After all I did for YOU!!

I should have been able to tell already by the man in front of me in the queue that this visit to the Transport office was not going to be fun.  Though I couldn’t understand all that he said, I knew from the few words I could understand and his body language that he was letting the lady behind the glass window know about how frustrating the lack of directions and instructions in this office was for him.  Him! The Amharic speaking and reading returnee from Canada.  I was a non-Amharic reading person from New Zealand and all I knew was which window to go to.  I did know though that I could pick up from where he was and asked him to help me get through this gruelling process of acquiring an Ethiopian drivers licence. 

This was not my first visit to the office.  I had been before- a couple of times on information seeking trips with Amharic speakers who at that time gave me some non-conclusive advice.  At that time there was no New Zealand Embassy and authentications were required from them to get our local licences stamped and authenticated as real.  So New Zealand was not even on “the list” of acceptable licences.  I found out later that New Zealanders up until that point had to go to the British Embassy to get our licences authenticated.  Apparently, one of the most expensive Embassies to get stamps from!

I waited.  We don’t have a car, so there was no point in hurrying to get a licence.  I knew the New Zealand Embassy was in the pipelines and our Ambassador had been elected at that point so I delayed the licence process.

Can I just say that again though.  We don’t have a car.  Since the time our first son was born, we bought our first car.  It was 1998 and it was a Toyota Mirage that we bought for 800NZD.  It didn’t take long to save for that car but it was the best thing we could have done with 800NZD.  Asaua had made a pact with himself that when he had a family, that they would never ride public transport.  That was for poor people, he had decided.  And we would at least be able to afford a car.  Back then, petrol was 79c a liter.  For a long time.  That wasn’t hard to do.  To fill up a tank on $20 was not something I never remember complaining about.  It was cheap and we knew it.  We would take advantage of it and go for long drives to the lake on the other side of town (the one thing I missed about living on the North Shore).  Even when we upgraded to the Ford Econovan 12 seater to fit some kids in to take to church, we would load it up with youth and take them for late night swims at our leisure.  This was a leisure that seized once the twins came along and the van downgraded to a people mover and filled up a lot faster with our family taking up most of the room – then all of the room as no.4 and no.5 children came along.

That people mover, we sold for 1000NZD when we left New Zealand.  It helped to move THESE people (us) to Ethiopia.  That was almost three years ago and so for three years we have had no car.  Imagine living without a car.  There’s not the freedom of being able to drive at your own given time at your own given pace.  We have others driving for us in various shapes and forms- all adding to the adventure of life here.  Yet we have no privacy.  If we go anywhere, people know.  People stop and stare and say what they please if unrestrained by common courtesy.  As our daughters develop into beautiful young women, the tendency for men to stare and make innuendos becomes more common.  There’s also the added amount of time it takes to walk to the bus station, wait on the bajaj driver to come from the other side of town that really turns what should be a ten minute trip into a two hour trip.  Then there’s the uncomfortable, undignifying positions you can get into when squashing yourself into a minibus that should seat ten, and you’re the twentieth person to get in.  Or really from the fourteenth on it can get pretty revealing.  In New Zealand we would say, “Oh Novis!”

So this year, we are really, really praying and believing for a car.  We can’t afford to buy one, even if hire purchase was an option as would be possible in New Zealand.  Our support would not accommodate the payments we would have to make on ANY vehicle.  The main reason being that private vehicles in Ethiopia incur a 200% tax.  So that Toyota Estima we sold in New Zealand for $1000 and was probably more likely valued at $5000 would sell here for $15000.  No less for sure.  We can only DREAM of owning such a car here now.  But we are believing for something.  For God to pull through on what WE can’t do, but we know HE can...  For safety, for time, for privacy.  We not only WANT a car, WE NEED a car!!

So as we pray for a car, we are asking a God who created SPACE before He filled it with STARS.  He created land before He filled it with land dwelling creatures.  He is in the business of capacity building so WE need to get a licence in our household so God can supply that licence to drive with a car!! And as I am the only one game enough (or desperate enough) to drive on these roads, I started the process of getting my licence. 

It meant I had to go to our Embassy at the Hilton Hotel in Addis Ababa on one day.  Go to the Foreign Affairs office on another day.  Then go with my documents to this Transport on THIS day.  Almost a month after the last two visits.  Not even sure if I had everything I needed STILL I asked the lady behind the fourth window I was directed to, to check what I had to see if I had everything I needed.  Pushing through a couple of other men, after standing  there in front of her for about twenty minutes, (that MAY OR MAY NOT BE  an exaggeration) I asked that she please just look at my folder. 

Kindly, she obliged then stumbled across my photocopied licence with the stamps I had acquired and paid for from both the previously mentioned offices.  “New Zealand?” she said then promptly went to check “the list”.  This “list” had all the Embassies that they accepted authentications from.  Before they didn’t have it because we had no Embassy, but now that we had one, and our Embassy workers had gained their licences through this process, I was sure that she would come back at me with a grin and a “oh, here it is, yes we have that Embassy on our list!” in Amharic.

Maybe I went there with too high an expectation.  I had told my kids as I left home that morning, that IF (thinking that an IF would be a WHEN) I would come back with my licence that we would celebrate at dinner time.  Maybe I was being unrealistic from the get go.  I mean after all our experiences with government systems and procedures here, there is more likely a rejection and come back with additional papers, than an immediate acceptance.

So the busy lady behind the computer, standing in front of the glass that extended out to the department behind her with hundreds of people (mainly men) waiting in the cold of Addis Ababa’s morning frost, stared back up from the list. 

“No New Zealand”.  “What?” I asked.  “What’s New Zealand?” She repeated as if to say, she doesn’t even know if the country exists.  Stunned at her response and not knowing what to do, I asked what embassy I should go to.  She shrugged her shoulders and went back to her previous file.  “So you’re not even going to help me?!” My last statement was ignored and I walked away.  Her words ringing in my ears.  Our friends had dropped me off at the office so I left with no one to talk to and no credit on my phone to call anyone to debrief (or rant about) my current situation.

I found myself conjuring up a “could have been conversation” in my head.  The one I always have with myself AFTER the fact of the matter has past and it’s too late to respond.  But this time, it went something like this:

“What’s New Zealand?! New Zealand is a country so far away that it took us 24 hours in the air to get here.  It’s the country that’s so full of beauty, the tourism industry is it’s second biggest grossing industry.  It’s a country that holds the people we love so dearly and that often tempts our return with it’s conveniences and comforts that we used to take for granted.  It’s the country that I have had a licence to drive in for almost twenty years!! AND It’s a country that me, my husband and five children left to come and help YOUR people and YOU won’t even help ME!”

My mind had stepped over the boundaries of my own limitations.  “After all I did for you!” is not a part of my life’s philosophy and something that I always have to measure my intentions against.  Maybe it’s the FEAR of holding THIS against someone that was being reflected back on me.  It's so easy when we do something for someone, to think they owe us something in return.  But this is not the way of the Kingdom. 

When working with people, we shouldn’t hold our own sacrifices against THEM.  Jesus never did.  His sacrifice on the cross didn’t necessitate our obedience or loyalty.  That’s our choice that He has given us the freedom to choose. 

“After I all I did for you” conjures up a sense of entitlement.  I am entitled to your loyalty, your reciprocation of my actions, your affection, because I did THIS for YOU!  The thing is that even though we SEE the people we seek to serve, the person we are doing this FOR is for the One who has called us. 

“For what we proclaim is not ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as servants for Jesus’ sake.  For God who said “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.  But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.  2 Cor 4:5-7

We are but the jars of clay that God has chosen to use as His hands and feet to the beautiful people of Africa.  Jesus emptied himself to come here to earth, so how minute is it to leave our country, to come to this one?  It’s nothing.  In fact, its just our "reasonable service."  (Romans 12:1) It's not even the above and beyond.  And it’s not for that lady behind the desk, or the ladies we work with, it’s for the King of our hearts who loves us so dearly, that He compels us to share His Love with those who may not know it.

As I left the Transport office in my raging thoughts, I went to buy a phone card to top up my phone so I could call my husband.  The man who sold me the phone card was blind.  He had a small stall out at the busy intersection that hosted the Transport office and main road that joined Addis Ababa to the Southern cities of Ethiopia.  Even without the ability to see, he pulled out a 50birr card and then 50birr worth of 10birr bills to change for my 100birr.  “You are so clever” I said to him in Amharic.  “I am,” he replies, “I can run around with my friends and run my business”.  He didn’t let his disability get in the way of him using his ABILITIES to make a life for himself.  Encouraged by his determination, I smiled and went back into a taxi full of 17 people on the 30 kilometer rocky road home.  Ready to come back another day.  

Our Selam and her journey back to find her family.. Shared with her permission

Among the nineteen ladies who came to our first drop in time, she was the one who stood out.  As we questioned those women who had all come off the street of Zion Church about their background and personal details, SHE was the one who stopped the flow of shallow retorts.  

She 

          went 

                      deep. 

Already at the enquiry of her age, we started to question her surety. “22 years” said her baby face. Then as we asked where she was from, an upset arose among the ladies.  As she started to cry, one of the other ladies explained what was really going on.  She could not remember where she was from because she had been taken away from her family at an age where children take for granted where they live and familiar surroundings are just named HOME. 

Selam was not her given name but this was a name she had acquired on the street.  She had been desperately waiting to be rescued for years from this life but knew no other way out.  Until the Great Rescuer came along.  Selam attended all our drop in sessions then the subsequent one on ones, and she was the one who made the biggest upset when we delayed the moving in to the house.  She was desperate for change- not wanting to wait even one week longer!  She was the one I spoke about on Valentines Day.  She was the first to ASK to be taken to church and the most familiar with the Christian songs, yet her story sung the songs of heart break. 

She remembered that her house was near a Livestock market and she remembered her mother’s name.  Yet all other details were still blurry to her.  She knew what region she was from and what religion her family practiced but to decipher what city she could go to find her family was near impossible. 

Recently, she went on a trip with one of our staff to try and find the family she so longed to reconnect with. The family she dreamed of when all her friends were called by theirs and the family she was unjustly taken from at such a young age.  Wogayu, one of our staff had a mother in the same region and she had begun some investigation of which direction they could head.  After coming up with a destination and a budget of time and money they needed to reach there, with our support and prayers, we decided to send them off.

Friday the 13^th was the day Selam and Wogayu left to go on a search for the family that Selam had been taken from many years ago.  From 9am to 10:30 they went to Nazaret, Wogayu’s home town- the place where she once worked on the streets and then had been restored after entering the Ellilta Women at Risk program ten years ago.  Now the home to her Beltena spice business that successfully runs each Saturday during the week by her and throughout the week by her son. 

They set out on a seven hour bus trip down South past Asela to a town called Robel.  Here, tired from their journey and aware of the little sunlight they still had left in the day, they began their search and they started by asking an old lady from the Orthodox Church.  Some of the people there started to help them by taking them around. They started asking people on the road around the city if anyone knew this lady who had birthed Selam.  A first name was all she had. 

That night they found someone who claimed to know Selam’s mother.  Not only did the lady she claimed to be her mother have the same name as Selam’s, but the sister had the same name as well.  The heartbreak came, however, when she told them that the mother had died.  So they went on a search for the daughter to get some more information; the whole while nervous and unsure of what this discovery would reveal.  Upon the finding of her daughter, they also discovered they were Gurage (another tribe far from where Selam was searching) so Selam was relieved that this couldn’t have in fact been her family. 

From 6am they started looking the next day at the market.  They paid a lady 50birr to help them find her.  This lady said she knew a lady by the same name as Selams mother but it was the wrong lady.  She did however come across a familiar face- they found a man in the market who Selam recognized from her childhood.  She excitedly approached this merchant at the market, expecting to have her excitement reciprocated but he didn’t show any recognition of Selam.  Discouraged, they went away and found his son who was willing to help them out, yet with no leads. 

That night, for the second time, they found another lady who claimed to be her mother. This lady had also had her daughter taken when she was five or six and she had the same name as Selam’s mother, but after some questioning, they found out that she wasn’t.  This hopelessness Selam had experienced, was a hopelessness that plagued many other people in rural Ethiopia.  The taking of young girls to do the work of others in more urban settings.

After a restless morning, they went to rest in a hotel reception area and were propositioned by some men looking for a “good time”.  Wogayu was sure to let them know that they were not for sale and that they were women of God.  A great role model for Selam who may not have known how to approach such a situation so fresh off the streets.

Another encounter they had was when they were trying to find a place to have Jebena Buna (the traditional Ethiopian coffee).  They ended up at the neighbour of one place they were directed to where the man inside (an Orthodox priest none the less) was one of Selam’s old customers.  Unaware of their arrival, his wife and children had gathered to make coffee for them.  He sat there trying to hide his face.  He was an onion farmer who had often come to the market in Debre Zeit to sell his produce.  As the Red Light district and Zion Church are both located near the market, often the farmers and merchants who come from the rural areas are the regular customers of these women.  During harvest season they make their homes in with these women and pay meagre prices for bed and services rendered by the prostitutes on the street.

Sunday they went onto the next city where Wogayu’s relative lived- a familiar face and comfortable place to stay was to be a breath of fresh air from the so far discouraging attempts they were making.  He knew the Mayor of the neighbouring city called Dixus so he called him to see if he knew of Selam’s mother and wanted to know if she was there.  A light at the end of the tunnel came as he confirmed that he did in fact know her mom and he encouraged them to come by taxi and meet him at the bus station. 

On their journey, the Mayor had informed Selam’s family about the call he had received and they all started making their way to the bus station.  When Selam arrived she was met by her family- Her mom, wailing and fallen down in unbelief at the return of her daughter- her pregnant sister who fainted at the sight of her long lost sister and her brothers who had missed out the opportunity to enjoy the playful moments of their childhood along with their long lost sister.   A sister they had all assumed was dead. 

Her mother questioned her about personal events that only Selam (or Zerfe as they knew her) would know- what was her nickname, who were the brothers that used to sneak money away from their mom’s purse, also what was the thing she used to drink a lot as a child.  Once she answered them all correctly, she knew this was in fact her daughter.  She also confirmed Selam’s age- she is in fact only 17 years old.  (Needless to say WE are not surprised.)

They heard stories of what happened after Selam had been taken.  She wasn’t the only one who had been taken.  Her neighbour had taken Selam along with her own sister.  The whole village went on a search to find the couple who had done this awful thing.  They would never find them.  They had taken Selam and her sister up North far away from where they lived.  Here this lady sold her sister off to another man while she kept Selam, tortured her, sexually abused her and bound her hand and feet in a dark room.  Every now and then she was sent out to purchase things at the market or shop.  On her travels one day she heard a group gathered singing in one place and she entered.  It was a group of Christians singing praises to their God and worshipping him and speaking of His grace.  She befriended a girl there who would often take her in.  This was her saving grace, even though it meant she would return home late and suffer punishment for it. 

At one stage, this ladies father came to warn her about the wrong she was doing, but the lady, stubborn and evil, planned to kill her father the next day.  Her neighbour, having caught wind of her plans, called her father to have coffee with her and pleaded with him to escape. 

The one who became her owner, also owned a business at the market that caused her to go out and buy and sell in different cities.  One time when Selam was left at home by herself with her husband, he took advantage of her.  He brutally raped her to the point that her dress stained red with the blood that represented the unwillingness of her body for such an act.  Once again, the neighbour lady saw Selam and knew what her outcome would be if this evil lady had come back to find her in this state-knowing that she had been the object of her husband’s affection.  She told Selam to flee for her life and gave her some money to get her to the next town. 

Still only about 9 years old, Selam found herself on the street with nowhere to go.  A nice Christian bajaj driver, took her in to his home and kept her there with his family for two years until he started experiencing domestic difficulties and Selam found herself once again out on the road.  With no education, and nowhere to go, Selam travelled to Addis Ababa and was encouraged by another girl to start working the streets.  Here she would be able to earn an income that would at least keep her alive.  Already accustomed to drinking at a young age, Selam would drink to drown the sorrows that held captive her young and precious soul.

Meanwhile, her family reported, that a couple of years later, the thieving neighbours who had taken Selam from them had indeed returned.  The lady was thrown in Jail but she insisted that she still had Selam safe and sound in another city so she paid 10000birr (the equivalent of around 1000USD at that time) bail to be released from the cells yet she never returned. 

Pictured, Selam with her family and friends before she was taken.  She was eight years old at the time of her disappearance and much loved by her family.  Her disappearance caused her mother to have a nervous breakdown.  Her father had already died

Her family are Orthodox but also practice idol worship and did so in front of Selam.  They also started to drink alcohol while Selam and Wogayu opted for soft drinks.  Selam shared what had happened in her life since her disappearance- including her life in prostitution, the birth and death of her baby as a consequence of her lifestyle and then her rescue from it through our rehabilitation project. She told them all about her life at the Hope House and all the people involved so that her family understood that it wasn’t just Wogayu who had played a part in her life change, not just one person or even a program- but in fact God who had done all this for her.

They were amazed at her new found life and said that they had never heard of people helping people like we had helped them and Selam.  They said that it was a good religion, we are good people and perhaps the religion she had now found was one they had never heard about.  

Wogayu also reported of the demonic possession of Selams mother.  This demon manifested at their meeting.  He was talking to Selam and asking her “why did you leave? You left our “horse” and she was all nervous.” It also went onto ask why she brought Wogayu and why she is praying against them? They said they are good spirits and not evil so she should leave them alone.  Wogayu was in the background praying the whole time and covering Selam with the blood of Jesus. 

Selam also found out she has an older brother in Nazaret and that in fact Wogayu knew this brother- without knowing there was any relation.  He and another brother also plan to come and visit Selam in Debre Zeit.  They came home rejoicing and sick.  All the crying gave them headaches and the sleepless nights too.  God was surely with them and although it was challenging in the beginning, the final result was sweet. 

Just this last week, Selams mother called and asked her to pray for her.  She said that she doesn't want to worship these false gods any more.  That she needs what Selam has and she still deeply misses Selam.  Please continue to pray for this family and for the ripple effects of what this reunion will mean. 

For all of those who have believed in us and enabled us to help bring healing to these women.  WE can't express how thankful we are.  God bless you all.

Almost three years and counting...

A Song of Ascents.

When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who DREAM.

Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, "The LORD has done great things for them."

The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad.

Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like streams in the Negeb!

Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy!

He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.  Psa 126:1-6 

If there is a chapter in the Bible that resonates with my experiences with Ethiopia, it is this one.  Not only because verse 3 was written above the doorway of the first Kale Hiwot church I visited in Ambo, but also because it was the first chapter I heard read in our first church service in the Meseret Kristos Church here in Debre Zeit. 

Then of course there are the practical applications.  Let me break it down.

Verse 1- There are fortunes that once were associated with Ethiopia.  The Queen of Sheba came from Ethiopia to visit King Solomon bearing her truckloads of riches.  I recently found out that some of those riches were discovered in the Northern part of Ethiopia just a few years ago.  The people of Ethiopia have a rich heritage of wealth and prosperity but somewhere along the way, that fortune was displaced.  As a result, the identity has been lost somewhere.  And in that loss, was the loss of their ability to dream.  

When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who DREAM

We who live or have lived in lands where opportunities and possibilities are endless to the point where we attach the word DREAM to our countries identity and vision more often than not take dreaming for granted. We think that the ability to CREATE, to think outside the box, to IMAGINE and ENVISION then build a pathway (often called a Strategic Plan) to see that Vision become REALITY is all a part of life ...but not so for all. 

Years ago a colleague of mine asked me what is my dream. At that stage I was helping other people put together plans and apply for funding to build their community groups. I said that this was MY dream, to help others realize THEIR dreams. But he challenged me to reengage with the dream that I had potentially buried and filed away in the NULL AND VOID folder of my life. I told him of my crazy dream to some day go to Ethiopia. Once that dream had been revisited and reawakened in my heart by the voicing of it, it didn't take long for me to make it happen to explore whether or not this was a God dream or a me dream. Turns out it was HIS.

But what a responsibility we have as Gods ambassadors to reawaken the dream in those around us. That they would become like those of us who take dreaming for granted. I love now to do the favour that man did for me - to ask "what is YOUR dream?" and then when a blank is drawn, to ask again "what WAS your dream when you were a little girl and all of life's cares weren't overwhelming your ability to dream?" then I hear an answer.. And their normally pretty achievable. But they didn't think it was so...

There is a day coming when the fortunes of Ethiopia will be restored and it will no longer be affiliated with the term FAMINE, but the word FORTUNE.  No longer with the word POVERTY but the word PROSPERITY.  I see the sun rising on that day.  Slowly it is bringing hope and the ability to dream again for it’s people.  No longer will the desire to dream be quashed by their own inability to provide for the dream, but even within their very own capacity and God’s provision and restoration dreams will be so big others will be astonished.  

They will say like verse 2:

Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, "The LORD has done great things for them." The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad

I read this last verse among the verses posted on the Ambo Kale Hiwot church on my short term visit in 2009.  It wasn’t a prophetic statement of what they will say when God restores their fortunes but it resembled their gratitude for what God had already done.  I hear this song of thanksgiving here from the ash heap, from the mud huts, from the under-resourced, unfurnished Sunday school class room.  A song of praise to a God who has done great things for His people.  Their mouths are filled with Ellilta praise.  The movement of their tongues which fills their mouth and manifests from a heart that is filled with joy. 

Joy that transcends circumstances.  

Joy that isn’t dependant upon receipt of goods.  

But Joy that comes with the knowing of Who is in control.  

They are believing for the restoration to occur, for the God of the Bible to do what He has done before.  I love to sit in the Wednesday healing services at Tsion Church because the building is filled with people hungry for God to move and answer their prayers.  They gather in droves and agree in harmonious unity to the preaching of Life that is typical in such meetings.  Here I have filled my “Amharic words” folder on my phone with phrases that have required repeating from the audience.  Phrases like:

I will not stop!

I will pass over!

I will speak!

I am not afraid!

Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like streams in the Negeb!

I hear the tear filled prayers here.  Prayers said face down in the rocks to a God who may take up the cause of the humble servant.  Simultaneously I hear the SHOUTS OF JOY when prayers are answered.  Shouts unrestrained, unashamed, unaware of people around or cultural norms, but FULLY aware of the God who answered their prayers.  HALLELUJAHs that startle the crowd as right in the pew, God answers a prayer.  People being healed, people having revelations of God’s goodness in their situation, people shouting out to a God who has delivered them of demonic forces.  People who are about to reap their harvest. 

Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy!

He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.

As we head into the end of our third year here, I am thankful for the God who gives the desire to DREAM and for the dreams HE has even enabled US to dream again and see come to reality.  I thank HIM for the opportunity He has given us to be able to serve in such a special country that perhaps HE placed in our Hearts because of His heart for this country.  What a privilege it is to be an ambassador of that heart.  Thanks for all those who pray for us.  

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)

Imagine...

I was born into a government that two years ago was rated least corrupt in the whole world.  The benefits of that system were that all of the money that taxpayers paid, were by in large used to benefit its people. Not just the ones who paid their taxes but also those who couldn't afford to. Sometimes by no fault of their own. Other times because of bad decisions they had made. Even the criminals who live in multi million dollar facilities. Even those who chose bad lifestyles that forced them into hospital. Even teenage mothers who found themselves with a baby to feed and no income to feed it. A majority of their services were free thanks to taxpayers money and a majority of it was unearned. Yet, this was a socially acceptable way to distribute money and it hasn't yet hindered the economic growth of our country.

I was born again into a new government system when I accepted Jesus as my personal Saviour in 1997. I became a Citizen of Heaven. Jesus became my new ruling agency. The Lord of my life. I voted him in. He won in the election rally that was going on in my heart. I became a part of His party, His Kingdom, His Church which the Bible says is His bride. I represent Him.

In Isaiah 9:6 there is a prophecy about the coming Messiah - Jesus. Within that verse it says that the "government shall be upon His shoulder". I found this commentary about that statement in Gills exposition of the Bible. It says

And the government shall be upon his shoulder: not only of the world in general, but of the church in particular; this child is born to royal dignity; he is King of saints; his government consists in ruling in the hearts of his people, in enacting laws for them, and causing them to submit unto them, in subduing their enemies, in protecting them, their persons and properties, rights and liberties, and in supplying them with everything necessary; (emphasis added) and this government is delegated to him from his Father, is devolved upon him by him, is not of this world, but is spiritual; it is righteously administered, is peaceable, and will continue for ever: and its being said to be "upon his shoulder" is an allusion to magistrates having a key or rod laid on their shoulders, as ensigns of their office, or carried by their officers for them, see Isaiah 9:4 and it shows that it was laid upon him, or enjoined him by his father, though not against his will; and it denotes a weight of honour and care bore by him, whose shoulders are fit for the same, and equal to it; and that he is the prop and support of his church and people, who are safe under his government and protection:

Two and a half years ago, we chose to come to Ethiopia and live under the government system that exists here. We are subject to its every mandate. We cannot live here unless we follow its rule. But the support it offers to its people; tax payers and non tax payers alike is so highly contrasted to that of our country of citizenship. Both in the natural and the spiritual.

We see the effects of it every day. I felt the effects of it yesterday as I woke up to an email from a poverty alleviation group I am on the email list for. Its asking me to sign a petition to help move governments to action so that more people in developing countries (like Ethiopia) can be educated.

I reply irritated. I know FAR too many people who are still not educated. I work with five.. I am asked constantly to work with more. To help more receive the "free" education the government here has promised. Yet they still charge for. More even than what we pay in New Zealand.

And then I start to talk with my King and I start to imagine. And I post this status on Facebook:

Imagine if we viewed the Kingdom as a GOVERNMENT that sat upon the Shoulders of its King. The heirs to the throne were set a part for the work of the Kingdom. They were established to identify and help meet the needs of its people. That like a democratic System it gathered the voice of its people and then used its resources to fight the works of its opposition to gain a higher party delegate. But not to benefit the party, but to ACTUALLY benefit the people. With all its resources gathered, none of its members NOR even the members of the opposition party should live in poverty because they understood the meaning of relationship and giving because these are the foundational principles of the Kingdom it serves.

See, more than the New Zealand government I was born into or the Ethiopian government I am subject to, I am a child of the King and HE has MANY children the world wide. The King of that government, as above, desires to supply the needs for all of them.  Imagine if He was able to disperse those funds so that this desire could be accomplished.  But He is not a forceful communist King.  He is a Loving Father who has supplied a book that is meant to bring “instruction, correction and edification.” 

He has instructed US, His children, Heirs to His throne, Princes and Princesses, Kindgom citizens to GIVE to the poor. Not just to the church bucket that passes around the pews of the church where everyone can see and tax breaks are given, but also to those who will not give ANYTHING  in return.

While I did some time in Bible College- two Bible Colleges. Both experiences opened me up to two astounding facts I HAD never heard before and have never heard since.

Early historical writings, around the time of the early church by a non-Christian writer, noted of the "church" at the time that they were a people who LOVED eachother and looked out for each other so much that they SOLD even their own things so they could distribute their wealth equally.

Hello?! This is not some radical martyr pseudo facade these people were pursuing. They were actually being obedient to their God and displaying Him in all their generosity! They brought Him Glory with their sacrificial acts.

The next Bible College I attended made me aware that 70% of all instructions to give in the Bible were referring to giving to the Jerusalem offering which was for the POOR.

Not to build nice buildings to attract some more people to be comfortable. Or to put out the newest sound system. The offering was for those in need. To share the gospel of Love thru actions of Love to represent the Father of Love. The governor General.

I am currently reading a book called Radical- Taking back your faith from the American Dream  by David Platt.  I feel like we are kindred spirits.  He writes in there:

The price of our non-discipleship is high for those without Christ.  It is high also for the poor of this world.  Consider the cost when Christians ignore Jesus’ commands to sell their possessions and give to the poor and instead choose to spend their resources on better comforts, larger homes, nicer cars and more stuff.  Consider the cost when these Christians gather in churches and choose to spend millions of dollars on nice buildings to drive up to, cushioned chairs to sit in, and endless programs to enjoy for themselves.  Consider the cost for the starving multitudes who sit outside the gate of contemporary Christian affluence. 

Oh imagine if we applied that selflessness, that Kingdom perspective to the global village that we live in. I believe the King wants that. I really, really do.  Imagine how much glory His Kingdom would receive when the representatives of Him actually followed through on living out His commands to GIVE to the poor. 

It sounds all very RADICAL and over the top.  I totally recommend this book and selling some of your belongings to help out your poor brothers and sisters who may not be sitting outside your church gates, but are sitting somewhere crying out to God for Him to help them.  Maybe, just MAYBE HE wants to use YOU to be a conduit of His blessing.  Maybe in giving you might find that YOU indeed end up being more blessed than those who receive.  There is a chemical reaction, a release of hormonal goodness that makes us feel Happy when we give, when we do GOOD.  My second grade teacher in Australia called them Warm Fuzzies.  My fifth form teacher in New Zealand may have called it endorphins.  But it comes as a result of selfless giving that is often hard for our minds to comprehend or partner up with the act of giving away material possessions that we hold so dear.

Oh Imagine how much more we could do.  Imagine.

The girls

I think about how humble these girls are and how hard it must have been for them to leave the street.  In doing so they acknowledge their inability to change by themselves.  They acknowledge their need for help.  They walk out in the face of the their peers who also had the same opportunity to leave but chose against it.  Admitting in the midst of all of their community that they are helpless against the evil that so easily besets them.  Humility.  That’s what they displayed.  Yet some would call it weakness.

As they entered the house they again faced their weakness.  Their inability to write or read.  Their lack of any education which sets them up for dependency at it’s fullest. 

But God “gives grace to the humble and resists the proud.”

When you call on me, you will find me when  you seek me with your whole heart.

For the last week I have seen them change.  Just in ten days.  From shying away and struggling against the desire to go BACK to now being content with where they are and excited about staying; about making this their home and about the future that awaits them back outside the walls around them.

And I remember how I am no different than them.  I too have sold myself short.  Not for money but for acceptance, for love, for companionship.

“Working with these girls will reflect things back to you about yourself so you have to be prepared for that”.  Wise words from Women at Risk counsellor, Wondesson.  That, without a doubt, is true.  Even from the first encounter I had with them in Nazaret, this truth reigned in my heart.  I really am no better than them.  I felt their shame, I know their regret.

We were given questions to talk through this first couple of weeks, questions to really get to know each 

other.  I learn how to say that- Iney kowukachuwegn… If you really knew me, you would know that my favourite colour is…etc.  But as the week progressed, the questions got deeper. 

My biggest dream is, my closest person is, my relationship with my family is, my most funniest moment was…

My greatest regret is..

Eek. 

I don’t even want to share mine yet they are being challenged to share theirs. 

I ask.  This one is hard isn’t it?

Right now I am planning a trip to the States with the Women at Risk staff for the ICAP (International Christian alliance on Prostitution)  Conference.  Preceding this, Dan Allaman, author of The Wounded Heart and member of ICAP is holding a workshop called “Your story becomes my story”.  It will help us who work with these women who have experienced great trauma to first deal with our own.

This past week we were sent our story writing assignment to do before we enter the preconference.  I cringe at the thought of bringing up the past.  A past that as I grew older I became to realize that it wasn’t all that bad.  But as my mum reminded me, in the eyes of a child, it was bad. 

I am sure, as are the facilitators, that this exercise will allow some past shames to resurface, some deeply hidden wounds will sting again and my fear of sharing them openly will be challenged. 

Yet these girls have stepped up to this challenge that soon I will face.  They will find healing in the midst of their trauma as they do so because they have found humility.  And they have hit rock bottom so they can only look up.

We on the other hand want to look like we have it all together, that we are completely restored yet our inner child needs tending to, our emotional outbursts reflect our wounded soul and our pride has orchestrated this facade that covers all our pain to all those who see only on the outside.

“But God looks on the heart.”

And He cares about the heart because out of IT flow the issues of life. 

Matthew 11:29

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. -Jesus

I love how when we humble ourselves, WE are the winners!! WE get grace.  WE get rest for our souls.  WE are finally able to overcome the stumbling blocks that pride puts up to stunt our growth, stunt our freedom.  Humility results in Rest for your souls.  

I am thankful for all the girls are teaching me and the humbling journey we are on together.

The House that Hope Built...

For six years it lay there empty, just waiting in HOPE for the right tenants to come along.  Meanwhile the Hibiscus blossomed heavenward and the flax trees grew; arching over the entrance like a bridal party were about to walk through or a Messiah was about to proceed through on a donkey.  The garden lay empty and the rooms lay bare all creating an atmosphere to be filled an enjoyed, loved and ploughed. 

“It’s PERFECT for your project” says the echoing chorus.  It is.  It is now working out the potential it held for so long.  With seeds that have been planted in the garden, children running around the space that surrounds the house that is now filled with furniture and laughter and love. It's been almost four weeks now. 

My brother in law once shared with me an example of two different styles of leadership.  It’s an example I have shared a few times here in Ethiopia because it’s one that’s relative (aka culturally contextual) to the agricultural society that exists here.  It compares leadership to shepherding a flock of sheep.  It can take on two strategies…

The first strategy is to keep the sheep locked in.  Build a large fence around, identifying boundaries and establishing “No-Go zones.”  Here the shepherd has safe guardianship over the flock and knows they will not be able to break away!  It’s likened to a leadership style based on lording, rules and control which lacks relationship and love.

The second strategy is to place all the sheep on a piece of land with no fence.  Instead, in the middle of the field, place a large trough of water, maybe even some food- where the sheep are drawn to quench their thirst and satisfy their hunger.  This in no way guarantees the shepherd dominion of their sheep but rather entices the sheep back to the fold through the needs that are being met there.  This is likened to leadership styles that are based on relationship and grace, trust and mutual understanding.  It’s hope and love that draws them there. 

I thought of this example yesterday as two of the girls went on their first visit back to their bar.  It was in the middle of a Sunday afternoon and we happened to be walking past to go to church.  On our way we were stopped by the two young ladies.  Now looking so much different to their once-were-peers.  They, smiling from ear to ear, grab me to come and meet their old boss.  She is also joining in their happiness and says to me that she is happy.  Happy for the three girls she let go out of her bar even at the expense of her income.  I wish her God’s blessings as she released girls into our care who are now such a special part of our lives.

Even though there are self-established boundaries for the girls, there is also freedom.  Though there are no chains on the gates or security bars on their doors, they still choose to stay.  They choose to come back.  THIS is the house that Hope built.

In faith we started and in line with what He has promised, God has met us at our faith.  He has provided furniture and food and resources and house rent, a big bag of meat that unexpectedly turned up at the house, seeds for the garden and instructors to teach us how to sow it…  Even in the last month, God has provided for my daughters and I to go to the States in May.  And I am overwhelmed by this GoD we serve and His Love for US And I return again to His feet.

My daughters sang this song recently at our English service:

I want to sit at your feet, drink from the cup in your hands, lay back against you and breathe, feel your heartbeat.  This love is so deep, its more than I can stand, I melt in your peace, it’s overwhelming…*Kari Jobe

Today one of the girls, now twenty five, went to visit with her ten year old daughter in Addis Ababa.  Her daughter called her because she was wanting help.  This particular lady lived in a rural area and after her father died was married off by her mother when she was eleven years old.  Never went to school.  Fell pregnant at fourteen at which point her husband left her to remarry.  Unable to support her baby, at four years old, she eventually gave her daughter back to her ex-husband and she went to work as a maid.  She started to work in a factory, but while she was working there her friend came to work in Addis and told her its better salary in Debre Zeit at 600 birr a month.  She came to work here in DZ and then found out that the work she was told about was in a bar. (Familiar story).  After two weeks of working, she found no hope so she started working in the back with the men.  .

Robbed of the potential she so obviously holds, she now hungers to read for this very simple reason…so she can read the Word of God.  His Love letter to her. And she gets to do it all in the house that HOPE built. 

So we continue to journey together.  We continue to write our story...