Home For Haiti: Nov 2012

We are Haiti Bound.  

Not unlike our mission work in Ghana in 2011, this seed, too, was planted through a series of letters from one of our Compassion children.  This time, it is my ten year old daughter’s Compassion child, Medgina, whose letters stirred our hearts to rise to action.  

Jillian began sponsoring Medgina in 2010.  At first, it seemed they simply had their age in common.  Medgina is a mere 24 days younger than Jillian. It wasn’t until this past year that we discovered that Jillian and Medgina had much more in common than we were aware of.  It was a hint of what was to come...  although we couldn’t see what He would do, we could certainly feel it coming.

As a young child, Jillian was very sick.  She weighed barely 12 pounds at a year of age, and spent most of her first year in and out of doctor’s offices and hospitals.  The answers eluded us until she was 14 months old.  Once we understood the problems, we thought it would be smooth sailing ahead... but as she grew, it became more and more apparent that there were other underlying issues.  

By the time she started Kindergarten, some would have labeled her as “non-functional”.  She could not cope in a classroom setting and had no social skills.  She could not dress herself or handle much in the way of personal hygiene.  She would resist eye contact, would rarely smile, and was partially mute.  Add to that extreme sensory issues and the inability to transition from one activity/plan to another, and life seemed like one colossal minefield.   

She wasn’t the only one who was overwhelmed.  The moment I opened my eyes each morning, the minefield came to mind, and I would cry out to God before even lifting my head off the pillow. 

Months later, my suspicions were confirmed.  My daughter was on the autism spectrum.  

Unlike the brain of neuro-typical children, Jillian’s brain was extremely and constantly overwhelmed by the world around her, sending her into a dizzying sensory overload.  It was akin to an allergy to stress – and everything stressed her out.  Her brain would shut-down to self-preserve, to cope.  It was exhausting, intense, and heartbreaking – for all of us, including her.  Our child was trapped inside this bubble where everything seemed to cause her anguish.

On top of this, testing revealed learning disabilities and central auditory processing disorder. 

You know that story about planning a trip to Italy and instead, landing in Holland?  That was us.  And although we’ve adapted well to “Holland”, and Jillian has made tremendous progress, it’s still us.

Meanwhile, roughly two thousand miles away, in a south west corner of Haiti, Medgina also faces similar challenges.  A brain trauma/injury at the age of 3 robbed her of her ability to memorize or remember things.  She has repeated Grade 2 several times, and is yet unable to reach past Grade 2 due to her learning disabilities.  

She may also be facing other symptoms and effects of the brain trauma that were not detailed in the letters written to us by her family.  They mention her challenges in practically every letter.  It obviously is something that impacts them deeply. 

I get it.  I do.  

How beautiful of God to join our families together in this depth of understanding and compassion...  Compassion literally means “to suffer with” – it is not simply the act of our hearts going out to others, or the ability to put ourselves in their situation and do onto others, or even helping someone...  it’s coming alongside of someone and entering their place of suffering, to carry the weight with them, to feel the cost. 

We are there, in the suffering, we understand, yet we don’t fully understand. 

Unlike Jillian, whose access to specialist and therapy has helped give her a new life, access to specialists is limited for Medgina.  Compassion has assisted Megina by taking her to see various doctors, but no specialist has yet been able to help with this situation. 

Jillian has sleep issues that compound her condition, but unlike Medgina, she has a warm, clean bed to sleep in each night, and a solid, safe house to shelter her.  Medgina had neither.    

As a mom, my brain is stretched to the limit on a daily basis, and I don’t have these added challenges.  I can’t begin to imagine brain stretched to the limit on a daily basis, with the added challenge of a brain injury/trauma and learning disabilities, and then sleeping on the ground in a crumbling house? 

I don’t know about you, but after a few days of camping on the cold hard ground while away from home, I’m more than ready for my soft, warm bed and a good night’s sleep.

Except Medgina isn’t camping.  This is her daily reality, and beyond lack of proper sleep, she can’t seem to shake this recurring nightmare. 

When Jillian and I learned of her situation with the lack of a proper bed, we sent a family gift in the amount of $175, hoping it would cover the cost of a bed.  We knew we couldn’t heal her brain, but we could help her sleep so that her brain could benefit from proper rest.  We know what it’s like when Jillian doesn’t sleep well.

That did not solve the issue of a crumbling house, though. 

Until God said “Build one, then go.” 

I have a confession to make...  I said “Yes” to Him immediately, wholeheartedly, but not without a heavy heart, a knowing of the cost.  

Few know the life-price we paid for our work in Ghana last year, and for my work in Cameroon.  It is a price that cannot be spoken of on this blog, save to say that those who pursue Christ intensely are intensely pursued by the enemy.  The enemy only comes to steal, kill and destroy, and so, yes, there has been a high personal price for our pursuit of justice, and I know the weight and cost of the cross in the face of what God was asking of me.

Still, I knew His hand, and followed His trail of seeds.  He had already begun to provide, before we even knew what His plan was. He would continue.

I will go, even in this season of thirst.  

Even in this season of brokenness.  

I will go even though I have little to offer.  

I trust the Shepherd.  He will provide.  He will continue to provide, not only for the people we will serve, but for us as we serve Him.  Doesn’t Scripture say that one who waters others will himself be watered?

So, after months of prayer and preparations, the travel is booked, the plans under way. 

The simple goal is to raise $825 to help Medgina’s family repair their family home.  

In addition to raising these funds, we will be raising an additional $550 (each) for Jillian, Tia and I to travel to Haiti in November of 2012 to do mission work in Les Cayes, the city closest to the town where Medgina lives.  This covers the cost of airfare, accommodations and in-country travel expenses.  

Any funds raised above and beyond these needs will be poured into  mission work in Les Cayes.  We want to invest beyond Medgina’s family, to the community that surrounds her by serving and giving of ourselves, and by sharing the blessings received.  

We will serve by simply following God’s voice and serving where He leads, how He leads, leaving all the details and plans into His care.  He knows the needs before we do, and will direct us to them so that we can pour ourselves out for Him.  It’s all that we have to offer... 

I’ll be honest – time in mission work has taught me that there is little I can bring in terms of an offering for these people...  nothing but love in action and the hope that it will be enough through Him.  I am just as broken as they are, maybe more so...  God is bringing us together for each other, and for Him, and no matter what, my answer is “Yes” to His call.  

I have struggled for months to put this into words, and in the end, it’s Tia’s words that said it best, that spoke my heart.  Please, would you take a moment to read them here?  

This will be Jillian’s first time on the away-from-home mission field, and given her heart for the poor, her intuitive and experienced understanding of brokenness, I know that it will fuel the flame in her heart for future mission work.  Please pray as her heart continues to break for the things that break His, for all of us as we lead her gently into this calling.  Pray as we lead her through this with the added challenges that she faces.

The house repairs may or may not be done by the time we arrive in Haiti, depending on how long it takes to raise the funds.  We will either see the finished results when we meet Medgina, or we will see the need first hand, in person.   It will be in God’s hands, and in Compassion’s care.  We trust both completely and explicitly. 

A few days ago, our tickets booked and our words painstakingly finding their way onto this page, Jillian and I received a letter from Medgina that caught our breath...   Before we had booked the trip, before putting this into words, she had been praying for this very thing... Before her prayers reached us, they had reached God... except it was "too late" ;)  God had already answered them, knowing her heart's cries before she formed the words.  

"She'd be very happy if you could spend a day with her in Haiti, seeing you face-to-face... she'd do so many things with you such as swimming in the sea and playing..."

God knows the desires of these children's hearts, and can not resist answering their prayers before their prayers reach our ears, much as He did with Ato Sam's prayers for us to serve the children of Ghana.  

We will be face to face with Medgina in less than 90 days, sharing with her the story of how God answered her prayers before she spoke them, and showing her that Jesus is Compassion, and Compassion is Love.

I hope that you will join me in praying for our mission trip to Haiti, and that we can count on your support. 

How can you help?

Pray as our hearts prepare to be broken more deeply.

Spread the word – use this link:   http://tinyurl.com/Home4Haiti in your blog posts, Facebook messages, and tweets. 

Pray against spiritual attacks from the enemy.  Please, do not underestimate the protective power of prayers, and the difference it makes.

Sow seeds into our mission fund.  We can not do this without your support.  Donations can be made through Paypal directly to Interlink Ministries (link in sidebar, upper right).  Tax receipts for U.S. citizens will be issued.

Pray for the funds to be stretched and multiplied.

Pray as we fly with United once more...  Remember the saga from our Ghana mission trip?  It continues...  (read here)

Follow our journey in November of 2012. 

Encourage us as we prepare, as we serve in Haiti, and again once we’ve returned home, adjusting to how He has re-shaped our hearts.  

God's Sword (2009)

Lately, I've been reflecting on this devotional / blog post I wrote back in 2009.  It's buried deep in my blog somewhere, but I thought I'd dust it off, and post it again.  It's worth sharing.

When we step aside and allow God to use our lives for His purpose, putting our entire life in His hands and giving ourselves completely to Him, it is much like becoming His sword for His battle. We don't always understand the battle, what He will ask us to do, where He will take us, or even His purpose, His plan. 

We simply know that it won't be easy and that at the end of each battle, we may feel as though all we've gained is a chink in our blade... 

Yet, we are to trust our Master, we are to fully die to self. 

Does a sword ever question its Master? Does a sword ever hesitate in its Master's hands? When is a sword not brave, not willing, even knowing that its Master will not set it down until the battle is finished and won?






Can you relate to this?  Would you share some of your recent "God's Sword" experiences?

I Am Second: Book Review

I Am Second.

Often surrounded by a worldly obsession for first place, the book title stood out like a breath of fresh air.  I knew that inside the covers of this book, I'd find people I could relate to.

Then, I read the description:

"Countless stories. One incredible ending.

A major league baseball player. a Tennessee pastor. A reality TV star. a single mom. A multi-platinum rocker. What do these people have in common? They''ve all hit bottom. And none of them stayed there.

Famous or unfamiliar, these are the stories of real people who reached the end of their strength, the end of their control, and found the most surprising truths. It taught them not to rely on self or substance but to lean on the only completely reliable source of love, hope, and freedom: the God who created them. Shocking in their honesty, inspiring in their courage, these testimonies are critical reminders that no one is too far from God to find him."

I know a thing of two about being at rock bottom.  I've ricocheted off the rock bottom several times in my life.  I have intimately known desperate times and hardships, horrific life circumstances, and been saved out of impossible situations.  I have already learned that I, too, am second, but given that I'm going through yet another rock bottom situation, I was interested in reading this book to learn from and be encouraged by the experiences of others.

The sentence that got to me?  "They've all hit rock bottom, and none of them stayed there."

I didn't want to stay here either, and thought the book was worth reading if only to reinforce what I already knew -- God won't let me stay here.

I really liked the book format, which shared story after story of successful people who had made it in life after facing what seems on the surface as insurmountable and impossible.  Some of the names in this book might surprise you... Michael W. Smith?  I had no idea.  It's a reminder that there is always more underneath the surface, that we are all broken and in need of a Savior, not just in hard times, but for a lifetime.  


These aren't "feel good stories", they're hard life lessons, hard truth, each with a common thread -- Jesus was their only way out, and Jesus was the difference in changing their situation around completely.  There is no other way to explain the power He had in their lives.  In those desperately dark places, they each reached the end of themselves, and accepted that they were second and as such, they had to rely strictly on God to get them out of the pit.

Each story finished with QR Codes for more similar stories.  I thought this was a brilliant and interactive way to include more material, which eventually led to searches, videos, etc of other I Am Second stories, blog posts, articles.


All in all, this was like hardcore Chicken Soup For The Soul, except better -- the chicken soup was the appetizer, it came second...  Jesus Himself is the main course that sustains.

Two thumbs up.  (I only have two thumbs...  otherwise I'd give it five.)



"Book has been provided courtesy of Thomas Nelson and Graf-Martin communications, Inc. Available at your favourite bookseller from Thomas Nelson".  

Religion Vs. Relationship -- Teenage Perspective

At the end of June, our church welcomed 350 K-5 kids for our annual VBS program.  As you can imagine, with that many children pouring into the church every evening for several hours, many hands were needed on deck to lead small groups, host games, and help serve.

The Children’s Pastor has asked if any of my three kids could come and lend a hand alongside of me, and on one Tuesday night, my youngest and oldest were available to help.  It was great to have my oldest alongside of me that night, as it is rare for him to join me at church.  Having been raised in a spiritually divided home, he is still working out his own path, his own decisions.  I lead and let go, lead and let go, lead and let go...  and pray endlessly.

He was assigned to help with a group of Kindergarten aged boys, who were delighted to see this tall, cool teenage boy sit with them to play and hang out.  In no time, he had boys crawling all over him and chatting up a storm with him.

The entire evening, the church was alive with the Holy Spirit, there was such a beautiful energy all around.  The band played for the kids, the kids danced and worshiped, the lessons were powerful and thought provoking.  My son quietly took it all in, watching, observing, processing what he was experiencing.

On our way home, my son reflected out loud on what he had seen. 

“If I went to church, I think that’s the kind of church I’d want to go to.”

Me – “I understand... I love our church family.  It’s a great church.  Thank you for coming tonight, it meant a lot to me.  We really appreciated your help.”

Son – “No problem.  Hey mom...?  How does the church afford all the expenses, the building, the people, the programs, the music?”

Me – “It does take a lot of funds to run a church like this.  It runs on donations from the people who attend – we’ve talked about it before, it’s called tithing.  Tithe comes from the word tenth, and it’s believed that ten percent of all that we have – money, time, resources, everything, should be given back to God.  That’s just a number, though, some give less, some give more.”

Son – “I can’t imagine ever being religious enough to give money to a church.  That just blows my mind.  When I get my pay, I want it all to myself.”

Me – “The word religious, keeps coming up in our conversations.  I know that this is how you see it, but can I share with you another perspective?  To me, it’s not about religion, it’s about relationship.  To me, religion is rules to conform to because we have to, because it’s expected of us.  To me, it’s about relationship.  I don’t love you because I have to love you, son, I love you because I want to, I can’t help but love you, it pours out of me.  I don’t take care of you because I have to, it’s because I love you and want to take care of you.  It’s a matter of relationship.  Yes, motherhood is such that it’s expected of me to provide for you, love you, guide you, teach you...  but if I did that only because I had to, it wouldn’t be the same ,would it?”

Son – “I suppose... but that’s still a lot of money.”

Me – “How much do you love the young woman you’re courting?”

Son – “Oh my, it’s impossible to put that into words, mom.  I love her... beyond measure, like you’d say.  I can’t live without her.”

Me – “When you get paid next week, say you earn $110 on that pay, and she asked you to give her some of your pay. How much of your pay would you be willing to part with in order to give to her?  How much does she mean to you?”

Son – without hesitation “All of it!!  I’d give her everything I have, you know I would!”

Me – “Yes, love, I know you would, I know she means that much to you...  and that’s relationship.  It’s not because you have to, it’s because your heart desires to.  Imagine for a second how much you love her... close your eyes and imagine this...  then hear me when I tell you that as much as you love her, I love Jesus and God immeasurably more.  So now, tell me, how much would I give to God if He asked me for something?”

Son – “Hmm....”

Me – “I believe that all I have has been given to me by God.  He provided my job to me, my funds, my time, my resources, everything that I have was His first and He blessed me with it – who am I to hold back from sharing it with those He loves?  That is not religion, love, that is relationship.  All the rules of the church, the rules in the Bible, I do my best to follow them not because I have to, but because I truly want to, I desire to please God this way, and I see the wisdom in it.  I don’t do it perfectly, but I do it passionately – it’s the least that I can do for God, you know?”

Son – “I think I’m starting to understand.”

Me – “I think so too, bud.  I think so.”

Poverty, Priorities, Perspective

As recently shared on Compassion's website:

It's been a rough year. 

Our family structure has been irrevocably altered, and with those changes, along with job loss, our household income has been significantly reduced. 

In the years past, I had cut back my expenses significantly so that I could make child sponsorship a financial priority, but that meant that there was little left to cut back on now. 


It's hard to cut back on groceries. Electricity. A mortgage. Property taxes. At least not without drastic changes, and drastic changes are inevitable at this point. 


I knew it would come, the concern from close friends.  "What about the sponsorships?"

It's easy to think that given the financial hardship, one of my first thoughts would be to stop financial support of the children we sponsor. After all, aren't we in tough times too? 

While I understand the concern, who would I choose to let go? 

Ato Sam, who calls me "Mother" and whose lengthy letters drew us to Ghana in 2011 to combat child slavery? 
Novet, who is "studying to become the Minister of Agriculture and Forestry" for Uganda and who leads me spiritually? 
Noah, who went from a temporary shelter to a semi-permanent house on a mere $75 family gift? 
Victoria, who is visually impaired and disabled? 
Suwanna, who after years of encouragement, finally learned to write? 
Lizbeth?
Maytee?
George & George? 
The others?

As I consider the value of these sponsored children, I look at my own three children, Brandon, Joshua, and Jillian, and I ask myself, "Which would I choose to let go?" 

The answer is swift and simple. 


None. 


None have any less value than the other. My children, sponsored or birthed, are not my own, but God's, and each have equal value in His eyes and in mine.   

The reality is that these families are facing financial hardship so much more extreme than this, their choices often leaving life and death hanging in the balance. 

God will continue to provide for them, just as He continues to provide for me. It can be as simple as Him providing opportunities for me -- mowing lawns, collecting recyclables, taking on some photography clients. There are options, but discontinuing sponsorship is not an option for me. 

Whatever it takes, we will get through this temporary situation, and in time, the continued sponsorships will get these families through their temporary situation too. 

If anything, this situation has helped deepen my commitment to these families, and my perspective on the choices they face. And for that, I am grateful.

Philippians 4:11-13 -- I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.

Some minor changes on this blog:

Comments on BeyondMeasure.me {CompassionCan} will continue to be enabled (and welcomed) but will be not be published for privacy reasons.  The kids and I deeply appreciate your prayers during this difficult season of our lives.  

Cameroon 2012: Cinderella In The Midst Of Cholera

Feb 21, 2012 -- Bechati, Cameroon

(See Blue Point)

Morning found me feeling better.  Weak and unable to hold breakfast down, but better.  Later today, the Hilux would pick us up in the village, and we would ride our way back to Lewoh.  After the previous day's hike, it was nice to have a less physically demanding day.

We made our way from the guest house to the center of the village where we would meet with the local Fon and representatives from adjoining villages.  There had been some major issues with the water project here.  The original proposal had been to provide clean water to Bechati village, but when it was realized how close they were to the two adjoining villages, Folepi and Banti, and how all three areas were in desperate need of clean water, engineers were hired to study and consider the feasibility of providing water to the 3 communities from that one water project.

The engineering report was now in the hands of ICA and Captain Smith, and Captain Smith assured the Fon an the representatives that there would be renewed life to this water project, that it would continue and that ICA knew that clean water was the lifeblood of this community.

Time was a delicate balance here...  as is everywhere in communities mired in extreme poverty.

Not enough time to study the possibility of bringing water to three villages meant that two villages went without clean water...

Time taken to study the possibility meant that the death toll would continue to rise.

There have been many deaths in this community from completely preventable diseases such as cholera, and the prevention is something we all too often take for granted -- access to clean water.  It's something I'm passionate about and consider to be one of the most effective ways to turn the tide against extreme poverty.  Access to clean water drastically changes a community.  Fetching water is a task often placed upon the backs of vulnerable women and children, who have to walk miles daily to the nearest water sources in order to provide water to their families.  Predators also wait by water sources, knowing that these vulnerable women and children will come along, unprotected.

Unless a well has been dug or an alternate water source has been provided, the water source is often nothing more than a questionable swamp, where animals also converge in their parallel quest for survival.  The water is often infested with parasites and animal feces, as well as bacteria that the human body can simply not handle.  Places without access to clean water often lack access to health care too.

Without the water, the people can not survive, and with it, most get sick or die.  It's poverty that robs them of access to clean water, and sadly, it's also what keeps them poor -- without access to clean water, all this time spent fetching water means the women and children find themselves unable to attend school or obtain profitable work.  Without education and jobs, the cycle of poverty continues.  It costs money for the medicine to combat the illnesses caused by dirty water, if medicines are available at all...

This perpetuates the cycle of poverty.

These people, in this room, in this village, were living the reality that I speak of in my advocacy.

These people have names, faces, families, children, parents, neighbors...  and above all, VALUE, and these very people are not dying from poverty, they are dying from a lack of compassion on our part.

Yes, us.

You, me, the rest of the so-called developed world.

We have too much, they have too little, and we're not doing enough so that they have enough.  Yes, enough -- that's all everyone needs.  The opposite of poverty is not wealth -- it's simply "enough".

Enough clean water.

Enough food.

Enough shelter.

Enough access to medical care and education.

Enough for one pair of shoes.

The truth hurts.

"Sometimes, I want to ask God why He allows poverty, famine and injustice in the world...  but I'm afraid He would ask me the same thing." -- Anonymous

Where is the church?  The real church?  The one that shares with one another in community, and makes sure no brother or sister falls through the cracks?  The one called to take care of His sheep, to feed them, and love them?  The one not concerned about "mine vs. yours"...



Walking back through the village after this meeting, I couldn't help but see the kids scurrying around with torn, dirtied clothes, extremely swollen bellies, and protruding belly buttons.  Often, their shirts too small to accommodate for their extended bellies.

Malnutrition, disease, and desperation seemed to be the atmosphere in this town.

As I sat across from a seemingly empty home, I noticed a small girl, barely one, toddling down the street dressed in what would seem to us like mere rags.  No underwear or footwear.  She was scrounging for food on her own, no adult in sight.

In the yard of the empty house across the street, she found an empty metal bowl and wandered off purposefully with it.  My eyes were drawn to her, following her steps as she made her way past the next few houses.

Back home, this would have been unthinkable.  A toddler on her own, wandering the streets without supervision, without shoes, picking up filthy things and scrounging for food.

She quickly joined three young children sitting nearby.  As I approached, I quickly learned why.  One of them had a bowl of what might have been cornmeal.  She intentionally reached into the bowl of mush, grabbed a handful, dropped it into the bowl she had found, and had herself a feast.

I noticed that the other children did not get their feathers ruffled by her actions...  there were no "That's mine, she stole from me!!  Mom, make her stop...  get your own food, that's not yours!"

The whining of privileged children can not be heard here.  It has been silenced by desperation, and by nothing getting in the way of their hearts...

I don't have much, neither do you, let's combine resources, share what we can, and scratch out an existence.

Isn't this what community should be?

Wasn't this the role model of the early church?

And a little child shall lead them...

The photo above remains to this day, my favorite photo from our time in Cameroon.  It sums it all up, and brings me back to that village, that morning, when the world seemed to stand still, baited in the breath of these expectant children...  "Now that you've seen, how will you respond?"

I turned around, and there were more like them.  Everywhere we went... children, bellies swollen, either filled with despair and disease, or...  hope?  When hope is all you have, you hold it close.

As I lowered my camera, walked over to the children, and showed them their photo, I couldn't help but notice the girl on the far right.  She was perhaps about 7 years old, had a dress that was torn at the waist, ends dragging low to the ground, threadbare underwear showing through the gaping hole.  As I interacted with the children sitting on the edge of the house, it wasn't her clothes that captured my attention, it was her countenance.

I had seen it before.

Unable to meet my gaze, she stared at the ground, the weight of the world on her frail, bony shoulders.

Richard.

She reminded me of Richard.

Richard in the day and life of a modern day Cinderella.  Dejected and empty, she had completely lost her spark waiting for the invitation to the ball, waiting for hope.

She also reminded me of Hello Kitty Girl in Efong, as she seemed to also be struggling with possible disabilities.

There was more...  I saw my Jillian in her too, with her autism spectrum and learning disabilities at times overwhelming her with challenges.

Last but not least, of the little girl I went to Kindergarten with, the one with the crusty nose, dirty face, always stricken with sickness, the one with clothes that didn't always smell as good as the ones my own mom washed... she wasn't popular, sometimes didn't fit in, but she had such a lovely heart and such beautiful eyes.  I loved sitting with her on the bus and never forgot her even long after I moved.  I close my eyes and I see her face.

My heart has always hurt for the least of these, the poor, the broken, because I see myself in them.  I am one too.


I went back to where the team was waiting.  A team member and I spoke about her as we watched her, and we expressed our desire to provide her with a dress.  It didn't seem like much, but we did not have any dresses with us and weren't sure if the village had a shop where one could be purchased.  We asked one of the guides, he told us there was a seamstress just up the street.

I tenderly took the little girl's hand in mine, and motioned to her to come with me.  We walked, slowly and carefully, following the others up to the small shop up the street.  I wondered as I walked with her what was going through Cinderella's mind.  Was she afraid?  Confused?

As we approached the shop, I remember being thankful that I could not explain to her where we were going and why.  If they did not have a dress for her or could not help her, she wouldn't be further disappointed.  I wondered how much a dress would cost here?  What if I didn't have enough Cameroonian francs?

Walking into the shop, hand in hand, we looked up to see other members of the team holding up a beautiful dress with turquoise blue and white fabric.  It seemed as though time stood still for a few moments as we held it up to her, much like the fitting of the prized glass slipper...

Perfect fit.

Perfect price too, at only 4000 Cameroonian Francs.  My friend and I pooled our funds together, and purchased the dress for the little girl.  Throwing in a little extra, we asked the seamstress to repair her original dress and have it delivered to her mother, so that she could have a change of clothing.

In a blur of movement, the old dress was swiftly removed, and the new dress took its place.  She looked down in amazement, the light reaching her eyes.

We thanked the seamstress, and slowly walked her back to where we had found her.  As we walked, all eyes were upon her, and this time, there was a difference... her eyes were not glued to the ground.  She was looking at the world through a new perspective.  The world was, in turn, seeing her through a new perspective.

We knew this didn't solve the world's problems, that at the end of the day, this community still lives in the harsh shadows of the ongoing threat of cholera until the water project is completed...  but for a moment, for a sweet, tender moment...

We helped a little girl see that dreams do come true.  That she is not invisible.  That her life matters.  And that there is always hope.


As were were preparing to leave, the girl's mother, having seen and heard about the dress, tracked us down.  Not too hard to spot the group of Canadians in a small jungle village in Cameroon, she walked right up to us, and explained that she was the girl's mother.  Singling me out, with tears in her eyes, she thanked me for what we had done for her daughter.  I told her that I had kids too, that as a mother, we share the responsibility for the world's children, and that although we wanted to be able to do this for every girl, for every child, today, it was her daughter that we were able to do this for, and that it was an honor to come alongside of her and bless her daughter.

I gave her a big hug, and then crouched down to Cinderella, and shared a few last special moments with her, encouraging her, and loving on her.

I watched them leave as we began to gather around the Hilux, getting ready to leave the village and head back to Lewoh.  As we were waiting for a few more team members, I saw the mom rush back to our group, with a fresh coconut in her hands.  She extended the large coconut to me.  Such a tremendous gift.

Tears stung my eyes as I struggled to express to her that no thanks was needed, and smiled as I cupped my hands around the coconut, and held her eyes in mine as I gently pushed the coconut back into her hands, holding it with her for a moment, and telling her that what I wanted most of all was for her and her family to enjoy the coconut together and to have it as a celebration of this day, together as a family.  I have a peace that the love in my eyes reflected my gratitude back to her, and that she understood my heart in that moment.

From mother to mother, we understood each other.

Cameroon 2012: Pregnancy Simulation Hike

Feb 19, 2012 -- somewhere in Cameroon

My eyes opened 2 minutes before 6am, and without moving my head or my body, I listened...  no rain.  I waited a few more moments for the temperature to register, and was thankful once again that my prayers had been answered...  it was once again mild.  Given that this would be our longest and last hike, mild was merciful.

The moment I turned my head to check on Hairy Beast's hangout spot up in the corner, I realized that Hairy Beast was the least of my worries.  Dizzyness hit me with a vengeance, the room spinning and making my stomach turn.  Cold sweats came next.  This had all started the night before, and I knew it would get worse before it got better, but I didn't anticipate it getting this bad at all.  Looking around the room at everyone sleeping, I wondered if anyone else would wake up to this?

I got up and stumbled my way to the latrines, thankful for the tiny bit of daylight available, and the lack of roofs in what would be the cleanest latrines and most well lit ones we had access to in Cameroon.  The rain washed them out daily and the daylight poured in.

I wish the rain could come and wash this sickness away too.


There was no relief to be found.  Concerned, I wondered how I'd manage the longest hike yet while feeling like this, but thought that perhaps I could somehow stay hydrated and get through it.  I let the Captain know that I wasn't feeling well, but that I was going to do my best to finish the day's hike just the same.   Given that I hadn't yet complained on this trip, it didn't take much for him to quietly read between the lines -- the fact that I had said anything at all could only mean one thing -- I really wasn't feeling well.

As we were all waiting for our bags to get packed on the guides' motorcycles, a torrential downpour began.  This cooled the air a bit more, and gave us some extra time to rest up before the hike.  I had hoped that this would be enough to gain some strength back, but as we started to walk around 7:35, I knew it was going to take everything I had.  Somehow, the previous hike now seemed like a lovely stroll through the park.  Funny how contrasts change everything.

These were actual roads, as opposed to the jungle trails from the days before, but each step up the steep climbs was tough as I battled weakness, dizziness, and nausea.

With several stops at each village's fon/fondom palaces along the way, the 5+ hours of hiking would stretch out to a minimum 7-10 hour day.  Stopping when hiking is bittersweet - while the rest is welcomed, it makes it even harder to get going once you stop.


At the first place we stopped (or was it the second?), they offered us palm wine and cola nut.  I don't know what was worse, the sip of wine, or the taste of cola nut.  They claim that cola nut is good for settling upset stomachs -- uh-not-so-much...  it only made it worse.  The rest of the team seemed entertained by my facial expressions.  I was just trying not to gag or be rude!  :)


When I was about 7, my family went out to a seafood takeout place one summer evening.  I had fried clams.

I also had the flu.

After eating fried clams and puking nonstop for a day or two, I always associated fried clams with being sick.  It's purely psychological.  I know that if I wanted to eat fried clams, I simply would and I'd be fine, but the memory is strong enough to ensure that I will likely have no cravings for fried clams for, oh, say, a lifetime or so.

Now that I've experienced cola nut while ill, let's just say there's more of a chance that I'll ever crave fried clams than there is of me craving cola nut anytime between now and, oh, say, the end of eternity?

*shudder*

 We got going once again, the weather still fairly mild as we reached closer to mid-day.

After crossing a river on foot, I was offered a ride on the porter's motorcycle, but decided to press on for the time being, accepting only help carrying my two extra water bottles.

After the next fon palace, I was once again offered a ride.  I gave it some serious consideration for the first time, and while still deciding against it for the time being, I knew that I probably didn't have much resistance left in me.

As we approached the next village under the mid-day sun, my legs began to feel wobbly and every time I turned my head, the sights around me spun in slow motion.  The Captain asked how I was holding up, and I hesitated a little.  I don't remember what I said, but it was probably simply the fact that I didn't say "awesome" that tipped him off.  He called for a timeout and made us all pull over for a rest at an empty market area.  He bought us a round of bananas from a nearby woman, and we drank some more water.  I managed to keep the banana down, which surprised me.  I might even have eaten two, since they were fairly small.

After a bit of rest, I was good to give it another try.  My head was feeling a bit better, but my stomach felt as though I had heavy, hot stones in it.  Lava bowling balls, to be exact. I had been drinking water, but it didn't seem to want to go down at all.  Too many bowling balls in the way.

As we approached a very long, steep hill, the top of which we couldn't even see, I approached Kristen and admitted that I was considering hitching a ride to the top of the hill on the motorcycle, "If I accept some assistance on the toughest of hills, perhaps I can conserve some strength to be able to finish."  I explained that I didn't want to feel as though I let the team down or feel as though I had failed somehow to finish all the hikes in full.  Her answer put me at ease, and helped me affirm my decision.

I tried to focus on the positive -- how far I had come -- and not on the negative -- not being able to finish the entire week on foot, even though we were but a few miles from our hiking destination.

As we climbed up the hill, I had to shake my head... never in a million years would I have ever guessed that I'd be riding on the back of a motorcycle through the hills of a remote valley jungle in Cameroon.  Who knew?

The porter dropped me off and went back for Wendy.  The break was enough rest to keep me trekking down the other side of the hill quite a ways.  At the bottom of the next hill, he gave me one more ride.  I don't know if it was motion sickness or what, but moments after the second bike ride, I found myself on the side of the road, projectile puking into the bushes.  Some poor local happened upon the graphic scene -- I'm not sure what went through his mind, but after the third time of being violently ill, all that went through my mind was "hey, now I remember feeling this awful before...  pregnancy!"  Unfortunately, that wasn't the case this time around.  Then again, given that I felt like this for 40 weeks non-stop while pregnant, I guess one could say it was a relief that pregnancy was an impossibility.  One day was challenging enough.  280 days?

As quickly as I stopped puking and wiped my face, I kept on hiking.  It was simple -- the sooner we get there, the sooner this is over, right?

I walked for a while longer until the rest of the group caught up, and then I hitched another short ride to the school construction we'd be visiting next.

The classroom behind where I had been seated was filled with young children learning French.  I stepped into the classroom was was greeted by a well rehearsed "Bonjour Madame!"  I spoke with them in French for a few minutes, and then asked if they had a song to sing.  They broke into a song about Jesus, which brought tears to my eyes.

As the ceremony began, the kids all piled outside even though it had begun to rain, and sang a prayer over our team for safe travels, asking God to protect us home and thanking Him for having brought us to do good work here.  What an emotional experience... it was obvious that the construction of the school was vital here.  It would be hard to erase the image of rain soaked children in outdoor classrooms, with insufficient shelter from the elements, thanking God for the provision of a cement block school building to bring ease to their schooling.

As we were preparing to leave, I stood up to test out my legs and see how much more hike I had left in me, if any. I so wanted to finish with the group, to get through this strongly, but as I stood, the whole slow motion spin thing was happening again.  I knew then, in that moment, that I had managed the last of my hiking for that day.  I could simply not keep going.  I had done my best, and then some.  Accepting help and defeat is not a sign of weakness, it's also a sign of strength.

The fact that we only had a short distance to go helped with the disappointment, along with the knowledge that I really had no choice.  Wendy and I ended up both getting a ride to the village.  As we waited for the rest of the team, the village chairman's grandson climbed into my lap, and snuggled comfortably against me, not moving, just basking in being held.  Maybe he didn't feel all that great either.

Once the whole team arrived, we walked to the guest house, getting there late in the afternoon.  In all, I estimated that I had managed roughly 80-85% of the day's distance on foot.  My body was paying for it, though.  I was running a fever, and was completely exhausted.

I laid down on the cold cement floor, and within seconds, I fell into a deep sleep.  I don't know how much time passed before I woke up, all I know was that my body likely hadn't even twitched or moved the whole time I was asleep.  I was still running a low-grade fever, so I cooled off in the river for a while, made sure to keep my water intake up, and kept praying for it to pass.  I rested on and off until supper, and had a great night's sleep.  By the next morning, I felt much better.

 

Cameroon 2012: Sundays Are For Seeing

This is one of the last few posts from our time in Cameroon, a continuation from where this post left off...

Feb 19th, 2012

The team had heard that since the women who had been hired to help with the cooking would have to miss church due to their workload, I would "do church" with them.  Some seemed baffled by this, but I can understand that.  I'm not a pastor, or anyone qualified in anyone's eyes to lead a service.

From my perspective, though, "church" is simply the gathering of Christians in His name, a place where sinners meet at His feet.  The only thing I didn't understand was what He said about "where two or more are gathered in My name, there I will be..." since, after all, He's there even when we're alone.

The "church" is also a community, the body of Christ, where everyone is equal in His eyes and we are there to serve one another in His name.  The body shares their resources, whatever is needed, God provides through a member of the body.  That is simply how I saw the gathering I had with these women on this Sunday morning.  As they prepared food for our bodies, I would simply share spiritual food for our souls.

Bible in hand, I wandered out to the courtyard kitchen in the back of the guest house, and joined the women gathered low to the ground, preparing the mid-day meal.  I presented Dominica my Bible, and asked if she was able to read it.  She looked at the small font of the small, travel sized Bible, and said that sometimes, her eyesight isn't great, but she could read it.  I asked her if she ever had a Bible, or read one, and she shook her head.  She leaned to me and asked me to show her where the ten commandments were.  We turned to Exodus, and spent the next half hour reading through the commandments together, discussing what they meant, and how, when followed, they each led to a peaceful, well-ordered society.  We also discussed the disciples asking Jesus which of these were the most important laws, and we talked about His answer, and why it was such.  I loved the purposeful yet simple conversation, the common ground we all shared, the opportunity to learn from one another.  A few children gathered around us to listen in, as did a few men who had stood nearby.

She asked which church or religion I belonged to, and I explained that in some ways, I don't know how to answer that.  Technically, I grew up in the Catholic church, and I now attend the Wesleyan church, but I don't consider myself either one of those, nor do I see church as a building, a place.  I only consider myself a member of the body of Christ, a Christian, plain and simple, a sinner in need of a savior.  I took the opportunity to share how I felt about religion itself, by turning to Micah 6:8 and sharing what the Lord says about religion, pure religion...  "Seek Justice, Love Mercy, Walk Humbly with your God".  I admitted to them that I am still working my way through that scripture, in search of pure religion lived out through me.  What does it mean for my life?

One of the women reached out and touched my necklace, asking about it, turning the cross pendant over and seeing the scripture on the back.

Reaching up to run my fingers on the deep groves where my life scripture had been permanently etched, tears came to my eyes.  Smiling through the tears, I turned to 2 Cor 4:7-18 in the Bible I had brought, and we read it out loud, together, stopping every few verses to explain, discuss, share.  The world disappeared as we gathered over these words, timeless as they were, relevant to us all...  and yet I couldn't help but wonder what went through these women's minds as I shared my heart on this scripture while watching their strong, calloused hands chop vegetables...

their weary, weighted shoulders...

their aching backs...

the depth of understanding in their eyes...

all too achingly familiar.

What went through their minds, while sharing His words on being hard pressed, perplexed, persecuted and struck down, death and life intertwined -- real life, real hardship, real suffering...  What went through the minds of these women who live it daily and had lived it their entire lives.  Did they see me, my smile, my white skin, my material wealth by contrast, as someone who can not relate or does not understand them?  Did they recognize me as one of their own, or do they see me as someone who has not earned the ability to preach about this scripture from experience?

Do they see beyond the surface, beyond the crimson bead of blood, the stain of sin, beyond the white pearl reminder that He hung His life against the cross to purify those stains?

Do they see beyond the small heart, curved and cupped like His hand, cradling us, reminding us to Whom we belong, to Whom we ALL belong... we are His?

Do they see far beyond the small pressed cross and see the invisible one, the one pressed against my life?  The one with scars that bend my knees low, my body tired, my heart wrung and wrecked, and my soul longing for Home?

Do they see that, like them, I've known little else but this, the brokenness He speaks of?   That I, too, sometimes wonder if anyone can relate?

Do they see beyond, beyond the surface, beyond who I really am, beyond me...  and see why I am, there, more at home among them than elsewhere?  Do they see Him somewhere in me?

(Re-Post) Walk Run By Faith

My beloved friend Karen, I'm re-posting this in your honor -- this is the answer to your question.

Walk  Run By Faith

Originally posted on April 19th, 2011.

Although I had planned to run early that morning, it was well past 1pm and I was beginning to lose my early morning steam.   Would I get to run before I ran out of energy?

So eager to start my run, restless and excited, yet I knew that stopping by the store to pick up headphones first would be worth it.  There's just something about having to hold headphones in your ears to keep them from falling out that just doesn't go well with running, you know?  On the bright side, the brisk walk back to the car after picking up the headphones could act as a mini warm-up, gearing me up for a great run.

I got to the running trail only to discover my mp3 battery was completely dead.  Nice!  So that's the kind of run it was going to be, with satan obviously also warming up for the challenge, but I refused to give in before the running began.  Undeterred, I drove to the nearest convenience store and after paying a king's ransom for 2 AA batteries, I returned to the beginning of the running trail and began to pray.

Minutes before 2pm, I locked the car, clipped my keys to my water bottle, and went to the starting point.

Right at 2pm, with Chris Tomlin's "Exhalted" pouring in through my new headphones, I began my first attempt at a 10K run.

_____________________________________________

The most unnatural thing about running for me is how natural it feels.   Until early last fall, my body and my health were losing a battle that had lasted months and left me struggling day to day, barely able to walk without being wracked with pain and exhaustion.  Over 50lbs lost, and no answers to be found.

When all else failed and the tests still showed abnormal results without further answers, we considered the possibility of a spiritual attack.   I weighed the possibility and told myself that I had nothing left to lose by trying to counteract such an attack.  A plan began:  I would begin to walk around the neighborhood each night, an act of defiant faith that would send a clear message to satan that I wasn't going to let him win.

It might have not seemed like much, but given the condition my body was in, it would be an uphill battle.  I was determined to outrun these attacks with everything I had in me, figuring that whatever I didn't have, God would simply have to provide.


Armed with a photo of my best friend Tia running on our vacation last summer, I started walking late at night on September 14th, 2010.  At the end of the first stretch, when it was time to turn the corner and walk in the other direction, my feet began to jog.  It was an involuntary and unintentional decision on my body's part.  When I realized my feet were jogging, I kept looking down at them, and trying to understand what was happening.  All I could do was laugh incredulously... jogging?  How was that even possible? Talk about feeling like I was really losing my ever lovin' mind...

I walked the next block, and then considered jogging the next stretch.  It seemed daunting.  I wanted to, so badly, but it seemed so utterly impossible.  I could barely breathe, everything hurt.  What was I thinking trying this anyway?!

In the end, I envisioned Tia waiting for me at the corner, cheering me on, and somehow, God gave my body what it needed to do it.  I jogged that block and a half, and walked the rest of the way home.   I couldn't wait to call her to share what had just happened.


That first walk was not quite a mile.


Somehow, within a week, I began doing a 3.8 mile loop through the neighborhood.  It still felt surreal.  I considered the first 3.8 loop a huge success and celebrated when I finished at 1h 20 minutes.

Encouraged, I challenged myself to try to beat it.   Armed with some worship music and the darkness and coolness of night, I worked hard at it several times a week, increasing the jogging to walking ratio as much as I could as my body became stronger.

Not long after I had started, my health hit a brick wall again, and I came home from work one night barely able to make it up the front steps.  I crawled into bed, not even taking my shoes off, and I called Tia to let her know I didn't have it in me to run that night.  I told her how awful I felt and it was then that she said something that I'd never forget...  "Now that you're sick again, how will you respond, and what will you choose to believe?"

I got up, got ready to run, and bolted out the door.  I made it home from the 3.8 loop in record time.


Within another month or so, I had succeeded in doing the loop in under an hour.  Initially not imagining that I'd ever do this long term (I still struggled to understand that I was doing this at all!), I was running in the only pair of sneakers I had... a basic pair of Sketchers.    Tia tried to convince me to buy two pairs of "real running shoes".

I knew what she was saying made sense, but I struggled with the thought of paying so much for a pair of shoes, never mind two.  She insisted.  I balked.  She insisted some more.  I rolled my eyes at her.  When I found two pairs on eBay for less than half the price of one pair, I made her proud and gave her the satisfaction of saying "I told you so!"  She really was right, running with running shoes makes all the difference.

Looking at them was strange, though, yet another reminder that this was real, that God has given me the strength to do this.

Two years ago, I only owned one pair of shoes in total.  What a journey it's been!

________________________________________

Back on the running trail....  I'm still running, I don't know what time it is and I refuse to look.  I only know that I've just reached the 4K mark on my 10K run.

One more kilometer, and I will have matched the distance I ran in Michigan.  I was beginning to feel the physical challenge of the run, and satan knew it.  He wasted no time whispering lies in my ears:

"You don't really want to do this, do you?  Why are you doing this anyway?  What does it matter?  10K?  Have you looked at yourself?  You're being ridiculous!"

"You'll never be a runner, much less look like one."

"Four kilometers is enough, it's taken so much of your time already, why don't you just pack it up and go home?"

"If you really want to know how long it takes to run 10K, just quit now and use basic math.  It'll do."

"You'll get past 5K and you won't be able to finish, you really can't do this and you know it... you'll fail and feel worse in the end.  Give up now."

The more he spewed his lies, the harder it was to tune him out.    I defiantly cranked up the worship music and sprinted to the 5K mark, briefly weighing my options -- listen to him and quit, or believe in the God Who was breathing life in me?

As the 5K mark came into view, I increased my pace and grinned as I hit the granite marker with my hand in a "high 5" on the way by, Tia's words speaking louder and louder in my heart.

"How will you respond?  What will you choose to believe?"

Looking down at the time, I realized that I had just beat my time in Michigan by a full 5 minutes.

I kept running.

With the wind pushing hard against me and my ears beginning to ache from the cold, I kept running along the harbour to the 6K marker, refusing to give in and give up.  Even though it was increasingly harder with hills ahead that seemed to grow steeper and longer, every step defied his lies and spoke only of what He could do.


I kept running, at times hands raised in worship, passing by the 6K marker knowing how significant this next part would be... I had never ran more than 6km.

I. kept. running.

I ran on the slippery winter gravel covered sidewalk toward the steep hill leading up to the 7K marker.  I couldn't see the marker from where I was running, but I could feel the force pulling me to it and I couldn't help but keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I barely remember running up that hill.  It all seemed effortless.

Reaching the 7K marker not only meant that I got the fun of running DOWN that steep hill for a change (wheeeee!!), but also that I was on the home stretch with only 3K to go directly to the finish line.

As I reached the 8K marker and high 5'd it exuberantly on the way by, I realized something.   I could no longer hear satan's attacks and lies -- nothing stood in the way of my faith in God, and more beautiful than that, I could sense God's encouragement.

"You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you."

"Doubt is the absence of belief -- by not accepting satan's lies, you are outrunning disbelief."

"Your heart beat whispers 'I love... I love... I love...'  Your footsteps now have a song of their own too -- they sing 'I believe... I believe... I believe....!'"

"I can do immeasurably more than you could ever imagine or ask for.  Remember this, always."


Feeling the wind at my back as I high 5'd the 9K mark, I considered again His promises of doing more than we could ever imagine or ask for, and I immediately thought of His plans to provide resources to release children from slavery in the Lake Volta region of Ghana...

"If He could breathe in me what it takes to run 10K, imagine how much more He'd do for these kids?"

In my heart, I could see the Lake Volta kids, their faces filled with hope as I rounded the corner to the last marker.  I saw them with an understanding that the same God who made the unlikeliest of women run would use that same unlikely woman to provide for them.   After all, the only thing He asked Moses at the Red Sea was to take a step forward in faith, and that's really all He was requiring of me as well.    He would do the rest.

I kept running.

I reached the 10K marker and looked down at the time... and I immediately burst into joyous laughter -- "unlikely and impossible" was no match for God, indeed.

1 hour, 20 minutes.

In the same amount of time it took me to walk 3.8 miles last fall, I had run 6.2 miles.  He shows us He loves us in such beautiful ways.



There was also something significant missing from the laughter -- disbelief -- and the absence of disbelief was just what I needed to register for the half marathon in October.  It no longer seemed unlikely and impossible.

If I had walked away without finishing that run, I would have missed out on SO much. I truly believe that when we close our hand to what He asks of us, we also close our hand to what He wants to bless us with.

________________________________

Ghana Through His Eyes -- Guest Post

Meeting some of our Compassion children, encountering severe poverty for the first time, spending time with trafficked children and taking part in the negotiations to rescue child slaves...  not your everyday teenage boy's experience.  

Joshua and I were invited by Compassion International to share his perspective on his experiences in Ghana this past November, as well as how it felt as his mother to provide this experience to him.  

We shared in this post on their website today:  Changing One Teenager's Perspective

To read my other guest posts on their website, click here:  JD / Compassion