day we were with them - I told them of healing and forgiveness and anger and sadness. How needed it is for all of us to release these things. How if we don't, we carry them around in heavy hearts. How we forgive not because that person asks us to - not because they deserve it - not because it made what they did alright - and definitely not because it is easy. We forgive because we need forgiveness and we can't have it otherwise - because we are commanded to - because if we don't we can and will never experience the joy that Christ wishes for us to experience in this life. Heavy Burdens - Heavier Hearts - An opportunity to lay them down underneath a tree in the middle of a remote village in Sudan before a God of Grace and Renewal. A time to grieve and to pray and to lament.
And they did.
When it was time, they took their stones of burdens in brave hands as we walked to the tree. Singing and rejoicing along the way. I doubt they had ever had this opportunity to let themselves feel anything close to this. In their world of survival - of loosing eight children - of violence and fear and killing and running and rebuilding and loss - they have to move. Strength is not a choice - it is a necessity of living. But today they get to let their guard down a little. These women - some of which walked seven days to get to this place....just to hear the great Americans who have come to town (not knowing how small we really are). These women are dancing and singing and yelling out their ceremonial joy-tongue-roll all the way to the tree.
We get there and Abraham takes over, speaking in Dinka. Not knowing what he is saying, I take some of my own time to put down my stones at the tree and have a time of prayer. I look up and the women have followed. Some are further away from the base of the tree, others are right under it, some begin tying their memories to the limbs in the form of a pipe cleaner, and others just kneel to pray. I stand and just soak it in. Amazed and Humbled. Looking around I see a man who I have made a bond with. John. He is the tallest Sudanese man I have seen. Probably in his early sixties. A delight. He has knelt down - his long arms crossed over one another - hands open. He is praying. I look over to his left and there is another man doing the same. Who is he? I have never even seen him!! How did he know to come? How did he know what to do? Then I look around one more time and I see her.
She is a woman that I saw at the service on Sunday - but had not seen her since. As I looked over, I saw her run into the branches of the tree as she walked toward it. She keeps her eyes closed at all times. She is blind. She is beautiful. She is the single mother of a toddler and an infant, and she just happens to live in the mud hut right behind the Lamenting Tree. Directly behind it. I do not know of her story - but I know that if there is someone who would need a Lamenting Tree close enough to walk to, it is this precious young lady.
So they came and they prayed and they kneeled and they released - memories as pipe cleaners and burdens as stones. Some sang and others danced all the way back. Before we left the next day, Lloyd came back to the the tree and carved a cross in it. I pray when the team returns next year - it's base is covered with stones and its limbs are filled with pipe cleaners of all colors.
Representing Renewal. Representing Love. Representing Hope.
I had told Abraham of my idea (an idea that was not my own - it woke me up in the middle of the night as I sat up in bed : ) I rarely feel intimidation - but for whatever reason, a bit sheepishly, I told him of my idea....not knowing how he would take it or what he would think of it.
"I was thinking that maybe we could find a special tree in the village. A tree where the people could go to grieve when they are sad - to pray to God - to lament. We could call it the Lamenting Tree." I told him how I was going to ask the women to choose stones at the end of our time together. That the stones would represent their burdens of pain, anger, unforgiveness, loss, shame... I was going to draw a cross and have them place their burdens at the foot of the cross - but thought the Lamenting Tree might be a perfect place. It would be a way to begin the practice of going to that special place in the village to be with the Lord. His eyes began to light up as my strange feelings of sheepishness faded.
"So I have these pipe cleaners that I was going to use with the children, but I thought we could use those for the women to tie on the lower branches of the tree - to represent their painful memories that they were giving back to God. It would have to be a tree that has lower branches. I wondered if you thought that might be a good idea and if you know of a tree." I had been with him all week, and I had never seen this look before. "I know of the tree." Abraham said. "You know of one already? Do you think that's a good idea?'
"It is good." He said....as he smiled brightly. He went on to say that it would be a good place for the people to go and pray. "We have times of prayer and fasting in our culture. It will be a good place they can go when they want to be alone. When they need to cry alone. During this time of fasting and grieving."
I couldn't help but think the thought. FASTING? You have to be kidding me...there are people here that are so very hungry. After the attacks, there is not enough food to go around - yet they fast. Fasting from food they do not have to pray to a God they petition for grace. Amazing.
And so it was. The tree was perfect and beautiful and full of life amidst the Sudanese Dust. The last day we were with them - I told them of healing and forgiveness and anger and sadness. How needed it is for all of us to release these things. How if we don't, we carry them around in heavy hearts. How we forgive not because that person asks us to - not because they deserve it - not because it made what they did alright - and definitely not because it is easy. We forgive because we need forgiveness and we can't have it otherwise - because we are commanded to - because if we don't we can and will never experience the joy that Christ wishes for us to experience in this life. Heavy Burdens - Heavier Hearts - An opportunity to lay them down underneath a tree in the middle of a remote village in Sudan before a God of Grace and Renewal. A time to grieve and to pray and to lament.
And they did.
When it was time, they took their stones of burdens in brave hands as we walked to the tree. Singing and rejoicing along the way. I doubt they had ever had this opportunity to let themselves feel anything close to this. In their world of survival - of loosing eight children - of violence and fear and killing and running and rebuilding and loss - they have to move. Strength is not a choice - it is a necessity of living. But today they get to let their guard down a little. These women - some of which walked seven days to get to this place....just to hear the great Americans who have come to town (not knowing how small we really are). These women are dancing and singing and yelling out their ceremonial joy-tongue-roll all the way to the tree.
We get there and Abraham takes over, speaking in Dinka. Not knowing what he is saying, I take some of my own time to put down my stones at the tree and have a time of prayer. I look up and the women have followed. Some are further away from the base of the tree, others are right under it, some begin tying their memories to the limbs in the form of a pipe cleaner, and others just kneel to pray. I stand and just soak it in. Amazed and Humbled. Looking around I see a man who I have made a bond with. John. He is the tallest Sudanese man I have seen. Probably in his early sixties. A delight. He has knelt down - his long arms crossed over one another - hands open. He is praying. I look over to his left and there is another man doing the same. Who is he? I have never even seen him!! How did he know to come? How did he know what to do? Then I look around one more time and I see her.
She is a woman that I saw at the service on Sunday - but had not seen her since. As I looked over, I saw her run into the branches of the tree as she walked toward it. She keeps her eyes closed at all times. She is blind. She is beautiful. She is the single mother of a toddler and an infant, and she just happens to live in the mud hut right behind the Lamenting Tree. Directly behind it. I do not know of her story - but I know that if there is someone who would need a Lamenting Tree close enough to walk to, it is this precious young lady.
So they came and they prayed and they kneeled and they released - memories as pipe cleaners and burdens as stones. Some sang and others danced all the way back. Before we left the next day, Lloyd came back to the the tree and carved a cross in it. I pray when the team returns next year - it's base is covered with stones and its limbs are filled with pipe cleaners of all colors.
Representing Renewal. Representing Love. Representing Hope.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Blue-Eyed Sarah
Beneath the Sudanese sky tonight I sit – drums as the backdrop, singing villagers in African harmony, and the smiling moon as a shadow of light. Children singing now outside of our window join in the chorus of the evening. OH and the bat above my bed. He does not wish to be forgotten. (as if one could forget that there was a bat sleeping in the room : ) The children sing louder now as the drum beats stronger. My heart beats in rhythm.
What a day this has been. A day being greeted by singing and dancing women who had walked through days of anticipation to come and receive our words. Seven days of a beating sun on their backs and marsh water past their waist. Yet they sang. Yet they danced. And, yet again, they humbled me. We talked of life and grace and eternal freedom of heartache among the half clothed – and sometimes not clothed – on-looking children in the windows. The random calling of the cows. The heat of the Sudan sun. The unashamed bear-breasted baby-feeding women in the room.
One monumental moment stands out. Monumental. We had talked of grief and pain and heartache. Huts being burned, loved ones being killed, and mothers loosing baby after baby to illness. And then it was their turn to tell their story.
“The more you share your story of pain – the more God can heal your heart.” I told them.
They told story after story of children dying, being widowed, running during the attacks, being left homeless….story after story. And they there was Sarah. She came up to the front of the room - totally unsolicited and emotionless. I had noticed her from the very beginning. Her look was as unique as the orah of strength she seeped. Face as leather, head arrayed with a cloth turban decorating her rarity. And her eyes….Her eyes. Blue as a crystal ocean wave – yes…blue. Beautiful blue. She came up front as if she owned the room and looked straight into my eyes. Though I had no idea what she was saying, I dared not look away from her eyes – if for no other reason than pure and undefiled reverence. She was telling her story. The Dinka words coming from her weathered lips flowed out like water – and I could not catch them all…. but it did not matter. The obvious story of strength scaled any language barrier – I could see that in her eyes.
She talked of her husband’s death. The loss of her children. The running away from the fightings. She had eleven children – all had died but two. Then she said this (via our translator):
“I was worshipping idols and was still having pain. So I came to the church and I stopped worshipping idols. I started worshipping God. And then my family came to the church, and we were baptized and we began to worship God. Me and my grandchildren, my son and his family, and my daughter in law.”
As she looked into my eyes and I looked into hers – the world around me seemed to go away for a moment. No matter how many lizards were crawling along the top of the wall, regardless of the soldiers going past us on the road behind, beyond the barrier of language, apart from the crying babies and the half-naked children popping in and out of the windows……I would not look away from her eyes. I would not. I could not. She had lived it, and I was going to listen with all of my might. And when she was done, her tethered hands - once used to worship idols and now in service to her King, grabbed mine. And for the first time – I saw her smile.
Sweet Sarah.
Her name fits her perfectly.
What a day this has been. A day being greeted by singing and dancing women who had walked through days of anticipation to come and receive our words. Seven days of a beating sun on their backs and marsh water past their waist. Yet they sang. Yet they danced. And, yet again, they humbled me. We talked of life and grace and eternal freedom of heartache among the half clothed – and sometimes not clothed – on-looking children in the windows. The random calling of the cows. The heat of the Sudan sun. The unashamed bear-breasted baby-feeding women in the room.
One monumental moment stands out. Monumental. We had talked of grief and pain and heartache. Huts being burned, loved ones being killed, and mothers loosing baby after baby to illness. And then it was their turn to tell their story.
“The more you share your story of pain – the more God can heal your heart.” I told them.
They told story after story of children dying, being widowed, running during the attacks, being left homeless….story after story. And they there was Sarah. She came up to the front of the room - totally unsolicited and emotionless. I had noticed her from the very beginning. Her look was as unique as the orah of strength she seeped. Face as leather, head arrayed with a cloth turban decorating her rarity. And her eyes….Her eyes. Blue as a crystal ocean wave – yes…blue. Beautiful blue. She came up front as if she owned the room and looked straight into my eyes. Though I had no idea what she was saying, I dared not look away from her eyes – if for no other reason than pure and undefiled reverence. She was telling her story. The Dinka words coming from her weathered lips flowed out like water – and I could not catch them all…. but it did not matter. The obvious story of strength scaled any language barrier – I could see that in her eyes.
She talked of her husband’s death. The loss of her children. The running away from the fightings. She had eleven children – all had died but two. Then she said this (via our translator):
“I was worshipping idols and was still having pain. So I came to the church and I stopped worshipping idols. I started worshipping God. And then my family came to the church, and we were baptized and we began to worship God. Me and my grandchildren, my son and his family, and my daughter in law.”
As she looked into my eyes and I looked into hers – the world around me seemed to go away for a moment. No matter how many lizards were crawling along the top of the wall, regardless of the soldiers going past us on the road behind, beyond the barrier of language, apart from the crying babies and the half-naked children popping in and out of the windows……I would not look away from her eyes. I would not. I could not. She had lived it, and I was going to listen with all of my might. And when she was done, her tethered hands - once used to worship idols and now in service to her King, grabbed mine. And for the first time – I saw her smile.
Sweet Sarah.
Her name fits her perfectly.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Upside Down Hearts
How do I put today into words? I think I am definitely in culture overload. Hearing children tell me today that they
"want to cry so much that they want to die"
is a bit much for me to handle. I have to say that doing art therapy underneath a village tree with 40 dust covered children - naked babies to the right - onlooking villagers to the left - cows passing behind me - and a soldier to the back.....is a FIRST : ). A lot of firsts on this trip. Firsts that I welcome emphatically. I talk to them about their heart wounds, the feelings behind their scariest memories, and their Story. So many stories. What's amazing is that many of them think they have no story.
I tell them of a little boy in Kenya. He said to me looking down at the ground, "I don't have a story."
Sitting down beside of him I said, "Was your home burned down?" He said, "Yes." "Did you run from the invaders?" He said, "Yes." "Did you see some of your family members killed?" He said, "Yes." Still looking down at the ground."Then you have a story." I said.
And what stories they have. I had them tell some of their stories...some of their heartache. Then each of them were given crayons and paper and began to draw. Their story in color and images and upside down hearts. Upside down hearts? Yes, upside down hearts. We still haven't figured it all out - but from what we think we know, it represents sadness. And we saw them draw it on their papers - over and over and over. Upside Down Hearts.
As I gave them a red heart - I told them to draw a picture of what they thought God looked like on it. I then told them to close their eyes, think of their story of heartache, and hold that heart next to theirs......picturing Jesus right beside them when they were going through their dark time. Having them stand, I had them repeat, "God will never leave me. God will never forsake me. God loves me."
40 or so children standing and shouting that out loud in their native tongue.....yeah, it was one of my favorite moments of the week.
After they had finished drawing, David and Emily and I went around one by one and had them tell us what they had drawn. Tell us their stories. They were all different and they were all the same. Killing. Rebels. Shooting. Death. Loss. Sadness. One boy didn't want to tell his story. One of the only ones. I talked to him after and asked him about his heartache- what his sadness was. Strangely and Oddly he said this:
"I want to be a leader for my people." What? I thought. What does that have to do with your heartache? In my analytical mind - I could go to a million places with that......I looked at his sad face. He, in his Florida 'Gaters sweatshirt in the 95 degree Sudan heat surrounded by poverty, and women bathing in the local river, houses made from the mud of the earth, and malnourished children in a village that had been wounded in more ways than one just a six months earlier. He wants to be a leader for his people. I talked with him further and he opened up a bit about his experiences. Much of the same - but for him......it's a story all it's own. He is having nightmares after the attack. He is now living with his Grandmother - away from his parents. He is six-ish. (most of them don't know their ages because no one has ever really kept up with it). He is afraid as he sleeps. Afraid the attackers will come back. He misses his mother. His story. I want to hold him until his heartache passes. But know I can't. If only it worked that way. What would I be able to say to him in the middle of his world to make it better? I hold his hand and I prayer for him and I tell him that God believes in him and is proud of him. That he is with him always, and loves him - so much. He smiles - amazing how just getting what is on the inside to the outside releases such heartache.
Walking away - I don't want to leave. WIshing that healing their spirits was as easy as taking their paper hearts and turning them right-side up. Knowing one day....when forever comes....they will be. Forever. But for now- they leave with their step a little lighter and their smiles a little brighter.
Knowing that they are not alone - never alone - never.
"want to cry so much that they want to die"
is a bit much for me to handle. I have to say that doing art therapy underneath a village tree with 40 dust covered children - naked babies to the right - onlooking villagers to the left - cows passing behind me - and a soldier to the back.....is a FIRST : ). A lot of firsts on this trip. Firsts that I welcome emphatically. I talk to them about their heart wounds, the feelings behind their scariest memories, and their Story. So many stories. What's amazing is that many of them think they have no story.
I tell them of a little boy in Kenya. He said to me looking down at the ground, "I don't have a story."
Sitting down beside of him I said, "Was your home burned down?" He said, "Yes." "Did you run from the invaders?" He said, "Yes." "Did you see some of your family members killed?" He said, "Yes." Still looking down at the ground."Then you have a story." I said.
And what stories they have. I had them tell some of their stories...some of their heartache. Then each of them were given crayons and paper and began to draw. Their story in color and images and upside down hearts. Upside down hearts? Yes, upside down hearts. We still haven't figured it all out - but from what we think we know, it represents sadness. And we saw them draw it on their papers - over and over and over. Upside Down Hearts.
As I gave them a red heart - I told them to draw a picture of what they thought God looked like on it. I then told them to close their eyes, think of their story of heartache, and hold that heart next to theirs......picturing Jesus right beside them when they were going through their dark time. Having them stand, I had them repeat, "God will never leave me. God will never forsake me. God loves me."
40 or so children standing and shouting that out loud in their native tongue.....yeah, it was one of my favorite moments of the week.
After they had finished drawing, David and Emily and I went around one by one and had them tell us what they had drawn. Tell us their stories. They were all different and they were all the same. Killing. Rebels. Shooting. Death. Loss. Sadness. One boy didn't want to tell his story. One of the only ones. I talked to him after and asked him about his heartache- what his sadness was. Strangely and Oddly he said this:
"I want to be a leader for my people." What? I thought. What does that have to do with your heartache? In my analytical mind - I could go to a million places with that......I looked at his sad face. He, in his Florida 'Gaters sweatshirt in the 95 degree Sudan heat surrounded by poverty, and women bathing in the local river, houses made from the mud of the earth, and malnourished children in a village that had been wounded in more ways than one just a six months earlier. He wants to be a leader for his people. I talked with him further and he opened up a bit about his experiences. Much of the same - but for him......it's a story all it's own. He is having nightmares after the attack. He is now living with his Grandmother - away from his parents. He is six-ish. (most of them don't know their ages because no one has ever really kept up with it). He is afraid as he sleeps. Afraid the attackers will come back. He misses his mother. His story. I want to hold him until his heartache passes. But know I can't. If only it worked that way. What would I be able to say to him in the middle of his world to make it better? I hold his hand and I prayer for him and I tell him that God believes in him and is proud of him. That he is with him always, and loves him - so much. He smiles - amazing how just getting what is on the inside to the outside releases such heartache.
Walking away - I don't want to leave. WIshing that healing their spirits was as easy as taking their paper hearts and turning them right-side up. Knowing one day....when forever comes....they will be. Forever. But for now- they leave with their step a little lighter and their smiles a little brighter.
Knowing that they are not alone - never alone - never.
"I Remembered the Sparrows"
And I remembered the Sparrows…..
There are times that I simply want to sit at the feet of these great men and women and listen for hours upon end. It seems there is no ending to the learning of their culture and the hearing of the experiences life has taken them on. Before dinner, Emily and I had the most remarkable conversation with a few of the boys of the village – teenage boys – equivalent to great men of valor in the states, I would say. A depth of wisdom that would put some of the greatest Western Scholars to shame. A faith that would make the strongest of Priests seem weak.
Angelo. Angelo. Leave the “O” off and you would have it. An angel he is. How would I describe this sixteen-year-old giant of a spirit. Emily and I were on one side and 3- 4 young men were on the other. Somehow we just started asking them questions. Me, in my therapist-way, asked of their most frightening moment. Angelo’s story brought us to tears.
“I have a hole in my heart where my father used to be.” His father died when he was young, leaving Angelo – as the eldest – to take on the role of caregiver and leader. Not uncommon in a society where a father’s death is not so uncommon place - yet painful none-the-less.
“When I was not any older than eight years of age, my uncle came a took our two cows. When I went to chase him to get them back, he beat me so severely. When I was able, I went to the ship and pressed charges against him. When I started to go home, I became so hungry and lost. I did not have anything to eat and was alone. I was so afraid. But THEN I REMEMBERED THE SPARROWS. I remembered that God said if he would take care of the sparrows then he would take care of me. And so I believed that God would provide a way, and I was not afraid anymore….”
He went on to tell that not long after that, there was an animal in the bush that came and killed another animal in front of him.
“And I was able to eat…”
It was an unbelievable story of unbelievable faith – and had it not come from the lips of someone so unbelievable……I would not have, well, believed it.
“Do you want to be rich? Do you ever want more than you have?” We asked.
“We are all rich. If we have life, then we are rich. We are rich in our hearts.” Sixteen. Have I mentioned that he is sixteen?
I looked at him in amazement. “You are wiser than most Americans,” I said, “Many people go their whole life and never learn that. You are wise beyond your years.”
“What are your dreams?” I asked.
“Me? I want to get an education and to be a pastor. Even now, I have been able to go to ninth grade and there is no money to go beyond, but I know. I believe that God will provide. I am not worried.”
“What does an education mean?”
“It means that I can learn so I can take care of my country. So I can lead my people” He says all of this with a smile of utter strength and the utmost of confidence. Not in himself – but in his God.
With every question, Emily and I kept looking back at each other in amazement at the raw sweetness of these hearts. The Pure Faith. The Simple Perspective. At various points we both had to take a break to go and cry a bit and then to come back.
“They just want an education…” Emily said. That is their dream. They dream of being able to have an education – while the sixteen year olds we left days earlier would do almost anything to get away from it, these precious young men dream of it. Same age – such different hearts.
But what we talked about later that night amazed us even more. During the attack on the village in the spring, the attackers came with guns – killing many in the village and causing many to run for their lives. Hiding in the bush for days. Many coming back to burned huts and lost relatives..….Angelo escaped. Escaped away from his family – not knowing if his mother and siblings were alive and well. Where was he? He was with Abraham’s three-year-old child (Abraham - the community leader). Doesn’t stop there. Along with the three-year-old, he was also caring for a seventy some odd year old man – taking care of them both. In the bush. Just Angelo (have I mentioned that he is 16?). The toddler and the elderly man. Leading. Why? That is what he does. That is who he is……
Since originally writing this, he has even suffered more tragedy. I just got word a few days ago that his mother has died unexpectedly. Amazing. Heartwrenching – really. Loss. Pain. His reality – unfortunately, not so different than many of his peers. But what IS different is his Faith. His Hope.
Within that sweet spirit lies the potential to lead his country to something bigger than he is or bigger than they can conceive. What he needs is what so many of the Sudanese need. Education. Healing. Hope. But one thing is for sure. Angelo the Angel does not doubt he will receive all he needs. Why?
Because…….
He remembers the Sparrows.
There are times that I simply want to sit at the feet of these great men and women and listen for hours upon end. It seems there is no ending to the learning of their culture and the hearing of the experiences life has taken them on. Before dinner, Emily and I had the most remarkable conversation with a few of the boys of the village – teenage boys – equivalent to great men of valor in the states, I would say. A depth of wisdom that would put some of the greatest Western Scholars to shame. A faith that would make the strongest of Priests seem weak.
Angelo. Angelo. Leave the “O” off and you would have it. An angel he is. How would I describe this sixteen-year-old giant of a spirit. Emily and I were on one side and 3- 4 young men were on the other. Somehow we just started asking them questions. Me, in my therapist-way, asked of their most frightening moment. Angelo’s story brought us to tears.
“I have a hole in my heart where my father used to be.” His father died when he was young, leaving Angelo – as the eldest – to take on the role of caregiver and leader. Not uncommon in a society where a father’s death is not so uncommon place - yet painful none-the-less.
“When I was not any older than eight years of age, my uncle came a took our two cows. When I went to chase him to get them back, he beat me so severely. When I was able, I went to the ship and pressed charges against him. When I started to go home, I became so hungry and lost. I did not have anything to eat and was alone. I was so afraid. But THEN I REMEMBERED THE SPARROWS. I remembered that God said if he would take care of the sparrows then he would take care of me. And so I believed that God would provide a way, and I was not afraid anymore….”
He went on to tell that not long after that, there was an animal in the bush that came and killed another animal in front of him.
“And I was able to eat…”
It was an unbelievable story of unbelievable faith – and had it not come from the lips of someone so unbelievable……I would not have, well, believed it.
“Do you want to be rich? Do you ever want more than you have?” We asked.
“We are all rich. If we have life, then we are rich. We are rich in our hearts.” Sixteen. Have I mentioned that he is sixteen?
I looked at him in amazement. “You are wiser than most Americans,” I said, “Many people go their whole life and never learn that. You are wise beyond your years.”
“What are your dreams?” I asked.
“Me? I want to get an education and to be a pastor. Even now, I have been able to go to ninth grade and there is no money to go beyond, but I know. I believe that God will provide. I am not worried.”
“What does an education mean?”
“It means that I can learn so I can take care of my country. So I can lead my people” He says all of this with a smile of utter strength and the utmost of confidence. Not in himself – but in his God.
With every question, Emily and I kept looking back at each other in amazement at the raw sweetness of these hearts. The Pure Faith. The Simple Perspective. At various points we both had to take a break to go and cry a bit and then to come back.
“They just want an education…” Emily said. That is their dream. They dream of being able to have an education – while the sixteen year olds we left days earlier would do almost anything to get away from it, these precious young men dream of it. Same age – such different hearts.
But what we talked about later that night amazed us even more. During the attack on the village in the spring, the attackers came with guns – killing many in the village and causing many to run for their lives. Hiding in the bush for days. Many coming back to burned huts and lost relatives..….Angelo escaped. Escaped away from his family – not knowing if his mother and siblings were alive and well. Where was he? He was with Abraham’s three-year-old child (Abraham - the community leader). Doesn’t stop there. Along with the three-year-old, he was also caring for a seventy some odd year old man – taking care of them both. In the bush. Just Angelo (have I mentioned that he is 16?). The toddler and the elderly man. Leading. Why? That is what he does. That is who he is……
Since originally writing this, he has even suffered more tragedy. I just got word a few days ago that his mother has died unexpectedly. Amazing. Heartwrenching – really. Loss. Pain. His reality – unfortunately, not so different than many of his peers. But what IS different is his Faith. His Hope.
Within that sweet spirit lies the potential to lead his country to something bigger than he is or bigger than they can conceive. What he needs is what so many of the Sudanese need. Education. Healing. Hope. But one thing is for sure. Angelo the Angel does not doubt he will receive all he needs. Why?
Because…….
He remembers the Sparrows.
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