Living in a very big, small world

How many people live in our world? 6.784 billion. That's a very big number. Yet, there's also this underlying truth that we live in a very interconnected world. How many times have you been in situations where you say to yourself, "It's a small world" You bump into someone who knows you or someone you know. Inexplicably, you're now connected. It gets even more exciting when you have a dream or a passion and then people begin to come forward that share a common desire or vision. They may be people that you know, or they may be strangers, but you were meant to cross paths.

When I travelled to Ethiopia in March, I travelled with 2 people that I had met once. We met through an adoption connection where I work. The other 9 people were strangers to me and we met for the first time at the Germany airport while we sat waiting for our next flight on to Kartoum, Africa. Yet over those next days, we were woven together by a deep desire to bring hope to the impoverished people of Ethiopia. We each had very different jobs, different families, different personalities, different talents and abilities. But, there we were put together for a purpose that would unfold to greater proportion in the days to come.

When we parted ways, once again in the German airport, we were friends. We did not know what lay ahead for us or for the people of Ethiopia. We had come away with a renewed sense of the frailty of life. Our eyes and our hearts were opened to the immense need of our broader world. We came away changed forever. Months passed and the desire to continue partnering with and empowering the people of Ethiopia toward a sustainable future did not fade. An idea....did we want to do this again? I knew that I did - for sure!

So, I asked God to open doors if He really wanted me to go and to shut them if He didn't. Afterall, if I looked logically at my life, I might not have thought that it was possible. I was a mom with a busy life and had just been to Ethiopia 6 months before. But, God doesn't always do His work in the ways we think. He sometimes plants seeds to a desire that we are simply called to follow and not question. Doors began to open...one after another. Connections...lots of them. A friend who had given me suitcases to take on my trip came to mind. So, I put it out there. "Do you want to come?" A very talented photographer that had been there last year came to mind. "Do you want to come?" One of the existing team members was already on board for the idea. Great! I had given that suitcase of clothes to a pastor and his wife that did street ministry. Then, God put them on my heart as well. How can I help? One evening, I googled the name of this blog looking for a song to match. Could there be one out there? Yes. I connected with a worship pastor in the States who had written the song that I now have posted to my blog. Very cool. But, it didn't end there. He mentioned his father, who had oversaw a development ministry worldwide. One of this postings was in....Ethiopia! Of course it was! I was able to connect his worker in Ethiopia with the pastor that I had met. Connections. I could tell you many more stories of ways that connections have continued to unfold. Do we know who is on the team that will go in April? Not completely. Do we know what we hope to accomplish while there? We've got a good idea of that, but I'm sure more will be accomplished. Do we know every detail that will present itself along the way? Nope. But, we are certain of Who is leading the vision. We may live in a very big world....but we are all connected in very unique ways for very special purposes. They key is to follow our desires and then trust God for the rest.

Our world - 6.784 billion. Our potential for making a difference in the world - unlimited. How many people will it take to make a difference? Just one that is willing to work together for HOPE. Check out the Sululta 2010 - Working together for HOPE link at the top of the page! Better things are yet to come....in our very big, small world.

If...

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Emily Dickenson

The honor

Once having arrived at the clinic, we were welcomed by the Mayor of Sululta at an opening ceremony. Row upon row of chairs were lined up, ready to receive us that day. The Mayor's greeting of appreciation was moving and heartfelt. As he spoke, with the translator's aid, I looked on to the waiting crowds and realized that being honored for being there didn't seem right. The honor belonged to them - the poor disheveled people that gathered. While some lived nearby in the community, many others had travelled several kilometers to attend the clinic. People of all ages came; young and old. I am still remembering an old, withered looking man as he waited patiently in his make-shift chair. Next to him sat a woman and her relative or friend, who sat kneeling on the ground beside her. Her face was cupped in her hands and it was evident that she was crying. Many women came with one or two babies on their back, while also bringing several other children. I momentarily imagined their long, arduous trek up the mountain, across the fields, and finally down the long roads to receive our anticipated care.

It took about an hour to set up amidst the large crowds and the tremendous sense of urgency to begin attending to the many needs. Then, committed to love and to care, we began. As we went along, we made changes as they came up to best fit the situations that presented themselves to us. Young mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and grandmothers came with multitudes of children. Most were incredibly filthy and wreaked of urine. The smell was quite overpowering at first. But, somehow, as I immersed myself in the people...in their brilliant eyes and beautiful smiles, I forgot the smells and continued on with tenacious determination. My heart ached for those many mothers. They were women like me, but without a life of which to speak. It was evident that they deeply loved their children and had walked miles to give them a chance for health and hope. Mothers would take the babies off their back in one graceful swing; a marvel of movement. Finally, they placed their precious cargo on their laps on the bench next to me, eager for treatment.

With the help of a translator, we figured out what the concerns were and began to diagnose several conditions. After a short time, it became evident that most children presented the same way. They had ear and eye infections, fungal infections, and a variety of parasites. There were countless children completely covered in scabies. They were dotted with spots and burrowing tracks that gave the impression of scratch marks or a confusing penmanship game of connect-the-dots. At times, staff members would ask me, "Aren't you worried about catching the scabies? Very contagious!" I wasn't worried. I took the necessary precautions and trusted that God would keep me covered in His protection as I undressed and held the many children that needed care - scabies or not. In the first 2 days, we saw about 90 children. Only one baby that I can recall had any semblance of a diaper. It was nothing more than a torn plastic bag with a small rag inside the size of a candy bar wrapper. One mother finished up the examination of her child, only to be drenched in his urine. A puddle formed quickly on the floor, extending over to where my feet were placed. We quickly motioned for paper towels, cleaning up the mess in time for the next patient - who was already budging in to sit in the seat that had not yet been vacated. It was quite obvious from the mother's reaction that she was quite used to this. There was no hurried attempt on her part to remedy the situation; just a quiet resignation.

I thought about this mother, and many others that would commence their long journey home, despite the weight of children saddled to their backs and the uncomfortable reality of toileting needs along the way. I wondered if some would return home to change their pungent smelling clothes. Others, I was sure, would not. Water is a precious commodity. In Sululta, there is a community well, where young children and women carry heavy 5 gallon containers of water. Laundry is done in a small basin, which is placed outside the front of their home. Soap is rare. Dirty clothes don't get that luxury. Clean clothes a luxury? Diapers a luxury? Treatment for diseases a luxury? And then, there we were...being thanked and honored for being there. The honor rightfully belonged to the people - to the women carrying those many children, the children that they themselves carried children, the man that rushed in his dehydrated twin babies, the grandmother desperately wanting hope for her 4 year old HIV positive grand-daughter, the mother that came running through the crowds with a near-drowned baby,and the father carrying the badly burned girl. Those were some of the people that I had the privilege of serving. Much to our disappointment, crowds remained at the end of each day. As they realized that our working day had come to an end, they began to slowly disperse. Did they know that we would come back the next day? What would happen when our trip was finished? Would they feel left behind? Would they return for care? They would certainly return to their impoverished lives. Despite the uncertainties of my questions, in that moment, with much affection and gratitude, they left the clinic extending a warm "Thank You" Then, often raising their hands to the air, they followed that by saying, "Thank You God".

Today is the day

" Today is the day that the Lord has made.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it."  Remember that song?  It rang clearly in my mind as I awoke this morning. 2 of my adoptive families are on their way to picking up their children in Ethiopia. My heart leaps with anticipation and joy for them. A beautiful girl, who I had the privilege of meeting on my trip to Ethiopia, and 2 adorable boys. Another family with 4 adopted boys returned a few weeks ago.   Adoption is a tapestry woven with sorrow and joy. On the one side, mothers gripped by immense poverty, unable to care for their children.  The outcome is relinquishment, not only of their children, but of their dreams of a future with them.  On the other side, there are families seeking to offer love, hope and opportunity to those same children. Bittersweet indeed.

I am also reminded of yet another day, when the air was filled with a profound sorrow and unanswered dreams. No, it was not the waiting for these children to come home, although international adoption is a long journey filled with many ups and downs. On July 14, 2009, Imagine Adoption, an Ontario adoption agency, with whom we partner, declared bankruptcy. This shocking news was not what I expected as I sat in my chair that morning ready to receive the day.  My mind was reeling with emotions and questions. "How could this have happened?" Just a short while ago, back in March, I had visited one of the agency's affiliated orphanages, as well as their transition home, where matched children awaiting their adoptive families.  The care of the children had been extraordinary.  Devoted and loving caregivers showered the many children with affection.  It was a beautiful sight to behold.  Yet now, that sight was clouded by a torrent of unanswered questions and undetermined outcomes.  Multitudes of phone calls and emails poured in.  Distraught adoptive parents would first ask, "Is this really happening?" What about our children? Will we ever see our children?" Then, a quietness came over the phone, followed by tears - theirs and mine.

I was so shocked and numb myself, that I think that I stuttered through most of my conversations.  The pain of the situation was very deep and very real.  How would I care for my clients? To be honest, I was dealing with grief as well over this.  I had been to Ethiopia.  I had met the staff and the children.  Ethiopia and its beautiful people had gripped my heart and I was not to come home the same person. My heart was deeply entrenched in the loss that was before me.  I prayed for God to show me how to handle this and how to best be a support to my many clients. Since there were no answers to give, I decided to draw upon my own experiences.  Amidst the lack of hope...I needed to offer hope. 

I used as many resources and contacts as I could think of.  I hoped to assure families that the children were well.  Families felt isolated and abandoned by the lack of information. I'm sure that they also felt blind-sided by the suddenness of the situation. My desire was to be the support and encouragement that they so much needed and deserved.  I provided frequent updates, when any information became available.  I sent along emails offering encouragement and my firm commitment to pray for every family and child involved. In my heart, I knew that despite the chaos, pain and confusion, that God could redeem any situation, even this one.

Nearly 2 months have passed since the bankruptcy announcement.  Last Friday, a re-structuring proposal for the agency was released for review.  If voted in and approved, some 350 families will be able to complete their adoptions.  There will be new challenges ahead...an additional $4000 in fees, a possible long wait, and then, the hardest thing of all - trusting.

Isn't it difficult to trust when we've felt betrayed or stripped of our dreams?  In our own strength, we are truly very weak.  This trust can only be cultivated and nurtured by leaning on God.  He knows all things and cares deeply about every detail of our lives.  He can carry our burdens and help us to walk more lightly in confidence of His strength.  My prayers now shift to asking for God's vision and plan for all of these families to come into full view.  I will also pray for the family's continued strength, perseverance and focus to remain on the children who are waiting for them. I will continue to support and encourage my clients.  I will continue to remember that God is the one that builds families, and He is also the one who gives hope.  At the moment, I don't know what the future of adoption from Ethiopia holds, but rather than worry and lose heart at the remaining uncertainties, I will choose to trust.

We had breakfast at 6:30 and set out at 7am sharp!  The drive seemed long, as we precariously wove through the busyness of Addis traffic and on to our journey up the mountain to the remote suburb of Salulta, 30 kms away.  The drive through the city was an experience all its own.  So was just so much to look at and it seemed as though ones eyes couldn't keep up to the bombarding views.  Children walked in pairs to school, wearing their uniforms.  Education is free; a welcome sight.  Of course, their parents would also have to be able to afford a uniform, as well as the time spent away from the many responsibilities that children carry, such as childcare, water and wood carrying as well as tending the household and vending areas. if the children lived fairly close to school, the walk was leisurely.  If they lived far, it might take hours to accomplish.  Either way, the children looked forward to school - no matter what the physical hardship to get there. There were a myriad of business ventures visible; tiny shacks of wood displaying fresh tomatoes and greenss, cardboard or metal shacks filled with odd goods....sometimes unidentifiable. Groups of women with earthenware pots and roasted barley bent over their wares, rearranging for best presentation. Yet others, simply sat in the heat of the day and solitude of the moment, hoping that a passerby would reach out to offer a sale.  The streets were cracked and heaving with large chunks of concrete; impassible in our North American estimation. Animals scurried around - roosters, goats, cows, dogs and very creepy, skinny looking cats.  A companion noticed my attentive gaze and commented, " Don't look too closely"  What did she mean? Naturally, her comment made me all the more curious, and I began to look with more detail and determination.  Then, the street boulevards seemed to jump out at me.  I caught sight of a few men chatting by a stand...not a fruit stand, but rather one with goat pelts. Where they pelts, or butchered goats? More details to observe... "Oh my - is that what I think it is?"  Yes, just below the pelts, lay bloodied goat heads. Hmmm, and there's a dog dragging one off for an afternoon snack! I decide that it was time to turn my gaze and look ahead.  As we slow down in the traffic, looking ahead has not made much of a difference. We notice the many men standing toward the traffic urinating as our taxi drives by. Most of what one sees is not a pretty sight, yet it is a huge window into the abject poverty that so clearly defines Ethiopia.  This is the capital city, with the luxury of some diversity. Rural areas do not have that.  In Addis, modern buildings neighbor metal shacks and cardboard homes. It is almost incomprehensible that the two should or could live side by side; but they do.  I notice a metal box on wheels, with two wooden handles, much like a wheel barrow. Suddenly, the front of the metal box opens and several people jump out.  The box is not more than 6 feet long and 4 feet wide.  Family members stack themselves on top of each other, like sardines, for a night of rest. "What?," " This is their home....on wheels?" 

The taxi bus weaves through the busyness of the streets.  There are minimal traffic signs, no road markings, and no posted speeds.  If there were, chances are they would not be noticed.  There's just too much going on. When a car or person gets in the way, a quick "honk" serves as alert to move.  Cars, taxis, buses, wooden carts, donkeys, dogs, roosters, cats, children....yes, even the dog dragging off that goat head are all are part of the maze of traffic.  Yet, I am told that there are very few accidents here.  Addis residents are able to drive at the age of 9!  I have a 9 year old and I cannot even imagine him behind the wheel of a car...in a city of millions! I think that they must benefit from the extra years of experience!  It is not uncommon to squeeze by, sandwiched between vehicles, with only an inch to spare on either side.  I hold my breath as we do, and then release it as we move on. Main roads are paved, but are often shouldered by heaps of broken concrete; ongoing projects and others that got left undone. Dirt side streets with enormous cobblestone are enough to leave your bottom quite bruised if you don't use the overhead handles on the taxibus to suspend yourself in travel. This is not a comfortable ride. Thick smoke billows out from every vehicle. At a cost of 7 cents a litre - they can afford to use it and let it out in clouds. It is so thick that your lungs can feel the lack of oxygen.  Good thing that we are headed up the mountain where there is cleaner air.   The funny thing is that as crazy as all this seems...I feel safe and peaceful.  There is a comradery that allows for people to weave gracefully, despite the chaos.  There is an understanding that sharing the city and its roads is not an option, but a necessity.  There is no rudeness, no impatience, no racing ahead, no displays of vulgarity - just a "honk"...and an agreement to live in harmony. We can afford road infrastructure,  driver's education,  and policing of traffic laws, but we live in a society that often struggles to give the simple act of grace, forgiveness and harmony. Maybe we all need to drive in Addis for a day, or simply sit on a taxi bus and observe a people that  live in unbearable circumstances and still choose to live in harmony.