Last Days Rewind

My last 2 weeks in the land of sand I went to the centers almost every day and spent as much time as I could with my community there. It was a hard, beautiful time, and I am so grateful for each moment I was able to spend with the people I love there.  We played games, watched tv, and drew. I had some really great conversations with the boys. About faith, trust, and important things in life--the doors opened for me to say the things I wanted them to know.

Getting to spend several hours with them every day for several days in a row was an absolute joy.  Well...while it was indeed a joy, really it was bittersweet. I knew by now that my days were numbered, that an end to my time there was imminent. (Whether temporary or not I didn’t know then and still don’t know now, but knew that permanence was a possibility). So I was joyful to be with them, but there were many moments that I would fight back tears, however unsuccessfully sometimes, knowing what was coming. They told me not to be sad. And probably thought I was a little silly. But a good friend told me that it’s probably really good for these boys to see someone upset to leave them. So many people have let these boys down in their lives, so many have left them. It is probably a very good thing for them to see that I care for them so much that I can't contain my sadness about leaving.

One way I show people my love is cooking for them. So I baked for the boys almost every day, which they really enjoyed. I cooked lunch for all of them one of my last days.  It was a downright joyous day—one I’ll always remember. I played soccer with them for a little while then I got underway in the kitchen. Working with a huge pot and one gas burner I worked on making a stew. I had curious heads popping in and out the whole time I was cooking. When the director got there in the early afternoon he walked in the center, and without knowing I was in there cooking, asked one of the boys what smelled good. J T, who I talked about here, stayed in there keeping me company basically the whole time I was cooking. It was sweet. We played games on my phone and chatted about all sorts of things like our fears and how Jesus put others before himself. I tried to teach him and another boy some yoga poses…with little success. Oh, it was so fun.

Asbuur (here, here, and here) who is ornery and talented and lazy, whom I just adore, came in to return my mp3 player that he had been borrowing that afternoon. He half-jokingly said that I should let him keep my mp3 player to remember me. I laughed and said “What, you won’t remember me if I don’t give you my mp3 player?” His face got really serious and he said, “No, no, no. I will not forget you.” A little while later he came back in and said “Don’t forget us, Bess. We will not forget you.” My eyes got watery (of course) and I told him that was impossible--I would never, ever forget them. A couple of boys were in the kitchen with me and told me how much they would miss me. I said I would miss them so much too. Sigh. And I do.

Lunch went over well. I accidently made way too much. I have no idea how to gauge the appetites of 30 growing boys plus teachers. They thought this was hilarious, this huge quantity of food. But the boys ate with gusto, and all of them until they were full, which they don’t always get to do.

I ended up flying out several days earlier than I had originally planned. It wasn’t safe for me to stay and the day I got my passport back I switch my flight and flew that night, after no small amount of anxiety about being further detained at the airport and prevented from flying. (Do you know the song “Whom Shall I Fear? [God of the Angel Armies]” by Chris Tomlin? This was one of my ‘anthems’ during these couple of weeks, and that day specificially.)

Anyway, so that day was bonkers. By the grace of God I was able to get done almost all that I’d hoped to. The week prior I’d already gotten in a proper sort of goodbye with the boys at the younger center. It was very important for me to get a proper goodbye with the older boys, too. After a rather frantic morning and afternoon, in the late afternoon I made my way there praying the whole time that all of the boys would be there, which never happens. There are almost always a few out and about doing whatever. But on this day, glory hallelujah, they were all there. There were tears in my eyes as I told them I was travelling that evening. They said that they will miss me. That the Lord is with me. That I will go and return with peace.

 

Earlier that week I had gotten a bunch of pictures printed out for each of them. They are always bugging me for copies of pictures, and I wanted them to each have a couple as a sort of goodbye present. I didn’t choose the most orderly manner of handing the pictures out. I basically said “I have pictures for you, go for it,” and handed them the pile. At this point I was going on like 4 hours of sleep in like the last 40 hours or something crazy, so I didn’t have the patience to be organized about it. So I sat back and let the chaos ensue.  

A few of the pictures were from a few days prior when I cooked lunch for them. I overheard one of the boys who wasn’t there that day ask two of the boys that were about the picture. One said that I cooked for them and said how good it was. And T, who sat with me in the kitchen, said that they all had full stomachs that day and that it was a “yoom jamiil”—a beautiful day. To hear him say that with such sincerity was a gift. To help give some of these boys a beautiful day in life, even just to be part of it; I feel like I don’t deserve that sort of grace.

Shortly after I asked one of the teachers to ring the bell and gather the boys so I could say a few things. I tried to keep it together while the teacher said some nice things. Thanking me for being there with them and assuring me that I would be back. With tears quietly sliding down my cheeks I told the boys that, as they knew, the government had closed my language school and that I needed to leave. I told them I didn’t want to. That they are the reason I came to this country, and they are the reason I want to stay. I told them that they are my brothers and I will do everything I can to try to come back. In case that can’t happen, that I will never, ever forget them--that each of them is in my heart forever. I told them how much God loves them and never to forget it. He is the most important thing in life.

The teacher asked for one boy to volunteer to say a few words. T thanked me and said they are sad for me to leave. He said how much they appreciated what I taught them and the things we did and some other nice things. Then I asked for us all to get a group picture. Which turned into an hour long photo shoot. The boys took turns with my camera and directed me and the other boys accordingly. We got several group shots. Then they each got individual shots with me. They got creative with some of the poses (as opposed to the usual standing there with a serious face and making gang signs with their hands.) They even got out hats for us to pose with. I was laughing and they were laughing and it was wonderful. During the prolific picture taking some of them felt comfortable enough to put their hand on my shoulder. It was harmless, and somehow comforting. I am their sister, after all.

It was the perfect, perfect good bye situation. I said all the things to the boys that I wanted to and we went out with laughter. I shook all of their hands, said “Ma’salaama” (go with peace) and left smiling, at peace, with so much thankfulness in my heart.

I walked the short distance to a friend’s house, listening to Meredith Andrews on my headphones sing “Even when I can’t see what’s in front of me, I will trust in the name of the Lord.” Crying tears of joy/sadness/exhaustion behind my sunglasses and praising God for my time in the land of sand, even if it was coming to a close much sooner than I ever hoped or expected.

 

I spent my last few hours with my support community. People who have loved me, taken care of me, and let me be a part of their families. People that I couldn't have coped without. Much laugher and tears, those last few days. Too many goodbyes.

I suppose it’s a blessing that I’ve built such good relationships, that I have loved the people there so much, that I have been so broken for this land, that it hurts to leave. I keep reminding myself that God loves these boys more than I do. That he can take better care of them than I ever could. My heart aches, it longs, to return. And I am hoping I can someday. Until then I shall continue to follow as he leads. Take this furlough time to reconnect with people, refuel, and get ready for whatever Arabic speaking land awaits me next. Hoping it is a return and not a restart…but the Lord goes before. Continue to pray for the people there. …Things are only getting worse.

“This is the Blessed Life—not anxious to see far in front, not careful about the next step, not eager to choose the path, nor weighted with the heavy responsibilities of the future, but quietly following behind the Shepard, one step at a time.” C. E. Cowman

Rewind

My life has changed a lot since a month ago. My language school was shut down, along with a number of other schools and businesses. I was forced to leave a country that I had come to love, that had become home…one where I wanted to stay….and still do.  An large number of us have left. Some remain, but the exodus continues. My experience was kind of traumatic. Along with being forced to leave, I was taken in by security for several days. I was questioned (in Arabic), my passport, phone, and school book were taken. (My phone returned after 2.5 weeks and my passport returned on the day I left. They refused to give back my language school book). I was followed, under surveillance, never knowing if or when they would show up to search my house. (I was also staying alone for over a week during this time). I was escorted home more than once my high ranking security men. I was stuck in an office with them and talked about in a language that I understood. We were offered no explanation. Things changed quickly and all the time. Information we were being given was also inconsistent. People told to leave by a certain day would have their passports confiscated again at the airport, missed flights and were further delayed. I was not physically harmed, but I know of some who were and are. There are lots and theories about what is going on, but no one knows. Just that this land of sand needs a lot of prayer.

In the coming weeks I’ll give a little rewind of this last month or so. What I shared above is probably the most detailed I can be about certain sensitive things. But in my last few weeks there, I had some of the best times with the boys at the centers. I’ll share those things because they were wonderful.

Let’s start with the Christmas celebration for the boys centers.  That was on Monday, Dec 17^th. It was a super fun day. I got there in the late morning to help decorate and such. I brought tape and a stapler and things, because I figured they would need them and not have them. This was exactly the case.

I did get a phone call that the school director and four of the students were taken into security. This was somewhat alarming, but thankfully I was at the celebration and had lots of things to occupy my mind away from worry. It was fun chatting with the boys and teachers; feeling like a little part of their world. The program was good, but long. The boys got their end-of-term school reports. All of them got presents, and were wearing the new outfits they picked out at the market. Teachers were given a bag of presents; something for each kid in the family. Different groups got up to sing. The younger and older boys each had a little drama. Lots of thank yous and such. I got called up to share something special with everyone.

See…a new hobby of mine is writing little poems and limericks in Arabic. They’re mostly silly, but its good Arabic practice and something I enjoy. I shared one of these little ones with one of the teachers. He thought it was funny and promptly made me say it for any and every one at the center. Then he told me that since was MCing the Christmas celebration I would have to say it then. I knew that he was serious. So instead of being embarrassed with a silly pointless poem, I decided to write one about Christmas--be embarrassed about one that is at least about the proper subject. So in the 2 weeks prior I worked on this poem and enlisted a little help with the grammar and such.

When he called me up the paper was shaking in my hands. I don't love being in front of groups. There is even more pressure when it's in your second language and you're reciting a poem that you wrote that very well might be terrible. I made it through all six stanzas. People started clapping while I was halfway through and continued to until I was done.  It was a relief to get it over with. People said I did a really good job, but like I’ve said before folks here are either really difficult or really easy to please. This crowd is one that is pretty easy to please.

As I spent that day chatting with people I love, watching the boys sing and strut around in their new clothes I couldn’t help but think about the news I got that morning, the dark clouds looming on the horizon, and just prayed for more time. For this door to stay open somehow. I want the time I’ve invested there to be a beginning and not just a two year stint.

But I absolutely am trusting God in all of this. He uses evil for good all the time. He loves these boys more than I do and is more than capable to look after them. We are praying, we are waiting. Things are happening. God is on the move.

"There's a passage in Exodus--God tells Moses, 'No one can see my face, but I will protect you with My hand until I have passed by you, and then I will remove my hand and you will see My back.' Well, I always thought that was a physical metaphor..but you know-I wonder now if it really isn't about time? Maybe that was God's way of telling us that we can never know His intentions, but as time goes on...we'll understand. We'll see where He was: We'll see His back." Mary Doria Russell

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1 I have learned this to be true in new and very real ways!

An Abrupt End

It has been a long, bizarre, stressful, unsettling 10 days. I don't know where to begin or what to say, but to suffice for now...I am being forced to leave my home here. I'm not sure which day exactly, but soon. So I am packing up, saying goodbyes. Laughing and crying and praying with my friends and others in the same situation.

So I anticipate things will be rather quiet around here for the next while. I will be heading to Kenya when I leave here to decompress and heal a bit before heading home.

Please pray for me and others in this situation, and for those who remain. No matter what we see, God is on the move. I hope to return, but I know that may not be possible. I am deeply saddened. My heart is breaking. There is so much to process. But He is good. He is so good. I don't want to leave, but I trust Him.

Not Fearing...for real.

The timing of my last post about fear is almost comical. Lets just say that starting Tuesday morning I have had to utilize all I have been learning about fear recently, and then some. I'm finding rest in God's truth in the face of some unexpected giants this week. Feeling pressed, but not crushed. Please, please pray.

Good Courage

The Bible talks a lot about fear. It tells us over and over to fear God and nothing else. To be of good courage. Never to fear man. This theme has been coming up over and over these last few weeks in my life. It feels like time to talk about it.

A few months ago for some reason every single time I left the house I got nervous. Is everything unplugged? Is the lock on securely? Is the gas for the stove off? Did I close the balcony door,  the windows? I would walk down the street to get the bus with this almost sinking feeling just praying for God's protection over our house. I even started hiding my computer some days in case anyone managed to break in. It was ridiculous. There is, comparatively, little crime here and neighbors are always out on the street watching what goes on. I talked to my housemate after it had been going on for a little while. She was doing the same things. Experiencing the same fears. They were sudden and out of nowhere.

Around this time in something I was reading it talked about fear being a sin. That's right. Worrying isn't a bad habit, it's a sin. Fear is the opposite of faith. It is the opposite of trust. Two things that are absolute bare bones essentials in a life following Christ. There is not a whole lot we can actually control in this life. But I can choose not to fear. I can control that.

Around that same time I started have issues with creepy men again, specifically on the bus. When it was an issue earlier in the year I started tensing up immediately when a man would sit next to me or when I walked by a group of young guys on the street. I would repeat over and over in my head "Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Leave me alone. Leave me alone." The stress of it would almost make me tear up sometimes. So when it started happening with frequency again I was like, "No, you know what? Beth Ann the power in you is greater than the darkness in the world. Hold your ground. Do not fear." I started speaking up. I reacted. Maybe I don't always do it in the right way and I'm probably still awkward sometimes, but dang it I'm not scared anymore. And I think that has to be honoring to God--heeding his commands. Trusting in the power he promised is within us.

I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if I'll get a return visa for next year. I don't know if I'll be robbed our our house will go up in flames again. I don't know if I'll ever do anything that matters. I don't know if I'll ever get married and have kids. Maybe the boys' at the centers will hate all my ideas and think they're stupid. Maybe the centers will be shut down. Maybe more of my friends will be imprisoned or kicked out of the country. Maybe the protests from this week will continue. Maybe they will spread, maybe not. Maybe the government will change. I'll probably be treated inappropriately by men at some point in the week...maybe even every day. Maybe I'll never see loved ones again! Tomorrow is not promised to us. But whatever may come or doesn't I will not fear. I will not fear, I will not fear. I will speak the truth, even if my voice shakes. I will praise, even if it means sacrifice. I will trust. Even in disappointment and dismay.

In Ephesians 6 it talks about putting on the whole armor of God. The helmet of salvation, sword of the spirit, all that. Someone recently pointed out to me that the armor leaves one place unprotected--your back. In old tribal warfare if someone got shot in the back with an arrow it meant they were a coward, because the only way to get shot in the back is to turn tail and run away. Lesson: Don't run back! Take courage! You're well protected!

I don't think that you need to feel scared in order to respond to fear. I think a lot of fears are much more subtle than that. Sometimes it can come as a facade of wisdom. Making decisions based on wisdom and the good sense God gave us is one thing. Making decisions based on fear is a whole other ball game. Once I started thinking about this I started to see the subtle fears in my life. And once you start hearing them, how do you silence them?

Prayer. Prayer silences the voices from the world in our head. The fears, worries, gimmies, naggings, to-do's. Like the old hymn says, when we turn our eyes on Jesus the things of earth become strangely dim. Sometimes when I get really frustrated I stop, talk to God, even just to tell him I'm aggravated (as if he didn't know), and it starts to silence that too. It is a great gift to have access to our Maker all the time. He is never out of reach. Never far away. Not waiting for me to ritually wash or sacrifice before I can talk to Him. No, he is always there. Christ busted open that door for us to have that kind of access to God. What an amazing gift. Everyone needs to know!

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life, of whom shall I be afraid? When evildoers assail me to eat up my flesh, my adversaries and foes, it is they who will stumble and fall. Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war rise against me, yet I will be confident...I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" Psalm 27:1-3, 13-14

I love The Message translation of these verses, too: "Light, space, zest--that's God! So with him on my side I'm fearless, afraid of no one and nothing. When vandal hordes ride down ready to eat me alive, those bullies and toughs fall flat on their faces. When besieged I'm calm as a baby. When all hell breaks loose, I'm collected and cool...I'm sure now I'll see God's goodness in the exuberant earth. Stay with God! Take heart. Don't quit. I'll say it again: Stay with God."

"Courage is fear that has said it's prayers." Dorothy Bernard

Weka

While I love the communal, eating with my hands thing during meals with Sudanese, there are still a few foods that I'm still getting the hang of eating. Weka is one of them. They eat a lot of okra here. Weka is okra that has been dried in the sun and pounded into a powder. They add it to certain stews to thicken them up. It tastes really good. But the consistency of whatever they put it in becomes, for lack of a better comparison, snot-like. Stews with weka are usually layered with kisra (a spongy flat pancaky thing), and you scoop it up and eat it with your hands like everything else. It's usually more of a special occasion dish so it's not something that I eat at the center all that frequently. AKA, I haven't had enough practice to master eating it yet. It requires a swift turning hand motion to get it to your mouth without making a mess. I inevitably end up with some weka on my clothes and usually dripping down my wrists. Recently I was eating with a group and it always happens that one or two (or three...) gave me a weka eating tutorial. I still made a mess. Whatever, one day insha'llah (if God wills it), I'll get it all in my mouth like a Sudanese. Though I'm pretty sure that day is still a long way off. Being able to poke fun at myself is an indispensable skill here.

Leading and Following

Monthly all of the staff at the centers get together for a time of prayer. There is a short devotion, some singing, sharing of  center needs, then we pray together in small groups. This week it was my turn in the rotation to lead the devotion. The teacher who was running things called me up and stood, ready to translate for me, and I sort of hesitantly said, "Well...I'm ready in Arabic...I think." She smiled and British director lady gave me a high five. I nervously laughed and said "Well...wait 'til the end; we'll see how it goes!"

And... I did it! I talked about the verses in Jeremiah 17, about rooting ourselves deep in the Lord so we're connected with our source, then our lives won't be shaken by whatever outside circumstances come. It was fairly simple, and not super long, but I was happy when I finished. I sat down and it was like a runner's high, only it was an Arabic high. Ok...maybe it was just a feeling of relief. Felt good all the same.

It's not really difficult to elicit praise from this group (not that I'm complaining!), so their kind words were nice but I didn't really take them as objective critics really. But British director lady is a little more difficult to please, and she was really impressed. It was great encouragement.

Right after we went into a time of prayer. It makes my heart heavy. There is so much going on in this country. The ch is under pressure on every side. There is fighting even within the ch. Some of the properties where the centers are want them to move. There isn't enough money for next years budget. There is continuing fighting in different parts of the country. Yellow fever outbreak. Persecution. Public transport is an increasing difficulty. International schools are under pressure and some are being forced to close. There was a failed attempt at a coup recently. Some foreigner friends and acquaintances are  being very closely watched by gov officials. Some are being questioned, a few imprisoned. Visas are being denied. There are new littlies at the center (Which is great!) but their stories break my heart. This week in class we talked about female circumcision--a horrible, dangerous, mutilating practice that is still very present here. And the consequences of it. Wedding traditions which are, thankfully, starting to die out. Like marrying girls of at 10, 11, 12 years old. Gah! It hurts my heart and it makes me sad and even angry in some cases. How?! Why?? How do I have it so good in my life? Why was I given this cakewalk of a life? I mourn for the stolen childhoods and joy. I'm here and so close to many of these things that have moved and ached my heart for many years. Even being next-door to these things I still feel helpless sometimes. But the Lord is moving. Where there are hard times, where the enemy is persecuting, the Spirit of God is at work. It's a paradox that has been true since the First Century. Grant me courage, Lord. And the presence of mind to speak and act.

These last few days have been really full, as I am anticipating this whole month to be. But good. Really good. I get to love my days here. I'm just smitten with the boys I get to work with. It's so amazing. Sometimes there are periods where it feels like a struggle or a sacrifice. But really, overwhelmingly, I am happy--I am thankful. He is so good.