Andrew and Faith

Zewiditu

2012-01-01T04:44:00.000-08:00

Chiri, Ethiopia was once the end of the road. Actually the road didn’t even reach Chiri when Lalmba first came here. Now thirteen years later Chiri is developing into a small town. Lalmba has had a hand in increasing the health of the population, encouraging the community to value its children—especially orphans who have no one else, and developing the economy through being the largest employer. This year Lalmba is encouraging economic development in a new and exciting way.

We’ve started a community micro loan program with a rock bottom interest rate. Our goal is to provide a way out of the trap of poverty for those who don’t normally have access to credit. These loans are intended for people who are motivated entrepreneurs, but the banks deem “too risky” because they don’t have collateral or simply because they are a single mother. Zewiditu is one such person. She has never been married and never had children of her own, although she has acted as a volunteer guardian helping students who live too far away from town to attend school. She had chronic pain in her leg which Lalmba treated for free. When she first came to us, she was one of the patients that our Ethiopian social committee decided needed extra support. She slowly worked and saved enough money to buy a small piece of land to build on. This is a BIG deal. This month she took the first loan of her life. She has a business plan to buy and sell cardamom (a sweet smelling spice) as well as to sell bread and tea from her small home.

When asked if she had anything to add to her story before sharing it with all of you, she said that she is praying for Lalmba to succeed in its mission. She understands that if she can succeed, she can help others in the future just like her. THAT, after all, is Lalmba’s mission- to empower someone who has no means to be able to have enough means to help others out of their poverty. Zewiditu and other women who have been helped by the loan program will one day be a part of helping others who faced the same challenges they now face. And that is real success.

Racial Walls

2011-11-22T03:34:00.000-08:00

We have now been in Ethiopia for over two and a half years. During this time, I (Faith) have tackled various jobs here in Chiri. I have worked in the clinic and seen miraculous recoveries, with the children’s programs and witnessed orphans rise above extreme circumstances, with our staff and developed incredible friendships. But none of this is quite as rewarding as what I am allowed to do now. For the past few months, I have been managing our public health programs. Part of that consists of conducting community-wide women’s groups where we discuss various health issues such as nutrition, clean water, child safety, and harmful traditional practices. And although it is rewarding in itself to see a community’s overall health improve, what has been the most meaningful for me is the relationships that are developing, both with me and with the women themselves.

When I first came to Chiri, I started learning the local language, Kafanoonoo. It has given me a door into the lives of women that Amharic, the national language, would not have done. When I attended the first meeting and spoke to them in their native language they were so happy; I was immediately welcomed into their lives. Since then, I have worked side-by-side with them, eaten with them, and laughed with them. They are becoming my friends. And my life is enriched by them.

In our area, there are two major tribes, Kafa and Munja. These tribes have a history of racism and war, and although the racial tension is diminishing in the bigger towns, it still has a very strong presence in the rural areas. In the village of Ogeya, two of our leaders for our women’s group are Kafa and one is Munja. At first, this caused some controversy, as Kafa and Munja usually don’t associate with each other. But as time went on, the racial walls began to crumble. Last month, when the Munja leader was asked what the women’s group had done, she responded, “Before these meetings, no one would shake my hand, or eat with me, or listen to what I had to say. But now, these women are my friends. They talk with me, and smile at me as I pass by. They listen to my teachings. And today (as that day was a cooking class), they will eat with me.”

In these groups, Kafa, Munja, and American all come together. We shake each other’s hands, we sit and talk and laugh, and we eat together. And although our health educations might not completely stop pneumonia or prevent intestinal parasites, they are doing something that I consider a far greater feat. We are slowly breaking down racial stigmatism and cultural misunderstandings. We are learning to look at each other as individuals. We are growing as people. And for that, I feel immensely blessed. Photo by Annie Grossman

God's Glory

2011-09-29T03:16:00.000-07:00

Despite the reputation of a desert wasteland that Ethiopia acquired during the famine 35 years ago, Ethiopia is a beautiful place. I have traveled through many parts of Ethiopia and have been in awe at the incredible beauty it contains.

Last week I, Faith, and a few friends went to the most spectacular place thus far- the Semien Mountains. This is a large mountain range in Northern Ethiopia that contains the highest peak in Ethiopia. It is the rainy season, but despite the high chance of rain, it was a recommended "must see", so we traveled 3 days by bus to reach the Semiens in order to see what all the fuss was about.

When we arrived to the first drop-off point, we jumped out of the car in high-spirits and with wide-eyes as we began our 3-day hike into the mountains. Within a few minutes of hiking in a lush, dense countryside we saw the famous gelada baboons all around us, grazing in the green, open fields. My eyes could not take in enough of the beauty that surrounded us. I was excited about the upcoming 2 days that it would take to reach the most spectacular viewpoints.

Howevehttps://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=b5ee50e3ab&view=att&th=132b0bce5e08d6a2&attid=0.1.1&disp=emb&zwr, a few hours into the hike, thunder began to role, the wind began to pick up, and thick fog began to fall down all around us. It was impossible to see much more than 20 feet. We kept hiking, hoping the storm would come and go quickly, but to our dismay, the fog and wind remained as a curtain around us for the entire 3-day hike. There would be brief 5-minute periods of visibility, just long enough for us to glimpse the amazing world we had been traveling through. And each period of relief from the weather would open up to us a new world that was completely different from the one we had last glimpsed. One minute, we would be walking through a meadow of wild flowers, streams and waterfalls. Then fog. A few hours later the fog lifted and we found ourselves in a Dr. Suess book with tall crooked, puff-ball trees, and round mounds of dirt with a toupe of grass on top. Then fog. Another few hours passing, we would see rocky cliffs, deep canyons, and large boulders that were shaped like a chair, inviting the passer-bys to stop and rest. Then fog. After another few hours of intense hiking, we came into a world that was created for Hobbits, with short trees that formed a house-like structure over a patch of clovers and daisies covering open fields.

I have to admit that I was disappointed by the weather conditions. It was gruesome hiking, and little reward to speak of since all the famous viewpoints were only a cloud of white. But in some ways, I am thankful for that white curtain that masked all the beauty around us. For when that curtain did lift, it was a magnificent surprise that forced us to stop and just take it all in, knowing that in only a few minutes time, the beauty would again fade. Had it been clear weather, I would have appreciated it less. But, because the beauty came in rare, small glimpses, I appreciated them much more.

Andrew has always told me that when you are hiking up a mountain, and your body is crying out in pain, you swear that you will never do something that hard again. But then when you are off the mountain, immediately you remember it with fondness and start planning the next trip. He was right, while on the mountain, I swore off doing something like it again, but as I write this blog, I remember it with fondness and am already contemplating my next adventure.

Baa Baa Black Sheep

2011-08-28T12:18:00.000-07:00

Faith likes to run. I, Andrew, like to talk to her while she runs, so sometimes I go running with her just to talk. I will never be a hard-core runner because I can't get the breathing thing down. Instead of breathing I just talk. A while ago, we were running and talking when we came up with a great idea for Lalmba's children's programs. We call it the "sheep project". It really isn't that novel or new, but we're excited about it and want to tell you.

When I was young my Grandpa Damewood bought all of us cousins a cow of our own. He told us that it was our cow, but he would just take care of it for us. We each named our cow, helped feed it when we visited, sprayed it for flies, tagged its ear with a number. He let us be a part of everything. When our cow had a calf, Grandpa called us up and asked us what we wanted to do with it. We could sell it, or keep it. If we sold it, he mailed us a check. Through that I learned a lot about cows.

Animals are a big part of life here in rural Ethiopia. They are a savings account, an investment. All adults know the basics of animal husbandry. We want the orphans who grow up in Lalmba's children's home to learn these basics. The sheep project is basically the same thing that Grandpa Damewood did for me when he bought me a cow.

The idea is to buy a ewe (female sheep) for each orphan when they reach 10 years of age. The ewe will be their responsibility to take care of, take to the vet, tie up each night, etc... Any offspring from the sheep will be theirs. They can decide whether to keep the lambs or sell them in the market. If they sell a sheep, the money will be put into a savings account in the child's name to have when he/she graduates from our program. We hope this project will teach the children responsibility. If a child doesn't care for his sheep, it will get taken away, or die, or maybe be stolen. We hope that giving the children some real life experience will prepare them for the real world. We who grew up in families take for granted this kind of education.

If anyone is interested in donating to Lalmba to help this sheep project (and other great projects), visit Lalmba.org or email LalmbaUSA@gmail.com.

The Queen Catcher

2011-06-09T03:55:00.000-07:00

I will make no attempt to draw life lessons from the life of bees, although infinite parallels do exist. I'll simply tell another story of how working with honey bees in Ethiopia has been a blast.

We've been trying to transfer wild bee colonies from a log hive hanging in a tree into a modern hive near the ground. Several times now we've attempted this transfer and a few times, it seemed to have worked, but then the bees left. They would stay for a few days, begin to build wax comb in the new hive, but after a week or so, they would swarm and find a new place to live. After each of these attempts, we made improvements to the modern hive and fixed some things that my have caused them to swarm, but I knew the most crucial step was neglected. We never found and trapped the queen bee. If the queen bee is caught, then the colony will stay.

This last time we enlisted the help of a mysterious man known as the "queen catcher". I say he's mysterious because, no one seemed to know his full name, or where he lived, or how he got his expertise. No one even knew when exactly he would show up to help us find the queen. Twice we all gathered at the site after dark (because this is when the bees are sleeping). We waited only to decide that the mysterious "queen catcher" was not showing. The night that he came, he proved his skills. In the middle of a swarm 20,000 strong, he caught the queen bee without injuring her and placed her in a queen cage. He did this three nights, each time with perfection, each time with no gloves, no veil, working by flashlight. Even though I don't know his name, I still stand in awe of the mysterious queen catcher.

Options for Epilepsy (photo by Jeff James)

2011-04-16T17:30:00.000-07:00

Options for Epilepsy
The Menite people are a dark people, a wild people. In many areas, survival is granted only to the strong and ruthless, and those who are weak will not survive long. Epilepsy has no place among these people. If one is found having epilepsy, that family is socially ostracized in fear that the disease will spread to the rest of the community. And in a culture where community is everything, this is unthinkable. Unfortunately, epilepsy is a strong genetic trait among them. Their solution to it…get rid of it, at any cost. When one thinks about the social dynamics of it, ridding the tribe of those carrying the disease makes sense, but it is unfortunate just the same. Before development starting creeping into their world, the only solution when a child began to have seizures was to throw the child into the river or fire. I dare not think about how many children lost their lives, but even that could not strain epilepsy out of the Menite people. It is still widespread and growing. Now that Ethiopia is developing more and more, there are more options for parents with a child with epilepsy. Medicine is now available, but only within a 4-5 hour walk one way. Instead of killing their own children, many opt for sending them away from the community, maybe to a bigger city where they can find food by begging and a place to sleep under a small store’s overhang. And the other options is to leave them “on the doorsteps” of our clinic.

That is what happened today. A father brought his 10-year-old daughter to us, asking us to take her and care for her. Of course, we explained to the father we could not take her, but we could give her medicine to help control the seizures. He seemed okay with this, but as he was walking out the clinic doors, he sat her down on the bench just outside and ran down the road alone. He didn’t get far before one of the guards caught up with him and took him to the police.

I sat there and thought about how horrific the whole situation was. There was the girl, crying, abandoned by her father. And then there was the father, who maybe was trying to find any way out of being rejected by the community and still caring for his daughter. This was his desperate attempt of saving both their lives at once. The hard truth… that isn’t one of the options, at least not for the Menite. (photo by Jeff)

Praying for Rain in the Rain-forest

2011-03-26T05:52:00.001-07:00

Kaffa Zone, our area of Ethiopia, is known to be green and lush. The mountainous, forest receives so much rain that the growing season is nearly year round. We complain about the mud most of the year, but since last December, it has been sunny and beautiful. We have had four months of relatively dry weather. The problem is that our water system here at the clinic is based on rain collection. We have slowly watched our reserves dwindle until last month when it hit a critical stage. We started conserving every drop of the precious clear liquid--short, infrequent showers, not washing our clothes, flushing the toilet only once day. We made several trips each week to a small stream about 3 miles down the hill. We put every bucket and container we could find in the pack of the car, filled them up with brown river water, and then drove back carefully trying not to spill it all on the road.

Lest you think that Lalmba was unprepared and completely dependent upon rain, I should tell you about our second system of water collection. There is a natural spring at the bottom of the valley next to our clinic that has water year round. Over 10 years ago, the organization built a collection tank around this spring and then a system of pipes (over 200 yards long) so that they could pump this water up to the clinic. This year when we went down to inspect the spring, it was nearly dry. Barely a trickle was flowing and that precious trickle was not reaching our collection tank. I, Andrew, made this discovery over a month ago. Since then, we have been trying and failing to fix the problem--all the time praying for rain. Eventually we had to bust out a wall of cement and rock to move the collection pipe down about a foot and a half. With this done we thought for sure we would get water. Then we realized that all the pipes were clogged with layers of hardened dirt and mud. We dug out the entire length of pipe, cleaned them all (with only a trickle of water, mind you) and replaced several rusted out connectors. Finally yesterday we connected the last section and were watching that slow trickle fill up the collection tank. As we connected the last of the pipes, it began to rain.
God answered our prayers for rain.

Yesterday I took a shower and put on clean clothes. Alea, our three year old, thanked God for the rain. She loves the rain and the mud. Now it has rained all day and I even caught myself complaining about the mud. How easily I forgot the dry months when I prayed so hard for God to send rain.

Two Miles, Two Girls

2010-12-23T06:24:00.001-08:00

This is a story of Two miles- inspirational the first time walked, but the second time sickening. This is a story of two girls- one very black and white case, the other completely gray. This is a story of my work in Ethiopia.

Kocheche, an orphan girl around the age of 10, was brought to us after her aunt had decided to give her to a man in marriage. Her teacher heard of the blight of the young girl, and immediately brought her to our organization in hopes of finding an escape for her. We graciously accepted her into our orphan program, but we needed to get a signature of release from the family and the chairman of the rural community she was from. We instructed the teacher to take her back and get the correct forms signed, and bring her back the following week.

However, when Monday came around, Kocheche did not return. We tried relentlessly to contact anyone involved in the case, but had no answer. After a few weeks, Aselevich (Director of the Children's Programs) and I decided to go find her ourselves and bring her back to our children-home haven.

The 2 mile downhill hike to the rural village was breathtaking. Being surrounded by such beauty kindles a kind of passion in person for life and goodness and purity. I was even more inspired to rescue this girl from the circumstances she was facing.

When we reached the village, we were directed to the local schoolhouse where Kocheche was attending class. We entered through the small archway formed by a lovely flowering vine and walked down the small path graced with beautiful and dainty flowers as the sun shone through the trees to dapple the path with flecks of light. The sounds of the children's voices could be heard as they repeated in unison the words of the teacher. It was a wonderful place. And I thought, "This must be a perfect place to grow up."

Kocheche was brought to us, along with her aunt and uncle who had arranged her marriage. It was not uncustomary in this particular tribe to be married off young, and the family was meaning no harm to her, but actually trying to provide her with someone who could care for her. They were scared to send her to the "white people", fearing that we would take her back to America. But after explaining the truth of our organization- that the children are raised in an Ethiopian home and given every opportunity available to excel in school in hopes of a brighter future- they gladly gave permission for us to take her back with us. And she gladly came.

As we finished up the paperwork, we were beckoned to come outside. Aselevich and I went out to find a group of 5 other children, some with a small packed bag in their hands. I asked who these children were, and they told me they were other orphans who needed a home. My mouth dropped. There was no way we could take all these children, and I watched as their faces went from hope to dispair as they were turned away. And as we headed out of the village, children were brought, one by one, with a similar story of hopelessness. I was overwhelmed by the great need.

I looked around at the magnificient landscape and the precious school house, and I wondered how there could be such a mix of beauty and tragedy in the world. How could a place that could take away your breath with its overwhelming splendor produce such dispair and hopelessness.

As we were almost leaving, another girl was brought to us. She was small and light skinned with a face that showed no emotion. Her eyes were dark and empty. They told us of how her parents had died and she had lived in the wild until a well off family had taken her in. She was their house worker, and in exchange, they provided and cared for her. Although they did not send her to school, they were very kind to her and treated her much like their own children. The community had demanded the family bring her to us with the idea that any child being raised by the white people would be better cared for. The man fought desperately for the child to remain in his home.

I watched the child, to see her reaction to the situation, but her face remained empty. I saw no desire to stay and no desire to go. When I asked her what she wanted, she looked down and remained silent.

With much pressure from the local community, the man relented and allowed her to leave. He held her tightly and kissed her, almost crying. The two mile hike back was not as inspirational as when I first walked that path. I went much slower. Maybe because it was uphill, but mostly because I was sick inside. My stomach turned within me and my throat seemed to be denying a breath to pass through. I questioned our motivation for taking this second girl. My American mindset saw a girl denied of the chance for education and wanted to give her that chance. But I also began to think about the reality of what I had to offer her.

Although the children in our program are provided everything possible to succeed in school, only a very small percentage make a high enough scores to go to University and receive enough education to take them out of the poverty level.

The reality- I was taking a girl from a loving, stable home and putting her in an orphan home that we are constantly fighting for stability. I am taking her from a place where she has no chance at education and offering a chance, but a small chance indeed, at getting an education at a high enough level that would take her out of poverty. Was this really the best thing for her?

In developement work, there are no clear lines. They are blurred almost to the point that they no longer exist. It is a constant question in my mind, "Am I helping more than harming? Is what I am doing really best for this culuture and this time and these people?"

I take a leap of faith and make the best decision I can, but in the end, I must trust that God is sovereign, and NONE of his plans will be thwarted. God does not leave the life of anyone in MY hands, and for that I am grateful. He is a father of the orphans and does not just leave them to the hands of men to do with them what they please. He protects and cares for them. I am praying for that little girl. Her name is Kebabush. I am praying that those empty eyes will be full of light one day. That the stone face will be graced with a huge smile. And that maybe she will be one of the small percentage of people who can testify of how she was once living in the wild without anyone, and now she is the minister of Affairs in Ethiopia, changing her world. I believe it is possible, for all things are possible with God.

The Greatest Gift Ever

2010-12-11T04:19:00.000-08:00

The Greatest Gift One Can Give

Our translator, Sebsibe, recently resigned to take a different job in Addis Ababa, the capital city. He was a friend of ours as well as a coworker. For a going-away present from us, we decided to purchase a Bible in Amharic for him. We knew he was enthusiastic about reading the Bible. Although his family was Ethiopian Orthodox Christian, Sebesibe had recently become a protestant. When I, Andrew, gave him
the gift, he was ecstatic. He said this gift reminded him of a popular story.

A boy was graduating from college and asked his father for a new car. His father was very well off and promised his son that upon graduation he would give him a new car. The father and son even visited the car lot together and picked out a brand new sports car. When graduation day came, the son was eagerly waiting for gift. All day he kept
watching his father to see when he might give him the car. When the day was nearly over, the father took the son out to eat. The son thought surely this will be the time that he will hand over the keys. The father handed the son a wrapped up present. When the boy opened it up, he was confused to find only a Bible-no keys, no car, no note, only a new leather-bound Bible. The boy was so upset that he walked
out of the restaurant. The next day he packed up his things and left for the city. For years he refused to talk to his father; he had outright deceived him into believing that he would buy him a car. One day he received word that his father was deathly sick. He rushed home only to find that he was too late. As the family was preparing for the funeral, the son went into his old room. He noticed the Bible on
the dresser right where he had left it the day he stormed out. Those same feelings of resentment and bitterness rose up again. He sat down and opened the book for the first time. Just then an envelope fell to the ground. Inside the envelope was a receipt for the purchased sports car. Sebsibe said the moral of the story was that the Bible is the greatest gift ever.

I quickly assured Sebsibe that he wouldn’t find any hidden receipts in that Bible. He laughed.

Andrew

Mental Illness

2010-12-06T05:07:00.001-08:00

One of the greatest challenges in Ethiopia is dealing with mental illness. There is no counseling, no psychologists, no therapists, little medicine, and no organization to take on the overwhelming problem that so many people face with mental illnesses. We have many people coming to us for help, but we, like every other aid organization, are not equipped to handle such needs.
However, there are a few extreme cases that we have tried to take on. Some have resulted in success, and some remain to be a constant challenge. Taysi is one of the one of the unfortunate ones. She is a very sweet, happy girl. Big dimples form and her eyes seem to be swallowed up by her cheeks when she smiles. She stands with her toes pointed at an angle and her stomach arched out as if she just had a huge meal. She greets everyone with a shy twist of her head.
Taysi comes from an area of southern Ethiopia that seems to breed epileptics. The way the locals deal with the unfortunate disease is to throw the child in the river or fire in order to rid the population of the “evil spirit”. When Taysi began to have seizures as a young girl, she had that dreadful death wish placed upon her. However, a friend intervened and brought her to our clinic in a desperate attempt to save her life. We had taken others like her into our children’s program and watched as they thrived and grew and began living normal lives. We agreed to take her, with the hope that she too would become healthy and strong after being put on proper medication. However, after 2 years of being in the children’s home, she showed no improvement in her mental capacity. Her seizures had stopped, but it was too late. She had already had permanent brain damage caused by the long period of untreated seizures.
Although Taysi is very amiable, she deals with change and problems and frustration very differently. Her way of dealing with unpleasant circumstances is to become violent or to run away or to refuse to obey any commands. Many times she has refused to sleep inside the house, but prefers to sleep outside on the grass or in the rain. To her, this is a comfort when things seem to go awry. After her seizures began, her mother forced her to sleep outside, and this became “normal” to her. And when she is unhappy, she reverts to this sort of behavior. Or if she is upset by something someone says or is forced to do something she does not want to do, she will run away, sometimes in the middle of the night, and we are bid to go find her.
We have exhausted all possibilities and resources. Everyone has rejected her because she is “too much trouble.” We have no one else to take care of her. I have prayed and cried and worried about this girl that seems to steal your heart with her smile. And the cruel fact is that we are in a world that does not deal with such problems. They throw them away. And as an organization, we are not equipped to handle such cases. But as a person, and as a Christian, I am compelled to love this girl and not just throw her away. I know God looks at her and glories in His creation. She is special. She is precious, and she is of infinite worth to Him. Although she may be rejected by everyone else, I am confident that God has not rejected her. And I pray that He gives me the strength and grace to do the same.

Faith

Thanksgiving

2010-12-06T05:06:00.000-08:00

Holidays in Chiri are always an interesting event. With the wide variety of religions and cultures here at Lalmba, it seems every day is a holiday for someone. Yesterday, it was the Americans’ turn to have a claim to one. But we were not content to just share it with the six of us. Like Ethiopians, we wanted our table to be full of people enjoying each other’s company. We invited some Ethiopians over to introduce them to the famous thanksgiving holiday.
Annie and I spent half the day cooking up creative dishes that could be made from the local produce. We made stuffing, meatballs with a sweet and sour sauce, vegetarian meatballs, cream gravy and brown gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans with mustard sauce, and sautéed onions and bell peppers. It was not the traditional thanksgiving feast, but it was a very good one. We each talked about things we were thankful for, which mostly resulted in us thanking one another for each other. It was a sweet blend of Christian, Catholic, Jewish, Ethiopian, New Zealander, American people all enjoying each other and what we had to offer the other people.
I found I have been enriched by such variety in my life. My box that I find myself in is becoming bigger and bigger, and I can praise my God for such creativity. Although we missed our family back home this year, we still were blessed to be a part of something so extraordinary. I am thankful for this whole experience God has given me. I am thankful for my life. I am thankful for Ethiopia.

Faith

Forest Gump

2010-11-28T05:01:00.000-08:00

itle: Forrest Gump- 11/22/10

After a long season of rain clouds, the sun has finally decided to show its bright face and warm up our lives here in Ethiopia. The staff have begun to play volleyball after hours again, the mud is slowly drying up, and we no longer smell of mildew every day. It is a very welcomed change. It also gives rise to the opportunity to do more outdoor sports, such as running.

I frequently go on a run now in the cool of the evenings. It is my time to get away and just be with me.

One day, I headed off for that alone time that is so precious, but it was a bit earlier than when I usually go for a run. I headed off on the dirt road on the way out of town. I soon caught up to a group of kids returning home from school. As I flew past them I heard a rush of comments. "Look at the foreigner running." "Where is she going?" "What is she doing?" "Look!" "Look!" And then laughter.

I thought that as I kept running, the voices would fade in the distance, but to my surprise, not a one of them did. In fact, they got louder. I turned around to see all 30 something children running with me with big smiles on their faces. I turned back around with a frown on my face, turned my MP3 player up, and thought, "There went the alone time."

I assumed that the children would get tired of running and find the spectacle a bore after a few minutes, but they kept in step with me. In fact, every time we came upon a new child, all the group would chime, "Come with us." And one more would be added to the entourage.

I felt a little like Forrest Gump. The farther I went, the bigger the mob got, each few minutes adding one or two more children who must have been inspired by seeing someone running. (Or more likely, finding something out of the ordinary to do.)

We kept on like this for another mile before the children began dropping off as they neared their homes. In the end, I only had one faithful follower. I just assumed he was still running with me because he had not reached his home yet. However, when I reached my stopping point, I turned to head back home. He too turned. Confused, I asked him where his home was. He pointed back in the direction from which we came.

It was a long walk back, and I was enjoying the evening, walking and listening to my music. My companion walking quietly by my side. After walking about 30 minutes in silence, I rewarded my faithful follower by giving him one ear piece so he too could listen to the music. He smiled and listened and bobbed his head to the beat all the way home, which was from the point that the children first began to join me.

That is the way inspiration is, huh? Many join in at the beginning, but few remain inspired till the end. I hope my little friend will join me again one day.

Faith

Ethiopian Hospitality

2010-09-30T10:35:00.000-07:00

Ethiopia has its own calendar system, and just last week they celebrated the New Year, bringing in 2003. We were invited to several houses for a wonderful traditional meal and coffee. One such place was the house of our Assistant Manager, Wolde Mamo. It was a beautiful, sunny morning when we headed off to his house. As always, we were welcomed with generous hospitality known to the Ethiopian culture. We sat and ate our fill, talked, enjoyed his family, and participated in the famous coffee ceremony. We had a fabulous time. But just as we were preparing to leave, it began to pour down rain. Our visit was extended for about 45 minutes until it let up enough to run from the house to the car. We all settled into the car and waved goodbye one more time.

Andrew started the car and began pulling away, but instead of heading the way he turned the wheel, it went sideways along the muddy slope of a road. We attempted to maneuver our way up the road, but the car insisted on going straight into a deep ditch. Wolde and his family immediately came to our aid, along with all the neighbors. Because it was the holiday, everyone had on their nicest clothes, and instead of changing them quickly and putting on something more casual, they ran right out into the rain and mud. We were definitely seen as a priority. A rope was tied to the back of the car, and everyone engaged in a tug-of-war with the car. The car won. It went deeper into the ditch and plowed into the bank on the other side. Immediately, they began digging trenches in the mud, putting down logs, rocks, and dry straw. But the car only laughed at the men by spinning its wheels and covering everyone with mud.

I decided to help out the men and grabbed the rope. Surely one more person could help defeat the one ton Land Cruiser. But as quickly as I grabbed the rope, my feet slipped out from under me, plunging me into the mud. I too was now covered in mud with no gain to speak of. This war went on for an hour, and ended with the car stubbornly coming out the ditch. I turned and looked at the damage we had done to our very hospitable friends. Covered with mud and drenched in rain, everyone was smiling and waving. Although the car must have been pleased with the damaged he incurred upon us all, I think it helped us more than anything. For we saw the great selflessness of the Ethiopian people. We gained a better understanding of helping a neighbor in need. We learned more about what the Bible means when it says, "Consider others better than yourselves."

I love Ethiopia. I know that after living here, I will be changed for the better.

Andrew and Faith

No Man is an Island

2010-09-27T04:53:00.000-07:00

I am convinced that there are no isolated parts of the world. No man is an island. Rural Ethiopia often seems disconnected or isolated, but it's not. However loose or unimportant they seem, the connections with the global economy, pop culture, and international political scene are real. I was reminded of this when we went for breakfast yesterday. We have a favorite coffee house in town where we like to go a couple times a week. It is a simple tarp-covered shelter with benches and a radio. The owner, Adam, makes the best "ful" in town. Ful is made of split peas cooked with onions, butter, hot peppers, and spices. It comes in a hot skillet, and you eat it as a dip with fresh bread. For years, Adam has charged 2 Birr (15 US cents) for a plate of ful. Yesterday the price went up to 3 Birr--a 50% increase.

Prices have been changing all over the country following a sudden adjustment to the value of the currency here. Ethiopian currency is not traded internationally like most currencies. The value relative to the dollar is set by the central government much like China's currency. To everyday people that means instead of prices gradually rising throughout the year, known as inflation, prices suddenly jump whenever the currency is devalued. I'm not complaining that ful is now a few more pennies; I think Adam could have raised his prices years ago. But higher prices without higher wages is tough. People in rural Ethiopia are struggling along with the rest of the world during tough economic times. Just like everyone else, my friend Berhanu is struggling to pay his electric bill, put his kids through school, save up to own his own cow--right now he owns only half of a cow. The other night he told me that his new baby girl is keeping him up at night. I gave a sympathetic laugh and told him, "Yeah, sometimes they do that." As our seven-month old, Emry is crying right now, I am amazed at how much I can relate to a people who at first seem totally foreign, disconnected, isolated.

Where ever you are reading this, thank you for being "connected" with us here in Ethiopia. No man is an island. With all of you, we feel anything but isolated.

Andrew and Faith

You are loved

2010-07-18T05:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a little baby boy was brought to our clinic. His mother had given birth to twins and then died shortly after. Although the village did all they could for the twins, one died the same night, but one still remained. In a desperate attempt to save this one, they carried it 4 hours to our health clinic, wondering if we could do anything to help him.

When I, Faith, took the baby in my arms, I felt how cold he was. I unwrapped him and placed him in front of a small spaceheater. The doctor examined him and said he needed to be heated up as soon as possible. My motherly instincts kicked in and I took the baby into our house and held him close against my bare skin, trying to feed him some formula. Even though he had a slim chance of surviving, he had proved in his short lifetime that he was sure going to try.

I concluded, I would try with him.

For a whole day, I watched over him, prayed over him, and cared for him as though he were my own. I even named him Tadele (a traditional Ethiopian name which means "lucky"). Against all odds, he made it through the night. I really began feeling a sense of hope that maybe the will to live would be stronger than the power of death pulling at him.

But eventually, his strength wore out, and little Tadele died at 10:30 this morning. I kissed his head, wrapped him up, and began to cry. All the mothers in the hospital began to beat their breasts and cry with me. I think all of us had felt as if this motherless child was our own. We all mourned his death together, crying in one accord our sorrow.

Although Tadele's mother had died, at that moment, Tadele had a room full of mothers saying, "I am glad you lived. I am glad that I knew you, even if just for a day, and I will miss you."

Traditional Medicine

2010-07-18T05:03:00.001-07:00

Every country has its own forms of "traditional medicine" passed down from generation to generation. We often refer to them as "old wives tale". I, Faith, remember my mom giving us peppermints as a child for a stomach ache. I soon learned that I could get the sweet treat by complaining of my stomach hurting, and then reinforcing the idea of it helping by telling her my tummy felt much better as I sucked away on the candy. I am also a practicing believer in the idea that if there is some parasite crawling in the outer layers of your skin, you can apply fingernail polish and suffocate it to death. And my grandmother swears that eating ice-cream increases lactation. Whether these are true or not, implementing this type of traditional medicine brings no more harm than maybe a little weight gain or walking around smelling like fingernail polish.

But there are some forms of traditional medicine that are harmful, even deadly. For example, if you have a fever or pain on the head, you slice the pained area with a razor to "bleed out" the infection. Or if a child is teething and it causes fever or diarrhea, cut the teeth out of the gums with a knife. If you have a stomach ache, burn the stomach with the point of a hot metal rod to kill whatever is causing the pain. Most the times, this is just unnecessary pain, but if done in the extreme, it can be fatal.

A young boy was brought into our clinic last weekend, half dead. He had severe abscesses all over his upper legs. His parents, in a desperate attempt to stop the abscesses from spreading, began burning his lower waist with a scorching metal point. However, they burned through the skin and into the intestines. This caused severe abdominal obstruction. By the time they were aware of their mistake, it was too late to help the boy.

Usually, I shake my head or maybe grimace when I hear of these traditional practices, but this time it made my heart sink. Because of the lack of knowledge and education, these parents, in an attempt to save their son, ended up killing him. I can't imagine the horrific feeling they must have felt when the nurses explained to them what they had done. And then what guilt they must have endured as they took their son home to bury him.

Our public health program is addressing these issues, hoping to make a dent in the enormous need for education in the rural areas, but it takes years to see a change in any culture, even our own.. But that is why Lalmba is here. If Lalmba can educate one family, save one life, then this wonderful place could become an even better Ethiopia.

I hope so.

2010-06-19T07:10:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I (Faith) went on the monthly voyage to Jimma (3 1/2 hr trip) to pick up medicines and other supplies for our clinic. Many times, we transport patients who are in need of surgeries or medical care beyond our small clinic's capabilities. There is a large hospital in Jimma that can provide most medical procedures. Our car was filled with people who had waited a long time to be treated, and were excited about the possibility of finally getting the care they need. But one of our passengers did not share in the excitement. It was a mother who was going to pick up her son. She would bring him home to die. We had taken the boy to Jimma a few months back, and he was not getting better. When we took him, he looked like a normal 16 yr. old boy, but now he had withered into a frame of bones and skin. He was unrecognizable. I can imagine the horror and shock his mother must of had when she first saw her son. This boy who just a few months ago still had life and vitality now had the look of death all over him. I did not see them again until we picked them up to go home a few days later. It was strange to see the change in her. It was almost if she was the one dying. Her face portrayed such pain and agony. While her son smiled and joked, obviously already coping with death, his mother clung to him with fear and sadness in her eyes. She held on tight to her emaciated son all the way back to Chiri. When we asked if she wanted to go to our clinic or just take him home, they both said in unison, "Home. Take us home." I imagined her taking her son and placing him on the bed. I imagined her holding up his small frame while she fed him. I imagined her trying to comfort him by saying, "It's alright, you are home now," although really it was she who needed comforting. I imagined her holding his hand and kissing it and crying over her son. I imagined all these things. I wonder if that is what really happened...I hope to see her again. To see if she is okay. Maybe I will hear of the boy's death and have the privilege to go visit her during mourning. I hope so.

Perseverance produces character

2010-06-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

Last week, I (Faith) rushed a delivering mother to the hospital in Bonga (a 45 minute drive on a very bumpy road). The baby was already coming out, but shoulder first. Our clinic is not equipped to handle this kind of problem, so we had to go to the nearest hospital to see if they would perform a C-Section. As you can imagine, the woman was in a LOT of pain, trying to endure the 30-minute drive. And although I was not the one in labor, I felt as though I was. Just imagining what she was going through (having been in a similar situation with Emry) made me wince and grimace and groan as if it were me instead of her. And as I was driving, I thought about how difficult it must be for the people here, especially mothers. The mortality rate for women in delivery is enormous compared to the US, and with each pregnancy I imagine the fear of death looms in their minds. As labor progresses, they resolve, “This is the day that I might die.” As I dropped the patient off at the hospital, I realized this was only the beginning of her pain. Next she was to receive a C-section with only a local anesthetic. And then 4 days after the surgery, she would have to endure the long journey home by public transportation on a very bumpy, rock road with only the dulling effect of a tylenol. It is a hard life here. But living with the difficulties here brings about a strengthening that I envy. You hear no complaints or cries, no demands- just a thankfulness for the little help that I offered. I am humbled to live here. I am honored to be around such people.

Bee Politics

2010-06-12T23:39:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, the country had a national election. I (Andrew) won’t make any comments about how free and fair the elections were. If anyone is interested, they can look up the report by European Commission Observers. Basically, it was said that there was “not a level playing field”.

Each party had a symbol to help differentiate them from the rest. One party was the “cow” party; one party was the “thumbs up” party, and the current ruling party was the “bee” party. All of the pens, hats, watches, and tee shirts distributed by the parties bore their symbol. I had a friend of mine get me a tee shirt of the “bee” party. I was advised not to wear it in order to appear neutral, but I still thought it would be a neat to keep as a souvenir. I began thinking about the bee as a political symbol. Bees are social insects that only function with an active queen. The queen is responsible for nearly every decision in the hive. There is no voting, no referendums, no representation; in a word, no democracy. I assume that the ruling party was thinking of other qualities when they chose the bee as their symbol. Maybe unity, or hard work perhaps? Either way, it is ironically telling that the “bee” party has been in power for the last 20 years with very little sign of allowing free and fair elections.

I suppose one ironic thing about bee politics is that ultimately it is the worker bees that decide when to dispose of their queen. If a queen is too old or is not laying enough eggs, the colony will make for themselves a new leader and get rid of the old one. I suppose that is the essence of democracy—the ability to peacefully oust a ruler who is not performing to the colony’s standards.

Sign Language for Ethiopia

2010-06-06T15:51:00.000-07:00

So, I (Faith) have another request. There is a precious boy here in Chiri that is deaf. He is a smart, social kid, but is somewhat of an outcast because of his lack of ability to communicate well. Andrew and I have found a deaf school for him to attend, which is very exciting for him and his family. Andrew visited the school to find out more details for them, and it is a wonderful school. It is the only boarding school in the country that teaches deaf children. It provides room and board, teaches sign language, and also teaches them course work they would normally get in the public schools.

The administrator of the school began sharing their frustration of not being trained in American Sign Language (ASL). He said that ASL has become the international standard for English deaf translation. His desire was to send one of the teachers to America to learn ASL, so that he could come back and teach it to the other teachers and students. However, it may be possible for one American to come to Ethiopia and teach them all.

So my new goal is to find someone who knows ASL to come to Ethiopia and teach these people who are so dedicated to the deaf community here. If any of you know ASL, or anyone else who may be interested, please email us and we’ll connect you with the school.

Micro-financing with Prostitutes

2010-05-30T15:19:00.001-07:00

The more I (Faith) am getting out into the community, the more I am seeing the needs that surround us here in Ethiopia. There are so many different needs, so many ways to help, that I find myself overwhelmed at times. I guess it is no different than anywhere else in the world. The needs are so great if we would just stop, open our eyes, and look for a few seconds.

For the first time since I have moved here, I think I finally did that in my little village. I let go of all the hustle and bustle of the clinic, which can (and usually does) take all of our efforts and time, and just opened my eyes. And, I have to admit, it was frightening but also inspiring. As I saw some of the other needs that stood in my face, a flood of ideas came crashing into my head.

My first “idea” is to start a micro-financing group among some of the prostitutes in our village. Let me explain where this is coming from… I have been visiting with a very small, sweet woman named Waynitu, a single mother of 3, and pregnant with the 4th. Because she has no husband and no education, there is very little work for her to do other than doing small chores in other people’s homes for very meager wages. She makes 25 birr a month (which is a little less than $2 US), of which 20 birr is used to pay the house rent. That leaves her 5 birr (less than 50 cents) for any of the other needs for her family. Now, of course this is impossible to live on, so she earns a living through prostitution as well. When I asked her about this, she said that sometimes men come to her and offer her 5 or 10 birr if she will sleep with them. And she accepts, desperate for a way to take care of her children.

She is not the first one that I have encountered that is in this situation. There are many more.

Now I am fully aware that starting a micro-financing group would not solve the problem for these women. It goes much deeper than needing money. It is more the problem of these women lacking any self-worth, any dignity, any hope. I want to be a part of seeing that change for them.

So, my idea is to begin a micro-financing group. The women would take turns taking out loans from a communal amount of money. Eventually, the amount grows and the women have access to more significant amounts of money. The idea would be not to meet to just loan money out to one another, but also become a support group, in a sense. We would begin discussing self-worth, value, alternative solutions to prostitution, and family planning methods.

However, ideas are only just that unless you have the knowledge of what to do with them. So this is maybe where you come in. I do not claim to understand the core issues for these women. I know that the issue of self-worth is a universal struggle for women in all cultures. But these women are struggling on so many different levels. So, if any of you reading this have any experience or advice in the area, please email me. I need all the help I can get, and these women need all the help they can get, too.

Reflection of God

2010-05-12T07:57:00.000-07:00

Our main goal working here in Ethiopia is that we would show God and His character to the people we interact with. More times than not, this proves to be VERY challenging for us. In my ideas, I imagined I would just show Him to the world by my character- by my smile, by my kindness and love for them, by my willingness to learn their language and culture, by telling them why I came to live among them, by the relationships I build with the locals. This job that I imagined would open doors in mirroring God to them has proved to do the opposite.

For example, people come to us (the white people) with great needs of simple necessities such as food, clothing, a little bit of money to help them get through a hard time. Normally, I would give freely and with great joy because I have seen how God has provided so much for us through other people and I want others to know that same God. But being connected with and identified as “Lalmba” (the organization we are working for), it makes it nearly impossible to do so. They come to our organization for help, and even if we help personally, apart from Lalmba, it is still seen as Lalmba helping them. And if “Lalmba”, as an organization serving 1 million people, helps one person with those basic needs, it must help thousands more. Which, of course, the needs are endless.

This is very difficult for me. How do you react to these situations with a “big picture” mentality and still be very real and personal to the lady who comes with a starving child, or the orphan who is asking you to provide them a place to stay, or the family who is begging you to pay for their child’s surgery who will surely die without it? The big picture is you must have limitations to what you can do if you are really going to be effective in helping the masses. As an organization, we cannot help everyone. And as an individual, my hands are tied, because in the people’s eyes, I am the organization.

Today, a young girl came into the clinic with a very sick, malnourished child. The child is 8 months old and weighs 8 lbs. I greeted her and smiled, shook the little boy’s hand, and said the common blessing of “May God help you.” She responded with an “Amen.”

Later I found out her name is Tigist, and she was one of the orphan children we used to take care of. She had left the program on her own initiative as a teenager, wanting to prove her independence and ability to take care of herself. Now, a year and a half later, she shows up with a starving child, begging for us to give her food and clothing.

Everything inside of me is longing to reach out to her and help her, to reflect the character of God in His mercy, forgiveness, grace, and provision- just like the parable of the prodigal son. But as an organization, we can do very little to help her. We are a clinic, and so we have admitted her child into the malnutrition program, but after the child is rehabilitated, they will be discharged from our clinic, and they will be on the street again. She cannot be readmitted into the orphan program. She has no family, no husband, and very little opportunity to make enough money to provide for herself and her child.

Is not the heart of God to provide for ones such as these? My heart is so burdened, and yet I am bound by the organization’s “bigger picture” to just smile at her and say, “May God help you.”

Ironic, isn’t it?

Weddings and Funerals

2010-05-12T07:54:00.000-07:00

You can tell a lot about a culture by attending weddings and funerals. The other day I got the pleasure of going to a wedding. It was a rather extravagant wedding, with large, loud, bright decorations (what some of us might call tacky), lots of dancing and singing, and a large spread of food and drinks.

It began with us going to the groom’s house, which so happened to be at the hospital (he is a nurse at the near-by hospital). There was lot of music and dancing, running around the caravan of cars singing about how the groom was, “A hero! A big man!” Then everyone began insulting the best man, telling him he wasn’t singing loud enough and his songs weren’t good enough. He responded by taking out a vial of perfume and throwing it on the people. (This was obviously some kind of tradition).

After starting an hour late, we went in to greet the groom and congratulate him on his marriage. However, we did not know that we were walking into a photo shoot. They asked us to turn just right, shake his hand, while facing the camera with a big smile. (Much like you would do when receiving your diploma and posing for the camera). After each one took pictures with the groom, his assistant would come and dab the groom’s nose with a handkerchief to make sure there was no sweat on him for the next photo.

Then, we joined the caravan of decorated cars to head over to the bride’s father’s house. There we would witness the discussing and signing of the marriage agreement. In this culture you ask the father’s permission for his daughter the day of the wedding. In fact, right in the middle of the ceremony. After all the guests arrive at the father’s house, an elder reads the written contract between the bride and groom out loud. The father then critiques the contract, demanding any changes he deems necessary before agreeing to give his daughter in marriage. The crowd agrees with the father, and the contract is modified. After it is to the father’s satisfaction, the bride and groom exchange rings, and then the eating begins.

We were escorted to an upper room with a large spread of fabulous food- buffet style. I took my plate and began going around. Not wanting to look too excited and hungry, I just got a few things here and there, thinking I would come back for seconds. After finishing my first plate, I asked if it was okay to go again. My Ethiopian friends looked shocked that I would even ask, and sternly advised me not to go. Note to self: it is a one-trip buffet. Pile it high next time!

The wedding went on for an hour more, with eating and drinking and being merry. Then the bride left her father’s home, crying, and the groom took her back to his home, where there was more singing, dancing, and food. It was a whole day event, although I didn’t stay for it all.

Language Bloopers

2010-05-12T07:49:00.000-07:00

As mentioned before, I (Faith) am learning the local language called Kafanono. It is a very difficult language, in my opinion, because it is very tonal. I have never learned a tonal language before, so my ear is not trained to hear the subtle differences that seem so obvious to the local people. For example, “shimo” means delivering a baby, whereas “shiimo” (the 2 i’s means a little more emphasis is placed there.) means poop. Again, “ibo” means guest, whereas “iibo” means cow patty. Let’s just say I have asked many delivering women if they are pooping and called many of my guests cow patties.

But no mistake is as bad as the one I made the other day. I was walking down the road, and I passed a group of young men. One smiled at me and said, “Hello, I love you.” (Mostly because they don’t know many other words in English). I quickly replied back with a smile, “Keno bete.” (I meant to say that I have a husband, but because I put too much emphasis on the “K” sound, I ended up saying, I have a bed.) The guy’s eyes got big and he laughed. I realized my mistake later on and could not correct myself.

I fall at the mercy of these people as I try to speak their language. They always are so gracious and correct me with a soft smile, appreciating my efforts in trying to speak their language. It is fun to learn and make mistakes and keep trying, although I know I say most things incorrectly, mostly because it creates a certain bond with the locals that cannot be accomplished through a translator.

And maybe, by the time our time here is over, I can actually speak a whole sentence without making a mistake. And if that happens, then I would consider it a great accomplishment.

Are African bees killer bees?

2010-05-12T07:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I attempted to transfer a colony of African bees from a traditional log hive into a modern hive that I built several months ago. My friend Berhanu was ready to try it again, which surprised me considering how badly things went the first time we attempted this transfer. This was a very strong colony and aggressive to the core. We lowered the log hive when it was completely dark. Sure enough, the bees were far calmer and we only received a few stings each. Berhanu tied up a new log hive that he had prepared in the same place as the one we just took down. That way if the bees absconded, they would likely return to the same place and find a new log hive waiting for them. While he did that, I carried the full hive to the new location and started opening the log slowly. We were working by flashlight. We found the hive chalked full of comb honey and laid eggs. I worked slowly tying up the egg-comb into the new hive with string. We put some of the honeycomb in the new hive as well, but it was so heavy that we couldn't tie it very well. We eventually had to harvest the honey (I gave some of the honey comb to the orphan children helping us (they earned it through a couple of stings) and harvested at least 4 jars worth. Not bad from a small log hive that was empty just four months earlier.

We looked for the queen that night but it was nearly impossible to see. Eventually, we dumped the mass of bees in the new hive and closed it up until morning. Early in the morning, I went out by myself and found a mass of bees hanging outside of the new hive. I also saw that the bees had drained the honey inside the new hive. This is a sure sign that they are preparing to swarm to a new location (abscond). I got a cardboard box and trapped the mass of bees, quickly dumped them back in the new hive and closed it up. This time I put on a queen excluder (small slits that are too small for the queen to pass through but large enough for workers to get in and out). I observed the colony for the next several hours. For a while, half of the bees were outside gathering again, and half were inside. By 10:00am, nearly all the bees had moved inside the new hive. That is a sure sign that the queen is in there and going to stay. I have since been observing their behavior. They are gathering pollen now. That also is a sure sign that they will be building wax to secure the combs to the top bars. I have really enjoyed learning about beekeeping in a totally new context. Everything is different here in Ethiopia, even the honey!

For the Grandparents

2010-05-12T07:39:00.000-07:00

Alea is back to her normal self. She is running around, covered in dirt and mud, playing with the kids, learning the language very quickly, and getting into mischief. She was sick the last two weeks with a very strange virus that really kept her down for almost 2 weeks. (The joy of LIVING at a health center- sickness is everywhere!)

Emry is almost 3 months. She is growing like crazy. Unlike Alea who was wearing 0-3 month clothes until she was almost 7 months, Emry is already fitting 3-6 month clothes and will soon be out of them. She is a great baby though. Always content unless she is alone or hungry. Every morning she wakes up with a very, very large stretch, blinks her eyes slowly, and then grins from ear to ear, as if to say, “Hello world, I am glad to be here.”

As for the relationship between the two girls, it is better than I ever imagined could exist among siblings. Alea adores Emry, always looking at her and saying, “I love my baby sister.” And Emry just smiles at Alea with this look that says, “I want to be like you.” In fact, I think Emry would love to follow her around already. She is trying hard to roll over. She is almost there. So much for the immobile days- no more putting her on things she could roll off. At this rate, she will be waddling after Alea in no time.

Kids say the funniest things

2010-05-12T07:37:00.001-07:00

Alea is almost three years old. It is amazing how much she has changed in this last year. Her language is incredible, but sometimes her understanding of what is said to her is a little off. An example of that happened the other day. Andrew was coming down with a cold, and he explained to Alea that he was getting sick. She replied with, “You’re sick? Oh, mom is sick too.” Andrew said, “Really?” Alea came back with, “Yeah, she’s sick of me pooping in my pants.” (I had told her that the day before.)

Another instance where maybe her understanding of things is a little off happened just yesterday. Monkeys were feasting on bugs near our house, and Alea grabbed a mop and began yelling, “Come here monkey, here monkey, come here. I have some food for you.” When I inquired what she was doing, she said, “The monkeys don’t come when they are supposed to.” I asked, “What do you mean?” With a look of frustration and holding the mop up, she said, “They don’t come to eat the food I give them. I give them a mop or grass, but they don’t want any of it.”

This evening, while the sun was setting, we were outside enjoying the cool late afternoon, and the call to prayer could be heard from a distance. It was a faint sound, but clear enough to hear a chanting man. Alea listened for a while, and then rather seriously asked, “Is that God? Is God singing?”

Easter Holiday

2010-04-25T07:13:00.000-07:00

This was my first Easter weekend in Ethiopia. It was especially unique in the fact that for the first time in 90-something years all three calendars (European, Jewish, and Ethiopian) line up the same in celebrating Easter/Passover/Fasika. So while we were dyeing Easter eggs with the orphans, Ethiopians were slaughtering their sheep, and our Jewish co-worker was preparing the Passover meal.

On Friday, I had a wonderful Good Friday service in my house with some worship music and a downloaded sermon. On Saturday, we participated in the Passover Seder with our co-workers. And although it was a humanistic Passover, Andrew and I were able to enjoy the significance it has for our Lord. It was such a beautiful picture of Christ. And then on Sunday, we went to mass with our other Catholic co-workers. Then we came back and had lunch with Ethiopian friends.

All this to say that it was one of the best Easter holidays I have had. It was multi-cultural, packed with significance, and completely void of any pastel colors or bunnies. ☺

The thing I rejoiced the most about this holiday was the power of Christ over sin and death. In the sermon I was listening to on Good Friday, Paul Washer was reading a dialogue written by a Puritan back in the day named Flavel, and it went something like this:

God: My Son, here is a company of poor miserable souls. They have utterly undone themselves, and now they lie open to my justice. Justice demands satisfaction for them or will satisfy itself in the eternal ruin of them.

Jesus: Oh my Father, such is my love to and pity for them that rather than they shall perish eternally; I will be responsible for them as their guarantee. Bring in all thy bills that I may see what they owe Thee. Lord, bring them all in that there may be no after-reckonings with them. At my hand Thou shall require it. I will rather choose to suffer their wrath, the wrath they deserve, than they should suffer it. Upon me, my Father, be upon me all their debt.

God: My Son, if Thou undertake for them, Thou must reckon to pay every last might, expect no abatements. Son, if I spare them, I will not spare You.

Jesus: Content, Father, let it be so. Charge it all upon me. I am able to discharge it. And though it proves a kind of undoing to me. Though it impoverish all my riches, empty all my treasures, yet I am content to undertake it.

WHAT A MIGHTY GOD WE SERVE! No human or angel can make that statement- “I am able to discharge it.” Only the God of this world could undertake that great wrath, for every sin, every thought, every action every human had or will comment, and say, “I am able!” He looks at the cross and says, “ It will prove to be a kind of undoing to me.” WOW!

I always looked at the cross and thought about see Jesus’ love, humility, servant-hood in it, but never really thought about the great power it must have taken to withstand that wrath. And then, three days later, he proves how able he is to discharge it. He laughs at death and says, “Oh death, where is your sting?!” I have the power to lay down my life, and I will take it back up again!

There is such depth to the cross. Jesus is so awesome!

"I believe, help my unbelief"--the battle for faith

2010-04-25T01:05:00.000-07:00

You know, “faith” is a funny thing. Like Peter, one minute I am walking on water, the next I am sinking down into it. One minute I am declaring, “You are the Christ.” and the next, I am rebuked, “Get behind me, Satan.” One minute saying, “I will never fall away from you.” The next, weeping after having denied Him three times.

Yesterday Andrew and I fasted about the matter of whether to have more children or not. While God was very direct in the answer with Andrew (mostly because it is never a matter of faith with Andrew, just guidance), He intentionally did not give me an answer. He told me I was too emotional. (Proof that God really does know me through and through.) But what He did say to me was, “Trust me.” We had a long discourse about why I don’t and in what areas I am scared to believe that He really is good. He reminded me of His abundant goodness in my life, and I had to admit He really is good.

I think this is my hang-up. My idea of good is not at all God’s idea. My idea (if I am truthful with myself) is that he will protect me from harm, from pain, from things I dislike, and from asking me to go against my own plans and desires. Even as I write this, I know that is not truth. But, in my inner desires, in my inner thoughts, that is what I believe is “good”. And when God asks me to go against what I find to be in my best interest, I begin to think He is not a good God at all. He is not the One I can trust.

Now, for God’s idea of good:
For me to be conformed into the image of Christ. Period.
Christ’s life was characterized by pain, by suffering, by giving up his own desires to follow the will of His Father.
Today, I am “convinced” my Father is good. I am convinced He is for me and not against me. I believe He loves me. I believe I can trust Him. But, that is today… tomorrow, we will see.

What are we doing now exactly?

2009-04-25T00:42:00.000-07:00

I know many of you already know what we are up to, but for those of you who have not heard or are just now re-connecting with us, let me fill you with the what/where/why/how’s of it all.

Andrew and I were offered a volunteer position with a non-profit organization called Lalmba (check out the website at Lalmba.org) to run a small health center and orphan program in Chiri, a small village in the breath-taking mountains of southern Ethiopia. It is a two-year commitment, but could be extended if we wanted. We moved here in April of 2009 and will probably be here until at least the summer of 2011.

Andrew is the project director, which means he is the Big Cheese! J I am working with our childrens' program, working with the guardians (kind of like foster parents) of our orphan children. There are 3 other volunteers here as well. An American MD, his wife who is a Masters in Public Health, and a New Zealander MD. The doctors are responsible for running the clinic and training the staff to give a high standard care to the people of this community. The MPH is in charge of doing preventative health in the surrounding villages. The rest of the employees are Ethiopian- nearly 50 total. One day, we hope to see this place be completely self-sufficient and ran by Ethiopians. Our main job while we are here is to train them to move closer to that goal.

We really enjoy our work and our life here. The Ethiopians are fabulous, and the other volunteers we work with are just wonderful partners is this work. We all have a really good time. And of course, living in a village setting, well, let’s just say we have plenty of help raising our children. The proverb, “It takes a village to raise a child.” really is applicable here, and it is a great joy to us.

This is our third African country to live in (Mali and Niger being the two previous ones), and life here is different in a lot of ways, but similar in many ways as well. In West Africa (Mali/Niger), we lived near the Sahara desert, with scorching heat and lots of dust. Here, we live in a semi-tropical area with a mountain climate and lush vegetation. In West Africa, we had no running water or electricity. Here, we have both. We even have a hot shower!!! We have a small, one room square house that we basically just sleep in, and then a communal house that all the volunteers share with a living area, a kitchen, and a bathroom. It is very comfortable and peaceful here. It almost seems like we are living at a retreat center.

As for the Ethiopian people, they are very similar to the people of West Africa, although a little more reserved and aloof. But they always open their homes with great hospitality, are very friendly, and always greet you with a smile. Family is very important and the community is very tight knit.

Of course, the language is different here, so we have been working to learn as much as we can so we can communicate effectively with all friends and co-workers without the assistance of a translator. Andrew, being the language goo-roo, has picked up on Amharic very quickly, and is now learning the local language of Kafanono, as am I.