Project: Rescue

It’s been a long time coming.  Four years to be exact, since this dream, this vision; this need was identified and planted in my heart.  Four years ago since I woke to the sound of the Muslim Call to Prayer at 5am and called out to MY God in silent prayer.  Silent because I lay a metre away from another girl on a mission.  Called out because this girl on a mission (me) was being missioned herself.  The mission that went on outside of me reflected the mission that God was trying to accomplish inside of me and that July morning in Nazaret, Ethiopia, the mission was accomplished.

The childhood pain, the adulthood shame; all culminated into a place of purpose.  Unforgiveness I held against my father, my foes, myself; at that point seemed futile.  It paled in comparison to the stories I had just heard. Here I was trying to piece together my story to share.  In trying to figure out what parts I should expose, I navigated through my dirt and my perceptions and reflected them back off the lives of these women.  Nothing that I had ever experienced seemed wasted.  I thanked God for carrying me through.  For “what you [they] meant to harm me, God meant for my good.” But not just my good, the good of others. 

For the time my father told me he would pay me $2 when I ended up on the street.

For the women who had taken away the security of my relationships.

For the friends who turned against me when I needed them the most.

I finally saw the purpose in my pain.

These women I had encountered in Nazaret, their stories broke the floodgates of my tear ducts.  Their testimonies penetrated the defense walls of my heart.  Their children tore down the ideologies I upheld in my mind of what life should look like.  My life was at the mercy of their pain.

Fast forward three years and I find myself walking to church through a hallway of brothels.  This street lined with women and children in the same situation as the women I had met in Nazaret.  Except they lived on the opposite side of the wall of hope.  Hope was not in sight for these women as it was in the Women in Nazaret who were on their way to recovery. 

But one woman found it.  Her redemption had come.  Her grace had been found or GRACE had found her.  I helped to move her off the street and into a new place and received the blessings from onlookers that I didn’t deserve.  I was just a straggler in a bajaj who just happened to be in the right place at the right time to help this woman make the best move she had ever made.  The move first began in her heart though. 

I had been a part of this ministry of Hope in Nazaret and knew that there was more that this woman needed than a conversion and relocation.  She needed rehabilitation. 

Not long after another woman died.  A woman who had cried out for help but failed to receive it before her lifestyle took this mother from her children.  From HIV to alcoholism to prostitution; the legacy she left behind was not one worthy of any accolades. 

Women on the street witnessed two events that MUST have shaken their worlds.  They saw Life and Death pass before them.  Life given and life taken as a result of choices made.  SURELY, I thought, this must have made them question their own decisions to be where they are and doing what they were doing. 

Now that I have seen, I am responsible… There goes that line again..

So I find myself again this year receiving GRACE = undeserved, unwarranted, unexplainable, outlandish UNMERITED FAVOUR.  By this grace, I overcame the temptations that faced me again.  And the Bible says that we are more than conquerors.  I heard it once said that we are MORE than CONQUERORS when WE ourselves CONQUER and then HELP OTHERS to do so!!

So in His time, and by His Grace I set out to connect with these women who God had placed on my heart. 

Last Sunday night my friend and I went out to meet these women where they are at- in their workplace. 

We walked into one house, bar, brothel- whatever you like to call it.  It’s getting dark and the kids are still playing outside.  They take us in to see their families. There’s coffee being poured and a customer is waiting on the bed in the room adjacent to the room we enter.  We sit on one bed which takes up more than half the space in the room.   I can’t help but think of the activity that has taken place on this bed.  My heart revolts.  The nerves soon dissipate into the coffee cup that is always accompanied by conversation; otherwise a spurring on of one is instigated. 

So we talk, play, break the ice with introductions and exchanging of names and glances that signify peace.  Selam new.  It is peaceful on this bed of desperation.  I ask how work is and the young pregnant one says it is good.  The other disagrees and says, No, it’s not good.  "It’s bad." 

She has just been deported back into the country because she had been found illegally working in Dubai.  She was desperate for a way out and we had come with a large signpost showing her which way to go.  So we leave them with a decision and a time and place to let us know what they decide.

Four days later, the word had spread and 18 women come to sign up for the program that was about to take place the next day.  Unsure of whether or not they would all come, we welcome them with open arms and big smiles and sign up their names on a piece of paper.

So Thursday comes and the lunch is prepared by two amazing ladies who, at the last minute had prepared for the unexpected response.  We are waiting for the call and it comes.  First one woman and her baby and then seventeen more and three more babies.  All boys.  All fatherless and yet full of smiles when given a simple toy to play with.

Trust was displayed as they shared their stories.  Short versions to break the ice and to make them reflect, as I did when asked to share my story, about whether or not they were ready to change their lives.  Tears were shed and defences were lowered as they made the first step into the journey that could possibly set them free. 

We heard stories of slavery and bravery...stories of abandonment and desperation...stories of love lost and dead ends that led them to this place they would never have chosen before. Two hours later and we had names to the faces I had walked past so many times before.  Hope made an appearance and ultimatums were given. 

Their stories were familiar yet again so heart breaking.  I have heard them before and I can understand their dilemma in a society where streams of income are not readily available to the uneducated and rejected. 

So we have job to do.  The relationships we have built with people working in the same field will hopefully make it easier for us to do so. This is them...

Yesterday on my way to church, I walked past these women again.  I am no longer a stranger to them nor they to me and they ask if we will meet again this week and I say YES!  They are all planning to come again this week.  Even without promises of money or an allowance or even a description of what our rehabilitation journey will look like.  They come in faith and in hope to receive Love; and the greatest of thing we can show them right now is Love.  Love will Rescue these women.  It’s the only Thing that can.

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.  If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." 1 Cor 13:1-7;13

This song has been ringing in my ear this week  It’s a song that was written by an amazing girl who came here last year in January with a team from SBU in Missouri.  The lyrics go like this:

Because she wakes up every morning, walks down to the corner, turning every head as she goes; she makes a living with her body, let’s somebody own her, coz that’s the only life that she knows. She doesn’t know what Love is…

So we will sing about ...

(Song by Madi Walker)

LOVE is something worth sharing.  

Soddo

Alarm screams at me to break dead silence.  Amharic music plays signifying the beginning of our adventure.  We wake, we walk, we fill the van of sixteen and we drive to collect two more.  It’s 4am by the time we exit the city gates that is lined by Ethiopian Air force fences.  It doesn’t take long and I am back to sleep along the steady roads between here and there.  Here being DebreZeit, there; Soddo, Wolayta.  

My sis squashes behind me, fourth on a three seated row.  She laughs as the girl next to me asks me something and I reply with a request for a repeat.  No repeat, just a shocked look and a turning head.  An obvious sign that her English vocabulary is entirely limited.  And she’s in University? I think.  Does she not even understand “Did you say something?”.  No she doesn’t.  So my sister giggles to herself in lone observation.  

Four and a half hours later and we drive down into the city which sits in the valley all wet and dirty.  It’s dressed in beautiful green mountains and far away lakes: Arba Minch.  It’s soil is red and It’s roads are hilly. 

We pull into the University grounds to unload the baggage mountain that steeples high on top of the van.  Seventeen students disembark and head to the buildings that lay ahead of the cobblestoned drive way we are parked upon..  My sis leaves me with her suitcase as she combs dormitory lists to find her name and her new home for the coming nine months.  She finds, we leave.  Suitcase and bags in tow and an excitement that is the product of knowing that there is a space that exists securing her place in her third year of study.  

The study though, is not what SHE would have chosen.  The University neither.  But the government has chosen this career for her out of lack of other places in areas of study that might have brought her joy, in a city that may have brought her comfort.  Instead she endures and she suffers.  She is strong though and I admire her deeply for that. 

Smelly hallways with dirty walls usher us into her new dormitory which houses six girls on three bunk beds with little room for anything else other than one small desk and a chair.  There are six cupboards that enclose one bunk against a wall and mattresses and pillows are additional condiments in this disastrous recipe.  I ask how she can sleep on these dirty pillows and she tells me of a fungal infection she had on the back of her neck the year before.  A new pillow is a critical necessity we buy. 

Once settled we board unfamiliar bajajs.  Theirs much wider than ours.  Able to fit four rather than the three “our” bajajs can hold.  I tease about the second hand bajajs being sent to this city.  But we climb a hill and reach the top for only two birr.  She teaches me about Quanta meat and the drying and salting process that preserves the meat we now eat mixed in with injera and spicy wot.  It’s totally agreeing with my taste buds and gets washed down with my first macchiato for the day.  It is already 11:30am.  

Walking through landscaped footpaths that lead into the next tourist town, I already notice the difference from here and there.  Or rather, they notice the difference in me.  Am I a foreigner? An Ethiopian?  Mixed blood? or Chinese?  Long straightened hair confuses India in the mix to which my public denial sends teenage girls into a cackling applause.  For two days, the attention is manageable.   A lifetime of curious gestures and stares would have me begging for anonymity.

As planned we arrive at the Soddo Christian hospital around lunch time.  Led down a rocky path through beautifully landscaped gardens, we arrive at the doorway to the beautiful home that belongs to the Doctor, his wife and their two beautiful children; one blond and blue eyed, one with gorgeous dark curly hair.  Furnishings which contend with American homes and well established home school routines.  They offer us lunch in true Ethiopian style to which we decline for a retreat to our bedrooms.  Back up the path and adjacent to the entrance of the hospital lies the place we call home for the night.  The bedroom crying for our company; tired bodies desiring still to be horizontal.This relationship has to wait.  

With power outages at home, this generator backed up power supply with kitchen and shower in tow, begged for some attention.  With permission to use the facilities and ability to do so, I bake in the company of my sis.  Wifi opens up the greatest recipe book that has ever existed for mankind and I scale it’s recipes for the lemon meringue pie we will share for our desert with the Doctors family.  To start the process I make the pastry and we head out the door for additional ingredients for the baking I will do later in the night. 

On our return, I meet Dr “Ears, Nose and Throat” who sits on the board for the Pan African Association for Christian Medical Centres (or something to that affect.) He tells me of the Mission medical centres they are responsible for and one sounds familiar.  The Kenyan one our friends visited before they visited us eighteen months ago.  Frustrated yet impacted they had arrived at our airport.  We played games and shared stories.  They brought us shopping and left us with news of ongoing supporting.  One day, we know they will return.

So we talk and he admires my baking and me and sis head off to dinner with the family.  Enchiladas, Mexican rice, tortilla chips with three different dips all lay upon the hardwood table.  Aquas and reds splash through the house and hug the coffee into the cup we hold to compliment the dessert.  This beautiful and patient wife saves her husband some dinner for when he arrives from his last minute call out that left dinner in his dust as he dashed out the door on our arrival.  My curious nature calls for question asking and ever learning the stories of those who come to serve the people we have come to love- the people of Ethiopia.  A Muslim man converting to Christianity because of an arm being bitten off by a lion and him receiving surgical miracles through this ministry.  Mission organization stories and furlough trips home. 

We indulged in good conversation simultaneously while indulging in good food.  The cute child conversations always taking precedence though before they headed off to bed.  We head off too.  Thankful for good company and delicious food, a place to rest and the offer of unlimited wifi. To which I take advantage of to make necessary skype calls to my boy.  He is staying with my mum.  We talk of plans to reunite, undisclosed information is shared and love is exchanged.  He’s growing up my boy.  Freedom is calling us apart and the approach of manhood drawing him away.  What to do with our separate lives and desired connection, we decide every day.  It’s a daily journey which is made easier by instant access in our hands yet made difficult by the limited waking hours that we share.

After skype calls and facebook crawls, we pack away two dozen freshly baked muffins and head to bed.  Finally, my body screams as I suddenly become aware of it’s tiredness and the lack of stillness it had experienced over the last twenty hours.  Not as normal, my eyes close and instantaneously sleep begins.  Not even woken by Muslim man crying at the five am call to prayer.  I sleep through to 6:30 and arise to make fruit salad for breakfast.  

So we eat and we shower and I read half an hour.  My eyes drawn to this book about the Holy Spirit that sits upon the bookshelf in the dining room. Chapter one talks of the journey of a man through the desert in a seven year growth of none in his ministry with thousands waiting for his prophecy to be fulfilled.  He is prepared in the desert and I am akin to the place in which he had learnt- the desert place where humility is gained and heart motivations are changed.  He later shares an important season in the harvest of his prophecy fulfilment where family are neglected and church leaders left holding down his fort.  It shook me and opened my eyes to something I had never read before.  I let it take root deep in my heart and have locked that pearl of wisdom away for when my harvest will come.  Ready though, to apply it today. 

Wailing starts wafting through the room like a wind through trees.  The sound of a woman in heart pain fixates with my heart and we lean towards the window sill to see what lies behind her cry.  “He” is in pain.  We find out who he is during our hospital tour.  In fact, we see him in the emergency room, covered with blood stained sheets, surrounded by doctors and nurses.  They roll him past me intercepting my procedure to the new CATscan building where our three tour guides await; so I stand and wait and they try to navigate his bed around the corner on which I stand.  He is old and grey and lacking life but she doesn’t know that yet.  We walk over his blood further down the ramp and as we cross into the cafeteria we hear screams of mourning.  “Abaye!Abaye!” requiring of us tears not just from me and sis but by many onlookers who are working at or visiting the hospital.  It is the resounding cry as we walk the next few blocks through.  “Many doctors come from the States and Europe and can’t stay for more than a year because of the emotional impact they experience.” “Abaye!” means “My father” in the most affectionate way you could say it.  Not just said with words but with the beating down of her body upon her legs.  I wouldn’t be able to handle it either.  Oh, you strong woman, I think.

We meet other doctors and hear the story of how this institution began.  We hear the vision to expand and the amount they need to expand it.  Three million dollars is a lot of money in Ethiopia but it is not a lot to the God who resources what He requires.  The paediatric ward was filled with babies suffering from Measles to epidemic proportions.  The emergency area was lined with unseen patients and the orthopaedic waiting room was not unlike the one I had visited in Addis earlier in the year- FULL of people with something broken.  This in the small town of Soddo.  A city surrounded by rural villages and neighbouring tourist towns.  A city whose streets are lined with homeless orphans with no shoes and monumental statues with classic cultural attire.  Oh, my heart ached for the city of Soddo.  This is where God requires His light to shine.  So we pray for his resources to flow and fill like the lake that furnishe. 

After a final girl talk over tibs and injera washed down with chlorine tasting Ambo water, my sis helps me get on a bus in the crowded bus stop.  The reality of being in the middle of nowhere hits you when faced with the realization that if I didn’t get on a bus at this time, I may not get on the road at all that day.  So we push and she asks the first man on the bus to save a seat for me to be the last girl on the bus.  The seat is saved and the way is paved for me to get on the road.  

We set off back along the road that I saw many people collect water from on the way down.  Puddles of water created by the night before’s rain, allowed people to drink that day- to wash their clothes, to cook their vegetables and lentils.  I saw people beating piles of corn and wondered if the popcorn I ate on many coffee ceremony occasions was sourced from the sides of these roads.

I listen in to the sound of Israel Houghton and switch over to Brooke Fraser.  Blessed to be a blessing is the theme that runs through my playlist and I am thankful for the blessed life I live.  Blessed to be around family and to have mine still intact.  Missing my husband more than ever, I wonder if I can be separated from him again to be reunited with my son.  Maybe its okay if I don’t go, I think.  Other alternatives are contemplated.  Something to talk over with the hubby when we reunite.  However, another reunion is awaiting.  I have three hours behind me and I arrive in Shashamene- the home of Rastafarianism and I jump off one bus and onto another.  Three hours later, I arrive in Koka.  It’s eight o’clock at night and I find myself walking in the dark again.  Boy, two days go by fast.  Instead of getting into a van full of strangers this time though, I jump into the back of a Ute filled with friends.

Comfort Eyes

This past March my mother celebrated her 60^th birthday.  A woman who’s eyes I sought comfort in so many times in my life.  From visits to the doctor as a child, counselling sessions as a teenager and labour pains as an adult.  Within the depths of her pupils, I found solace.  Whatever circumstances I faced, if I could eyeball my mother I knew there was peace.  In that place was lack of judgment because out of every one in the world, mum knew me best. 

When I would feel unhappy or depressed, my mum would be the one who would lift my spirits and tell me that I WASN'T FAT OR ugly or uselss!  She would defend my self-worth and pick it back up again.  Everyone loves my mum and it's not hard to understand why once you get to know her.  

On her own, she raised five of us children, even when she was married to my father.  She worked long and hard to give us the best life she knew how to give.  Yet she wasn’t perfect.  But she was there.  Her eyes never failed to meet the expectations I had of them; to melt away the problems of the world.

So in knowing this love, I wonder what it’s like for those who don’t have those eyes to sink into-those eyes that bring comfort, that heart that brings love.  Are they the ones who seek comfort food, or who expend themselves on work or exercise?  Are they the ones who abuse their bodies to try and satisfy that need for comfort?  If our children don’t have those eyes to look into and know that everything is going to be okay, then how will they survive?

This is the plight of the orphan, the cry of the boy who stopped me on the street a couple of weeks ago to tell me has no mum or dad.  To ask me to help him.  Will I be the one that will fill the gap, the wide-aching, gut wrenching gap that's been left by the death of his mother and father?

A few months ago, I spent a couple of days in Addis with friends.  Over two days, we attended a concert and a church service.  On both occasions we as an audience were challenged to help meet the needs of the orphan epidemic that exists here in Ethiopia.  The challenge was expressed in many ways but one of those was through a poem entitled, Whose Children are They?  It was all in Amharic but I got the gist of it. 

THOSE children who walk the streets and beg for food and make you feel uncomfortable with their stench…whose children are they?  They are YOURS (the words sent goose bumps down my spine.)  They are MINE.  They are our responsibility.  They are the responsibility of the church.  They are the responsibility of God's children who see them and are able to give to them. 

Even this morning I spoke passionately to my daughter about US (her...I...the six of us that are left) and why we are in Ethiopia.  "God wants to impact this world" I said..."And HE [the Great Almighty God] does THAT by using PEOPLE [small, incompetent, sinful US] to do that!  He places them strategically in places [and spheres of influence] so that ultimately HE can accomplish what He wants to accomplish.  We can either live selfishly and accomplish what WE want to accomplish, or do what HE has asked us to do.  And for us right now, THIS is where He has strategically placed US."...a bit harsh, I know.  BUT she gets it...I know she does.  God is using her in this place EVEN at 12 years of age.

WE are responsible to give THEM [the 4 million orphaned children] comfort and LOVE and nurture and CARE.  Eyes that look into the depths of their souls and say, it’s going to be okay…I don’t judge you but I love you- unconditionally. 

I read an interesting blog recently about a woman in South America who had adopted kids from one particular country.  Her revelation was that in the thousands of dollars she had spent on adopting these children, was the potential for those children, or children of that country, whose parents were so desperate to give their children a better life that they would put them up for adoption, to keep their families together. 

The statistics that were shared in the service we went to were that around 22,000 Ethiopian children had been adopted out overseas over a 5-10 year period.  While I don’t disagree with the adoption of children, I think how much money had gone into that and what would change for those children if they were able to be supported in their own family, in their own country. 

Our friends from BringLoveIn have a program called Keep One Home...this addresses that exact need.  And THEY are looking for sponsors right now.  Check out their website if you can.  We will have similar programs running in the future.  

I am passionate about this.  

This is a need that needs to be addressed.  

There is a way, a solution.  All we need to help solve this program is for good people to strategically place themselves, their spare cash, their arms where God wants them to be.  

"All it takes for evil to exist in the world is for good men and women to do nothing"

It's a matter of faith a faith a faith ahhh...

Things that matter to us, here living in this tangible world of materialism and consumerism are totally different to the things that matter to God. 

What matters to God is people. 

He is not consumed by appearances. 

He is not consumed by possessions.  

He is consumed by heart. 

And at the depths of HIS heart is inconceivable LOVE.

His Love for us, draws us to Him and the test of our LOVE for him is our ability to trust His word and trust His Way. 

It’s a matter of Faith. 

And the Bible says that WITHOUT this simple ingredient, it is impossible to please God.  

Now FAITH IS the SUBSTANCE of things HOPED FOR, the EVIDENCE of things NOT SEEN. Hebrews 11:1

When I think about our journey here, the major aspect of what God had to do within us was increase our faith.  We cry, help our unbelief Lord!  He does.  This is why we do what we do because we have faith in a God who has created people equally and HE wants them to know His HEART for THEM.  THOSE CREATED IN HIS IMAGE.

So first I had to know His heart for ME!

It makes sense for me that my lifelong struggle with fear would not just be a struggle with but the struggle against something.  The one who doesn't want you to win on the hockey field wouldn’t attack you in a water polo match.  He would attack you on the field of which he knows the victory is won. 

He not only doesn't want you to win, HE DOESN'T WANT TO LOSE...

He knows the victory is already won, that's he's already LOST but he knows that we don’t often see the Scoreboard.  We're too busy focused on the game.  He's got our heads distracted on the ball and we're too busy trying to WIN!

So my FEAR of DEATH as a child, my FEAR of REJECTION as a teenager, my FEAR of being FAR AWAY from home, my FEAR of the DARK, of being HARMED, of being PUNISHED, of being ALONE…these all crippled my ability to have FAITH.

For fear is not just the opposite of faith; FEAR IS THE ENEMY OF OUR FAITH. 

Worry, insecurity, anxiety, terror, dread are allies and friends of fear. 

But PERFECT LOVE is the weapon that defeats fear and casts it all out. 

So perfect Love came in to my life and rescued me from fear and gave me the capacity to have faith.  Fear was evicted and faith moved in.  The anxiety attacks that took a choke hold on my throat at night, the torment that filled my heart with regret and the deep underlying fear that threatened my ability to progress all dissipated in a single night. 

So what happens when we let fear win?

Moses had a crowd of followers begging him for water and moaning about the very fact that he took them out of Egypt to die in the dessert and God heard their cry and supplied a rock for them to draw water from.  God says, speak to the rock and the water will flow out from it. 

But instead Moses beats the rock.  He does what we often do.  He took the miracle into his own hands and DID instead of trusted.  He feared that God’s way wouldn’t work and that people wouldn’t respect his abilities and he broke life instead of spoke life.

In a world of materialism and consumerism, where the pressure to work, to buy, to loan and to accrue interest is embraced and nurtured, we want to WORK instead of TRUST, HAVE FAITH.  

We feel that if we don’t, then we fail at being the provider.  Essentially it appeases our pride.  Our ego fails as we want to look like the strong one who beats the rock till the water comes out but then we hear a voice say “you did not believe me or hallow me in the eyes of the children of Israel therefore you shall not bring these children into the land which I have given them.” Numbers 20:12

God is not impressed with our strength and abilities as much as He is with our faith and trust in Him.

We want to DO but He just asks us to BE.  Be there.  Be obedient.  Be faithful.

Full of faith that He will provide.

Full of belief that He will fulfil his promise…

Even if we don’t see it like Abraham.

Even if we don’t deserve it like Rahab.

Even if we had given up on it like the Shunammite woman.

Even if we reject it like Jonah.

When we sold our house at a loss, our faith was tested to the point that it hurt!  Was this the right thing to do?  Were we being SELFISH and not allowing our children to receive the INHERITANCE they deserved.  Did we make a MISTAKE by not keeping a place to go back to?  These were doubts that were reinforced by many concerned friends and family but quashed by a loving God who wanted more for a house for us.  He wanted a life of FAITH. 

Every time we give, we test our faith.  We trust God that He will press down, shake together and run over the blessings from the well in which we gave. He says to DO IT!

Test me in this,’ says the Lord Almighty, ‘and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it. Malachi 3:10

Every time we press on past the obstacles we test our faith.  That these obstacles are not the end of a thing, but they are there as resistance measures to increase our strength.  The strength that is made perfect in our weakness.

Every time we fail and fall we test our faith.  Our faith that the payment for our sin was finished on the cross and that we can trust God to have taken care of it so much so that we don’t need to suffer for it or let it decapitate us.

Every time we have to be still and delay our movement, we test our faith.  Faith that we are a part of SOMETHING BIGGER than ourselves.  Something bigger than the MOMENT.  Something bigger than what WE ARE ABLE to DO.  Faith that we just need to BE.  And sometimes just BEING PRESENT is all people need to know the Love of the Father.

Because when we BE still, wait, let me make this as personal as it’s meant to be- when I BE still I am reminded that He is God.  That He is able to draw the water from the rock, not ME.  That when we silence our praise to Him, He can even use the rocks to praise Him.  From a rock He can draw water and Praise.  I can’t and therefore I CAN TRUST HIM.  Have FAITH in Him. 

Abraham birthed a people of faith because of his faith in obeying God’s instruction to leave his country and GO! 

So we left our country on the same accord.  Not really knowing all the details of what we would do or how we would do it OR WHAT STRUGGLES WE WOULD FACE ON THE WAY but just knowing that we needed to GO.

In my early Christian days, I memorized this verse Numbers 32:23 A  verse that says “Your sins will find you out.” A great verse when taken out of context to make one feel condemned for yet the sins he is talking about is the sin of disobedience to God’s command to inhabit the land.  This is what we are called to do- to inhabit the land.  The land of Ethiopia.

This journey of faith continues to stretch me and grow me as I am continually reminded that God is working where I do not see.  Oh, how I wish I could work it all out myself- go get a job, earn some money myself to support ourselves and find prosperity as we wish it for others.  But God has not called us to do that. And He wants others to join in on our faith journey.  Those who freely and sacrificially give every week so that we can be here.  It’s not taken for granted.  More than ever now it’s appreciated from the depths of our hearts. 

When we hear stories of people who God speaks to about giving us more support and on the other side, we are praying for His supply, we know that our God cares for us and that He is going to meet us where our faith is at.  So we continue to believe for bigger things, greater provision, more people to join our faith journey.

For by grace are ye saved through FAITH; and that not of yourselves: it is the GIFT of God:

 Not of works, lest any man should boast. Ephesians 2:8-9

Personal Reflections Of The Year Gone By

“How was your 2005?” I hear the reporter asking random people on the streets of Ethiopia from ETV.  I ask the shop keeper’s daughter the same question…”Houlet shi amidst indet nebere?” “Arif new” she replies, as to say it was Nice! 

We are sitting in her lounge room as she makes us coffee.  It’s been a long time since we visited after being neighbours for the first year of our stay here.  She’s being extra hospitable, making us popcorn, bringing us soft drinks and biscuits from the shop and conversation from her ever improving English vocabulary. 

“Anchis?” she returns the question to me.  How was my 2005?  “Tiru new” I reply.  Meaning: It was good.  Then I stop myself and answer again, this time a little more honestly- enough for an almost eleven year old to handle.  Actually, it was a little bit difficult, I reply in Amharic.  She quietly nods her head in agreement.  She, like most of the community who know us, know that there had been some changes and that Asaua was away for a while throughout this past year. 

A year ago we had just reunited as a family as I had returned earlier from a family trip to Brisbane Australia.  We re-established ourselves with different roles, different source and level of income, a different sending office and then moved into a different house.  They all seemed like better options at the time.  And in most ways, they were.

Yet the different roles called for different routines.  Ones we weren’t ready for. 

The different source and level of income resulted in different prices we had to pay.  Ones we weren’t willing to pay. 

The different sending office faced some personal and financial struggles that ended in death.  A tragedy that we weren’t prepared for. 

And the new house begged for maintenance in water and sewerage systems that caused four months of bucket showers and toilet flushing in beautifully tiled bathrooms.  A problem that we weren’t equipped for. 

We celebrated the fact that we were receiving a bigger blessing at the same time as feeling caught between two worlds.  The world of marriage and family and the world of ministry.  A chasm we had found ourselves in before.  A stretch that had before broken us and a balance that was easily tipped.  The scales once again were straining.

Where my spunky husband ends up retreating to isolation in the home, I end up retreating to freedom outside the walls of home.  

To tip the scales even further we struggled once again down the path of work permit acquisition.  A mountain that we needed to climb yet one that continued to bring more twists and turns along the way.  The first New Zealand missionaries with Mekane Yesus church not having being sent by a Lutheran Church and not having a New Zealand embassy in the country all made it difficult for us to obtain this piece of paper we so desperately needed.

Still the strain at home increased.

Without going into too much detail, as all good things often come to an end, so did our time with the organization that we initially came with.  The death of a baby resulted in the death of our support.  But finishing with that organization was okay with me.  I knew it was time.  But I didn’t see the war that was about to rage. 

False accusations were fired.  Mass weapons of destructive words were sent by email and text.  Defensive solutions were intercepted with baffled lies.  The work of the enemy increased.  Tears were shed.  And the target was me. 

Not that I want to play victim.  Coz I am not.  Not that I want to lay blame.  Coz I don’t.  Not even that I want to spread rumours.  Coz that’s not right.  But the war that lay dormant had finally erupted and we were left with battle scars.  Fortunately we serve a God who took the place of our battle scars.

But he was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities, The chastisement for our peace was upon Him And by His stripes we are HEALED.

All we like sheep have gone stray, We have turned, every one, to his own way, and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.  Isaiah 53:5-6

I got to this point of straying.  Of thinking that once again I knew the way.  I struggled to see the other alternatives.  I struggled to see His way.  The vision had preceded the relationship that was needed.  

Perceptions were misconstrued once again of the God who had saved me time after time. Especially after Asaua decided to leave for New Zealand and his eminent return was not so eminent.  Fear and insecurities crept in and I screamed "I WANT OUT!"  

All that was good was forgotten and all that was bad had resurfaced.  I devised an exit strategy and came up with a back up plan about who life with him was going to work.  After 16 years of marriage, I decided that I couldn't do it any more.  I know, so crazy.

I walked familiar streets yet my view was contorted.  So God in His faithfulness, sent me a message.  I wrote about it a few months ago in the middle of the mess.

After Asaua had gone to New Zealand, I went into Addis Ababa to book a ticket for my son Jamal to join his father in New Zealand- something I really didn’t feel at peace about but nevertheless attempted.  My efforts failed and so I went on a hunt for an internet café to see what information I could get online.  After leaving the internet café in the heat of the day I came out of this mall trying to find the fastest way back to my next destination – Jamal’s school. 

There were two ways I could have gone.  What seemed to be the fast way, was a back path that I had gone down a couple of months before with an Ethiopian friend who found our way through the short cuts and quickly to where we needed to go.  We were on a hunt for Telecom so we could get a new sim card for our visitor.

That day, my eyes were peeled for a Telecom sign and I ended up taking notice of all the shops and products that were available on that street.  It seemed like a back street I had not seen and far from any street I had previously encountered on my visits to Addis Ababa. I remembered the way I went with my friend that day and as I collected my memories of that street I realized it wasn’t familiar at all yet the street I wanted to get to this day was. 

This time I was by myself so I had to navigate my way without asking anyone for directions and possibly giving away the fact that I am not Ethiopian!  It was Jamal’s school’s street and I had been down it many times.  So I took the long route and started walking down this all familiar street. 

As I walked down the street, I started to notice shops I had gone into with this friend a couple of months before. 

The most bizarre moment came when I realized that this road that I thought was far away and foreign was the familiar road I was after-the street of Jamal's school.  Before I had seen it in a different light as I had entered it from a different direction, was paying more attention to detail and was accompanied by a different person.  A translator. So I could have taken that short cut after ALL!  But because I thought it was a different street I went the long way!

It wasn’t that I was just disoriented that day.  This was me seeing the road from a different perspective and in a different context.  But it was the same road.  There had to be a message in this experience…

A man I had a conversation with that week, started sharing with me randomly how we can walk the road of life by ourselves or we can walk it with God and know our paths are directed and ordered by the One who knows best for us.  I could relate.

A few years ago, I found myself going down a road- not a literal road, but a path that lead me and my family to a place that I didn’t want to be.  But then I got to a place where I realized that “By steadfast love and faithfulness iniquity is atoned for, and by the fear of the Lord one turns away from evil.” Proverbs 16:6  I turned away from the evilness that was invading my soul and my world and embraced the love that God had for me in His faithfulness.  I went on this “soul searching” journey to deal with STUFF from my past and learnt a lot about what led me to that place and how not to go there again!  I was paying attention to the details of my life as I felt it was key to experiencing freedom from my past.  I was walking with the greatest Translator of all who translated my thinking into the language of heaven.  Instead of meditating on what I had been told about myself in the past, I concentrated on what God said about me. 

I found new friends and support systems, we started at a new church that offered the answers and helped me to navigate my way around my life choices.  I was restored and felt like I was in a good place, that I had dealt with it and that a new “me” was found.  I was in a different place, armed and guarded from the evil that so easily beset me. I was GOOD to go and move forward from a place of wholeness and restoration.  A place that didn’t seem familiar to me at the time.

Recently a lot has happened here and in my heart.  Pressure and pain came in again and with an unexpected force.  Emotions ran high and confusion reared its ugly head.  It seemed like from every direction troubles were knocking on the door.  Magnified by the fact that we are on the MISSION FIELD and we shouldn’t be facing such hardship with the blessing God promises when we left our homeland to do HIS WILL (false thinking 101), I was thrown into a spin of betrayal and disappointment and abandonment.  And surely, as a missionary now under the covering of a great church and pastor, there would be victory and freedom that I should experience.  Even as missionaries called to Ethiopia, we should already have it all together and be able to withstand all the fiery darts that were being thrown at us, or at ME! 

“I have been down this road before!” was something I kept saying even out loud!  “I know what this is about and how this will end- this is all familiar territory…I will keep going with the experiences I have learnt from the past and this time I will get it RIGHT!  AND since I have had all my STUFF dealt with, I can do it now from a more mature and more spiritual place!”  (false thinking 102)

I! I! I! It is always I! - from the movie Lean on Me

I was slowly sinking back into my old habits of doing it in my own strength, I found myself alone again and trying to navigate my way down this familiar road so that no one would know that I was LOST!  So I kept walking down this road, feeling confident that this was the right way to go and that this was NOT the road I had gone down before.  I had already tackled that road and this time I was more the wise.  Even though the road was longer, it made me stronger but as I got stronger, I realized how the muscles of my heart were hardening.  As my heart was hardening, I realized how my STUFF about to make a re-appearance in my life as the pressure slowly squeezed out what was deeply embedded in my soul.  Ahhh…not a road I want to go down again. 

Oh, it’s the same road!  But this time I am seeing it in a different context and I am seeing it with a different destination in view.  My heart formed a seal that was bouncing off the attempts of my husband to keep our love going and I wanted it to end.  I could do this, I thought.  I can go this alone and no one can stop me! 

Who are you to judge someone else’s servant?  To their own master, servants stand or fall.  And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand.  Rom 14:4

So this amazing master, Lord, Abba Father of mine.  He took me through some standing exercises.  He was not about to let me fall. 

A wise lady said to me this week, that God deals in layers.  While He may have dealt with some of my STUFF in the years prior to coming to Ethiopia, He was about to tackle the next layer!  And it cut deep and it brought up more STUFF and the way I reacted was an indicator of where my heart was really at.  Was it pliable and teachable still or was it stubborn and hard? God was wanting to circumsize my heart.

So I went back to Addis the next day after this failed attempt to buy a ticket, for another failed attempt.  But so as to not waste time, I took my daughters with me and we hung out for breakfast and ended up in a bookstore.  I found this book called “The Woman behind the mask” by Jan Coleman.  I reluctantly bought it thinking that maybe people will know that sometimes, I still wear a mask.  Eek.  Not what I stand for.  I want to be authentic and real all the time.  This would show how much integrity I have and how open I can be for people to talk to me.  Haha.  I got slapped in the face with this book.  I turned my head and my heart and it gave me a different perspective.  (And if you are a woman, you should read this book!)

It took the road I was walking down, which seemed so familiar and right (There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death. Proverbs 16:25) and put it in a different light.  In God’s light.  It reflected the reality of the temptations that we face as women in the 21^st century to appear like we have it all together.   I could finally admit that I didn’t have it all together and that I needed some support. 

Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body. Proverbs 16:24 These are what the words of friends have done for me.  I am thankful that some people take time to press reply on my email updates and encourage me, us, with gracious words. 

One quote I will give you from the book, is this:

“Turn your pain into passion and your messes into ministries.  Go on the road with the story of your life and share it with those who need to know that God is the answer.  God is enough.”

And that last statement is what is being drilled down into the depths of my heart again- God, plus nothing, is enough.  When that is engrained and embedded in the deepest layer of my soul, then all else will fall into place.  I thought that God was done with my heart, but He dug deeper and WILL continue to do so.  I am praying that one day, from a place of strength, as I walk down this road with other women who find themselves in similar situations, that I will be able to help them navigate their way too."

God took me through a process where He sifted me, shifted me, brought me through the storm.  

I felt like Peter,  going through this amazing journey with Jesus here for almost two years.  Then betraying him at the last.  But there was a purpose in the pain.

And the Lord said, Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat: But I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren. And he said unto him, Lord, I am ready to go with thee, both into prison, and to death. And he said, I tell thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day, before that thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest me. Luke 22:31-34KJV

God sifted me and allowed me to go through this process of pain.  The pain of rejection.  The pain of my sin.  The pain of betrayal and feeling alone.  He allowed it so that He could put to death all the things that I thought I wanted and needed.  He helped me to realize once AGAIN that HE knows best!  His ways are always better than mine.  

Jesus prayed for Simon Peter to succeed and then to comfort others with that comfort of a forgiving God.  Imagine the confusion that set in for Peter after he betrayed his closest friend and Lord.  And just after Jesus had just changed his name to Peter, meaning Rock and shared His deepest heart with Him.  He changed his name but not his destiny.  His destiny was to play a part in Jesus’ crucifixion in the worst way imaginable.  But God’s grace came down and He used him again to establish the church on the day of Pentecost.  

He didn't deem him useless.  He didn't condemn him even when He knew that He would betray Him.  

We have it all wrong.  When we look at sin and people’s messes.  We see their mess but God sees their ministry.  I am SO thankful that God sees mine.  I am so thankful that God took time...Four months of separation with my husband to show me the Covenant God He is and the importance He places on Covenants we make with each other.  Now our marriage is stronger and healthier than ever.  But that's another blog.  Suffice to say, Danny Silk from Bethel Church Redding California has some REALLY good relationship advice that totally broke through to us and our situation.

"A chord of three strands is not easily broken." - Ecclesiastes 4:12

This is me.  

This is my Hope. 

Thank You Jesus for taking the place of the penalty I should pay and rightfully deserve.  You gave your life for me, I will live my life for you.