Transformation

From the rural villages of the vast expanse of land that is Ethiopia, girls travel for miles, for days, from family and familiar to the door steps of urban settings to find work and a better life.

They are often forced into this situation due to poverty, large families and lack of educational opportunities. 

They are desperate. 

They are destitute. 

They are deceived.

Deceived into thinking that this life will be better than the life they lived before.

Often they find work as child slaves, forced into domestic services without pay, forced out of education with time spent on preparing food, looking after children and keeping house while their "employers" work.  Often times it's their own families who send them away to help with the work of another family living in the rural setting.  

As these young girls grow, they try to find work. No longer able to sustain a living in the home and often ousted because they are too demanding on the household income.

So they go out onto the street looking for jobs. Work for an uneducated, inexperienced GIRL is not easy to find. She can get manual labour but even then she may be rejected.

One of our girls was. "You're too young" she was told. Maybe by international child labour laws, to work for a internationally seen institution, she was too young. "Go look for work in a bar" this young, naive teenage girl was advised.

Huh. You are too young to chip at cobblestones but you are not too young to work at a bar.

In this particular case, a case not too uncommon, the girl was raped. Introduced to drinking and sex by a "friend" who she had found on the street. This preceded her finding work in a bar where selling alcohol earned far less than selling her body. 

This is actually the typical case study - one that was portrayed last year at one of the Addis Ababa sites of EWAR.  One drama that was giggled at by women who knew the story, oh, too. well.

It was a story of a girl who came from the rural village to find work, discovered she was incompetent at city life then was befriended by someone who took pity on her. She was raped, she was deceived and she went on to find hope at EWAR. It was a story of survival.

When survival outweighs knowledge, one has to succumb to survival.

Though they know better. Though they are worth more, if hope is lost, survival strategies take first priority.

I remember attending my first training with Ellilta Women at Risk. Unbeknownst to me, it was an ICAP Africa training and it was based around trauma. There were some amazing speakers there from the Seattle School and they were preparing the participants on how to deal with trauma in their ministries. I heard stories that would make most horror films I had seen, sound lame.

But they were TRUE stories! How could such evil exist? I thought. And my question was answered over the couple of days I was there.

Evil was sent to destroy what Good had intended for all. It came to destroy beauty. It came to destroy sexual pleasure that displays the glory of the One who created it to be enjoyed.

But I had never anticipated that I would engage with such stories. That the women who stood outside the houses that lined the streets of Zion Church would be carriers and victims of such gross evil. In my total naivety, I never would have imagined that such horrific events would have led such innocent girls down the path of sexual commercialization. Not JUST the selling of their bodies, but the giving away of their souls. For free. At a price that they themselves have paid. Some for years and some since they were just babies.

So, in His intricate design, this Bringer of Hope, placed together the right people and the right community to rescue these girls from their despair.

In Debre Zeit, it happened like this. That this broken mother of five from New Zealand would be flying across the Indian Ocean to join a team she had met thru a post on Facebook, to join an entourage of ten from America to be introduced to an organization called Ellilta Women at Risk. Two years later her and her family were planted in a city where a church who was desperately trying to reach out to the women working in their location were needing some extra support. As she had been introduced to EWAR, she then in turn introduced them. So an alliance was formed against the enemy and the battle begun in Debre Zeit.

The model was applied into the context of this community where women enter into their brothels with nothing and they leave with nothing. So a 24/7 rehabilitation centre was planned and eventually implemented. The team comprised of workers from Addis Ababa EWAR and staff from Zion Church (aka Tsion Mekane Yesus Church).

The "team" also expanded across the globe as people gave to support the cause. Ladies took up responsibility for their Ethiopian sisters and set up fundraising campaigns, from head shaving ideals, to yard sales, formal galas and glass blown necklaces with the word "HOPE" stamped on the front. Their community of support multiplied.

One of our first drop ins with the ladies who are now graduating from our house

On the ground, the EWAR leadership assigned Abrehet (who was originally a part of the staff in Nazaret who I had met in 2009) to oversea our site. She put together plans and proposals and instigated our licence application (and saw it thru up until our latest report.)

We had counselors with years of experience come on a weekly basis to have one on one time in trauma counselling sessions. Other staff came to deliver the 12 step rehabilitation program, health, skills and work training components as well as parenting and basic maths skills.

From the get go we pushed relationship and showed a love that demanded nothing in return. Nigist (Pastors wife from Zion Church and social worker in our Hope House) not only executed this policy but also taught our illiterate girls how to read and write in a short amount of time.

We also added a fitness component at the girls request. My darling husband would leave home at six in the morning to reach the house by 7am to train the girls in resistance exercises and boxing. They. Loved. It.

We ate together, laughed together, cried together and examined ourselves TOGETHER. We were vulnerable together.

If there's one thing I love about what Cherry (aka Serawit Friedmeyer) has taught me and that we have tried to implement in our work, its that we are all equal. We serve each other equally. We admonish each other equally. There is no one who is above anyone in our project site.

 If God has created us all equal, then surely we should act like it.

Here is a clip of the work we have seen Him do over the last seven months. Thank you to all those who have contributed so far! God is so good!

I've been wanting to write this story for SO long...

It’s a story of heart break and betrayal.  A story that bears the scars of an inner wound that stings as if it were freshly made, yet it had sunken so deep; buried under piles of rubble and debris of years gone past.  Rubble now named contempt, shame, dishonesty and denial. 

Who knew that a work to heal a broken heart would take so much longer than a year?  And that the revelation of the damage that was done would be discovered amidst the motion of writing…and then sharing with strangers as if dividing it apart to distribute and expose the secretly written to an open audience.  The exposure resurfaced the wound yet it allowed it to heal a new.  Like it had never been healed before.  Actually, in the resurfacing I discovered it had NEVER been healed before.

“Will you grow in tenderness towards the child that has been contaminated by harm?” Dan asks us. 

A room full of people working with people who have experienced harm.  As children and as adults yet they have never found the healing or the hope.   Yet WE offer them that hope and that healing but we were now being challenged to experience it for ourselves.

We broke up into groups of five and shared our stories out loud.  In an uncomfortable silence we awaited feedback from those around us.  Soft tender hearts were there to bear the pain.

“Redemption happens when you allow people to dwell in your heart and grieve and fight for you.”

And then in their grieving they see a perspective of MY story I never saw before.  Like discovering the key to the treasure box that held my healing.  But the healing still demanded something from me.

Again he challenges…”You have to give up a lot to write your story.  We have to give up our loyalties.  It is true that we have a great loyalty to Jesus UNTIL we are asked to give up other gods.  So where do your loyalties lie?” 

Loyalties and honor.  Both touchy subjects that were covered to bring light to the battle that raged in not only our minds but in our world views.  In my world view.  So slowly my loyalties shifted and the loyalty lay in the healing that needed to be done for me, for my family, for my ladies.  My loyalty lay in the Healer. 

So I clung to the process and endured the pain again of the sacrifice.

In the sacrifice and in the honesty that surpassed the desire to dwell with the wound any longer there was a loneliness that begged for me to search deeper to find where God was in that place of pain.

“In beauty there is brokenness.  All beauty bears brokenness… God intends to use the scars to bring Him glory.”

Last year I wrote a blog about God wanting to heal my broken heart.  It coincided with a tumultuous time for me and my family.  I felt a need to drop down, a picture of a falling flat on my face.  So I did it- literally.  Nothing changed.

As we drew near to the end of the story writing workshop I was reminded of this falling down.   At the beginning Dan challenged us with this question- “Can you enter into the stories of death in your own life?  When our lives are meant to tell the story of the death, burial and resurrection of Christ.”

Entering into death is not easy.  It was exemplified in others in my group who had the courage to do so in the company of tender hearts.  Yet I did it in the quietness of my room- I finally found the falling down, the dying.. and as it caused the tears to flow again, I opened my little pink Bible and found solace in the words from the pages that have held my heart afloat for so many years. 

“For you have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you have received the Spirit of Adoption, whereby we cry ABBA Father.  The Spirit itself bears witness with our Spirit that WE are the children of God.  And if children then heirs, heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ, if so be that we suffer WITH Him that we may also be glorified TOGETHER.” Rom 8:15-17 (emphasis added)

So I am comforted by the fact that I am an ADOPTED child who has been chosen by LOVE (which perfectly casts out all the fear that had taken up reign in my heart) and that in turn allowed me to not suffer alone but suffer WITH Christ, so that we may be resurrected in glory together. 

A story that waited to be written for so long to bring healing to my heart was finally inked onto paper as an expression of the pain.  A pain that I had tried to physically express as a teenager by taking a craft knife to my hands; a pain I had tried to spiritually express as I found Forgiveness that caused me to “forgive” and forget, pressing on but not entering in; a pain that I had let control my emotions more than I had realized as my trying to keep my distance from it turned my face to re-enact it over and over again. 

Yet it was a pain that desired to be entered into like a tomb with a stone that had rolled away, calling out to reveal the light of the resurrection that could only happen upon the entering in- the falling down into the grave that needed to happen for real resurrection and ascension to occur.   And in that ascended place, I am able to reach down again and help to pull those who are still fighting the death. 

The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised,- Jesus Christ (Luke 4:18)