A Promise to be Lived Toward

One of the programs I'm in charge of is our adult education program, which is currently teaching English to 140 refugees. I substitute taught for it a little bit during Ramadan and it's amazing to see how eager the students are to learn. Education is such a tool for hope. There's a woman in the preparation class, a mother of four, who doesn't even know how to read and write in her native Arabic but is learning the English alphabet and slowly how to read and it's such an amazing thing.

We're in the process of hiring a new teacher for the program and yesterday the head teacher and I sat and interviewed our top three picks from our little pile of applications. We pick the three, of course, that had the most teaching experience. They were a diverse and very sweet bunch.

The first guy was a Syrian man. He fled Syria about two years ago, but became a believer about fourteen years ago. He was a professor for several years at a university in Syria, teaching biochemistry. He's been unable to find work in this country because of his legal status. And he has had a hard time building community here because he keeps his distance from most Syrians since he is a believer and so is heavily ostracized for that. He's applied for resettlement in the US but the process is arduous and is taking forever. During the interview he told us a bit about what it was like becoming a believer and having his family disown him. He told us it is very hard for Westerners to understand because we have freedom in what we believe, and people can change what they believe without massive repercussions. He told us how no one accepts you. How he spent years living in fear, feeling alone. But when he met his wife it was so joyous for him because he can be free now, he's no longer alone. He was a very sweet, very thoughtful man, and spoke excellent English.

The next man was a South Sudanese refugee with a big smile and a lot of energy. He has been in this country for more years than his home country. He was excited about teaching, excited for all the opportunities he's been given, and was very keen to work in a place that is an extension of the church where he can be open about his faith. He said that in his teaching job now people just give him a lot of credit and tell him what a good man he is and give the glory to him. At that job he's not allowed to talk about his faith. He would like to work in a place again where people don't say "Yes, he does these good things because he is a good man." but instead would say, "Yes, the people here do these good things because of Christ." One of the questions we asked was when he has a lot of work to do, how he decides in what order to do it. He said that first he looks at what he has to do that affects other people and their work and he does that first, then he will do the work that affects only himself. Which I thought was a brilliant answer. And life advice.

The last man was Eritrean and has been a refugee here for less than a year. He was soft-spoken, kind, almost meek. But the sort of meekness that has a quiet strength behind it. He was very honest and open and has a really big heart to support other refugees. He has clearly not been hardened by his circumstances but has allowed them to make him more sensitive to needs of others. One of the questions on our sheet asks the person to describe what some of their strengths are, or what things they would bring to our organization. Each of the men struggled with this question and indeed, it is a very Western question. He stumbled over it a little bit, and I summed up what he said with, "So it sounds like you don't give up very easily. That is a very good strength." And he nodded and smiled and said yes, he does not give up. And then said that really his strength is Jesus. He said "Really, Jesus is my source, my strength, my rock, my joy. Everything. He is everything."  It was beautiful.

We're still juggling the budget a bit, so aren't exactly sure if we have enough to hire one full time and one part time, or just one full-time. And I'm trying so hard to look at it as "We're giving someone a job!" and not "I have to tell two people no!" When I found out that I have to do the interviewing and hiring for a new teacher I was immediately wondering how I was going to cope emotionally with turning two people down. And I'm still not sure.

Such a wealth of goodness in people who lack opportunity and whom circumstances have seriously, badly altered their course and chances. I felt the same way working with street kids the last few years. So much potential! Just need a little help, a little push, a little lift. And I'm really glad that my job right now lets me work with others to be that little help, little push, little lift. But our capacity is only so much. And the need right now is so terribly great. I can look at the world and despair all of the wars, all of the displaced. And wonder why I bother or give into the temptation to hunker away and hide myself from these hard things because I could if I wanted to. I could give in to fear and despair and keep my world small and tightly protected. But Christ was clear and the Gospel's are sure that we must work to bring in the kingdom in the ways Christ told us to. So we work to do our best and to keep being better and to not give up on people or stop taking seriously the commands Christ gave and to keep living in the faith that Christ is going to usher in his kingdom and we must work to bring that kingdom here even now. And for the rest, for the rest we pray.

"[Living] 'by faith' is the capacity to resist that queen bee of consumerism and to hold actively to health care for all, dignity for the least, homes for the freezing, food for the starving, a place for the displaced, homecoming for all of God's creatures. No we do not know how to get there from here. But it is promised. It is sure. It is lived toward." Walter Brueggemann

Blubbering

I'm managing people formally for the first time and it was bound to happen at some point. I knew there were parts of this that were going to be a stretch for me. I like when everyone is happy and I can be helpful and when I'm making peoples lives better and not worse. And, also, I cry just far too easily.

There's this wonderful guy, J,  who teaches our cleaning course. He's South Sudanese and has been doing this job for a long time. He's enthusiastic and tells me at least once a week that he loves me so much. Because there were two days off for holidays last week, our cleaning course would have lost about 20% of the course material unless he made up a day for them. So he very graciously agreed to come in an extra day.

But he was a bit tired and I could tell. And I had to ask him about moving around some things for this week. And before I could finish he interrupted (which is kind of a norm in these parts, not getting to finish what you're saying before someone tells you why they disagree) saying why it wouldn't work. As I was trying to explain he was trying to be heard about why it was a bad idea. He got pulled away for a few minutes, and when he came back Mama (an amazing older South Sudanese lady on my team) pulled him over and started talking with him about it. Earlier I'd run the idea past her, she liked it, and was very graciously trying to explain to him about it. I sat with them and he was agitated and I listened to them go for awhile and then asked if I could speak. As I was trying to explain my intention, and that I was first asking for his opinion and not telling him it was what we had to do, I burst into tears. And there I was, their new, young khawajja (white foreigner) supervisor warbling on in Arabic and crying like an idiot.

In the end we were able to get it sorted and found a compromise that made everyone happy. Later I approached both of them separately and apologized. I told them that I'm overly sensitive and cry to easily and don't handle it well when I feel like I've hurt someone. They were very sweet and J told me I'm his sister. Mama told me I'm her daughter.

I felt like an idiot. Why is it so hard to accept grace? They were unfrazzled by my outburst and I was still beating myself up about it into the next day. I don't do well when a person is upset with me. And especially if I feel like I haven't been given a chance to explain myself or my motives. But it's over now and I don't know if that was that but apparently I'm family now.

Worlds Combining

Last week we moved out of the guesthouse and into a cute little flat, on a quiet street, with little puppies living outside. We've fully unpacked for the first time in WAY too long, built a closet out of industrial shelving, some chain, and metal tubing, ordered new pillows, and in general are thrilled to bits to finally settle into a little place to call home.

A great gift since we've moved to this country has been to be able to catch up with two of my dearest friends from my previous desert home. For various reasons they've ended up in this sprawl of a city, too, for a time and it has filled my heart with joy to cross paths and catch up with them again. I haven't seen them for about 2.5 years, but as it goes with people you've done a lot of life with, we were able to pick up just where we left off.

When I was leaving my desert home, still single, devastated to be forced to go, I remember thinking that if God ever gifted me with a spouse, how sad it would be that he'd never know this part of my life. While only a few years, they were a really significant couple of years in my life.

And while I'm still not sure that I'll ever get to take him there (and if I do much will have changed since I left), I am grateful and amazed with how God has made it possible to cross paths with so many people who were incredibly important to me those years. Twice we've been able to visit the British family who were basically my family for those years, as well as one part of another family who cared for me, frankly, a lot more than they needed to. And now two of my dearest friends during that time, too. We get work with refugees from that country every day now, and we're trying to help one of the boys from the center where I was working with his school fees. Having my now-hubs be able to meet people who were so important to me during those years is so good. Many of those folks were ones who were praying for someone for me too, and it's nice to take him 'round now and show this handsome miracle off.

One nice thing about working in the same office and with jobs that overlap a bit is that the hubs gets to drop in on some of the courses we're running. Last week I started helping teach our once-a-week accessories course (seems I just can't stop myself from teaching people how to make things wherever I am!). Its a bunch of refugee ladies from my previous desert home. These ladies are strong and sassy and sweet in their own way. Dan came in after a little while, mostly just to say hi, and the ladies were all pleased to have him praise their handiwork. One lady asked why I didn't have any children. I told her I've only been married 10 months and that usually my culture waits a little bit longer to have kids. She wagged a finger at me and said, "You know in our country it's not possible to be married a year and not have a baby or pregnant!" I smiled and laughed and she laughed and I'm really happy to be lectured by these sassy ladies again, and for a hubs who gets to laugh with us too.

The Little Light We Carry

Saturday morning, at 6:30am, the hubs and I were suddenly woken to what sounded like an explosion. After wondering aloud what in the world that was, I said “Let’s assume it was some nearby construction until we get up in a little while.” Over breakfast the hubs got on Twitter (a technology that I’m still not sure how to work) and saw that it was an explosion in another part of town just over the bridge, at the Italian consulate. One person was killed and a few injured, and the building heavily damaged due to almost 1,000lbs of explosives. This is less than two weeks after another bomb killed a lead Egyptian prosecutor.

After each of these events there is, admittedly, a few moments where I wonder how much longer I can deal with life in less-secure places.

We’ve been here for about six weeks now. And we’re new here, but it’s not our first rodeo. We’ve lived in insecure places and situations the last few years. And this city is huge. Lots of things happen and rarely would I know about any of it if I didn’t check the news. Another ex-pats advice when we’d newly arrived was to not check the news. I suppose this is a good coping mechanism for some. And I understand. I go through phases in life where I can’t really cope with the news. But don’t worry, this is advice I’m not taking. For these sorts of things it’s important to keep your finger to the pulse of what’s going on. For now foreigners are not being targeted, and we have a good sense of where to avoid in the city. Where we work is quite a safe part of town, and where we’re moving soon is in quite an inconspicuous area.

So with the occasional immediate reaction to attacks and explosions being “Ack! What am I doing here?!” My next thought is thankfulness. I’m safe and where I want to be and doing what I want to be doing. This kind of life calls for stubbornness (and I’m quite sure my parents would agree that is a trait they were soooo blessed that I was born with) and I’m still far from the point of calling it on this way of life and choosing something a little easier on the nerves.

But that day may come. And it may be sooner or later than I may think that it is. I’ve learned that things can change very quickly. But whenever I start to wonder if that time may be getting near, I think about the events and the turn of things that have happened even in the 4.5 years that I’ve been living in this part of the world. More wars, conflicts, genocides. More people hurt, fleeing, seeking refuge anywhere else. Persecution and famine and shortages. One in every 122 people in the world right now is a refugee, internally displaced or seeking asylum. Almost 60 million people displaced by war, violence, or persecution. So much desperation. And I can’t yet. I just can’t yet.

I’m not as naïve as I was when I first went out. I know that breaking points come. And, yes, now that I’m married some things have changed. The risk assessment is different. It was different when the choices about the risks to my well-being, were mainly to my well-being. I did keep my family in mind, but when you’re (very happily) yoked to another, well…it’s different.

We got our one year work visas last week. Which is a huge relief and answer to prayer. The plan is still to be here at least two years. And we’ll keep evaluating along the way. But we’re fine. Quite fine indeed. We feel safe enough, and we’re happy to be talking through this stuff and making these choices together. Please be praying for our safety and for this troubled and uncertain world.

“Mostly we have just enough light to see the next step: what we have to do in the next hour or following day. The art of living is to enjoy what we can see and not complain about what remains in the dark. When we are able to take the next step with the trust that we will have enough light for the next step that follows, we can walk through life with joy and be surprised at how far we go. Let’s rejoice in the little light we carry, and not ask for the great beam that would take all the shadows away.” Henri Nouwen

Pepper Spray

We're staying in a pretty nice part of town right now. There are actually sidewalks in these parts so you don't have to weave through cars as you walk. So I've been getting up at 6am and running a couple of mornings a week. I ran often in Juba and when I stayed in Nairobi. I tried to run in my previous desert home, but because it was SO conservative I had to get up so silly early that there were no other people around and I never felt safe or comfortable enough with it, especially since the street dogs ran around in packs of ten to twenty dogs. While running in various African capitals the last few years there have been a few sketchy moments, but nothing too jarring has happened. I always carry pepper spray and pause my music if something seems fishy.

 

I was running on Saturday and along the one side there was the highway (quiet, because it was 6am) and on the other side there was a fence and some trees. I think its part of some stables and a horse-riding center. I heard some dogs barking from the fence side and thought, "Oh, probably just some guard dogs. But there's a fence. No problem." And slowed down a bit, but kept going. Not the first time guard dogs have gone crazy when I've run by.

 

There was a second where I saw them appear behind the fence, and the next second there was a street dog snarling beside me with two other dogs just behind.

 

I've dealt with street dogs periodically before, usually they're quite timid and scared. But they can be alarmed when I'm running so if they start barking at me, I always just stop, walk, and look back until they're not interested in me anymore and I slowly start going again. This was the first time, though, that I got it wrong. That I thought, "No, I'm fine, there's a fence. I'm safe." It is a far different experience to go from thinking all is fine and the next second finding a snarling dog right next to you.

 

I stopped running immediately, whipped out the pepper spray and pointed it in their direction, (pooooossibly some unsavory words slipped out under my breath...) and slowly backed on to the road and away. After a minute or two, two of them lost interest, and the third watched me for a bit until I turned the corner and was out of sight.

 

I finished my (adrenaline fuelled) run and got back to the house very thankful that I still had my face. Though, admittedly, a bit shaken up.

 

The last few weeks in my desert home when I was being periodically detained and interrogated, there was another ex-pat friend of mine who was going through the same thing. One night they had us there until well after dark, and then released us to go. Thankfully I had some friends that lived nearby, but my friend lived in another part of town. That night as she made her way back, just a few minutes from where she stayed she was attacked and almost raped and was able to flee because she had pepper spray with her.

 

I never carried it with me until she had that incident. I've never had to use it for a situation like that, thankfully. But I have had to pull it out a few times now. Once in South Sudan when a drunk man wouldn't let me pass and tried to attack me, and now again with the dogs.

 

And one thing I've learned and keep learning over the last few years is that the bad/hard things we fear are never the ones that happen. There are many things that have caused me to be anxious and many scenarios playing over in my mind that have kept me up at night the last few years. I never thought I'd be forced to leave my desert home the way I did. I never thought I'd have to evacuate from South Sudan. These were never things that I feared. Rarely do the things we worry about happen.

 

There's a situation the hubs and I have to deal with this week and it was weighing on my mind as I was out for that run. And I was completely caught off guard when I found myself in danger, in just a matter of seconds. I found out later that the situation we have to deal with isn't as serious as I thought it was. A big part of my anxiety about it has been solved before we even start.

 

We try really hard to be safe, to be wise. But we weigh that with not being too cautious, not to a fault. If our safety was our highest priority...well, we wouldn't be living in North Africa. There is some sense of comfort in the fact that the situations I can think up that could go wrong, never seem to be the things that happen. So there is nothing fruitful in thinking these things over too much. I'll still be cautious where it feels right, still read the local news, still always carry pepper spray with me. But I take a lot of comfort in the fact that in all the unsavory situations I've found myself in the last few years, that I was covered, protected, looked after. God gave me what I needed, showed me so much grace, and gave me some rich lessons in those times. It is so true that his goodness knows no bounds.

 

We shouldn't focus on sheltering ourselves from harm. We have to put ourselves out there. As we continue on I'm feeling safe under His covering (with pepper spray in hand) and refusing to respond in fear to this crazy world.

 

(But, yeah, ok, we did find a cheap treadmill and will have that in our flat when we move in a few weeks. No need to become dog food if I can prevent it.)

Demanding Something of Us

Last night the president declared today a holiday and so (surprise!) the office is closed and we get the day off. It’s the anniversary of the second revolution, and with the bombing yesterday killing a lead prosecutor (nowhere near us, don’t worry!), foreigners have been advised to stay close to home today. So we have a stocked fridge and are laying low for the day. Which is just as well; yesterday was a weird day in the office.

From the start of the day there was some flustery agitation in the air. The printer/copier wasn’t working and neither was the internet. Quite essential things for most people in the office to be able to do their jobs. A few of the staff were out sick, and they were ones that my to-do list for the day depended on. So I spent the first part of the morning kind of feeling immobile. I’m still learning my role, but everything I knew that I could be working on, I couldn’t because people weren’t there or things weren’t working. Finally get to be here, and then a morning that I felt like wasted space. I hate it.

Then a man came in through the staff entrance to talk to me. He looked Ethiopian and after terse greetings started to explain his situation. He was clearly upset. My Arabic is conversational, but not enough to solve issues involving a lot of nuance and bits that should not be lost in translation. So I tried to get a member of staff to translate, but he walked outside and grabbed a random person and refused to let a member of our staff translate for him.

Eventually I worked out that he’d come to us over a month ago for us to help him find work. He’d come to our office twice, using the money from his pocket for transport. He was told to come and meet with an employer at 10:00. He’d been waiting for an hour. Unbeknownst to him the employer had been told to come at 11:00. They usually do this because the refugees are generally not on time, and we don’t want to make the employers wait.

I asked him a few times in a few ways what it was that he wanted me to do, or what he wanted from me. I never got a clear answer—thankfully the employer showed up at 11:00 on the nose, but the guy said he was leaving. But an amazing South Sudanese lady, well-in-years, who works in the job placement department that we call Mama, took him by the arm and pulled him into the other room to meet the employer.

It was a stressful encounter. There were 1-3 other people around as we tried to sort out the situation. In the end I think he just wanted to lodge a complaint to me, their supervisor. He just wanted to be heard. At one stage he was so upset his lip was quivering. A thing I’ve never seen from a male in this part of the world nor would ever expect to see.

Obviously he’s desperate. Who knows what’s happened in his life. What or who he has lost or had to flee from or be forced to leave. He probably doesn’t want to be a cleaner. Possibly he’s educated and well qualified or skill to work that is far above any informal jobs he’ll be able to find here. He just wants to work and perceived our staff to not be taking his situation seriously or disrespecting him.

The truth is that it’s really difficult to find work placements for men. Most work in the informal sector (cleaning, child-minding, cooking) is offered to women. When he hears nothing from us for a few weeks and then finally does and shows up and has to sit and wait for over an hour, of course whatever pent-up trauma and anger he has from whatever situation has forced him to be a refugee, bubbles over.

The meeting didn’t go great. The guy was still fuming and the employer even asked him why he was sitting there so furious. But he’s still giving him a chance and the man is supposed to start his job today. Anger can be such an awful thing—ruining the very thing you’re seeking. I spent most of the afternoon praying that the man would cool off and be able to really take advantage of this work opportunity.

It was a hard situation. In the end I didn’t actually do anything or improve the situation for anyone.  And what could I have done? That’s the bit that’s the hardest. When there’s a situation you feel like you really should be able to do something to help but can’t even really figure out what that should be.

But we keep seeking, keep trying. It’s why we’re here. We saw the situations in our previous countries, we knew people were flooding to neighboring countries, but finding that they had little hope or help there too. So this is us being here, trying to do something to help, and I suppose even when you’re in your sweet spot, you’ll still feel immobile at times. But keep seeking, keep trying. Keep identifying injustices and being wise and brave and try to set them right. It’s when you give up on the trying that stagnation sets in. And this world wins.

“The dominant culture is a wearied culture, nearly unable to be seriously energized to new promises from God. We know, of course, that none of us relishes criticism, but we may also recognize that none of us much relishes energizing either, for that would demand something of us.” Walter Brueggemann

Strangers in a Not Entirely Strange Land

There is quite a difference between the sensory overload you experience in a new country once you've done this before. When I first moved to Africa everything was an experience, everything felt noteworthy, all was new and exciting. And while each new place since has had wonderful things to marvel at, lots of culture to learn, and a ton to figure out, now that I've moved country a few times it's all a bit less overwhelming. I feel a little less strange in strange lands. Or at least slightly less overly-self-aware. Not everything feels like an experience, not all things feel noteworthy. Which is good in some ways. I feel less out-of-place and less completely out of my depth. Parts of the culture and the people actually feel a bit like home. The greetings, Arabic rapport, the call to prayer as the heat of the day is setting. There is lots to learn, there always is, but some of it I've already got a handle on. Which is a relief.

Also, the very hard and struggled-to-attain confidence to traipse a big city in a land that is not my own, well, turns out, it does transfer a bit! And having a pretty good handle on language really helps. Yes, there are parts of me that feel more at rest here than have felt at rest in many months.

One of the programs that I'm managing is our cleaning course. It's a two week course for refugees to learn about the different cleaning products here. What they do, how to use them, the ones that are dangerous. But in that, too, are basic life/employment skills. The importance of being dependable and on time, respecting oneself and their employer, and general wise words about navigating positive relationships with the culture here. As well as bits about godliness, cleanliness, and peace starting inside their own hearts. Not things I'd necessarily be able fit in during a cleaning course, but that our great staff here does seamlessly.

Thursday afternoon was my first time to attend our graduation from the cleaning course. It was a smaller group than usual (likely because last week began Ramadan), but a very motivated bunch. One of the graduates, from an extremely war-torn area in North Africa, got up and said a few words. He commended the teacher (a South Sudanese guy who really is an excellent teacher--I've never seen anyone so enthusiastic about cleaning products) and explained how difficult it is for them to find work here since they are strangers to this land. He shared that he is very thankful for this course and hopeful that it will help provide him with a job. He looked around the room and said, "Our future will be better."

The instructor gave me a few minutes to stand up and encourage the group. I talked about the places I lived and how much I love their countries and that my husband and I are here now because we can't live in their home countries either, but we still wanted to be among them, helping them if we could. I encouraged them to work well once they get placed in jobs, and that God loves and cares for them. I got to deliver a little speech in Arabic again...and my heart felt a little more at home.Among people I love, from a country my heart is still very much invested in, speaking in a tongue that I can understand. Not entirely unlike me, this is not their homeland. And while, of course, our reasons and means of being here are worlds apart, our worlds do merge. And because my world merged with theirs a few years ago, they are a people that will in some way forever feel like home.

Though moving here feels easier than other cities I've moved to in recent years, I still want to be mindful and aware of the newness and the experiences around. I still want to learn and be stretched, be mindful and take note. I have much to learn from all these strange lands. And I rejoice in the fact that I don't feel a complete stranger here, and that even the strangers here feel a bit like home.

Slowing Down and Settling In

Well, it's been a long gap. The last several months were, well, frantic. After being back in South Sudan, we went to Kenya, back to South Sudan, Kenya, UK for Christmas, US for just under three months with lots of travelling, back to the UK and travelling all over there. And now, finally, in our new North African home. Nine months of marriage, thirty-six beds, no more than three weeks in one place and a grand total of ten weeks not living in someone else's house or a hotel. And while we're still in a guesthouse/apartment for the time being until we find our own place to SETTLE in, it feels good to finally get where we're going.

We're about two weeks in. Only had a day overlap in the office with our director who is away now for a month for a much needed break. We've both been sick which is to be expected. New country, travelling, and finally stopping after going for so long. And now a longer season of transition into our new city, our new home.

Transitions. You'd think I'd be better at them by now. I have gotten better at knowing what feels to expect and what passes and better at taking it a little easier on myself at first. What helps a LOT is doing this with another person, and my favorite one at that. I went overseas planning on being in one place for a long time. Four-and-a-half years in and relocating to my third country was not the plan. It's aggravating at moments having to be the new kid all over again. More roads and public transport and landmarks to learn! More relationships to establish and friends to make! But when you spend your teenage years praying that God will send you to hard places, one should not be surprised to find oneself in countries that are unstable and having to adjust accordingly.

So here we are, again, desperately trying to build the kingdom among people we love.

My life here in this new big city is going to be a lot different. Easier in a number of ways, for one. Less oppressive climate, more amenities, not living with lots and lots of children. And also because, for the first time in my life basically, I'll mostly have normal scheduled working hours. In an office. Which is nuts. And kinda throwing me for a loop. In South Sudan and in my desert home before that, most of my time was spent hands-on working with kids and teenagers. As nuts and intense as my life was, there was at least the fact that I was doing life with these kiddos and the sense that that was something and that mattered. While I'll still interact with refugees frequently in this role, my job is going to be far less hands on. I'll be implementing and maintaining programs that not only help give people skills, but also help place them in jobs so as to give them a livelihood, and supervising local folks who are better adept with the more hands-on bits anyway.

The hope is that while it is less hands off, that it does stand to be more effective. Taking what I learned the last several years and hopefully using this opportunity to help change peoples overall situations. My heart is still absolutely with children-at-risk. The ones the world has not taken care of. And while in the day to day my life will not be in any way working with kids (sniffle), if I can help vulnerable refugee men and women provide for the children in their care, these kids won't end up on the streets in the first place. So they are connected, even if my heart is mourning the loss of rapport with sassy kiddos on a day-to-day basis.

It feels right, though. This feels like the natural, right, next thing. The experience I've gained the last few years meeting the lots of things I want to learn about livelihoods projects in this perfect little role that lets me serve refugees from the last two countries I called home.

And now, this next bit, finding a place to live, and trying to find the peace in our hearts to settle in and put in roots after so, so much moving about.

Stay tuned to this space, if that's what you're into. Life has stopped moving so fast and we're settling in and I guess that's what I needed to be writing again. It feels good to be back.

Hope is
folding paper cranes
even when your hands get cramped
and your eyes tired,
working past blisters ad
paper cuts,
simply because something in you
insists on
opening its wings.
"Origami Emotion" Elizabeth Barrette

Back in Juba

Life has a very funny way of being very funny. Back in Juba for a few weeks, which is really completely bonkers. Dan and I have been married just over five weeks (and because I can't seem to mention being married without being kind of ridiculous and nauseating, I have to say that it's been a most glorious five weeks! Being married to this man feels like the most natural, wonderful thing in the world! Yay life!).

In those five weeks we've honeymooned in the US, had a long weekend in the UK (including an unplanned and not entirely pleasant 30 hour stint in Heathrow), a few days in Kenya, and are now back in South Sudan for a few weeks. Which is funny to me because in all the ideas Dan and I have had and all of the plans we have made, being back in Juba a few weeks after being married was definitely, definitely not one of them.

But, alas, here we are and Dan is working very hard, as he always does. I am doing computer work type things in the mornings, and in the afternoons am going to CCC every day to be with the girls and keep pushing them along in the beading project I got going while I was here.

For me, it is gloriously joyful to be back (to visit). I said good-bye in June with the expectation that I wouldn't be returning. I wanted to handle my good-byes properly and in an honest way. I think this is important for human copeability, but very massively important when you are saying those good-byes to children who've had difficult lives. I told them when I left that I didn't know when I was coming back or if I was coming back but that I loved them and would remember them always. They told me they would pray for God to bring me back. Looks like the prayers of little children must be powerful because, here we are!

I was greeted by all of the girls hurling towards me in the biggest, most excited group hug I've ever experienced. It was amazing. They were more gentle with Dan, for which I think he is most appreciative.

When I left South Sudan and in the last few months since I've been away I've told myself that usually when the founder of a project leaves, usually the project fades out. I told myself that at the very least the girls had sold over $3,000 worth of handcrafts and they each had money saved for their futures. That they each possessed new skills and maybe somewhere, somehow down the road it could benefit them or someone else in some way. I told myself I did my best and that it's unreasonable to think that in a year I could start something that could carry on. So I came back expecting the stock of things for sale to be low, most of the girls uninterested, and not a whole lot being done with it at all.

The day I got back I had two girls wander up with me to the large cupboard that acts as the CCC store. We opened it and I broke out into a huge grin. Lots of stock! New designs! Beautiful quality! Later on I sat down with Joy, a Ugandan lady who is on CCC staff, who I had handed over all of the materials to and inventory and books to record sales and pocket money. She started showing me her take on the systems I put in place, telling me about how the girls are using their pocket money, about special orders they've received, about Miss South Sudan's enthusiasm for the project, and about how much they've sold since I've been gone.

I wanted to cry! The girls had sold over $1,000 during the summer, bringing the grand total of things sold since we started last September to over $4,000! That's about $2,500 in combined savings! Even one of the 5-year olds is making little South Sudan flag bracelets nice enough to sell. Floored! Amazed! Delighted! Such joy.

So I've been hanging out with the girls every afternoon and it has been so good for my soul. They're my little sisters, my little friends. I've had the opportunity to help share some of the coping strategies living in the dorm with the girls for 8 months with another American gal who is living in the dorm with them now. I do not miss that part, I will say. But, as I was chatting with this new friend, I shared that I feel like part of the reason that I bonded so well with the girls and that we're pretty tight IS because I lived with them in the dorm and did life with them and was in and around allllllll of the time. Not super great for ones mental well-being perhaps, but it was very unique gift and blessing. Some of my most precious moments and memories and talks with them I wouldn't have been able to have if I wasn't living right beside them. It was challenging, but a great treasure to me and I think having foreigners willing to live with them where they are speaks in a special way to them as well.

It is a great and beautiful gift to visit another place that I've been gifted to call home for a season. He never seems to take us where we think we might go. Another reason that he is very, very good.

"Mostly we have just enough light to see the next step: what we have to do in the next hour or following day. The art of living is to enjoy what we can see and not complain about what remains in the dark. When we are able to take the next step with the trust that we will have enough light for the next step that follows, we can walk through life with joy and be surprised at how far we go. Let's rejoice in the little light we carry and not ask for the great beam that would take all shadows away." Henri Nouwen

Finding Words Again

It's been awhile. I went back to Juba and it was hard and good and strange I lost my words for a little while. It's taken me a few weeks in the US to start to find them again.

I have finished up in Juba for now. I spent two more months with the girls, spending time with them, finishing up what I needed to with the training, and handing over remaining responsibilities so it can keep on in my absence. A designated person to buy supplies and a person in the office to handle the money. The girls are trained, competent, and when I left we'd sold over $3,000 worth of beaded goods. 60% of that is in savings for them. It was more successful than I could have hoped when I settled into the dorm last July. A grace.

I had a proper good-bye with the girls and staff. Notes, hugs, closure. The way it should be done. The director even wrote a song about Dan and I and the girls all sang it for us at a little farewell they threw for me. It was perfect.

Leaving was bittersweet, as I'm sure you can imagine. Those sweet, amazing girls invaded my heart. But I leave them in good hands. I did what I had gone to do. I made their lives a little better I hope. It was time for me to go.

I'm back in the US now for a time. Dan, my fiancée, is still in Juba, continuing to work hard in an unstable, difficult place. He's by far the strongest man I know. South Sudan is a better place for having him there.

He'll come to the US (for the first time) a week before we get married in September. We'll be apart for 88 days, and then we'll be together for a week and then married and together for the rest of our lives. We're very, very ready for those days to hasten and to make our vows to each other after, what can only be described, as a very stressful, very tumultuous year for both of us. We're tired. And ready for a break.

Being back is hard. And to be honest I'm not coping as well as I would have thought. Yes, in large part because my love is very far away in a not-so-safe place. But also because I don't know how to deal with this last year, the things I have experienced and seen and heard, and what to do with that here and now, especially in the vast contrast of material goods and order and safety in the Western world.

I hear rain pattering on tin outside my window and freeze for a minute to see if it's gunfire. When I go running on back country road in the evenings I think about escape routes through the woods if someone tried to attack me. Throughout the day my mind drifts to all of the possible horrific things that could happen to me or my fiancée before we're able to be married.

This is not normal.

It's like my mind has shifted into some sort of crazy self-preservation mode. Like it has rationalized that with all these terrible things that I have seen and heard about, especially in South Sudan this last year, that something terrible must be coming for me. That it can't possibly be fair that unspeakable things can happen to all these people and I remain untouched. Happy. Joyous, even. Planning a wedding and a life with the best man I know. It feels like this crazy injustice. ...And so my mind is doing this thing where it's trying to think of all the awful things that could happen in order to prepare for it.

I know it's ridiculous. I know I'm being crazy. And yet, thankfully, it's not all consuming. I'm aware of it and I know it's not healthy. And I know that there is an enemy who wants to rob me of my joy. Who wants me to live in fear. Who wants me to be scared of losing the things in life that give me life. And so I'm combatting this the best way I know how. Praying, journaling. I'm running and painting and reading--trying to relieve the stress of these last several months and restore myself. I try to talk about it, but it's hard to know what to say.

People are still being killed. Children are starving. It looks like famine is getting ready to sweep the nation--already hanging on by a thread. I've held babies wounded from fighting. Sat in meetings where we talked about innocent men, women, and children had been shot. I got to know a very troubled girl who was locked in a room for three months and raped daily by a soldier. I spent months living with girls who were beaten and raped on the streets. I know of people who had happy lives and solid jobs who are now forced to live in UN camps, idling their days away, for they know if they venture out, because of their tribe, they're likely to be killed.

My mind cannot compute. I struggle to explain, because I don't even understand myself. I don't understand how these things can happen. And I know that with knowledge comes responsibility. What do I do with this knowledge right now? I feel weary and emotionally exhausted. I'm getting the break I need--a tremendous luxury.

And I'm marrying a man who cares about these things as I do. Who is as passionate and driven to do something as I am. I am grateful beyond words. We're not exactly sure where or what is next for us, but we know that we can't sit back idly, we can't choose a life of ease knowing what we know. We know that letting evil happen without doing anything is as bad as doing it ourselves.

So as I continue to seek the words and seek for understanding, I ask that you'd pray over Dan and I. For this difficult season and for rest in mind and body for both of us. We are weary.

New Kids and a Weepy Heart

Things at CCC are a bit different these days. About half of the girls are still at another children's home in Yei, a town about 4-5 hours drive south. This means that things are a bit quieter here than they were last year. I wouldn't say serene, but the feel is overall lighter and less frenetic. With some of the girlies gone, it has made space for new kids.

With all the fighting going on there are many children who are newly orphaned, as well as kids who were injured in the fighting.

There are a group of five new little ones, ages 5-6. They've been here for about two months. They have a pretty incredible story, though I don't know all of the details. So, it's not unusual for some of the ethnic groups here when doing cattle raids and attacking villages, to abduct children. In Bor a soldier took it upon himself to round up these children who had been abducted. There was a group of about 50 of them, and the ministry there worked to find the children's families. They were able to reunite 38 of the 50 kids with their families, which is really quite incredible. When fighting broke out in December in Bor and the town was decimated, the kids were left there alone, with no one responsible for them. Someone got them on an NGO flight out to Juba. But when they arrived, there was no one to collect them, no one who even knew about them, and they had no where to go. Apparently they were just at the airport milling about until someone took pity on them and took them home. A few days later the ministry brought them here. So crazy!

These kids have been through a lot. In the evenings a few of them have nightmares and wake up screaming. One boy has started talking about a woman who would beat them, and then pushed them out into the street during the fighting. Traumatized, is the word.

We have a new baby here. He is about thirteen months old, but no one knows for sure. In the most recent fighting in Bor, (It's genocide. Let's call it what it is.) his mother was killed. He has a deep cut on his leg that was sustained while he was in his mothers arms as she was being killed. They day UNICEF brought him here, he was wailing and crying. The girls know the basics of his story, and were sad and don't understand what sort of people kill mothers and babies. He was wailing and I had to step inside a moment to keep myself together.

He's an amazing kid. So much personality, a beautiful smile. He waves at me when I walk by and the other day, smiling, threw all of his toys at me and told me to take them. "Shiilu! Shiilu!" He doesn't talk enough yet for anyone to be able to find out his name, so he was given a new one. He mostly babbles in his mother tounge, which no one here knows. He is gorgeous and hilarious and I know his mother must have been amazing to have a child this beaming. But she was killed because of her tribe. There is always mercy in a life spared, but I can't help but get a lump in my throat each time I look at him. Why was his mothers life not spared too?

There is so much that I don't understand. I have run out of words of horror and sadness and disbelief about what is happening in this country. There is so much darkness here! And on evenings and weekends Dan and I are trying to plan a wedding. We are thrilled for our life together, and we are preparing to spend lots of money to celebrate that. I'm trying to care about guest lists and cute décor and venues that seem so dang expensive and a dress that I'll feel pretty in and it seems wrong somehow! HOW can I have so much to love and treasure and a viable future and hope and yet GENOCIDE IS HAPPENING HERE.

CCC will be getting two new little girls, about age 8, as soon as they've finished recovering in the hospital from their GUNSHOT WOUNDS sustained when running away from the people killing their families.

I am thankful I can be here now. But I don't know how much more my heart can take. I'm tired. I feel like I have little left to give. I don't want to go but I know for my mental, physical, emotional health, I need an extended break from such stressful circumstances. I have a CHOICE about being here. Such a luxury. I am thankful for all I have and I feel guilty for it. Does one come to a point of resolution inside with all of these mixed feelings and emotions? In understanding this devastating world? I don't think understanding will ever come.

Oh, South Sudan. God must be weeping too.

BIG NEWS

I am back in Juba for the next 6 weeks to try and finish up the project here and pass along my responsibilities in the hopes that it can continue once I go.

I had a very joyful reception from the girls--they literally ran when they saw me. I'm in the process of trying to sort and locate all of the odds and ends, which is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.

But that's not the big news.

The big news is that I'M ENGAGED!

 

His name is Dan. He's British and we met in Juba in August, started dating in October, were evacuated together in December and I was able to spend Christmas with him and his family in the UK. We got serious very early on--I'm not one to mess around and Juba is an intense place. At some point I hope to do a little version of our story on the blog, for those who are interested. Fingerprints of the divine all over.

But he's wonderful. I'm twitterpated and smitten head over heels. Which is all very new and delightful for me. And my family and friends are pretty amused to see me like this. I've perhaps been a bit jaded about these things the last few years and, as my dad said when we called him with the good news, I'm not one to get giddy. Especially about a boy. So what a fun, amazing surprise in life. I never dared to hope it could get this good!

I'll try to update the blog over the next several weeks, but my time in South Sudan is going to be intense (it's so hot here!) and any extra mind space I might have is being occupied with plans and ideas for us as we unite our lives.

So, I'm spinning really. Lots going on. It's exciting. And intense--an interesting choice for us to spend the first 6 weeks of our engagement in Juba. As Dan said, we're either very cool and exciting or possibly quite stupid. :)

Thanks for all the love and support. It's proving to be another whirlwind year so far!

More Changes

My plans have changed again. And I am unsurprised. I have settled (somewhat) into the fact that my life is going to remain in an increased state of flux and change for the next several months. By nature of where I'm living and the unstable places I've chosen to live, things are ever in flux. This is compounded by the fact that I am trying to make my plans around another person these days, too. Ah, love. Has us doing things we never thought we would.

In about two weeks I'll be heading back to Juba for, likely, all of April and May.

I'm nervous.

Life is continuing on in a new sort of normal and is stable on the surface. But there is heavy fighting and opposition groups in other parts of the country. Fighting has sporadically broken out in Juba in the last few weeks, but it has been controlled, and there are many, many, many forces in the city. There is stability, but a shaky stability at best. Plus, I'll again be living where I work. A mixed blessing. Don't have to be out and about in the city too much. But, also, I am always at work.

Some of the girls are back at CCC and the rest will return in April. I miss them. I am so very much looking forward to reuniting with them for a little while. And helping at CCC. I'm nervous about diving back in and finding myself burnt-out and stressed-out and overwhelmed all over again. But my little sister has lectured me about boundaries. (Sweet.) And it is only for 2 months. You can do anything for 2 months. It is going to be intense and hard. But I can hack it for 8 weeks. And I feel like, when I left, my work there wasn't quite done. I'm happy to have the chance to go back and try and finish what I started.

Many of my Juba friends with NGO's who were also evacuated are back in the city. I'll have people to look out for me. I won't be all alone. So I'm mustering all the strength and energy I can, trusting God again in all of my weakness, and heading back. I'm planning on heading to the States for a little while in June. I'll need to decompress and recover. This whole year has just been bonkers. So having that as the finish line at the end will help.

Please pray for me, for CCC, for Juba, for South Sudan.

"The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time." Abraham Lincoln

New Friends

I've been able to cross paths with some South Sudanese these last few weeks in Kenya. Some are friends of friends that I've met helping out with a beading project in a slum area once a week. Another is a neighbor here, at the place I'm staying. He's well educated and was working for an embassy in Juba and is on evacuation status here with his family right now. He comes by to visit us and it is enlightening and saddening, usually, talking South Sudan politics with him.

Both he and these other guys that I've met invited me to a South Sudanese church nearby that has just started a few weeks ago. I was able to attend this past Sunday.

It was such a joy to worship in Arabic again! Many of the songs we sang were the same ones I'd sing with the girls at CCC, and one of them was even a song that I learned in Ktown with my boys there. Heart swell!

It was a powerful service. About 45 people. Crying out to God, praying for fighting to stop, for peace in their land, for strength in this new place.

After worship, a guy got up and talked about how important it is for the South Sudanese to be interceding right now. He said to pray for the country, for the government, for the opposition, for Kiir and Machar. He emphasized praying for peace. He told people to pray so that they could all go back home. Whoa.

So people started praying in their mother tounges. There was Arabic, Nuer, Bari, Dinka, and others. When he closed he talked about Genesis 18 where Abraham is interceding for Sodom. Where Abraham asks God if he finds 50 righteous if he would spare the city and God says for 50 righteous he will spare it. Then Abraham asks if he finds 45, 40, 30...down to 10. And God says if he finds 10 righteous he will not destroy the city. The man prayed, "God, find 10 righteous! Do not destroy South Sudan!" I had to dab my eyes and so did many others.

Throughout the service it was reiterated to be encouraged, to have hope, be strong, and pray, and pray, and pray. So many of us feel helpless here. I and my ex-pat friends in Kenya are saddened and confused. Angry. Eager to help but at a loss in many ways as to how. But we're standing with South Sudan in prayer and I ask that you would too.

I am grateful for the community of South Sudanese I've stumbled upon here and look forward to interacting with them more. I count it a gift, an answer to prayer. He is good. In light of so much that is beyond my comprehension, he is good.

Fighting Continues

The fighting continues in South Sudan. Juba is quiet, but in other parts of the nation there is fighting. Ugly, ugly fighting. The fighting is tribal in nature. But it is deeper and more complex than that. These are not new issues flaring up. They are issues that are deep seated and have long histories, but that have been swept under the rug in the name of independence and before that while they were fighting a common enemy--the North.

Reports are coming out about some of the atrocities that are happening. War is horrific. It is something that I can't wrap my mind around. I don't think fighting is a good way to solve anything, but I won't pretend that I have the answers to these things either. Perhaps its one thing if its soldiers and armies fighting opposing solders and armies. It is not something I understand, but it is at least something that seems in some (twisted) way, logical.

But this fighting has not just been the government against the opposition. Hospitals are being targeted. Women are being raped and beheaded. Children and disabled people are being shot. People have been rounded up and shot just based on their ethnicity. People are crying out for peace and unity while what little infrastructure South Sudan had built up is being destroyed.

So many of us are struggling to understand. We know that evil exists in the world, but what is it that is in people that is capable of such destruction? This is beyond fighting for a cause that people believe in and in many instances it is destruction for destructions sake.

There are lots of issues. Lack of accountability for atrocities in the past. People who have been living in an independent South Sudan for a few years now and have yet to see any benefits or improvements in their own lives. People are frustrated and angry. And I know that I don't even begin to understand all of it.

And it seems hopeless to many. Is peace even possible? And I think that those who are being realistic see that if it is that it is something that will take many, many years. Decades.

I've crossed paths with a few of South Sudanese refugees here in Nairobi. One is a guy from one of the two main tribes who are fighting. He managed to escape Juba during the fighting--no small thing--as people from his tribe who are still in Juba don't even dare to venture out of the IDP camps. He has family still there. Another is a guy who just came from Malakal, in the northern part of the country. Where the opposition has taken and, from what I can gather from a lot of the reports, basically have destroyed and looted much of the town. There is fighting there because of the close proximity to oil fields and both sides want to be control of the oil. A very powerful card to have.

I think many of us feel powerless. I do, anyway. I can't be in South Sudan right now. And, truthfully, I don't want to be because I don't think I could cope right now. But if I were, what could I even do? Everything I could offer feels so insignificant in light of massive losses of life.

I hope to keep connecting with the South Sudanese community here. It is nice to feel connected. Though, powerless still. They have lost everything and still have families in unsafe areas that they can't get ahold of. I've had a rough year. But how can I even say that? I know that it is not a comparison game. But I am sad. Very sad. It is beyond my comprehension. So I keep praying though I don't always have the words. And I ask that you would do the same.

What Now

While I was back in Juba I discussed with the director about a return trip in May or so. She would like to try to bring the girls back from Juba at that time. I mostly want to go, get a proper good-bye, check in with how they're doing with the handcraft stuff and have a refresher with them. I'll be glad to have an opportunity to see how things have (hopefully?) normalized a bit. And I just love their lil faces and will be delighted, smitten, to see them.

I'll also be helping from afar a bit. Sending templates and beading designs and helping them keep the money sorted and organized as they continue to sell the girls things out of CCC. I realize the money and organization of it will likely be disastrous, as these things often go when the person heading up something is no longer there. All the more reason why I'm glad a return trip is on the horizon.

So I'm excited that a return and check-in trip is being talked about and planned on. But I am disappointed in myself to say, that I am glad that I am not going to be in Juba until June as was the plan a few months ago. Just being back for those few days even without the girls was enough to remind me why I feel exhausted and burnt-out. Juba is hard. Living where I worked and with 37 children was hard. It was a give-your-all sort of situation, and I did. I gave my all and I was happy to do it. But it has left me with very little energy or in reserve. Even though I loved my work and I loved the girls, I can't cope with being accessible by 37 children and 15 staff all the time for more than a season.

My pace of life needs to slow down and I need to be involved in work that is less demanding for a little while. My member care team and leadership are concerned for me. It's nice to have people I respect not be as hard on me as I am on myself. My heart is still in Africa. And I am still absolutely committed to helping vulnerable children and sharing Christ with those who have never heard. But my cup is empty. I have been emptied and these last 3 years, esp this last year, has been really hard. So I'm not stopping, but I am slowing down. I have chosen to be involved in these projects very intensely. And I am still going to be involved in helping kiddos and vulnerable women, but in a less intense way for a little while.

The next few months I'm going to be doing some illustrations for a project informing kids about sexual abuse and teaching them that their bodies belong to them. I'll also be helping a woman working with poor non-believing women in a slum here in Nairobi. She's training them to do bead work. A different sort of beading than I do, but I'm happy to help and learn. She is heading up the project, not me, an important distinction. I love this work, but I am happy not to be the one in charge and responsible for it for a while.

There also could be some opportunities working with Sudanese here in Nairobi. We'll see what happens with that but I'm thrilled with the prospect of being able to help a people that I love and hopefully getting to use my Arabic!

Entering a new season that is a little ambiguous, but shaping up to be full of possibility as well as hopefully somewhat restorative.

"We belong to a generation that wants to see the results of our work. We want to be productive and see with our own eyes what we have made. But that is not the way of the God's kingdom. Often our witness for God does not lead to tangible results... As faithful witnesses of Jesus we have to trust that our lives too will be fruitful, even though we cannot see their fruit." Henri Nouwen

To Juba and Back

I went to Juba for a few days last week. To collect my things, meet with the director, get the girls money sorted, get a refund from Ethiopian Airways. Wrap up loose ends.

It was strange being back after the way I left. There were soldiers everywhere. In all sorts of different uniforms. South Sudanese soldiers in every shade of camo (beige, blue, green) and Ugandan troops. I have never seen so much heavy artillery in my life. Juba was a city with a pretty heavy military presence before the December crisis, but not only are there now soldiers with AK-47s everywhere, on every major road are groups of soldiers set up with giant guns. I have no idea what they're called, but the big ones that are mounted in the back of pick-ups. So many. Good grief.

I didn't find it unsettling. Nor did I find it comforting. Just a reminder, really of the air of uncertainty that remains. Juba is still operating under an 8pm-6am curfew. And when I went for my morning jogs there are far less people out in the morning. Otherwise, Juba seems to be shuffling right along in the day to day. There is a calm in the city as people have gone back to routines, but it is an unsteady calm. A facade of normalcy. People know that the conflict continues. There are IDP camps. And people from certain tribes scared to even venture out of these camps, fearing for their lives if they do. Tragic.

I arrived Monday morning and happened to walk into the first staff meeting since the crisis. It was joyous to see all the staff again. Smiles and hugs abounded. As I was there a few days I learned that the brother of the boyfriend of one of our day staff was killed in the fighting in December. Staff haven't been paid because some of CCC's funding has been pulled to be used for emergency aid by the agencies instead.

The girls remain in Yei for now. It is safer for them there. Especially with so many soldiers in the city. Our girls are quite vulnerable and it's not a good situation. I have a few friends who live there and agreed to deliver little typed notes that I wrote for each girl. It's weird and hard having left the way I did and being at CCC without them there. They are dear to me.

It took me two days to track down where the girls money had ended up. I was very relieved when I finally had it in hand. Only to count what was there, and have my heart sink. About 2,700 ssp (About $650) had gone missing, even though it had been locked away. Hard to find out exactly what happened during those chaotic days. Likely some of the girls? But I really don't know. Hugely disappointing, in any case. (Some of my clothes and shoes that I had packed away also somewhat mysteriously went missing.)

This was the girls money that they'd earned for their savings. I can't very well divide up the loss and punish all of the girls. So I used my own money to make up the difference. It is now all tucked away in the safe. (When I was evacuated the person with the safe key wasn't there and so I couldn't have put it in there before I left.) There is a corresponding list of amounts and names. But I'm nervous. I'm nervous that the girls may not ever actually get the money that is theirs. I'll be devastated. And really, really angry. But for many of them it's a few years out, when they'd be able to access their savings. So it's something I need to relinquish control of because I can't control it. Ah, like so much else.

It's a relief to be back in Nairobi and it feels strange. It is not at all the sort of place I expected to find myself settling for any length of time. But here I am. Life seems to be full of things we could never even try to plan. I am planning on returning to Juba sometime in the next several months. But I think I'll save that for the next post.

"Vines must be pruned. This looks like a cruel business. Perfectly good branches have to be lopped off in order for better branches to develop. It is a necessary business, for only the well-pruned vine bears the best fruit. The life of the vine is strengthened in one part by another parts being cut away. The rank growth has to go and then the sun reaches places it could not reach before." Elisabeth Elliot.

Why I'm Going Back and Why it's Not to Stay and What I'm Doing Next

I am planning on returning to Juba in about a week. But only for a few days.

I am going because I want to retrieve my things. I left with just my go bag. Also, Ethiopian Airways owes me a massive refund and, according to their less than understanding staff in their Nairobi office, I must do it from Juba.

I need to get the girls money sorted. I left it in a lock box under my bed when I left in a hurry and I sure hope it's still there. I need to get a secure place for it, maybe a bank? The safe at CCC? I don't know. I would also like to look into shops/other avenues where the girls could sell their handwork.

I would like to get a proper goodbye in with the girls. But I don't know if that will be possible. They are in Yei now, about 5 hours south of Juba. Originally I was planning on taking a bus down to Yei and back to see them for a few days. But that road is no longer safe. Rebels and others on it and reports of robberies and assaults. Maybe in the coming months if things continue to settle down I can go back and visit them. I don't know.

It is important for me to go back, wrap up loose ends, end well. Or as well as I can. But I can't stay. This is not only a personal decision, but one made by my organization as well.

Juba, while currently under government control, is still unstable. There is still a lot of tension in the city, and rising animosities as well as robberies and other crime on the rise. The US Embassy there has shut down. If something happens again while I'm there I have no organizational support, as well as no embassy support. They literally can do nothing to help me.

Also, I am utterly exhausted. 2013 was a hard year. If you are reading this you know about my traumatic exit from Ktown at the beginning of 2013. From July I have been working full time with street girls, and also living with them. I have been "on" for the last 7 months. When my area leader came in November to visit she was concerned. I was exhausted, at the end of my rope. She basically said my living situation needed to change. I agreed. I loved what I was doing. But there was never time to rest/recover at the end of the day.

Then, in December, when Juba went under attack I was there for the 3 nights of fighting. Listening to gunfire with 37 girls. I was scared and I was tired. And I couldn't believe I was fleeing a country for the second time in a year. It was an immense relief to leave. It was also massively hard. Leaving behind the girls, our staff. A brand new country falling into civil war again so soon. Devastating.

The following 2 weeks I spent in the UK with my boyfriend, meeting his family and friends, and trying to catch up on sleep. After that I went to Ethiopia for 2 weeks of conferences. Which were good, but exhausting. At the conference I was able to meet with our leadership as well as my Member Care people. People laughed and cried with me at the absurdity of the past year. Everyone was concerned.

We took some stress inventory thing. You mark by things that have happened in the last year and your stress level is assessed based on that. For the normal western person living in their home country, a score of over 200 places you at high risk for some sort of mental or physical breakdown in the next 2 years. The average well-functioning overseas worker scores about 600. This is because they generally have better coping abilities and a strong sense of call or purpose.

My score was 1024. Which is concerning.

I'm fine. I feel fine most days. But my capacity is limited. Tears and stress are simmering so very close to the surface. It doesn't take much. I am craving routine, stability. I feel on the edge of tipping. All of my PI leadership has told me to rest. To take time to rest. To take it easy for awhile. I am not the type to back down from a challenge and I'm not one to be easily defeated. I hate feeling like a wuss.

So I am thankful for the people who know what they're talking about, who care about my well being, telling me to take a rest. So much transition, so many changes, so much demanding work for the last several months, trauma on top of it. I want to live in Africa for a long time. But in order to do that, I need to take time to recover when I'm down.

So...I am in Nairobi, Kenya now. My org has people here, but, it's time to be said, the main reason I'm settling in here for now is because of a boy. We met in Juba and have been dating. And it's serious. And with our earlier-than-planned exits from South Sudan, his office has him working in Nairobi. So it looks like I'll be settling in here for at least the next few months. (But things change so quickly, I wouldn't be surprised if that changes again soon!)

The main thing I need to do right now is take care of myself. I need solitude, rest, nourishment in soul and body. Ideally I could do that in the States, but I can do that in some measure here I'm hoping. BUT, also, just another testament to the beautiful way God works, I've been approached to help with a project. And even in my exhaustion, I am really, really excited.

While at the conference another PI girl saw me doodling my notes. She whispered and asked if I do illustrations. I said yeah, I draw. And she told me how she's been wanting to write a children's book, applicable and culturally appropriate for East Africa to teach kids about sexual abuse.

We talked, we met with a Kenyan lady who is getting her PhD in Child Psychology,  and once I get my art supplies from Juba, I'm going to start the scary and exciting process of illustrating this book. Which is perfect. Just perfect. It is still the realm of things that I care about very deeply and work that I am passionate about. But exactly what I need right now--work that I can do in quiet, that is much less intense than the work I have been doing the last few years. It involves my gifting and skills and also can teach kids, and hopefully help prevent some sexual abuse.

So that's what's going on for now. There is still much to decide and sort out and work through. But I need to rest. I keep reminding myself--I need to rest. I don't have much to give now and if I hope to, I need to rest and refill my stores so I can be emptied again.

"Praise to the Lord, who o'er all things so wonderfully reigneth
Shelters thee under his wings, yea, so gently sustaineth!"
Praise to the Lord, the Almighty

"You came near me when I called on you; you said, "Do not fear!"" Lametations 3:57

Home

"And I hope by thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home"

As I’ve been at this conference this week we’ve started every morning with worship. Which has been wonderful—I’ve been missing corporate worship in my life. The songs have all been good and appropriate as I’m crying out to God about the conflict in South Sudan and the uncertainties, complexities, and anxieties in my life. There have been a few songs with the word “home” in them, and each time I’d sing a line with that in it tears would spring to my eyes.

The girl I’ve been rooming with this week lives and serves in a small village in Uganda. When you get in a place where there are lots of people who can relate to your crazy life, venting tends to happen. One evening we exchanged frustrations: “My neighbors give me no privacy!” “I’m so frustrated with living in shared space!” “I just want my own freaking kitchen!” “I dream about having all my possessions in one place someday!” “Can anything ever be easy?!”

It was cathartic. I think complaining is fine so long as you don’t let yourself dwell there too long. We were venting and laughing and starting talking about how this is the life we chose. There are mega frustrations but we wouldn’t want anything else. But I am a homebody. I desire to settle in. I hate being uprooted. And, so, this whole concept of “home” has been bouncing around in my mind all week.

I’ve called at least three places home in the last year. I have belongings in four countries. (Five if you include the winter coat and accessories I left in the UK).  In the last three weeks I have slept in seven different beds. Nine if you include the seat on plane on overnight flights. I really have no idea when I will be settling someplace for more than a few weeks in the foreseeable future.

In John 14 it talks about making our home in Christ. He is our place of rest. Our exhale at the end of the day. Our exhale throughout the day, really. Our home is where we are nourished, where we are settled, and usually where the people we love the most are. It is a place of warmth, comfort, importance. I don’t know where on earth to call my home right now. But if I keep looking up, and keep my perspective on the life hereafter, making my home in Christ can mean something. It’s easier to hold the things of this life more loosely if I think of Christ as my home—my place of belonging and being, than anywhere else on this earth.

I’ve befriended a lady who was working in another area in South Sudan. An area that has been taken by rebels and has been bombed and looted. Colleagues have e-mailed her saying that there are dead bodies just lying in the streets and the stench is overwhelming. Today they sent her pictures of her belongings picked over. Her small home trashed and looted. The locks on her trunks shot off and her medical books strewn about.

I am embarrassed with myself with how concerned I am about the stuff I have in Juba and when/if I’ll be able to get it and if it will still even be there. I escaped the dang conflict! Some people have lost everything including loved ones and lives. I feel ridiculous!

I’ve been thinking about the verse in Matthew 6 that talks about not laying up treasures on earth where thieves, moth, and rust destroy. I have stuff. Lots of stuff. More than enough. And I LIKE my stuff and want to keep it! It’s not much and I already left a bunch of stuff in Ktown when I left last year! I don’t want to do it again! I’m not proud of it, but it’s true that when I’m with my belongings I feel more at rest, more at peace, more at home.

It’s not like he’s not worthy. He is. He is worth every sacrifice and more. And I canNOT live in fear of what the Lord might, seemingly, take from me next. I’ve had too many good-byes, so much moving around, heartache. We all have heartache. And bad things will come. But I can’t live afraid of what I may have to give up next. He is good. But he is more than good. He is a loving father. We are filled to be emptied again. But when we are feeling empty, when the bottom is near, we have to believe that the filling will come.

Is that what making my home in him means? To come back every day, time and again, empty and trusting that I can rest and be filled again? That’s what homes are for, right? So I’m not there yet. I’m still chewing on all of this. And though there are moments of fear, frustration, anger, I find that more and more I’m able to shrug my shoulders with an authentic, though slightly bemused smile, and look up ready to keep moving forward towards whatever lies ahead on the way to my true home.

Again

Sorry for the silence on this end the last few weeks. As you can imagine it has been something of a whirlwind, and I've just been trying to catch up.

On Dec 18, after 3 nights of shooting in Juba, the US Embassy ordered an evacuation and I left Juba. It was an amazing display of grace--a miracle really, the flight that I got out on. A friend called in the morning and said that Samaritans Purse may have extra seats on their chartered evacuation flight and that I should call them immediately and see if I could get on. I did. And they did! I needed to be at their office in 20 minutes. My go bag--with my computer, a change of clothes, warm shoes, and not much else, was already packed and ready to go. I grabbed it, hurried good-byes to the girls, and ran over to the SP office. During this time my boyfriend, Daniel, was already at the airport, trying to get on any flight. He wasn't having any success. I called him and told him to call the same number that I'd called. They told me they only had one extra seat, but I encouraged him to call anyway. After a few phone calls they said that they'd change the manifest and he could have the last space! We were THRILLED.

So we made it out on one of the first flights out after the airport opened. For FREE. Which is no small thing, as other people were paying up to $1,000 for one way tickets to Kenya. A miracle in every way.

I spent the last 2 weeks in the UK with Daniel and his family. It was lovely. I'm now in Ethiopia for 2 weeks for conferences. These conferences seems timely. Many of us from South Sudan who were forced to leave and are in a time of waiting to see what will happen--if the peace talks will be successful, if it is safe (enough) to go back. It is a great time to be together with people going through the same thing and to process and talk through what is going on.

It was my second forced exit in a year. To be forced to leave a countries you've made your home twice in such a short time is hard.

Even before everything kicked off in Juba and in South Sudan with the fighting, I was gearing up writing a post about how exhausted I was feeling. I've been working full-time at CCC, and also living in the dorm with the girls. Across from the 5 year olds. I hadn't slept through the night in months because of the noise in the dorm. Getting a day off has been difficult, as my home is in the same place where I work. Establishing boundaries has been difficult. I've been exhausted.

So, the ever bugging question--what's next? There are many, many factors at play. Any and all decisions are dependent on many factors. This week I am going to talk through things with my Member Care people and others. While it may be too soon to make a plan, I'd at least like to establish some sort of framework to work from. I'll need to return to Juba at some point to tie up loose ends (and I can't really bear to leave most of my belongings in yet another country!)

There is a lot to think about and a lot to discuss. I am completely emotionally spent. It took most of my strength and lots and lots of faith to pick up and start over again in South Sudan after what happened last year. My work the last several months has been highly intense, I've been "on" constantly, and to deal with 3 nights of shooting and an evacuation and a country and people I love in turmoil... I don't know. Africa keeps breaking my heart. But I still want to be here. I may need a break and some recovery for awhile, but I still love that I get to live here.

John 16 is a chapter I come back continually when things get tough. Especially verse 33--a forever favorite of mine: "I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

Indeed, where can I find peace, if not in him? And he does bring peace. He brings rest to our hearts when they are hurting. I am sad, and I feel unsettled all over again. But he is good and his promises are true. And indeed he has overcome the world. And one day he will in full. I rest in that hope. What other hope is there?

So the path ahead is again foggy. I can barely see the next step. But it will lift. The way ahead will make itself known. I am worried for the girls, nervous about things, but my heart is at rest. All will be most well. Will keep you updated as plans develop. Your prayers for direction for me, Daniel, and South Sudan are appreciated.

"Even when it hurts
Even when it's hard
Even when it all just falls apart
I will run to you
Cuz I know that you are
Lover of my soul
Healer of my scars
You steady my heart, You steady my heart"
Steady My Heart-Kari Jobe