Christmas has come and gone. It all rushes quickly upon us, doesn't it? The preparation and the lists are quite endless and the scurrying around can become intense. Then, to find the time to shop, and wrap...it can all be quite exhausting. Then, as quickly as it rushes in, it rushes back out. Well, this year, I decided to scale down my Christmas. I decided to stay away from the rush and quite things down. I think that I visited the mall once (that was plenty for me) and simply decided to simplify by giving less "things" and being more intentional about caring more for the less fortunate. Our family cared for 20 homeless people by donating to the UNION Gospel Mission in Vancouver. Next year, I'd like to make that 50! As well, we gave canned items to the food bank and sent extra to our sponsored children in Niger and Rwanda. We have 2 little boys in Africa to add to our 4. We gathered up some items to send to our missionary friends in Cambodia and fundraised in my son's youth class so that they could have library books (they didn't have ANY). I took my 10 year old son to the Cyrus Centre in Abbotsford, a shelter for street kids and youth. We donated supplies to the home and got an inside view to the challenges that are a daily reality for these young people. I was shocked to learn that children as young as 10 are abandoned, left to participate in the sex trade for food and shelter. This fact left a very unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. Despite the fact that we all know that there are atrocities going on every single day in the world, we do forget that they are happening right under our noses, in our own cities, maybe even around the corner from our home. My son is 10. I just can't imagine that kind of a life for him. I'm glad that we took the tour. It opened my son's eyes to the reality of harsh lives lived by children his own age. I know that this had an impact on him and his thinking. We shouldn't shelter our kids from knowing the things that go on...and from seeing them first hand. It's wonderful for them to give supplies...even better if they can take the tour or serve in a soup kitchen with their mom and dad. This made me reflect back to the reality of such practices in third world countries. I remember seeing young children selling wares at the city market. It was quite obvious that they were victims for someone else's gain. It is well known that prostitution and sexual exploitation are rampant in poor countries. It is so difficult for me to put women and children in this picture of abuse and exploitation. My mind and my heart cannot deal with the reality of it. As uncomfortable as it is...I must face it, so that it compels me to do something. We can't change what we don't face or acknowledge. Another interesting thing that happened over Christmas was seeing the hype over Olympic apparel at the Bay. Very nice, but very expensive clothing. My kids received some of this nice clothing from someone. I don't know what made me do it, but I looked at the label to see where the clothing was made. Yes, you may think that the Vancouver Olympics would display the "Proudly Canadian Made" label, but unfortunately, they did not. The t-shirts were made in Haiti. Ok,now you must know where my mind went next. I work as an adoption worker that handles adoptions from Ethiopia and.....you guess it, Haiti. All I could think of was the poor people that would be working far below decent wages to produce t-shirts that would be sold for top dollar in Canada and abroad. Yes, it's all about money making and since we live in a consumer driven society - lowered production costs, even at the expense of people's lives, will make the most money. But, it saddens me to think that as we hail the Olympics with wearing its apparel, that we are also, in some way, supporting underprivileged labor and exploitation of people. I know that I shouldn't have done this, but I went into my laundry room and went through some more labels. Talk about torturing myself further. "Made in Vietnam, Made in India, Made in Bangladesh, Made in Thailand." I am not opposed to enjoying imported products from countries that are doing well...but when clothes and shoes are made by the poor themselves, then my heart begins to ache...deeply. If I knew that these people were getting a decent wage, and eating, and drinking clean water, then I'd probably be ok with it....but, I know that's not the case. So, here's the challenge to all of us. Where do our clothes come from? What and who do we support when we make our purchases? Yes, it might be uncomfortable for some not to purchase an Olympic t-shirt (Made in Haiti), but I'd rather NOT promote women and children working for nothing when they already have nothing to begin with. I have seen enough orphaned and underprivileged children in pictures at my work to know without a doubt that I will not support such things. I have seen women crying over sick, emaciated babies. I have seen other women beg for their children to be taken since they couldn't care for them. Call me crazy...or just call me someone that cares about people. Can I do without excessive shopping and Olympic apparel? If it means a better life for someone in Haiti..or Ethiopia..or India...or Vietnam....or Bangladesh.....etc, etc...the YOU BET!

An upgraded Christmas

This week, I received a card in the mail with a beautiful fall picture and the word, "Change", defined as "the revitalization of the spirit." I've heard, "Change is not easy", but I've never thought of it as requiring a complete re-vamping of our spirit. Revitalization means, "the process of bringing back to life". It becomes apparent that change does not entail any new earth shattering concepts, but rather bringing back to life those things that have been forgotten, neglected, avoided or misused. Getting to this point isn't difficult, you know. All it takes is getting absorbed in "our" lives; our busy lives that rob us of the opportunity to stop and think of how we are living out our lives and what impact this is having on others. It is so easy for us to get caught up in ourselves, our comforts, our wants, our habits and our perceived needs. Before we know it, we have put ourselves on the pedestal, at the centre of our universe, and consequently, put the rest of the world on the back burner. Quite unintentionally, we’ve derailed ourselves and the world around us completely.

Derailed the world? That seems a bit harsh to say. What effect could that possibly have on ourselves or the world, anyway? What can some “unintentional, not-so-bad choices in comforts and habits in our life do to anyone else? Well, it might go back to our world's constant preoccupation with self-gratification and over-consumption. Throw in some busyness, and now we’ve really missed out on noticing others. If you think that's an exaggeration, then just walk into a mall any day this week. Take a look at the many frantic shoppers searching amongst the thousands of items for sale that are skillfully marketed to entice every taste and pay scale. How many of these items do you think will bring long-lasting prosperity or hope, either to the buyer or the recipient? How much time spent shopping will actually pay off in better relationships or improved lives? Ok, there is value in thoughtful and useful gifts, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about going over the edge, into the abyss of self-indulgence, over-indulgence and just plain "don't really need it". I've been really thinking about this whole commercialism thing. Every marketable occasion is targeted. It's no longer about honoring special times like Christmas, Easter, birthdays or the people involved.

Rather, it’s about wanting, buying, wishing, accumulating, upgrading...nowhere in there do I see the word "revitalizing". What would be revitalizing? Perhaps it would be to learn to live with less, so that others can have more. When I think back to the toothbrush that was sold to me at the market in Addis, I remember it being a simple twig. No upgrades to bristles or color choices; and certainly, no electric options. We live in a world of upgrades, while some of our world neighbors live in a constant state of degrading. Perhaps it would be more honoring to give up some comfort, so that someone else doesn't have to live in discomfort. How about giving up that Starbucks coffee, so that a child can drink clean water? Do we need the caffeine, anyway? Do we need to succumb to the over-inflated prices that make Starbucks money at the expense of poor coffee farmers that make less than 30 cents a kilo? Last time I noticed, Ethiopian Starbucks was $20 a pound! I don't do Starbucks. I know that this will be offensive to some. Sorry, but I can't step into Starbucks without thinking of the farmers. This year, could we all resolve to NOT get caught up in all the bells and whistles of the season? Could we resolve to not drop countless dollars on token gifts and in pre-occupying ourselves with having the newest and latest? Guess what the newest and the latest is in Africa? Getting thought today without intense hardship. We have no idea. Perhaps we could give up obsessing over the matching gift wrap, accessorized with matching tags and tissue paper. It just doesn’t really matter or hold much value in the life of someone who is struggling. Instead, let’s spend some time not only thinking about those that are much less fortunate, but also doing something about it.

We could choose to use our hard earned money to do something that will bring life to someone and make a real difference, instead of thinking of ourselves. Afterall, we live in a land of plenty. Maybe that will mean inviting a lonely person to Christmas dinner, or donating to the food bank. Maybe you’ll decide to spend some time singing to seniors in nursing home, being the only family they’ve seen in months. Maybe you’ll volunteer at a soup kitchen, so that you can experience hunger from the other side of the table. Or, perhaps it will be picking a gift out of the World Vision catalogue of goats, or chickens or sewing machines to bring food or money to a family in Africa or another part of our impoverished world. There really is no shortage of opportunities to love our neighbors, both here and abroad. Whatever your choice, do it now…don’t say you’ll do it, and then forget. Don’t procrastinate. Don’t say you don’t have the time, the money or the interest. Don't say that someone else is doing it. Commit to loving someone else this season…commit to making the “upgrade” in someone else’s life. I think you'll find it revitalizing!

A glance

The other day, I was driving home from dropping off my son at school. I've been passing a long line of construction work along that route. Everyday, I see the same ladies holding up traffic signs, directing the flow of vehicles. It's quite interesting to observe them. Some simply stand there smoking their cigarettes, not really making any visible signs of interest in their job. Others, stand chatting with fellow workers, and one wonders if they are really attentive to the traffic at all. Yet others, are fully immersed in their duties, frantically waving their "slow" signs, taking their jobs very seriously, hoping that people will yield to their requests. A few days ago, another lady caught my eye. She stood there in the pouring rain with her "slow" sign, smiling and waving at each and every person. Some returned the wave, others simply ignored her. I have to say that her friendly disposition was quite contagious. As days passed, I almost felt as though I was looking forward to approaching the lady that would greet me with a smile and a warm wave. I didn't know her, and she didn't know me, but that didn't get in the way of acknowledging eachother and bringing a little cheer to the day. This made me think of a similar moment while I was in the thick of traffic in Addis Ababa. While waiting for a congestion of vehicles to clear, several young men approached our taxi bus, clearly approaching to beg for money and food. Some hobbled over with canes. Others, came over with tiny stumps for arms. Collectively, they swarmed in on our vehicle, hoping that we would open our windows to pass along an offering of some sort. Then, a voice within the taxi spoke out. " Don't even look at them. If you do, there will be a hundred more. You just can't give to everyone. You have to be careful." Yes, careful was good advice. But, not look at them? For a moment, I held on to these thoughts and struggled to know how to respond. If I looked, would this get their hopes and enthusiasm fueled? Or, would I make myself look away. Afterall, it is easier to look away and deny the situation than to have the courage to meet it head on. Facing it would mean having to make a choice. I guess that's why alot of people look away. Well, this line of thinking did not sit well with my heart. How could I not look? How could I consciously and intentionally reject their humanity? "Oh come on" you might be saying. "It's just a look and you don't even know them. you'll probably never see them again". Well, I believe that there is nothing worse that to ignore someone. Avoiding a glance not only communicates a complete lack of interest, but also denies a person's worth and humanity. Yes, their humanity. I've seen it done so many times to homeless people right here in my own city. People just ignore people all the time. But those homeless and needy people desire to be acknowledged. It is as much of a need or greater than the money and the food. Once can fill a stomach, quench a thirst, or give a dollar, but you cannot mend the pain of rejection very easily. Every person desires to be known. I didn't need to offer money or food if I wasn't able to, but I could certainly share my heart with a glance. I couldn't help but share my thoughts with the rest of the people on the taxi that day. If I kept my thoughts to myself, then when would they consider this moment again? " They deserve to be acknowledged. They are people just like you and I", I said. A silence fell over the crowd for a moment, and then a reply, "You're right, I would want that too". I can't tell you what a deep smile of gratitude I received when I made that choice to reciprocate the many glances at my window. It wasn't about the food, or the money, although they were needy, but rather about inviting those young men into a place of feeling worthy and noticed. I was acknowledging that they were there, they had a need and that they, as people, mattered. A glance is worth alot. It has the power to communicate love and acceptance. Or, on the flip side, it's absence can and will hurt someone deeply. I am so glad that I looked, and smiled, just as I did today when I passed the smiling traffic lady along my journey back from school.

"She's just a little girl"

I melted into my seat as we travelled down the mountainside from Sululta. The day had been sheerly exhausting. It was not physically demanding, although we had begun our day early, but rather, it was emotionally tasking. I drifted away into the recesses of my mind, attempting to find some rest and refuge. I found myself drawn to the thought of a beautiful little girl that I had met that day. She was brought in by her elderly grandmother. Well, I think that she was old, but her appearance,I learned, was not the true measure of her age. Mothers have children at very young ages in Ethiopia. It is true that children are having children, and so, if this were the case, then this grandmother was actually quite young. Yet,the lines on her face clearly showed a life of hardship, perils and many disappointments. Those lines must have had many stories to tell. One of them would have been the death of her own daughter - a victim to AIDS. The girl's father had died of AIDS too. This young girl, who was no more than 3 or 4 years of age, was an orphan, and left to the care of her frail, impoverished and downtrodden grandmother. The doctor looked the girl over, assessing her overall physical condition. "Angie, please hand me the lab requisition form" he said. "Do you think she has an infection?" I said, assuming that a respiratory condition was her prognosis. "No, let's test her for AIDS. We need to test all the children." My heart sank. "But she is only a little girl" I exclaimed. "I know" said the doctor, looking at me with an unconcealed and shared sadness. With the help of a nurse that translated our requests, we directed the girl's grandmother to go get the HIV test in the lab area. The grandmother bravely pushed her way through the thick crowds of people to another building. I have to tell you that waiting for that little girl's results seemed like an eternity to me. I had heard of adults getting AIDS, but children being afflicted was somewhat foreign to me. I knew that it was possible, but to have a child actually sitting next to me that could possibly have AIDS, was beyond what my heart could bear. Finally, the results were in. As much as I wanted to believe that the results would be negative; they were not. "She's positive" affirmed the doctor. At that very moment, a very deep sadness came over me. This sweet little girl that sat quietly with her hands in her lap had AIDS. I felt so completely helpless. I wanted to take away this sickness, but I could not. She was absolutely beautiful and her smile radiated a joy that filled my heart. As she looked at me, her eyes sparkled. I felt a strange sensation inside of me. Surely, this was what if felt like for my heart to break.

Fortunately, this little girl would have access to anti-retrovirals - treatment for what plagued her little body. Well, that would be if her grandmother continued to bring her to the local clinic. What would happen if her grandmother became sick or the journey became too long and arduous? Would the loss of the grandmother's own daughter compell her to make the journey for hope, or would it defeat her with resignation? I would never know. This beautiful girl deserved the chance that her mother and father never got. We urged the grandmother to bring her back for treatment. All we could do was hope that she would return. I hope that we were able to give that grandmother much more than an examination and treatment plan for her grand daughter that day. We wanted to give her a hope and a vision for the life that she and her grand daughter so much deserved. That beautiful girl changed me that day. She made me laugh. She made me cry. In those moments with her, my own humanity was exposed and challenged. She made me want to make life better for her and that dear, sweet woman that cared enough to bring her in. If I could only help to restore one life to all of its fullness, then that would be enough motivation for me to step out of my comfort and join the impoverished people of Ethiopia. In the spring of 2010, I will return to the Sululta Clinic. I will sit at my bench once again, ready to receive another beautiful smile. Then, I will open my heart, reach out my hand and have the opportunity to touch a life once again.

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.

She was seen by 2 of the doctors on our team. She had been brought in by a young couple we believed to be her aunt and uncle. The story was that this little girl's mother had left for another city to work, with the promise of sending money to care for her daughter.  The money never came and her mother never returned. She had been left with an uncle, a man who kept her for a year, only to find himself in the same helpless situation.  Word of the medical team coming to Salulta got out, and the uncle dropped the young, frail girl with some neighbours, hoping that they would take her for medical attention.  Perhaps he was hoping that they would take care of her now; but they couldn't. Her name was Matebwa, and when I saw her, my heart broke. Actually, I heard her before I saw her.  Sounds of a shrieking, helpless creature came from the room next to me. I've never heard anything like it. She was behind a baffle, sitting up on a stretcher.  All she could do was cry with a weakness that took your breath away. When we put out our hand to touch her, she tried to bite and scratch us. She was so very scared and sick.  The young couple commented that she had been like a normal young little girl before her mother left. Now, she weighed 8 Kilos at the age of 3 and trusted no one.  Her legs and arms were thin and her tiny little bottom was just about non-existant. I could see every bone of her body. She was so frail that she could not even stand up on her own 2 feet. Knowing that she was malnourished and abandoned by her mother, we decided to take her to a hospital in Addis, where she would be cared for and brought back to health. The many processes of investigating her mother's whereabouts would begin, and if she became well enough.....then what?  Would we ever see her again? After we returned from that night in the hospital, we felt completely drained.  As we sat in the taxi bus, a quiet sadness took over the ride.  Matebwa was part of us now - she had touched our hearts deeply. Matebwa's story is one of many that deeply impacted me, creating an immediate shift inside my mind and heart.  When I think of Matebwa and the many children that I saw like her - I am compelled and inspired to help.  One day, I hope to go back to the Salulta Medical Clinic and reach my hand out again.

August 20, 2009

You never know what a day will bring...although we seem pretty intent on planning for every single moment of our life. We have day timers, calendars, to do lists, and a variety of other tools that organize our lives. We plan our vacations in detail, plan our kids school weeks, filling them with countless activities. We meal plan, and even plan to "make a plan". I think though, that there is something much better at times about not always knowing what the day will bring or what it will look like. Of course, that's not always practical, but it can be needed. There is so much to be said for having an element of mystery, of just letting life unfold before us. That is exactly what happened to me when I went on my trip to Ethiopia. The "plan" was to see the Ethiopian adoption process, meet the children, see the homes they lived in, and visit orphanages. I would then participate in a medical clinic outreach in a town named, Salulta, a rural community of 30,000. I assisted a pediatrician, taking notes, handing out medication and giving away what I called "goody bags", filled with toothbrushes, toothpaste, receiving blankets, stickers, and anything else that I could manage to squeeze into the bag. That week, our team saw over 1, 000 Salulta people. I had also planned to take in every precious moment given to me of the culture. I did all of the things that I planned. The most interesting part of my plan was that I asked God to navigate it...and that He did!  While I knew that I would experience unexpected things, there were many more blessings along the way than I ever expected that changed me forever. I feel as though I was given a glimpse of Ethiopia through God's eyes and heart...and it not only impacted my thinking, it also broadened my view of the world in need and my part in it. I had many tearful moments as I grappled with the immense poverty - stunned at the reality of everyday life in Ethiopia. At the same time, my heart was warmed by the beautiful people - so full of love, generosity and grace, despite their scant provisions. Shocking to see that they are so joyful and grateful for what they have, yet never knowing what the next day will hold. We,on the other hand, seem to battle with discontentment on a regular basis. Why is that? Do we not get up every single day with an attitude of gratitude, like the people of Ethiopia? We have alot to learn.

One of blessings of my trip was going to a transition home where children await their adoptive parents. A few young, playful boys caught my eye, and I just had to ask, " So they are ALL spoken for?" The Director commented, " Well, funny you should ask....not those boys, there are 4 of them and we haven't found a family for them." Maybe it's because I have a heart for boys (I have 4 of them). I know that God had a plan for those boys and He used me to ask that very unique question that day. At the end of the day, I went to my hotel internet room and excitedly emailed our adoption agency asking them if we could take on the adoption of 4 boys. " Yes, we can " 4 1/2 months have passed since that trip, and today the 4 boys have arrived in Canada to live with their new adoptive family. Did I plan for that incredible blessing in my trip to Ethiopia? I had no idea what would come of that very special day. I am so glad that I went to the transition home that day and just followed my heart. God had a plan for that day....and for today, this much awaited arrival day of 4 beautiful boys that hold a very special place in my heart. That's what happens when we give up our own plans and put them in God's capable hands. Welcome home boys! You are so loved.