Remember Ethiopia

Eskendar

2009-05-09T19:59:00.000-07:00

Eskedar

A story of an 8 year old girl attending Remember The Poorest’s Kindergarten Program.

Born January 11, 2001

The sun is relentless, happily enlightening everyone as to why the solar oven works so well. Lunch time has passed and adages about staying indoors come out. A young girl, maybe 14 years old, lies in the dirt. She lies on her back, slightly shaded by the tin gate next to her mud house. She seems unconcerned about the dirt that will streak her already dirt stained clothes or the filth that surrounds her. She lies off the main road separated by a dirt ditch – the kebele’s trash can.

The mud house that provides her and her family shelter with a tin roof serves as storage for old tires, stones, sticks, and other unwanted items that have no clear explanation for taking up residence on top of the house.

The interior of the house desires to be a dark cool cave but there is no mistaking it for a multi-family home. A tiny mud room serves as the reconciliation room – two people cannot pass through without touching. At one end this room is the door to the outside at the other end a door that leads to a series of other rooms which each house a family. To one side of the reconciliation room is a third door that opens directly to te young girl’s house. The word house is too generous of a description for this eight by eight food space. No windows or lights brighten the room. A large bed covered in a tattered bedspread claims the room allowing a tiny bench and stack of boxes just enough room to survive. Despite the tiny mud structure’s extravagant aspirations, it will never be spectacular. Its inhabitants have a much better chance of changing their lives.

The girl lives here with her mother, two sisters (approximately 10 and 8 years old) and baby brother (around 2). The little boy lingers silently in the doorway his belly a smooth brown balloon peeking between the flaps of his little blue vest which hangs open in the front. The rest of his body is thin. Around his neck he wears a black string with a small silver cross, an emblem of the Ethiopian Orthodox tradition. He holds a piece of bread he has been gnawing on.

The mother is tall. Her eyes fail to lighten as she slowly wraps her kerchief around her head. She squats on the floor welcoming the baby, who scoots closer. As a single mother she works hard straining and sorting beans. With her meager earnings she struggles to pay the shared rent of the small government house and properly feed and clothe her children. Five years ago her husband died leaving her to raise their children alone. She has HIV/AIDS and while she appears healthy, her health is only temporary. Her struggles multiply.

The youngest daughter, eight year old, Eskedar, is at school. Eskedar began receiving sponsorship from RPC four years ago. Prior to her sponsorship, Eskedar, had been unable to attend school. Currently she is in the first grade in RPC’s kindergarten. She attends first grade at the RPC’s kindergarten.

The family is struggling; they have one tiny room, no bathroom, and no kitchen. Since joining RPC life has slightly improved. Eskedar attends school with adequate materials; she has access to medical treatment, and receives occasional clothing or food items. Life remains hard. Questions about the children’s future are left to float in their tiny dark room.

Hope for a Future

2009-05-07T19:51:00.000-07:00

Hope for a Future

The story of Adana and Abezu, two children being helped by Remember the Poorest.

By Krista Allen

Hope, we try to grasp it, holding it tightly lest it slip through our fingers. Like a homeless toddler clinging to a moldy piece of bread, we fear to loose it. Between rusty aluminum roofs and mud houses, hope lingers. In the children running barefoot across the littered streets, hope lingers. In the grandmother raising her children’s children hope holds fast. Hope is what keeps this neighborhood from succumbing, completely to death.

Hope sifts through the fingers as the mother sits by her last child covered with sores breathing her final breath, the fourth of her children to die of HIV/AIDS in the past four years. With a shrug of her shoulders the childless mother falls to the floor silent. Hope evaporates as the mother sits on the corner waiting for someone to drop a coin into her open palms her last attempt to sell kolo failed. Hope has vanished when the boy turns to stealing to survive on the streets. Amidst the broken glass and discarded bottle caps, hope joins the refuse, left for children to trample, horses to run over, and dogs to lie in. Here among the poor, hope is discarded with the ease that last month’s dirt is washed from the body. Hope is a commodity to expensive to afford.

I am here attempting to pull the hope back out of the streets, dust it off, and give it to those in need. Hope should not become refuse. In my quest for hope I look to the story of 12 year old Abezu Abera and her brother, 19 year old Adana. Tese two children knew hope once. They were born in Metahara, the salt mining region of Ethiopia. Here the children helped the family by herding sheep and goats. Their father was a sugar cane cutter at the Metahara sugar cane plantation. The family was not wealthy but they had their needs provided for. They were filled with a hope for a bright future and life together.

Tragedy, inevitably, was close at hand. Tragedy covets hopes place and will do anything to destroy it. Tragedy orchestrated an accident which badly injured the other brother. For some time the family cared for him, hoping he would recover. But hope seemed useless, the young boy’s injures were too severe and he died beginning the family’s displacement. The mother came to Nazret while the father and five remaining children stayed Metahara. It wasn’t long before tragedy’s jealousy flared once more. In 2001, their father became ill. When he was unable to care for the youngest children, Abezu and one of her sisters, he brought them to their mother in Nazret.

Their mother was struggling. Life in Nazret was not easy. She engaged in various kinds of day labor in order to support herself and the children. On May 6, 2002 the children’s father passed away. All five children came to live with their mother at this time. Hope was rapidly losing ground. One of the girls is epileptic and in need of constant care and attention which presented the family with further difficulties. Their struggles continued. The children tried to help by selling boiled eggs and roasted grain, but their mother could not adequately care for them. Greatly saddened by this she sent Abezu and Adana to live with her brother hoping things would be better for them. Hope seemed to fail, one more time. A member of their uncle’s household harmed Abezu which caused Adana to fight with his uncle. He fled from the house following the quarrel. Poverty had forced him to the streets.

Abezu’s mother faced despair in the wake of her son’s flight to the streets. Tragedy laughed wickedly tasting vicory. The mother’s only son had become a street child and she seemed powerless to resist. Her heart was truly broken and she was determined to give up hope as so many of her neighbors had. Then she heard of RPC and the work they do to help suffering children. Mustering her remaining hope she brought Abezu here seeking assistance. Tragedy’s laughter was cut short as hope quietly reclaimed its favored place.

Abezu was accepted to RPC on May 6, 2004. She was then able to attend school regularly for her tuition was paid and she was provided with the materials she needs to learn. She also began to receive medical treatment when ill, clothing, soap, and hair oil. She has places to play that are safe and an opportunity for tutoring if she nees it Abezu is once more living with her mother.

Currently, 2009, Abezu her mother and two of her sisters are living together. They do not have their own home but are living in the rented room of a sick old man. Their room is located in a mud and cement building back behind other cement buildings divided into rooms. The Abezu and her family live in is a long narrow room, divided in half by a half cement wall. It is a small space of which Abezu’s family inhabits half of and the old man the other half. They have a bed, a dresser, and a chest in which to keep their belongings. They have electricity but no window, kitchen, or bathroom.

Abezu is happy. She doesn’t have much but she is with her mother and her mother has received relief. Abezu attends school, she is learning in grade five. She ranks in the top ten out of 50 plus students in her class. She is thin buy not malnourished. Her arms and legs have muscle and fat on them. She is happy, her hope has been restored.

Adana left his uncle’s home hopeless. He turned to a life of crime. He stole and fought. He had no place to sleep and little to eat. At this point of his complete despair he came to RPC. He was given a chance to shower, to eat a good meal, and received clean clothing. Hope wanted to return to his life. In time it did. Through the assistance of RPC he was able to find a place to live and began to receive training as a hairdresser. Recently he has started going back to school. He is learning tin grade nine and hopes to one day go to university and study sociology. He has been reconciled with his mother. He is unable to live with her because here in not enough room but he visits her often. Their family has been reunited.

For this family hope has sustained them. Life has been cruel to them and to those they care about but now they have each other. They have food to eat and the children are receiving an education. They have plans for the future, plans that can pull them from their poverty and give them a chance at a better life. These plans will never reach fulfillment unless they have hope. Hope that is fostered by the care others are willing to give them. They are thankful to RPC and to God for all that has been done to restore their lives.

Their story is a success story. It is our prayer that their lives will continue to be lived with hope. That as struggles come their way they may see them through and someday their lives will be better. We too give thanks to God for the work he is doing in their lives that is bringing about a future. Hope, when allowed to persist, slowly works to transform lives.

Picture :: The shower at RPC for the street children

The Story of Bedliu

2009-05-05T19:48:00.000-07:00

The Story of Bedilu

a twelve year old boy who receives assistance for school fees from Remember the Poor.

Born 1977 in Nazret, Ethiopia

The wind whips wickedly at my hair as I walk through the streets of a poor community in Nazret, Ethiopia. I can feel my hair knotting; I wish I’d had the wisdom to bring a rubber band to bind my hair against the wind’s mischievous games. The dust unravels upwards knitting a blanket to cover everything. I wear heavy glasses protecting my eyes from the dangers of kebele(neighborhood) 0-6. The dangers include: the sun, the dust, and eye contact with strangers. We have left the cobblestone roads to travel the old dirt streets, with mosaics of broken glass, bottle caps, and worn out socks or pieces of fabric.

We are on our way to visit the home of 12 year old Bedilu. His father, a former guard at a cattle fattening plant, died of illness, the year Bedilu was born. After the death of his father, Bedilu, his mother, and many siblings were left with no money. Bedilu’s mother began to work doing various day jobs which provided her with a very small income. With many children to care for with a small income, she sent Bedilu to live with his maternal grandma. Bedilu’s grandma is also very poor; four and a half years ago she brought Bedilu to RPC for assistance. At this time he was eight years old and had not started school; his grandma was unable to pay his school fees.

We approach the house. A pile of branches stands in front of a cave like entrance. These branches are the family’s livelihood. Bedilu’s grandma sells the branches for firewood. She also sells roasted tomatoes and the roasted barely snack, “kolo,” in order to earn some money to feed her family. The money she earns is very little, less than $30 per month. We move around the branches to enter the cement house.

We enter the cement corridor, the entrance of Bedilu’s home. It is a dark narrow passage way. To the lft is a metal door, the entrance to a small windowless room. A teenage boy and girl stand there. The grandma will later explain that the boy is her youngest son. At the end of the passage is a room lit by one small window. Here we meet Bedilu’s grandma. She graciously shakes our hands motioning for us to sit on the small wooden benches beneath the window. She takes a seat on the bed across from us, surrounded by three young girls.

The room is full with the two benches, a bed, a sleeping pallet on the floor, and a cabinet in the corner. On top of the cabinet is a brightly colored picture of Jesus and a television that is softly playing the local channel. The picture indicates that the family is Ethiopian Orthodox.

“Bedilu is at school,” the grandma explains. He is in grade 4 at the local government school. She explains that the girls with her are her other grandchildren. Six children live with her in this house.

A goat brays towards the back of the house. I peer at a worn sheet that veils a doorway leading to another room. The wall and floor are cement. The roof is tin and peppered with holes letting rays of sunlight in; I can’t help but wonder what happens during rainy season. I see no kitchen or bathroom; this is of little surprise. Cooking is done on a parable cook stove. The bathrooms in the poor area are communal; they are a hole in the ground surrounded by a roughly constructed tin shack. Behind the curtain there are voices, evidence that there is more than one family living in this small dwelling. The two families share this low cost government house in order to cut costs.

Bedilu’s grandma begins to share her story. She has lost six of her children and grieves deeply for them. Her brown eyes seem to fill with tears as she tells us this. The last child died three years ago. She rubs her head while explaining all this, her gray hair covered with a black scarf. She has three children still living; Bedilu’s mother, her son who lives with her, and another child living out in Eastern Ethiopia. She offers coffee in the typical manner of Ethiopia. She cannot afford it. We take this as an opportunity to thank her for sharing and head on our way.

As we leave she pauses to say, “I have many children, but so few resources. Thank you for saving my son.”

This tall thin woman has suffered many losses. She has watched her children die and must now care for her grandchildren. Her teeth are still white and only one is chipped. She is strong. She stands straight in her brown dress, two pieces of fabric sewn together. The house is clean and the children dressed neatly, though their clothes are worn and faded. She is a hard worker looking after her family as best she can.

Poverty continues its relentless pull on her life. Her face is filled with wrinkles rippling over her like the waves of a pond. Her eyes are tired and her headaches. She tries not to complain. Here is a woman who should be able to sit back and impart her wisdom, telling stories to her grandchildren while her children care for her. However, she has no time to rest she must raise her children’s children. She appears healthy, for now, but for how long? At what point will life’s trials become too much? She will endure because she has to and her grandchildren will be blessed. When she is gone the children will have to care for one another, but let’s hope this is a long way off. Her story, after all, is not unique.

2009-05-03T19:40:00.000-07:00

Through Foreign Eyes

The story of Zerihun

Observing the streets of Nazret and one of the poorest Kebeles (neighborhood)

Foreigner! I am constantly reminded that this is my primary identity in Nazret, Ethiopia. I see and experience things differently than my Ethiopian friends and neighbors. Does this make me better or does this make me worse? Everyone has an opinion. I acknowledge I am biased. I see as a foreigner, I write as a foreigner. My tale is incomplete, another would tell it differently, but I am inviting you to see through my eyes.

Always the observer I perch on the balcony of a local hotel. The balcony is quiet; I sip my coke and peer onto the streets below. For Once my presence is not known and will not skew people’s actions. The road beneath me is the main road that runs from the capital city to the ports in Djibouti. Huge trucks crowd the streets as bicycles, motorcycles, and the blue and white bejudges (3-wheeled taxis) slip in and out trying to show the truck who’s truly in charge. Cars and land cruisers make an appearance as small children between their giant parents. The roads are subject to a constant stream of vehicles but men, women, and children scamper across the streets whenever a slight break presents. The young men and women walk about in crisp jeans and bright, fresh T-shirts still full of color. They carry notebooks filled with notes from a local college or university. Business men and women walk briskly in dress pants or skirts and nice neatly pressed tops. Their shoes fight to hold their shine on the dusty streets; they seem to be winning. Young school children yell after one another and hold the hands of younger siblings on their way home. They are neatly dressed in burgundy sweaters and navy pants, their school uniform. The uniforms are hole free and clean. In their hands are school books and shinny tin lunch pails.

Exhaust fumes waft upwards; horns honk rhythmically and choruses of voices mingle, flooding the air. The dust swirls knowing it is the town’s true dictator and no one dares argue.

If you ignore a whole group of people the town appears secure economically. But you can’t ignore the other group. Before long a little ragged child comes up and tugs at your hand or sleeve crying, “Money, Bread.” She puts her hand to her mouth and you wish you had food to give her. Her feet are bare, vulnerable to the rocks, stones and broken glass that pebble the streets. Nearby her mother stands in clothes that look as old as her, and she looks ancient (though she may very well be 25), a baby sucks at her breast while she extends her hand towards a man passing by in hopes of some money. The beggars are scattered throughout the street, young children without parents, others with their mothers, babies with only a shirt, and men with crazy hair and wild eyes. An occasional old man or woman with a hunched back clinging to a stick their worn bodies covered with piles of clothing complete the cast.

The town is a myriad of people separated into two groups; the haves and the have-nots. The main street showcases the different people who make up Nazret as they mingle together.

Leaving the main streets and heading into one of the poorest kebeles (neighborhoods), the constant roar of vehicles is gone. Rugged unpaved roads frame rusty, cramped residential areas. The steady stream of trucks vanishes, cars dare not enter, motorbikes have sought hiding, and even the bejudges (taxis) are scarce. An occasional bike passes by. The horse and gharry (cart) have replaced the bejudge as the main means of public transportation. Sukes (small roadside stands) frame the road side displaying their wares; fabric, fruit, vegetables, or other household items.

Dusty, faded clothing replaces the bright colors of town. The women wear patterned dresses that are little more than two pieces of cloth sewn together. The dresses drape the women with no special tailoring, one size fits all. Their hair is wrapped in a faded scarf to keep it out of their way and to shelter it from dust, showers are a luxury to expensive to afford. No neatly tailored or pressed skirts and blouses are seen here. The men have vanished with the exception of an occasional wild eyed scantily clad man. The children wear clothing that is either too big or too small for their skinny bodies. The clothes are worn thin a sign of three or four previous owners. Holes add character. The small children run around without pants; they can squat anywhere to do their business. Private toilets are unheard of. The public toilets are a shack with a hole in the ground.

Dirt roads diverge from the rugged stony road leading in towards the houses. The houses are really long mud or cement buildings with tin roofs, composed of a series of rooms with a door to the outside. Whole families live in one room roughly eight feet by eight feet.

Goats and chickens run about thankful that this is the Ethiopian Orthodox fasting period. They have forty more days to live; unless they are Muslim or Protestant than they any meet their demise sooner. An ox lies in the dirt next to a dilapidated aluminum fence. He is unfazed by those who pass by. The sun is heave overhead; it is too hot to leave the shade.

Rusty aluminum fencing block houses from view. If you lean on it the fence would fall over, what its purpose is I am not really sure. The exhaust fumes are gone but the rotting, sweet smell of manure and the sour smell of human waste sift through the air. Here too the dust knows it is in charge. Hands and feet turn gritty.

I stand out here. I am a rarity. People pause to stare. What is a foreigner doing in the poor area of town? Foreigners are found on the main streets or in the nicer kebele’s not here amongst the cities’ refuse. What am I doing here? What am I doing in an area where I obviously don’t belong?

I am here to visit the home of a young boy. I am here to capture his story, to give a name to the chaos of kebele0-7. The boy’s name is Zerihun Geta. He is fifteen years old and learning in grade 5. He is an average student from a very poor family. He lost his father many years back as a result of illness. Though he lives with his mother and two younger siters he is considered an orphan. He has been receiving assistance from a local organization for the past five years. With this assistance he can go to school, he receives medicine, clothing, and some other basic necessities. After all he is a child who deserves to be taken care of.

His mother is poor she makes little money by baking injera and doing some household chores, but it is not enough to pay the 80 birr ($8) per month rent, feed, clothe, and educate her three children. She works hard and she desires to care for her family.

They live in a compound with many other poor families. Inside the compound are two long cement and mud buildings with half a dozen rooms each. There are children running about. The courtyard is filled with young girls washing dishes, women doing laundry or cooking on open flames, and a man ironing his clothes. Goats, chicken, sheep, and cats crowd the yard. There is a tiny outhouse and cattle bedding place further filling the cramped courtyard. I follow Zerihun’s mother back through a narrow passage between the two buildings, under laundry hanging to dry. She lives in a tiny room located between the two buildings, under laundry hanging to dry. She lives in a tiny room located at the end of one building, next to the compound wall; her door has just enough room to pen without hitting the side of the other building that shadows her room.

Her room is small and bare. She brushes a pile of clothes off the sole bench and sits on a tiny foam mattress big enough perhaps foer her five year old daughter. A larger mattress is rolled up to create a little more space. Besides, the bench, mattresses and clothes, there are few other items completing her meager possessions. She lives here with her three children. They have no running water, no bathroom, and no kitchen. Zerihun’s mother smiles and offers me tea or coffee. I politely refuse. She has nothing. I do not need this small luxury. She is gracious, happy that I have visited her.

Life is hard for Zerihun and his family. Life is hard for the residents of kebele 0-7. Zehrihun receives some aid but it is not enough to bring his family out of their poverty. He and his mother are thankful for the aid they are receiving but they are suffering and they are surrounded by suffering.

As I leave kebele 0-7 and head back to my comfortable life I am left with questions. How can the lives of children like Zerihun be improved? How can an impat be made on the lives of the poor? With so many suffering , too few jobs, and too few resources what difference can I make? Will changing the life of one child change anything? What if I was that one child, would I say it made a difference? Dare we risk helping this child? Dare we not risk helping him?

The questions simply multiply. They are too many to work through, besides its time for me to go home, take a shower, and cool off. Perhaps you will sit with these questions for awhile. Perhaps you will risk answering.

I simply, offer my observations. I offer Nazret and kebele 0-7 through the eyes of a foreigner. What do you think?

Dust coats everything here

2009-05-01T19:41:00.000-07:00

Dust coats everything here, relentlessly. Dust seeps in through cracks. Through opened windows covered with simple wire screens. My clothes are more brown than any other color. As I walk the streets they turn from white to brown. I put them in the water to be washed but then they are hung upon the line and the dust swirls about happy to resettle on the shirt I just tried to rid it of. I wipe the windows free of dust but within an hour they are coated once again. I try to sweep the carpet removing a layer of dust but the carpet will never be clean. A simple broom is no combatant for the dust army. The dust knows that it is the true ruler of Nazret, Ethiopia. Those who try to argue with it only miss out in the end as the dust returns to claim the place. You can try to keep it at bay by closing doors and windows. By removing your shoes when entering the rooms but some how the dust creeps back in. Dust and cockroaches are every where. I wonder if one creates the other. Does the cockroach arise out of the dust or the dust from the cockroach. I am pretty sure it is the cockroach that arises out of the dust.

I imagine that the food is flavored in dust but I am so accustomed to it I no longer notice. I may think my feet are clean but when I dip them in water the water quickly turns brown. I have forgotten what true white looks like. I am coming to appreciate the color brown. There is nothing more attractive than brown even white must have a touch of brown to be a truly beautiful color. Dust covers my arms massaging them gently. My hair becomes coarse as the dust entertwines around each strand deepening the brown. My make up will soon become obsolete as the dust will hide the blemishes on my face and make me beautiful and slightly brown. I could wash my shoes four times a day and still they would turn grey from all the dust.

Keeping clean is useless, it can’t be done. Oddly enough we still try. We wash daily. We send our clothes to be washed. We use the dusty broom to remove the dust from the floors. We wash ourselves and our possessions. And we do make some difference by decreasing the amount of dust. To dust we will return.

Christ is present in our Joy

2008-12-18T05:49:00.000-08:00

ME: Jesus, I have been here a long time now. The years have passed and I have suffered greatly. I have known loneliness, bitterness, pain, suffering, and many other things. Today, the sun shines brightly and I want to give you thanks. Today is a new day! Today is the day that you have made. No matter what comes may I rejoice and be glad in it.

GOD: “My child, it is good to hear you say these things. Yes, today is the day that I have made. Today go and rejoice. Today you will find joy! Walk and listen.”

Me: I start my journey wondering who I will meet today. It has been awhile since I walked these streets. The streets I used to walk every day. Soon I see an old friend once overcome with hopelessness.

Me: “My friend, today your face is joyful, may I ask why?”

Friend: “Let those who fear the Lord say “His love endures forever.” In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free!” Your words, your action, your presence with me in my suffering have shown me that I am loved. I was captive to the lies of the enemy that told me I was no good and worthless. But now I know that is not true. I am joyful. You listened to me when no one else would. You found worth in me and my ideas when everyone else laughed at me. Now there is an opportunity for me to use my business and my business skills to give back to the community. Now I can serve others. Now I know what it is to be joyful! Thank you for being with me. Please, come to my house for dinner to celebrate!”

Me:“I will come. I wish to celebrate with you. I am excited with you.”

ME: Thank you Jesus for showing that you care, I will praise you for you are good!

GOD: Keep going there is more.

Me: I continue my walk my steps lighter than before. In the distance I see a woman whose face seems familiar, but I can’t quiet place her. She comes up to me.

Friend: “Hey, how are you?”
Me: “I am doing well. How are you today?”
Friend: “Very well, praise the Lord. Would you like some coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot?”
Me: “I have a couple minutes. I can join you.”
Friend: I must share with you that my heart is filled with joy. “Though I have seen troubles many and bitter. God has restored my life again. From the depths he brought me up. (Psalms 71:20)” I grieved the death of my sister, and though I still miss her, I am happy. I have made some bad mistakes. I have hurt many people, but I know that I am forgiven. Today, I know that there is life and it I worth living. I have graduated college. I am a leader in the church. Young men and women come to me when they are confused and hurting and I am able to help them understand their lives matter. They can make a difference in the world around them. There is hope for the future. I am now a parent to children who have no parents. My family looks on me with great respect. Though I am the youngest, though I was the least, now I am the one they come too. Give thanks to the Lord for he is good, his love endures forever.”

Me: Jesus, I give you praise. Your have restored your people and placed praise on their lips. When we wait patiently for you. We receive your promises. I walk the streets of Nazareth and soon I meet my once homeless friend.

Friend: “My friend! It is so good to see you. Thank you for helping me. I must tell you what has happened to me since you helped provide food and shelter. I must thank you for sticking with me. My stomach was empty but now it is full. I have plenty of clothes, medicine, and other supplies. Now I am getting an education. Now I have hope for a future. I am going to college! I have been promised a future. I have been brought up from the grave and been given a chance at life! My heart jumps for joy. Please, join with me in celebration!”

Me: The joy on my friends faces, Jesus where did it come from? Jesus you were present in suffering, in anger, now are you present in joy?

God: Yes my child, I am with you. I am mighty to save. I take great delight in you. I quite you with my love. I rejoice over you with singing!
Yes I am with you in your suffering, your holy anger, and in your joy. I am with you that you may be with others. I am with you that you may know me. I am in you that others may know me. Go into the world, as I came into the world, and share in the lives of others. In sharing in their lives you are sharing in mine too.

All Isaiah 12
“I will praise you O Lord, although you were angry with me, your anger has turned away and you have comforted me.
Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord is my song; he has become my salvation.”
With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.
Give thanks to the Lord call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done, proclaim that his name is exalted.
Sing to the Lord, for he has done glorious things; let this be known to all the world.
Shout aloud and sing for joy, people of Zion, for great is the Holy One of Israel among you.”

Christ enters into our righteous anger

2008-12-17T03:51:00.000-08:00

Jesus, I’m not so sure I want to go to work today. It only frustrates me. They claim to desire to help others. They display all the right actions but the evidence isn’t there. They want more and more money but the street children and the orphans never seem to have enough. They are always talking about themselves. Always promoting their names. Why is it Lord that those in power take advantage of the weak? It makes me angry. Is it ok for me to be angry?

“Go, you have work to do. As you meet your friends listen for my voice.”

As I walk I try to listen. In the distance I see my lonely friend.

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”

Hey. People are cruel. My coworkers want nothing to do with me. They spend their time together but do not wish for me to join them. They are willing to buy me anything but they refuse to get to know me. They are too busy, or so they say. But that is not true. I see them spending time with others. They always have an activity. A place to go, family to visit. Please, if you are going to say Aizosh (its going to be ok) keep your words to yourself. I do not want your companionship unless you can’t truly care.

My friend, may I never offer you meaningless empty words.

“Woe, to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort.”

Why do people feel the need to offer empty comfort? Those who are already empty can easily see through. Jesus can you be angry too?

“Walk and listen.”

Soon I see the street child. Her stomach empty.
“Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.”

My friend, here is some bread I have brought for you.

What do you want from me? I am hungry, you have plenty of food. Is this bread simply a way to get rid of me? Each day we meet. Sometimes you offer me food. Others hit me. Yell at me. Beat me. They do not offer food. If they do they expect me to give them something or leave them alone. The restaurants throw out their food and if I try to eat they hit me. They give the dogs the food. They beat me. I am hungry. I will steal to eat. Keep treating me this way, I will probably rob form you. I do not want your aid, for it will come against me.
My friend, may I not offer you food that I may gain. Please, know that I do not desire to harm you.

“Woe to you who are well fed now, for you will go hungry.”

Jesus, how can your children find hope when others continually put them down. How can your love shine through when angry words and cruel actions are the reply? How can you not be angry at the actions of your people?

I’m almost to the office.

“Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh?”

You want some chat? While you are chewing feel free to laugh at me. Everyone does these days. They think my situation funny. They think it’s all a big joke. Laugh life is funny. Who wouldn’t laugh when the only good person they know has died? It’s a cruel world. There is so much pain. Tell me please how they can laugh when she has died. I can’t take this pain. I really want to laugh. To do anything to take this pain away. She loved Jesus; he let her die. She sought what was right. They laugh; I can’t. I don’t care much what happens. Please, if you want to laugh go somewhere else. I will keep my chat.

My friend, I will not laugh. I will not force you to be happy.

“Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep.”

Jesus are you angry too?

“Yes, my child. I too am angry at the injustice of my people.”

“Blessed are you when men hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man.”

I arrive at work where my supervisor begins to boast of all the good he thinks he has accomplished. All the people he has helped. He tells me how his dreams are coming true. He speaks of those we serve with language that puts down. I try to suggest change. But then he begins to blame. The fault is never his but always the actions of someone else. He is your friend until he can take nothing more from you. Then you are seen as an enemy and he has nothing good to say about you.

“Woe to you when all men speak well of you, for that is how their fathers treated the false prophets.”

Jesus, why do people in power and authority need to tear others down? Jesus why is it that those with who are rich, well fed, happy, and safe. Those who appear clean on the outside take from the poor, the hurting, the hungry? These people’s actions appear good but their hearts are corrupt. Jesus, what is it that you require of me?

“My child, “I have shown you what is good. Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with me your God.”

Thank you for entering into our anger.

Christ is present in our Suffering

2008-12-16T09:56:00.000-08:00

This is the drama, I wrote for the morning wworship time here at the retreat center in Kenya. Each of the three days I will write about the lives of these three characters. I am the narrator. Three other MCCers from Ethiopia are the characters (street child, someone who lost a close loved one, and an ordinary middle class woman - all Ethiopians\African). The story went well today. It is better acted out but at least you get an idea. The part in quotes is the voice of God.

Jesus not long ago I received the prophesy that you have great things in store for me but they will not come without great suffering. Jesus, each day I wake up, here in Africa and I walk to work. Each day I see hunger, homelessness, pain. Why, must there be so much suffering. Why does the world outside the safety of my compound seem to be falling apart.
Jesus, today I need you. I need a message of hope. I need to know you are here.

“My child, do not be afraid. As you walk today, listen.”

I begin my walk to work. Trying not to think of the struggles it may bring. As I travel the dusty roads, I meet a youngster I’ve seen around the office. My friend how is your day?

Sister, it is not good. My dad, he was a truck driver and on his journeys he slept with many women when he returned home he brought some money but he also brought HIV/AIDS. He soon became sick and then my mother got sick too. Now they are both dead. I went to live with my grandmother with my five brothers and sisters. But she is old and can not care for us. I left. Now I live on the streets. I am very hungry now. Can you please give me money. I came to the city, I thought it’d be better.
Please excuse the way I look. I’m part of a street gang. It’s the only way to survive. I got in a fight. The other girl insulted my mother. I confess, I steel. But I do so to live. I do so for protection. You do not know what the streets are like. I am cold. I am hungry. I am lonely. I am hurting. Please, can you help me. I am 14 years old.

Jesus, can you lie? Where is the hope? I find no comfort here.

"Open your heart. Listen, my child."

I continue. Trying to listen. I meet another person along the way. My friend how is your day?

You want to join me for a drink? You should really try some chat. The local drugs are great. They will help erase that pain from your face. Trust me I know. Yes, I am aware it is not yet 9 am. But you have to understand the pain is to much for me to take. My sister, she died young. She was my very best friend. She was so kind and good. She had her whole life in front of her. She was the kindest person I knew, always giving to others before herself. Life is not the same without her. Why did God, let her die? Why, didn’t he take me instead. I’m messed up as you can see. I will never amount to anything. I am worthless. I help no one. It should have been me. Can’t you see; I should have been the one not her. Please, join me for a drink – you too will feel better.

Hopeless, that is what this is. God, I’m not so sure you haven’t deserted us. I continue on my walk. Everywhere I look there is pain. I meet a woman with pretty clothes and money to spare. I really hope she can bring a breath of fresh air. I go up to her and say: You want to join me for a cup of tea?

Okay, but you have to know. I’m worthless. My life is a series of failures. I have food in my stomach and clothes on my back but there is no one to love me. My father, he beat me. My mother died young. All my friends have deserted me. I have money. I have power, but I am all alone. I started my own business, it is successful. But my life is empty. There is nothing in store for me. My wealth simply covers my wounds. You think I am happy, but really I’m not sure I want to face tomorrow. There is no one to care. No one to show me what love is. I have money but I am poor.

Jesus the suffering is great. I am not so sure that the people know the hope of what is to come. Jesus, why is there so much suffering. Why must suffering be a part of growth? Why must these people wander in the desert dry from lack of love. Hunger in the wilderness for lack of provisions. Why must there be such suffering?

"My child, I have entered with you in suffering that you may now enter with others. “Comfort my people, say I your God. Speak tenderly to these my children and proclaim that their hard service has been completed, that their sins have been paid for., that they have received from the Lord’s hand double for their sins. Listen to the voice calling “In the desert prepare the way of the Lord make straight in the wilderness a valley for our God. Every valley shall be raised up and every mountain and hill be made low. The rough ground shall become level the rugged places a plain.” My glory will be revealed and all humankind together will see it. Yes, my child, I am present in your suffering. I am present in your suffering so that you may join with these in their suffering too"

Thank you for being present in suffering.

Acting on HIV/AIDS

2008-10-16T07:18:00.000-07:00

This past week I have been typing up the stories of street children and orphans in RPC's various programs. The stories of the orphan children follow the same general pattern. I was born to my parents, they made very little, I have several brothers and sisters. Then my father died and my mother got a low paying job that was not enough to feed our family. Then either the mother also died and they went to live with relatives who could not care for them or the mother was no longer able to support them. The mother or the relative then brought them to RPC hoping for assistance. And if I am typing their story it means RPC is giving them assistance. This assistance includes food, clothing, medical care, personal hygiene care, and sometimes food. The stories of the street children are similar but different. Many of these children have parents that are still alive. Those with living parents wound up on the streets for one of two reasons; first their family was to poor to care for them and second they fought with their father and were forced to leave home. Some of the children are double orphans which means they lost both parents and as a result are forced to live on the streets.

How easy it is for me to tell these stories or to read these stories back in the States and cry at the injustice. But now I don't just have stories. I know and am friends with many who stories I write. I see the transformation in their lives as they cry for hope and now have the possibility of a future. But most of the time when I am with these kids or teenagers I see more than their story. I see people. The former street children are my friends. The children double orphaned by HIV/AIDS are my brother and sister. I watch movies with them. They tease me about kicking the soccer ball. We attempt to understand each other. Yes, sometimes they want to call me sister, mother, aunt because they hunger for that but the beauty is they are happy.

When I received an email last week from a friend describing HIV/AIDS awareness week on campus last week and reminding me of the orange T-Shirts we wore four years ago to show the prevalence of those orphaned by HIV/AIDS I paused to think. Here I see billboards cautioning about the transmission of the virus. Here we talk openly about it. Here my friends are working one on one with those infected. Here I know children left orphaned by the virus. Here the children are the orange T-shirts not an abstract representation of something I can not fathom. Here it is reality. Here I know the statistics; I live the statistics. I share in the pain with the victims. But I still can not fathom the extent of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. The terms we give it seems almost silly compared to the reality. It is strange to think of my friends as statistics. Strange to think my little friend who tries to teach me Amharic is a child on one of the compassion cards who has a sponsor mother in Australia.

I wonder how it feels to be a statistic. I wonder what it is like to be described as a victim of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. I wonder how it feels to know there are people in Indiana wearing a T-shirt that represents you. I am not saying this is bad. Awareness is very good. And child sponsorship is good. But it is strange to think the materials are not materials but reality.

Lets keep acting on AIDS – let me know what you discover as ways to act and I will let you know what I discover. Perhaps you can help me understand how the awareness you create on campus and the relationships I have with the "statistics" can bring peace.

The Kingdom of God is like a Story

2008-09-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

I leave shortly for Nazret and am somewhat at a loss as to what to write. Today I had tea with my friend Abraham and then we went to visit his week old baby. As I meet with Abraham he shares parts of his story. Though here is not the place to tell his story I will share some words he shared. We were talking about the power of sharing our stories. He says that in sharing his story he hopes to help others know they are not alone in their suffering. He told us that the pain and suffering he has gone through has helped him develop an empathy for fellow Ethiopians. Abraham has a good heart and much wisdom. He has made mistakes and he has suffered greatly but he is willing to share and he is learning to keep going and to find hope.

On Sunday the MCC team prepared the church service. Instead of giving a sermon we told stories. Our stories began with the Kingdom of God is like…

I wrote that the Kingdom of God is like a story. By sharing our stories we can work to bring reconciliation. As I share my story and Abraham shares his story we learn that we are interconnected. By sharing our stories, though details may be different, we learn that we all share the human experience and in that experience there are joys and sorrows. As we listen to each other, the other becomes a person. A person who is like you, a person who you can relate to. When the other obtains an identity it is harder to hate, harder to ignore. When you know a person action and reconciliation become more likely. The power of story brings about shared suffering, shared hope, shared joy, shared healing, and shared reconciliation. And this is the Kingdom of God where each person matters.

I watched “Cry the Beloved Country” today. The movie takes place in South Africa in the 1940s during a time of great division and violence between blacks and whites. At one point we hear in the words of a white man that the violence is their fault. I can’t remember the rest of the line but I feel like it had something to do with the white man needing to take responsibility for separating themselves from the black South Africans. The movie depicts two fathers one whose son killed the others son. The two fathers one black the other white meet each other and share their stories. When the two men share their stories they learn to care for the other and the one who lost his son learns to care for the other son and his family. When we share our stories we find common ground on which relationships are built and peace and reconciliation are possible.

In time I too will have more stories to share and as you hear them the people here in Ethiopia will come to life – hopefully J.

Peace

Silence in the New Year

2008-09-16T05:23:00.000-07:00

Hi. Here is the devotion I gave in language class on Friday.

After great deliberation I have decided that the topic of silence is appropriate for today’s devotion. You see I like to listen but lately people keep telling me I need to speak – I just can’t seem to figure out why. You see the Bible is full of passages that talk about silence. We hear the story of Elijah and God’s voice being in the stillness and in the silence. In Isaiah 32:17 we learn that the fruit of righteousness will be peace; the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever. Later in the prophets I read “In repentance and rest is your salvation; in quietness and trust is your strength.” In 1 Timothy 2 Paul urges that we should lead peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness because this is good and pleases God our Savior. There are numerous other places that talk about and urge us to live quiet lives. So I am left asking, “why can’t I too be silent.”

In my nightly readings I came across a section of writing by Henri Nouwen that address the damage of noise. He writes….

Recently I was driving through Los Angeles, and suddenly I had the strange sensation of driving through a huge dictionary. Wherever I looked there were words trying to take my eyes from the road. They said, “Use me, take me, buy me, drink me, smell me, touch me, kiss me, sleep with me.” In such a world, who can maintain respect for words?

All this is to suggest that words, my own included, have lost their creative power. Their limitless multiplication has made us lose confidence in words caused us to think, more often than not, “They are just words.”

Teachers speak to students for six, twelve, eighteen, and sometimes twenty-four years. But the students often emerge from the experience with the feeling: “They were just words.” Preachers preach their sermons week after week and year after year. But their parishioners remain the same and often think: “They are just words.” Politicians, businessmen, ayatollahs, and popes give speeches and make statements “in season and out of season,” but those who listen say: “They are just words… just another distraction.”

The result of this is that the main function of the word, which is communication, is no longer realized. The word no longer communicates, no longer fosters communion, no longer creates community, and therefore no longer gives life. The word no longer offers trustworthy ground on which people can meet each other and build society.

Henri Nouwen The Way of The Heart

Silence is to be regarded as good and sacred or words become useless. But there is also a time to speak. Throughout the Old Testament the prophets are given words from God to speak. In Ezekiel we learn that it is the role of the watchman to cry out and that if the watchman does not come and disaster falls on the city he is to blame. Jesus spoke to the crowds. Paul wrote letters. Words can be good and communication is very helpful. Although I understand a great deal by watching hand gestures and facial expressions I miss much of the abstract when words are not used. I am a writer, after all, without words where would I be. When used correctly language is a positive powerful tool that allows for the quietness to be sacred.

In conclusion I guess I better start speaking.

Blessings in the New Year (we celebrate the coming of 2001 on Thursday September 11)

Peace and Communication

2008-09-02T08:23:00.000-07:00

Today begins a new school year at Anderson University. For all my friends attending classes this fall I hope you have a good semester. I began my class for the fall just over two weeks ago. Though only one class it is one of the harder ones I have ever taken. Learning Amharic is not easy. I sit in class three hours a day and listen, trying to understand what the teacher is telling us by watching his body motion and the objects he is using. Yesterday we began to speak. Not only saying what an object is but using complete sentences to give commands and to answer questions. I must say my Amharic skills leave much to be desired, but I am learning. The more I listen and the more I try to talk the better I will become. I am finding that in order to learn I have to mess up time and time again. I do not like being wrong, I would much rather stay quiet but if I do I will not learn. Think of a small child learning to talk – for the first year or so they are very difficult to understand. I am that small child right now.

As I learn Amharic and spend my afternoons in cultural orientation I am thinking about peace. How do my actions right now work towards peace and conflict transformation? I find they do at the most basic level. Though peace can be achieved without speaking the same language, peace is not possible without communication and understanding. For these first six weeks I may not resolve any conflicts or transform others but I am working towards peace. As I learn the language and the culture of those I will live and work among I begin to respect and value them for who they are and when I see they too are part of God's creation I begin to work towards peace.

Remember the Traveler

2008-08-15T13:14:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow we board the airplane that will begin our two day journey to Ethiopia. Today marked the end of training in Akron, PA. It has been a good week filled with information and the building of relationships. Last night we headed to the MCC material resource center to put our hands to work helping prepare kits that will be sent overseas perhaps to some of our locations. As I checked the school kits ans walked past the brightly colored comforters my steps quickened with anticipation for soon I would be on my way, soon I would be in Ethiopia.
Today that soon feels within grasp. I received my box of encouragement from friends and as I hold that box tears spring to my eyes. Tears that fall when I truely know I am loved beyond imagination, tears that express the excitement for tomorrow, tears the spill with nervous anticipation, tears that say I love you and miss you my friends. I am happy.
I leave tomorrow, I know that tomorrow many of you will be celebrating as two wonderful people begin their new life together. My prayers are with you. May it be a time of great joy and celebration.
As you celebrate remember the travelers. Remember our friends as they go on their honeymoon, as friends and family travel from all over to the wedding. Remember those of us who will board planes to fly to many different countries. Remember those who are physically stationary but whose lives are changing faster than they can process. Remember those who seem to be going nowhere fast. Remember, we are all travelers on a journey. All travelers who need to be reminded of who we are now, where we have been, and where we are going. Perhaps there was part of that this week as we were challenged to write our goals and preapre for our assignments. In the coming year we will be challenged to learn who we truly are as the familiarity we know will dissipate.
Remember the travelers may they find their ways safely home.

peace

We will go together

2008-08-08T10:39:00.000-07:00

A few more hours and I leave Marion, Ohio and begin the drive to orientation. I am excited, nervous, and humbled. It is hard to believe this summer is over. It has passed swiftly despite my efforts to cherish each day. I am thankful for the amount of time I was able to spend with friends, family, and with God. I am learning to live life with no regrets and though I did not enjoy every moment of the summer I regret none - life is beautiful.
My mind scrolls like a new movie real, it knows what scenes must be played next but as the operator I am always wary of a skipped scene. But if I skip a scene will I really notice it has been skipped or will life go on despite the error. I think it is safe to say I have all the major themes in place the rest is extra added to enliven the plot.
I am packed and cautious that my bags are right at the fifty pound mark - I'm not sure how the light packer that I am managed to pack that much but I've never packed for a year before.
I am ready. Ready to hit the road finalize the goodbyes and fly into the distance.
I pray that I may continue to see God at work in each moment of my day that I may look back and say life is a beautiful gift from God and I have nothing to regret.
Goodbye my family. Goodbye my friends. Though miles may part may we travel together and may God go before.
Blessings on the journey.

2008-07-22T18:05:00.000-07:00

My Fire

Last Tuesday was a day of firsts. It was the first time I had gone on vacation without my family. It was the first time I had hiked for three hours without any idea where I was going. It was the first time I found over six ticks on my legs and had to pull them out. It was the first time I started a fire. It was the first time I attempted and failed to cook baked potatoes on camp fire. It was the first and only time I turned twenty three. It was a day filled with adventure. It was a great day spent with a very dear friend.
The lesson we learned from the day is we need to go camping without guys more often we learn more cause they won't do it for us - now I will argue that its not really guys but anyone who is more knowledgeable who can hinder you from learning new skills. To truly become proficient in something I must do it with my own two hands.
Here is my new first done with my own two hands. Enjoy the pictures from camping :).
Sunset

A poet cries for peace

2008-07-07T17:38:00.000-07:00

I recently finished a book entitled "Notes From the Hyena's Belly" by Nega Mezlekia. It is his autobiography of growing up in Ethiopia. He writes about Ethiopian poetry.
"In Ethiopia, poetry is second only to the achievements of kings. Poets are sought after and treasured with great reverence by the ruling class. In ancient times , poets were invited to read to the king's palace and light up the festivities at a feudal lord's manor by composing odes that both celebrated triumphs over adversaries and advised the lord of the condition of his serfs" page 39-40
Mezlekia goes on to say that the poet could speak of the true plight of the peasant and plead on his behalf because the lord would do him no harm as he was only fulfilling his duty.
Following those lines I post here a poem many of you have heard me recite and which I wrote.

Let there be peace on Earth

“By violence I mean any way you have of violating the identity and integrity of another person” -Parker Palmer

To Christianize the nations

we require you look like us,

talk like us, and act like us.

You must embrace capitalism

and a democratic government.

This is the Christian thing to do.

Let there be peace on earth

Let this be the moment now

I come to the Christian nation.

You wear our clothes, an old

T-shirt from a school

over here. You stare at us

amazed. We are who you want

to be. Well fed and clean.

Let there be peace on earth

Let this be my solemn vow

You stare at us with yellow eyes

and rotting teeth. Your belly protruding

like a latex balloon. Your eyes

are empty like the bowl you

use for food. Let me help

you look like me.

Let there be peace on earth

and let it begin with me

You fled from the country

to escape famine and war.

Your people’s lands were

taken that they may be used

to better your nation, with

tall buildings and roads.

Let there be peace on earth

Let this be the moment now

Now your cattle have nowhere to roam.

Your crops cannot grow. Come to the city.

To pursue the great dream and escape

the madness of your home. Enter the city

to be stripped of everything – that you may be me.

Start a roadside stand selling “authentic” Kenyan art.

Let there be peace on earth

Let this be my solemn vow

Kenya was a nation of many tribes

but now it’s best if you forget

that. You should have

one language and one name.

Come we will put you next to

this tribe. No, don’t tell me the history.

Let there be peace on earth

and let it begin with me

Dream of brick houses and running water.

A car or two. Work hard and they will be

provided for you. It’s been four generations

and here you sit poorer than before. Get up

stop being lazy, get out of the muck. Be proud

of your heritage. But, wait who am I?

Let there be peace on earth

Let this be the moment now.

Let there be peace on earth

Let this be my solemn vow.

Let there be peace on earth

And let it begin with me.

- peace

2008-07-05T07:11:00.000-07:00

Hello,
I just realized that there are two email addresses in my support letter and one of them is incorrect. They both have the same name but different addresses. The correct @ is @gmail.com. So, if you have been unable to email me or have not had a reply to your email, simply use the same name and put @gmail.com not anderson.com and I should reply in a day or two.
thanks

Peace on the Farm

2008-06-23T17:13:00.000-07:00

I spent this past weekend on my grandparents farm. I went up because of the Black Swamp Benefit which helps support MCC. I saw a few relatives and lots of beautiful quilts. I learned a little more about MCC and observed a community where everyone knows virtually everyone else.
I spent the next morning with my three cousins ages 3, 8, and 11; and my grandparents. We picked strawberries and cleaned up around the new construction at my cousins house. On Sunday my eleven year old cousin sang a duet in church showing a talent I didn't know she had. Old hymns sung with only voices were a pleasant respite from the overused praise choruses found in most contemporary churches. I was able to sing one song in German while the congregation sang in English and then we sang In Christ there is no East or West. We are all connected in Christ despite language and cultural differences. The hymns were fitting as both the sermon and the Sunday School hour were taught by MCC representatives. One from the advocacy office in Washington and the other from a young man from Swaiziland.
For lunch we headed to the Pettisville school where my Grandpa attended and graduated, then my mom and her siblings attended and graduated from, and where my cousins now go and will someday graduate from. We were there for a benifit lunch for one of Pettisville's students who was having health problems. We ate in the gym where my mother was on the homecoming court and as we left saw her senior picture hanging with the other members of her class in the old hallway.
Now, no summer trip to the farm is complete without some time in the pond. And sure enough I spent Sunday afternoon on the old cracking foam raft in the pond with my 19 year old cousin and my 11 and 8 year old cousins. Four years ago you would have found the four of us there but this time the 11 and 8 year old had decided they were old enough to push me off the raft and for them to be pushed off as well. And just like summers back in high school, when we were done swimming the four of us loaded up on the gator to head to the woods in search of blackberries to put on homemade ice cream. It was a peaceful and restful Sunday and I was reluctant to leave.
This may be a long description of my weekend that means little to anyone but me :). But my point is not to describe the events but to allude to the love of Christ that is found when we gather together. To show a love that lasts as we grow older, that ties generations together, that ties cultures together. To show that it is in the moments of simplicity and quietness that we are reminded of God's calling us and the response we have given. As my past, my present, and
my future met I found that God is speaking and I desire to listen.

Development

2008-06-23T17:12:00.001-07:00

Development – growth, advancement toward a favorable outcome

You may be wondering how my preparation for Ethiopia is developing at this point. Honestly, I am too. Not because I don’t know what I am doing to prepare, but rather because I am not sure what exactly what the favorable outcome these things are helping me advance toward.

We (used in the broadest sense) often talk about development and new technologies as positive influences on our lives. Development becomes an advancement toward a favorable outcome when in fact development is not always positive, nor is it necessarily an improvement. Take for instance the development of a tumor. As the tumor develops it grows until it invades the bone taking away the good and replacing it with bad. I wonder if we sometimes don’t become tumors developing in others, ensuring our own livelihood, but destroying those around us. Once the bone tissue is destroyed we collapse our own support network and our own death is immanent.

When left to our own self interests growth can be rather negative. Development done to soon, in the wrong place, using the wrong methods may temporarily bring life but inevitably it simply destroys. Especially growth where there is no preparation or support structure in place. Perhaps that’s why they added the word sustainable with the word development. Sustainable implies that something will last indefinitely. Sustainable development is growth that looks toward the future generations and how considers how the current growth will impact others. Sustainable development poses a different set of questions than mere development. I want to practice sustainable development.

But the question I posed was not is development good or bad but how am I developing? I am growing in knowledge. I am learning more about Ethiopia, more about culture, more about poverty, more about disease, more about marketing, and more about development. I am developing my thought process on how to better organize my day to spend time in prayer and meditation. I am developing ideas on how to be a better writer. I am developing strategies on how to pack. I am developing theories on how to meet emotional needs while in Ethiopia. Basically, I am working on developing conscious thought processes on how to better develop myself. But is this sustainable development? Its not if I never put anything into action. Its not if I keep wondering if I am developing anything. I think perhaps I best stop trying to come up with the best way to develop and instead act. Act within a realm of accountability. Act by listening and learning. Act by spending time in prayer. And share the results of my actions. But most importantly act.

And yet, I keep getting that question asked of me: are you prepared for Ethiopia? What are you doing to prepare yourself physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually? Keep asking me that question. I can only hide behind evasive answers for so long. Perhaps if its asked enough I will better understand that each little step is part of the preparation process and each person I meet along the way contributes to growth, hopefully toward a favorable outcome.

2008-06-05T08:12:00.000-07:00

Hi!
I have returned from Costa Rica. Costa Rica is a beautiful country and my time there was wonderful. I now know how to paint, a great skill to posses. We painted three churches in the San Jose area. We also visited a volcano, an important Catholic Church, downtown San Jose, and spent the night at the beach. The two weeks in Costa Rica were great but I am glad to be back in the States as I prepare to leave in two short months.
I have moved out of my house in Anderson. It has been hard to leave my friends and the town that has become home but the future is exciting. I will be living in Fort Wayne and interning with an organization called Crossroad. This internship will provide me valuable experience that will be helpful both in Ethiopia and when I return and begin the job search. Living in Fort Wayne I will also be able to visit Anderson on occasion.
Preparations for Ethiopia continue. I have received introductions from the MCC Ethiopia team and the other three SALTers who will spend the year in Ethiopia. We will not be in the same city but will be able to connect with one another when we visit the MCC compound in Addis. I am keeping busy with the logistical parts of preparation such as visas, travel itineraries, shots, etc.
I have begun to read up on Ethiopia and am welcome to any book suggestions people may have.
That is my brief update for now. As I settle into the summer routine, I will post more updates.
Blessings

2008-05-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

Two more days and I will be an official college graduate! Its strange to think about but awfully exciting. On Monday I head to Costa Rica with the university. After having attended AU for four years its odd to think that this will be both my first and last Tri-S trip. I am excited when I take the time to think about it. These past few weeks have slipped by so very quickly. As I look to the summer I realize that my time here in Anderson is limited. I will miss the friends I have made here greatly and the opportunities I have had but I look forward to what God has in store for this next part of the journey.
In four weeks my lease is up and I am somewhat unsure where I will be, starting in June. I have several options and pray for wisdom and guidance in making a good decision. Changes are characteristic of this week but change brings growth and adventure both of which can work to serve God. My prayer for the summer is that I may be of service to those I come in contact with, that as our lives interact we may positively impact one another creating space for God to be glorified.
Preparations for Ethiopia are going well. I have been able to squeeze things in between classes and homework. Things should move forward, more quickly when I return from Ethiopia.
God Bless

2008-05-08T10:57:00.000-07:00

Here is my official letter, but chances are you've already read it :).

Friends and Family,

In August of this year I will travel to Nazret/Adama Ethiopia were I will spend the next eleven months. I will travel as a representative of Mennonite Central Committee (MCC). MCC is a relief organization that is part of the Mennonite and Brethren Church. MCC is committed to bringing peace, justice, and dignity to the oppressed through sharing experiences, resources, and faith in Christ. I will be a part of MCC’s eleven month Service and Learning Together (SALT) program for young adults. SALT sends out young adults to work and live in the culture they are ministering among. As a participant in SALT one of the largely defining characteristics is a commitment to nonviolent peacemaking.

I will be working with an organization called Remember the Poorest Community (RPC). RPC is an organization started and maintained by members of the local Evangelical Church in Ethiopia. RPC is committed to helping street children and orphans in Nazaret. RPC runs and operates a school for poor children as well as running different projects to provide for orphans and street children. RPC also works with the men and women who are caring for the orphans.

My specific role will be that of project officer and my task will be to assist the projects’ manager in reporting, communicating (in English), and the overseeing of the day to day running of the projects. This will include writing the stories of those RPC serves for publication in reports, brochures, and newsletters, working on the website, project publicity and promotion, management of the volunteer program, and fundraising. I will also be encouraged to look for and brainstorm ways to financially support the projects without relying on fundraising, creation and distribution of the newsletter, working with visiting groups and other tasks as they arise. Of the 40 hours a week I work I will spend approximately 20 in the office, 14 working at the different projects, and six on site or in meetings.

My objective: to use my passion for and experience with women and children in poverty to creatively promote awareness and action. I desire to further the mission of MCC by being a nonviolent peacemaker. I hope to use my skills in reporting, communicating, and fundraising, to further the mission of MCC and RPC, and their work among the poor in Ethiopia. As a projects manager I will be expected to help establish creative ways to earn money without fundraising and be invited to brainstorm new projects to better the lives of the women and children. It is my hope that my time in Ethiopia will not only impact me but impact those I will live among.

As I prepare to leave I begin the steps of creating a support network. The support network will be a group of individuals who are dedicated to praying for me and connecting with me during my time in Ethiopia. I have created a blog, rememberethiopia.blogspot.com, where I will be posting updates, prayer requests, and hopefully creative writing that arises from Ethiopia.

I need financial support. I need to raise a total of $4,300 which will go directly to MCC and is tax deductible. This will cover my expenses for the year in Ethiopia. If you would like to and are able to give monetarily let me know and I will email you information.

Just as important, if you would like to receive email updates send me a comment with your email address and I will add you to my email list. As I mentioned above you can also check out my blog. I sincerely hope to add you to my email list.

I would appreciate your prayers and thoughts during this time. Words of encouragement and emails will be greatly appreciated. If you would like further information let me know. You are an important part of this process. Thank you for your support.

God Bless,

Krista Allen

2008-04-26T09:39:00.000-07:00

The end of college is rapidly approaching and I am ready for time to breath. Its been a good full semester. The question, what are you going to do when you graduate has an answer! I am going to Ethiopia for eleven months with Mennonite Central Committee. Yes, I am excited and nerves but right now more than anything I am busy.
But amidst all the busyness I am going to take some time to create this blog with the purpose of keeping you updated on my journey to Ethiopia. I hope to share with you (my readers) what I am learning, experiencing, and hopefully some creative writing that results from this process.
Stay tuned with in the next few days I hope to post more information on what I will be doing.
Welcome to my blog and please keep reading, cause you really are an important part of this process :).
Blessings