These last few weeks have taken me to unchartered places, except that they are not the places that I expected. These last weeks, I have been grieving. I can't seem to walk through any day, or even any hour without going back in spirit and in heart to the places where I witnessed the deepest levels of poverty and injustice I have ever seen. Re-entering "our world" and coming to grips with the fact that the people that I've met are left behind in "their world" is very difficult for me. I am struggling to understand why the gap is so great. I am struggling to comprehend why precious people are perishing every minute in our waking days. I am struggling to imagine the fear that must creep over a young woman in the darkness of the night.

I am struggling to understand why young children must run to the garbage dump every day to get the best pickings of rotten food. Yet other children, with no slum to call home...live at the dump, sleep at the dump...whose hopes go no further than fighting for the next morsel, and sometimes that fight is with wild dogs. I know that this picture isn't pretty, but it would be unfair to paint another picture, since it wouldn't be the reality of poverty and destitution.

So, now when I drive down the street on "garbage day", I come to the realization that my neatly bagged refuse would be a treasure to starving children. I cannot accept that reality. The thought of it makes me very unsettled, it disturbs me.It makes me feel the injustice very deeply. Frankly, I don't think that we are meant to feel comfortable all the time. Comfort is part of our problem. We need to get out of our comfort zones. Once we experience poverty, whether it be through seeing it with our own eyes, or hearing it from others, we are then called to be responsible for it. Responsibility calls us to be agents of change. How can we look away once we have seen or heard of how others live? By doing nothing, we accept the responsibility for the fact that another life will be sacrificed in a deplorable way so that we may remain comfortable. I don't think that any of us would be ok with accepting that.

So, what do we do with that? Do we chalk up such trips to a great experience seen and short term contributions made? Do we settle back into our world and hope that change will come...eventually...somehow? Do we mean to have the good intentions of making a difference....and hope to remember to do something about it? Do we tell others and hope that they will catch a glimpse of what grieves the heart of God? For me, this deep pain in my heart is good. It reminds me that I am meant to feel for others' struggles and pain. I reminds me that now that I have seen, and now that I am aware of the gap and its height and depth and width that I cannot possibly be the person that I was. I am capable of being part of the change that I want to see in the world. I cannot leave it to someone else. We should not wait for someone else to take those vital steps. Imagine if everyone were to take a step. We'd all be working together for that hope and that change that our world so desperately needs. We'd have a poverty revolution on our hands!

My pain and grieving for the losses that others experience drives me to make a choice. I choose be a part of that change and to walk the road less travelled...choosing to remember the pain of the impoverished and allowing myself to feel it. I am choosing to re-live my moments in Ethiopia with the young, the old, the sick, the dying, the starving, the lepers, the prostitutes, those with Aids, the orphans, and the soon-to-be orphans. I cannot forget the slimy green water where animals drink and people step, the mud between tiny little toes in shoeless feet, the countless flies on little faces, the huge bundles of wood on aching backs, the stumps of wood that serve as feet for the lepers, the missing fingers on hands that shook mine, the stench of urine and dirt emanating from mothers carrying their babies all day and the tiny little shack where a woman's husband lay buried in a shallow grave beneath her feet. I can't forget.....I won't forget. Those people that feel forgotten need to be remembered. They need us to move beyond hearing their stories. They need us to see their lives and to respond. Their lives depend on it. They need us to move beyond our good intentions to actions...to a place where we can get them "of out the dump."

On the wrong side of the bed

Let's be honest. There are days that we wake up on the wrong side of the bed. We wake up disappointed with the challenges that lay ahead....busyness, loneliness, emptiness, confusion. There are a multitude of possibilities and rationales that could keep us from even getting out of bed. Now imagine for a moment that you COULDN'T get out of bed....just as the man in this picture. He is confined to his quarters...to a dark, dingy room that is perhaps 6x8 feet. He has tarps for walls and a filthy dirt floor. Fortunately, the old leper man has a window in his room, but other than that, his room is fairly dark and certainly very dreary. He doesn't choose to stay in his room, he simply can't physically get out of his bed. His leprosy has completely disabled his body. In fact, he struggles to turn his body around to look out that window. He is too weak to get up and do it. I can't imagine this...can you? I remember peeking into his room and finding him there, immobile, almost seemingly paralyzed. Whatever his affliction, nothing stopped him from giving me a wide smile. His eyes were filled with a love that I cannot describe. My arm reached out to his and we shook hands. I said, "God bless you". I don't know if he knew what I was saying or not, but there was a mutual understanding that we were there together in loving kindness. He was so thrilled to have a visitor! I could have peeked in and seen a bitter, angry and ill-tempered man, chiseled by the pain of his circumstances. I could have found a man paralyzed socially by his physical immobility and by his rejection from others. I could have found a man that hid under his dirty covers, or that told me to leave his small abode. Instead, I found a man willing to embrace his day fully, to extend his hand in friendship to me...fully, despite his inability to move on that bed. And so, for this man, there is no getting out of the bed on the wrong side. There is no laying there wondering what his steps out of the bed will bring. There are no physical steps to be taken. There is no daylight to be seen, other than the view that the small window gives him. There are no visitors, no taking a walk or marveling at the children playing. Yet in this man I saw the conviction, the desire and the willingness to live and to share his life. Feeling like you can't get out of bed today? Or perhaps that what lies ahead in your day is too much? Perhaps its time to remember my old friend, the man who walked a thousand steps out of his paralyzed realities to greet me with his all. Perhaps it is time to remember that every day, every thought and every step must be taken captive whether we want to get out of bed or not and whether we wake up on that wrong side of the bed. No matter what our circumstance, each day brings the opportunity to embrace it. After all, the Lord's mercies are new everyday. They are ours to receive. For the men and women of Korah, for the lepers that don't have feet, for the prostituting mothers that face life with shame and reckless abandonment, for the children that will run every day to the dump for their food, and for all the hearts that hope, dream and aspire....let's honor them by getting out of our bed and living life to the fullest. Maybe then, we'll find the purpose, the motivation, the persistence, the understanding and the desire to see God at work and to make a difference in the lives of those that have no voice....and no feet to step out of bed.

A Mother's Love

There are few things that can compare with the beauty of a mother's love. In it's unspoken affections, it cradles civilizations. It births nations and plants the seeds of future generations. It inspires dreams and encourages paths never imagined. It perseveres through the roughest of times, being the strength that is needed to walk many a rocky road or scale the heights of daunting mountains. A mother's love is sacrificial, giving over completely to oneself for the good of another life. It can be the force that drives us when we feel incapable of walking another step, and it can be the gentle whisper that says, "I love you, I believe in you, and there is nothing that you cannot achieve." Love can give wings for one to soar. And yet, I also know that a mother's love can be squelched. It can be dulled by disillusion, by hardship, and by fear. It can be hidden through the depths of internal pain, physical, emotional and spiritual. It can make some feel that they are not enough, even though they are. It can paralyze and be a painful reminder of how one was not loved. And so, within the beauty of motherhood, there is a world that embraces its beauty and a parallel world that hides from its potential. It is this contrast that I reflect on as I remember the mother's of Korah.

On this Mother's Day, I can't help but think of the many mothers that I saw. Yesterday, I sat in the gleaming hot sunshine, enjoying the sound of birds in my yard. My kids were playing around, having fun. My husband was working on some garden projects. Here was a brightness and a joy that the mother's of Korah would not experience. My heart felt that pain and that injustice. Then, my husband asked me what I would like to eat for Mother's Day...a choice to have something that I enjoyed. And what of the mother's that live in Korah? There are no choices, and there are certainly not many husbands around, if any, that would even care to ask even if they had the means. I remember the homes of these women...dark, dingy, holes in the ground. They were not in the ground, but they may have well been. From pure daylight you could walk into their homes into complete darkness. Pitch black! You could barely make out the image of the person in front of you. The homes were made from eucalyptus or bamboo frames and sheathed in newspapers, plastic bags, tarps, ripped clothes...whatever would hold together. Most lived in complete darkness with their children, and yet they still needed to pay $13USD per month for their "home". They had nothing but a dirty heap of blankets on the floor for a bed, where the entire family would sleep, and maybe the luxury of a pot or a coal burner for heat. Tarps draped down as roofs with little protection from the heavy rains. Buckets sat on the dirt floor collecting drips. The home would be damp, musty and cold at night. Cats sat in the rafters for protection. Protection from what? From rats that would eat at fingers and toes at night. As I was walking out of one of the homes (where 22 people lived), a poster caught my eye. It was a laminated sketch of a caucasian woman embracing her child. The print was entitled, "A Mother's Love". No matter where we live, whether it be in precious comforts of North America, or the dark confines of an outcast village.....there is always a mother's love.

These women live in darkness, squalor, depravity, destitution, every single day. They live with no husbands since most have left. They live with many children...and even though the rest of the world will frown upon their fertility in the midst of destitution, the reality is that they are abused, taken advantage of and have no ability to say, "NO!". Drunken men walk the village paths at night, having their drink and their way. There is no access to birth control, no access to healthy food, or water for that matter...and those that do might have to walk and hour and a half, miles and miles. Some send their small children to carry the 50 pound containers. Others walk themselves, with children saddled on their backs. Some hobble along the trek with nothing more than stumps for feet to get there. Money for health care, food, clothes....these are dreams not realized. What do they do for income? Prostituting their bodies....or those of their young children. How much that must grieve a mother's heart! I can't imagine. Others have escaped near death since their husbands tried to kill them because of their disfigurements (leprosy)..and so they live with the reality of rejection and abandonment every single day...outcast by their families. They live with their many children, huddled in tight spaces, covered with dirty blankets. Babies stop breast feeding when they get sick. Then, they stop breastfeeding all together due to a lack of energy. One woman fed her baby a grey, slimy goo out of a dirty plastic container. That's all she had to offer. Her baby is dying. How she must cry at night. Mothers walk to the garbage dump in the search for food with one or more babies swaddled to their bodies. They care for sick and dying children, most of which die of malnutrition before they reach the age of 5. And so, these could be the mothers whose love is dulled by disillusion, hardship, abandonment, and utter desperation. And yet, these were the mothers that I saw passionately clutching their children, caressing their babies, smiling at their toddlers and breaking out into a proud, wide smiles whenever we would stop to look at their children or take their picture. These were the mothers that "just kept going no matter what the day had to offer". These were the mothers that asked us to pray for their sick children, who clutched on to hope for dear life. These were the mothers that broke out into a wail when they found out that they were too sick, perhaps even dying...to sick to care for their children. Can you imagine realizing that your own children will be orphans? These were the mothers that took our hands and kissed them and cried when they received clothes, or medicine or food. And when one of our team members found 2 granola bars in her purse to give to one of these mothers, she did as any mother would do,she gave it to her children. A mother's love...a universal beauty, and in my mind even more beautiful in the women of Korah, that outcast community where even the darkest poverty and the most profound destitution does nothing to hide the passion and the deep love of a mother.

Please pray for the mothers at Korah. I believe that the love and prayers that we were able to give them was a glimpse of the immense love that God has for them. I believe that seeds of hope were planted those days and that our continued prayers will make a huge difference to the mothers of Korah. Please pray for them today.

Lord, we pray for the mothers of Korah. You know their struggles and what lies within their hearts. You see their tears and you hear their cries. Please protect them from the many dangers that meet them in their days, and in their nights. Protect their children from harm and disease and guard their hearts and souls as they witness circumstances that no children should see. Lord, provide them with food and water to sustain their frail bodies. Be their strength and their hope. Help them to walk their long roads until the day that we can all join together to help to release them from their hardships....one day at a time, one need at a time. Lord, the need is tremendous. Help us not to focus on the immensity of the hardship, but on the intensity of your love. Help us to remember the depth and breadth and width of your love for the people of Korah. You cared for them enough that you have brought your light there. You have brought men and women, one a time, to minister your love, your provision, your compassion and your continued hope. Lord, may your covering be over them and your hand of healing be upon them. May you raise up leaders within your kingdom that will be bold, brave and attentive to your leading. Lord, may your seeds of faith, hope and love bloom in this dark place. May your servants and Your word be the light in the darkness. Lord, I lift the mothers of Korah to your loving care. You created them, you know them by name. They are precious in your sight and you love them deeply. May they feel your warmth in the darkness and cold of their nights. May they feel your love in every waking moment. May they remember our visit there. May they remember our smiles, our embraces, kisses on the cheeks, and our prayers. May they know that everything that was given to them, their clothes, medicine, trips to the hospital, food, toys...it was all given in Your love. And finally Lord, please continue to show us how you want us to care for these precious people. Help us to be attentive to your spirit. Help us to continue running the race for your beloved people. With your strength and your leading we can accomplish much. Help us to think BIG and not to settle into resignation or complacency. We were meant to work together for hope.
Lord, thank you for your gift of a mother's love and thank you for each mother at Korah

Today is a difficult day. I just don't have the words today. I feel as though I am on a pendulum, swinging in and out of grief. My mind and heart cannot escape the realities which I witnessed. I know that it is not a burden to carry that is meant to weigh us down, but rather a burden that must be lifted to the One that can ably carry it. Today, I experienced the joy of proposing a little boy to a waiting adoptive family. The tears and joy that I heard gripped my heart. I felt so privileged to have had the opportunity to be a part of this family's journey. What a blessing when a family is built on the seeds of hope, faith, love and trust. God does listen to the desires of our hearts and fulfills our dreams. God answers prayers. There is no doubt. At the same time, my heart is grieving for those orphans whose eyes I can see gazing at me; for the hands that I can yet feel touching my skin....for the cries and whimpers that I can hear that leave me shaken. I remember the deep wailing cry of the mother who was told that she was very sick and that we could not help her. What do I do with that? I remember the tiny eyes of wonderment imprinted in in my heart, as I watched them blow bubbles or get a special toy from our "goody bags". How does one live with these memories? What do I do now? How do I help now? Lord, how do I pray? Today is a difficult day. I miss the ones I left behind, if only in the distance across the ocean. Today is a difficult day. I will go to bed with their smiles and love etched in my heart.

"Seesta"

"Seesta, Seesta, peecha!". These were the first words that I heard one day as I raised my camera to take a picture. If my camera hung untouched around my neck, then it was a different story. But,the minute my hands clutched on, all heads made a swift turn and all eyes gazed with anticipation. "Pleeze Seesta, peecha" Translation: Please Sister, take a picture! I wish that I could rally that same eagerness at Christmas time for picture taking. It's usually a sigh that I hear. I even catch myself avoiding the lens. Why? Maybe its the preoccupation that we can have with how we look, or don't look. Looking tired, feeling tired, older, big nose, small chin, grey hair, pudgey profile, skinny legs....whatever it is that we see in ourselves that we don't like, or like too much, that's what becomes our anxiety. Really, that's not what a picture is meant to be or the effect its meant to have. It's a memory, a reflection of our life, a snapshot of special moments, of memories imprinted for future reflection and appreciation. It's a view to who we were, what we did, what we hoped to become, and most importantly, who we loved. " Seesta, pleeze" says the little boy as he tugs at my shirt. "Yes, yes...a picture, of course!" The picture starts out with two friends embracing and is quickly filled with a multitude of eager participants. They all jump in pushing their way to the front. Smiles widen, embraces tighten and a few quickly adjust positions to offer their best poses. Then, a few more squeeze in. My LCD screen is full. Wow! The enthusiasm is riveting! I can't say that I've ever rushed in to be in a picture in this way. "Click" The smiles now take over and within moments, a rush to my side ensues to catch a first glimpse of the final product on my screen. As the picture comes up, it is obvious that this is a magical moment. With eyes wide open, the children are mesmerized by the image of themselves. "Kongo", I say to the girls. This means beautiful. They all burst into giggles as girls do. Then, an unexpected moment. A boy comes up to my side and captures my gaze. "Seesta, me Kongo?" "Yes, you are very Kongo", I say. He gives me a hug and puts his tiny hand in mine. My heart begins to swell, filled with a deep sense of his desire and need for affirmation and love. The girls want to know that they are beautiful and so do boys. We all do, no matter where we live and who we are. Then, as though I had walked among the group afresh, another wave of requests, " Seesta,Seesta, peecha, my friend is Kongo too." In those moments, many thoughts came to my mind and poured over my heart. This picture that I had taken was more than likely the very first time that these children had seen themselves. In this forgotten, poverty-stricken slum there were no mirrors. Even new rains did not bring clear reflections to the muddied puddles. There was no where for them to look and to say, "This is me, this is who I am. Imagine for a moment having lived your entire life, young or old, with no reflection of yourself, your identity misplaced or lost altogether. I thank God that it is His identity that He gives to these people and that no mirror is a substitute for His perfect image of love within us. At the same time, my heart grieves for the reflections of self that are sought after. I guess that's why God gives us the opportunity and gift of being His embassadors...for hope, for love and to convey His identity to others.

"A peecha" became a gift. I had no idea when I pulled out my camera that there was a gift to be given. At the time, I was thinking of how many images I wanted to capture on film, and even worried about whether I would have enough memory on my SD card to do it. I was humbly reminded that the gift was not mine to receive. It was to be given away.It was the gift of capturing self, beauty,friendship, community, love, and family....for those whose pictures I had taken. There would be more than enough memory....in just one picture for just one child at a time to feel filled with joy.

Vanity, insecurity, wondering who we are and whether we are enough, hiding from the lens...there is no room for that in a world that never gets to see itself and wishes that it could. And so now, I look at my pictures with a genuine affection and renewed understanding. I know that they will speak a thousand words and convey many sentiments. They will be a voice for the people that asked me to be theirs. They have given to those children that I spent time with and loved a reflection of who they are and how much God truly loves them. Oh how I wish I could hear those words again, "Seesta, Seesta, peecha pleeze!"

Monday morning.....the start to a new week. How I wish it were me and Monday morning in Ethiopia...getting in our van and going to Korah, the community where my heart resides. I am really going to have to gear myself up this morning to go to work. Or, perhaps, the opposite will be necessary. Gearing down, feeling the loss and grief of what I've left behind. The many faces and their smiles, their hopeful eyes, even in the midst of desperation and impoverished living, have left a very deep imprint in our lives. I remember that saying that comments on being a footprint on someone's life. Well, for me, as much as I had wished to be a footprint in the lives of my brothers and sisters in Ethiopia, I think that they have been the ones to leave the deepest footprint...in my life. I wondered yesterday as I went through my day, "How is it that I get to come home to comfort? How is it that I come home to a roof that doesn't leak? Why is it that my children have the privilege of school every single day, while the only hope of escaping destitution for the children of Korah, is to go to the school that they cannot afford? Why do I get to choose from a plethora of groceries at Costco, while they get to eat perhaps twice of week? And why did that baby, whose hand I kissed, who gave me that beautiful gurgle and smile, need to sit on that dilapidated bed, sweating and sick, while his brother of 2 years of age, lay on his way to death in a ratty old playpen....in a dark, dusty home? I remember his mother opening a plastic container, showing us what she fed her son....a greyish, slimey paste....not sure what it was, but certainly not anything that a child should eat. Oh Lord, get that family and the many others through their days. Give them protection, a covering of affection....from someone. Lord, please remind them, in some small way how much we love them, even at a distance. Please help them to remember that they are not forgotten, and that even though I will be at work today, my heart will be there, my prayers will be there and my vision for their healing and their journey out of the darkness will be very much on my mind and in my heart. The people of Korah are not forgotten. With your strength and your direction Lord, guide me in such a way that I can bring them a hope and a future.