Dangerous Surrender Chapter 1

Kay Warren begins her book with these two quotes:

"Much is required from those to whom much is given." Luke 12:48

"If through a broken heart God can bring His purposes to pass in the world, then thank Him for breaking your heart." Oswald Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, November 1

I have never seen these two ideas tied together, but they perfectly describe how I see the world. The rest of her chapter is honest and penetrating, but I keep coming back to how she chose to start it.

I have never been one to peek through the cracks. My life feels very different from Kay Warren's in that way. We both share strong faith, and care for our families, but otherwise the similarities quickly disappear. I think I was born with a broken, surrendered heart. I can't remember a time when I didn't feel the weight of the world and its pain on my shoulders. My sense of justice didn't help much. I still remember what it felt like to punch a bully in the stomach, and then to hand back the ball he had taken from younger girls. I was in first or second grade. Getting involved and intervening in the world around me are as natural to me as the air I breathe. Leaving things to others is just not part of my DNA. At 20, I began volunteering in a 24-hour sexual assault program. Pain, evil, despair, inequality, healing, and the cycle of violence became issues I wrestled with daily. I felt good at helping people through trauma and grief, and nothing seemed as meaningful, so I made it my life's work. But at times, this work broke me. That's the only way I can describe it. People call it burnout or secondary trauma, or vicarious trauma, but essentially they just mean that your heart can only handle so much. My heart broke open and I worked for 8 years to patch it up when the holes became large enough to impact my daily life. To step into someone's life either at a crisis point of fresh, new, all-encompassing pain and grief, or to walk alongside someone over time with a lifetime of familiar, limiting pain and despair takes guts and compassion that need to come from a deep place.

I intentionally began seeking God's direction for my path at 8 years old, and that has always included being ready to go in where needed. If anything, my journey seems a bit opposite of Kay's. I understand feeling ordinary, and yet I have also always felt different. Like I never quite fit in anywhere. I have to hold my faith tightly in the field of social work, yet my radical beliefs to take Jesus' teachings on how to treat the poor and oppressed at face value, keep me on the edge of most American church communities. I don't really fit in most places. Fortunately for me, God was growing Chris to have the same heart and the same views on faith and the world. So I never feel completely alone.

I don't have one single defining moment like Kay's magazine article. I wish I had something to point to and say, "this is when I knew God's call on my life". For me it is more of a generic, total life call. I feel like I've been ready for years to bolt out of the starting gate. Classic examples: my senior year of high school I went on my first mission trip. I would still be there in a small village outside of Mexicali, Mexico if the allure of high school graduation and the intent of my youth pastor to bring everyone back hadn't intervened. I have never really felt at home in America since, and I would choose to live almost anywhere else if I felt like I was being asked to. Yet here I am in small town America trying to raise my kids in a culture that I mostly don't believe in. Here's another one: Chis and I first applied to adopt from foster care almost 7 years ago. Here we are, many years later, older and wiser, but still waiting for the child we feel is out there. Many people view us as nuts, I'm sure. Chris and I both worked for years in very intense, draining environments. Then what do we do when we leave work? Go pick up various foster kids and try to have only a minimally chaotic evening at home. The years have taken their toll, and we are tired. Not to mention, Chris will be totally grey soon :). But I guess that is my point. We have decided that every area of our lives will be intentional. We are sensitive to changing directions, but also pray for the guts to stick things out when they get rough.

As I'm reading through Dangerous Surrender, I'm realizing that I'm hoping to find some specific directions to turn my heart to. I feel like I've been preparing for years. I'm just not sure what I'm preparing for. I don't necessarily struggle with God over letting go of myself and my desires, like I know many do. My struggle is more around feeling that my restlessness is for a reason, and that I'm ready to go, if only I knew where I was supposed to go! God works to slow me down, gently telling me the last thing I want to hear, "You aren't quite ready. In My time, child you will find your place." I am like a 3 year-old who watches her older siblings do what she feels born to do. "I'm ready NOW!" But I am less demanding and intense after going to Ethiopia. Maybe I grew from the 3 year-old to an 18 year-old. Now I am quietly, seriously asking, "Now?" And I wait for my Father's answer...

I'd love to hear other people's thoughts on this chapter, since mine (as usual) are a bit on the edge of what I think she intended.

What is your struggle?
Is it surrendering yourself?
Or with feeling worthy and adequate for the call you feel?
Or are you feeling ready, but still waiting for your next step?

The biggest hearts?

What if the next generation holds the biggest hearts of all?

These boys are about to find out that their parents are considering adoption...

Do you have any "big heart" moments you'd like to share from the kids in your life?

Dangerous Surrender Chapter 1 - Angel's comments

Before I write my thoughts, Angel did a spectacular job on her ideas with chapter one. Just click on the title of this post, and you will be taken to Angel's post. If you are still finishing chapter one, maybe this will give you a little extra to think about. If you haven't gotten the book yet, she quotes quite a bit of it, so you can feel like you're participating even if you haven't read it. It helped me since the book was sold out around here!

There are other people also writing as they read, and Angel is trying to link to their thoughts too, so there is a community of people thinking about the same "next steps" as we are.

Enjoy!

At home my heart is far away...

Three weeks ago today, I was saying good-bye to Ethiopia.

How do you say good-bye to kids that you don't want to leave behind? How do you say good-bye to a land of such beauty, depth, and pride? How do you say good-bye to a culture that you have only begun to know, but each piece fascinates you more than the last? How do you say good-bye to a country so rich in history and religion that it makes the U.S seem like an infant? You paste a smile on your face, hold back your tears, and keep going. What choice do you have?

You navigate the flights home with a peaceful confidence that is different than when you left. The flight attendants mistake you for the adoptive mom of the beautiful girl next to you, while you smile sheepishly and direct their questions to her beautiful Ethiopian-American mom across the aisle. You are glad that this girl travels with her family, while you find yourself wishing that one of many waiting orphans in Ethiopia was in the seat next to you, their passport with your last name tucked firmly in your bag.

You fly home, your kids run at you in the airport, knocking you over, and sweep you back into your life. You go back to life as you knew it. You are glad to be back, it was hard to leave them. Yet your heart is often so far away...

I find myself drifting a bit day to day. My restlessness is different than before. It has less intensity, as I find myself trying to grasp what my next steps are to be. I am certain of less in my life. I am open to my Father in a different way. My prayer is different. He was so present in Ethiopia. I find Him still present here with me, but it is harder to feel His presence around me. I have ideas of what I'd like to do to help, and then so many feelings without a plan to put them to. I am changed in ways I can't wrap my head around yet. I have new desires as I find my heart changing. Things matter so much less to me. And some things matter so much more.

Chris and I talk more about moving, adoption, international work, priorities and values than we did a month ago. We are feeling led to some decisions, while some still elude us. I knew that this trip would change me, but I expected it to look more like the culture shock I experienced years ago after visiting developing countries. This is different. There is a stirring in me that surprises me. Maybe Hanna's faith has rubbed off on me. I'm feeling so much more like there is a space for me to make a difference. I don't feel hopeless at the mountains in front of me as I have in the past. I feel driven in a quiet, settled way. Like there is power in my faith and dreams that wasn't there before. Maybe it is just that my dreams are now aligning with what I was made to do.

If you can identify with any of what I'm writing then I invite you to join my friend Angel's online book club with me. We are going to read through Dangerous Surrender by Kay Warren. It is about her journey from American mom to caring and then intervening in the international world of pain that we live in. She inspires, challenges, and helps us find our own journey outside of the comfortable life we have carved out for ourselves. So if you are also feeling stirred and looking for your next step, take this one with me.

Angel's bog is: www.thevoiceofadventure.blogspot.com. They've already started, so we'd better get going...

Vulnerable Ethiopia

Tucked between our painting experience in Mukatore, and visiting the amazing canyon, was an experience I'll never forget. On the way to the canyon, Tefera took us to another orphanage. This one is big with 50+ kids, but they also have 70+ elders, and several people with mental illness. I think Tefera wanted us to get a better idea of what orphanages are usually like. We understood without any explanation as soon as we stepped onto their compound.

The people who work and volunteer here make tapestries to sell to help pay for their work. When you visit you are expected to buy something to help them. After getting a tour, you WANT to buy something to help in some small way, although I also had the overwhelming urge to run away. It was so hard to see the conditions when we had become used to Layla House. We gave the kids blow-pops here too, mostly because we had a huge Costco-size box, and nothing else really to give them. As the kids lined up to receive their sucker, and then as we showed them how to unwrap it, I had to fight back tears. This felt so different. These kids don't have the promise of adoption in their eyes. They don't get to go to a good school. I hate suckers. When I see them in a kid's mouth I can almost see the cavities forming, and feel the unnecessary sugar surging through their system. It was so hard to see these kids, some middle/high school age bow to us in gratefulness for the sucker. There was so much I would have rather handed out. At the very least clothes and medicine and food. But in my heart, I wanted to hand them the world. To hand them education, and love, and hope for tomorrow.
At Layla the kids are given so much. Through adoption they will be entitled to feel part of a family, but they also receive education and the opportunity for livable wages. They get the chance to know that they will one day be able to support a family of their own, and watch their grandchildren grow.

These kids will probably grow up here, as kids do in orphanages all around the world. They will grow physically, and then age out of their home. We can pray for their future, but there must be something more we can do. I hadn't yet met Hanna (from an earlier post), but I think she has the vision for the answers to so many of my questions on this day.

The other thing that affected me in this place is the elderly souls that sit on beds in the rooms on the right side of the compound. I dutifully went into the first room and met the eyes of the people who live sitting on their beds. The first person I saw was possibly the oldest person I have ever seen. They attempted to smile and I had an overwhelming urge to touch them, to take their hand in mine and to somehow connect our hearts without language. I didn't have time to ask someone if that was culturally respectful, because this other side of me just broke open and I had to leave the room.

What I realized that day was that the devastation of Africa's people through HIV, tuberculosis and other diseases has created so much more than a continent of orphans. So many of us feel led to do something about this orphan crisis we hear about. Kids raising themselves and dying with no one to watch over them is more than we can bear. What I missed until now is that the middle generation that has been wiped out by disease has also left an older generation alone and vulnerable. As I waved and smiled to the elders who smiled to us from their beds, it hurt me to realize that they should have been living with their children watching their grandchildren be born, then play and study, and then marry. At this moment as they sat silently in a room, they should be sitting on a chair their grandson built for them watching the great-grandchildren play. These are people who have survived for generations. They are strong enough to have lived through disease and the death of many loved ones. They shouldn't be alone now. They should hold their place in their families with love and respect.

I know that in America, and probably most of the developed world, we have issues with how our elders are treated and cared for as they age. Especially for people without money, the options are limited, and not always compassionate. I feel like long ago we lost the strength of extended family, and of teaching our children to care for and respect older generations. I think that is what affected me so intensely. In a culture that only a couple of generations ago still held those strengths, the loss is even more difficult to witness.

I don't know what to do with this experience except to talk about it. There is so much work to do, and it isn't possible for any of us to tackle it alone. We have been given different hearts and different gifts so that we can spread out and help in so many ways. I hear so many people excited about helping orphans. The promise of childhood is contagious. We sponsor them and imagine what that $30 a month will do to change their future. What can we do with those on the other end of life? The promise of a bright future on this earth has passed. Yet, they deserve love and care as they remember their past. We can debate morals and ethics from any religion's perspective. But there is something core to all of us in how we treat the oldest generation. It is the right thing to do in any culture. There have got to be an army of people who find these wise souls on their hearts. We cannot forget the generations of pride, faith, love, and promise that the orphan children have come from. The older generation's call may not be as loud and piercing as the orphan's, but it holds the memories and culture of a continent.

"No Problem!"

There are so many other fun stories about our trip to Mukatore. We each rode in a horse buggy very far down the road from the orphanage. We visited the Portugese bridge that is amazingly old and connects two sides of a ravine on one side of a huge canyon. It is like the Ethiopian Grand Canyon. The canyon is behind and to the right of me in the picture. I had no idea there was anything like it there. The height and magnitude of its creation takes your breath away.

As we tried to leave the canyon area, I found out that the van we had rode all the way out here in, and the van we expected to ride back in, had to be pushed to jump-start it. Unfortunately, Tefera, our driver, and some nice and helpful men couldn't get it started. They pushed it off the road and onto a grassy area going downhill. Most of us were ready to pull a "Little Miss Sunshine" moment and jump in as we ran alongside it if they could just get it started. Just when I was pretty sure we might have to spend the night, and the rest of our team would never know what happened to us, the van started coughing and started up. The Ethiopian term that everyone says with a smile even in incredibly impossible circumstances took on new meaning that evening: "No problem!"

The Land Up North

On Wednesday of our trip half of us set out in a van with Tefera, an AAI staff on the Ethiopia side of things, for Mukatore. (They spell it Mukature on their sign, but everyone else spells it Mukatore, so that's how I'll spell it). Mukatore is a town 5 towns north of Addis Ababa. If you have been there in past years, you will be thrilled to hear that the road is now completely paved. I have heard all kinds of stories about this infamous road to Oromo. It was truly, the smoothest, most peaceful drive we had in all of Ethiopia!

If you are ever in Addis, don't miss taking a day trip up north. To get out of the dusty, people-packed city was so refreshing. Oromo is a land of fields, and traditional round African houses. Young children are shepherding goat herds, and there is land everywhere. It struck me that when kids are brought to Addis from this expansive beauty it must be hard to adjust to a city compound when you are used to land as far as you can see.

Donkeys and older women carry huge loads down miles of hill to Addis. According to Tefera, in the rainy season the fields are lush and green, and people farm. On our trip it was very dry and reminded me of Eastern Washington and Oregon with slightly different vegetation. It was truly beautiful, and such a different Africa than we experienced in in the city. Our pictures don't begin to do it justice.

After almost 2 1/2 hours, we pulled into AAI's small orphanage in Mukatore. The compound has trees and flowers, and a small garden. There is room for the kids to roam. 6 kids are there now, 2 sibling groups of 2 each. These are kids that have been abandoned. In Ethiopia, as in most countries, when kids are abandoned, there is a government process that must be undertaken to locate relatives and identify the children before the process for adoption can ever be started. In the meantime, this is a safe place for them to be.

We were there to paint, which was quite the experience. Tefera immediately left us to try to find a stereo that
would work when the electricity was working. He came back triumphantly and we painted away to a tape our driver had of light-hearted Ethiopian music. I still intend to track down that tape, since I fell in love with it, and the sounds immediately take me back to Mukatore. We painted away at the 2-room building with oil-based, lead paint that was watered down and dripped like crazy. The buildings are made of grass and mud, so as pieces of the mud plaster fell off, we tried to paint the grass a bright blue. Most of us wore masks but the fumes were still strong, and without gloves I was covered in the stuff anyway. As we finished the building and were winding down for some rest and playtime with the kids, we realized we were expected to paint the office next door. There wasn't enough paint, so about 5 different shades of green were mixed together and watered down and we did our best. The staff seemed pleased with the results - much to our relief, since there was no paint left!

While we painted, 2 of our friends set out with Tefera to pick up a baby. The baby had been abandoned the day before on the side of a road. A woman had him in her home until they could get there. He was anywhere from 2-6 months old, and I don't think he could have been more than 5 pounds. When the woman handed him to my friend he was wrapped in a urine-soaked blanket. They cleaned him up, put a diaper on him, and tried to get him to drink something. I'm sure all of us would have loved to have been part of this experience, but I think God chose Lynn and Tina. They were both very affected, and will never forget how it felt to hold this little one. We brought him back to Layla House with us where he will hopefully get the medical care he needs to begin to grow and develop. I pray for his mother if she is still alive.
So after painting, we set out to spend time with the kids. They spoke no English, and probably no Amharic. They watched us with fascination, and it took awhile for them to begin to trust us. I think our rousing game of Duck, Duck, Goose was a turning point. They began to see us as fun, and not simply very strange. My friend Jennifer tried to give them some trail mix. They stared at her with the pieces in their hands, until one brave little boy decided to try a raisin! When he didn't immediately die or turn into someone strange like us, the other kids dutifully tried their pieces. We also got to teach them how to eat a sucker. The same brave boy was the first to put his root-beer flavored blow-pop in his mouth. I wish I could have taped their faces as they tasted the sugary bliss. They will never have to be prodded to take a sucker again.

I'll finish this day in the next post...

The Kids

**UPDATE**
Thank you so much for all of the comments and emails and links! I am humbled at the response to this post. After 2 days, I'd like to write an update. It is my understanding that most of the kids I wrote about specifically here either are matched with families but just don't know it yet, or have families in the process who hope to be matched. My intention in writing this was to try to capture my experience, and to possibly encourage a few people considering adoption to take the leap! Each of these very real kids represent many of their friends who ARE still waiting to be chosen. There are many single kids 8 and older, and many groups of 2-4 siblings that wait. Some are already at Layla House. Adoption Advocates International also has many waiting in other orphanages in Addis until a spot opens up at Layla. For each child that goes home with their family, another can come to this amazing place to await their turn.
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People ask about my trip every day. I still stand there silently trying to come up with something that doesn't sound dumb. Yet, I can't seem to say anything profound either. There is too much. To open it all up would take hours, and most people just want a minute synopsis.

The faces of the kids I got to know keep flashing through my mind. Sometimes I see them in my mind and I feel grateful to see them again - like a welcome breeze on a blistering day. Other times, my eyes unintentionally tear up, and my heart physically hurts.

So I'm thinking it's time to write about these amazing Ethiopian children. So strong, yet tender and vulnerable. In many ways they are kids like you would find anywhere else. In other ways, they are survivors beyond what we can imagine. They have lost their families. I imagine some nursing dying parents until the end, while others are shuffled off to relatives without getting to say good-bye. Some are here at Layla with siblings. Some have siblings in other orphanages or with relatives, and some don't know where the little ones are. Some have siblings with HIV and they worry about them getting sick and dying. They have a quiet strength, and a faith with depth that most of us will never know.

Layla House is more a transition center than orphanage. The intention is that all children will go to an adoptive family, so Layla is structured to prepare them for life in a family in America. They go to school everyday, learn English, and try American food for dinner.


The children who have been chosen by an adoptive family carry their photo album around with pride and hope in their eyes. They finger the pictures of their new families, schools, houses, and pets longingly. I saw them kiss the faces of their new family periodically throughout the day. They walk around the compound with a lighter step and talk to everyone they can about their new state. They show newcomers their state and town on the big map in the cafeteria, and their eyes light up if you know someone from their new land. Many kids are going to Washington, so we immediately had so much in common. I told them about the beauty, the mountains, ocean, lakes, and forests of the state they will soon know. (I also tried to explain how we barbecue, but I think I was officially deemed nuts on that one.)

The children who are waiting have a wistful longing in their eyes that is much different. When others are talking about going home "soon" (I realized that "soon" is what everyone says once they have a family - although it may be many more months.), the kids who are waiting break eye contact and look down, wondering when it will be their turn to announce their state, the names of their siblings and their dog.

Some of the older ones are tearing at my heart every day. There is a beautiful, quiet girl about 12, who leads prayer at lunch. She has one of the kindest faces I have seen, and she looks after the younger kids and her brother. She still waits. The older boys make life interesting and fun for the other kids. They wait with less anticipation than the younger kids. They understand better the chances of an American choosing an older boy. They have celebrated at the going away parties of MANY younger kids. Yet they still pray for their turn.

There is a sibling group of four that affected many of us. The oldest, a 14 year-old, is famous at Layla for her exquisite braiding. She tells people how she will keep the younger ones in line and cook for her new family. I sat with one of the younger brothers for lunch on our first day and was so curious to know more about this sweet, kind boy. Every day after that he would smile at me from across the room, and I would wish I had more than a week here to get to know all of these kids. The second oldest girl of this group, showed me her photo album. It was filled with pictures of her friends from the last (almost) 2 years. She had a picture of her beautiful grandmother too. The pictures that are missing are the ones of her new family. She can point to each friend and tell you what state they went to. She has a large group picture, and after naming each of the states the kids had gone to, she quietly told me that only she and her sister are still at Layla. I asked her if she liked it here, if she was happy. She said "Oh yes. Here I have everything. I have shoes, pants, and food. I did not have those things before." But she didn't say what I already knew. That her heart's desire, now that she has clothing and food, is to grow up in a family with her siblings.

One 7 year-old boy reminded me so much of my 7 year-old G.J. They could be twins separated by continents! He has the honest, soft face of an Ethiopian boy. So many American kids are hardened even by this young age, by events out of their control mixed with the entitlement of growing up in American culture. But Ethiopian kids are different. He is funny and friendly, and has the sweet hopefulness of youth. Some of us took his class horseback riding and it was as much of a thrill to me to cheer them on and take pictures as they rode for the first time. I wish his Ethiopian parents, and his future American parents could have been there in my place. He avoided my eyes as the other kids talked about their new families, and so I knew, without asking, that he waits. Longing to share all of these firsts with people that think the sun rises and sets in his eyes.

Another boy, a 6 year-old, also captured my heart. He has a curious, bright, mischievous face. Very similar to my M.C. He has spirit and spunk, and is trying to find his place at Layla with so many older kids. I watched him yell in outrage as an older kid took the soccer ball he had carried to the field to impress me with his kick. It was exactly how my son would have responded. In a world that is horribly unfair, some rules apply in all cultures. I spent some time with this kid, and fell in love with his intensity to grapple with life. On the last day, we said our good-byes and as I was leaving, I heard a whisper in my heart: "Turn around". I did, and there he stood at the other end of the cafeteria staring at me, willing me to turn around with his longing to be noticed. I smiled through tears and walked quickly toward him with my arms held out and called his name. He ran into my embrace and I held him for his birth mother and his adoptive mother. I whispered that I would pray for his family. It doesn't feel like enough for his little heart, but I trust that God has a family picked out for him. I pray that his heart stays strong and hopeful until they come.

One day I saw a group of boys huddled in a circle. Being used to boys in my life and work, I immediately wandered over, my mind filling with the mischief I expected to see within their circle. I was humbled beyond words when I peeked into their tight circle and saw them celebrating with one of their friends as he held his new family photo album. They were looking through each of the pictures with him, exclaiming in excitement as he turned each page.

So many kids whose faces call to me. I imagine them whispering to me: "Find my family." "When will they come for me?" "When will I feel my mom stroke my face at night?" "When will I feel my dad's strong arms when I am afraid?" Kids of all ages wait. They are so much like my own kids, yet they are still Ethiopian. Kind, gentle, physically affectionate, and funny! They lost everything before they came to Layla. At Layla they are given the possibility of a second chance at life and love. They worry about pleasing their new parents, and about being able to keep their faith. They pray for the family they don't yet know. Are they praying for you? Once you look into their eyes, you can never forget their longing for parents.

If you have ever considered adoption, I promise you, there is a child who waits and prays to be found.

Hanna's Hope

A Hand-Up, Not a Hand-Out

On the flight over to Ethiopia a gentleman from Congo sat across the aisle from me. I watched him complain about his seat, his video screen, the food, and tell more than one flight attendant he would not be paying for his ticket. By the time he turned to me to ask what my plans in Africa were, I have to admit I was more than a bit intimidated.

I told him we were taking supplies to orphanages and working in them for a week. He immediately launched into a lecture on how short-term mission trips were either a waste of time, or harmful. He attempted to explain to me that Africans need a "hand-up" not a "hand-out". I agreed with most of what he said to a degree. All of his ideas were things I have thought about too. His main argument for the harmful side were orphanages in Haiti that fought and stole from each other when one was sponsored by an American church, while its neighbor continued to suffer. I’ve heard this exact same story, and worried about the ramifications of uneven aid, too.

I became frustrated because he assumed so much about me, and all Americans. I finally asked him what he thought WOULD help, since everything that people are trying to do isn’t changing anything, in his opinion. He launched into a new speech about colonial missionaries and how much they had done for Africa, especially in building churches and other structures. He felt that people only really helped when they came to live for 5 or 10 years, and became part of African life. He never once asked what I thought about any of his ideas, or about what I had done in my past.

He would have been surprised to learn that I didn’t necessarily disagree with anything he said. Because he only seemed interested in lecturing a captive American, he never learned that at the rear of the plane was a group of Americans going to build a school in Ethiopia 8 hours outside of Addis. He never learned that the day I graduated from college I chose to join a work group in Tijuana, Mexico. We built six homes in 10 days in an area that had been devastated by tropical storms. He never learned that many Americans, including me, think a great deal about how to help people long term. We know that a week only scratches the surface. But the long term missionaries I know took several trips before dedicating their lives. God calls many on short-term trips. It can be a first step towards life-changing decisions.

So my trip started with all of these conflicting feelings and I spent many hours on the flight trying to examine my own motives for helping. What I decided was that when one person chooses to lecture another, there can be no dialogue because everyone feels defensive. What I love about short-term missions is the intersection of human lives that occurs. It is in this intersection that God works miracles, and lives are softened and changed on all sides. If Americans just sat back and watched world events on the news and waited until they could make a 10-year commitment, nations would never cross paths. Conflict, misunderstanding and cultural judgements would continue to lead to war, pain, and isolation.

The next few posts are my response to my African neighbor’s concerns over superficial Americans. I did not meet one person in Ethiopia who felt as he did. Our team was embraced wholeheartedly wherever we went. Many in Africa are looking for the same human connections I am. The intersection of lives is meaningful and essential to us all.

A hand-out and a hand-up are different to be sure. I think we all agree that a hand-up is most important, and the only thing that will bring long-term change. But when people are starving, street kids are being abused, or a newborn baby lies on the side of the road, a hand-out of food, clothes, medicine, shelter, and human contact becomes necessary before the long-term work can begin.

More to come…

Back in America!

I am back after a week of amazing experiences in Ethiopia.

The trip back was an experience. I tried to get on an earlier flight to Seattle from D.C. with no luck. United was actually bumping people off. Of course I didn't know for sure until the plane actually left - after waiting for hours hoping to see my family sooner than planned. Then my flight last night was postponed because of problems with the plane. NOT something I want to hear before I get on it!! So they got us a new plane, which meant they had to re-issue seat assignments. So the whole plane load of people moved down to another gate to live through hours of waiting and quite a bit of chaos. Then our new plane needed service work. Again - NOT what I wanted to hear after a 15 hour flight from Ethiopia, and spending all day in D.C. trying to get a flight home! We finally boarded at 8:00pm and landed in Seattle at 10:15. It was so good to see Chris and the boys at the end of such a long journey home!

I will write more about my trip as soon as I can, but I'm supposed to be resting since I barely slept last night. :)

For now - I spent lots of time at Layla House, painted a grass-walled orphanage in Mukatore, and helped paint murals in AHOPE's community outreach program/school for HIV+ kids. I met a woman named Hannah that has been transforming the plight of Ethiopia's street kids for about 12 years, and visited an orphanage/elder care/mentally ill center somewhere past Oromo that was almost too much to bear. I got really sick along with some of my friends at the same time we lost running water in our guest house!

I am still trying to process all that I experienced, but one thing I know for sure is that I can't wait to go back. Ethiopia and her people have become part of me, and it is a little hard to be back. Chris had a great time with G.J. and M.C. He surprised me with fixing up our bedroom which had become a casualty to housing so any kids in such a small space upstairs. All of the extra "stuff" had made its way to our room. It looks amazing and was the best gift possible after a long journey.

More to come...