Struggling through

I have had a hectic past month at Amani and Thursday a couple weeks ago was almost my tipping point.

Ramona* is from Uganda. her husband worked for the government that was overthrown or something of that nature and they have been refugees in Kenya for some time. I automatically loved her. She reminds me of my mother, I think. That is probably one of many reasons why when Amani couldn't give her a loan the size she was asking for that I lost it.

As far as we know her son is in prison in Uganda. We don't know why or how long he has been there, but he is in his early twenties and from what i understand was working with computers and I think going to university and now he is in prison. Ramona is trying to go back there and bail him out and bring him here to Kenya. As far as we know there are some problems with this. First, if he leaves before a court date he could be seen as fleeing from justice and be at risk of never really being able t travel again, or even just put straight back into prison if he is flagged at the border of Uganda with a warrant. Second, we have no idea what he did. Third, there seems to be no clear answers in any direction about how much they would need to get him out or anything.

When I was in the room when Ramona was getting the loan she thanked us and thanked God and then said she wouldn't even be able to leave with this much. 10,000 shillings is about $150. it isn't much. We dropped twice that much on furniture this weekend. What do I do?
After taking the loan and seeming so downcast at the small amount she left the office leaving myself and Pat sitting in silence. Pat has a hard job. She is the HR person and in many ways the advocate for these women. She used to be a principal at an arts university. She is a sharp lady and I like her. She is tough but merciful; what a wonderful combination. We looked at each other and she said "what do we do?" and I looked at her and said "I don't know" and I busted into tears. I lost it. Pat talked me through her struggles working at Amani where these women are sometimes paid very little, although better than they would be in other places. She encouraged me that God loves them and we don't understand his ways and that money is not always the answer. I really appreciated it even if none of my questions are answered and my heart is still in turmoil.

Ramona is obviously in low spirits. She needs 9000 more shillings at least and I just don't think i can do that. I know I can't give it to her directly anyhow. As a person who is very much a gift-love-language person... this hurts my heart. I want to give her whatever i can, but i can't. Not without the details and not on the budget we have. how do I chose who to help?

Lori* is another one. She's been sick this week and I met her on the road on my way to work and she was going to the hospital. I wanted to throw her in a cab and bring her there myself, but it is hard with precedent setting. I realize poverty is multi-faceted. Helping someone for a season may actually be a burden if they become dependent. The best thing i can do is pray and continue to encourage them as they continue to work towards sustainability. I can help set up programs that will create jobs and opportunities and I am trying to do that. I'm just struggling with always seeing the real face of the poverty and hurt that we've come to help.

I meet so many people in difficult circumstances here, and not just financially. Many people regardless of their income need hope. Aid and missions workers need this even more than others often. They stare hard circumstances in the face daily and work their tails off to make change happen, often to little praise... if any. The amount of bitterness that can seep into their hearts is uncanny, and it is not always shown in the ways we would think.

The inability to listen to others well is one of those things I have noticed in a number of missions workers since we have been on this journey. It seems to spring directly from some of the bitterness they have acquired, often because they have been taken advantage of by someone or some organization. This is a huge attack on the work that relief workers do. Yes, there are often many people vying for position in our schedules, but what good are we if we cannot listen and really hear what is going on? We are very little good, especially in a cross cultural context where listening is key to our understanding which is key to learning how to serve.

I guess this brings me to self-care. Self-care for Aid workers, relief workers, and missionaries is paramount They need a support network that is often not given to them. Maybe this is a strange cry in an odd direction, but if you are reading this you should know that the situation I have been put in above is barely even the tip of the iceberg for many people out in the field. If I have learned anything from this experience so far, it is that working this type of work can be a very lonely road. I have been blessed by you, our supporters, friends, and family with a wonderful extended network of support. Still, I know that not all people in my position have that network. Please consider being the person who encourages someone who is out doing amazing peace-building and development work. It sounds all nice and fluffy, but it is a tough road and they need to hear from you especially during times of moral dilemmas (which generally is every day).

May we be agents of peace and hope wherever we go and in all that we do.
B

(*real names have been changed to protect the identity of those in vulnerable situations)

Holler Indeed

"He is risen!"
"Holler!"
(quote from a DC friend's first response to the Easter morning liturgy having never heard it before. Awesome)

This past Sunday, Easter Sunday, was our first Sunday in Kenya. It's always difficult to adjust to a new place, but I think that sometimes holidays make it more poignant that you are, in fact, no longer in a familiar setting. Easter held just such an experience.

We set out Sunday morning in a taxi with a fellow IJMer to head to All-Saints Cathedral in Nairobi which is an Anglican congregation. As at most churches on Easter, there was quite a crowd gathering outside to head in to the next service and we were among them. The crowd comprised of an interesting mix of ethnicities and ages as we squished through the doors.

Disclaimer: I should probably just put it out in the open that I love church. I don't usually think of myself as particularly traditional, although I am not particularly non-traditional either... but just any given person I may meet in casual conversation at a party probably wouldn't assume that church-loving-ness about me straight off. So there it is.

I know I have a number of expectations and stereotypes stored away in my subconscious for what Kenya would be like and what our experiences would be. Some of these come courtesy of the big screen such as Lion King and The Constant Gardener, while other expectations are rooted in my previous experience in South Africa in 2001, while still others are the product of reading too many guidebooks and blogs about what to expect. I try to recognize those expectations and stereotypes when going to a new place in order to attempt a separation, or maybe more appropriately attempt to take inventory of truths or lies that are embedded in my preconceived notions.

In the case of Easter Sunday, I was expecting a lively time of worship and celebration with lots of color and 'African flare'. You know... the stereotypical unaccompanied choir and maybe some dancing. What I received was not exactly what I expected.

We began the service with a responsive reading and the traditional Easter call "He is risen!" which the congregation responds to with "He is risen indeed!" This has to be one of my more favorite Easter traditions (apart from Peeps and Easter bonnets of course *wink*). I get really excited before Easter services knowing it is coming and getting ready to reply with gusto. Needless to say with the combined personal excitement at this tradition and the expectations of a boisterous Easter Sunday Kenyan style, I was all ramped up for my response to the clergy's call.
Just as I expected, a ridiculously dark and adorable bishop got up and began the service "He is risen!"

I took a big breath and put my diaphragm behind my much anticipated response "He is risen INDEED!". And that is when it happened.

I suddenly realized that I was the only person in my general vicinity besides perhaps Ian who seemed to be super jazzed about responsive reading. (I guess I should be used to this as responsive readings aren't exactly the most exciting part of most people's church experience, but... it's Easter for crying out loud!) I got a somewhat startled half glance from the woman two seats down with the umbrella, and one of those trying-not-to-look-at-the-crazy-person grimace from the older couple in front of me. Yikes!

I calmed myself for a moment and tried to reign myself back in. I listened to a couple more responses and was surprised by the muddy mumbling all around me. Sure enough, I seemed to be the only crazy in the 5 or so pews on any given side of me. This was not one of those expectations that I was preparing to be dashed to pieces. Where was my happy African Sunday service!? What the heck is going on here?!?
So I flaked. I was in shock and frustrated, and as a rebellious move I decided not to stand up with the rest of the 'first time visitors' when asked by the provost. Who even likes doing that? As far as I know.... NOBODY.

It didn't take long for me to bounce back to full roaring-choir-kid volume and exuberance. One thing that continues to be difficult to learn as we transition from place to place is to not let a crushed expectation keep you from enjoying the moment as you had hoped. Sure, my fellow church-goers murmured through all of the responsive readings in the liturgy. That is no reason to join into the mumbling and let a few rumbly lines rain on my (Easter) parade.

Looking back, there are many reasons why the response could have been muddy: the architecture, lack of familiarity with the text (I mean it is Easter and lots of people show up on Easter who don't usually frequent church services), even low literacy rates could be part of the deal... and probably a couple church grumps thrown in. Not to mention that while I love Anglican services, I have to remember that the tradition is probably a little less charismatic than even my good 'ol Reformed background.

Either way, I belted my way through "Up From the Grave He Arose!" and a few more rousing celebratory hymns, laughed at the jokes of the wonderful Bishop who was preaching from Ezekiel about resurrection (brilliant! talk about throwing a curve ball to the usual text from the gospels), and shared The Peace with those around me.

Communion on Easter is always special since we are celebrating a fulfillment of the covenant and Christ's conquering death. Even though I didn't get my high-powered responsive reading, the procession up to the altar was great as we proceeded right through the cathedral's choir with the choir singing on either side as we reached the altar. That was awesome. Honestly, I love my teetotaling American Protestants at large and all of their weekly Welches grape juice, but there really is something about the heat of real wine going down your throat when observing Christ's blood shed for us that makes me feel connected historically.

All in all, Easter was great. Confusing, mildly disappointing in some ways, but in general a good beginning to our time here.

Our Easter celebrations didn't end there, of course. We walked around city center, through a park where I was almost run over by a camel while crossing a footbridge, in and quickly out of the Maasai market, into a grocery store to buy a man named David a bag of rice, and into a coffee shop for some of the best Masala tea I've had outside of Asia. A little after-noon nap helped soothe some of the jet-lagged feelings we're still getting and then we had a friend over for Garlic Chicken and some exciting rounds of Set and Nerts.

We're settling in and looking forward to new experiences and new friends during our time here in Africa

And finally....
He IS risen. Holler!
B

Answered prayers and "up up and away!"

We are putting the final touches on our packing as we head out today. I just sapped this photo with my phone as I tucked some of my books into my carry on. I had a moment of thankfulness for answered prayers and wanted to quickly share. If you look at the photo you can see a ribbon around my bright pink bible and it says "I wish for big dreams to dream". This ribbon was one that I acquired from a 'wishing wall' at an interactive art exhibit in STL back in probably 2003 or 2004. The idea was claiming a wish and tying it somewhere until the ribbon breaks and your wish comes true. I think it's a neat little bit, but when i saw this wish, I knew it was the one I had to claim and take more as a prayer. I have had it tied around my Bible to remind to continuously ask for big dreams.
As I tucked my Kenya guide book in front of my Bible I realized how God has really answered this prayer and answered it before I realized it was my prayer. I'm feeling very thankful for many answered prayers as we head out today.
So... just a few hours until we are the air. All of our love to all of you :)
"up, up and away!"
B

A Year Ago

I turned to Ian today while we were at church celebrating Palm Sunday and told him that exactly a year ago today we were in Paris checking off a couple life goals and watching people coming and going from Sacre Coeur Basilica in Montmartre overlooking the Paris skyline from the place I called the "Amelie park."

I've noticed lately that a sneaky little literary device... the 'little did they know' keeps popping up when I think about where our story is headed. I'm excited (and nervous actually) to see what 'little do I know' will look like a week from now, a month from now, and a year from now.

But until then, to quote one of my favorite Academy Award winning films of this year... "Adventure is out there!!!"

T-minus 2 days until lift-off to Kenya!
If you are reading this and haven't received our update letter via email and would like to, please leave us a comment so we can put you on the list-serve :)
B

Rough start

This week got off to a rough start. We said good-bye to one of of our friends that we knew previously from DC as he headed back to the states, leaving our apartment far too quiet and us feeling a little less comfortable without him here to guide us. It's been a great blessing to have friends that we met in DC show us the ropes around our new digs and help us get adjusted. His wife leaves this week and the whole office and ex-pat groups will miss them a lot!
Besides difficult goodbyes, Monday already had a sort of comic dread looming over it. I've been allergic to something here that makes the skin around my eyes dry and puffy so that I have this sort of bug-eyed iguana look going on in the morning... extremely attractive, I promise. I woke up Monday late due to malfunctioning brain that forgot to set an alarm in the same room I was sleeping. After tending to my iguana eye issue, i got dressed in my half traditional-half western garb and ran out the door on my usual trek past the mounds of garbage, staring men, and wild pigs to my boss's home office. I apparently was earlier than I was supposed to be as she was still getting ready and I was locked out on the second floor stoop shooing the massive crows away. Eventually we got everything in order and were off to the train station on our way to a new possibility of homes to work with.
Generally I am a fan of public transport. I think it is a great idea for saving money, being kinder to nature, and getting from one place to another in a consistent and reliable manner. However, the train system here is a little more stressful than my usual metro commute in DC. My boss Stephanie was kind enough to 'steer' me as we pushed and shoved our way into the women's car... and I am not joking about the pushing. Here's a picture from a car in our area.
On the way out of the train all you need do is stand near the door and let go of whatever you had been using for balance and you will magically get shoved along out of the door by the raging river of humanity streaming out of the car, your only obstacle being the unlucky up-stream swimmers making their way onto the car against the pull of gravity. And the pandemonium doesn't end with popping out of the car. Next is the journey up the stairs when the rest of the trains previous inhabitants join in the fray. It was this ascent to the street above that put the finishing touch on ruining my Monday.. which hardly needs any help to begin with.
We've all experienced a bottle neck somewhere... a baseball game as everyone is leaving, the rush to the front car of a roller coaster, elbowing someone to get the fallen pinata candy at a third grade birthday party (hopefully you were in third grade when this occurred) ... we've all had to fend for ourselves in the writhing mass of humanity at some point. Getting out of our train stations here are one of those experiences at all times. I was given very explicit instructions to put one arm across chest holding on to my bag on the opposite shoulder for the mere sake of guarding myself from unwanted 'grazes'. I'm not kidding. I elbowed my way through the crowd 'graze free' until a moment when the crowd closed in and up the stairs became a shoving match and all of the sudden i realized that though i was guarding for frontal assault, my rear was only separated from the world by the long flaps of my kurta (long cotton tunic type shirt), which proved to be not enough for some especially forward member of the crowd who proceeded to grab my butt. With so many people from all different directions there isn't a way to whirl around and deck someone for being entirely inappropriate and intrusive so my first reaction was to make a fist and separate that appendage from my rear as quickly and forcefully as was possible in the circumstances. I reached the top of the stairs grope-free, but still in shock about what had just happened. My colleagues could read my obvious distress and I told them what happened, but not much can be done when you can't see behind you, and even if you can... it might not be that person anyway trying to get a handful of western bum. I get stared at constantly here, so even getting a drawn out glance from someone in a crowd doesn't really lend any clues to who decided to be gross and mean. Again, my Monday didn't need any more help in being rough, but this sealed the deal.
Luckily a good cup of tea and warm hospitality goes a long way to sooth a soul after a traumatic moment, and visiting the ladies who may be the next addition to our weekly visits was a much needed encouragement. It was fantastic to hear the history of the organization that runs this home, and to hear their plans and dreams and to see how we might play a part in them. Thank God for people who care about women in a culture that often doesn't care past their use as physical objects. And thank God that there are women who are beating the odds to come out of these difficult situations and become beacons to those around them.
I started to pray for the gender gap here, and for the person who was out of line to grab me in the station while I was on my way home. I tried to figure out what I was learning in this situation. It's difficult because as the feeling of violation set in I felt helpless and really upset, but I have also noticed that sometimes the battle is won in the direction of grace.
I thought of the story of Jesus in the crowd when the woman with perpetual bleeding touched the hem of his garment and he stopped and asked "who touched me?" because he felt healing power go out of him, and the woman admits it was her and that she believed that if she merely could touch him she would be healed. Jesus tells her to go in peace because her faith has healed her. I know being groped in a train station is a far cry from a woman being healed after touching the fringe of Jesus' robe, but this story impressed itself on my brain. I'm guessing this will not be the last time in this next year that something inappropriate like this will happen to me, and I have been asking that God really make me an instrument of peace and that peace and love would be tangible to the touch, even the unwanted touch. That when these things happen a holy guilt and shame would enter the hearts of these people and cause them to transform their hearts and transform their culture. I've been asking that my pint sized understanding of feeling violated will give me a bigger heart for those I meet and work with every day who have been violated in much worse ways. Also, that the lies of loss of worth or feelings of dehumanization that come with physical violation would be conquered and that the only thing that would remain would be empowerment through love.
I wanted to leave you with a quote from The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis that a friend set me on the trail of some time ago:

There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of the kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously--no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinners--no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour, he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ vere latitat, the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden.

Please pray for the treatment of those born into oppression and vulnerability, and that the work we are doing will contribute to the effort for positive cultural change.

with love
B

Quiet Week

You haven't heard from us in about a week and I promise there is a reason for that. Sadly it isn't what we would consider a good reason, but truly a viable reason. In short, our brief blog absence has been due to our first bout of food poisoning that took the wind out of Ian's sails for a few days and knocked me out pretty good for most of the week. I got back into the game and on the horse, but wasn't eating regularly until yesterday! Yikes! It seems a bad batch of hummus did us both in, and from what we hear, this probably won't be our last brush with that nasty little bug.

Our hummus consumption was just part of last weeks goings-on, as the holiday season has been in full tilt this week. twinkle lights and plenty of fireworks have punctuated our early evenings. We got the chance to do a little bit of necessity shopping at one of the nicer malls in the area. Generally a mall is something that reminds us of the hustle and bustle of the Western Christmas shopping season, and people pushing to get into sales after Thanksgiving... and while that season is still in the near future for our families on the other side of the globe, shopping season for the native holidays was very much upon us here. This looked a little different, however from our idea of holiday tinsel and reindeer.

First, part of the confusion happened in that this holiday is one that neither of us celebrated growing up, so we wandered in upon its' festivities without realizing what was going on. But also, the reason that a person goes to a mall during the holiday season here can be very different than the reason for going back in our home country. After discussing the massive amount of people in the mall with some of our friends here, we were informed that may people come to the mall during the holiday purely to see the spectacle of the lights and music and special exhibits and spend time in a place that they would never otherwise visit. Once this was pointed out, I started to notice a number of things that would have otherwise probably passed my notice. For instance, there was a line for the escalator... not because there were so many people, but because a number of sweet women dressed in their holiday best were completely mystified and almost terrified by the prospect of stepping on to this strange mechanical staircase. From what I understand, many of these women do not wander away from their neighborhood regularly. Often they keep house, plan for meals, and do the family grocery shopping within a very small radius of their home. Their husbands or or sons may be used to high-rises and the tricky escalator, but these are very unusual things for many of these ladies and they wander around the corridors wide-eyed, and often in a slightly confused daze clogging up the escalators until getting up the courage to take the leap of faith.

We did get the chance to see a movie in the mall, which was a nice break from all of the 'new and different' that constantly bombards us. Although entering and viewing a cinematic feature seems like something pretty straight forward, we still had some surprises. After going through a rigorous security check and getting our tub of popcorn and cup of cherry coke, we headed up the stadium seating to our pre-assigned seats. Looking for a specific row in a movie theater was already odd, but as we are climbing we realized that we were the only ones moving and everyone else has stopped dead in their tracks, stood, and are facing the screen silently. I honestly had a moment of "we've wandered into body-snatcher territory!! oh no!!" when i realized that it seemed to be a highly produced version of the national anthem complete with glittering animated flag waving in the digital breeze on the screen. Oops. My bad. We quickly joined the body snatched masses for the rest of the song and then plopped into our seats. We made it about halfway through the film fully suspended in American media export when suddenly the film stopped mid-wedding scene. What!? We came to find out that they have intermissions here.. about a 15 minute break to let you get some tomato flavored popcorn, and to watch a number of commercials about how cool various carbonated beverages will make you. Sadly our intermission may have cut out some of the dialogue of the wedding scene (probably mostly the "i do" part.. goodness!), but the rest of the film went on without a hitch except for us waiting with new paranoia at what other cultural faux pas we may end up committing during possible post-movie rituals. Luckily the end of the movie was the usual leaving a mess behind and seeking the exit... most of which we could handle.
We went on to make some poor food decisions that left us home-bound the beginning of the next week. Fun fun. nothing like a bout of twisted tummys to round out a good holiday season!
Happy Holidays!
B

Ride of our life

I have been thinking about the past a lot lately. Not because I am particularly nostalgic, but because my life keeps flashing before my eyes. This enlightening experience has been given to me by multiple auto-rickshaw drivers, but in particular this previous Saturday night's ride. Bekah and I had spent the day at a mall by ourselves (and we didn't even get lost, yay!) and decided it was time to head home. So we do the natural thing and hail an auto-rick.
(If you look in the little rear view mirror you can see us :) )

If you don't know what I am talking about see the photo below, but basically these things are a three wheel golf cart frame with a motorcycle 2-stroke engine in them. This allows them to go about 35 mph (though more if going downhill). It is fun and exciting to ride in them, sliding around the vinyl seat, feeling every bump on not such great roads, and hanging on for dear life. This last thing, hanging on for dear life, was what happened Saturday. We get in and our driver nearly hits a person getting in another rick and then laughs about it as we pull away (and the large gentleman who he nearly hit is saying not nice things in another language). And away we go.

Reflecting on it, I think this man thought he was driving a motorcycle. On numerous occasions he saw an opportunity to fit his nose in between two cars and then just wedge his way through (did I mention we are going over 30mph in an open vehicle with 7 lanes of traffic in an area marked for 3?). Needless to say Bekah was worked up. She handled it great though, barely squeezing my finger and not yelling at all. But we successfully made it through every time and I would laugh afterward because I was grateful for the time that the Lord has decided to give and to extend that time. People told us before we came that we were going to almost die here, but I didn't really realize it will probably be happening on a regular basis until tonight.

Much love- Ian

Reality Checks

I never thought staying in South Asia was going to be a breeze. No sir. I went through lots of internet research, asked questions from people who had lived there, read a few books... and scared myself reasonably silly before even stepping foot in the country that we have committed our time to for (God willing) this next year. But I've found that no matter how much you prepare yourself for a new culture and a new place, actually arriving and being there has a sort of x-factor that you cannot prepare for no matter how hard you try.

Tomorrow marks our 2-week mark in country and for me there have been a number of "oh crap," "oh-my-gosh," and "Toto... I don't think we're in Kansas anymore" sort of moments.
"Oh crap" moments like sudsing up my face all good and soapy only to realize that the water has been turned off for the day, and my best bet is to splash myself with the 'emergency flush bucket' water.
"Toto...We're not in Kansas" moments such as watching scads of teenagers burst into tears when they realize that one of the country's biggest movie stars is eating in the cafe we're in while I have been wondering why on earth that 'guy over there' has so many friends that only stop to say hello but don't sit near him afterward... (stupid American).
But one of my larger wake up calls so far has been something more of an "oh-my-gosh" moment.
I'm volunteering with a NGO that teaches jewelry making to girls in aftercare homes. The girls I have had the privilege of getting to know this past week are very much like any teenagers you run into anywhere. They giggle a lot together, they shoot each other glances loaded with sarcasm, and they like to show off the things that they know when they have a captive audience. I am that captive audience.
I'm still getting my bearings when it comes to this mad new world that we've been dropped into and my local language skills are non-existent, so at the moment I am mostly an observer while the women in charge of the project do their thing. This is not an issue for one of the girls who seems to find unending amusement in learning new phrases in English and testing out her English on me as often as possible. I personally am getting a kick out of trying to pronounce words in her language and how she and the other girls think it is so funny when I can't quite make the sounds. She also finds it amusing how my extremely pasty white skin turns pink and reddish when she pinches it for a moment and lets go. This also makes me laugh, as it is not the first time that my extremely pale skin has been amusing to another person and I respect the chutzpa it takes to poke so confidently at someone you hardly know.
After sitting for a while, listening to the discussion of the story of Queen Esther, she starts to sing quietly to herself and I realize that I know this song very well. "Oh be careful little eyes what you see. Oh be careful little eyes what you see! For your Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little eyes what you see." I start to sing with her, which is great because her face lights up that I know this tune as well. "okay sister!" she tells me, "Let's sing more... come... oh be careful little feet where you go..."
It is about this time that the "oh-my-gosh" hits my stomach. This is not a just any teenage girl singing a song about simple lessons of self control and warning to other children that you need to keep you eyes free of bad things, but this is a young girl who has seen many things that 'little eyes' should never have to see, and has had to go where 'little feet' should never have to go... careful or otherwise. The heaviness of this song in this context makes my insides tumble.
I think this is one of those moments when something you thought you cared about previously, suddenly gains a real face. Girls trapped in brothels and being exploited are suddenly no longer grainy pictures with blurred out eyes, but very real tangible beings that sing and laugh and eat and give hugs. While I have known this to be true for a long time, this drove it home again.
I sat back in our flat that night turning it over and over again in my mind. Young girls laughing... oh be careful little eyes what you see... the smells of spices and dust. "Oh-my-gosh." How resilient we as human beings are. The ability to laugh and sing, even after such abuse, speaks so loudly of hope to me. Yes, there is a lot of hurt and dysfunction and plenty more beneath all of the singing and laughing, but still that glimmer of hope and possibility still sits on top and gives me some of the first chills I have had since arriving in this steamy part of the world.

*Please pray for the hope possible for these girls to be realized, and for healing, wholeness, and freedom for their entire beings.
B