A Change

There's been a change in venue, friends. Due to anticipated access problems in Ethiopia, I've republished my blog. I'm still working on it, but I'll be posting HERE from now on. Thanks to the good folks at Wordpress who managed to not confuse me too much in my republishing attempts! I despise change more than most people, I think, and I'm a little sad to leave Blogspot since I've finally figured out how it works! But life always involves twists and turns in the paths we walk on, and this is my small attempt to be flexible in response to the bumps:-)

Sorrow and Sufficiency

Parting is such sweet sorrow.
--Shakespeare

Is that really true? I'm not Juliet saying goodnight to her Romeo and I'm nothing near a literary expert, but I cannot understand these words. We weren't really meant to part, to separate, to disconnect from our relationships. So the sorrow overwhelms, for the parting is result of brokenness in our world.
These past weeks, I have driven away from people I love, who I will not see again for a long time, if ever. And on Thursday it wasn't my windshield that was wet, but the tears in my eyes that were threatening to obscure my vision. "Is it worth it to come back, just to leave again, to say goodbye again?" I asked myself. The pain is fresh again, the wound of distance is raw. I felt very alone as I sped through the winding Mississippi hills, knowing that there are more goodbyes to come, more sorrow to be felt, more tears to be shed. I know that for many I have the joy of saying, "Till we meet again"--but even in that, there is a goodbye. To life as I know it, for it will keep moving and changing while I am away. To relationships, knowing they too will change and grow distant with the separation of 10000 miles. Sitting in my car, in the middle of nowhere-land, my tears came. I choked back sobs of fear that I would always feel alone, would not be able to bear the sorrow of the partings. As I fought off the grief, I heard the song that had just begun in my CD player.

Father, You're all I need
My soul's sufficiency
My strength when I am weak
The love that carries me

Your arms enfold me, till I am only

A child of God

--Kathryn Scott

That is the truth. Not some platitude trying to make me think this is all ok, this is normal. But the truth that I am weak, I am not enough for myself, that no one and nothing on this earth will ever really satisfy me. I expect more tears, more sorrow, more pain at the breaking of community--both on this side of the ocean and in Ethiopia. Yet through all those crushing moments in time, my soul's Sufficiency will remain.

Well, obviously I wouldn't have won the race

I'm still laughing about this! I had forgotten all about this sunny day in Ethiopia from a few months back until Daniel emailed this photo to me. I'm afraid I spoiled the pic--it was supposed to look like a race with Derek and Mr. Turtle, but I think I made it look like a somersault contest instead!
This is on the track of one of the international schools in Addis, and we were there to be supportive fans for a soccer game. This turtle, however, had other plans. He made it onto the field twice during the game and had to be manhandled off. One maintenance guy put him on this flat cart thing, only for Mr. Turtle to topple off!

Now I'm tired and I haven't done anything yet!

Today I've been busy . . . but I'm not sure I've accomplished much! I got back from Texas last night, stayed up waaay too late talking to my little brother, and then headed into Jackson this morning for a lovely breakfast with these three dear friends.
I'm feeling the crunch of this looming GRE . . . I don't think I'd worry about it much if I wasn't a modern-day gypsy living on the road out of suitcases:) Ok, in all honesty I'd probably still worry about it too much. Nonetheless, today I spent what turned out to be a ridiculous number of hours researching grad programs. There were some encouraging finds in there, but I still feel like I haven't done anything yet today!
In my online traveling, I re-read this post on Charity and Justice that really struck me a few days ago when I first read it. Our diluted understanding of charity is about us. Justice does not encourage us to continue along in our unchallenged lives of excess and greed; justice demands we change.
I hope that I have changed. I hope that I am being changed. I hope all of us are changing, growing in our desire and actions to bring justice into this broken world. I don't know how to do it, but I hope we all learn a little bit more every day.

I'm not perfidious, and I try not to be garrulous

Seeing as how I am not erudite, I do not know how I will be able to emulate my pedantic friends who have scored so well on the GRE. My studying thus far has been inchoate, but I have a plethora of excuses for that. Or, perhaps, I have just prevaricated to myself regarding my ability to study. Every time I sit down, my being is overcome with torpor. This test has become onerous, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to mollify my anxiety. I have thought about malingering, but I fear I will not have that choice. I'm becoming inimical to those around me because all I can think about is how I don't have time to think about the GRE. My mind is diffident--how can I ameliorate my fears?? Chicanery is not going to improve my score, and I can not simply be a dilettante with regard to the task at hand. But the good news is that this is an ephemeral pressure! If I approach it with the proper attitude and understand the exigent nature of the material in front of me, I hope to avoid any opprobrium from those around me. I may not become a paragon on June 19, but I do hope that my current studying will engender a positive result on that fateful morning.

Filled Up to Overflowing

It's been good to be here. To see family and friends, to eat familiar foods, to easily get to and from places, to be able to buy what you want to, to be refreshed and encouraged. I'm really thankful for all of these things, and I think they strike me so much more profoundly now. Do you know how good sushi really is?

I spent last week traipsing around Texas--it was wonderful to catch up with friends and a few cousins. I was driving from Tyler to Waco one rainy morning, and after awhile in a car you can go slightly crazy . . . so I started talking to myself. And then I started exclaiming excitedly things like, "HEB!!! Yes!! I love HEB!!" (It's just a grocery store for you non-HEBers!) and "Braum's! Mmmm, I can just taste the cappuccino chunky chocolate frozen yogurt!" (and I did, just a few days later. It didn't disappoint.) and finally, the best of all was, "Bluebonnets!! There are still bluebonnets!! And I got to SEE them!!" Needless to say, I enjoyed my wanderings. The sweetest part of all, though, was good hugs and talks with old friends.
I confess that I have never understood what it meant to truly EAT of the Bread of Life. It's not because I didn't know I needed it--I did, but too often it was in a very philosophical way. But over the past year, I have been drained and emptied, and I have been hungry for that which cannot ever come from me. Thus, the best part of being back in the US has been worshiping with Redeemer, my home church. To be challenged, encouraged, and fed . . . yes, I am filled up to overflowing. I am rich.


But for all the joys, being here means I am not there. I am not in my other home of Ethiopia, I am not around my co-workers, the beneficiaries, injera bih wut, music, hugs and kisses in greeting . . . I miss all of that deeply. It's a part of me, a part of my heart and mind and soul. There is no one here to say "Endemanesh?" to in the mornings . . . or if I do people think I am crazy after all.
Since I have been in the US, two of our precious beneficiaries have died. I cry for them here, but I feel alone in my sorrow. Not because the people around me here don't want to care--I know they do. But they did not know Henok and Abrehat, and they will not know what it means to go back to my other world and those two not be there. My deepest privilege of the past year has been to know people--their faces, names, stories, and lives. But it leads to a deep pain at the loss of those same people. I want to do more, so much more. And here in this world I feel like I can do so very little. I pray. I cry. I try to tell their stories. But really I just wish their stories would have had a very different ending. I wish that Henok had lived to see 2 years . . . that he would have lived and laughed and kicked a soccer ball around. I wish that Abrehat hadn't been so beaten by life, that she had seen her children live and not die, that now she would be sharing the joy of the grandkids she never had. To keep pleading and fighting for different endings to these stories--that's the task before me, before all of us. If He will not give up until justice is established, we must follow in the fight.
May we be strong for the battle.

To The Other Side

I'm here, I'm really here. Sitting in my bed in Mississippi, still in my PJs at 11:30 am, wondering how I can still be so very tired.
The last few days in Ethiopia were full and good and hard. Saying goodbye, packing up my house and suitcases, running errands, hugging friends.

With Andy and Bev Warren at their house a few minutes before we left for the airport





Some of my friends in Addis right before I left



I arrived in Jackson Monday night, in time to pull off the birthday surprise for my Dad (and Mom). It wouldn't have happened without my brothers and Robin and Jeremy--they made it work:) My flights were of course long and slightly miserable, but really pretty smooth. I sat in the "adopted Ethiopian babies" section of the airplane for the 14 hour flight from Addis to DC--that was fun but not at all conducive so sleep, which I don't do in an airplane very well anyway. I spent a rather frantic hour in DC at the Delta counter, trying not to freak out that my tickets were showing up in the system as expired. I could just see the whole birthday-with-a-surprise crumbling before me:) But it all worked out, and when I arrived breathless at the gate, I realized the flight had been delayed. A very kind lady I had met in the Addis airport watched my stuff while I traipsed through the airport in search of the perfect Diet Coke. It was sooooo good. Icy cold, burning sweetness.
I was glad when I made it to America. For all her faults, America is a blessed place. I breathed this sigh of relief when I entered immigration in DC under a big sign proclaiming, "Welcome to the USA." I felt welcomed indeed and was astounded by the kindness of American people. We are often perceived as loud and rude, but I was overcome by the friendliness of the diverse faces staring back at me. From the security man who heard one of those adopted kids wailing way back in the line and let that family go to the front, to the baggage guy who stopped my strained luggage-cart-pushing and offered to recheck my bags from there all the way to Jackson, to the two guys who assured me they would figure out my "expired" ticket and get me on the flight, which they did, to the realization that I was truly in the US headed to the deep South when the flight attendant drawled out, "Thank you, baby"!!
I was met in the airport by a random unexpected act of Providence by my good friends Nathan and Becky and their little baby Owen--they were there to pick up Nathan's mom, who was also flying in from Africa. The odds of us both flying in at the same time are astoundingly small, but it was a sweet reunion. But the best part was seeing the darting, squealing form of my dear, dear friend Robin!! What a great hug that was! Her husband Jeremy picked us up in the parking lot, I picked up the diet Coke waiting on the floorboard for me, and we headed straight to Marble Slab, where I had possibly the best ice cream of my life! We got to hang out for awhile before going to my brother's place where I showered in attempt to look like I was in the land of the living. From there the plan was set into motion . . . my brothers had arranged to take my parent's out to dinner for my dad's birthday. Jeremy entered a few minutes later and made my whole family feel extraordinarily awkward by hurriedly asking them if they would mind taking in some stranger for dinner who he thought really needed to be ministered to, but he and Robin just didn't have time. Seconds later, Robin and I entered. My mom saw me first and just stared, jaw dropped. My dad hadn't noticed us yet and mom kept jabbing his elbow, "Steve! Stephen!!" It was a wonderful reunion indeed!
So now I am trying to recover from jet lag and plan out the craziness of the next couple of months!! Thanks for all your prayers for me, even though most of you didn't know what you were praying for!

From This Side of the Ocean . . .

Days of transition . . . full of joy and sorrow, excitement and fear, laughter and tears, confidence and nervousness, hope and despair . . . .
I've spent this week trying to wrap up my work with the project and prepare for my time in the States. It's not an easy thing to tie up one life--even for a couple of months--and think about living another one. I, for one, don't deal with change all that well, and this is major change. So each day it's a battle to remember that indeed my life is in HIS hands--and thus I need not fear, worry, or fret (I do all three very well:-).
All week the women in the project have astounded me. They have nothing--really, truly, nothing--and yet they give so generously from their nothingness. I've received gifts, hugs, tears, smiles . . . love so abundant and undeserved. They bless me. They are so precious to me. I'm shamed by my tight fists . . . I think I'm generous, but it's only because after I give something away, I know I'm going to have something left. Letay brought me a basket . . . brightly woven, a little worn. She cried as she handed the gift over. She said she didn't have any money to buy me something, but she wanted to give me a gift. So she gave me the one thing she had . . . a little basket she's always kept her jewelry in.
Yesterday I went to visit a couple of beneficiaries who I fear will not be alive when I return. I find it so hard to trust Father . . . that He will work, and we must be faithful to scatter the seed. "Sara, why are you leaving us? Why? Jennifer (a previous staff member) came, and she was our friend, and she left. Then you came, and you were our best friend, and you are leaving. Why?" Geta said, as tears dripped down her face. I weep. Why? Why? Why have they been abandoned over and over and over throughout their lives? Am I adding to the burden? "But Geta, Jesus is here. All of the time. I love you, I will pray for you. I will not forget you." May my words not be empty, but may truth ring through them.
The next few days will be busy with all the transitions, so this is my last post from this side of the ocean! I will soon be in the land of all things modern, my family and friends, and, of course, diet coke. Just so everyone knows my priorities!! :-)
You've blessed me, supported me, sustained me, and encouraged me this past year. I am grateful for you. May our Father guide and keep all of us until the day we get to stand together in a world without sorrow, pain, weeping, and death.

Moving Stories

In February, a couple of guys came along with a medical team to spend 2 weeks filming and photographing the project here with the hope of sharing with the wider world what God is doing. They are still working on compiling this work, and at the same time processing the people and scenes they experienced through the lens. But they've just posted some of the preliminary pieces, and I wanted to share them with you.

This is a video generally of their team's first week here in Addis. I think I already wrote about this, but the night I watched it while the team was still here, I wept. It was joy and pain all mixed up, and it profoundly impacted my thoughts about returning here. So here it is for you to share our joy through!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ey1KNQdewaE

And this is Danute's story. She's one of the first beneficiaries of the project, and she is a beautiful testimony to God's power and grace. She came to the office a few minutes ago, and I got to watch this video with her. She cried and laughed, and I told her that because of her story, many people would be praising God. She said, "Thank you. I am praising God too."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5_0jh1lM7k

Beautiful Life

How many times have I walked the Addis streets to Elsa’s home, only to be greeted by her father’s sad, tired face and a little heap of body curled under the blankets on the mattress on the floor? How many times have we gone through her medicine, hoping for wisdom to know what else to give her? How many times have we tried to improve her appetite and diet with milk, eggs, oatmeal, Campbells instant noodle soup? How many times have we sent her by taxi back to the hospital, paying for a doctor and medicine but never for improvement? How many times have we knelt beside her on the cold concrete floor and prayed for her? How many times have we said, “There is hope”? How many times have you prayed for her? How many times have I prayed for her? How many times have we as a staff prayed for her?

It’s all countless, but yet never enough. She’s always sick, always weary, always hopeless, always wanting only to stay in her curled heap and not face a harsh world. She hasn’t been to our office in months because she is always at her house in her bed. I admit that I, too, had come so close to giving up on her as well. As one we couldn’t help, one who wouldn’t get better, one we would lose sooner rather than later.

Because Elsa has been so sick for so long, she hasn’t really been a part of a support group, which is the functional unit through which much of our project’s work is accomplished. She’s a member of the newest women’s support group, but has never been well enough to come to their meetings or be connected to the other women. Several weeks ago, her support group talked to Betty, the staff member who coordinates and directs the support groups. They said they wanted to take some of the responsibility of caring for Elsa, even though she hadn’t really been a real part of their group. So they went to her house, they bathed her and cleaned her house and fed her. In essence, they loved her—though she had done nothing to deserve their care and concern.

Today I was preparing to teach in the women’s support groups. I was upstairs at the project office, gathering my wooden toothbrush sticks and supplies to teach on hygiene. One of the support group women came and got me and kept saying I had to come downstairs. I kept saying, “I’m coming, I’m coming!” But she insisted that I had to come now. So she pulled me downstairs and into our group meeting room, where I saw a few other women waiting for support group to start. She kept tugging, and as I rounded the corner, I saw her.

Elsa. Smiling. Sitting up. Alive.

My heart swelled as I exclaimed in Amharic “God be praised!”

I ran upstairs to get Betty, and told her there was a surprise for her down where the women were. She skeptically entered the room, only to repeat my reaction of amazement and joy and praise. She ran back upstairs to get Alemu, another staff member, to send him down as well. We rejoiced together, with Elsa and her father and her support group. A small victory, yes, but an incredible one nonetheless!

I changed my mind about devotions in the next 5 minutes before support group started. We read instead Psalm 118, and all the while I kept glancing up to see Elsa’s beautiful, beaming face. Indeed, our God is good.

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good!

For His mercy endures forever.

I shall not die, but live,

And declare the works of the Lord.

Psalm 118:1, 17

Bursting Forth in Glorious Day

There in the ground His body lay,

Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave He rose again!
And as He stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am His and He is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

--Stuart Townend

This Easter means more to me than perhaps any before. It's always been a good day--Easter makes me think of being in Paris (TX, I'm not that cool!) and eating with my extended family and fighting for sofa space to read the comics. But this time, Easter astounds me. This year has been one of being surrounded and overwhelmed by the powers of darkness and death. To be able to celebrate such a glorious reality--that indeed, Christ HAS conquered death--is incredible and joyous. I want hearts to be captured by this amazing Love that defeats all other powers. I want my heart to be captured again and again by this Light and Life.

The drippy view from my porch this afternoon

I hope you are celebrating this day wherever you are--whether it's with your family or far from them, in your home country or another. I can't speak much Amharic, but I just keep saying in my kindergarten version, "It's a very good holiday! Jesus died! Jesus rose! So it's a great day!" I hope that today is indeed for you a glorious day.
I celebrated Easter this afternoon with some dear people—my small group from last year. We had a feast and great fellowshipJ

My little friends Kate and Erin

Loading up on a feast of good things--we had ham and chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy and salad and rolls and cake . . . there was nothing to complain about today!!

And all the adults waving to those in the group who couldn't be with us!!

Happy Easter!!

A Smattering

So I've been thinking . . . .
See, you can watch me as I'm thinking . . .
My arm is so short that my self-portraits are a little frightening!!
Thinking about life in general, how incredibly blessed I am, what great friends and community I've been given, the wonderful work I've had the privilege of participating in, the joy and the pain of the journey we are all on, the glorious beginning we hope in for the end . . .
I'm beginning to feel the stress of what the next few weeks of life hold. I don't want that stress and wish it would go far, far away, but knowing myself it's going to be much more complicated than that. So instead it's a battle every day to give those fears and uncertainties and worries and anxieties to the One who is much more capable to deal with them.
At work I'm trying to wrap up what feels like a million little projects that need to get finished before I leave. I find it less than motivating to format patient referral forms, but yet I've got to get it done.
At my house I'm staring at all my stuff thinking about how I need to at least think about sorting and packing and storing. Yes, storing.
Because I have my answer about the next step in life! I'll be here for the next stretch, and I'm really glad I've been given this opportunity by the "Giver of all good gifts". This one is indeed a sweet and joy-filled gift. It does not come without pain and heartache, though, because in many ways it means giving up again all that I hold dear in my life back "there". But I'm content even in that sorrow, for it means I do not yet have to say goodbye to this place and people who have become a part of my heart. Someday I will, and that will be a hard day, but for now I am glad that there is a place and work for me here.
I'm headed "home" at the end of April, and I'll be in the States for a couple of months. This week I've started to get more and more excited about that and seeing all of you! Of course the abundance of things like diet coke and hot water and high speed internet and Mexican food make me inordinately happy when I think about them, but really the joy is in getting to see you, hug you, cry with you, laugh with you, and again share life for a bit with you.
At the same time, "home" is an overwhelming thought. For one thing, it is no longer home in the way I always saw it. This year has stretched "home" for me so much that I can begin to understand why we've been given these restless hearts here . . . for here is not our home. Nonetheless, being there means being inundated with all things Western and American and material, and I'm not sure how I'm going to adjust. Will everyone I meet think I've become some crazy weird single female missionary??!! It also means about a million trips crammed into those 2 months--all fun, but hectic at the same time. A lot of people, a lot places, a lot of things to do . . . and am I just going to be running around with that deer-in-the-headlights expression as I try to take it all in? I want to savor it, to worship at my church and not think about how few days I get to do that, to watch movies and not think about "wasting" time, to rest and not worry about that to-do list, to be diligent and productive and yet laid back. Yep, pretty much I want to achieve perfection! Ha. Well, it's good to know from this end that that is not going to happen! Those of you who have done this before--this major, weird, horrible, wonderful cross-cultural transition--if you've got advice for me, bring it on!
These are a random collection of photos from the past few weeks.

This first couple is from a rather interesting ride into work a couple of weeks ago. The short rainy season has come, and with it mud and water in all the places you don't want it! On this day, there were about a 100 people waiting for taxis and with 2 other friends I ended up taking a contract taxi. Unfortunately, there was no flotation device on this car . . . and we ended up thoroughly STUCK in what looked like a lake out the windows! I still don't know how the taxi driver did it, but somehow he "rocked" the car forward (like the back and forth motion while sitting in his seat) and eventually we inched out way out of the muddy pool. I think it took about an hour and a half to make it to the office that day, so by the time I got there I was ready to go back home:-)











2 weeks ago I went to a women's retreat with a bunch of other mission women. It was a refreshing quiet weekend with some good friends and too much good food:-) It was at the retreat center at the volcano lake I've posted photos from before--it just always amazes me how beautiful and calm it is after the dirt and chaos of Addis. I needed that time to renew before these last crazy weeks here, I think. And yet again He provided. Always and again.

This is my friend Mindy. We were in a small group together last year, which was by far one of the sweetest times of community I've had here over the past 12 months.

And this is with my friend Dorinda, who's taught me many great Australian things, including words such as "lou" for the bathroom!! She's living far, far away in the SW part of the country now where they communicate with the rest of the world mainly by radio, but at least she's still in the same country as me!!

Here I'm with my friend Laurie, who's living in the same place as Dorinda. We didnt' tip over. It's a good thing I don't row like I walk!







One night a bunch of us piled into Dorinda's big land cruiser and went hyena hunting. We spotted a lot--at least 15! We weren't in it for the meat--it's just spotlight hunting. Hyenas live up to their name--they are possibly the ugliest creatures I've ever seen next to opossums.
Jackie decided the best viewing spot was on the top of the vehicle . . . we were pretty nice to her and didn't go flying over too many bumps!




On the drive back to Addis after the retreat . . . D looking cool in her shades (and hanging onto for dear life??).








It was market day in Debra Zeit, the town nearest the lake. I was working on my tourist appearance that I normally try to downplay:-)

Just the view out my window . . . .

Back in Addis, life has been back to normal. Two of my fellow staff had birthdays recently, so last week we celebrated with a joint b-day party. Both thought the party was for the other one, so that worked out pretty well:-)




With Teddy, the project manager--my boss and dear friend.






And this is Alemu and Jim. Alemu is generally my cohort in crime--he's a nurse as well and is the one I work with mostly in caring for our beneficiaries. Jim's here for a year or two, and he's working a lot with the men's support groups and boy's program.

We celebrated a friend's b-day at a great "Irish" restaurant several weeks ago. Here I'm with my friend Kristen who happens to be sitting in my living room right now.







And that's my life over the past few weeks!
This weekend is Easter (the Ethiopian and Western calendar match up this year!), and it's a huge celebration here. The past couple of days I've been thinking about how it should be the biggest party of the year. Today in one of the women's support groups I got to share the glorious story of Easter--the prophesy, the coming, the death, the resurrection, the promise of Jesus. I don't think about that nearly enough, but what greater hope to have in this broken and messed up world we live in than the knowledge that DEATH has been conquered?!

That's all from this side of the world. I pray this weekend is a sweet one for you as well as you reflect and pray and worship and eat and spend time with your families.
See you soon, dear ones . . . .

The Day Roza Wept

It was a cloudy, rainy day with a cool breeze. Nothing set the afternoon apart from any other; patients and work projects kept the day busy. Late in the afternoon I was sitting at my desk, intently focusing on whatever task stared back at me from the computer screen. I heard little feet on the stairs, and turned to see Ruth’s smiling nine-year-old face as she handed me an envelope from the laboratory. It was securely sealed, marked with multiple purple and red “CONFIDENTIAL” stamps. I had already forgotten the significance of the contents of the envelope, and in my carelessness I spent another 10 minutes finishing the computer job before I copied the papers inside the envelope and walked downstairs. Sitting on the edge of the flowerbeds, Ruth’s mother and another patient were waiting for me. I didn’t stop to notice the apprehensive glance Ruth’s mother Roza cast my way. I called the other lady in and reviewed the lab work she handed me as I wondered how I could quickly treat these patients and lock up for the day.
As I glanced down at Ruth’s results that I had tossed onto the desk, I remembered why the results were significant. On one line at the top of the results there was a simple letter that would dictate the rest of Ruth’s life. N or P? Negative or Positive? Was the demon disease of HIV already coursing through her veins? The day before, her mother had brought her in to see me and my fellow staff nurse. She’d been concerned that Ruth could have HIV, especially since she had been getting sick frequently in the past months. She’d even tried to have Ruth tested at a couple of places, but each time she was told the machines weren’t working and she would have to return another time. The fearful question had been building—what if Ruth did have HIV? Could Roza ever live with the knowledge that it was through her—her mistakes, her desperation, her offense—that Ruth would be infected with the disease? How could she watch her daughter die, knowing that ultimately she had caused her death? How would she deal with telling her daughter, her family, such awful news? The dread would be choking now—she needed to know the truth to the question she never wanted to have to ask.
Suddenly I realized that Roza was waiting on me to tell her what the answer was. I’ve had to tell parents before that their children are HIV positive, and it has to be one of the worst things I’ve ever done in my life. It’s as though you are the instrument, the jury foreman, handing out a death sentence—or at the very least life in prison. All this spun through my head, even as I became conscious that I needed to tell Roza the result. I turned to go to her and saw she was already at the door, not wanting to be impatient, but yet so desperately needing to know. Our eyes met—her’s strong, battle-worn, determined, fearful—and she said, through a strangled voice, “Saryay (my Sara), the result—what is it?”
The words rushed out of my mouth as I moved towards her, “It’s good. It’s very good!” It was N, not P, that stared back at me in bold black type on the lab result paper. Roza’s face crumpled as the reality took hold of her mind—Ruth was negative! The disease was not in her! She was free! She could live! As I reached Roza, she dropped to her knees on the cold concrete floor of my pharmacy room and lifted her hands high into the air. Her face stretched upwards as the weeping sobs took hold of her. Egziaber Yeemesgun, Egziaber Yeemesgun! she cried. Yes, yes, my friend, my sister! my soul replied. I held her arm, grasped her shoulders, and with tears in my eyes lifted my voice with hers to say Egziaber Yeemesgun. God be praised, God be praised!

Faces

Some photos from the past few days at the project . . .

This little girl is SO shy and afraid of us "foreigners"! She always hides behind her mom's skirt and starts crying if we come close. Her mom's been living a rough life; one day I was walking to the project office on the weekend. The women here who clean the streets are so ashamed of their occupation that they cover their faces with scarves so you can't see who they are. I was walking along at my normal brisk pace, enjoying the sunny day and the rush of the city. Suddenly one of the street cleaners stepped up to me and said, "Sara". I turned and realized it was Haymanot, this little girl's mom. I hope we get the opportunity to really reach out to them.

This is Mesfin--I love this photo because it shows how much he's improved in the past months. He and his mom and little brother joined the project in November. His whole face was covered with an infectious skin disorder that frequently affects those with HIV. We started feeding the family and providing meds and vitamins, and he's like a whole new child! He's in school now, and is very bright.

And this is Abeba and her little girl Sara. Abeba's precious to me--some days I just wish so badly I could do more for her. She's struggling to raise her two girls alone--but she's making it. Sara is precious and gentle and full of hugs and kisses. This day I got jolly rancher-goo in my kiss:) I loved the stickiness, though:)

I want it, I need it?

I love Addis. No electricity, no phone line, no water. Argh.
That was my immediate reaction just now when the lamp in my room and the soft whirr of the fan abruptly switched off.
I really do love Addis, and I’ve (albeit grudgingly at times) learned to live without the phone line and internet at my house for the past few weeks. The water’s been unreliable lately, and I can take a darn good bucket bath now. The electricity is my finicky relationship around here—it’s on again, off again, but mostly on so I’m ok with it. But when they all three go and I’m praying the gas in my stove will hold out, I can get cranky. It’s not because I can’t adapt, because I can and I’ve had to. I didn’t go on all those camping trips as a kid for nothing, I guess:-)
But I get out of sorts because I don’t want to live without those things. I’m used to them and frankly I like having them around. But I don’t get to choose whether they’re on or off, and that irritates me. I’d be better suited to this if I could say, “Ok, I’ll deal with no water. But only from midnight to 6am, ok?!”
When I view my reaction like that, it’s a little on the ugly side. Who am I to now expect these good things as a requirement for my survival? I’m self-centered, and I live in a place where this should get stripped out of me. But it’s not . . . yet. I am human, and I try to forget how very human I am sometimes. I live in a world where water is precious and not so easy to come by, where electricity is a luxury and one naked bulb in a house is plenty, where a phone is something that defines the haves and the have-nots. Who do I think I am to get angry over losing something that so many never have??
I’m all right, after all. I can open my window and let in some sunlight, I can carry water to my house, I have a cell phone and there’s internet at the office. I have so much, even without these things I tell myself are necessities. God said He would provide for me, and He has never failed me yet. Oh, how small my faith, my daily belief in the truth of that promise!
I should be glad, after, all that I get a chance to realize how little I need and how much I’ve been given.
The fan blade is beginning to turn and the lights are flickering. Life is, indeed, rich.

They Make Me Smile

The project office has been pretty quiet this morning, and I've been catching up with emails and reading research articles and looking at my lists of things to do. Just now Selamawit came upstairs to see me. She's 6 and has a new hair-do today--her short curls are pulled up in tiny ponytails all over her head. She came to tell me that her mom was downstairs and needed to give me Selamawit's HIV medication to store. I followed Selamawit downstairs, slowing down as she carefully climbed down each step. We organized her medication and as I lowered the candy box for her, she gave me her best twinkly-eyed shy smile. If you click on that link to the right to "Matthew's Africa Thoughts" I think you can find a video of Selamawit from April, 06. If I were mildly technically literate, I'm sure I could put a link right here in the text for you, but I'm not--so sorry!
Yesterday Deborah had a cough so her mom brought her up to see us. She sat in my lap and we played for a bit--these photos were taken then. Deborah knows she's a favorite amongst the staff--she's like the project baby, and everyone laughs and smiles when she comes. We've seen first baby steps and heard squeals of anger and delight as she discovers the world around her. I wish that Deborah had a daddy and a much more stable life, but I'm glad we've been given the privilege of watching her grow up.
That's my world today.

Well . . . .

Sorry, folks. My phone line is dead, and thus I don't have much internet access. So I'm still here, plugging away--I'm just not able to tell you about it! But I have water, so I'm not really complaining (yet)! In a place like this, your priorities shift just a little. Have YOU ever thought of which utility you'd rather have if you had to choose?? I do that all the time, but unfortunately in the end no one lets me choose:)
Life is good, busy, hard . . . . as usual! Today I got up before 6 (yes, Sara P CAN do that . . . she just doesn't LIKE to!), went running, and headed to the office about 7:30. Had a staff meeting this morning, worked on collecting some medical data for various reports and proposals, attempted to balance financial records for medical expenses for beneficiaries, and then I ate some lunch with the staff. This afternoon I've worked on the data review and collection and treated or referred multiple patients and written notes in beneficiary charts. In between I've given out candy, greeted about 35 people with handshakes and kisses, and I've tickled and kissed "my" baby in the project. That's my day thus far--hope that wasn't too boring of a report!
Hopefully that dead phone line will be resurrected soon and I can keep up a bit better. Keep sending those emails--I read them even if I don't reply back:)
The end. Happy March.

Christmas Can Be Anytime

I'm pretty ridiculously happy right now. Today I received not one, but TWO packages from the US of A. One survived an extended stay at the E. post office, during which time the mission mail person debated with officials over how much money they were really going to charge me to get said package released from captivity. This morning I trekked to the PO, got multiple pieces of paper signed and stamped, walked down the road to the bank for more signing and stamping, then went back to the PO to visit a few more booths before I FINALLY got to see the long-awaited package. It was worth the wait, Leah:) The other package rather innocently stated that it contained "socks". Right. I'm glad it didn't, Gracie:) The other two items evoked squeals from me!!
So yeah. I couldn't ask for much more than this. I get to read a great new book, watch Gilmore Girls, savor girl scout thin mints (and try to make them last more than one sitting!), and all the while BREATHE! Thanks, you lovely people!

Breathe

In and out. I'm still alive, for all those who thought perhaps this time around I really wasn't going to respond to your emails:) It's been a crazy month--a team here for close to 2 weeks, 3 days off, then another team for 2 weeks. They just flew out tonight, and I am anticipating the sheer wonderfulness of sleeping in tomorrow!! The past couple of weeks I've been pretty consumed with project work related activities--planning and clinics and meds and lab orders and dinners and people. But that's the most beautiful thing--it IS about people; about people who come to help carry our burden here in this work, about people here we get to work alongside, about people we get to serve and care for.
So, all you beautiful people, have a great day. I'm going to go to sleep:)

Thoughts About Life

poverty is so hard to see
when it’s only on your tv and twenty miles across town where we’re all living so good
that we moved out of Jesus’ neighborhood
where he’s hungry and not feeling so good
from going through our trash
he says, more than just your cash and coin
i want your time, i want your voice
i want the things you just can’t give me

so what must we do
here in the west we want to follow you
we speak the language and we keep all the rules
even a few we made up

come on and follow me
but sell your house, sell your suv
sell your stocks, sell your security
and give it to the poor
what is this, hey what’s the deal
i don’t sleep around and i don’t steal
i want the things you just can’t give me

because what you do to the least of these
my brother’s, you have done it to me
because i want the things you just can’t give me
--derek webb, rich young ruler


I was thinking through my pen this morning, cowering from the realities of truth and life and yet desperately wanting to grasp it all . . .
“My body is weary. My soul is bruised. Some days I feel 90 years old.
But there is a someday when none of that will matter. So to pick up, to press on, to live joyfully, freely—being filled up with love and pouring it out. To yearn for, plead for, fight for justice. To care.
Not because I’m better person. Not because I "should".
But because I can and I want to because—Amazing! I’ve been loved like that, I’ve been fought for, I’ve been bought by blood, by a poured-out life, justice and mercy have been purchased and given for me. Not because it had to be. Not because of proving something. But because He wanted to. Incomprehensible.”

This thought of what to do next in my life has been pretty all-consuming. Not just because I don’t like making decisions but because I recognize that either choice I am facing will be painful. In my frail humanity I long for the easy way out. But here, there is none. To stay here means to give up so much there that I always thought I wanted out of this life. To leave means to break my heart for the ones here. I know these choices aren’t necessarily exclusive of aspects of the other. But in a sense, I guess I realize that I need to make this decision on the “either/or” side of life, because otherwise it’s too muddy for me to see. And all of you who have ever listened to me talk and cry for endless hours when facing other decisions will probably just groan and be glad you aren’t around for this one:) But the dichotomy I feel like I am facing is huge. And I want both. And neither is inherently “wrong” (bye bye fence and freedom, I already got that figured out here and it’s NOT helping!!).

Today mostly I am glad that life’s not about me. It doesn’t revolve around me, it doesn’t rely on me. I’m not that important in the scheme of millenniums. Because I’m not in charge. And that, that is a wonderful thing.

So I don’t know about tomorrow. But today’s work is clear. And right now, that’s enough.

Even So

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,

Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,

And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,

The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;

The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,

Even so, it is well with my soul.

--Horatio Spafford

I think this is one of the precious and painful lessons the Lord has burned into me over the past nine months. That truly, whatever life brings and wherever I am--it IS well because HE has made it so. What incredible, incomprehensible grace. As I've realized this truth more and more, I've learned what it means to truly plead that the day would come quickly when HE will return and reign. There will be justice then, and we will see mercy poured out. I want that day to come soon. For me, and for the oppressed and broken and beaten ones in this world.

Life's not all ok, but right now I am peaceful. I'm listening to one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received--an audio recording of all of my extended family during Christmas. I get to hear the family jokes (Bugle Boy?), the laughter and teasing, the stories dredged up from the past. I got to hear my uncle play the piano and his deep voice rolled over my soul. The tears came, but they were joy tears that I got to be a part of my family still. I heard my grandmother begin to cry as she read a note from me, and I heard her say, "I love you, Sara". I don't deserve this family--yet I've been given them! The incredible grace continues to overwhelm me.

Life will always be painful, and will rarely give me all I want from it. But that's ok, isn't it? Because that grace will always be there, and there will be moments of intense joy amidst the pain. Like right now, listening to my cousin's baby boy laugh and cry. I'm laughing and crying with him.

The Why

God uses people. God uses people to perform His work. He does not send angels. Angels weep over it, but God does not use angels to accomplish His purposes. He uses burdened broken-hearted weeping men and women.
–David Wilkerson

Some wish to live within the sound of a chapel bell; I wish to run a rescue mission within a yard of hell.
— C.T. Studd

I have but one candle of life to burn, and I would rather burn it out in a land filled with darkness than in a land flooded with light.
– John Keith Falconer

Someone asked Will the heathen who have never heard the Gospel be saved? It is more a question with me whether we — who have the Gospel and fail to give it to those who have not — can be saved.
— Charles Spurgeon

‘Not called!’ did you say? ‘Not heard the call,’ I think you should say. Put your ear down to the Bible, and hear Him bid you go and pull sinners out of the fire of sin. Put your ear down to the burdened, agonized heart of humanity, and listen to its pitiful wail for help. Go stand by the gates of hell, and hear the damned entreat you to go to their father’s house and bid their brothers and sisters and servants and masters not to come there. Then look Christ in the face — whose mercy you have professed to obey — and tell Him whether you will join heart and soul and body and circumstances in the march to publish His mercy to the world.
– William Booth

"He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose."
-- Jim Elliot

"God is pursuing with omnipotent passion a worldwide purpose of gathering joyful worshippers for Himself from every tribe and tongue and people and nation. He has an inexhaustible enthusiasm for the supremacy of His name among the nations. Therefore, let us bring our affections into line with His, and, for the sake of His name, let us renounce the quest for worldly comforts and join His global purpose."
-- John Piper

Every day, every hour, may I learn to love justice, to show mercy, and to walk humbly with my God. These men got it, they understood what it meant to live a poured-out life. It's not about going to the most remote place you can find on a map--that I think I have learned--but it's about joyfully pouring our hearts and lives out because He did it first.

Painful Questions

I don't know how to say this,

I don't know how to stand,

I don't know where toput my feet,

or where to put my hands.

I've got them in my pockets,

my fingers are freezing cold . . . .

I think we've figured out this world is bigger than you and I.

We've exhausted our wealth of knowledge and have no more answers for mankind

We've had every conversation in the world

about what is right and what has all gone bad,

but have I mentioned to you that this is all I am,

this is all that I have.

--Sara Groves, "Conversations"

To wonder what mercy means, when it will appear and sweep through this broken world in a way I can see--these are questions I struggle with. I want to see it now, I beg for mercy for these shattered lives, for the little ones left behind, for us who cry with and for them but cannot bear their burdens.

Wishing?

I wish the semblance of organization in my mind would manifest itself in my everyday life. I want to be like those people in Southern Living with perfectly beautiful, always neat homes that seem to say “Come in!” (they also say “Don’t touch!” but that’s for later!). I wish my expenses were all carefully organized in an Excel document and that I balanced my checkbook on occasion. I wish all my clothes were neatly hung up in my closet, and that my dresser wasn’t cluttered with an assortment of hairpins, slips of paper with seemingly important information scrawled on them, and various tubes and bottles. I wish my kitchen cabinets were worthy of Martha Stewart stopping by to inspect them. I wish the project work I have to get done this weekend wasn’t spread out in 2 notebooks, 3 sheets of paper, and two Word documents. I wish all the recipes I want to make before I die were all laminated and organized in a 3 ring binder, instead of being written on miscellaneous index cards and envelope flaps. I wish my purse contained only the essentials —keys, phone, Kleenex, mace J instead of the “what if I need it?” items that are crammed in there (someone might stop breathing around me and that CPR mask would sure come in handy!). I wish my schedule was consistent and that I really went running every Monday/Wednesday/Friday/Saturday. I wish the thousands of photos on my computer were efficiently arranged into correctly named folders, all stored under “My Pictures”. I wish that I could promptly reply to all the letters and emails waiting on me. I wish that when I made banana bread half the flour didn’t end up sprinkled over the floor and dusting my shirt. I wish that when I walked I could always keep walking, but instead I make contact with gravel, rocks, doors, and people that you’re really not supposed to. I wish I would remember to water my plants, instead of letting them die slow, withered deaths.
I could go on, but you probably get the point . . . .
I know some of these things I can change, and I should, and I do try (sometimes). But then I think, “Whoa! I’m in my mid-20s; I’m set in my ways--I’m going to be like this when I am 80!!” And I panic for a moment and think maybe I should be a little more neurotic about all these things.
Yet, yet . . . . do these things really matter? The world around me would have me believe that they do, indeed, matter greatly. How many self-help books can I find to help me be a better, more organized, more prepared, more perfect person? Insomuch as these things truly do reflect my heart and mind, then yes, those things certainly need to be worked on and changed so that even in the small things I might “work as unto the Lord”.
But in all truth, I’d rather spend less time, energy, and stress on dusting the corners and more on always having a cup of coffee ready for someone who needs a friend. I’d rather have a clean toilet than a designer home. I’d rather serve Mexican chicken soup that simmered all day than “fried papaya strips with mango salsa” that I spent all day on and no one wants to eat. I’d rather be a messy cook than a take-out queen. I’d rather have an allowance and let someone else keep my accounts straight (hey, I can wish!!).
I realize these things aren’t all mutually exclusive. And maybe someday I’ll get it all together, I’ll be able to have that perfectly neat home and always be able to find my last bank statement. But more than that, I hope that when I am 80 I can look back and not regret how I spent my time and energy.
So come on over. The coffee’s ready and the no-bake cookies are on their way. Just push over that stack of clothes on the sofa and have a seat!

Not Boring

Life, that is. I'm sorry I haven't been posting lately to tell you that, but here's a little taste for you to see why life could never, ever be boring in a place like this!!