Another Year Older. A Whole Heap Wiser.

This week was my birthday. I’m not big on celebrations, but I do value meaningful traditions. So, about three or four years ago, I started a little birthday ritual I call my “Birthday Resolutions.” (In lieu of New Year’s resolutions. It’s close enough to New Year’s and it’s a bit more personal, which works so much better for me.) Every year on my birthday, I write a letter. I celebrate highlights from the previous year and then include my prayers, hopes and resolutions for the upcoming year. Before I write the new letter, however, I take time to read my letter from the previous year, just as a means of remembering where I was and (hopefully) recognizing where I’ve come.

I was a bit apprehensive this year about reading my letter from from 2013. That letter was written in the midst of a figurative tsunami and I honestly couldn’t remember what I had written. To my astonishment, it was surprisingly positive, upbeat even, with a keen sense of expectancy and hope in the midst of some pretty terrible circumstances. And then I realized – that was before the real wave hit. Before I got tossed under the proverbial bus, torn down and ripped to shreds. True enough, by that time I was unraveling at all seams and headed for a major collapse. But it was in the months that followed that I would be told I was just ” so smart and so confident” and that I made certain people “feel stupid.” (Strange how being smart and confident are usually considered attributes. Unless your a female – then they’re an indictment. But I digress.) I had to experience the pleasure of public knock-downs and private eviscerations. It was after my birthday letter that I was told I was being deliberately “beat down” as a means “putting me in my place.”

Before I go any further, allow me to stay that include this information for one reason: because it relates directly to the internal process of which I am writing about. Sometimes being vague is enough. And sometimes it’s not. In this case, these few details are the supreme catalyst for a period of personal transformation and that is why I am sharing them. It is not, in any way, a pointed finger or an attempt to uncover any particular person. There are enough of those king of blogs out there and I have no wish to participate in that. (It’s not my job to throw stones.) However, this is part of my journey and, therefore, it’s included. Please read nothing into except that.

Despite the craziness of this situation, I am (thankfully!) able to look back over this past year and rejoice. I’ve added one year to my age but I feel like I’ve added a lifetime of wisdom. Wisdom I hope I will be able to live out in the years to come.

There are a million things I could include here, countless lessons that would take pages and pages. But I won’t. (Those will be the blogs that follow.) Today it is enough to simply talk about one thing: God is a God of restoration.

Seems simply enough. And we’ve heard it a million times. We can recite scripture upon scripture about it. But until we have to walk through something that both breaks us and reveals our brokenness, we don’t really comprehend this.

Over the past year, my greatest challenge has been in this arena. I found myself in a place where I wasn’t being corrected for something I had done, but being chastised for who I was. While I have faced similar challenges previously, nothing compared to this. I was suddenly confronted with a gut-wrenching question: is there something wrong with me?

The answer to that question is a resounding No. I am strong, I am opinionated, I am smart. I think quickly and know what I believe (and what I want). I have a strong sense of justice and I am not easily coerced into doing things I don’t want to. I can hold my own.

Of course, that’s not to say I don’t have my issues. I do – and plenty of them. Sometimes I move too fast. I see the goal more than I see people. I isolate. I come off intimating and unapproachable. There are more that can be added but the point is that I am aware.

The problem is that we begin to look at our weaknesses (and the weaknesses of others) and feel compelled to “fix” them. We are all broken – that’s the nature of sin. Our response is to fix everything. Yet, we don’t serve a God who “fixes” us, we serve a God who restores us.

This is more than semantics, and is crucial to our understanding of how the Father works in the lives of his children. Anyone can “fix” something; only a master can restore.

This is best demonstrated in the world of art. Let’s say you have a Van Gogh piece in need of repair. Age and life have caused some cracks, some dings or simply dried it out. It’s still masterpiece but it requires attention. Anyone can walk up to it and slap a layer of clear coat on it and walk away saying, “Fixed!” And that may work…for a time.

But a master – someone skilled in the art of restoration – would do no such thing. To the contrary, He would spend time evaluating the damage and assessing the proper means of full restoration. He will slowly and gently clean the piece before applying anything to it. This can take months, years even! And only then will He will begin applying whatever needs to be applied.

In a less poetic way, anyone can wrap duct tape around a broken pipe and “fix” a water problem. But we all know how that eventually turns out. If you want to do it right (and prevent further damage to your home), you call a repair man who comes and actually repairs the damage.

This is such an important lesson for us as believers. God is not into duct taping our souls. (We’re the ones who do that…) It’s not that we’re not broken and in need of repair. We are. We ALL are. We are all broken. And we all break. But the LORD of Heaven’s goal is not to fix us; His will is to repair us. Restore us. Renew us.

This revelation changed so much for me. First, I have nothing to apologize for in who I am. (No one does. Psalm 139 says He is the one who knit us together. He made us the way we are!) And for those parts of us that require attention, He lovingly and painstakingly restores us. (Psalm 23). Beyond that, He actually bears these burdens of ours. He took them upon Himself, which is why it matters so very much to Him.

I’m through with the “fix it” mentality. I want to be a restorer. A reconciler. A repairer. Whatever that looks like, that’s it. It took walking through a whole heap of wreckage to get to this point but I’m thankful for it. And, I pray, a whole heap wiser because of it.

My prayer today is Psalm 138 (emphasis mine):

I will give You thanks with all my heart;
I will sing praises to You before the gods.
I will bow down toward Your holy temple
And give thanks to Your name for Your lovingkindness and Your truth;
For You have magnified Your word according to all Your name.

On the day I called, You answered me;
You made me bold with strength in my soul.
All the kings of the earth will give thanks to You, O Lord,
When they have heard the words of Your mouth.
And they will sing of the ways of the Lord,
For great is the glory of the Lord.
For though the Lord is exalted,
Yet He regards the lowly,
But the haughty He knows from afar.

Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You will revive me;
You will stretch forth Your hand against the wrath of my enemies,
And Your right hand will save me.
The Lord will accomplish what concerns me;
Your lovingkindness, O Lord, is everlasting;
Do not forsake the works of Your hands.

2014: The Year of Fire

I’ve been mulling over this post for days, weeks even. Yet for all my contemplation and mental crafting, I just haven’t been able to lock myself down to tap out my thoughts. On the contrary, I’ve found every manner of other activity to do: taking down Christmas decorations, cleaning like a mad woman, and cooking enough food to feed a small army. To put it more bluntly, I’ve been avoiding this.

You see, it isn’t just that today is New Year’s Day and I somehow how feel compelled to ring in the new year by recapping last year or even promising great things for the coming one. Today is more than New Year’s: it’s an anniversary. On this day exactly one year ago, I received a phone call that dramatically shifted every part of my life. It was devastating, crushing, betraying, accusing and heartbreaking. In the months that ensued, I could only compare the event – and it’s aftermath – to walking through fire. An intense, unyielding flame that was often so unbearable I wasn’t sure I would endure.

However, endure I did. And, looking back, I realize that, as painful as this journey has been, it has also been the catalyst for a great reforging. Fire is pain. But it is also purifying and can, if one allows it, create a stronger, brighter and purer object.

So, avoidance comes to an end. And thus begins my sharing of “The Year of Fire.”

I started gaining an understanding of this purification process  while on a study tour in Israel. We were studying the life of David. No greater character in scripture can be found (save Yeshua Himself) when it comes to walking through fire and coming out gleaming. It happened that we were walking the Kidron Valley one day, the same valley King David crossed when fleeing from his son Absalom, a conspirator and usurper of the throne.

For those that don’t know, the Kidron Valley – and the adjoining Jehoshaphat and Hinnom Valleys – are known as places of judgement. And fire. (Perhaps I will go more in depth on this in the future…) Suffice it to say, David wasn’t just fleeing from his conspirator son, he was passing through the valley of fire. And while he was on this journey, he encountered Shimei, a man of the family of the house of Saul, who came out hurling curses and insults at the king.

I suppose he figured he could. The king was on the run and it seemed likely he’d lost the throne. But David’s man Abishai would have none of it and offered to run the man through. (You can read 2 Samuel 16 for the full story.) Remarkably and surprisingly, David said no. His response, “Let him alone and let him curse for the Lord has allowed him. Perhaps the Lord will look upon my affliction and return good for my afflictions this day.”

That. Is the heart of a true king. I was dumbstruck by his response. Such humility. Such grace. And such trust in the Lord. Who responds this way? I wish it could say it was my heart in my personal journey this year but that would not be true. (I tend to lean more towards James and John, who want to call down fire from the sky on people…) It is, however, who I want to be. And if I want to be that, I must walk the path of fire and let that fire have it’s work in me.

I wish it wasn’t that way, but the truth is there are some things in our spiritual walk that only fire can produce. Reading, studying, praying and all manner of spiritual disciplines are great. They can and will produce great fruit in our lives. But there are a few things only fire can do:

1) Purify: there is no greater purifier to our souls than fire. Only fire can burn away the dross and get the impurities to the surface to be scraped away. It doesn’t take much – when you’re in the fire – to determine what is of value and what isn’t. And those squelching flames cause you to decide quickly what you want to keep and what you want removed.

2) Softens: only the intense heat of the fire can soften us. Isn’t that what the Father is looking for? To make us moldable, pliable. Perhaps beyond our will, but it’s only when we’re “soft” that we can be shaped and forged into the vessels He desires us to be.

3) Strengthens: fire also reinforces and strengthens us. When the dross is burned up, we’re left with a purer “metal” and one that is so much stronger than before. With all the crap gone, the steal gets even stealier. (My apologies if that’s a bit too vulgar for some readers. I just have no better way to say it…)

As simple as it may sound, that about sums up 2014 for me. I won’t lie – it was pure hell most days. There were moments I just didn’t know how I was going to get out of bed or make it through my day. Moments of shear grief and sorrow, despair and shame. It was trial by fire. Yet in those flames, God was doing something. I didn’t necessarily see it at the front, but I am seeing it now.

So, 2014 has come to a close. I can’t say I am sad to see it end. As a matter of fact, I’m quite glad. (I thought it would never end!) What I am most thankful for, however, is the ability to see a better me at the end of it. Things have not gone as planned. Or even hoped. They didn’t end as I would have wanted. But I am changed. I’ve found myself again. And (I hope) become a better person for the fiery journey. So much dross have been burned away. Things in me that needed to be softened have been – and for that I am so very grateful!

And the strong parts of me…well, they’re even stronger. More uncompromising. Even less yielding. For this, I am most grateful.

With that I can say – bring on 2015. It’s a new season, a new year and a new day. And I cannot wait to see all that lies ahead…

Back to blogging…

It’s been a while, my dear blog site. I confess I’ve been sorely negligent, downright neglectful of you the past several years. But I’m returning now – and committing myself to updating you once again.

You see, the past several years have been crazy ones. Painful ones. Discouraging and deflating ones. It’s been trial by fire and some days it was all I could do to just breathe, much less write or try to express myself.

But the smoke is clearing and my vision is returning. And I sense it’s time to start peeling back the layers and putting down in words all I have experienced, felt and learned over these years. It’s time to be a bit…(shudder at the word) vulnerable. To reveal a bit of my heart. (And, of course, my head, since that dominates my being.) It’s not to air dirty laundry. Or point fingers. Or expose anyone or anything. It’s simply time to heal. And part of healing will come through sharing.

I still don’t have all the answers. I doubt I ever will. But if what I’ve gained ministers to just one person, then it’s all worth it.

There will be no names listed. Dates, times and events will be deliberately vague. There’s not need to burden myself – or anyone else – with such trivial details. But I will remain true to myself – my feelings, my thoughts, my emotions. I will take the risk and crack open my soul.

So, dear blog…here it goes again. I look forward to lessons and stories, tidbits and soundbites, joys and sorrows, in the days to come. (Muah)

Was It A Morning Like This?

Easter is here! I confess, I love this time of year. Cadbury eggs, Reese’s peanut butter eggs, Snicker eggs (yes, there’s a theme here) all make me very happy.  I love the calla lilies and tulips, the lengthening of days and the brightness of the sky.

However, for all their wonders, Easter candy and flowers aren’t the summation of my deep appreciation for this particular holiday. Easter is also a simultaneously solemn and joyous time of reflection for me. This year is no different. I’ve written on the topic before and decided this year to revisit some previous writing. Although it was written years ago, this particular piece never grows old for me.  Quite frankly, I hope it never does. So, here it is:

Was It A Morning Like This? (Revised):

I’ve realized in my life I take a lot of things for granted. The sun that rises every morning. The air that I breathe. The very ground beneath my feet! I go to bed every night with the general expectation that I will wake up the next morning. None of these are unfair expectations, but it’s easy to forget they are all little miracles. As a believer, the same can also be said for the Resurrection of the Lord Jesus. It is far to easy to take for granted His great sacrifice and allow it to slip into common place. We believers talk about it, sing about it and celebrate it. How often do we actually think about it? Do we fully comprehend and recognize how wondrously and miraculous our Saviour’s resurrection was and is?

Many years ago, I was introduced to Sandi Patty’s “Was It A Morning Like This?” – a song that forever changed my perspective on Easter morning. I’ve always been inclined to try to put myself in other people’s shoes and see the world through their eyes. As a child traveling through the Great Plains of South Dakota, I would imagine what it was like to be a pioneer traversing those wide open plains in a covered wagon. As my family ventured into the Black Hills, I would close my eyes and try to envision what it would have been like to be a Native American braving the cold Dakota winters in their tepees. Even recently, while exploring the swamps of Louisiana, I asked, “I wonder what it was like 100 years ago trying to travel through these snake and alligator infested waters!” And so it’s been all my life, I want to see everything from the perspective of those who’ve gone before. Sandi’s song challenged me to imagine Easter morning as it could have been some 2000 years ago. And so I’ve asked myself, “Was it a morning like this?”

I’ve asked that countless times and, truth be told, none of us will ever truly know. However, I’ve allowed myself the liberty to imagine some possibilities.  And so I wonder…

Was it a morning like this

When the Son still hid from Jerusalem?

And Mary rose from her bed

To tend the Lord she thought was dead.

I wonder what it was like for Mary and the other women as they rose from their beds early that morning, knowing the grim and heart-wrenching task that lay before them that day. It had only been three days and I’m sure their grief weighed on their souls like a blanket of lead. As they gathered their spices and perfumes, I can only imagine the images of the days prior repeating in their minds.

Whips and thorns. Blood and sweat. Dark skies and thunder. The ground shaking and a veil tearing. And three ominous words: “It is finished.”

Did they wonder what this meant? What was finished? This couldn’t be the end. Most certainly this is not what they expected. Jesus was supposed to be Messiah. He had come to conquer and reign. But the last images of their Beloved were no doubt of his body, broken and bleeding, being carried from the cross and laid in a tomb. I doubt there were words for the depths of their despair. He was more than just a man. He was their friend, their master, their rabbi and their Saviour.

And he was dead. Painfully, brutally dead.

Was it a morning like this

When Mary walked down from Jerusalem?

And two angels stood at the tomb, 

Bearers of news she would hear soon.

I wonder what they talked about on the way to the tomb, if they even talked at all. Did they try to console one another? Or did they simply put one foot in front of the other in deafening silence? No doubt they were preparing themselves mentally for what they were about to encounter: the stench and decay of a three-day old dead body. The body of One they loved more than anything.

As they approached the tomb, did their hearts sink even further as they saw the stone was rolled away? As if it wasn’t enough that their Jesus had been crucified, had someone now committed the unthinkable and stolen his body? Perhaps rage mixed with grief as they approached the emptiness, uncertain of what they would find. The question hung in the air, “What have they done with his body?”

Whatever their emotions, nothing could have prepared them for their angelic encounter. Another earthquake, blinding light…and a proclamation “He is risen!”

Despair and grief were consumed by embers of hope now burst into flame! Terrified, bewildered – and yet full of joy – the women ran to tell the disciples.

Did the grass sing?

Did the earth rejoice to feel you again?

Over and over like a trumpet underground did the earth seem to pound,

He is risen?

Over and over in a never ending round,

He is risen! Alleluia, Alleluia!

I honestly wonder: was that morning different? Was the sky a more vivid shade of blue? Did the rays of the sun shimmer in a more dazzling array now that the clouds had been swept away? Did the birds sing sweeter, proclaiming redemption? What did it feel like that day? Mary Magdalene and the women awoke unaware of the great transformation – but the earth knew. As they made their journey to the tomb, what was the manifest evidence? It is only conjecture, but I can just imagine small flickers of life and hope rustling through the trees and whispering on the breeze….

Did they finally notice as they ran to tell the disciples?

Was it a morning like this,

When Peter and John ran from Jerusalem?

And as they raced for the tomb,

Beneath their feet was there a tune?

I wonder what it was like for Peter and John to receive such news from the women. Did they hesitate for a moment, thinking, “These women are crazy.” Or was it an immediate recognition of the Truth? Either way, it didn’t take long for them to respond and race to see for themselves. As they ran, did their hearts echo a new beat, one resounding through the earth like trumpets and timpani, declaring, “He is risen!” And as the sound reverberated through their souls, shattering grief and despair, did they finally begin to see?

I think they did. In a very brief moment, the veil over their eyes was torn. Their hearts and minds were shaken. Revelation dawned. They thought the story was over – the last chapter finished and the book closed. But here was the Resurrected Jesus and they knew: it was finished…but the story had just begun.

Was it a morning like this

When my Lord looked out on Jerusalem?

He is Risen! Alleluia, Alleluia!

Alleluia!

He is Risen. Three little words (at least three words in English) changed the course of history.  As the universe shook and hell itself trembled at this simple statement, human history was forever and permanently altered. Lives were eternally transformed.  Three words – and chains were broken. Three words – and death was defeated. Three words – and the chasm between God and man was bridged.  Three words.

He is Risen!

Three words I take for granted. Which is why every Easter I try to put myself back in Mary, Peter and John’s shoes. Unlike them, I know the rest of the story and this knowing – be it the gift that it is – is often my greatest disadvantage. When Good Friday comes, I observe it with the knowledge Sunday is coming. And it can be so facile to take for granted just how amazing, how wonderful and how truly miraculous Easter Sunday is. All men die. But only one rose again from the dead, having conquered death and hell. I know the rest of the story, but I pray my knowledge of what “happened next” never reduces the power and impact of that momentous day.

If I pause long enough, it’s not too difficult to envision what the women and disciples may have felt – and imagine the possibilities of those tumultuous three days – their turmoil turned to elation. My reflection helps to keep the resurrection a fresh event in my heart and soul as opposed to just knowledge in my head. Whatever that first Easter morning was like, I know with certainty of the dawn of Salvation in my life. My prayer remains: God, may Your light continue to break forth in my life – and all who believe – dispersing the haze of our every day lives and removing the veils from our eyes. May we all be reminded of the magnificence and majesty of our Resurrected Lord! He is Exalted, Adorned with Glory…and He is Risen!

ALLELUIA!

Kids Camp, Week 1

I just finished my first week of kids camp with the church I now work for (and attend).  It’s been a whirlwind, the past few weeks, and I find I’ve given little time for reflection.  So, here it is: reflection on Kids Camp!

First, I have to say how amazed I constantly am at the amount of work the small childrens ministry staff accomplishes.  Not quite three weeks ago, VBS was in full swing.  Nearly 650 children attended this event.  And now we are in the midst of not one, but two, kids camps.  Really, it remarkable how much gets pulled off here without folks going completely insane.

I managed to get hired right in the middle of everything.  And then I flew off to Africa.  To say I hit the ground running hardly sums it up.  I feel like I got caught in hurricane and have simply been trying to hold and yet remain flexible at the same time.  It’s proved a great challenge.

I’ve been frustrated at times, due to a lack of information and training regarding what my responsibilities entail.  (For the record, this is not intended as criticism to any parties involved.  I am simply stating.)  I would never consider myself a rigid person, yet I find that I need structure, definition and context in gross amounts to function at my self-defined best.  I’ve had nearly none of the aforementioned, so the past few weeks have been challenging and stretching.  I guess the good news is that I am learning a lot about myself in the process!

I’ve been able to check most of my frustrations and to (somewhat) go with the flow.  Huge praise for growth!

The camp itself was great!  Kids amaze me, they really do.  They challenge me to let go and to think in ways that my adult mind would otherwise never go.  Sometimes it’s very difficult for me because I’m not sure I’ve ever thought like a child; I often joke that I was born old.  (Sometimes I think I’m more immature now than I ever was as a child or teenager!)  But I’m always thankful when I walk away.  I wonder how much we could really learn from children if we took the time to listen.

My greatest impression this week was realizing the capacity that children posses to truly understand God.  I think sometimes we underestimate the ability of children to comprehend the “big” things, including faith.  What I witnessed this week demonstrates the exact opposite: they have great understanding.  And because they are young, it’s almost as if they understand more. 

I was particularly struck by a young boy, I’m guessing around the age of ten, who was struck by the Holy Spirit.  I don’t recall the specific point of the speaker’s message (I’m not sure there was a central theme), but he was driving home the scripture “what you have done for the least of these, you have done for me.”  This boy starting crying and then weeping.  A couple counselors went to talk to him, and he confessed that he was always mean to his little sister.  He then said he was so sorry, that he understood how terrible it was.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a child respond to the Word of God like this before. I know it was the Holy Spirit, but it still hit me.  He was so upset and wanted to call his sister right then and there to apologize for everything he had said and done.  (How precious is that?)

After, I learned he started going around to the other kids, asking them if they were mean to their siblings or kids at school.  He wanted them to confess and repent!  He actually started making a list of names.  Talk about conviction, forgiveness and conversion.

There were other children with similar stories, all of which reminded how vital it is that we (adults) pour into these young lives.  Our Father in heaven does not have an age requirement in order to know Him.  Therefore it is incumbent on us to share who He is with even the youngest person we encounter.  We cannot assume they will not or cannot understand.  After all, this young man understood more about his wrong actions than most adults I’ve met.  His response demonstrates he “got it.”

I confess I am tired beyond all measure from being gone all week.  (My thoughts are probably not nearly as coherent as they ought to be because of it.)  But it was important for me to share.  The past couple weeks have been difficult, and I have struggled with being here.  But serving at the camp and being surrounded by these children affirmed many things for me.  One of those was the plan for the foster care in Africa.  It’s not just about getting kids off the street; it’s about investing in them and pouring something into them that will forever shape their life in the best possible way.  Whatever the price to accomplish this, it will be well worth it.

Sierra Leone 2009, Part 6

Day 8

Tuesday was bittersweet.  On one hand, I was exited about the events of the day.  In the morning, I was going with Miss C to the church office to work with some of the staff.  Later, I would venture out to meet some foster parents and children, and possible make a various other stops.

On the other hand, the knowledge that I would be leaving in a day was almost too much to bear.  I couldn’t imagine loving Sierra Leone more than I already had, and yet that is exactly what happened.  It now had an even deeper place in my heart and nothing in me wanted to leave.

It was a great day, though.  The time at the office was extraordinary and I was thrilled I was able to meet more of the staff.  Spending time with them became a very vital part of my trip.  I joined in the general session that morning, and Miss C had the group go around and say encouraging, uplifting things about each other.  This turned out to be a challenge!  Why is it that we, as human beings, are quick to criticize and slow to build up?  (I find this everywhere I go – even in myself.)  I personally challenged to remember to look for and find the GOOD in people.  Even when they make mistakes or don’t do something well or whatever – search out the good.  Encourage that in them.  Build them up, and help them be more of who they can be.  (Preaching to myself at this very second!)

What was great, though, was seeing the ball roll faster and faster as they started exercising this activity.  I think there were some real “light bulb” moments for some of them.  Unity and teamwork are essential, especially in ministry.  But that is never achieved without encouraging and strengthening each other.

From there, I met with several individuals to address specific needs.  What struck me more than anything was the need for resources, not more advice.  They had wonderful ideas, plans, methods of execution…but lacked simple resources.  “If I only had a (fill in the blank)” was a constant refrain.  I quickly had to change my approach and say, “But you don’t have that, so let’s talk about what you can do with what you DO have.”  Isn’t this one of life’s most paramount truths?

I found myself offering practical advice, which was the goal, but also being able to encourage and pray for these men and women.  I think we sometimes forget that the source for all guidance is the Word of God, and I was reminded here to keep going back to that source.  Whether we are working in ministry or secular industries, our calling is still the same.  How we function for Christ should simply be how we function.  There are simply too many things in life we have no control over and cannot change: how much money is the bank, when things break, when things fall through.  We can, however, manage ourselves and our reactions to all said situations.  We can continue to be ministers of hope in the midst of any circumstance.

I found myself reiterating these points over and over.  For some, I think it’s really what they needed to hear.  Although they were looking for a “system” or a “method” to improve their work, what they really needed was a reminder from the Father about why they were there and what He was calling them to.  It was like weight lifted from their shoulders.  Amen!

After lunch, I ventured off again with Mr. P, Rev. B and Fire to visit some of the foster families.  I wasn’t sure how this would pan out; it seemed weird to me that I would just be popping in and visiting.

It turned out very well, though.  I got to meet some extraordinary kids (one brother and sister are in foster care because they converted from Islam to Christianity and were thereby disowned by their father) and some even more remarkable parents.  Parents that have little to nothing, and yet give it all to make sure children – that are not their own – are taken care of.  I don’t know what else to say other than these were just some phenomenal, incredible, remarkable people. 

The verse that still sticks with me is, “Silver and gold have I none, but what I have, I give to you.”  I pray that in my life I will gladly give whatever God has given me, and not be stuck waiting for the silver and gold before I open my hand.

Our next stop was the Christian radio station.  This had nothing to do with foster care, of course, but I have always had a keen interest in the station because of my background in Christian music.  What these guys are doing is beyond description.  They are heaven-bent on using those airwaves to proclaim the Word of God and the Gospel of Christ beyond anything I have ever seen.  And it’s working!  The station manager shared story after story of testimonies he’d received from listeners.  Truly the Word is going forth, and not returning void.

Thanks to the generosity of a friend of mine, I was able to take a boatload of CDs again on this trip to donate to the station.  (Christian music is not so easy to come by there, as you might guess.)  I love being able to bless them with these, as I know they will be put to more than good use.

I was particularly excited about visiting the station because they are now in a new building.  The last time I was there the station consisted of itsy bitsy rectangular room.  Now it’s an actual building!  There are offices, a recording room, an interview room and other rooms I don’t even remember.  The top floor is being constructed to hold a TV station. (Yeah, uh huh.  No small dreaming here, people.)  Much of it is still under construction, but I was so excited I could hardly contain myself.  God has truly blessed and multiplied their efforts.  May His word continue to go forth to touch hearts and change lives!

That evening I returned to the guest house and ate dinner with Miss C.  We were later joined by our Namibian friend and ended up watching the movie, “Fireproof.”  It was a good movie, with a very important message.  More importantly, I now know what became of Kirk Cameron’s acting career.

Day 9

The day of departure.  My heart was breaking before I even got out of bed.  I had every intention of getting up and taking some pictures before I left, but I just couldn’t quite make myself.

After  breakfast, the Reverand’s wife took me and a small host of folks on a tour of the property that will someday be the children’s village.  This was a great privilege, and I simply prayed as we walked along the paths that God would make the vision a reality.  I couldn’t believe he already had the land – at moments I still can’t – but seeing it bolstered my faith and blew fresh wind into my sails.

We decided to go to the office again after visiting the land.  The Reverand’s wife wanted to talk through some operational aspects of the office, and I was happy to do so.  We talked a lot about managing people, specifically getting people in the right places.  It’s funny how cultures can be so different, and yet we all struggle with the same basic fundamental issues.  We’re all just human after all…

The time came to depart and I was forced to say my farewells.  I tracked down those I knew were there and gave hugs and handshakes.  Parting is simply sorrow for me – nothing sweet about it.

There were many small stops between “departure” and actually getting out of Bo.  More people to talk to, a few more places to quickly visit, you name it.  I began to wonder if we would make it to Freetown in time for me to catch the ferry to the airport.

The most exciting stop was when we got pulled over by the police.  Apparently, the guy driving didn’t have the right tags or hadn’t renewed his tags or something.  (My Krio is a little…rough.)  He and the officers went round and round.  All the while, the kids selling rice and bananas alongside the road took advantage of the opportunity and tried to convince me to buy their goods.  

Finally, Fire got the Reverand on the phone.  This part of the story was rather humorous because he (the driver) tried telling the officers he worked for the Reverend, and they didn’t believe him.  They argued with him.  Got angry with him.  Got in the car!  And then when the Reverand got on the phone, started laughing, eased up and simply let him go.  Oh, the power of an excellent reputation.

The journey to Freetown was uneventful.  I admit I didn’t talk much to Fire as we drove, despite the fact it was just the two of us.  My mind was elsewhere.  My time had gone by too quickly, and I just couldn’t believe I was already heading back to the States.

We made it to Freetown just in time to pick up Ps. T (who would be taking me to the airport) and to catch the next ferry.  (Which was good, because any later ferry and I would have missed my flight.)  I remained less than talkative on the ferry ride as well and instead simply watched the shores of Freetown slip away.

Ps. T garnered us a fast (and crazy) driving taxi to the airport.  Here I was again the lone white female in a vehicle filled with black men.  (Not that I’m complaining.)  They all got a good laugh as we drove by the children, who kept shouting, “Abuto!  Abuto! (white woman)”  I love being entertainment.

We got to the airport, and I got in line.  The four-hour wait was just beginning.  It was hot and stuffy, and I was tired and stinky.  I couldn’t wait to get checked in and then go to the bathroom to change clothes and wash up a bit.

Up until this point, I managed to stifle my tears.  But sitting there by myself waiting for the flight that would take me far, far away etched at my stoicism and I could feel the tears welling up.  I texted my friend Lp, if only to gain one small point of human contact and a sense that everything would be just fine.

I made it London and then to New Orleans.  Mid-flight my heart was already sick for Africa!  (We hadn’t even come close to touching down.)  I suddenly realized that the door I had been searching for had been revealed to me.  I don’t think I caught it while I was still in Sierra Leone, but as I sifted through my emotions and prayers on the plane I realized that this was my next step in life, working on this project.  I knew that I would be going back; I just needed to wait on the Father to show the way.  But, as stated earlier, the waiting always proves the most difficult for me.

I was reminded of Isaiah 30: 20, 21

“Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them. Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” 

I had my word, one I cling to two weeks and some odd days later.  I look forward now to my next trip, whenever that will be.  And I sincerely hope and believe that I will take others with me to share in the vision…and that they, too, will fall in love with Sierra Leone.

Sierra Leone 2009, Part 5

Day 7

Monday began with a journal entry, and a prayer to see God move.  

“I am waiting…for breakfast, to hear about the day’s appointments, to hear from the Father.  Simply waiting.”

Of course, this wasn’t so surprising.  I think it simply revealed my struggle with waiting.  Maybe some day it won’t be such an issue for me.

Not long after breakfast, we (Miss C, me and a few others) headed out for the day.  

First, we dropped Miss C off at the office so she could start training with the staff.  I’m not sure if I’ve said it yet, so let me say it here: I was so encouraged and inspired by my Canadian friend.  Not only is she just a remarkable women with some incredible gifts, but her heart is just amazing.  Here she was, traveling to Sierra Leone by herself to teach people Quickbooks and other admin stuff.  Who does that?  Well, she does.  I was so blessed by her, and even that doesn’t quite sum it up.

After we dropped her off, I, along with Pastor B, Mr. P and our driver (whom I will call Fire) were off to my appointments.  Our first appointment (if I remember correctly – I didn’t write it down!) was with the Children’s Rescue Center.  This facility is in Bo and they care for both orphans and destitute children.

I have to say I was very impressed with the facility.  The gentleman that spent time with us was not only knowledgeable, but also very passionate about his job and the state of the children in Sierra Leone.  He very honestly answered questions and gave his opinion.  I appreciated this very much.  He didn’t just wait for questions: he simply spoke what he thought in regards to the topics I presented.  I learned a lot from him.

There were two items, however, that troubled me about this facility.  One was the financial situation.  The facility is 100% funded by less than a dozen United Methodist Churches in the States.  They also recognize this as an issue.  I think it’s remarkable that people and churches in the West want to support missions like these.  But I also think it’s potentially dangerous to establish enterprises that become completely dependent on that support.  This gave me much food for thought regarding what we want to establish.

Secondly, it seemed that there was a lack in the spiritual aspect of the care provided.  I expected to see much more of an emphasis on this, since the facility is church funded.  Again, this is something they themselves have recognized and are investigating.  For me, I was simply reminded of how important this is and affirmed that it must be built in from the very beginning.

Next we were off the Family Support Unit (FSU).  This is a division of the Sierra Leone Police Department, and their purpose is to offer support to victims of social injustice, abuse, etc.  

I wasn’t sure what I would talk to them about, to be quite honest.  And I wasn’t sure how visiting with them related to the information I was trying gather.  However, I quickly realized it was very important for me to meet with members of this unit.

One, it gave me a greater understanding of the need for social workers in Sierra Leone.  To put it mildly: the need is great.  There are simply not enough people to help with the issues at hand.  

There are also not enough facilities and care houses.  I learned that many of the social workers and some of the FSU employees often take children home with them at night because there is no other safe place to take them.  Some of these children steal from them, run off, etc. – and yet they (the workers) continue to do what they can with their own resources to meet the needs.  

I was also confronted with the nature of the abuse and neglect much more vividly at the FSU.  One of the officers got up at one point in the meeting to get some case files, which he then shared with me.  Beyond terrible.  One picture was of a young girl – maybe 12 – with horrendous burns and blisters on her arm.  Someone in her family had tied a tube around her arm, filled it with gasoline and set it on fire.  

Another was of a little boy beaten beyond anything imaginable.  Even now, my heart lurches.

What was encouraging, however, was that these perpetrators are now being incarcerated and prosecuted.  Granted, there are probably more that get away than those captured, but the point is that there is cultural redefinition going on.  Abuse is NOT okay.  Not only are they saying this, they are backing it up as much as they are able.

From the FSU we traveled to Kings Foundation.  This particular foster care center focuses on placing children with Christian families.  It is a network of believers who love God and love children, and do what they can to find good homes for those in need.

I believe it was after Kings Foundation that we took a short break for lunch.  We picked up Miss C from the office and returned to the guest house.  After a quick lunch, I was able to meet with the Reverend.  This was vitally important, as the sole reason I was there was to see how I could serve his vision.  Obviously, the focus of my trip was research; trying to get a handle on the situation in Sierra Leone.  But that mattered only in so much as it related to what he envisioned doing regarding foster care.

We talked for only about an hour, but that was probably the most productive, enlightening and determining hour of my whole trip.  I got to hear what was in his heart, and was able to ask how I fit into that picture.  (If I did!)  I was greatly encouraged by the end of our conversation, even if I still felt completely under-qualified.  Despite my insecurity about my ability, I, for the first time, had no doubt about my “calling” to be there.  

We were then off to the MSWGCA (Bo).  (Monday was a CRAZY day!)  This meeting was much more fruitful than my meeting with the MSWGCA in Freetown.  The minister we talked to was very friendly and very open.  He didn’t share a whole lot of information himself, but what he did do was make himself available.  He told some stories and was simply inviting.

He also gave me a booklet on the laws that Sierra Leone adapted regarding Child Rights.  This was (is) invaluable.  The answers to any questions regarding Child Protection in Sierra Leone can be found in this booklet.  (Hallelujah!)

Our last appointment of the day was with the JSS.  I really liked the gentleman we talked to there; he was an absolute gem.

This facility goes into the community to identify vulnerable children.  They faced many of the same issues as the other centers I visited: dependancy on foreign donations, lack of social workers, reunification problems, etc.  But the spirit of the place was different somehow.  Lighter and more hopeful.  

After all my meetings, we traveled back to the guest house.  Miss C was speaking that night at the single’s service, so we were to pick her up and head to the church.  

I found it amazing to see these young men and women, half way around the world, dealing with the same issues singles deal with here.  Of course, that only makes sense.  Loneliness, desire for companionship, etc., don’t know cultural bounds.  I loved how candid people were that night about their feelings and struggles.  The candor was priceless!  

With that came the end of a very eventful day.  We were off to bed…thankfully, with a generator filled with gasoline!  (This translate to lights and a working fan – amen!)

Sierra Leone 2009, Part 4

Day 6

Sunday morning began with me bathing out of a bucket and then applying my make-up with a borrowed compact.  (Item #2 that I forgot – a mirror.  There was a third I forgot as well, but I can’t remember that even now…)  I do okay with the bucket baths, minus one thing: the cold water.  Even though the mornings were hot, the African heat was still not enough to compensate for cold water running down my back.  

Miss C and I ate breakfast and were then driven off to attend Sunday services at the church in Bo.  This particular Sunday was the Childrens’ Thanksgiving Service, and the children were in charge of everything.

It would be a vast understatement to say the children did a remarkable job.  In fact, I’m not sure there are words to describe how these children of all ages got up and owned the service.  They prayed, they preached, they led worship, they danced – they did it all!  And they did it with a level of excellence and (as I stated) ownership that I don’t think I’ve ever seen in a group of children before.  They were serious about their responsibilities, and it showed.  They had the congregation on their feet, worshipping God, and shouting Amen.  It was one of the best services I have ever attended.

My favorite part of the service was the Reverend’s son, Baby A.  He is not quite three and a bundle of pure musical energy!  I met him the first day I arrived and, thankfully, he was not terrified of me.  (As most small children in Africa are…)  Instead, he came right up to me and introduced himself.  He had my heart instantly!

The child has no fear – at least no fear of being in front of people.  That morning he demanded a microphone and proceeded to sing every song with every group that got up on stage.  And did he sing!  With gusto and passion.  He danced, he stomped, the little guy worked that stage like he’d been at it for years.  He knew every word – and I couldn’t help but be moved by this young soul praisin’ with all that was within him.  

Shortly after the last song, he came and sat by me on the front pew.  At first, he was being his flirty self and wanted to play.  But a few minutes later, he crawled into my lap, laid his head on my chest and  fell asleep.  This may have been the best part of my whole trip – this little boy, asleep in my arms, completely exhausted from praise and worship.  

(Can I just say these are my happiest moments?  Sitting still with a child in my arms.  I can’t think of anything in the world I would rather do.  No accomplishment, no success, no project has ever given me the joy and the fulfillment found in these precious moments.)

After church, we headed back to the guest house for lunch.  (More African food!)  The rest of the afternoon was then spent simply visiting with the people.  I was (and am) very thankful for these opportunities.  I realized that I hadn’t ever really heard any of their testimonies, including the Reverend’s.  I relished the opportunity to simply sit and listen to all they had gone through in life, all they had experienced and, most importantly, all God had done.

As an American, it’s far too easy to get caught in schedules and production and getting things done.  This has it’s pros, of course.  But one of the cons is that it often causes you to miss the more important things.  For this, I am always grateful for Africa.  It always reminds me to enjoy downtime, the moments of “nothing going on.”  And to remember that the greatest gems often appear in the unexpected and the unplanned.  

Of course, a little planning was in order, so we set some of the schedule for the following day.  Miss C would be heading to the church office to begin training, and I would be off to visit a variety of foster and orphan care facilities.  Monday was shaping up to be a busy day!

I went to bed with a lot in my head and a lot in my heart.  I was still searching for an answer to the question, “Why am I here?” although that was beginning to sound ridiculous. It was also beginning to settle in, however, that this wasn’t just some random trip; it was divinely orchestrated in many ways.  I knew the trip wouldn’t be my last.  As much as I was the outsider (and would always be), I had no doubt that I would be returning.  As I said the first time I went to Sierra Leone, it wasn’t a matter of “if” I returned, but simply a matter of “when.”  (And my sense was that the when would come around much sooner…)

Sierra Leone 2009, Part 3

Day 4 (Continued…)

The absence of my host left me in the care of one of the Freetown pastors.  I had met him the first night I arrived, and we quickly hit it off.  I think mostly due to the fact that I was there to research (and ultimately work with) foster care.  He was the one who made my visit to the SOS Village happen, so I was very grateful!

It was early afternoon and we were both finished with formal responsibilities for the day.  He asked if I would be interested in seeing some of Freetown and possibly going to the beach.  (Beaches in Sierra Leone, by the way, are extraordinarily beautiful!)  Of course, I was game.  One, I hadn’t seen much of Freetown as my last trip was spent mainly in Bo.  Two, I really didn’t want to hang around the guest house all evening.  There’s a TV, but most of it is football (soccer to us Americans), BBC, or cheesy movies.  The beach had my vote!

We set out from the guest house to find a cab.  This always proves an adventure with me!  (No matter where I am – New York, Israel, Africa…I could tell story upon story regarding cab rides.  And have!)  Ps. T (as I will call him from here on out…) tried to hail a cab to take us to Aberdeen (i.e. the beach).  This would have been much easier if he hadn’t been accompanied by a white American female.  The cab drivers kept trying to take advantage of him when they realized I was part of the package.  (Surely the pum wei, aka: white person, could pay more.)  But he held his ground and waved them all by.  Finally, a cab stopped and didn’t try to milk him (and me) for all we were worth.  I asked him, “Does it cause problems for you to be with me?”  He said, “No, no, no.”  To which I replied, “Would you tell me if it did?”  He said “Yes”..and I knew he was lying.  🙂  Unfortunately, there is no way to disguise your foreign status in Africa when you’re blindingly white.

We crammed into the car with several other passengers and made our way to Aberdeen.  We had a good laugh regarding the car because we literally thought it was going to fall apart at any moment.  My car has issues – lots of them.  (There isn’t space to name them here!)  But for the first time in a very long time, I was very thankful for my messed-up vehicle.  And it was a good reminder: you can drive a car long past the point you think you need to get rid of it.  (Or least by American standards.)  Ps. T teased me, saying, “Surely you will write about this when you get back!”  I assured him I would.

The driver dropped us off and we began walking towards the beach.  I love the beach.  The sounds of the waves, the smell of the water and the light reflecting off the sand.  There is something about the great vastness that stretches out beyond what you can see that moves me.  It reminds me that there is so much in front of us that we don’t see, can’t see.  But if we choose to set sail, we cannot possibly imagine what new lands wait for us.

Ps. T and I were talking, chit-chatting mostly.  And then came the question again, “Why aren’t you married?”  Followed by, “Why do you were those rings, if you aren’t married?”  

Oh, how to explain!  But I did my best and he seemed to understand and take it all in.  I could tell it proved a mystery to him on many levels (in some ways, it’s a mystery to me, too!) and he was really trying to understand.  And then it came, out of nowhere, the question of all questions:

“Do you want to marry a black man?”

There aren’t many times I can think of in my life where I have been left utterly speechless, without a response or a retort or smart-aleck reply.  I was so stunned I could barely think.  All that crossed my mind was, “How do I get out of this?”

Let me say, for the record, that Ps. T is married and has a son.  He was not asking me any of these questions for his own personal gain.  Something, somewhere inside of him just had to know.  Prompted to ask.  And I was left wondering what the heck I was going to say.

Generally speaking, when trying to get out of answering a question one doesn’t want to answer, a good maneuver is to ask a question in return.  I tried this, and it didn’t work.  He simply said, “It’s just a question.  Just answer the question.”

So I was left with one option: to answer the question.  And since I cannot lie (or at least not lie without severe guilt haunting me until I confess), I very bluntly stated, “Yes.”  I tried to tack on a many other good items, to salvage my now vulnerable esteem, but it didn’t really matter.  The truth was out, and he had the answer he wanted.

What I didn’t ask, and should have, was whether or not he had someone in mind.  Because, really, that would have been the pertinent question!

From there, I got about a three hour course in how Sierra Leoneon men court and date.  He wrapped up the conversation with a very bold statement: “I will be praying for you.  That you marry a big strong black man.  A Sierra Leonen man.”

Amen, brother.  Amen.

We walked on, talking more about his family and how he met his wife.  I love these stories.  (So much more than telling my own.) We stopped to visit a relative of one of the other pastors, which would have been more enjoyable had the small children not been terrified of me.  This is something I will never get used to: children being scared beyond comprehension of me because I am white.  It’s so…odd.  No matter how much you smile, no matter how kind you are, they are terrified.  

From there we hailed another (much safer) cab back to the guest house.  On the way, we were overcome by what looked like an angry mob but what turned out to be a CD release party.   I had to laugh as I thought of all my friends back in the music biz.  I wish they could have seen this!  These people were drunk as a skunk, tore off the chain, however else you can say it…and tearin’ it up.  They were quite happy about whatever CD was hitting the streets.

At the guest house, I made it priority number one to get the sand out of my shoes.  Dinner would be served upon the arrival of our Canadian guest, so I took the interim to simply get cleaned up and tried to organize my thoughts after such a crazy day.

Later that evening, Miss C arrived and we realized we have met before several years earlier at a conference.  I admit, it was great to have some female company!  And someone who shared my passion for Sierra Leone, missions and children.  As I stated earlier, I was (and am) convinced that the timing of our trips was completely providential.

We talked for a bit, ate, and then went off to bed in order to rise for an early morning.

Day 5

Morning came quickly, and I didn’t sleep much that night.  (Can’t imagine why…)

We aimed to leave for Bo around 6am and actually made it pretty close.  There were a few set-backs/minor delays, but for the most part we were rolling on time.

How the drive to Bo has changed!  The last time I made the trek it took around nine hours due to the roads.  Many of them were destroyed during the war and what remained could hardly be described as a “road.”  Broken asphalt, giant pot holes and grating made the journey long and laborious.  Not so this time.  Much work had been done, and the majority of the road was now paved.  That which wasn’t paved was in process and, for the most part, had been leveled and worked to some extend.  It took us a mere three hours to reach our destination.  

Upon arrival we were greeted by the pastor’s wife and some of their children.  If there were words, I would use them to say how amazing I think this family is.  But there aren’t any to suffice.  I can only say what a privilege it is to say I know them, even in my limited capacity.

We spent the afternoon mostly relaxing and hanging around the Bo guest house.  It was HOT, but I loved it.  (Because I love the heat.)  

I was astounded by how much the area had changed since my last visit.  I realized it had been three years, but I really couldn’t believe all the work that had been done.  Previously it had just been the guest house in the midst of bush and field.  Now, there are houses and people everywhere!  I only wish I had taken the opportunity to take some pictures.

Many of the women were cooking for a special occasion that evening.  And by cooking I mean outside over giant fires.  My modern mind had a difficult time with this.  I remember my grandmother cooking over a woodburning stove, but even that never completely registered with me.  Here it was even more extreme.  You build the bonfire and then you cook over it.  I just kept thinking, “How do you know when it’s hot enough?  When it’s cooked long enough?”  It’s absurd, really, how dependent we’ve (I’ve) become on gadgets and gidgets.  I can only pray that I never get lost in the woods and have to start a fire on my own.  Because that surely would end in disaster.

Thanks to my “new” friend, Miss C, I was able to experience more African fare.  I hate to even say it, but when we first got there, the cook had prepared two meals.  One American-inspired dish for me and another African dish for Miss C.  (Apparently, one of the first U.S. teams to go to Sierra Leone made some ridiculous comment about not liking the food there and, ever since, the guest house makes “American” food for American guests.)  I found this ridiculous; there was no reason for the cook to have to prepare two separate meals.  Besides, when in Africa, eat African!  (Americans are so lame sometimes, I’m sorry.)  From that night forward, they prepared one meal for the both of us.  I was very thankful for this – and loved every bit of it!

It began getting dark and it was then that I realized I forgot one critical item on my packing list: a flashlight.  Electricity is only on part of the evening, and run by the generator.  Oops.  Mental note for next time…

I found my way upstairs (thanks to a battery-powered lamp provided by the guest house) and started getting ready for bed.  When the lights did come on, I opted to wash my hair.  This always takes awhile in Sierra Leone, since bathing is generally out of bucket.  It takes FOREVER to get the shampoo out of my hair using a water bottle…

Sierra Leone 2009, Part 2

Day 3

I awoke Thursday morning and diligently began journaling.  My first thoughts were of great thankfulness to be back in Sierra Leone.  I wrote that morning, “It seems silly to say but Africa to me is Sierra Leone.  When I dream of Africa, this is what I dream of.”  For as long as I can remember, I have dreamt of Africa – living there, working there…simply being there.  And in those dreams it’s always looked like Sierra Leone.  To find myself there again was such a gift, and one for which even now I remain eternally grateful.  How could I possibly be so blessed?

It was strange, however, to be there as an individual and not part of a team.  The hospitality of Sierra Leoneons goes beyond anything I have ever experienced – their kindness and courtesy is unparalleled.  But I found myself taking my meals alone and this simply was not acceptable.  I was soon educated that I could invite my hosts to eat with me and they would oblige.  But only if invited.  From that point forward, I maintained an open-invitation policy.  I told them it was too strange to eat alone!  (Royal treatment does not suit me at all…)

I learned that morning that there were some slight changes in the schedule.  Which, for Africa, is quite the norm  (You learn quickly to be very flexible!)  My original itinerary included visiting UNICEF, Save the Children and the Ministry of Social Welfare, Gender and Childrens Affairs and after travel to Bo.  While we would endeavor to still make these appointments, an appointment had also been set up with the SOS Village in Freetown.  I was particularly excited about this, as I had heard many good things about this childcare facility.

Most importantly, I learned that we would not be heading to Bo that day but would instead wait until Saturday morning.  Another young lady was flying into Freetown Friday evening, and we would travel together.  It turned out that she and I had met several years prior (more on that later) – and the timing of our trips proved quite providential.  (In my humble opinion…)

We set out for the SOS Village first thing after breakfast.  I was amazed at this facility!  SOS Villages were first founded after World War II by an Austrian man.  Today they have over 500 facilities in 132 countries, providing care and education to children. 

The actual compound was tremendous and I loved how they had the housing arrangements set up for the kids.  Each “home” included roughly eight to ten children of varying ages, with a “mother” and an “auntie” in charge.  The children were assigned responsibilities, according to age, and participated in daily chores.  Education was paramount, and each child attended the school.  I was also encouraged to hear that village was moving towards assisting parents as well as children.  (I love it when community development is incorporated!)   The whole set-up was very relationally focused; not institutional.  It gave me a lot to think about.

My interview with the director went well.  It didn’t take me long to realize that taking notes was out (there’s no way to focus on the speaker when writing notes) and I had no desire to whip out my voice recorder (it seems so…intrusive or something).  So, I turned on my mental recorder and began taking notes in my head.  My hosts for the day seemed readily impressed with my ability to listen intently and take mental notes!  I say, it comes from many years of mentoring and counseling…and most likely from sitting for hours in history classes.   🙂

After SOS, we endeavored to go to UNICEF.  That appointment fell through, as all the employees were out on the field for an immunization program taking place.  MSWGCW also fell through.  Save the Children, last on the list, was also a bust.  One of the challenges I face in situations like these is not getting discouraged.  The “planner” in me began to wonder, “What exactly will I do for the next two days?”  But I was quickly reminded to simply trust.  I believed that the Father had brought me to that place for a specific purpose, and I needed to rest in that.  So I simply began to pray that God would orchestrate my appointments, and that He would open my eyes and ears.  The question remained, “Why am I here?” but I remained fully confident I was exactly where I should be. 

The rest of the evening was spent at the guest house.  It had been mentioned that perhaps we could take a tour of Freetown (since I had not actually ever really seen the city) but that didn’t pan out.  Instead, later in the evening two of the local pastors and my host came to the guest house.  They joined me (hallelujah!) for dinner, which was a traditional Sierra Leoneon dish – cassava leaves!  I was thrilled about this to say the least.  I think the cook thought I might be offended that she didn’t make “American” food, but it was quite the contrary.  I was SO happy she prepared this!  And I was even more excited to be able to share it with my friends.

We spent the evening talking, sharing about ourselves, listening to music and broadcasts for the Christian radio station in Bo.  It was an enjoyable evening, especially because I got to know a bit about the people I was spending so much time with.  (The ones carting me around everywhere.)

But the inevitable happened: I got asked about my “husband.”  To which I had to reply, “I am not married.”  This gave cause to some confusion, as I was wearing rings on my left-hand ring finger.  (How to explain this?  I don’t know…) I tried to avoid the subject as much as possible, but that endeavor proved entirely futile this time around…

Day 4

The day began cool and breezy.  It had rained heavy and hard that night, but the result was a beautiful fresh morning that was a welcome break from the heat.  It struck me that morning how opposite Sierra Leone is from what I know in the States.  Instead of a morning rush, people rise casually and the mornings are peaceful.  It’s in the evening that the city starts really buzzing.  So this morning was quiet, calm, cool and bore the forecast of a lovely day.

My host joined me for breakfast, and we discussed the possibilities for the day.  He was waiting to hear back from the MSWGCA regarding an appointment as a make-up from the day before. That was fine, but I verily stated that I needed something to do for the day; I simply could not sit around at the guest house all day.  (Too much down time is not good for me!)  He assured me that we would work something out.  Here again was a test of my trusting in the Lord and learning to wait.  I wrote that morning, “Keep pursuing in spite of the lack of knowing.”  I could only sum up my feelings pictorially, “I feel like I’m looking for a door – a door I am supposed to enter.”  The greatest pursuit is often that of waiting – and looking.

The appointment with the Ministry materialized, and we were out the door.  The sum of that particular meeting was simple: Government.  My time with the minister was short and not as productive as I would have liked.  What I enjoyed most about it was sitting in the waiting room visiting with some of the locals.  There was an older gentleman who struck up a conversation with me, and he was a trip.  He spent several years studying in Boston, so we had plenty to talk about.  He asked if I had tried any local cuisine, and thankfully I could say yes!  (Thanks to the guest house hostess.)  From there, he and my host talked of other local cuisine, which included monkey.  At first, I didn’t think they were serious but quickly realized they were.  I stated this was one local dish I wasn’t so interested in trying.

The appointment proved strategic and divine for another reason: upon entering the Ministry, my host ran into a former employer of his who now works with UNICEF.  Right there on the spot they set up a meeting for later that day at UNICEF headquarters.  This could only be described as a divine appointment.  Not only did the man work for UNICEF, he worked in the exact department for my area of interest, doing research pertaining to my project.  He was soft-spoken, but remarkably helpful.  In addition to meeting with me, he sent me several documents prepared by UNICEF dealing specifically with child welfare and foster/orphan care in Sierra Leone.  All of it was the exact information I had spent weeks looking for (online and elsewhere) prior to my trip.  It was a God-send!  I was ready to bust out of my skin by the time we left the meeting.

By this time, I was well into my “I don’t want to go back to the States” phase.  I kept thinking of my responsibilities and commitments, and wanting to chuck them all out the window.  It never ceases to amaze how little time it takes me to get to that point.  And how long it takes me to readjust to the States when I get back.  But I digress…

We headed back to the guest house, where one of the pastors would join me later.  My host was off to pick up my Canadian friend from the airport and all appointments were done for the day.  However, the day was far from over…