So this is it...my last post from Africa. It isn't my last post on this blog...It isn't even my last post about Africa.
But it is my last one from Africa.
I am leaving in the midst of a week of riots and warfare, rock throwing, gun fights, and fires raging on the fuel of hatred. Ironic then, that as I leave, I recognize that Guinea's greatest lesson to me has been love.
Love.
It's a strange thing, isn't it? Love.
It shows up where it shouldn't. It flourishes when it should die. It holds on when it should give up. It gives when the cost is great. Love is extravagant.
I've seen it even more these past days.
A friend came by my home with his wife and baby tied on the back (my favorite thing) to bring us gifts. Inside red paper were shoes...beautiful, African made slippers. My friend works as a household cook. I couldn't imagine what it cost him to buy these for us. But love is extravagant.
My neighbor invited me into her home yesterday. She presented a dress she had made for me. She put earrings in my ears, a necklace on my neck and brought me to her mirror to show me how beautiful I was in them. I looked around at all her children and they were beaming with excitement for my gifts. They weren't wearing anything like what they had just given me. What must it have cost them to do this? They loved big and love is extravagant.
In this place where tempers are violent, I've seen patience and kindness. In this place where death permeates everything, I've seen a remarkable amount of life. In this place of desperate poverty I've seen extravagant giving. In this place where injustice rules, I've seen freedom reign.
I am grateful. So so grateful. It overtakes every other emotion in me. It drowns out the sadness of leaving and subdues the excitement of our next adventure. I am grateful that GOD gave me the thing I longed for. He gave me Africa and spent the year showing me the beauty of simplicity, engraving into the core of who I am that it all comes down to one thing: Love. Loving HIM, loving others and walking in that love.
That's not just a lesson for Africa. It's for all of us! Don't get confused, or let anyone convince you that following JESUS is complicated or intellectual. It's not. It's simple...but it takes a lot of courage to let the simplicity of LOVE be your reality. But the GOD who is LOVE beckons us to it---"Be Strong and Courageous!!"
Who is up for it?
Monday, March 4, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Redemption
Today there was a knock on my gate. 5 little girls were there. Lameen's sisters. They wanted to know if they could come in to play.
HE didn't have to do that for me. But HE did... and I am so grateful.
HE didn't have to do that for me. But HE did... and I am so grateful.
Monday, February 18, 2013
The Real Deal
Sometimes I feel like a fraud.
I checked on Lameen's mother last night. Everything was back to normal. No friends, no guests...no one, in fact. She woke to her dead son Saturday morning, buried him by afternoon and life was back to normal by the next morning. A normal life...with no son.
It was evening and there was no electricity so we sat in her living room in the dark, unable to see each others faces and just talked. She told me that Lameen would often point to my house and ask his mother if he could visit us. "No," she would tell him, "You haven't been invited."
That hurt. He should have known he was welcome here. Why didn't I ever tell him he could stop by anytime? Why hadn't I met his mother before the day I held her hands and cried for her loss? Her gate is just across from mine. I failed her. GOD planted that boy right in front of me and I was probably inside watching TV.
I met someone else this week: a thin Englishwoman who is probably in her seventies. I liked her instantly. She was in from the village and had come over to have coffee with the missionary women. She was excited about being in a group of women to worship and pray. She lives many hours into the interior of Guinea. And do you know what she does out in that remote place?
Prison Ministry.
That frail jewel of a woman spends her days teaching imprisoned men how to read. Prisons in Guinea are horrible. Aside from the desperate conditions, the lack of justice and organization means that once you're in, it can be years before you get out. Not because their crime is worthy of it, but because no one is keeping tabs on when they should get out. It is pitiful.
My English friend doesn't live alone out in that remote location. She has a roommate, a woman in her 80's affectionately known by the missionary community as "Queen Anne". She grew up with the real Queen of England, Elizabeth, and when she was in her late 60's worked on board the Africa Mercy Ship, known at that time as "The Anastasia". When the ship docked in Guinea, she got off and stayed. That was 17 years ago. She goes on every camping trip and every hike the missionaries hold. She sleeps on the ground and hikes the trails but no matter where she is, at tea time she always stops and sits down for tea. What is a woman like this doing in Guinea? One thing. Just one thing. Praying.
Those lively girls of great age...they know who they are and they know who they're not. They aren't put off by the irony of age and camping, wilderness hikes and tea time, frailness and prisons.
I want to be like that. I want to know who I am and who I am not. I want to know it now...now as a 30-something. Now, on this street with these neighbors.
I want to be real, the deep down to the depths of me, real deal.
I checked on Lameen's mother last night. Everything was back to normal. No friends, no guests...no one, in fact. She woke to her dead son Saturday morning, buried him by afternoon and life was back to normal by the next morning. A normal life...with no son.
It was evening and there was no electricity so we sat in her living room in the dark, unable to see each others faces and just talked. She told me that Lameen would often point to my house and ask his mother if he could visit us. "No," she would tell him, "You haven't been invited."
That hurt. He should have known he was welcome here. Why didn't I ever tell him he could stop by anytime? Why hadn't I met his mother before the day I held her hands and cried for her loss? Her gate is just across from mine. I failed her. GOD planted that boy right in front of me and I was probably inside watching TV.
I met someone else this week: a thin Englishwoman who is probably in her seventies. I liked her instantly. She was in from the village and had come over to have coffee with the missionary women. She was excited about being in a group of women to worship and pray. She lives many hours into the interior of Guinea. And do you know what she does out in that remote place?
Prison Ministry.
That frail jewel of a woman spends her days teaching imprisoned men how to read. Prisons in Guinea are horrible. Aside from the desperate conditions, the lack of justice and organization means that once you're in, it can be years before you get out. Not because their crime is worthy of it, but because no one is keeping tabs on when they should get out. It is pitiful.
My English friend doesn't live alone out in that remote location. She has a roommate, a woman in her 80's affectionately known by the missionary community as "Queen Anne". She grew up with the real Queen of England, Elizabeth, and when she was in her late 60's worked on board the Africa Mercy Ship, known at that time as "The Anastasia". When the ship docked in Guinea, she got off and stayed. That was 17 years ago. She goes on every camping trip and every hike the missionaries hold. She sleeps on the ground and hikes the trails but no matter where she is, at tea time she always stops and sits down for tea. What is a woman like this doing in Guinea? One thing. Just one thing. Praying.
Those lively girls of great age...they know who they are and they know who they're not. They aren't put off by the irony of age and camping, wilderness hikes and tea time, frailness and prisons.
I want to be like that. I want to know who I am and who I am not. I want to know it now...now as a 30-something. Now, on this street with these neighbors.
I want to be real, the deep down to the depths of me, real deal.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Lameen
We call them "The Street Boys". They are the boys that live in our neighborhood and hang out in the dirt road outside our gate playing football. We feed them treats and have let them in the gate to play. We see them every time we go on our walks. Sometimes they follow us wherever we are going. They're sweet and a little wild...you know, typical boys.
Except for one of them. His name is Lameen...
I see the other boys running the streets, but he is usually working. Some of the boys get too aggressive with my girls. Not him. Not ever.
When the kids and I went on a walk last week we passed him outside carrying water with his sister and stopped to say hi. Before we walked on, I saw him. Well, of course I saw him, but I mean that at that moment, I really saw him. I saw a sweetness and a grace in his face that captured my attention. I said goodbye and walked on.
This morning I sat in his house with his mother. Wildheart sat beside me. We were surrounded by other African women. We were there to mourn with her.
Yesterday, Lameen had a headache. He went to bed last night and this morning when his mother went to wake him, he was dead. He was only 14.
Sitting in his house with the people who loved him, the grief was palpable. Although Africans are loud and expressive, when it comes to death, they are surprisingly controlled. In fact, when one person would begin to wail, the others would tell them to have courage. We listened when his mother spoke but mostly we just sat together. In Guinea, when someone dies everyone floods to the house: neighbors, friends, relatives. They come to cry and to sit together. At times like that, what else is there anyway?
I'm not really sure why I chose to blog about this one. I didn't really learn anything worth sharing. Losing a child is the same in every culture. It's always horrible. It's always sad. It's never fair.
I guess I just didn't want this smart, beautiful boy to go away without other people knowing that he lived...without knowing that somewhere on a dusty little street in Guinea lived a boy who was gentle with his sister, worked hard with his family and was kind to his neighbors.
Except for one of them. His name is Lameen...
I see the other boys running the streets, but he is usually working. Some of the boys get too aggressive with my girls. Not him. Not ever.
When the kids and I went on a walk last week we passed him outside carrying water with his sister and stopped to say hi. Before we walked on, I saw him. Well, of course I saw him, but I mean that at that moment, I really saw him. I saw a sweetness and a grace in his face that captured my attention. I said goodbye and walked on.
This morning I sat in his house with his mother. Wildheart sat beside me. We were surrounded by other African women. We were there to mourn with her.
Yesterday, Lameen had a headache. He went to bed last night and this morning when his mother went to wake him, he was dead. He was only 14.
Sitting in his house with the people who loved him, the grief was palpable. Although Africans are loud and expressive, when it comes to death, they are surprisingly controlled. In fact, when one person would begin to wail, the others would tell them to have courage. We listened when his mother spoke but mostly we just sat together. In Guinea, when someone dies everyone floods to the house: neighbors, friends, relatives. They come to cry and to sit together. At times like that, what else is there anyway?
I'm not really sure why I chose to blog about this one. I didn't really learn anything worth sharing. Losing a child is the same in every culture. It's always horrible. It's always sad. It's never fair.
I guess I just didn't want this smart, beautiful boy to go away without other people knowing that he lived...without knowing that somewhere on a dusty little street in Guinea lived a boy who was gentle with his sister, worked hard with his family and was kind to his neighbors.
Farewell Lameen, you graceful boy.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Souvenirs
Several more to take home with me:
* I was distracted by a conversation with the woodcarver when Little Aggie decided to wander off. I spent a couple frantic minutes trying to find him. Finally, I saw him walking toward me followed by an old African woman who promptly spanked him and returned him to me with an explanation (in French and a few hand motions) that he had wandered up the road. I loved it. It meant we are officially part of the neighborhood.
* We drove four hours into Guinea to a town named Boke'. There, the kids and I entered an underground cell where slave traders once held their captives until it was time to ship them away. Then we walked in a trench that had been their pathway down to the river where a boat awaited to take them from their home. With every step I was overwhelmed with the reality that the people I love, ripped from their homes and their lives, once walked over this same unsteady ground. I was walking the path led by beautiful, old African women who waved branches while they sang and danced their way ahead of me. But they would have walked this in chains and hunger and pain. The trench weaved through heavy woods and eventually the trees cleared where I could see the river. I thought about how terrifying the first glimpse of the river must have been for them. In a few minutes I would turn around and walk back up the trench and go home. It was a one way trip for them. I was grieved at the depravity of humanity who could destroy his brother. I was grateful for the GOD-HUMAN who came to rescue us from such depravity. The GOD who didn't come to make slaves, but to free them.
* A few days ago, I left my house in such a hurry to retrieve my kids from a neighbor's house that I left my shoes behind. My guard was watching us next door and noticing I had no shoes, took off his own and gave them to me while he walked home barefoot.
* When I got home yesterday, my girls told me they'd had a tea party with the highest of society--our cook and our housekeeper. <3
* This last souvenir will go without a name. It is the gift of all the stories that moved me deeply but I am unable to share. It didn't feel right to go without acknowledging their existence at all. So I leave it simply at this--sometimes it is the things we cannot speak of that say the most in our lives.
* A few days ago, I left my house in such a hurry to retrieve my kids from a neighbor's house that I left my shoes behind. My guard was watching us next door and noticing I had no shoes, took off his own and gave them to me while he walked home barefoot.
* When I got home yesterday, my girls told me they'd had a tea party with the highest of society--our cook and our housekeeper. <3
* This last souvenir will go without a name. It is the gift of all the stories that moved me deeply but I am unable to share. It didn't feel right to go without acknowledging their existence at all. So I leave it simply at this--sometimes it is the things we cannot speak of that say the most in our lives.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Out of Africa
It's not much longer now.
We will board a plane and fly away. We will leave people who have so tangled themselves up in my heart that there will be no way to separate. They will come with me and I will stay with them.
Tonight I stood on my back balcony and watched the boys play soccer. All they need is a ball and each other. That's probably why there's a soccer game on every street in the evening. I thought about how a year ago I got off the plane expecting to feel so sorry for the people here. Now that we're leaving soon, I confess that I don't feel sorry for them. I feel sorry for us.
They don't have washing machines. So, the women get together to scrub their clothes, while they talk and laugh with their sisters and girlfriends.
They don't have electricity most of the time. So, they stay outside and visit with their neighbors and friends.
Their kids don't have video games and televisions. So, they create toys out of cans and string and other treasures they've rescued from the trash.
They don't have privacy. So, they go with it. They live their lives out loud, with their neighbors.
They don't have a sophisticated trash and recycling system. But they don't throw most things away. They are extremely creative at new uses for things. I am convinced Guineans are the world's best recyclers.
They don't have their own cars, or labor-free ways to transport things. So, they carry most everything on their heads and leave their hands free. From the rich to the poor, everyone has impeccable posture.
They can't afford the grocery stores. So, they grow and make their own food.
Africa has its problems. So does America.
Africa does without many things---but they are rich in love and community and friendships.
While we overindulge in more and more things to make our lives "convenient"; While we try to hold on to our privacy; While we hide away in our houses staring at TVs and computers like statues; While we spend more time looking at things with our family instead of looking AT our family; They are spending every waking moment talking to, looking at and living out their lives with the people they love...and the people they don't.
But when it comes down to it, that's what it's all about isn't it? Life...it's all about people.
And on that front---they've got us creamed.
We will board a plane and fly away. We will leave people who have so tangled themselves up in my heart that there will be no way to separate. They will come with me and I will stay with them.
Tonight I stood on my back balcony and watched the boys play soccer. All they need is a ball and each other. That's probably why there's a soccer game on every street in the evening. I thought about how a year ago I got off the plane expecting to feel so sorry for the people here. Now that we're leaving soon, I confess that I don't feel sorry for them. I feel sorry for us.
They don't have washing machines. So, the women get together to scrub their clothes, while they talk and laugh with their sisters and girlfriends.
They don't have electricity most of the time. So, they stay outside and visit with their neighbors and friends.
Their kids don't have video games and televisions. So, they create toys out of cans and string and other treasures they've rescued from the trash.
They don't have privacy. So, they go with it. They live their lives out loud, with their neighbors.
They don't have a sophisticated trash and recycling system. But they don't throw most things away. They are extremely creative at new uses for things. I am convinced Guineans are the world's best recyclers.
They don't have their own cars, or labor-free ways to transport things. So, they carry most everything on their heads and leave their hands free. From the rich to the poor, everyone has impeccable posture.
They can't afford the grocery stores. So, they grow and make their own food.
Africa has its problems. So does America.
Africa does without many things---but they are rich in love and community and friendships.
While we overindulge in more and more things to make our lives "convenient"; While we try to hold on to our privacy; While we hide away in our houses staring at TVs and computers like statues; While we spend more time looking at things with our family instead of looking AT our family; They are spending every waking moment talking to, looking at and living out their lives with the people they love...and the people they don't.
But when it comes down to it, that's what it's all about isn't it? Life...it's all about people.
And on that front---they've got us creamed.
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