Depraved Indifference

This is my heart. This is my passion. THIS is what God has been speaking so very much to my heart the past month or so since I’ve been back from Rwanda. Please watch, and BE completely MOVED!

A Message from the Streets

 After church today I felt compelled to go to Costco and gather items to make lunch bags of goodies to deliver to the homeless. I picked up water bottles, cup o’ noodles soup, snack crackers, fruit snacks, and a bag of mixed candy. I had a heap of lunch bags leftover from a previous mini lunch bag ministry adventure (5 years ago), and I started writing encouraging scriptures on the outside that would hopfully offer a morsel of hope while they enjoyed the vittles. I didn’t know that I would deliver them TODAY…I just prepared them and expected to place them in my truck for the right opportunity to deliver (homeless standing on freeway offramps, namely).

When I finished packing 24 of the bags, I had the urge to go for a drive. I didn’t know where I was going…I just pointed the truck to the freeway…and it took me downtown. Interesting dialogue passed through my conscience as I started into downtown. I saw a few homeless at waterfront park and I was wondering how God would bring the people to me…would they be on the side of the road, so that I could just extend an arm out the window? I was contemplating how I could go about this without actually having to get out of the truck. After a few moments I thought how ridiculously selfish that was of me! Seriously…they live on the streets and I don’t want to inconvenience myself enough to get OUT of my truck?! Conviction.

As I drove a bit deeper into downtown, I saw a group of homeless camped along a building and pulled over. There were two women sitting under blankets and a gentleman standing talking to them and a group of others laying down, wrapped up in sleeping bags and blankets. I grabbed the first box of bags, which had 7 bags in it, and took it over to them. I greeted them with a ‘Hi There!’ They all stared at me imploringly wondering who in the world am I and what in the world I was doing. I set the box down on the sidewalk and let them know that I have some goodies for them. I explained the contents of the bags and their faces lit up with beeming smiles. ‘THANK YOU!’ ‘Oh my goodness, thank you so much!’ And the man said, ‘Wow! You must be an angel!’ I just smiled. No sir, I’m not an angel…just trying to be the hands and feet of Jesus.

I did have my daughter with me and I left her in the truck for that transaction [only a couple feet away] and when I got back into the truck she was asking me questions about what I was doing and I tried to explain to her, but started crying. I’m bringing these goodie bags to these people because they don’t have homes or warm food to eat… My heart broke into a million pieces. I looked into the eyes of the women sitting on the freezing cold concrete, knowing it was only going to get colder. This is only the beginning of the cold season. We’re not even into winter yet…

As we drove further on, I then again wondered if there’d be another group that I would deliver the next box to [with 9 bags]. But I saw a singular woman leaning against a stop sign and that was my cue to find a parking spot and hand deliver her the soup that might warm her up a bit. I loaded up the bags into a larger bag, got myself and my daughter bundled and zipped up to start walking over to her. As we approached, though, she was gone. Vanished. Seemingly into thin air. So we walked further on.

As we neared Powell’s Bookstore, I noticed an elderly gentleman selling papers. I knew from a distance the newspaper was ‘Street Roots’ the paper sold by the homeless in order for them to earn an honest wage. The paper sells for $1.00 with 25 cents going to the production of the paper and the remaining 75 cents to the individual selling it. He had the sweetest, gentlest face and spirit and I’d have loved to give him a giant hug…but I’m not quite ready for that yet. :) I told him I didn’t have any change for a paper, but I’d love to give him some goodies to eat. He said thank you several times and gave me a paper as more than a fare trade for what I’ve provided for him. He greeted my daughter, we wished each other a good evening and kept walking to see who else we could find.

We walked around the same few block radius several times, and we found two other women, a sweet soft spoken gentleman without a nose [only a patch covered it], a gentleman in a wheelchair, two younger kids playing tunes on their guitars for change, an exhuberantly happy gentleman outside of Whole Foods who actually seemed shocked at such generosity (he kept yelling THANK YOU! THANK YOU! down the sidewalk as we walked away…like it was Christmas!), and last but not least, another gentleman also selling ‘Street Roots’ on the other side of Powell’s Book Store.

This last fella, I avoided. We walked by and around him several times because he seemed a bit off. He was a bit more outgoing than I was comfortable with and I was uncomfortable with the way he interacted with others. Not in a bad way…but I’m a bit more introverted and passive and struggle in general with those who are quite a bit more vivacious and just OUT THERE, than I am. Each time we walked by my conviction grew stronger and stronger… Did Jesus ever pass anybody by because they looked or acted a bit odd? Actually…He spent most of His time with folks like this…the more obvious outcasts. When I had one bag left to deliver, we were very near my truck and it was starting to sprinkle and it would have been very easy for me to disregard him and get into my truck, but I couldn’t stop thinking…what if that was Jesus? So we walked up to him and I let him know I didn’t have change for a paper, but that I’d love to share some goodies for him to eat. He said, ‘OH, THANK YOU so much! I seem to spend a fortune on food!’ When there’s no money to be had, I suppose a five dollar meal would seem like a fortune.

I was a bit concerend about my daughter being with me, mostly from the standpoint of her little legs wearing out. I held onto her hand like a vice grip, but honestly, I didn’t have any fear of safety concerns. We were in a very public area, and I felt so content knowing that God sent me there…He was my shield and my guard. But when I asked her if she was ready to go, she said, ‘No. I want to give some more goodies to the people who don’t have homes.’ She never tired and was actually sad when we left because there were two more people she saw that we just have to bring goodie bags to!

All together we delivered 16 goodie bags today. I expected a few here and there. Didn’t expect at all that I’d talk to anyone or look anyone in the eye, but this is what I was so spun out about when I returned from Rwanda… we in America are so disconnected from what is really happening here. Until we look at our brothers and sisters in the eye and try to understand where they are coming from and why they are there… it will never become personal.

I pulled up on an off-ramp the other day and watched the car in front of me flick out a few coins on the ground at the homeless gentleman standing on the corner. And I watched the man bend down with sadness and shame etched into his face… Its bad enough to be in that place, but to have people look down upon and shame further… they have no idea. And that breaks my heart.

When I got home, I started reading the ‘Street Roots’ paper that I received from the first elderly gentleman. Interesting information in there… a story about a Portland Police Officer who will not rest until the case is solved for a homeless man who was murdered in 2008 [Praise the Lord for her advocacy]; a ministry of feet washing for the homeless by the Downtown Chapel; a story about the outgoing guy that I avoided in front of Powells [really!]; a story about those who collect cans for money and the risks involved with it; a hotel on Burnside torn down to make way for a new federal courthouse, a hotel that housed low income and homeless; life on the streets in San Francisco; quality of life [1st in a series of four about the country's anti-poor movement]; police, homeless, and mental health; easing the pain of holiday reunions; and a few other tid bits including a letter from a homeless woman that I will type here. We have no idea…unless we’ve walked a mile in someone else’s shoes. Alleviating homelessness is not always as simple as ‘just finding a job’.

Get a job? Who has the time? I spend my life standing in line, waiting to be clothed or fed, not knowing tonight where I’ll lay my head.

What was that? What did you say? Nothing to spare and I’m in the way? I’m begging as humbly as I possibly can. Its been a long day. Please understand. A million times my feet slap the ground. No reason to stop, no place to slow down. I pound the pavement from morning to night, easily spotting those with my plight.

Sleeping bags are a sure way to know that they haven’t any real place to go. Backpacks are always a dead giveaway, that they’ll be standing in some line today. Give them a nod, a laugh or a smile because if they’re standing in line, they’ll be there a while.

I just need a voucher or dollar or two, to wash my clothes so I won’t offend you. Three hours spent standing in line for five minutes to wash off the filth and the grime. I look to strangers for kindness each day, I need your help please don’t walk away. If you must keep walking, just pass me by, but don’t try to peek from the side of your eye. I search all day to find a safe place. Any hovel will do even the smallest of space, where I won’t be told to “get up and go,” where I won’t be frozen and wet head to toe.

With the curb as my pillow and the street as my home, I’m surrounded by people, but I’m always alone. I know that sometimes I may not seem “right,” please don’t be rude, it’s been a long night. If I bum a smoke or ask for your name, please don’t ignore me, my needs aren’t a game.

Poverty kills all hope and dreams, and being homeless is worse than I make it seem. No hope for a mate, a family or life, just me and the streets paved with heartache and strife. I keep on moving while tragically knowing, I’m headed nowhere with no place to go. I can escape to the mall or the airport sometimes and pretend for a minute that this nightmare is not mine.

Sheltered for a night, a moment not more, knowing the morning has nothing in store. I’m not ungrateful, don’t get me wrong, its just been a long month, it keeps dragging on. Trying to search my way out of this hell and forgetting that once my life was well.

All my efforts came crashing down. I lost my house and my life without a sound. If my house had burned down or a tornado had hit, it would’ve been easier than my notice to quit. All I want is a place of my own, nothing great just a spot to call home. I don’t mean to sound trite when you have to say no, its just been a long life and I’ve nowhere to go.

So please be kind tis been a long year, one of these days it could be you standinghere. I pray to the Lord it’ll all end in time, and I will finally reach the end of this line.

~Alethea Drake, Portland

Father’s Heart

Since I’ve been back from Rwanda, my heart has been ablaze with what it is that I can do here, in America; in Portland, OR. I’ve been praying about where He would have me serve and all arrows are pointing to the homeless. I don’t have to ask or wonder where or how to help…I’m just following His lead.

Before Thanksgiving, I saw a posting on Facebook about The Father’s Heart Street Ministry in Clackamas, OR. They needed blankets to get through the cold snap for those who have no place to call home. I immediately felt compelled to do something. I gathered up all the spare blankets that I haven’t used for at least two years and put them in my truck, I sorted through the various jackets and coats I don’t wear and I’m not sure how I accumulated about ten pairs of mittens, but I can only wear one at a time…I had a scarf and ear muffs I’ve frankly…never worn…sorted through the 15 pairs of lounge pants that I don’t wear much of (how did I get that many?!), and cooked up a ginormous pot of turkey rice soup. I had a spare pumpkin pie left over from Thanksgiving and was on a mission Friday morning to deliver it to them so they could have the soup to eat for lunch.

I didn’t know what to expect before I went. I called to let them know I was bringing it all in, but didn’t know if I’d stay, or just drop it off. Would they need my help? Should I bring my camera? Is it okay for children to be there? But I let the Lord lead it however He saw fit.

As it turns out, I have some adjusting to do, but I trust that He will equip me accordingly. 

During this visit, I pulled up next to a couple of vans that had the Father’s Heart logo on it, but I couldn’t see an obvious ‘front door’. It turns out I was at the back door. There was a gentleman there who helped gather a couple more sets of hands to help bring things in and escort me to the right place. When I walked into the shelter, I glanced around very timidly and walked through roughly 30 homeless folks scattered around various couches and chairs inside an open warehouse. The quick glance offered me the view of a makeshift kitchen to the left, shelves in the center with…I’m not sure what on it, and then rows of coats hanging from other shelves on the other side. I wanted to take a more detail collecting gaze at the surroundings, but was uncomfortable… My heart knows this is what it was called to do on this day, but my body is not yet prepared to take it all in. My senses must readjust themselves to the surroundings. This is only a glimpse of what American poverty looks like.

I desire to look into the eyes of the homeless and know their stories. There is confidently a great deal of hurt and pain there. For most of my life I’ve looked down upon the homeless as an eyesore and a bother when they step into my space and ask for change. I felt inconvenienced and uncomfortable. Nowadays, I have different eyes. I have a different heart. Its crossed my mind to live homeless for a couple weeks in order to understand fully what it means…and to hear the stories of those who must live there. At this time in my life that is not an option, as I have a little bitty girl that I wouldn’t consider taking with me; for safety reasons, obviously. But I can continue to follow the Lord’s lead to get more involved and perhaps understand more fully as I acclimate to different situations and organizations for helping in any way that I’m able.

Reentry Ramblings

Missions trips are amazing. Truly. Life altering. I want to go back again and again and again. When I’m there, I do miss the comforts of home, but when I’m home…I want to be there.

Today, I was carrying on quite a cryptic and scattered, disorderly, somewhat chaotic conversation (at least in my own mind) with a friend of mine over lunch. I don’t know how to act, where to stand, or how to verbally communicate since I’ve been back. I cannot articulate to others what it is that I’m feeling. Unless someone has been there, its hard to say. And the words get caught up in a rollercoaster in my head and then when I try to let it out, its all jarbled.

I want desperately to talk about Rwanda. I have been able to articulate some in previous posts…But today I struggle a great deal with talking about it without feeling frustrated and judgmental of the complacency and sense of entitlement of this beautiful nation in which I was privileged to be born into. We see things on TV and in the news but are so insulated from the realities of the rest of the world. There’s nothing PERSONAL about it. There’s comfort here, in complacency, I realize. Its easy to get caught up in the rat race, too, and not have time to care for others. So much going on in our personal lives.

When I think about what I can do here, though, while I’m waiting for my next trip over there, its actually a bit more difficult to press out of the comfort zone into action. I contemplate all the areas of need here (not to mention the quandary of my own!) and there’s such a separation between our helping and the faces of those being helped. Unless we’re providing for the homeless, which has a certain amount of risk involved with it because of substance, we don’t always get to look into the eyes of those who do need the help. And it keeps us all separated and dislocated. And then we have to struggle to actually FIND community…

The question has been asked of me before I’ve gone to both Ethiopia and Rwanda, why do I have to spend so much money to go? Why don’t I just send the money? The first time someone meets those they are helping, eye to eye, and heart to heart with a hug of gratitude, you understand the reason. Resources are great and helpful, but when met with a heart attached and a face with a smile and a hug…it makes the help a thousand times greater than if they’d just had someone drop off a bucket of money.

I’m searching right now for peace in my heart. I feel guilty for thinking the awful things I do…but oh my goodness! Could we bring some FIRE into the picture here? PASSION?! People ask so often what is the meaning of life and what am I going to do with my life and we struggle and strive for things to bring us worth and fulfillment to our hearts and lives. The answer is to help! Step outside of ourselves and look into the eyes of someone who REALLY needs!

We are a country that prides itself on the things we do. I contribute to this charity or that charity. How many go to St. June Children’s hospital and hug a child? How many people stand in a food line helping to feed the faces of the homeless? How many people go to retirement homes or hospice facilities to make sure they aren’t lonely? We in the states are less without material things, but we are starving for relationship! For true, genuine, selfless eye to eye and heart to heart connection…

~Pause~

Its now tomorrow…and am contemplating further the unsettled nature of my ramblings. By viewing those around me and pointing at what I don’t see, I have to ask myself what in myself is lacking? What am *I* NOT doing? [Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? Matt 7:3] Its easy to project the things we have a personal conscience about… and its occurred to me today…the knots that are all bound up inside of me are a projection and frustration of my own complacency here. What is it that I am going to do today? and tomorrow? that will make a difference in someone else’s life? And what will I do while I step one foot in front of the other, to be the hands and feet of Jesus walking with those that are so easily discarded? I will ask God daily…who may I serve, today? Its easy to point a finger at culture and at what we see going on in our neighborhood, our city, our state, our nation, swirling on, around us day to day that is just frustrating, but all it takes is one good samaritan to change the life of one person…but the ripple effect goes on and on and on. How wonderful that there really is more than one person out there making a difference. And I don’t have to SEE what that difference is to know that it is happening all around. Its easy to get sucked into the negative. But its also very easy to redirect back to the beauty that is in all things. And today, I’ve found some peace again. :)

Do not conform to the patterns of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is – His good, pleasing and perfet will. Romans 12:2

More Single Mama Blessings…

The comments continue to trickle in…

From a former post:

Hi ladies….I googled “jobs in the mission field for a single mom” and here I am encouraged by everyone here. Ive had my heart pounding for Africa since I was a kid and said before I turn 30 I will have gone to Africa…I spent my 30th birthday in Tanzania under the full moon with a tribe I love the most. I came back, met a man from Kenya and one choice led to a consequence and I now have a beautiful 5 year old…and single no doubt :( My heart still beats for that contenant and I know that we will be back. Ive gone back to Kenya once and in 2008 I was in Uganda. I believe we will be back in His timing. Im just hoping for a time in the near future but in the mean time raising this sweet girl. I think after reading your posts I will concentrate on short term missions that I could take her on even if its in the US. I would love a job that I could even lead teams all over the world but more specifically in East Africa…we shall see. God knows…..Im proud of you girls and encouraged that Im not the only one out there. Keep praying and God will use your willing hearts, hands and feet :)
Ginger…AKA Mama Deraso

Every Word of God is Pure

As I was getting ready for my trip to Rwanda, I pondered over several times what the TSA Standard guidelines are for personal toiletry items. Was it 6 oz? 4 oz? Hm. I can’t remember. I did pick up a few of the bottles for my shampoo and conditioner, but didn’t pay any attention to the actual size in ounces they were. I had a small lotion container that was larger than those bottles, but it was only a quarter of the way full. I’m sure it would pass. I got a small tube of toothpaste. It was 4 oz. I’m sure it would pass. Its small. It should pass.

I zipped through PDX airport without a problem, but when I tried to depart the Washington Dulles airport…well…apparently the TSA guidelines for liquid items is 3.4 ounces. Not sure what comes in 3.4 ouce bottles, but…3.4 ouces it is. I had to watch them throw into the ginormous trash can, my toothpaste (really? .6 ouces over?), my lotion (really? It wasn’t even full!), and my brand new facial cleanser and moisturizer (can’t remember the size, but REALLY? They’re brand new! UGH!). Our team director says…’You knew better!’ UGH! Conviction. Its bad enough when we do something and are convicted in private, but in public…

I stewed and stammered over it for a while…the money that was just tossed into the trashcan; my teeth are going to have fir on them at the end of 12 days without toothpaste; my face…whatever will my face be like without its routine face wash and moisturizers… And while I stewed about it for a while, the Lord spoke to me… ‘My Word is Absolute’. And I was convicted once again…

Who am I… that I think I can bend the rules? The law? The guidelines? Who am I? Why do I think I have any authority over rules and guidelines that are absolute? Sometimes, we may get away with bending the rules. Sometimes we’re able to slip through the cracks, as I did at the Portland Airport. Not sure why my containers were not flagged there. But they eeked by. I didn’t think that I was getting away with anything when I did get through the gate. But I was thinking it when I was packing…

It seems such a trivial thing…so my toothpaste got thrown out at the airport. But, it entered my mind to check the guidelines. And I didn’t. I knew there were guidelines…and I chose to disregard them and do my own thing. When my things were thrown out and God showed me that ‘His Word is Absolute’, it occurred to me the magnitude of this guideline. How much of my life disregards the guidelines that He has laid before me? In plain English. And how often do I gripe (even if internally) about things not going the way I’d anticipated or hoped or wanted? Is it that life is difficult or is it that I’m just a disobedient lassie?  

Every Word of God is Pure. Prov 30:5

I looked up the word ‘PURE’ in the dictionary to understand more fully what it entails and placed each element of the definition together with the scripture. Pretty enlightening…

–adjective, pur·er, pur·est.

Every Word of God is: free from anything of a different, inferior, or contaminating kind; free from extraneous matter.

Every Word of God is: unmodified by an admixture; simple or homogenous.

Every Word of God is: of unmixed descent or ancestry.

Every Word of God is: free from foreign or inappropriate elements.

Every Word of God is: clear; free from blemishes.

Every Word of God is: straightforward; unaffected.

Every Word of God is: without any discordant quality; clear and true.

Every Word of God is: absolute; utter; sheer.

Every Word of God is: being that and nothing else; mere

Every Word of God is: clean, spotless, or unsullied.

Every Word of God is: untainted with evil; innocent.

Every Word of God is: physically chaste; virgin.

Every Word of God is: ceremonially or ritually clean.

Every Word of God is: free of or without guilt; guiltless.

Every Word of God is: independent of sense or experience.

So…as I lament the loss of my toiletry items, I consider the multitude of other things in this life that I’ve just casually cast aside as if no one or no thing was affected by my decision. How much scripture do I let pass by me because I don’t think it has any relevance to ME…or because it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable…or because I would rather have it my own way…or because of any of a hundred other reasons… I certainly can make up a gazillion innocent enough excuses. Why do I think I’m above the law? The Scripture? The guidelines that were set into place to protect me and those who are around me? Even if I don’t understand the reason the TSA guidelines are 3.4 ounces, there is a boat load of information they know, that I do not, that I can and SHOULD just trust. They’ve done the research necessary to make that guideline. So, too…God, the Creator of ALL things, knows the ins and outs of every single guideline that He has placed before us, because He created us. He knows where we will fall. He knows what works for us and what doesn’t work for us. Why do I create such havoc and difficulty in my life by trying to do things my own way? He’s already got it all figured out for me!

Really, though…Thank the Lord that He does have it all figured out, because it really is exhausting trying to bend rules and guidelines to my liking. Pretty consistenly, I lose. It hurts. Whether its a little ouchie or a big ouchie…its an ouchie all the same.

And how, you may ask…does this relate to being a Missionary Mama? For starters…it happened on my trip and its what He showed me along the way. But, really, if He has chosen me to be a Missionary Mama…there are some things I need to know before He can fully utilize me for His services… A Missionary cannot squander the Word of the Lord. Its not about the Missionary. Its about the works that He has planned to do through the Missionary. And He can’t trust me to do His work, if He cant’ trust me with the little things.

How He’s Grown Me

Mission trips are RICH in intensive growing opportunity. As the days turn into weeks since my arrival home, I savor in the glory that is our God and how He works in such mysterious and amazing ways. HE changes hearts…all we have to do is allow it. I love realizing that He’s rearranged something in me; and realizing how much better it feels to have died to something within me; and discovering a new freedom He has delivered to my soul.

At the beginning of our trip to Rwanda, we stopped in to the Home of Hope, a Mother Teresa Orphanage for about 105 children up to age five. We started the tour and were able to pop our heads into the teenie tiny infant room, then the crawlers infant room, then the special needs children’s room…where I walked in, and immediately walked back out and started bawling. I can’t explain why, but special needs are very intimidating to me and I’m very uncomfortable. Not sure where it stems from or what would be so intimidating except just not knowing what it is that ails each child/person.

At any rate, we continued our tour and landed with the teenie  tiny toddlers, where one of the sweetest little girls lifted her arms up to me the moment she saw me, climbed up into my arms, wrapped her arms around my neck, snuggled right in, and fell asleep. We could not take pictures at this orphanage, but this moment will be etched into my soul for the rest of my life. This is where I find comfort.

A few days later we visited the Gahanga Orphanage, that is only special needs children and adults. I was uncomfortable before we ever got there. I even unfortunately thought in my head how I could potentially get out of going here. Could I fake sick? Not so lovely to admit…but discomfort does strange things to us at times. I didn’t fake sick, and I did go. We were greeted immediately by a very social little feller and a young woman who both clung to us and pulled and pushed us around. :) Those that are mobile don’t know their strength. My personal space was being invaded and I tried my best to smile and just roll with it. My thoughts were crazy with:

‘WHY in the world is this so uncomfortable for me?’

(‘Please stop touching me…’)

‘What is wrong with ME?’

‘Okay, Lord, please help me to relax and find some comfort here. Help me to see what it is that I need to see. Grow me. Stretch me. And help me to be okay here.’

We walked into a room with children and adults who are bound to beds and chairs with their bodies curled up. Their eyes wandering all over because they can’t see or they just have no control of them. Most with the biggest grins plastered all over their faces. I wonder if they know how much different they are? They certainly don’t care, as evidenced by the smiles they carried. I wonder what its like to be trapped in a body that won’t cooperate? What happens inside their minds?

I was invited on a short deviation from the orphanage to go to the market to pick up sheets for their mattresses. I welcomed the change of scenery. While out, though, God started to speak with me… ‘I take you out of your comfort zone in order to grow you into My likeness.’

Wow.

Okay, so…my mind then became very preoccupied with what that means. Can you imagine if God only attended to those that were ‘normal’? Okay looking? What if Jesus didn’t attend to the sick and crippled? [Mark 2:17 “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”] And then…you know…my outsides may look ‘normal’…but how handicapped are my insides? What is the condition of my heart? What are MY special needs that Jesus is attending to in this very moment?  

Nearing the close of our visit in Rwanda, we were visiting another orphanage, the Noel Orphanage, that cares for 6-700 orphans. Our second day here we did art projects with all the kids. Easy and fun with children, but I was asked to assist with a project with some of the older special needs kids. Reservations snuck in on me, but I did feel a notch or two less intimidated. And I spoke to God on my way there…‘Lord, if it is your desire for me to minister to those with special needs, then I am yours. Not my will, Lord, but yours. I know you will equip me.’ And as I helped with the kids, I felt okay touching them and hugging them and looking into their eyes to communicate (when language barriers separate, we must know how to express compassion through visual and body language). I felt myself longing to know them; to know their story and their ailments. I found myself completely fascinated by the young man who speaks impeccable English, who plays songs on the harmonica perfectly having only heard a song on the radio one time, and who has the most radiant smile I’ve ever seen. Joy fills His heart. Why in the world would I ever be intimidated by him? Or any of the others, for that matter? I’ve discovered that simply not knowing something, makes me uncomfortable. And to understand, I will seek. [Jer 29:13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.]

Upon my return home, all of this swirling around in my mind, I am so humbled by the experience. I talk about how uncomfortable *I* am and how much I want to avoid uncomfortable situations. Its not about me. Its never been about me. Following Jesus is about HIM. The Lord does not move through us because we have the strength or ability to do amazing things or because we’re somehow amazing people. We can only do amazing things in His power and His alone because we are weak and dreadful. He does not call those who are already equipped to do certain ministry; He calls us each into the ministry that HE chooses for us…which is usually outside of our comfort zone because He knows that apart from Him we can do nothing. And if it was in our strength it wouldn’t be about Him. His glory shines through us, empowering us to do His Will, by His might, and completely contrary to what we know and think and feel about ourselves and our skills.

At my church there are several special needs adults in our sanctuary and there’s one in particular that is very social and very huggy. In the past I’ve watched him in his sweetness, hugging those he was around. I honestly always steared clear because of my own discomfort. This past Sunday, I received not just one hug, but three hugs from him. And it felt so good. It was like getting a hug from God. Praise the Lord.

Decompression Ponderings…

As I stand in the shower this morning, just allowing the water to fall freely over me, without reservation or consciousness about it running out, I realize how I’ve taken for granted how easily it comes to me. Its piped in from somewhere…I’m not sure where…it is clean and unending. I could stand there for an hour or more if I wanted to.  It might turn cold, but it never runs out. Its warm; its lovely. I could drink it if I wanted to. I am clean. Every single day; sometimes twice a day. Part of me feels a bit gluttenous for just standing there, thinking about it, while it runs and runs and runs. Its helping to ease the discomfort in my being as I decompress from the trip, I rationalize.

As we were driving down the road yesterday, out of the blue my daughter tells me that she’d like to share her car seat – the one that is too small for her now – with some other kids; with the kids in Africa. Bless her sweet little heart…and thank the Lord that she’s learning the value of sharing with others very young. She has no idea that car seats don’t fit on bicycles or mopeds; and seat belts are not really utilized there. Buses and vans are usually stuffed silly with those trying to get from here to there. Its not about comfort and/or convenience or even safety, its about economy.

I never know how my lens will be changed…until I start doing something and I find myself trying to reconcile the contradictions.

As I throw in a load of laundry – that takes me about five minutes – I remember the loads and loads of laundry, washed and hung by hand, for the 600 + orphans at Noel Orphanage. As I throw my dirty dishes into the dishwasher, I think about the one dish, fork and cup that is washed in the same bucket the laundry is washed in…if at all…if there’s enough water left that was collected in the yellow gas can-like container, on a bike, by the children, up that really steep neverending hill (Rwanda is called the land of 1000 hills for good reason). As I stare blankly into my fridge and pantry that are overflowing with selection, I suddenly lose my appetite as I ponder the porridge’ish looking sustainance that is fed to the vast majority there, without regard to what tastes good or looks good or will satisfy taste bud at that moment. There are no preferences. Nourishment is nourishment; grateful to be had once or twice a day.  

As I pluck along on my computer keyboard, space heater running, bedroom and bathroom lights on; the breaker is thrown. I’ve over extended my electricity usage for the moment and am reminded of the mud huts that have no electricity and of the roaming power outages where those that are lucky enough to have electricity, have to share it. Life is lived in the daylight…because its when they can see.

As I renegotiate my cultural lens, I try really hard not to be frustrated at what we have and what they don’t because its just not fair; but maintain gratefulness that I was born into a land of plenty. Its the balance of seeing and knowing and living (even if briefly) both that I must focus on finding…

[Pictures courtesy of Erin K (bicycle) and Rebekah H (laundry)]

Who is Our ‘Neighbor’?

I’ve had the word ‘neighbor’ on my mind. Sometimes when I take a picture, God will give me a verse that goes with it. This picture is one of them. But for this particular picture, there is so much more than the verse. Loving my neighbor is so much more than the neighbor next door. I know this in my heart and mind, but I wanted to know what scripture says about our neighbor. If it is commanded, then I’d like to know the fullness of what this command means.

First, there’s the story of the good Samaritan…

Luke 10:29-37

…“And who is my neighbor?”

In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

If we SEE a need, we are asked to set aside our personal agenda and ‘do likewise’…have mercy on them. If we’re not sure what to do or how to help, we could pause, and ask God what He would have us do. I remember one time, I was in a hurry in a grocery store and I felt a probing to help an older, shorter woman reach something on the top shelf. I was in a hurry so I walked by. It’s so simple. Trivial. But I can’t get it out of my mind…why did I just walk by? How difficult was it to just help her reach something? And how often do I just walk by because I’m in a hurry…because I have a personal agenda…because it makes me uncomfortable…

Matthew 25:31-40

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

As I was watching the movies about the genocide before my departure to Rwanda, it upset me that this country did not do anything to intervene on behalf of those being slaughtered there. I couldn’t understand! If we SEE something, don’t we have a responsibility to do something? How could we just watch it happen? I understand that while the US is/has been a country of power, we can’t save everyone; we can’t save the world. I understand that because I as an individual cannot save everyone that I come into contact with who may need help. However, the body of Christ, as a whole, can do immeasurable things when prompted into action. We can, together, save the world by the power of God Himself; one person, one service project, one mission trip, one act of selfless obedience at a time. We are a country that was founded on the belief and dependence on God. He has provided the abundance that we marinate in. We have a responsibility as followers of Christ, to reach the least of these, with this abundance.

Luke 12:48 From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

The Least of these, our neighbors, are not just next door or across the street or down the road. They’re not just in this country or this continent…We are ALL neighbors. I’ve been asked several times…

‘Why do you go all the way to Africa when there’s so much need HERE?’

‘It costs so much…why don’t you just send the money?’

I’ve not always had the answer and I’ve tried to justify it by personal explanation, but the simple answer is that there is need everywhere! Everyone is deserving of assistance when in need. I go to Africa because I am following a calling. Some have a calling for local missions. Others International. Some have a calling to be a teacher; some to be photojournalists; others pastors or plumbers or carpenters or lawyers. We go, to help our neighbors, where our hearts call us. And regarding sending money rather than a human body…Jesus Himself does not reside in the dollar bill…He resides in the bodies of those He sends. Material needs may be met by sending money…but spiritual needs are not. And unless our spiritual needs are met, the tangible/material are only temporary.

It’s up to us to simply answer the call.

Hebrews 13:1-2 Keep on loving each other as brothers. Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.

Would we ever want to pass up the opportunity to entertain angels? Or Jesus Himself?

Genocide Is…

gen·o·cide

[jen-uh-sahyd] – noun

the deliberate and systematic extermination of a national, racial, political, or cultural group. 

I didn’t cry. My stomach hurt…but I didn’t cry. As I wandered through the first memorial, much like a museum with pictures, videos and documentary of the atrocities, I took pictures and assured myself that I would come back and piece it all together for myself to share for others. I maintained an objective stature; it was actually too much to take in. I was stupified into complete silence of emotion aside from a gut wrenching ache in the pit of my belly. I’d watched a couple of movies (‘Hotel Rwanda’ and ‘Sometimes in April’) as well as a documentary (‘As we Forgive’) before I left for the trip to educate myself a bit on the genocide that occurred 16 years ago (1994). I didn’t want to walk in completely blind to what had happened. As I watched the movies, I was gripped with fear for those that lived through it; and those that did not. I can’t imagine ever having to live through that. How in the world does one live through that?

I was 20 years old when it started; newly out of boot camp and on my first delployment to Cuba for a month. I didn’t know anything about anything except what I was going to do on liberty between watches. We picked up a few refugees of Haiti enroute to Cuba, but hadn’t a clue what was transpiring with our neighbors in Africa.

Fear takes on a whole new meaning for me now. I’ve never really had a NEED to fear, but I feared anyway. I was on a retreat one year years ago and asked someone how not to live constantly in fear. She assured me that any fear that is not directly connected to a life threatening situation is false. It is of the enemy. I’ve held onto that for years. I still feared (people, what they thought, how I acted, was I doing the right/wrong thing, was I a failure, etc.), but with a little less elevated ferver. I rationalized that unless I will die if this or that happened, or because of something I thought someone thought (or even if someone really DID think something awful), then I should not fear. It helped some. It helps a great deal more now.

I’ve never really known fear. I’ve never had a machete held to my neck; don’t have physical scars as evidence of an attempted slaughter, failed; or watched my family tortured and butchered and burned in front of me. I’ve not had my children slammed against a wall in front of me until their life source was splattered all over the wall. I’ve not watched my mom or sister or friend, nor have I been raped and tortured over and over and over again by man after brutal man/monster only to be finished by impaling from their privates up to their neck; another through their heart. I’ve not had to witness friends and family murder each other out of fear of being murdered themselves. They were not just killed to be killed; they were tortured relentlessly and suffered horrifically before finally giving in to death, that set them free.

There is nothing humane about what happened there. Monsters. The spawn of satan. Evil. Consumed by the powers of darkness. ‘Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.’

There is a history behind the genocide; that leads up to it. The history has its relevance, but as I walked through a second memorial, a church sanctuary filled with the clothing of 45,000 of those who perished in the immediate vacinity of the church; a church that wreaked of death and blood and muck and mire that clung to the clothers…piled up on the bench pews in the very same condition they were removed from the victims when their bodies were found…no amount of education on the history of this atrocity could rationalize the devastation. 10,000 people hovered inside the walls of this sactuary hoping and praying that God would protect them inside the walls. The door that was pried open; bullet holes in the walls and ceilings and shrapnel from grenades; blood stains on the walls, the ceiling, and the blood saturated sheet that hung over the pulpit…everything left exactly as it occurred 16 years ago…evidence that the church walls were not able to save those desperately seeking solace there.

I didn’t cry. My stomach ached and I held my breath, breathing only through my mouth and not my nose so that I didn’t have to smell it. The smell of death.

There was another stack of clothes in another portion of the church of those whose bodies were found in sewage holes and other random and remote places. Evidence of their location still clung in clumps to the fibers. Slaughter. Torture. Inhumanity to the greatest degree.

In the back of the church are two large tombs; mass graves. The 45,000 found in the local area around the church are lying at rest here. We were able to step down into the tombs. Rows and rows of coffins stacked upon each other with as many as ten bodies in each one lined one side of the burial plot while the other side was lined shelf after shelf with skulls and bones of the perished. Although they were each given a proper burial, I did not feel like they were resting in peace here. How much peace can be found in a soul whose body has been butchered by a machete or club? My stomach turns to consider again…how in the world does anybody live, who has witnessed the madness? [Matthew 10:28 Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destry both soul and body... I trust that the Lord has each one of their souls and they truly are at rest; in peace. Bodies are only a vessel...and nobody takes their brokenness with them.] Since I’ve been back home, I haven’t been able to sleep. My mind won’t stop the images of torture, clay dirt and unrest. I must release what it is that I have seen.

A couple days ago, I cried for the first time. I was finally able to get it out of my head a little bit, and allow it to sink into my heart; to allow myself to feel it. Nobody should ever have to feel that amount of pain and suffering. I’m afraid to feel it. I’ve let it out a little bit at a time; because breaking down is a difficult thing to do when back to ordinary life. I have a toddler to attend to; I can’t be having an emotional breakdown right now. Its back to life as I once knew it.

My life will never be the same. As I wandered through the other day, I imagined if it was my daughter and I hovered in that church, fearing for our lives…until the enemy came in, took my daughter and splattered her all over the wall and then had their way with me until I took a granade and blew myself up because I couldn’t take it any more.

This is not my imagination…this happened. This is real. And it is still alive in Rwanda today. Alive in the 30-something survivor who at the peak of the most recent election and political unrest is afraid for his life because he can’t  get the images out of his mind of when he watched his family tortured, maimed and burned before his eyes; why did he survive and will he be next? Alive in the 17 year old girl who struggles with finding her place and who she is after she was left an orphan when her family was murdered with no one to care for her; how has she survived this long and what makes her a Tutsi? She didn’t know her parents; she was too young when they were taken from her. Alive in the orphan whose lived at an orphanage with 600 other children for the past 16 years.

I’ve asked God to break my heart for the things that break His. I asked; I received. And on top of what I’ve seen with my eyes, I’ve been given a glimpse of another atrocity…

I feel in America we are a privileged nation; protected from so many things; sheltered; cocooned. We live in a ridiculous amount of freedom. Too much, if there could be such a thing. We’ve been witness to the 911 tragedy, but nothing as devastating as a million people being slaughtered/exterminated. I thanked God for protecting me from having to witness first hand such devastation. But while silently in prayer, He gave me a word…

…A word that means that we ARE witness, every day, to a similar tragedy right here on our own soil. I didn’t know about the genocide in Rwanda 16 years ago because it was out of sight, out of mind. It wasn’t happening here on our soil, so it had little impact or relevance to my life. Nobody that I know personally was in jeapordy of losing their life, so it didn’t occur to me or those around me to be concerned. But today, actually…the latest statistics are from 2005… 1.2 million people are murdered, maimed, and discarded as refuse in the United States per year. A Genocide that does not stop; that will not stop, until someone decides that a beating heart is a beating heart, and it is murder if force that is not natural terminates its beat. The size of a beating heart and the inconvenience it may cause to ones life; status; direction; plan…does not justify its termination.

Abortion. Is. Genocide.

And we are witness to it. 100,000 deaths a month.

The Hutu’s had a choice…and they decided the Tutsi’s were an inconvenience to their plan. They allowed the enemy to take hold and were not given the ‘freedom’ of a personal pro-choice decision regarding another’s existence. They took the liberty, but are now in prison and those affected will live in turmoil for life; much like those who participate here. On American soil. Only the remains are so small they can go out in a trash bag and nobody notices. Out of sight, out of mind. [I will not post pictures as a means of comparison, but encourage anybody whose curious to know the difference...to do a personal search.]

How does one continue to live having witnessed a genocide? [Job 13:15 Though he slay me, yet I will hope in Him.]

I’m not sure what it is I am supposed to do with the overwhelm of this information. But I will continue to process, and write it down…

Habbakuk 2:2-3 Then the LORD replied: “Write down the revelationand make it plain on tablets so that a herald may run with it. 
For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false.Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.

Those whose hope is in the Lord will renew their strength… Isaiah 40:31

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I struggled with posting this…I posted it a couple days ago, then took it down. Its been weighing very heavily on me, but I feel released to publish it today. I shared this morning with my Singles Group at church about my trip and about all this. When I sat down, I felt the Lord whispering to my soul…that it doesn’t all have to make sense to me. What I see and witness and the things He shows me are for His glory. Some things penetrate to my soul – messages for me directly. Other things He just shows me because I asked Him to show me the things that break His heart. The hard things He shows me, He does not ask me to carry. Not all things are a responsibility for me to take action on. Witnessing life increases compassion for the atrocities in it. I have to remember that Jesus died also for the perpetrators of the Rwandan genocide [And every other genocide that has happened or is happening now]. I will stand in the gap and pray about all that I’ve seen; salvation for the perpetrators; peace for the victims; and justice for all.

John 16:32 “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”