princessxuxa //

So what exactly DO you do?

2012-01-26T22:37:00.000Z

I have a real difficult time answering that question, but here's a shot:
In no particular order

I'm an assistant - which means I assist in anything that needs to get done. It's probably what I do best: I do the things that free up other people so they can focus on what they do best.
I pay bills - so people in our mission can have basic utilities in their homes.
I keep things organized - so that nothing important gets missed.
I keep tabs on a lot of financial reports - so we can say we're being good stewards of the money entrusted to us.
I keep track of teams, answering questions and helping to make sure everyone makes to Burkina and home again without major difficulty - so that more people can experience how God is working in this place.
I capture moments with my cameras - so the stories can be told and people can connect.
I help coordinate visits with Compassion International sponsored children -so that sponsors and children can deepen their relationships face to face.
I'm technical support for our mission - so computers stay up and running as we want them.
I'm technical support for the youth group - so the kids can follow lyrics to the songs and visualize the stories and open their hearts to what God is saying.
I help keep the master calendar - so we know what each team member is doing and how we can support each other the best.
I sometimes have to wait 2 hours at the bank to cash a check - so that we have cash to pay those bills.
I hold the key to the post office box - so we can get the bills to pay, and sometimes get a card or a package from home.
I help keep our team in the loop and up to speed on info they need to know - so we're all on the same page.
I'm a consultant - ask me what I think and I'll give you my opinion and suggestions. so that people aren't alone in their responsibilities and are informed.
I'm a publisher/writer - helping create documents that communicate effectively.
I sometimes design t-shirts, but I can get away with that here. Competition is pretty slim.
I help mentor the student worship team - pushing them to be the best leaders and servants they can be - so that students can learn to love God with all of their hearts, souls, and minds through music and responsibility.
I book the guesthouse stays - so people can have a safe place to rest.
I keep track of the bank accounts - so we don't bounce any checks and are good stewards of the money we have.
I write and answer numerous emails - so that people have the information they need.
I help keep up with a plethora of vehicles and motos - so they're running when someone needs them to be
Sometimes I sit in meetings to represent the mission - so our presence is noted and the church is encouraged.
I try to help interns gets adjusted and oriented - so they're not tempted to go home after the first weeks and can have a beneficial and life-changing stay.
I help translate - so that the ones who can't speak the same language can build a relationship that goes beyond culture.
I make sure people have cell phones that work - so they can be in the loop and be secure.
I am "there" - so other people don't always have to be.
I help organize teams - so their needs are cared for and they see all that they are here to see.
I could go on - chauffeur, planner, list-maker, auditor, inventory-taker, printer, decision-maker, question-answerer, get-what-you-need, so you can rest medicine....oh, that's not right. I'm a human, not NyQuil.

There are a lot of "I"s in that list. But I really don't write the list to draw attention the ME - I only do the things that God has gifted me to do and I only do these things with His strength and blessing. The days I try to get it all done in my own strength are days of weariness and disaster. There are too many of those. The days I view my job as a blessing and an opportunity that God allows me to be involved in - those are days of contentment. My days aren't perfect and my job isn't always fun, but what I do is a privilege. The people I work with and work for are part of some pretty amazing things that God is doing in this country.

So what DO I do? I wake up each morning with tasks ahead of me. On good days I look at my day through the lens of God's eyes and the filter of His ears. Some days I work my tail off; other days I get to slow down. But on all days I'm still the same person that God has created me to be. I am called to love and know Him more. I am called to love His people.

At the end of the day, as much as I love to mark things off my list, only one thing matters: does anyone love Jesus more today because of me?

That's what I really want to find myself doing.

weekends

2012-01-14T11:23:00.000Z

some weekends are insanely busy in life, the kind where you've got 3 places to be at once and 100 things to do by 3 o'clock. some weekends wear you out with running and working and preparing and being what people need you to be.

but then there are other weekends that are a little less insane and a little bit restful. this is the weekend I find myself into right now, where i've had time to actually read a book for hours on end, take a long jog while catching up on the latest sermon from Louie Giglio, and enjoy my own cooking while catching up on some current tv series. the grocery store had American cream cheese that wasn't outrageously priced, my yard worker is trimming up the trees and getting things looking nice, and the afternoon is looking as free as it could be. i might find myself taking a nap, cooking up a dessert, or catching up on my blog.

i'm sure Africa will win out at some point with its unexpected obstacles and difficulties, but for right now i"m grateful for the time to rest and recharge my introverted soul batteries and listen to my heart and my God for a while.

i'm blessed and grateful and am loving this weekend so far.

[smile]

Driving in Ouaga

2012-01-11T07:39:00.000Z

what's the traffic like?

Most Americans expect traffic to have some sort of organization and regulations. If you've visited an Asian country, you may have seen a high volume of vehicles in the cities or other local transportation. Getting from one place to another is always an adventure. In Ouaga, the main form of transportation is the moto. Beyond that, you'll see lots of people peddling away on their bicycles or simply walking. Cars are becoming more abundant, and you can't get on the road without seeing a transport truck.

For most people visiting Burkina for the first time, they may spend most of their time in the car cringing from the seemingly narrow escapes and disbelief as mothers carry their babies on their backs with a simple cloth. Traffic lights are merely suggestions and if you made it, it was a good decision. (Traffic lights aren't really suggestions, but you often feel that way with the number of people you see run them.)

Just the other day I was turning right onto the main road, across the moto lane, when a bicycle driven by a boy less than 10 years old (who was also carrying a younger sibling), crossed from my left to right in front of my car. You can't get mad - you learn to expect it after driving here for a while. But I do get sad that kids don't get better training and everyday on the road without an accident is a day of grace. Thankfully I saw him and stopped to let him pass.

I think I passed 3 accidents yesterday alone, one of which was visited by an ambulance. By the law, you can't move your vehicles until the authorities have come. If you move anything, you are at fault no matter what happened. So often you'll pass unattended motos laying in the middle of the road while people wait or will return later.

Traffic lights work when the electricity cuts, and recently volunteers have jumped into to play impromptu traffic/crossing guards at major intersections. It started with youth who were frustrated and decided to take responsibility. Recently, the government has been training and assigning volunteers to major locations that don't have traffic lights. It's been a great help in reducing the number of accidents at these locations, in my opinion.

You'll see every type of vehicle under the sun, from huge tractor trailers filled with anything and everything, old and new buses, brand-new Toyotas or cars that would be found in a junk yard in America. The Burkinabe are phenomenal at fixing anything and making it run.

Main roads are paved but by far most roads are dirt. After a while, the chaos becomes this odd sort of dance. Driving my moto down the road I'm greeted with crisscrossing motos and cars, women running crossing the street, and trucks pretending they own the road. You expect the unexpected and keep the throttle open with awareness and grace. Aggressive isn't productive but hesitant isn't always the best choice of action. Patience, anticipation, and confidence is the best combination for successful driving in Ouaga, or I guess in any country for that matter.

So that's a little of what to expect when driving through Ouagadougou. And now a word from our sponsors:

They're able to fit up to 200 chickens on a moto to transport from the village to town. "Bicycle chickens"

January Update Video

2012-01-08T18:28:00.000Z

If you haven't found it on facebook, I put together a rough video update for you. It's got some privacy settings and limitation via facebook, so if you can't see it, leave me a comment.

Jesus loves

2011-12-11T14:50:00.001Z

“Jesus said.” The teacher led out. “Jesus said,” echoedthe students.

“Again: ‘Jesus said.’” “Jesus said,” they echoed again, louder this time. “Jesus said – Let thelittle children come…”

The echoes continued for at least 10 minutes as the small classroomof students committed a verse from the book of Matthew to memory. She worked the little guys through the verse,added a few words to each repetition, until they’d covered the whole verseseveral times as a group. Then, littleby little, she erased words from the chalkboard as they reviewed the verse over andover.

“…for to such as these belongs the kingdom of heaven.”

I sat in the small classroom of the Compassion International project,listening to the teacher passionately share the lesson with the small group ofchildren that hold the keys to the kingdom of heaven. They sat around the tableand sketched people that were very important to them. Their teacher began to share that Jesus’ lovefor them was even stronger than each child’s love for their mother or father orbrother represented on their papers.

She taught through a lesson much like one I’d heard manytimes as a child growing up in Sunday School. But it was unlike any lesson that I’d heard.

“Do you know how important children are to Jesus? Do you know how important each of you is inthis room? Do you understand how muchGod loves you and thinks the world of you?”

As she taught, she would put her hand on the shoulder ofa child, or give another a hug. Shepulled them close to show them how Jesus would have had the children sit withhim, showing his love through hugs and tickles and laughter.

“Jesus loves you so much.”

Some of their faces were downcast as she emphasized thislove Jesus shows. Others averted theireyes or sat and pondered what was being shared. In their culture, showing affection tochildren isn’t very common. For an adultto hug a child and affirm their love is something rarely seen. It wasn’t just another Sunday School lessonwhere “Jesus loves you” is a cute little song; no, it was a life lesson of loveand hope being poured into their hearts and minds, repeated over and over indifferent ways to allow it to sink deep into their souls.

I guess in Western culture it’s very familiar to us tohave a teacher share God’s love and affirm our value. In Burkina culture, negative reinforcement isby far the norm in classrooms. But asthis lady shared the story, she continually drew the little guys in with “Youare so special” and “You are so intelligent; I know you can learn this verse.” All throughout the lesson, she gave them eacha turn and reminded them each of their value. Her actions shouted the truth that Jesus does indeed love the littlechildren. All of them.

They acted out the scene as children played Jesus, Hisdisciples, and the little kids on his lap. It was one more interaction to help them understand the words of theverse they were memorizing.

“Okay now, when you go home and your parents askyou what you learned at the center today, what will you say? When your friends at home ask you what youdid today, what will you tell them? Willyou tell them about this awesome love that God has for you and for them? Princes and princess of God, will you sharewith them this verse that Jesus shared about how valuable children are to Him? Will you tell them that God loves them tooand wants to have a relationship with them?”

Wow.

There is was – in the span of 45 minutes, ten childrenhad found themselves face to face with the reality of God’s love, been remindedof their infinite value, and given a platform to share the Gospel with theirfamily and friends. These 7 year oldswho live in some of the worst poverty we can imagine were just handed keys totake one step out of a poverty that would capture their souls foreternity. They were given tools to sharethat hope with those around them in poverty. They were speaking truth from Scripture and the power of God was workingin their hearts in those moments. God’s Word was being written on their hearts,and His love was shaping them for eternity.

They ended the lesson with a prayer asking God to helpthem share boldly with their family and friends, and then each child was giventhe opportunity to lead a song of their choice. They sang out songs of joy about God and His love, songs that wouldspeak to their hearts in dark times when they would need truth. They probably don’t understand the full depthof the love of God at age 7, but they are beginning to understand the simpleand powerful truth of the Gospel:

“I am loved by my Father and King Jesus. I am His beloved prince and princess. He has chosen me by His grace and that isenough. Jesus loves me when no one elsein this world will. Jesus loves.”

awake

2011-11-26T18:07:00.001Z

to awake : to cease sleeping | to become aroused or active again | to become conscious or aware of something (m-w.com)

I've been hearing a theme in many songs recently, so i checked my itunes collection the other day. Searching for the phrase "awake" or "awaken my soul" turned up several songs.

"In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die, where you invest your love, you invest your life. awake my soul, you were made to meet your maker" - Mumford & Sons [Awake My Soul]

"Awake my soul to live this moment, awake my soul, give thanks and hold it" -Shaun Groves [Awake My Soul']

"Like the rising sun that shines, from the darkness comes a light, i hear Your voice and this is my awakening...like the rising sun that shines, awake my soul, awake my soul and sing. only You can raise a life, awake my soul, awake my soul and sing." -Chris Tomlin [Awakening]

"awaken my soul, all I've gained I'm letting go, letting go...awaken my soul, everything and every dream, awake in me in this season of my deepest need." -Robbie Seay Band [Awaken My Soul]

I'm not sure why the theme seems to appear in many recent album releases. I'm sure it's not a new theme or a new revelation. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that so many of us are numb with distraction and feel our hearts are walking in a dream world. But I'm sure that generations have felt those words painted an accurate picture of their lives in more ways than one.

Have you ever woken up early just to catch the sunrise? Or have you woken up early because of the sunrise? Sleeping out in the bush of Africa is sure to help you "cease sleeping" once that sun comes up over the horizon. You simply cannot sleep with that light and heat shining on your face. And once you see the sun illuminating everything before you, you cannot ignore it's effects.

It's a simple phrase that we understand goes beyond just opening our eyes after sleep and putting our feet on the floor. We want to be conscious. We all want to be active. We want to be aroused to the world and all the emotions that it facilitates. We don't want a half-existence, walking around like sleep-walking zombies. I dare say, however, many of us feel like we are.

I personally find this phrase ringing constantly in my head most days, a clear prayer to God and a begging to my soul at the same time. I want to wake up, but not just open my eyes and walk around during daylight hours and do it all again the next day. No, I want to be "active again." I want "to be conscious" of who I am and who God is making me. I want my soul to move from its numb slumber to a place of full awareness of the God that is shining His light on my face. I want to awaken my heart and soul because His light is beaming fiercely on me and I cannot help but open my eyes and get moving.

Just like Chris Tomlin aptly points out, we can't make ourselves wake up. Until the light of Christ shines on our lives, we are not just sleeping but we are completely dead. And dead can't raise dead. Only the light of Christ can raise my life, soften my heart, and awaken my soul.

So awaken my soul to the light of my Savior. Awaken my soul to the heart of love that is resurrecting me. Awaken my life to fully live in the reality of God as my Maker. Awaken my heart to the depth of His love. Awake my soul. Be aware. Be active again.

lakeview

2011-11-07T20:46:00.002Z

As most of you know (or will soon realize), gmail's online formatting has just changed. They rearranged what you're used to, removed extra text, and streamlined the design. At first I was confused, but it's getting better and easier to use the more I use it. Although they had background "themes" before, they've updated them just a bit. I previously used the mountain theme before, but with the new system, they've updated the photos and they rotate to a new photo just about everyday.

The photo above is what I'm currently looking at on my background.

Seriously. That's amazing. I don't know where that is found, but it really doesn't matter. There are a 1000 places on earth just like that, waiting for me to come and visit.

Seeing these brilliant photos reminds me of how much I want to find myself sitting in the mountains. If you give me the choice of the beach or mountains, I'd pick mountains every time. I lived in the mountains for years, and I never get over the crazy beauty of it. I may not have taken full advantage of it, but it never lost its wonder. One of the most beautiful sights is driving down the road from the plateau and realizing you can see the blue peaks in the distance. Oh that brings joy to my soul. I understand how C.S. Lewis often used mountains to describe "Aslan's Country" and reminding others to go "further up and further in."

Obviously I no longer live in the mountains. The nearest mountains to me, well, they aren't close. The desert is essentially my backyard. The leaves are falling off the trees here, but that's only because they're drying up and dying off. But the majesty and the mystery of the mountains is still deep in my blood. It takes a photo from google to remind me of that, I guess.

So even as I wake up each morning in this very dry and very flat place, I will not give up my desire to see some more mountains in this world and am really looking forward to the mountains in the next. Maybe God will grant me the blessing to enjoy more of the fullness of this creation while I still can. Maybe I'll get to reach a few of my pipe dreams and see more of this continent while I'm here. Maybe not. But it doesn't change that deep wonder that God has placed within me, and I know I'll have eternity to explore all the mountains I want.

Anyone want to take a drive with me to find a mountain lake with a view?

sometimes

2011-10-29T21:24:00.002Z

sometimes you just have to laugh. you laugh because what could go wrong, well, it did. all at the same time.

sometimes you laugh because you know it's all going to work out.

sometimes you're going to lose a car key, and sometimes you'll find it as your driving down the road.

sometimes you have to change all your plans to be what someone needs you to be in that moment.

sometimes you have a lose a little sleep to be present in the crisis.

sometimes you have to be willing to be the strong one.

sometimes you have to get lost driving alone through the bush.

sometimes you have to cancel your French class...again.

sometimes you have to find the answers to the questions on your own.

sometimes you have to smile at the smile on someone's face when they forget their own name.

sometimes you have to be reminded to have fun.

sometimes you have to trust someone else.

sometimes you just have to do what it takes to get it done.

sometimes you have to make your own decisions.

sometimes you have to just be there as they cry.

sometimes you have to be strong.

sometimes you have to be weak.

sometimes you have to fill in.

sometimes you have to speak what's on your mind.

sometimes you have to answer the question.

sometimes you have to ask it.

sometimes you have to wait for the puppies to come...and wait...and wait...

sometimes you have to put up new curtains.

sometimes you just have to have a girls' night.

sometimes you have deliver what's needed.

sometimes you just need to hear a familiar voice.

sometimes you just have to take them to airport.

sometimes you have to take a photo to remember the incredible joy of that moment and inhibition of family.

sometimes you have to take a nap.

and sometimes, just sometimes, you have to treat yourself to ice cream with sprinkles...

what a week.

walls

2011-10-13T22:27:00.001Z

Walls are an interesting part of Burkina culture. Walls function not only as protection, but as a dividing line of ownership. Walls keep animals out and children in. Walls protect from the fierce winds and bring a bit of privacy. Walls offer security from theft and vandalism, and also define your status in society. Walls are solid, concrete, and are generally the first thing constructed in a building project. Otherwise, someone may challenge your right to the property.

I've had a bit of frustration with walls and security this week. I understand the need for walls, especially in this society. Upon entering my own courtyard, I get a sense of privacy and security. Although the neighbor's chicken's or soccer ball occasionally visit our yard, the walls do their job at keeping things out that need to stay out. And I feel I can let my guard down once inside, and allowing people through the gate is allowing them into that secure place of my life.

But down the street I've been having some trouble getting behind some walls at our international school. For years the school has been a place of retreat, with an open field for walking and running, basketball courts, etc. I've been a substitute teacher there many times, as well as come to connect with many of the students, teachers, and staff. It's a place to exercise without worrying about some guy on the corner calling to his "princess" or knowing that everyone is staring at you as you run. But as the cycle goes, they're locking down security and I've found myself fighting a losing battle to get back on campus.

And I've gotten angry about it. I've felt like someone busted me in the gut at times. It may seem like a trivial thing, but anyone who knows me knows how sacred and vital my running and walking times are. And the blessing of living 2 blocks from a private track - wow. I've wrestled with it all week. I've felt they've removed my freedom; they've removed my secure place. Oh, it's secure for them, but it's only for me when they choose to let me into their community. The school has been a safety zone to recharge my soul and connect with friends. It's been a place to let my guard down. But recently I've felt they now view me as a stranger and not welcome. That security point of my life is being removed.

Don't get me wrong: I understand the need for security at a school. I'm not questioning that need. I see both sides of the coin. They are responsible for kids' safety and well-being. I'm all for that. Where do I fall into that? Right now, not very high on their list. They're still working through some details, but I'm not holding my breath.

The issue today isn't the policy of a school on who they let or don't let through their gates. The issue today really comes down to letting go of my safety nets.

In those places of safety I find myself building the walls to protect me. In reality, no wall I build around my life can effectively protect me from anything. All of us try to build walls around us in some way. Some have bank accounts or relationships or good deeds or children or stories to write home about. Some of us travel the world or just don't leave home at all. And we build walls around our worlds to protect us - but those walls will always fail.

So in my moments of anger and frustration and fear, God is teaching me to let go of the safety nets I cling to. He's teaching me to cling to the true safety in Him, where walls are not needed to protect and separate. All things move freely in Him.

So whether not we work it out where they'll let me run a few miles a week around the soccer field is yet to be seen. But whether or not I'll remind myself that I'm entitled to nothing and I'm blessed with so much, that I will do.

This morning, I took a long walk through the "forest" about a mile from my house. I was surprised with a host of exotic birds, squirrels, dragon-like lizards, caterpillars, and a whirlwind of butterflies. And the beauty and wild security of God was in them all. So I will welcome God breaking down the walls that I try to protect myself with, as I learn to open my eyes to the beauty and wonder of trusting in a perfect Father to surround me.

down time

2011-10-03T21:52:00.002Z

Down time. I don't always do well with down time, that is, time where there isn't that much required of me. There is always plenty to do, but it's much easier when the important and urgent wins out and clearly directs my schedule. I guess it requires less thinking and energy and decision-making.

But when I've caught up on all the projects, and I've gotten a grasp on all the urgent and important, I'm left to fill in the blanks of how to fill my time. And I'm discovering that's not something that I do well with.

i guess we all have moments like that.

For me, the challenge comes down to taking ownership of my time, making things happen and using that time well. It means taking ownership of responsibility and personal vision. It means finding internal motivation and listening to a wise Voice that always has an agenda for my day, if I choose to listen to Him.

So in my downtime, I'm learning to seek responsibility, to allow space to face myself and my heart, and to savor the moments of rest. Sometimes that means embracing the things I fear or just slowing down long enough to revisit priorities.

Because we all know the downtime doesn't last forever, and soon the world will demand more of my time than I might want to give.

But for now, I'll choose to grow into it and push past being unmotivated. There's too much at stake.

Video Update - Sept-11

2011-09-19T14:45:00.001Z

In case you don't follow Facebook too closely...here's an update from a few days ago:

radiant

2011-09-09T18:31:00.001Z

Today I stopped by a relatively new Compassion International center/church outside of Ouaga called Tampouy. It's a church we don't get to often, and one that has been around for only a few years. We just stopped by on the way, just to see how things were progressing with the property. After getting a little lost in the maze that is the neighborhood, we found the child-like painted gate and drove on in.

We drew the attention of several people working in the office at Compassion, getting out of the car to greet them. It was just for a simple "hello, how are you?" with introductions among strangers. I asked the lady on staff how many children were enrolled. "250", she says. "wow," I say. That's a lot of children.

That's a lot of children whose lives are being changed. And families will follow suit. And communities. And nations.

There wasn't much more to the conversation other than initial greetings and me asking if I could come back one Thursday and see their project in action. They were most grateful at the request.

It was more than just Burkinabe hospitality that shone through their faces today. I saw such a joy and dedication to their jobs in caring for these 250 children. They radiated the love of God and their love for these children. They were simply radiant.

Every Compassion worker that I meet in this country, whether it is a teacher in the classroom or someone on staff at that national office, they never fail to share a smile and share a deep joy. It's all the more reason that I love what this organization does through the local church across the world.

If only I would radiate like I've seen these neighbors of mine radiate His love.

<><

And as a PS: I think Shaun Groves is quickly moving to the top of my "heroes" list. Pay him a visit.

tearing down assumptions

2011-08-30T22:09:00.000Z

The word "assumption" really shouldn't be in the dictionary except under the section: "words not to use except in a science experiment or geometry class."

Assuming things has gotten me in a lot of trouble over the years. I've learned not to assume what others are thinking or feeling, not to assume someone will respond a certain way, and not to assume others can read my mind. I've learned to speak up a lot more and ask a lot more questions, and because of it, things in my life have gone so much better.

I'd like to clarify some assumptions people may have, and help give you a little more insight into my world in Burkina. I don't want to assume you know everything, and I definitely don't assume you want to. But I thought it would be a fun and educational exercise. Ready?

Assumption #1: All missionaries in Africa live in mud huts. False. I live in a large city of 2-3 million people. Many of my neighbors are really rich; most of them are Africa poor. I have running water, indoor plumbing, electricity, a fully-functioning kitchen and high speed (sometimes) internet.

Assumption #2: Africa is insanely hot. Well, true and false. For the past few summer months, I've checked the temperatures and the US has actually been hotter than Ouaga. Plus without an abundance of AC, the heat doesn't take as big of a toll on your body as it does when you're constantly walking from one extreme to the other. Granted, several months out of the year it barely drops below 100. That is insanely hot.

Assumption #3: Missionaries know all the news from home. False. More often than not, I probably haven't heard it. And even if i had, I don't mind hearing again, just to hear something from that side of my world and to connect with my friends and family. (I'm not talking about gossip, but things that impact your life, big or little. I actually do care to know what movie you watched last weekend. Especially if it involves things or people I know well, it helps in keeping up with how things are changing and makes being back home easier to handle. It also helps make it easier to be far away).

Assumption #4: The natives are restless. False. Most of the natives are looking to survive and be your friend. They value their relationships above all else and want to take care of their families and be treated as valued humans. Most work hard and give all they have to survive and love.

Assumption #5: We only eat rice and watermelon. Falso. Well, I threw in the watermelon part because it's actually watermelon season here. Living in Ouaga, we actually have a nice supply of local fruits and vegetables all year long. Sure, there's a lot of rice, but we've got almost every other legume under the sun. Many of it is seasonal, such as 6 weeks of strawberries in February/March, but local farmers have worked to keep year-round gardening strong. Several grocery stores in town stock packaged items from Europe, and one has just started stocking products straight from Florida! I can even get raisin bran now. It's not quite on the cheap end of things, but it's nice to treat yourself to some tastes of home periodically.

Assumption #6: Missionaries are always busy. Well, that's probably true. But we're never too busy to connect with friends and family, and we all need to learn to pause from work and enjoy life a little more.

Assumption #7: Lions and tigers and giraffes roam outside my back door. Sorry, you've seen too many movies about East African countries. The best I've got is a cat who thinks it should live inside, and a few geckos and song birds.

Assumption #8: Malaria is something to fear. Well, briefly, yes and no. Malaria is a serious, potentially life-threatening disease. We take medicine to prevent it as much as we can. I just heard this week of an MK who died in West Africa because of a serious form of it. (close your ears, mom). But in reality, most malaria cases can be taken care of with a few cheap pills, and people recover within a few days or weeks. Most people here don't have access to or the ability to purchase these meds, which is why malaria is one of the number one killers of my neighbors, particularly the elderly and young.

Assumption #9: Missionaries always get along. Yeah, not so much. Mission fields are like pressure cookers. We try, but the drama is just as powerful here as it can be in your own family.

Assumption #10: That you know how much appreciate your prayers, emails, packages, and phone calls. I do, a lot. And I mean it when I say it's that support from home that keeps us going. So thank you for praying, calling, emailing, texting, supporting, reading, sharing, and caring.

Well, these are just a few assumption-breakers to chew on for today. If you like, I can always come up with more. Comment below if there's something you'd like to know more about.

I won't assume it, but I hope you've learned something and have enjoyed my thoughts for today.

want to help?

2011-08-21T17:22:00.000Z

So, in the past few days, I've realized there are a few things from American that would make ministry easier. I hate asking for things and being a burden, but many of you have reminded me that if I need anything, let you know. This is an attempt to open up that door and swallow my pride.

Watch-type battery #357/303. it's for the pickup for my guitar. NC was conveniently out of stock before i left.
FM transmitter for ipod/mp3 player (to use in a vehicle).
Music stand lights. These are the little blue ones that clip onto a music stand, use a small battery, and are used by orchestras or choirs. Currently, our little worship team for youth group has to use a flashlight to follow their music. It works, but it would be nice to have the little lights.
We also need some ink cartridges, or money to purchase some locally. But unfortunately, those are things that are expensive across the world.

If you think you can help with any of this, shoot me an email or find me on facebook.

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darkness and light

2011-08-10T22:08:00.000Z

I'm having a really hard time finding the words to share this story. i just can't do it justice. A couple of weeks ago, I went with a team into the heart of darkness. We drove into the bush and found ourselves in a village unlike any we'd ever been in before. The only word i can use to describe it is "dark." In other villages, I was used to the deep hospitality and love of Christians. In this village, there was only uncertainty and fear.

The children came first, watching out of curiousity. Almost all of them wore some sort of charm around their neck or waste, some sort of fetish given to them by the local witch doctor to ward off evil spirits. This people group, the Lobi, are often compared to the Sioux indians in the Americas: unable to be conquered, wild, proud, dark. They live in area deep in animism and spiritual captivity, living constantly in fear and uncertainty. Our commission was to provide a structure for a new church meeting in this village of Kimpera. Surrounded by darkness, this church was protected from the sun and rain with cement bags tied to wooden posts.

Our first visit was quiet and uneventful, minus a visit from the village drunk and village chief. The chief welcomed us and asked for a well, then continued on his way. Only a handful of children were with us, as well as a couple of teenagers helping as we set the posts on what would become their new church.

It was a quiet and dark experience in this bush village. I expected much the same on the second trip. When our group arrived the second time to finish the hangar, it was explained to us that the village had invited us to stay with them. We'd been staying in a home in the larger city that was nearby. The village was expecting us. It was a most welcome difference. The first night we stayed in town and were joined by the pastor and some church members for dinner and rounds of arabic tea.

When we arrived at the church site in the village the next day, we were greeted by children and adults in the village, eager to see the church finished. Others were curious at the visitors to their village. The pastor directed the children to help us unpack, and they all grabbed our luggage, beds, and totes and carried them a good 1/4 miles to where where we were to stay in the village. I saw a young boy around 5 or 6 carrying a load nearly as big as he was. Humbling to be served in such a way.

The rest of the day was spent finishing the roof to the hangar, talking, and eating together. The people of the village were still reserved and shy, but there were many more people there helping and watching the entire process. The pastor decided to take advantage of the opportunity and use our presence as a catalyst. So we drove through town to pick up a sound system and some children from the church, ready to watch a bush evangelism service.

As the sun set, we watched as the villagers dug in the sand by the church and started a fire. Rice and sauce was prepared for all that would come to the evangelism service and celebration. The sound system was setup and the invitation was broadcast over the speakers to come to the church and hear the news of God's truth and love. It was a humbling night. I watched villagers come through the darkness to this structure that was simple metal. I heard the pastor pray a powerful prayer against the spiritual darkness surrounding, declaring the power of God and the one true Creator. I listened and was humbled as God opened my ears and allowed me to understand French as I never have before. I stood with my friends and translated as best i could, astounded at the boldness of this pastor as He shared truth.

The pastor kept the message short, and the youth continued to sing and dance throughout the entire night. The pastor prayed for those wanting to be healed, trusting in the power of God to heal their bodies. He remained at the church all night, talking with anyone who wanted and praying for anyone who asked. Dancing continued all night, and what dancing it was. Wow. I'll take you to watch one day when we get to heaven.

Throughout this day, we'd heard rumors of a major rain that was supposed to come. As we watched the clouds build and the lightning illuminate the night sky, we asked the pastor if it would rain. His confident reply is ingrained in each of our minds: "It will not rain. We have prayed that it won't and God is more powerful." Our eyes watched as in ALL directions the clouds built and lightning surrounded us. But it did not rain. At one point, it sprinkled just enough to move the people under the roof of the new church. It was almost like God was reminding them that it was time to celebrate under the church that would bring light to this dark place. As soon as the group had relocated the sound system and benches under the structure, the rain stopped. As one of my friends noted, it was a prime opportunity for God to show His power against the darkness.

It was an experience hard to recount to you. That evening, several of us spent the night in a house of a woman near the church. it was likely the chief of the village didn't give her a choice in sharing her home with a group of Americans. It was the first experience I'd had with fetishes, as her home was "guarded" by two statue-like fetishes set there to protect from spirits and thieves. And within eyesight of the church, this woman lived. I can't help but wonder what she thinks and how the Gospel will affect her.

God is shining His light in this village. The difference from the first visit to the second is enough proof to see that God is working in their hearts. I saw God's power work in beautiful ways and know that this church will be a light in this very dark and unreached world. Our presence was simply a catalyst, providing a tool to bridge the gap for this pastor. God is working there, and we were privileged to be a part. We are privileged to carry His light ourselves, not just by sending money, but by opening up our hearts and being willing to look them directly in the eye and say "this is how much we love you and God loves you. We are behind you."

The darkness cannot overcome the light, and God is shining His light across this globe. Shine on.

Compassion Balkuy

2011-08-10T21:20:00.000Z

I've been a fan of Compassion International for a while. I started sponsoring my first child in 2003, and I do not regret one penny I've given. I've seen God work through this organization and the churches that it touches across the globe.

One of these churches is in a neighborhood of Ouagadougou called Balkuy. A recent church plant around two years old, it became a Compassion project just a year into its history. We first visited the Compassion project last November, and the property was overrun with 3-5 year olds. It bordered on chaos; but it was a beautiful chaos. You can read more about that experience HERE.

Over 6 months later and you could see a marked difference, as the church and project poured hours of effort into caring for and loving on these kids. I had the terrifying privilege of driving a van full of Burkinabe and Americans into this remote part of the city, on what are some of the worst roads. As we finally arrived at the church, the children were in two lines along each side of the entrance. They'd been waiting in the hot sun for our arrival, and they sang loudly in French as they welcomed us to their project.

After greeting each child with a handshake and a hello, we were ushered into the church for introductions and explanations of how Compassion works. The children went to their classrooms for their breakfast, and we joined them afterwards for a time of exercise and play.

Compassion focuses on four main elements of formation for these children. Physical, Spiritual, Social-Emotional, and Mental. Every part of their day is specifically programmed to meet one of those elements. in each classroom, volunteer teachers lead the children in Christian songs, Bible studies, and lessons. After the lessons, children are fed another nutritious meal. This day it was rice and fish, and they gladly shared with us.

Along with the visit to the project, several in our group had the privilege of spending time with their sponsored children. Some of the kids were really young and had difficulty warming up to their new American friends. But by the end of the day, everyone was enjoying each other's company and smiles were shared all around. For the children, the day is something that means so much to them and their family. Not only do they get to put a face with a name, but they experience love that flows from God through their sponsor.

Nick had the special privilege of visiting his child's home and spending a little time with his boy's mother. It's always a humbling experience to be invited into the home of a child living in poverty. It is a special blessing and very important in the culture of Burkina to spend time together in each other's home. Nick has the special blessing of sponsoring a boy who is also a twin. So for the day, he naturally spent the day with both boys (both of which are currently sponsored through Compassion). Arriving at the home of his child, I quickly noticed the level of poverty there. The home was a solid and safe structure, a comfort to me especially with the frequent rains and flooding in the area. But their home was without a wall or gate, right next to a major road and large school. Walls are important in Burkina culture - without them, you are not safe and cannot protect yourself or your property.

Nick spent some time talking to the mother and learning more about their life and their family. He took some time to share with them some photos of his life and family, building connections and helping to tear down barriers. He shared a few gifts and played a little soccer with the boys. As we prepared to leave, he shared the most important gift as he talked about His love for God and his desire to see this family follow Christ as he has done.

He prayed for the family and their salvation, and opened his arms to bring them into his extended family. Children are not required to be Christians to be in the Compassion program. Nick's family is a Muslim family. But through Compassion, they are more open to the truth and love of Christ, and I've seen time after time how God has used the churches and staff members of Compassion to bring these little ones to Him.

The afternoon was spent at the amusement park, and I'll let the final photos speak for themselves. It's so much fun to watch these kids get the joy of playing at the park and experiencing the thrill of a trampoline or carousel for the first time. It's an opportunity to give the kids a little fun and to build trust and relationship with their sponsors. These kids live in a broken world. We also live in a broken world; the brokenness just shows up in different ways. To see just for a few hours God mend that brokenness in our souls, that's a blessing. The sponsors felt the reality of their brokenness and the joy of God holding it together through His love. The sponsored felt the love and value that God pours on them. It's just one way to act out God's love. Compassion is just one organization that works well and is making a difference. I make no apologies for plugging them or showing you photos of kids and adults whose lives are being changed by love.

sandcastles

2011-08-08T20:10:00.000Z

Some days, the best choice is to put down the shovel and stop working, and sit down in a pile of sand and make sandcastle villages with a bunch of beautiful kids. Sometimes it's better to build imagination and relationships than to build walls.

telling the stories

2011-08-07T19:14:00.000Z

I'm having a hard time telling the stories of the past few weeks, so the best I've got today are just a few photos that can share their own tales. More to come later.

preview

2011-08-06T12:09:00.000Z

We had a great time with my friends from North Carolina. So many stories to tell and photos to share. It always sad to say goodbye, but there are so many things to look forward to in the future.

After a good night's sleep and catching up on some work this morning, we're looking at the next few days at our Field Forum - our mission conference. It'll be good to get a break, to relax in a hotel, to catch up with friends and to catch up with my soul.

Hopefully I'll be able to start sharing brief stories and photos during this time and let you rejoice in what God has been doing here in Burkina.

The Will of God

2011-07-19T20:23:00.000Z

Yesterday we took a short trip out of town to visit a little girl that I've never met but have followed her story for a couple of years. What was just a "few" kilometers turned into an entire day ordeal, as we continued "just a little farther" down the road and a little father off the beaten path. It was a muddy day of downpours, and the roads continued their blessing of muddy potholes and river crossings. By the time we arrived at the little girl's home, we were forging through footpaths in our Land Cruiser between freshly sown fields.

I'm not even sure where we were, but there were a few hills with farms all around, courtyards with mudbrick homes, and an abundance of Baobab trees in all directions. It was a long and unexpected journey, but it brought us to the home of Wendabo.

A couple of years ago, her and her mother showed up at the home of one of my colleagues, asking for some sort of help Wendabo was born without arms or legs, and essentially had no future to match. In a world where your ability to do work reflects your value in society, Wendabo has zero.

My colleague was unable to help at that time, and had to send the family back on their long journey home. But the story was etched deep in their hearts and God wouldn't let them rest.

A little over a year ago, we discussed the possibility of using some of our funds that the Wired Youth Group raised for their annual 30 Hour Famine to help this little girl make it through her childhood. We'd begun to hear rumors. Every village the mother and her daughter stayed in, the village leaders tried to give her poison to take the baby's life. After all, she had no future and was merely a burden. She was considered a curse to the villages, and the mother was constantly on the move to save her baby girl's life. The youth group quickly decided to be an advocate for this girl and to believe that every life is valuable. In a way, we're all handicapped like this girl, and we all need someone stronger than us to bring us to life. For this girl, our hope was to not only give her life but to give her physical life long enough to know spiritual life.

We raised enough funds to give this girl a chance, giving her and her mother a monthly allotment of food, as well as supplementary resources if she became ill or has another emergency. Eventually we'd hoped to give her the chance to be educated and given tools to be able to use the stubs of limbs that she has.

It took a lot of work to find the little girl after the funds were raised. We commissioned the help of our development arm of the national church here in Burkina (ACCEDES) and they partnered with the government and police to track down the girl. She had moved around so much that the job of finding her took nearly 6 months. We received confirmation finally that they had found her and made sure they communicated what the group had done, publicly to send a statement to the village that this girl's life was to be protected.

As we entered the courtyard and our shoes sank deep in the mud, I just pondered all that had happened over the past few years to bring us to this place. Sometimes it's hard to justify such an effort for one who has so little hope in the world. Sometimes it's hard to see that something that has so little value in the world's eyes has so much value in God's eyes. It's just hard to see with our human eyes. But we chose to take a risk and see how God would work His miracles.

The next few minutes we stood in the rain, exchanging introductions and preparing to present Wendabo with her gifts. I watched her mother bring her little girl out and set her on a dirty cloth on the muddy ground. It felt a little awkward at times, a group of white people standing there staring at this handicapped girl and taking photos. But somehow it was okay. I wanted to capture the humanity in this little girl, her beauty that was beyond her handicap.

We presented her with a wheelchair, a vital gift to help her as she grows too big to carry. She sat in it proudly, as my colleagues children presented her with gifts: a stuff deer and a necklace. The locals thought the deer was a frog, but after a few minutes it didn't matter what it was as Wendabo wrapped what arms she had around the fuzzy toy.

As the necklace was put around her neck, she worked her finger to pull it up to her face to see this new treasure. And then she smiled. Her face lit up as she began to feel love and value. Her mind opened as she learned to blow bubbles, and she glimpsed a moment of a "normal" life.

Our time at her home had to be brief, as we were already several hours behind and the rain did not allow us to linger. The development director presented her mother with a cell phone, to call the nearest town if Wendabo was ever sick and needed care. And with many thank yous and smiles and greetings and a few final prayers for her health and salvation, we were allowed the road.

What are you supposed to feel after seeing a situation like that? How are you supposed to respond? I know I had a small part in letting this girl see another year of life - I know there are many who will never know the full extend of the part they played when they gave the funds and prayed for this girl. Should I be proud? Should we have invested our money elsewhere? Is this just a story of pity and exploitation?

I don't think so.

The name Wendabo comes from two Moore words meaning: "God's will." When Wendabo was in her mother's womb, it was the will of God. When He formed her, he allowed parts to not grow as they should. I won't have a theological debate here about God's will - but I do know that her life is the will of God. Her mother believed that and fought to keep her baby alive when everyone was against her. We believed that and fought to do what was in our power to keep her alive as long as we are able.

And as each one of us are crippled without Christ, He did all in His power to give us life and value. It is His will for each of us, and we respond to that by extending that love to everyone we come into contact with. It is God's will that we walk this earth with two good legs or no legs at all. It is God's will and desire that we know Him. Wendabo is one in a billion stories displaying the glory and the will of God in weakness. I am no better than her because I have arms and legs. The story's not about me anyway.

I think it's more about the will of God working in our lives. And I'm excited to see where He takes Wendabo. I'm excited to see where He takes me.

just a few photos

2011-07-15T17:08:00.000Z

A little over 4 years ago, I stepped into Burkina for the first time. During the past two weeks, I was able to come full circle to many of the places I've visited over the past few years. The first time I came, we traveled to a town called Diebougou. This trip would change our lives and the lives of many that come into our path. But that's another story for another day. We stopped in a village called Founzan 4 years ago, spending a little time with a pastor there. I have a photo from that day of our group staring down a well. It was this well that still stands but is now replaced with a drilled well, providing clean water for those from miles around.

The pastor's home and old well.

New well with abundant water. The pastor is able to interact with all that live around him, providing them with physical and spiritual water.

The current church in the village near Gaoua.

The new church will be a light in darkness, founded on love and prayer.

Why thank you, ENO, for providing me with a great place to sleep in the bush.

WAWA - West Africa Wins Again. Thankfully we only had one on this trip.

Some days Africa looks like home.

Baobab Tree.

I don't have the energy to tell all the stories tonight. But soon I'll have more to share. For now, here are a few photos to help you see what I see.

flexibility

2011-07-11T16:47:00.000Z

I should be in the bush of Africa right now. But West Africa won out again today. Instead we did some shopping, found the Christian bookstore, and cleaned out my storage shed.

i should be less in charge right now, be less responsible, feeling less guilty about something I can't control. But flexibility is reminding me it wants to be remembered and embraced.

I should be sitting around under a tree in a village, watching African men and women work, talking to someone who speaks a little French, anxiously awaiting the brilliant night sky. But instead I'm sitting in my room under a ceiling fan, alone.

Flexibility is probably one of the most difficult lessons to learn, and even experience isn't a perfect teacher. So tomorrow we'll try again to head to the village where we'll help them start the first phase of their church. I'll watch 9 faces experience the "real Africa" for the first time and help guide them through the process. I'll find a few moments where my heart will feel free and will taste joy and sadness.

We'll see what should or shouldn't happen when tomorrow comes. But for now I'll make the most of today, catching up on what was left behind and learning lessons for the future. Because I guess today happened just as today should have happened. And today will not be wasted.

a hundred thousand faces and a hundred thousand questions

2011-07-06T21:06:00.000Z

I went to sector 30 today. I've been several times, and I'm now to the point I can find my way to the church there, weaving in tight spaces between homes and shops that all look exactly the same on first glance. It's a maze that will leave you stranded if you make the wrong turn, through a neighborhood not designed for anything larger than a moto.

Sector 30 is on the outskirts of the city, what we might equate to the ghetto in the US. It's part village and part city, with just enough of both to leave the residents in some of the worst poverty you'll find in the capital city. The sanitation is even worse here because of the homes stacked so close together, most of which are crumbling from the wind and rain that slowly (and sometimes quickly) beat away at their feeble mudbrick and sand structures.

I've looked into these faces a hundred times. No, not the same kids in this neighborhood, but hundreds just like them across this country. I didn't take any photos today. I just couldn't find the motivation. These babies are beautiful but without much hope. Some will survive and make it out. Most won't. It's just a reality of life that by living here you sometimes get numb to.

I watched a hundred kids light up as the van drove by with the white people. They knew what it meant - a group of strangers were coming and they wanted to see the sight. They knew it would mean attention, love, possibly a gift, and definitely a distraction to their day. I watched the Americans we were with watch in awe and hesitation as to what to do first. I watched the drama unfold as kids played for a while and thought about this process I was walking through yet another time.

And as I stood by and watched, one member of the team began to ask me questions as he processed his second trip. The questions were hard, and some were the same questions I've been asking myself. And the questions were valid and challenging. I didn't always have the answer I wanted.

So as we talked I watched the faces of these kids. I asked myself again what good can we do to reach a country so materially poor, or if we even should, or how we should approach it. I asked myself how can we change our perspective to look beyond the material differences and see the spiritual ones, the relational ones. I asked myself how we can change our perspective to understand that we are just the same as these children, without hope without Christ.

God is working here - I wish I could see it more. I wish I would believe it more. Why do i do what i do? So children like the ones I saw today can understand hope and love, and equate that directly with the love that God freely offers. My goal is not to narrow the gap between the material poverty and wealth. My goal is not to feel sorry for these kids and offer them something that will be gone tomorrow. My goal is not to raise money to build a thousand schools and dig a thousand wells so that children can live another year. My goal isn't to feed the country or see every child overcome malnutrition.

Because in 100 years, none of that matters. In 100 years, it really doesn't matter if you died when you were 5 or when you were 50. In 100 years, it really doesn't matter what time you woke up or what you had for breakfast. But in 100 years, it does matter if you knew the truth and experienced the love of Christ personally and have come alive.

So I will work to build 1000 wells if it means that a million kids can have Living Water.
I will work to build 1000 schools if that means children can experience the Living Word that flows through them and influences their family and their community.
I'll make sure teams get to experience the rollercoasters of emotions so that hearts will be stirred and they will understand the poverty of their own souls and their necessity for something beyond themselves.
I will work to see children fed so they can know the Living Bread that will last.
I will work to support the church and its vision for its country, allowing their culture to be changed into the culture God has for it, not the one I would have for it.
I will work to pave the way for hundreds of hands and feet to walk the same streets I get to walk, so that more can experience the love of Christ.

I will continue to question and re-evaluate what we do. I will continue to question my heart and my efforts. And I think that's okay.

blessings

2011-07-03T23:08:00.000Z

Often I am struck by the fact that I have been blessed beyond measure. I am generally confused by it. Why is it that God has chosen to bless me in so many ways? What am I offering that causes Him to respond that way?

And I know that's the wrong question even though I continue to ask it. God's blessings have less to do with my action or inaction and more to do with His grace and love. He doesn't reward me for my obedience or punish for my sins in the sense that we define karma. God's grace overrides our acts. Both ways. And yet I sit in awe of His blessings and His provision and I cannot keep it to myself. He deserves more than that. Much more.

Just in the past few months I've been overwhelmed by blessings and miracles and answers to prayers in my life. As I explored the possibility of moving back to Burkina and working here, I knew it would take a miracle to see everything fall into place in the short amount of time I was given. Too many things needed to happen, too much money needed to be raised. Too many decisions had to be made and approved quickly. But the miracles necessary didn't deter me from walking the path. The miracles actually spurred me on. I was excited to see what God could and would do in this journey He was placing me on. I was excited to be able to say at the end of the day: "God is good and He was the only one that could have provided this. He is in this."

So financially money was pledged rather quickly to cover the bulk of my financial needs from many different sources, churches, individuals. It continuously blows me away that people want to be involved in the work we are doing. And i know it will be a blessing to them as it has been to me. And as more people want to share in the work here, more blessings will pour as God works through each of us to do His work.

Since arriving back on African soil, I've found myself blessed to be in this place at this time. My skills and experience have placed me in a unique spot that allows me to plug in quickly and help keep things pushing forward. I love what I'm doing. And I'm only getting started.

I've been blessed to reconnect with so many of the students I worked with and see how they've grown and matured. It's been such a joy to watch how the seeds I helped to plant have grown and blossomed.

I've been blessed with more than I need to live, supplies and equipment and tools to get the job done and live peacefully. I even worked it where my hammock fits perfectly on my front porch, allowing me a cool and dry place to relax. And the yard are filled with trees and hundreds of songbirds, dancing around on their branches and bringing beauty to such a desolate land. Even the simple things like being able to watch NCIS or The Dick Van Dyke Show via the internet, those are blessings and hints of grace.

Even the things that aren't so good are blessings. Struggling to push myself to learn to drive a manual transmission - now there is joy and confidence as my feet have finally begun to understand the physics of it. The heat and the humidity are brutal, but it's good to remind me of my purpose that goes beyond comfort. The frustration and beauty of African culture combined - all are blessings even as it wearies you quickly.

God's given me health, and vision, and skills, and privilege, and love, and joy. He's blessed me with all of those, and most of all, He's blessed me with Himself.

So it's carrying these blessings I walk into this week. Teams hit the ground in a few hours and much will be on our plates. But God is more than faithful and He will make us more than capable so He can get even more of the glory. Bring on the craziness and the weariness, the early mornings and late nights. Bring on the long drives and sweaty days. Bring on the questions and the answers, the fear and the taxed bodies and minds. But bring with it the deep fullfillment of trusting only in the power of God to work and move hearts and break down walls and build up hope. Bring on the blessing.

See the tabs at the top of the page for updated prayer requests. Thanks for praying.

life

2011-06-27T21:16:00.001Z

the last few weeks have been what most of us would call "life". there aren't a lot of great stories or beautiful photos to show you. i haven't traveled anywhere or had any major revelations. you're not going to be touched by what i might share in the next few paragraphs. but i feel it's important and valuable to share about "life" for me right now.

today i woke up after a difficult night of sleep after my first real run in Africa. i grabbed my normal meal of corn flakes and bananas for breakfast, read a bit from Psalms as i lounged in my hammock, and jumped on my moto to head to the office. i went to work. like many of you did today.

i've been spending a lot of time in the office, helping with end-of-year reports, making sure people get the information they need, keeping tabs of paperwork, working through spreadsheets, rearranging beds in the guesthouse, etc. this weekend we spent a lot of time moving furniture and tubs to our new home, cleaning and organizing the kitchen cabinets.

i need to get to the grocery to get a supply of meat and cheese for the freezer. i've got emails to respond to and phone calls to make. i've got documents to write up and books to be reading. there are trails to run and cookies to bake. my French has come back quickly, but it still needs lots of work.

we stayed up later one night having good conversation with my roommates. we're having discussions on what to do with the cat the previous owners left without notice. we've eaten several meals at the dinner table together, and are working through communicating what life will look like lived together.

so tomorrow I'll go to the office again and help keep things organized and covered as best i can in the African insanity that it can be. i'll make a few more lists to make sure nothing falls between the cracks if i can help it. i'll prepare myself for what is required next week when teams arrive in Burkina, running through possible scenarios, problems, and goals. i'll start thinking about our quick trip out of town at the end of the week, and will continue to work on driving a manual transmission vehicle. i'll take a nap and i'll take a run. i'll visit the airport and turn on my AC to help me get to sleep at night. i'll answer a few emails and pack/unpack a few more boxes.

it's life and we all have to walk through the ordinary. but the ordinary is never just ordinary. i'm living out my gifts and preparing myself to give my best to those that need it. i'm trying to walk into relationships with integrity and optimism, reflecting Christ in both the public and not-so-public areas. i'm being challenged to give and push beyond my natural boundaries and limits so that both the great stories of God and the small stories of grace can be told. i'm constantly learning how to love, how to walk in joy, how to walk with integrity and passion.

life is never just life. it's a gift and always reflects the love and grace of God. i'm hoping we all shine that brightly.

hope you have a great not-so-ordinary ordinary day!

Invited

2011-06-15T09:30:00.001Z

We were invited to be a part of their family for an evening.

My friend Virginie, who used to work for me at my house and was also in one of my English classes, wanted to have a "party" for some friends who are heading out for the summer for vacation and honeymoon. So we were invited to a meal in traditional Burkina fashion.

Driving across town in the dark, we got a little lost in the neighborhood searching for their home. We drove down one street as a man quickly waved us off the street, forcing us to turn down another side street. A group of motos were heading down the bumpy, dirt side street, honking their horns and yelling. They were leading a a group of at least a hundred people walking, filling the entire street. For a moment we thought it was a mob, and we were glad to get out of the way. We knew it wasn't a wedding party (weddings are generally only held on Thursdays and Saturdays), and it didn't seem to be some sort of a protest. We asked our hosts once we arrived at their home, and they were confused as well. Your guess is as good as mine.

Once our host found our car and led us to his home, we saw at least 20 kids standing around the front gate. I could only assume Virginie's girls had spread the word that a bunch of white people were coming to their home for a big meal. So we were the evening entertainment, it seemed.

We were greeted at the gate by the family - it was so good to see them again. Virginie had just had another baby, so it was my first time to meet her. It was also good to see her other girls, who I'd spent time with several times in the past. They are growing up so fast. The oldest is in the middle of her exams that will allow her into middle school. She's grown a foot since I saw her last, and she's as beautiful as ever. All three of her girls are beautiful.

We didn't take a lot of photos, so I'll try to paint the best picture I can. When you walked into the courtyard, there are about 3 - 4 homes inside, opening up to a common area. Music was playing and tables and chairs were set up in the center of the yard, spread with plates and glasses. The yard had been recently "swept" and the dirt was smooth and free from debris. The children were in a dark corner of the yard, sitting on mattresses (which also serve as their beds at night), with wide eyes and huge smiles. A table was set up to one side, covered with a sheet, under which I assumed was our meal.

After being asked to sit down, they asked what we wanted to drink. Virginie's husband went to the corner store and bought us a rare treat of sodas, so we were served Fanta & Youki, while a few of the women in the family enjoyed a beer. Out of the four guests, only one could speak French fluently. I am intermediate at best, and am pushing to regain what I lost after a year in America. The other two girls are weak in French, so we tried to connect as best we could.

We sat around the table and talked and laughed, trying to find common ground. It was a comforting experience for me, being invited to be a part of their family for the evening, something I knew was important in Burkinabe culture. Matt was even unofficially given the last name of the family, further initiating our crew into their family. It was good to sit there and listen to the conversations, enjoy the laughter as we talked in our three languages. Matt kept up with the cultural etiquette, complementing their hospitality and making the cultural differences less intimidating, easing the tension of the two men at the table with eight talkative women.

We were asked to grab our food first, and we were pleasantly surprised to see a feast of salad, hamburgers, and french fries on the table. Virginie had cooked an American meal for us, and we were honored and humbled. We all loaded up and enjoyed the special meal, as a special gift of American music played in the background. They pulled out a Bryan Adams cd to help us feel more at home, and it did its job.

We continued to eat as questions were passed and answers were given. We talked about well-drilling, farming, languages, America, Canada, hair styles, husbands, eating "to", and Robin Hood. It was good for me to be able to engage a bit in the conversation, and they were pleased that I tried to practice my French. We'd brought along fruit salad for dessert, so we served up the bowls and treated our hosts.

After a few hours of food and conversation, we asked for the road (the Burkina way of asking if you have permission to leave - they have the right to say "no", and it's rude to leave until you have permission), and were given it graciously. I grabbed a few more photos with my friend, sincerely grateful for the Burkina hospitality and their friendship as we were invited to be a part of their family for an evening.

I'm glad to be back in Burkina, even with all of it's inconveniences and frustrations. I've been invited to be a part of something I could have never imagined. I've been invited to take some risks and cross the boundaries of comfortable and see what comes of it. I've been invited to tell the stories and stretch what I know. I've been invited to understand deeper relationship, whether it is with my neighbors here or back across the oceans.

In reality, we've ALL been invited into something bigger than ourselves. My journey takes me to Africa for now. Your journey takes you to your kitchen or the ballfield or the classroom or the office or to India. But it's all the same invitation to open up our lives to the journey of understanding love and relationship with God and with those in our paths. Nothing else matters.

driving

2011-06-15T09:15:00.000Z

I'm learning to drive.

No, I'm a good driver, really I am!

But it's time I learned to get comfortable driving a stick shift, since 99.9% of vehicles in Burkina have manual transmissions.

If I can learn to drive Pete's old truck, I can drive anything.

I think this is going to be really fun.

Look out, Burkina, Susan's coming at you in heavy machinery.

Don't worry, I still love my moto. :-)

"a Ouaga"

2011-06-05T18:36:00.001Z

I left Ouaga almost a full year ago. I arrived back safe and sound on Thursday evening, arriving to a yet-again remodeled airport (they're in process). It was nice to see new glass windows and real conveyor belts for luggage.

As I'm transitioning, so are a lot of other people. So I've been able to pause and be a part of that transition over the past few days. I've rested...a lot. The past few weeks of packing, traveling, and late nights have taken their toll. But I've been able to rest and enjoy the people around me. A missionary family that was very instrumental in my first year in Burkina had just returned for a few weeks to revisit and bring some closure to their many years here. I was able to catch up with them and just enjoy being around them again, as well as connect with several other families. They welcomed me as a part of their families, feeding me and allowing me to share the space of the mission guest house. I've been able to have some good conversations and that's aided in the transition back, helping to assure me of my purpose here.

School is wrapping up for the students, and I was also able to attend graduation and corresponding parties, reconnecting with so many families and students. Many of them are wrapping up their time here, and it's been good to connect with them one more time before they go and I stay. It's also good to see the excitement as they learn my plans to stay on a while.

This week a couple of college students arrive for internships so there will be more transition and change as we work to prep for their arrival and adjustment. There are a lot of decisions to be made, a lot of communication to have to make sure everyone is on the same page, and a lot of work to be done. We'll take it one day at a time, and it'll be hopefully a good process.

I already see where my strengths are going to be used frequently and my weaknesses are going to be tested to the limit. Open doors and challenges are being placed right in my path. But in that God will continue to get His glory in this whole process. We have a big goal in front of us but a big God in us and surrounding us that will work in ways we can't.

Personally, it's just one day at a time, relearning how to live and love. I'm relearning how taxing this climate is on your physically and emotionally. I'm relearning what it means to rest and to give. Trusting God and relearning to lean on Him.

It should be a good ride.

en paris...

2011-06-02T06:15:00.000Z

I love this terminal.

Terminal 2E in Paris, gates 50-something to 79 or so. It's the second time I've been to this particular terminal, and it's quite nice. There's a pink sign for free-WiFi over there, and a man snoring on the comfy ergonomic loungers they have on the other side of the rows of computers. At the next gate they have PS3 stations to keep the kids busy. The little man at the restaurant where I bought my bottle of water shafted me on a $1 change or so, but I'll allow myself one slight by the French today.

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind. I feel like I've been packing all my life. But I finally was able to get everything done, at least the important stuff. I have my final two boarding cards in hand and my passport ready to be stamped.

I figured out this was my 5th flight to Burkina over the years. That's not all that many, but it's enough to feel like a pro and to run through the process subconsciously. Walking through the past few weeks have been like a strange movie I've been watching unfold. Going to Burkina is all-too familiar, but never "just a trip."

I'm not really sure what awaits me on the other end of this flight. Sure, I know what to expect with the climate and the culture. I know how much time certain processes are going to take and I know I'll get to ride my moto again. I know I'll have to get used to different foods and longer cooking times again, and spending half my days surviving rather than ministry. What ministry looks like is somewhat of a mystery. I've learned a lot over the years and walk into this situation with experience you can't buy. I'm sure i'll have my hands in a little bit of everything. So much has changed since I left - so it will be a different dynamics with a different team to work with. There will likely be more responsibility and expectations on me, and that's sometimes a really scary thing.

But I never hesitate to wonder if God is in this. It was such a rapid process from decision to flight - I wasn't sure how it was all going to come together. It would require a miracle to pull all the pieces together - and a miracle was what I got. I've been so blessed from so many directions. There has been so much excitement in others when I've shared my plans. Most people expect it and tell me how I'm more alive in Africa. I guess it's true and it's been a slow process for me to accept it.

And I attribute that to God and Him alone for providing that mysterious peace and joy in me. I attribute the glory to Him for providing the bulk of what I need financially in such a short time. So many of you support me through prayers and finances - and by doing that you show me that you believe in what I am doing, in what God is doing. I don't take that lightly.

So I'm forced to pause for the first time, sitting on a leather chair in the Paris airport listening to Burkinabe and other Africans converse in the still quiet terminal. I'm forced to think and reflect and write and be reminded of how blessed I am and how much I have to give, how much I want to give. I make no promises about what God will unfold in the next days and weeks of my life. I only know it will be more than I can imagine.

Even in the whirlwind and twilight zone I call my life these past few weeks, I ask for your prayers and know my intense need for them as I walk into the "known unknown." I trust that I am indeed in God's hand, as many of you have reminded me in recent days.

As are you, wherever you find yourself in the world.

I'm So Behind.

2011-05-14T19:52:00.004Z

I feel like I'm so behind.

I'm moving back to Africa in less than 3 weeks.

You might not have known that. I didn't know that 2 months ago. If you looked at my house you wouldn't know that I have to pack up everything and get it ready to move it all. Again.

I've been back in the States for almost a year. My two years in Burkina Faso were spectacular. It wasn't also easy or comfortable, but it was where I was supposed to live and supposed to grow even more alive. Being back has been a blessing as I've been able to take a break, evaluate, re-connect, remind myself how to dream, remind myself who I am and who God has called me to be. Over the past few months, God's made it abundantly clear it's time to head back to Burkina and continue to get His work done.

Under the Christian & Missionary Alliance, the missionaries and national church in Burkina Faso are working to complete the Great Commission in their country. The national church is trying to jump-start sending its first real group of national missionaries within its own borders, but they need the support and aid of the Western missionaries as they work through this process. They know the partnership between American Christians and Burkinabe Christians has a potential to transform their nation. There are thousands and even millions in Burkina Faso that have still yet to have access to the Gospel. There are many who may have heard but don't have a church or a pastor within a hundred miles to tell the full story of Christ and disciple them in following Him. There are many who have no chance because of the untold poverty, disease, spiritual oppression, false religions, and crippled education and governmental systems.

The ultimate goal is to send short-term and long-term missionaries into these areas of Burkina Faso that have not heard and responded to the Gospel, giving them the tools they need to meet spiritual, mental, and physical needs. It's an exciting vision to be a part of, and you'll hear more about that later.

So I'm going to back to Africa to help make this vision become a reality. What that will look like for me will play itself out in time. God has gifted me in a way where I feel I can play a solid role in this, supporting both the career missionaries and short-term teams and interns that come to serve. I get the privilege of helping make their job easier and helping to pave the way for more missionaries and teams to walk the Burkina soil and represent the love of Christ to its people.

It wasn't a decision I took lightly, but it's been a certain decision. I am excited to be moving in this direction and am looking forward to how God will work.

I'm expecting miracles in many ways. There hasn't been a lot of time to get the word around about my plans and my needs. I've been blessed with the encouragement of so many as they've heard. There isn't a lot of time to pack and plan since I'm leaving on June 1st. It's going to take a miracle for God to provide financially what I need each month. It's going to take a miracle to provide what I need in the next 3 weeks. It's going to take a miracle for me to get supplies purchased and packed. But God is the God of miracles, and I'm trusting Him. He is calling me to go at this time, in this way. He would not call me if He didn't already have His plan on how He would provide for what I need and for how He will get the glory in the process. As of today I have a plane ticket and the promise of a God who will provide. And that's enough for me to continue to chase His plan. That and the fact that He's ALWAYS been faithful before.

So I'm moving back to Africa in less than 3 weeks and I'm ready to see what is around the bend in the road. I desperately need all of you that read this to walk with me on this journey. I want to stay connected with what's going on in your lives, and I want you to stay connected with what is going on in mine.

More to come on this journey. Check back soon. Pray in the meantime.

Susan<><

(Details on how to help financially are on the top right of this page.)

"What Have You Been Up To?"

2011-02-19T13:59:00.004Z

This is probably the most frequent question I get from people who don't see me often. I never quite know how to answer it. But I'll give it a go, just to keep my blog alive.

Work. Technically I'm an admin assistant - but in reality I'm an assistant, consultant, counselor, mediator, project coordinator, photographer, graphic designer, auditor, editor, webmaster, and someone to shoot nerf darts at.
Sleep. I do not do well when I'm tired so I'd rather spend 2 extra hours getting a full night's rest than be tired and unproductive all day. It's totally worth it.
Eat. I still love American milk. It gets better with every glass. And I tend to eat turkey 5 days a week.
Visiting family for Christmas
Making prayer cards for missionaries
Playing guitar
Skiing
Running
Walking
Trips to Atlanta for the airport, church, theatre, Chic-fil-a, and Publix.
Helping set up internet networks, e-readers, and laptops. (okay, I did this once and the wireless antenna is a little ghetto since it's attached to a cymbal stand, but hey, it works! so it's on my list.)
Sledding
Trying to facilitate conversations about God and life and prayer with a group of young women.
Meeting new friends and helping spread the word about the amazing work of Compassion International. Yeah, so what if Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant were there singing too. I had more fun hanging out with Compassion sponsors and staff.
Volleyball
Traveling up north and hanging out with friends for weddings
Reading books with a group in a book club of sorts
Being forced to watch American Idol.
Exploring the capabilities of theGimp (freeware that functions like Photoshop)
Enjoying the heat wave and intense blue skies.

I guess I do have some sort of a life...

Back to Burkina, Part 4

2010-11-14T19:22:00.014Z

(This is the final in a series of posts about my recent return to Burkina. You can view the first post HERE. I recommend that you read them in order.)

Rural and urban Burkina are starkly different, even with their similarities. The pace is slow in the bush, daily life about relationships and survival. Possessions are few, generally whatever it takes to survive. We ventured to a village in the Nounama people group called Labien. A Dafing (Maarka) pastor had been living in this village, holding church under a makeshift shelter. Let me further explain this situation. The Dafing people are an unreached people group. This is a group of people speaking the same language, living in the same area, that has little or no access to the Gospel. Perhaps they don't have the Gospel in their language or no one to share with them. Maybe they are hostile to Christianity and are trapped within other religions. The Dafing people group have seen little growth in Christianity, even as one missionary has seen a handful of pastors grow and try to reach their people. They are a group deep in the trappings of animism, worshipping spirits and sacrificing to fetishes. But a few of these Christians are attempting to follow the Great Commission, reaching the ends of the earth. This pastor, Enoch, is a Dafing pastor seeking to reach another unreached people group, the Nounama. The Nounama are very similar to the Dafing with their depth of spiritualism. They are separated by language but joined by a common trade language. And they do not know the Gospel.

Our team was there to participate in this outreach. We didn't facilitate it, create it, or cause it. These Africans had already heard the voice of God and were seeking to reach their neighbors. We helped to begin the more permanent church for this group of believers, still oppressed by spirits and living in fear of their neighbors. A church structure of simple metal would give more credibility to this pastor, giving him a stronger platform to reach his neighbors. We dug a few holes and set a few posts that would soon become this anchor of truth in this unreached community. We were honored guests, simply by our presence. We sat under an open-air structure with the roof made of cornstalks, in chairs of worn sticks. Dusty grabbed the djembe and soon a young man disappeared down the road only to return with a box drum and another local drum. I found a young many who'd been to elementary school and could speak French, so we talked and I translated introductions before we commenced in songs that crossed racial boundaries.

That night, we pulled into a courtyard where a makeshift projector and screen was set up, prepared to show the Jesus Film to this village under the expanse of stars that you just can't describe. Part of the group began a quick dance party before the movie began. Hundreds had pulled up chairs to see the first film they'd seen in their entire lives. As we sat atop the van and land cruiser, we watched as faint blue lights arrived in all directions, each representing a soul coming to see what was happening in their village. We sat atop the vehicles in awe, watching an unreached people group share the Gospel with another unreached people group. We did nothing. It was like watching a movie of someone watching a movie. And we felt the weight of that privilege, of that glimpse into what God was doing. We are not the center of the universe, and for those moments, we knew that deep within our souls. The group prayed throughout the film, pausing to look up at the stars on this new-moon sky. Decisions would not be made that night, not in that culture. But in the days that followed, the seeds that were planted would be brought out in conversations with the pastor, and God will continue to work in the days and weeks that follow. We may never know until we're in heaven dancing once more alongside the Dafing and Nounama people.

Returning to our camp near midnight, the air was cold and quiet. We saw the old man quietly leave his chair, having stood guard over our stuff throughout the film, himself missing the opportunity. We found our ways into our beds for a few hours of sleep before the African sun rose to greet us.

Sunday we went our separate directions to church, as I was allowed to go to my "home church" in Burkina to worship with this group again. It was soul-soothing to sing once again in French, the words being fresh and real. It was exciting to be able to translate the sermon for a new friend. It was good to see Adama, a young man whose life is strangely intertwined with mine and he doesn't even realize it. While I was enjoying reconnecting with my friends, the rest of the team was encountering a sobering side of Burkina. After their church service at Balkuy, food was served to the congregation and the neighbors who had come. As the group was finishing their food, the only ones left in the room were the first-timers, overwhelmed as it was with everything their senses had experienced in the past week.

As they finished, children rushed into the room, frantically grabbing the leftover food from bowls. The teammates in the room describe these desperate children fighting each other for what remained, one boy even scraping the burnt pasta on the bottom of the pot. He grabbed it like it was his most priceless possession and curled up into a ball while other children tried to fight him for it. When he was free, he took some of his prize to another little girl; I would assume his sister who he was in charge of looking after. The room was in chaos as children fought for a few bites for their day. And my teammates were broken. What kind of a world should children have to fight for food, turning against their neighbor to feed their bellies? In what kind of society is this acceptable? How is it acceptable when we have abundance in our own cupboards? As the team left, one mother with all of the sincerity in her heart tried to pass her child through the van window. She begged one of the girls to take her child home, to give her child a life she knew she could not give him. What would cause a mother to willingly give up her beautiful child?

A life without hope causes humanity to do the unthinkable. And it causes us to think and weep. It causes us to become calloused and hard, overwhelmed by the needs of many, unable to help the needs of a few.

We took Adama to lunch after church. Adama is a young man who just graduated from the Burkina equivalent of the FBI. He comes from the poorest of the poor; but with the hand of God on His life, he's come to a position of influence and favor high in the government, even at the young age of 19. We had what was a normal meal at a restaurant - his meal cost about $5, and we had to convince him to even order that. Later he said that was a miserable experience for him. Knowing that for the cost of the meal for 4 of us, he could have fed his large family for a month.

When did we grow numb to the inequality? When did we say it's okay to dine in splendor when the majority of the world cannot? And it's not just about the poor and the rich. It's not that wealth is bad and poverty is to be attained. No, that's not the issue at all. It's not just about the disparity. There is a deeper disparity in our souls that is causing our churches to die away and the love of God to be stiffled for the sake of entertainment, numbers, and pride. There is a blinding to the truth and a refusal to seek it. Because seeking the truth might cause us to be forced to make a decision. Knowing the truth might cause us to give up everything we've been taught or have believed. Following the truth might mean that we do indeed understand what Jesus meant when He said we must hate our lives and turn our backs on our families and give up everything to simply know and follow the most precious Gift ever given. Opening our hearts and eyes might actually cause us to lose our lives, and in turn, to find them.

My brief time back in Africa was good for my soul. It was good to see Burkina through fresh eyes, to see old friends and to be needed. It was good to know my time was not spent in vain. It was good to have some needed conversations and to have my fervor renewed. It was good to find my voice once more, and to be reminded that I am called to tell you the stories, to not hold back the truth in the assembly of believers. (Psalm 40:9-10) Africa is a beautiful place with beautiful stories. Africa is a harsh place with despairing stories. And the God I serve is sovereign over them all as He is writing a global story that promotes His great name and allows us to play a part in expanding His kingdom. It is my heart that you will not remain unchanged. You cannot encounter the story of God and remain unchanged.

Back in Burkina, Part 3: Compassion

2010-11-14T18:55:00.015Z

(this is a third in a series of posts about my recent return to Burkina. You can view the first post here. I recommend you read them in order.)

Thursday was our interaction with Compassion International. Balkuy had only been around for about a year or two, but had already fought to open a Compassion project to help reach the children and families in their neighborhood. Balkuy is a developing suburb of Ouaga with poverty as keen as you have seen. Roads are virtually non-existent, farming is not permitted, and children are often left to fend for themselves. The project opened in July of this year, accepting applications for a group of 3-5 year olds. There are 150 little ones that attend this project every Thursday. When we arrived we found hundreds of kids and mothers standing outside the door as a staff member called the roll to allow the children to enter. Inside the church building the children would find a morning of physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental enrichment and support. At this age, it was more about teaching these children the basics of being in a room and paying attention to the leaders. It was about gaining trust and learning to follow directions so that in the coming months and years, God would be able to plant seeds of hope as they heard about the love of the Gospel and the hope that God provides. It was chaos, but organized as best you can with preschoolers who had never set foot in an organized setting.

Because this was such a new project, only 6 of the 150 children are currently sponsored. The project isn't fully funded and the church is responsible for providing for the needs of the project until it is. This means that any funds that might be available pay a dollar or two to project staff for transportation, but definitely not any more. The normal expected meals for the children each Thursday had not been given until the project received its funds. But this Thursday would be different as we'd promised the $80 needed to feed these children 2 meals on this day. The little kids were lined up on benches and given warm milk and a piece of bread for breakfast, holding tight to this blessing as if their life depended on it. Following the meal, songs were sung about the goodness of God and about His love. The story was told of Moses as a baby, giving them a foundation and love for the Word of God. The kids were taken in groups outside to work on their physical fitness and learn how to play as a child should. When they returned, it was time for more music and then lunch. Again, 150 kids received a meal they didn't have to worry about sharing with anyone. A bowl of pasta noodles and dried fish was more than enough nutrition for these young lives for a few days. In the months and years that follow, this will become evident as they grown. After being served, many of the kids came and offered their bowls to the "white people" as a culturally appropriate gesture. Humbled, our grouped thanked them and encouraged the children to eat their own food, which they did with enthusiasm. Neighborhood kids stood near, their eyes begging for some of the leftovers, our hearts breaking because we couldn't feed them all.

Earlier we'd picked up my Compassion child, Kadi, along with another sponsored child. Kadi took control of my smaller camera, taking photos of everything she could find. She's actually not a bad photographer, and I trusted her with my equipment. She learned quickly how to take a photo and look at it, and I think she took more photos than I did throughout the week. When she'd first seen me, she was hesitant as normal. It takes her a little time to warm up again, but after singing some songs together in van in French and Moore, she quickly began to smile and remember how much she was loved. Soon it was "Auntie, I want to do this, or can we do that?" When she was thirsty, I gave her her filled water bottle. When she told me she was hungry, I realized that by taking her away from her project for the day, she hadn't been able to eat. I had a pack of crackers I gave her, allowing her to eat at privately as possible. We were followed by a couple of neighborhood girls, older than her, that asked her and me for more food. They were hungry; there was no hesitation or embarrassment. I had nothing else to share.

Kadi is a smart kid. And I'm not just saying that like a proud parent. She is really smart. I've seen her grades in school and have watched her grow over the years. One of my gifts to her was a children's book in French. I asked her to read it to me, which she did beautifully. She re-read it to herself afterwards, soaking in all of the words and photos. I gave her a few other books as well that she could work to read as she learned more in school. My goal in giving her these books was not only academic, although that was a huge motivation. In Burkina, books are a luxury seen only by few. I wanted her to have someone of her own that would help her learn and grow, to open up her imagination. Before she left, I saw her pull out the next hardest book and begin to devour its words. I saw a light in her eyes as she wrote her name in the cover and looked carefully at each word. Three children's books that cost more than what her father makes in a year - my hope was that it would continue to spark dreams in her heart and draw her to the One who gives the words.

As is our custom when I tell Kadi it's time to say good-bye, I see her heart drop instantly. Sometimes I wonder if my many interactions with her leave a more positive or negative impact. When she knows I have to leave, she stops responding; her face is clearly sad. There is no smile and few words. So I sat her on my knee and whispered words of hope and love in the best French I knew how, hoping my words would reach her heart and inspire her to chase after Jesus with all of her heart. As the van pulled away to take her home, she hung her head, refusing to look at me or wave one final time. I knew the tears were streaming down. How do I reconcile that? I pray that she'll take those moments of joy that she gets with me and gives joy to others, allowing God to work in her heart.

Compassion International is just an organization. There are millions of organizations in the world. But Compassion is one that I've chosen to put my weight behind. I've seen how it aligns with the heart of God, how it is effective in various cultures and environments, how it draws the helpless from poverty and gives them wealth in Christ. I've seen it change hearts and lives and families. I've seen the kingdom of God expanded through partnerships and sponsorships. I've seen it work. I've seen God work. If anyone is interested in finding any of those kids who need a sponsor to remind them that their life does matter and is important, call Compassion (800-336-7676) and ask for a child at BF 462. Or sponsor one from anywhere. They are all precious to God.

You can view the next post HERE.

Back to Burkina, Part 2

2010-11-14T18:41:00.008Z

(this is a second in a series of posts about my recent return to Burkina. You can view the first post here:)

Two weeks ago we were resting in the airport in Paris, awaiting the moment when we'd breathe that African air. Some of our group would see it for the first time. Some for the second, third, or sixth time. The smell of Burkina was clear when we stepped of the plane and walked down the stairs to stand on the tarmak. The smoke from thousands of cooking fires saturated the air. And my soul smiled. Tracking down our baggage threw us in the middle of the African culture, passengers and baggage men in a mob waiting for their bags to come off of the cart, shouts of "that's my bag" and little personal space could overwhelm. I was at home, feeling no remorse about pushing my way through the crowd or stepping on a few toes; this was the Africa I knew and I was going to make myself at home, getting my hands on our bags as quickly as possible. It wouldn't go as quickly as I'd have liked, as we were the last to leave the airport after having reported several missing bags. When we finally got the last one 10 days later, after we'd already gone through security to go back home, we'd learned it had traveled from Atlanta to Miami(and we hadn't), and to who knows where else it had gone to get to Burkina. But it arrived intact. As did our team and we were blessed to be facing a week in Burkina Faso, facing the unknown with excitement and fear.

Day 1 woke us up early to head to church in a remote area at a new church plant at Balkuy. A struggling church where the majority of the members were children who definitely don't eat 3 meals a day, it is a church of love and life and searching. Pricilla, the pastor's daughter, lifted her hands with hope as she joined in on every song with the choir and congregation. Another young lady requested to sing a special song. I'd rarely heard a voice as beautiful as hers for one so young. The story was told through whispers as she sang. Recently her Muslim father had taken a second wife, leaving her mother in a battle with depression. This girl had begun to sing in order to help raise her mother's spirits, singing songs of hope in Jesus. She testifies that God had given her a voice and given her songs, and it was the only thing that her mother enjoyed. So she sang as much as she could, as publically as she could, in order to bring hope to her mother.

I watched in another room with the Sunday School class as a couple of the students I formerly taught in youth group in Burkina sang and danced with the children, teaching them and loving them. I love seeing that joy and fire in their eyes as they lead children in songs, challenging them to sing with all of their might, engraving songs of truth into their souls. Those songs will carry with them as they head to their homes, sleeping on the dirt at night, often with hungry bellies. But the hope of Christ through this church will carry them through the darkest nights. And I loved seeing students being used by God to bring this hope. It is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

The next few days we spent working to dig footers for some storage buildings and clear a path for a security wall at our Christian boarding high school. An afternoon or two spent connecting with the ministry of the Dorcas House and shopping at the international shopping festival CIAO kept our experience full and somewhat overwhelming. Wednesday night ended with a time of prayer and fellowship with the Burkina Allliance missionaries - my friends and colleaugues. Every moment was special - it was comfortable. I loved watching my friends see my home for the first time, walking them through my real life photo album. I loved seeing their excitement and broken hearts and their worlds and hearts were opened to things they've never thought or experienced.

You can view the next post HERE.

Back to Burkina, Part 1

2010-11-14T18:33:00.008Z

"May the peoples praise You, O God;
May all the peoples praise you.
Then the land will yield its harvest,
And God, our God, wlll bless us.
God will bless us,
and all the ends of the earth will fear Him." Psalm 67:5-7

God will bless us with Himself, as we look into the eyes of the weak and hurting, as we see both their joy and pain, as we help our neighbors, as we seek to disciple and raise up followers. God will bless the world with more of Him.

It was another rainy day in Paris, and another long flight across the Atlantic. God blessed us with what seemed to be an endless sunset, lasting at least 2 hours as we traveled away from it's descent. Another group of friends and strangers were joining me on a trip to Africa. Africa, the word that seems to strike a mystery, fear, and excitement in anyone who hears it. It's such a large continent, such a beautiful place, yet it fills people with fear and awe. The unknown of it, the "differentness" of it, the isolation of it strikes fear in many Westerners. Or it may even be a romantic idea that inspires adventure. I've heard so many of my teammates tell of how many of their friends and family have rebuked them for wanting to leave America, even if just for a week. The stories break my heart, reflecting saturated hearts and empty souls looking for satisfaction in what can never satisfy. We as Americans have so surrounded ourselves with what we believe is a noble goal, building up our safety and security, entertaining ourselves to death. We have removed ourselves from risk, vaccinating our souls from the reality of God's kingdom in this world.

Forgive me for the cynical nature of my thoughts. I exclude those reading this blog because I know you see God's heart in ways most Americans don't understand. Africa captures the heart of God. Every soul in the millions and billions that walk the dirty streets every day. And in an age where the world in shrinking, where technology and Skype make global access free, where airplanes make international short-term missions possible - it is this age where we are presented with a choice on how we will use this to bring God's Gospel to the mysterious places across the globe. We are given a choice with how we are going to leverage our seconds, minutes, days. We are given a choice on how we are to move outside of our bubble and teach our children how to overflow with the truth of Jesus to their friends. We are given a choice in how we are to respond to this world of evil and brokenness. And it is more of a choice, it is a command to go and heal the brokenhearted, to love to the end of ourselves, to teach truth and point others to the infinite love of Christ. And it is an invitation.

My journeys to Africa have succeeded in making me explore these thoughts, in stopping to realize the value of a smile, or a lingering moment with a friend or stranger. Africa is not the goal or the only place that needs the hope of God. Africa is not the pinnacle of the Christian's walk. No, Africa has pointed my soul to the depth of God, removing layers of fear and blindness. So when my friends are beat down because they are taking a risk, I applaud them for their resolve and their obedience. When my friends are convicted God's plan is for them to stay and invest in their family, teaching them to have a global mindset, giving of resources sacrificially, praying until it hurts - I applaud them. When my friends are misunderstood in their efforts to simply make disciples, being misunderstood by "churches" and having them turn their backs on them - I applaud them. I applaud them because they are promoting the kingdom of God in the circles of influence God has given them. I applaud them because they are leveraging their lives in a way that reflects the commands of God to give up everything for the sake of Christ.

(the next post can be found HERE)

a few moments to rest...

2010-11-07T08:33:00.002Z

i've spent the past week across the ocean, returning home to Burkina Faso for a visit and ministry with a great group of friends. it's been exciting to see Burkina through their eyes, some entertaining their first vision of this place, some having come on a plane more than I have. i only have a few moments to pause in this quiet of this Sunday morning. I've pulled out my ipod for the first time the entire trip, searching for soundtracks as i like to call it.

it's been a good week. i'll offer more words and photos later as i have time to process and work through what being back in Africa has been like. i've been able to see a lot of old friends and see progress in ministries, as well as take part in things i've never done before. i'm exhausted, fighting a cold, multiple bites and strange skin reactions, sunburn, plus minor aches from an encounter with a Lab who got a little too excited to see me...but I'm good.

Photos and thoughts from my veterant teammates are found here: http://jessicagasperin.blogspot.com and http://kevinford.blogspot.com They'll update as they can.

I'll update next week. For today it's another day to see more old friends and begin saying goodbye...again.

God is good and He is working across this nation. It's so harsh and brutal here, it's so easy to be overwhelmed with the hopelessness, to decide not to care because caring could cost too much. I'm understanding more and more everyday what Jesus meant by "follow Me." As I begin to understand it, i find myself more and more distanced from it. I pray the gap is lessened quickly.

i'm blessed to have one more opportunity to walk along these dusty and brutal streets, walking by familiar sights and smells, seeing familiar faces and yet encountering new thoughts and emotions and questions. But i'm learning to walk away with more answers.

So as I have a few more minutes to rest, I thank God for the chance to be here, at this time, with these people. I thank God for the chance to work through the questions and uncertainty. I thank God for another chance to hold a child and hug my friends. I thank God for this opportunity that I do not take lightly. I thank God He's given me words to paint the pictures He longs for the world to see, painting the picture deep in my soul.

Bonne Dimanche and I hope you have a great Sunday.

Time waits for no man (but maybe it will for a woman)

2010-10-25T16:48:00.003Z

It's been a while since I've given an update. We'll call it circumstantial, since I don't have internet at home and don't like to use company time to do personal web browsing at work. But I'll offer a few thoughts while I have a few minutes.

A week from yesterday, I will be spending the morning in an African church and the afternoon catching up with some old friends.

A week from tomorrow, I'll be working somewhere in Ouagadougou in the hot sun and the dirt, with children watching from under a tree.

A week from Thursday, I'll be hanging out with Kadi and a hundred or so 3-5 year olds, newly enrolled in a Compassion International project in a poor urban neighborhood.

A week from Friday, I'll be staring into the endless stars in the African bush sky, away from the electric glow of the city.

Four months ago I left Burkina and four days from now I get to go back for a visit. Who knows what adventures will find us in the 12 days we're away from American soil - but God's never disappointed us yet.

I'm excited, and I promise I'll share some stories when I return. And I will return this time. I promised my mom I'd be home for Christmas. (Don't worry, mom, I'll be back before then)

i missed the funeral

2010-09-03T12:35:00.012Z

I’ve spoken much about the ministry of Compassion International on my blog and to my friends over the years. It’s not the only organization that does what it does or expands the kingdom of heaven, but it’s one of the best. I’ve seen it change lives and capture hearts, pointing people to the local church as it points people to the love and faithfulness and hope found in Jesus Christ. It’s not just about helping poverty; it’s about breaking all kinds of poverty through the power of Christ, releasing children to experience a deep relationship with Him that changes their lives, their families, their communities, their countries. And it’s personal.

I received a letter from my beautiful little girl I sponsor in Burkina Faso this week. It took about a month to get to me; my reply will take a little less if I send a letter online.

I can’t remember if I updated anyone much about my last visit to Kadidia in Burkina Faso before I left the country. It was a special time as I was able to cook a meal for her, along with muffins and kool-aid. Her mother also prepared a little meal for me (benga – rice and beans) – so we shared food and cultures for a few moments in a small room they called their home. As I looked around the room, I saw various pots and pans and other items used to survive each day. Not a lot, but enough in the midst of poverty. Her father brought out my father's old pocket knife that I'd given him 2 years before. He knew every tool and had kept it in perfect condition. I noticed a plastic blue cup on the shelf, one like you would get at the dollar store with a plastic straw wrapped around it and a lid to keep it from spilling. I recognized it as one of the gifts I’d given Kadi’s little brother almost 2 years ago at our first meeting. The little cup sat on the shelf, protected and treasured. Her brother wasn’t there that day, having been sent to a village to help repair a broken arm, using traditional medicine instead of a hospital. It’s culture and it’s hard to break that tradition. I was sad not to see him again, but enjoyed being with the 3 girls in the family.

Kadi’s letter thanked me for visiting her home and family, and for the meal. “We ate well that night” as she put it. And it made me smile to know that I was able to share that with them, just a little gesture of love. We share a special relationship, and I know I’m beyond privileged to have been able to spend as much time with her as I have. I pray it only spurs her closer to God and not to rely on me.

As I finished the rest of the letter, I was floored to read the words of my friend Francis, who works at the local Compassion project and transcribed Kadi’s words, and wrote that her little brother had died in the village. Just a sentence, “it’s with a sad heart I tell you about the death of my brother.” No other explanation, just a request that I pray for her and her family as it’s been a very hard thing. Obviously.

When I was with Kadi in June, she once again complained about her eyes. I felt like a protective mother as I asked questions about the problem and if they were making sure she went to the doctor. Almost 2 years ago, I took Kadi, her cousin, and her little brother to the amusement park to play for a once in a lifetime experience. (Although Kadi has gone twice in her lifetime. J ) It was a special time, watching them run and jump and play. Abdou, her brother, was pretty nervous about riding in the car to the park. He cried and screamed as he got in, but Kadi watched over him as a good big sister should, and soon there was nothing but smiles and laughter. We played and smiled and laughed. One of my favorite moments was sitting all three of them on the tiger statue, and Abdou sneezing right as we took the picture. He played soccer with my friend Diana and made faces for the camera as his dad drew on their school slate.

For the majority of the world, no one would notice that this boy didn’t make it far in life. After all, it follows the statistics of 1 in 3 not making it to age 10 in Burkina Faso. He was barely 6 years old. A broken arm isn’t an excuse to die; things like that are curable. Little boys are meant to break their arms and jump right back into life. But this little guy didn’t. And I think about my girl Kadi, who is dealing with a common pain, but a pain nonetheless. I think about how she feels alone right now as her family is in the village, and she remains in the city. I think about how I could make a difference, and all I can do is pray that God holds her tight and lets her feel safe and protected and loved. I think about her mom Evelyn, who held my hand as we took our final photo together, who is probably about my age, but grieving the loss of her only son. I think about her father, who battles how to be strong and protect his family when it seems so impossible in moments like these.

Yes, it’s common and I expect no one to really grieve with me. But I know that I love that kid and that Jesus has done some amazing things in her life and the life of her family because of Compassion, because of Christ. I can only hope that the church is able to continue to care for her and her family, sharing the love of Jesus with them in a way that challenges and transforms. Kadi has a lot of potential. She’s in the top of her class and very capable at whatever she puts her mind to. And I’m privileged to get to sponsor her and get to know her. I’m sad that she has to struggle the loss of her brother.

I think of the thousands of other kids out there who don’t have the chance that Kadi has had. But I live in hope because she has had a chance, and many others just like her. And it doesn’t make me a better person – but it does open up a door to change her life eternally. And who knows where that could have an effect on hundreds or thousands more. And that testifies to the beauty of God’s plan and His glory.

I sit in America in an air-conditioned building. That’s not a bad thing, although I’m frequently very cold. I used to walk the dusty streets in Burkina Faso. Did I really? There’s nothing wrong with living in America. I enjoy it. But I’m well aware of the disconnect with the rest of the world and the bubble we all can easily find ourselves in. And Compassion helps me bridge that.

So rest in peace, my little friend Abdou Coulibaly. Your family will miss you, but Jesus will hold you tight. Sleep in peace tonight, Kadi, as Jesus holds you and whispers songs of His love in your ear. I’m proud to know you, and I'm sorry that you’ve had to hurt like this.

Where It All Begins

2010-08-04T14:33:00.002Z

Twenty-nine and I'm going back to you the basics
Finding love, making peace, having a little more patience
I wanna love somebody more than myself
Cause it would do some good for my mental health
To take a backseat
Remember everything you taught me

I need You to show me how to feel again
I come to You with open hands
Teach me to be real again
Take me back
To where it all begins

Slowing down, tuning out all the noise
Just to hear Your voice
Sounds simple enough, I know
But it's a daily choice
I wanna love when it's costly
Be quick to forgive
Run to the One who calls me to live

Show me how to feel again
I come to You with open hands
Teach me to be real again
Take me back
To where it all begin
Cause You're where it all begins.

(where it all begins - Addison Road - from "Stories" - written on behalf of me)

lost cities, jellyfish, and palm trees

2010-07-28T23:00:00.005Z

A few random facts about Bimini.

it's a few miles long, shaped like a horse-shoe. you can stand on one side and see the water on the other.
it's one of the supposed sites of the lost city of Atlantis. there's an underground "road" as straight as an arrow that is supposed to lead to Atlantis.
Ernest Hemingway spent a little time there. I think his family was on the island for a few days while we were there.
settled by slaves that captured their ship as they were sailing across. they began to salvage shipwrecks.
the last scene from "silence of the lambs" was filmed there. I wouldn't know, but i saw the pay phone used.
prices are 2-3x as much as the States.
They sell Fanta and Coke made in the Bahamas. Real sugar. The only way to go.
They drive on the left side of the road. That was a first.
It's beautiful. See below.

on the plane again...

2010-07-19T20:56:00.003Z

the past month of my life i've been on the road a lot...Africa to NY to Nashville to Alabama to North Carolina to Georgia and back to do it all again. So I figure i should throw a few more destinations in there...as I'm resting and getting my American feet back under me.

Tomorrow I'll fly down to Florida to help out on a little summer mission trip with a friend who is starting a mission's organization. We'll hop over less than 100 miles off the Florida coast to a little Bahamian island called Bimini. I don't know a lot about it, other than it lives for tourism and it's teenagers don't live with a big sense of purpose or hope. The group we're leading will be working to teach certain skills and open up avenues for generating income, as well as developing some relationships and sharing the hope of Christ. Other than that, this trip is a mystery.

My luggage for the week weighs about 20 pounds total - a nice difference from the full load of luggage I've had to take for my "longer" trips. It's nice to be able to pack light and to be experienced enough at packing that i don't worry about forgetting something. After all, it's only a week. :-)

I hope this will be another good experience under my belt in helping to organize logistics and take care of a group on a missions trip, in a different environment that I've seen in Burkina. I think it will be good to get away from the "familiar" and see how that goes, and learn a few things. Although I'm not a big fan of the beach, and am prone to seasickness, I've never spent more than a few hours on an island, so it should be a fun first. Yes, I packed the Dramamine and my good camera.

So, I'm offline for a week - I'll return next week with a few stories and photos from Bimini, which I did learn was home to Ernest Hemingway for a few years.

sleeping in my own bed

2010-07-06T13:20:00.004Z

i follow a lot of blogs. well, maybe not a ton, but several. a few of those have been blog updates from short-term missionaries i know. and the majority of those, once they return to the US, stop updating. and i think that is sad. so i hope not to fall into the same category. (and if that's you, I forgive you)

I've been back in the US for almost 3 weeks now. And I'm at the stage of enjoying it. It was nice to head back "home" to be with family, knowing the house and neighborhood were still there. Much to my mom's chagrin, (i'm really not even sure what that word means, but i think it means "not happy"?? it sounds right), i still have the same bed I had as a child and won't let her get a new one. it may be crooked but i get a good night's sleep on it. the bed i had in Burkina was even older, and it slept great too.

I've enjoyed myself so far, eating lots of cereal, turkey sandwiches, and chicken wraps. It's been nice not to crave restaurants, only wanting simple sandwiches and sunchips. My good friend Leanna came to visit and we had a grand time enjoying the sights, climbing a few mountains, resting, and enjoying having some well-missed conversations.

Just taking things one day at a time now, reconnecting with people as I have time, but there is no rush. I take things much slower than I used to; i guess the African pace and African "time" have stuck with me. And I am good with that. Priorities have changed, people are way more important, and I am not who I was but much more of who I am.

Here are a few of my favorite photos from the past few weeks.

sleeping at gate 27

2010-06-21T21:22:00.000Z

"madame, madame! Valencia??"

The nice airport staffer greeted me and pulled me from my sleep.

(no, and i appreciate you asking, but i was sleeping nicely. let me know when they board for new york. america.)

the morroccan airport is a sight different than the first time i came through a few years ago. first time it was a mystery, very "moroccan", and pretty scary for my first trip across the ocean. Today there are beautiful signs and most of the employees readily speak English. A lot more like an international airport.

I'm tired. after finding a bottle of much-needed water and my gate, I found a spot on the floor in the corner of a very cold room (and cold floor). Laying in a relatively quiet corner, I didn't really care if it was dirty. There was some random music on the speakers, and a loud beep every 10 seconds or so. It was a long flight to get from Ouaga to Morocco. After waiting 20 minutes at the ticket counter for the lady to find the 3 letter airport code for Nashville, we waited an additional hour past the departure time in a non air-conditioned bar upstairs, but one that DID have cold fantas. Then we waited more on a hot plane, took a 40 minute flight to Niger to drop off/pick up on the tarmac. That flight got a little bumpy as we landed in a storm, and seeing those storms from the ground and thinking about a few movies...well, we landed with no problems.

i didn't get much sleep - then we continued to wait on the tarmac as the plane continued to heat up. It was open seating and people were really not very cooperative or quick in finding their places. then the pilot comes on and says we've found a last minute problem, and we have to wait to get it fixed. Then a bit later, he comes on and says that we're going to have to change planes and we'll wait in the lobby of the airport. so we grab all our stuff and go find a seat. I found a place on the floor to sleep. Remember it's about 4 am at this point. I got to the airport at 11 pm and hadn't really slept.

So i sleep for a bit, a man comes up and yells "it's ready". We all jump up and get back on the same plane and go through the same "open seating" business, and finally get off the ground for Morocco.

After all of the heat and sweat and waiting and lack of sleep, i notice the sky is lightening before i even got a half hour of sleep.

it was one of the most beautiful sunrises I'd ever seen. The clouds blocked it from the world below, but just above the clouds, I stared out the window with my jaw dropped open, lamenting the fact that I didn't have my camera with me. It was spectacular. Perfect mixture of oranges and yellows emerging from behind the clouds. Amazing.

Back to gate 27. I was laying there on the floor, watching people come and go, not phased by the mixture of cultures that walked in front of me. I actually enjoyed the cultures. I noticed that it would be one of the last times that I would be in that mix of cultures and languages for a while. And i wonder if I'll miss it. I know as my journey has brought me back to the States, I find myself easily beginning conversations in French without meaning to.

While on the planes, I was sitting near a few pretty dedicated Muslims. One in particular was an old man, dressed in an amazing blue outfit. I didn't realize that Muslims use beads, but he prayed fervently almost the entire 3 hour flight, grasping different beads, bowing and holding out his hands as he needed. Such dedication for something that can't fill his soul. I saw other women dressed and covered from head to toe praying with just as much fervor, although theirs seemed to be more just around takeoff and landing.

Such a mix of cultures I've seen. On the planes, in the airports, walking through the streets of Ouaga. Sometimes I love the difference. Sometimes it really is uncomfortable. But I'm glad I'm more comfortable today with the differences I've experienced.

I am different today, partly due to stretching my comfort zone, partly because of risking my fears and trusting a God who calls me and loves me.

These last few weeks have been pretty busy, trying to get a lot done and wrap things up sufficiently. I'll write a little later about that. For now, time to enjoy not being on a plane or in an airport, but spending some fun time with the fam. :-)

things i'll miss and things i'll not.

2010-06-19T13:00:00.000Z

i'll miss:

orange fanta with real sugar
not having to be at work on time
aloco (fried plantains)
not having to check the weather (today will be sunny and warm, tomorrow: sunny and warm, the whole month, sunny and hot. next chance of rain is in 6 months)
singing in church with all my heart because i understand the words and know the melody
praying before church starts as a group to get your heart focused and ready
my moto. oh how i'll miss my moto.
free incoming calls
my dog
lots of friends
freedom
my moto. did i mention that?
waking up every morning in Burkina

I will NOT miss:

triple digit temperatures
power cuts
dirt, dust, & mud
having the neighborhood wedding take over the entire street
unreliable internet
$16/pound chicken
pink toilet paper - the stuff that normal people rejected and sent south.
having the price quoted 5 times higher just because you're white

farewell Burkina for now. You're always in my heart. I'll see you again soon.

what's been going down...

2010-06-06T16:29:00.013Z

what i've been up to. definitely having fun.

A little visit to Faso Park again...and the infamous elephant.

Practicing my safari skills.

down the dino like fred flinstone...except the slide wasn't so "slidey". You kind-of had to scoot down like a baby.

the carousel

lots of wild animals in this park.

first time for everything: cotton candy, barb de papa, or grandpas beard.

bumper cars!!!!

jumping around like popcorn!

on another day we distributed grain to handicapped people, purchased with funds raised by the youth group here.

And then we got dressed up and enjoyed some good food (fried chicken!) and a few laughs for one last event together as a youth group.

Me and my student leaders...oh yes, what did I get myself into?!?

And just a bonus, a photo shoot for a fellow missionary family:

And my final Sunday at church. I sang them a song in English (yes, twice) and bid farewell to a beautiful group of people

a little grain of hope...

2010-06-04T09:09:00.003Z

I'll update you later on what we've been doing with the youth group's food distribution, but for now, here's a little video to show you how one part of our efforts went. This is designed as a "thank you" to all who helped give, pray, or encourage our efforts.

life now

2010-05-30T15:10:00.004Z

Today begins my last 3 weeks in Burkina. The weather is a bit cooler today, only hitting about 99 degrees with a heat index of 105. Dry season is waning, with rains coming about once a week, and dust storms arriving suddenly and fiercely. Trees, bushes, and grasses have already started to erupt across the landscape. Roads are being packed down and washed away between the sudden downpours and endless sun. The humidity is intense; most of the time i feel like I never stop sweating. But those moments of rain when it cools off, even briefly, those are moments to savor.

Life is pretty steady these days. Living in Africa isn't so hard; it's somewhat comfortable even. I don't think that is a good thing though. As I wrap up my time here and check off the final things on my list, I find I still have time to relax and enjoy my time. I've gone through 5 books in the past few weeks, and am in the middle of 3 more. I've recorded and created about 5 short videos, sent off a funding proposals (and got approved), said a few goodbyes, and did a few things that I wanted to. Those who know me well, you know that last one is an amazing thing.

The lady who helps us keep our house clean and our minds sane has two daughters. I wanted to give them a special treat before I left - so last week my roommate and I took them to the amusement park. With a jumbo playground, trampolines, carousel, bumper boats, bumper cars, and mini-motos - it was an afternoon of smiles and laughter for kids and adults alike.

Saturday night I scheduled a dinner and a movie with all of my English students, letting them feast on pizza and cake. I decided to show The Incredibles - and it turned out to be a great choice. They howled in laughter and disbelief the whole time. It was a nice evening to relax and spend some time with my precious students, most of whom I've know my entire stay in Burkina.

Things are wrapping up with the youth group, just finishing our food distribution, arranging the details for the remainder of the money last week. I'm just finishing up the details for our final youth meetings before school gets out, designing and ordering tshirts, and planning our final retreat before everyone heads different directions for the summer.

I have souvenirs to buy, tailors to call, a few more videos to make and projects to pass on. I have food in my cupboards to cook and lots of stuff to sort, sell, and just give away. I have one last meeting with Kadi and her family, a final trip to monkey mountain to schedule, and things to think of to fill my time and keep me busy. We play frisbee every Sunday, and I try to run several times a week. People come and go and this time I'm one of them.

It's just life. Questions and thoughts are constantly whispering in my ear. But I wake up each day and realize that life must be lived regardless of what you are promised. Because you're not. Promised any more days, that is. So I plan and post my checklist and wonder how it works that the more productive i am, the longer my list grows to. But in reality the only thing to do is remind myself each morning when I wake up: "what i do today is what matters. how i choose to love is what will make the most difference. it will carry me regardless of the country i find myself in or the people that are around me."

So life in Burkina is life. Several friends jump on an airplane this weekend, a few more come back next week. A bunch more head out in 2 weeks, and I will follow a few days later. There is lots of packing and lots of stress and lots of smiles and goodbyes and lots of silence and unasked questions.

So today I will deliver precious Pop Tarts to a friend that wants some snacks for her plane ride, I'll play ultimate frisbee with my friends, and begin to cook the last of my American food (yes, I saved some until the end..salmon patties, here we come). I'll think and read and talk and plan and turn on my AC before I go to bed. And tomorrow I'll wake up and knock a few things off my list and think about what kind of story my life is writing. Or maybe it's more that the story is already written and I'm just turning the pages and reading it as I live it. Either way, I live. And that's as far as I'll get today.

reflections on some sacs of grain

2010-05-12T21:24:00.001Z

It was a little over three years ago when I first stepped into the “youth group house” in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. I was on my first adventure to Africa and was only staying for a week. On that Thursday night, our group of American teenage students joined together to worship with a group of local English speaking students from all across the world, growing up together in this small and unknown African country. I clearly remember teaching these students a new song, and remember the room echoing with encouraging voices as everyone sang along. I remember the middle school kid in the sweatshirt, seeming not to notice it was barely below 100 degrees outside. Little did I know it wouldn’t be the last time that room would play an integral part in my life.

A few months later I found myself in Florida, sitting in the same room as the leader of this youth group, which they called WIRED. We sat and talked for a few minutes, exchanged emails, and I found myself receiving newsletters about how God was working in the lives of English-speaking teenagers in Africa. I remember reading about how students were playing major leadership roles in this group, leading small groups, planning events, and making decisions. It was exciting to see God developing these young Christian leaders, sons and daughters of missionaries, embassy workers, and other non-governmental organizations. They were being given opportunities and amazing support from the adult leadership, and God was blessing that and allowing some amazing things to happen.

My friend began to send emails that told the story of a dream that had become a reality. She told about how these WIRED youth group students willingly fasted for 30 hours, raising money to be able to purchase food for their needy neighbors who so often went without. The first few years brought in a few thousand dollars. I was in awe to read the progression of how God doubled the goal for 2008 – unexpectedly giving them nearly $10,000 to purchase much-needed grain for local families. I read the stories and saw the pictures and got excited in my soul to see a group of teenagers, in one of the poorest countries in the world, step up and be the hands and feet of Christ. I knew God was doing big things in Burkina through a group of teenagers. Just hearing about it was enough.

But God knew it wasn’t enough. He wanted me right in the middle of it. So, about a year and a half after I’d visited that house where the youth group met, I found myself moving in to that very house. For the next year, I saw firsthand how God had used this youth group. I was part of local missions outreaches that absolutely blew me away as I watched teenagers give everything they had to show love to the children of Burkina. I helped lead and teach and love a group of teenagers that were so welcoming and filled with so much energy. The 30 Hour Famine and Food Distribution came around again that spring, and the student leaders decided on a hefty goal of $15,000. The funds would be distributed to several local organizations directly helping children with food, healthcare, and education. Students fervently sent letters, made phone calls, and asked friends and family from across the globe to partner with them. And once again, God blew us away.

When all was said and down, over $25,000 had been raised for that year’s food distribution. It was almost double our goal. And the food distribution wasn’t just limited to the Ouaga youth group any longer. A youth group in the States caught the vision and developed their own campaign to assist in our fundraising. The dream of a few students in Africa was spreading, and hundreds of people were being reached with the love of Christ, partnering across the globe. God had been so faithful to the dream and the vision. These students were really learning to understand what it meant to be the hands and feet of Christ.

And now I find myself leading that very youth group. I’m planning the same events as I read about, pulling together the details for the 30 Hour Famine and Food Distribution, leading the student leaders and pushing them to reach their potential through Christ. It’s so very much out of my league. I love hearing the stories about what God is doing, but when I’m the one in charge? I guess that’s when He likes to show off the most. In our weaknesses, He loves to show Himself strong.

So this year I’ve been the one counting the funds and organizing the details. Not just one, but several youth groups in the U.S are now partnering with our students in Burkina. Our student leaders started off this year with a bold goal – jumping straight to $25,000 to cover four projects. They’d seen God work and provide in the past years; they expected nothing less from Him this year. And God was faithful. When all was said and done, we have once again received over $25,000. All of our projects will be provided for. We never even worried. We knew God would provide the amount needed. And He did.

So next week I’ll be watching these teenagers carry 220 pound bags of corn for hundreds of their handicapped neighbors. I’ll watch them smile and show the love of Christ through this simple gift. And as I stand and watch them work, I’ll certainly think back over my journey of the past three years and be in awe of the adventure that God has brought me on and the full circle I’ve experienced with this youth group. They take the most time, energy, and emotion – and even though it’s one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, I wouldn’t trade a second of it. I’m so proud of these kids and the legacy they’ve been a part of. I’m so proud that the idea they had has become a larger movement and thousands of Burkinabe are being changed by it. I’ll never count out the potential of a teenager. God can use the weak things of the world to move mountains. And I’ve seen some mountains moved in Burkina. I feel like I’m just on the tidal wave that was started years before, reaping the benefits of years of effort and vision. And I am thankful to be right where I am, watching God work and move and display His glory to the nations. What a privilege.

Raindrops, Rivers, and Resolve

2010-05-06T14:15:00.009Z

About 8 months ago, the flood of the century came to Burkina Faso. The water came and was gone in a day, lives were lost, and hundreds of thousands lost their homes, which were nothing more than sun-baked mud brick to begin with. I drove around that day amazed at the power of water and the helplessness it brings to those in it's wake. Water is an amazing thing - slowly flowing it calms us, rushing from a cliff inspires us, crashing waves do something to our soul. But floods, they don't fit in the happy category.

A few weeks ago I drove through one of Burkina's new tent cities, near a piece of property our mission owns northeast of town. Thousands of people have been given small plots of land and UN or Red Cross-issued tents to try to begin their lives over again. Wood-framed structures covered the landscape as far as I could see, with neatly graded roads and people everywhere. It wasn't a big story on national headlines; why would it be when most people don't even know that Burkina is a country or Africa is a continent. The US Post Office sometimes has trouble remembering. But governments, NGOs, missions, and neighbors joined together to help however they could. And the process of rebounding has been slowly progressing.

People still need help as the rains are coming earlier this year. The rough tent structures were only temporary measures. I can't seen how many have lasted against the fierce winds that I've seen in the past few days. Organizations are still giving out cement to help families get started with at least a solid foundation, and a bit of hope. Food is always needed along every step of the way as people are continually trying to press forward with nothing. But they press on. What else is there to do?
In the past few days I've found myself looking through the photos and stories on the flood from Nashville. I spent the first 22 years of my life there. I've always loved it - a "little big town" as a called it. It's been interesting to look at photos of places I've walked with friends or driven past hundreds of time - all under water, and now have months of restoration before things are remotely the same. I saw a picture today from inside the Barnes and Noble that has welcomed me many times. Thousands of books scattered and abused by rising water from the neighboring river. Seems almost unfair.

It feels a little unfair that I can't be there to help out. Nashville is such a great city in so many ways. It's full of life, and it always feels like home. I've been encouraged by newspaper articles and blog posts, putting some really good perspectives on the flooding. I've been proud to consider myself from this city. I'll be there in a little over 6 weeks, and I look forward to seeing how people have come together to help others get back on their feet.

A lot of people have lost a lot. Just like my neighbors here in Burkina. But there is hope. There's always hope.

It rained in Burkina three times in April. That's definitely not normal. I mean, that's like a record. it might rain today. Probably not. I'd welcome it after not having rained more than a sprinkle since October. Some of my neighbors in tents might not. i know my friends in Nashville are praying for a few days of sunshine. I'd be glad to share mine, guys, just sent your water on over here to this parched place.

Just a few good articles I've read recently: Gail Kerr. We Are Nashville. Shaun Groves and a way to help.

Good thing this world is not our permanent home. I don't think I could handle it. At least not with all of the destruction and pain. Just a few random thoughts from a rain-poor land, ready for a new season to begin.

Seasons and Patterns

2010-04-29T22:19:00.005Z

SUN...RAIN...DUST. that's about it.

The Day Before Easter

2010-04-03T08:31:00.001Z

Every Easter season, one part of the story captures my intrigue more than the others. It's the part that's missing.

Thursday was the Passover. The disciples took the Lord's Supper with their Lord.
Friday was Preparation Day for the Sabbath. Jesus was tried, tortured, killed, and buried.
Then Saturday came. The day of silence.

All week long, when Jesus walked the earth, He was in Jerusalem with His disciples. It was a busy week:
the temple court was torn apart
Jesus debated with the Pharasees
countless parables were told
temple offerings were watched
dirty feet were washed
holy feet were anointed
endless conversations were had
Jesus' mind was constantly set on His purpose

All of His stories and lessons pointed to what was to happen on Thursday night, Friday, and Sunday. He warned them of what would happen. He showed immense love to His disciples, setting powerful examples of a true servant.

We know what happened on Thursday - the Passover meal, held in an upper room in the city. The disciples and other followers together around a table as the Communion meal never had such a deep meaning as it did when Jesus was staring Friday in the face. Judas. The cup. The kiss. The sword. Darkness. Fleeing. Prayer. Determination. Sorrow.

We know what happened on Friday - since early morning, Jesus was tortured, dragged from leader to leader, paraded through the streets, and eventually hung on the cross. Lots. Women. Thorns. Darkness. Earthquakes. Weeping. Whips. Spears. Tombs.

And we know what happened on Sunday. More earthquakes. Confusion. Women. Empty. Sadness. Foot races. Joy. Immense Joy.

It's the Saturday that always gets me. The day Scripture is really silent about.

I imagine the emotion of the disciples. After an exhausting week, they'd just experienced one of the worst things imaginable. They'd watched the torture of the most righteous man alive, their closest friend, their mentor & teacher. They'd watched the corruption and wrestled in their own hearts with fear and faith. They'd fled in the darkness of the garden, fearing for their own lives. Maybe they'd expected Jesus to take over Jerusalem and be the conquering king he'd hinted about. And they were disappointed when He didn't. They'd seen the One who held the words of life be beaten beyond recognition, the very life sucked out of Him. And as they watched the stone covering the hole that held His body, I imagine a deep darkness covering their very souls in despair and confusion. And then as the sun went down on Friday night, the Sabbath began.

The only thing Scripture hints at that happened on Saturday is a brief passage in Matthew where they send guards to the tomb, and a mysterious passage in Peter that makes us speculate what Jesus was up to in the meantime. So my imagination runs wild.

I know when I'm grieving, I go from moments of wanting to just sit to moments of wanting to be busy. I'll clean and organize everything I can find just to keep my mind occupied. But for these guys on the Sabbath, their strict Jewish culture allowed no work of any kind, only rest. Torture for the soul when you don't want to think.

In the darkness in the evening, no work was allowed. I doubt any of the disciples wanted to sleep. Anyone grieving the loss of a loved one understands how sleep escapes you that first night. I can imagine as the sun rose on Saturday morning, the disciples just sitting wherever they were, maybe together, not really talking. James might be staring into space, sitting with his mother as she couldn't stop weeping. Matthew might be standing by the window, looking into the quiet streets and listening to the silence. I imagine Peter alone, as far away as he can get, his soul broken from his denials, his mind replaying every word Jesus spoke throughout the week. John might be sitting alone in a corner, wanting to curl up and sob, feeling the immense pain of losing the one that knew his very soul, feeling that emptiness and no hope to fill it.

I imagine they wondered what Jesus meant when He clearly said He would rise again. I wonder if they actually believed it was possible, after seeing all that Jesus had done over the past few years. Maybe they quietly whispered questions to each other, asking what Jesus meant, or if it was all worth it. "Jesus said we'd be sad for a while, but He promised us joy. How can joy come from this?"

So they sat the whole day, unable to work, unable to do anything but sit and think and grieve and wonder and try to just make it through the day. I wonder if they thought through the stories they'd heard and the Scripture they'd memorized, their minds wandering to the prophesies or psalms of David. I wonder if they understood the connection of the Passover lamb and the Lamb of God. I wonder if they even had a clue that this event would change everything, and it would make a lot more sense in the morning.

I wonder.

Scripture is silent on what happened on that Sabbath, but I know it must have been a dark day in the hearts of those followers of Christ. I know it must have been a deep and confusing pain, watching the One they'd given up everything for seemingly give up everything for nothing.

Maybe this Sabbath captures me because it helps me feel the weight of what happened. Maybe the mystery of it helps me put myself in that place and get past the familiarity of the story. Maybe letting my heart wonder is a good thing and lets the weight of what happened on Friday sink deeper into my soul.

Regardless of what happened on Saturday, Sunday came around and the story turned on it's head. All of history made sense at the moment Christ began to breathe again. All of the future was secure as death was defeated, and sin had no mastery over man through the power of God through the blood of Christ.

He is risen. Indeed. He is.

My Week in Pictures

2010-04-02T09:37:00.014Z

Monday: working at Tanghin to start the roof for the elementary school.

Burkina's version of Smokey the Bear...I love the little huts and the off-balance truck. So Burkina.

Welcome to Nazinga - a wild game park with all the animals you see painted on the sign. Matt and his groupies...ha!

This photo fascinates me. Notice the line between life and death, charred earth and green plants.

Hard to see, but an amazing blue bird.

LOVE IT!

Riding on the roof - only way to safari.

Where will the road lead next?

Final Thoughts: Part of the Family

2010-03-17T11:42:00.006Z

Last week I spent a couple of days living in a village. Looking back almost 2 weeks later, it really seems like a dream. I didn’t spend a lot of time there, but it was enough.

I had several goals in making this trip happen. From the beginning of my time here, I’d wondered what life was like for people in Burkina. I mean, real life. Sure, I interact with them often, but usually on my turf. And the rare times I have spent in a courtyard of a family, I’ve been an important guest, so I never got to see what normal life looks like. On all those previous visits, everyone stopped what they were doing to visit with their guests. No one worked unless they were bringing something to serve to you. They never ate in front of you; always after and in another place. So first I wanted to actually be part of the family, to see what happened when the sun came up, how life works all day long when the white people weren’t around. I was curious.

Beyond that, I hoped that seeing how they lived, understanding their culture a little better, and experiencing it firsthand – I hoped that would help me understand them better and learn to love them more effectively. It’s so easy to be separated from the people you are ministering to. It’s so easy to keep that distance and only interact when comfortable or when it fits in my schedule. I didn’t want it to be easy. I wanted to see where my students came from, the courtyards and villages across this country. I wanted to sit and savor the poverty, if that makes sense. I wanted it to be in my face, on my feet, overwhelming my senses, but then get past it to the heart of these people.

And I understand it would take a lifetime to understand. I know that now more than ever. But I wanted to at least take a step in that direction.

So I did.

For the experience side, you can read the other blog posts and see the pictures. You can get a small taste of what life is like for a typical Burkinabe. I learned what I wanted to learn about their daily survival. I saw the simplicity of life – I learned how they cook and grind their own grain. I learned how they all work together to make life work and care for each other. I saw the brutality of hard work for children, barely having any time to rest or even play. I watched the mothers care for their babies, sitting around in the dark and visiting just like I would with my friends. I saw the daily labor to bring water up from the well, gathering wood for the fire, washing clothes by hand with a bar of soap. There’s nothing big in that. They eat, they talk, they cry, they laugh, they sleep, they work – just like we do, but with a lot less than us.

I’d hoped things would be different this time, but I was still treated like white royalty. I couldn’t even just sit on the ground because I might get my skirt dirty. Guests always get the best seat. Guests always get the first of the food, sometimes the only food. That’s humbling. One day, they asked me what I wanted for lunch. I tried to communicate that I’ll eat whatever they had. What I didn’t realize what they weren’t planning on eating lunch. So off Albertine went on the bicycle to find some food prepared at a roadside restaurant. She came back with a small dish of rice, sauce, and dried fish – set it in front of me and the rest of the family just sat to the side. Humbling. There was no way I was going to refuse eating it – no matter how disgusting those little fish eyes were looking at me. They gave me their best – just because I was white. They see me as better than them. I see them as beautiful; I see myself broken compared to their generosity. I could only accept their love and offer what I could in return.

I was a part of their family, but it would take time to get there. Time and energy I really didn’t have to give. Or didn't really want to give.

The second night I was there, I’d just eaten a great dinner of Riz Gras. Sylvie had actually eaten with me, but the rest of the family pealed peanuts and waited a few hours before sharing their meal together from a common bowl, only one of them using a spoon. I was sitting watching Agath sitting with her children around her, all of them pealing peanuts, eating a few as anyone would. I listened to the music in the next courtyard, animals all around, looked up at the zillion stars and watched the boys wrestling and singing as they rested on the mat next to me in the dirt. Everyone was speaking Mooré, laughing and talking. Every once in a while one of the kids would say something to me in French.

I was tired. I was frustrated at not being able to communicate like I wanted to. I began to ask myself so many questions about this world I was sitting in. It is so starkly different from mine, even mine in Ouaga. They way they do everything is so different, so simple, so difficult. They had just what they needed, nothing more. And no matter how much I wanted to talk to them, to ask them questions, to get them to understand me – it was nearly impossible. The language barrier alone was enough of a difficulty.

Then I start thinking of how in the world do you fight poverty like this? You can’t just come in and give them money and ask them to build a new house. How do you teach millions of people how to care for injuries and illnesses properly? How do you give them hope? How do you let the kids reach their dreams of getting to college and getting a good job? How do you even begin to teach them about the love of Christ? Where do you even begin?

It was in the midst of those scattered thoughts and prayers that I realized something. I felt it this time, with my dirty feet and full belly. I felt it as I listened to my new friends talk, not understanding a word or even being able to see their beautiful faces in the darkness. Being there was hard. Not being understood was hard. Knowing there was something better for this family was hard. It was a stretch for me to give up my comfortable bed, electricity, abundance of food, my computer, my language. It was a real stretch.

What I realized what a simple thought I’d heard 100 times, but “heard” it loud and clear this time: what a stretch it must have been for Christ to come from His comfort and security of heaven to live in our world. I imagine it was even more of a stretch than mine here in Burkina. I know it was. He had perfection, perfect relationship, perfect love. He is God of the universe, dancing in the heavens and painting pictures of glory in the skies. He is perfectly holy, set-apart, so “other.” Just imagining the glory of Christ in heaven after reading Isaiah and Revelation, with all the riches imaginable, all wisdom and understanding – that was the world that was home for Christ.

And He gave it up, every bit of it, just to come and step into our courtyards. He put on our clothes, He let the dirt cake on his feet, He learned the language. He used our toilets; he fought off the mosquitoes and the heat of the sun. I don’t mean this disrespectfully, but he sweated and worked and got splinters and fevers and diarrhea. He gave up His glory. For what?

Because a relationship with us was worth that much to Him.

The sacrifices He made to enter our world, to come down to our level, to come face to face with the battles of sin – that was hard. Don’t even give me the fact that He was God so He was able to endure it much easier that we would have. Scripture tells me enough to know that it hurt Him deeply. I’m not even going to go into the pain and sacrifice it took for God to send Christ to earth – I don’t want to experience the pain in that. It’s enough to ponder the sacrifice for Christ to put on human flesh.

Spending a couple of days stepping into an uncomfortable world was enough for me. I was ready to go home; I was ready to get back to my comfortable world. I didn’t love these people enough to stay and fight to show them a better way. I didn’t want to endure learning a brand-new language and learn to speak to their hearts. I couldn’t do it. But Christ did it for us, 1000 times over, because He does love us that much, and a relationship with us is that important, seeing us set free from sin was that worth it. He could have headed home in a moment when He was tired of the food or taking a bath every day. He could have given up after telling people about God’s love for the 100th time, and they just didn’t get it or didn’t care. He could have walked away.

But He didn’t.

My weekend was a type of fast: giving up something to turn my attention to something better.

I walked into that courtyard wanting to experience life as a Burkinabe – so I could understand and love them better. I walked away thinking about the deep love of Christ and standing in awe of how much He loves me.

And that, my friends, changes everything.

You Know It's Hot When...

2010-03-14T18:06:00.005Z

I'm going to borrow an idea from my friend Olivia...

You know it's hot in Burkina when:

You forget that it actually was "cold" in Burkina for a time
The chickens are looking to stay cool - and find themselves inside the outside toilet - the coolest, dampest, and quietest place around
Speaking of animals, did you know that pigs and chickens pant like dogs?
You get excited about a cold shower
Cold showers are rare because the water from the ground is warm
You realize that your body is the coldest thing in the room
The electricity is cut for hours each day
Your guard stops wearing his toboggan hat and earmuffs
The butter you put in the skillet begins to melt even before you light the stove (thanks Olivia)
Your favorite time of day is when you first go to bed, because you're "allowed" to turn on the AC for an hour.
Even the locals complain about the heat
Productivity decreases by about 99%
Who needs to cook? Things just kind-of bake themselves on the shelf
Sleeping outside sounds like a great plan
The sticky part on duct tape starts to melt
M&Ms (or Reece's Pieces) melt in your hand, but not in your mouth.
You go out to eat just so you can sit for an hour in free AC

and a hundred others...these are just off the top of my head. :-) welcome hot season. please don't stay long.

a song

2010-03-10T09:18:00.005Z

rough translation: Children, come, we're going to get some water to wash our clothes; with cleanliness we don't mess around. Come and let's get some vegetables so we can have good health. (in Moore)

Part of the Family: Final Day

2010-03-09T15:29:00.020Z

Previous posts:
1) Life in an African Courtyard
2) Waking Up
3) Introduction to the Family
4) Tour of the Town and Two-hour Walks

The dust picked up on Monday and kept the sun from its normal intensity, great for the celebration of International Women’s Day. A huge event in Burkina, it’s a day off work, a day for parades and new outfits. Many people will save money just to buy the special cloth and make a special outfit. It wasn’t a day of rest in my courtyard with no men to help carry the load. Work was done but a break was had later in the morning to go downtown to enjoy the parade and celebration.

After re-heated Riz Gras and leftover tô for the rest of the family (can I say how much I hated being treated like royalty…more on that later), I learned to play a simple game with rocks and dirt. Draw a circle, arrange the rocks in the middle. Use a rock to try to knock one of the rocks out of the circle. Simple. But I was bad at it.

Albertine began work on a sauce, so I watched and documented the process. “Sauce Gumbo” was the name and I prayed repeatedly wouldn’t have to eat it. It consisted of celery, tomatoes, onions, plus dried fish powder (I suspect from the meal I didn’t finish the day before), salt, and something that looked like an oil that was made from filtering water through what looked to be potting soil 3 years old. I believe the Americans coined the term “snot sauce” when describing this sauce used to accompany tô.

Sylvie invited me outside near the well to work on laundry, so I sat and talked with her and some friends while she washed her clothes. I sat under a tree, beside her tubs of clothes, a donkey, a pig wallowing in mud, and a hand-dug well. Back on the farm, I guess. We so talked and I met a few of her friends: Jacques and Marie. I watched as women, men, and young girls brought bikes and carts with buckets to take water back to their homes. A girl as young as 10 was drawing and filling up her cart, carrying nearly 100 liters in a heavy metal pull cart, normally hooked up to donkeys. Sylvie washed and washed, laughed and talked with her friends, sometimes in French so I could be included in the conversation. Neighbors passed by and waved, some stopped to shake my hand. Again I found myself as a stranger in the land, almost like a spectacle in a circus, but treated with great respect and care.

As I watch water being drawn from the well, my thoughts went a thousand places. What must it be like to only know a life where water comes from a hole in the ground? I guess the majority of people in history experienced that, just not my generation and my North American culture. I wonder how much sewage makes its way back down to this hole, with several toilets less than 50 feet away from this water source. I have a friend who drills wells out here, taking water to people who have never had it. Water is life. Without it, nothing works. And there’s not an abundance of water here.

When Sylvie needed some fresh water to rinse her clothes, I asked if she’d let me try. She agreed and I found myself standing over the well, trying to figure out how to get the bucket full of water without me falling into the well. Childhood nursery rhymes went through my head. I was tempted to ask what happens if you accidentally drop your bucket and rope down the well. But I know better. You just don’t.

As I walked to the well, I heard several neighbors gasp and fuss at Sylvie for letting the white woman do this kind of work. She explained that I’d asked to try, so she was going to let me. So, I pulled up a half-full bucket, jokingly fussing at Sylvie for not giving me a full one. The onlookers got a kick out of that one. Apparently they think we’re not capable of doing hard work. So I pulled up a full bucket, praying I wouldn’t drop it back down in. Jacques asked if it was difficult, and it really wasn’t. Our immediate neighbor came out to fill up a bucket for her work, asking Sylvie about me pulling up the water. She then looked at me and indicated that I could pull up a pail for her to. I smiled and pulled up another pail, proud that they realized I wasn’t helpless and was able to give them something to smile about and stories to tell each other over dinner.

Sylvie, Albertine, myself and Marie walked together downtown to watch the parade, being stopped along the way to greet those who asked. I think I got a proposal from one old man. Another group of younger men wanted to greet me and invite me to drink Arabic tea. Sylvie told them I was protestant and couldn’t. Not quite sure if that’s true, but it worked to keep us moving. Another day I’d gotten an invite to drink some dolo, the local cheap alcohol. “Non, merci,” sufficed. Half the town had turned out to watch the celebration. The parade consisted of a long speech advocating women’s education and literacy (10-15% of women in Burkina can read and write), a dance by a local church group, and women in groups representing different types of women in the area. Albertine and Sylvie’s mom marched proudly in a group with widows. There were women who were hairdressers, students in school, orphans, etc. Every vital group of women was represented. They marched in line with their signs like high school marching bands, then it was over. We headed home for lunch and to celebrate the rest of the holiday.

Sylvie cooked me and her a quick meal of what is similar to a dip for bread you’d get at an Italian restaurant. Tomatoes and onions sautéed in oil, with some salt and bouillon. Albertine was sent to find some fresh bread, and Sylvie and I enjoyed a light lunch. I gave Evie my leftovers, which he enjoyed with leftover tô since there was no bread left. I was supposed to leave soon, so the rest of the afternoon we sat under the shelter as neighbor children came and stared. My camera proved helpful as I offered to take a family photo and send it to them later. When they began to prepare for the photo, the youngest boys stripped and took full baths, and all of them went to find their best clothing. All for a family photo. Reminds me of something out of the 1800s in America, when cameras were rare and photos came at major events.

I schooled the boys in basketball, watched Narcisse line up the kids in special poses, and waited for my ride. When the moto came to take me back to town, the entire family and neighbors crowded in my room, offering goodbyes and wishes that I could stay longer. With that, I promised I’d sent the photos later, and maybe one day I’d be able to come back and visit. So with thank yous and handshakes, I took off for a taste of the familiar with electricity, showers, and ice cold drinks.

Final thoughts in my next post, what I learned from the experience, and how this story will change things. Stay tuned. The Final Post is found HERE.

Part of the Family Day Two: Tours, Talking, and Bob Marley

2010-03-09T14:32:00.008Z

Previous posts:
1) Life in an African Courtyard
2) Waking Up
3) Introduction to the Family

In the afternoon, I got to meet Sylvie. She’d traveled about 15 km to a neighboring village to visit her older sister and her husband for the weekend. A seemingly shy girl, she was a breath of fresh air because she was able to speak French rather well and we could communicate. She arrived, took a quick bath to wash off the dusty bike ride, then came to sit and talk with me in the shade.

She had a cell phone she needed to drop off and charge (remember, no electricity for miles) so she asked if I wanted to accompany her. Agath went to afternoon prayers at the Catholic church, so we decided to stop there, since I’d never been inside a Catholic service. So we walked and talked and Sylvie decided to show me around the town. We walked and walked and walked. It was about 15 minutes to the church, then she wanted to show me several public buildings, schools, and the hospital. After about 2 hours at a rapid pace, I saw most of the town and had some good conversations with my new high school friend.

We talked about family, school, life in our countries, our jobs, our friends, everything. Her father died about 4 years ago, and mine died about 5 years ago, so we shared a bit of our experience and hope from that. Between this walk and one the next day, she found out how little I know about American agriculture, talked about marriage ages and why I wasn’t married yet, the different school systems in the US and Burkina, life expectancy, arranged marriages, holidays, living in Ouaga, being far from family, everything.

We practiced her English, the required language for all high schoolers, tried to understand why all the children run after me yelling ‘nasaara, nasarra, bonbon,” and talked about enjoying exercise. At one point, she broke out into a version of Bob Marley’s “One Love,” and we walked through Yako singing Bob Marley together while the neighbors looked on.

It’s the essence of relationship: conversation. She was thrilled to have a new American friend, even if she didn’t understand why I had to carry my backpack with a sac of water inside. After 2 hours and two liters later, that was my answer.

A friend of mine had given them a gift of some rice, tomatoes, and a few table spoons of oil, so it was Riz Gras (“greasy rice”) for dinner. Sylvie proceeded to get that ready, while I entertained the kids with the camera. Sylvie and I ate alone, while I looked at the children beside me, just waiting for their turn to enjoy some rice. They didn’t eat for a few more hours, after they’d made sure I didn’t want more. We sat as the kids and Agath shelled peanuts, I listened to the little boys laying beside me wrestling and singing in Mooré, and I decided it was time for bed. Out came the bed, laid gently on a mat on the ground, a few feet from the pig and in the middle of the lovely scent from the toilet. But the stars were bright and I was tired. So I slept and dreamed, only waking when a mosquito would buzz in my ear or the neighbor’s dog wanted to sleep on my feet. Albertine once again laid her bed beside mine and curled up under her blanket, a piece of cloth that becomes a wrap-around skirt during the day. I’d done the same. It was lovely.

Forget the dirtiness and interesting cuisine. It was life at is simplest – and its purest. I had a revelation sitting in the courtyard that night – that’ll come in a later post. I was ready to sleep the night away and enjoy the cool breeze. The next day was full as we’d celebrate International Women’s Days, but tonight, I’d rest and dream and ponder.

The next post continues here: the Final Day.

Part of the Family: The Family

2010-03-09T13:49:00.013Z

If you missed the first two entries: you can see them HERE & HERE.

Let me introduce to the family who allowed me into their world for a few days. Agath is the mother. Her oldest child is 21 and lives in another village with her husband. I assume that Agath is in her 40s, but she looks more like in her 60s. Her life must have been tough, because the lines on her face show it. Sylvie is next, at 18 and in the Burkina equivalent of 10th grade. Albertine you’ve met, she’s 13 and a precious jewel. Narcisse is a character. He’s in 2nd grade at age 11. Marcele is 9 and in 1st grade at the local school. Evie comes last at age 4.

The family comes from a village nearby, but have spent the majority of their lives in Yako, never visiting anywhere more than a few miles away. About 4 years ago, their father died, while Agath was pregnant with Evie. A devastating blow for any family, it was especially difficult for a family in Burkina with 6 children. But it’s an all too common experience. Without nearby relatives to help, Agath was on her own to find a way to support her family. All the kids chip in, doing odd jobs and running errands to make a few pennies a day.

Narcisse especially took the death of his father hard. His performance in school decreased rapidly, and it’s just now that he’s getting back up to par.

My experience with the older kids was pleasant, enjoying their understanding of French to help my communication. I taught Narcisse how to use my camera, my only hope for finding any photos of me for the weekend. He picked it up quickly, but had a little trouble holding it steady and not cutting off people’s heads. He taught me to play a little game with rocks one morning, and was always there with a smile and a laugh. I enjoyed chasing Evie around the yard, but he was just afraid of me and mostly just stared.

It takes a village to raise a family, so I encountered a lot of children running through the courtyard, beautiful kids named Deborah, Boris, Marie, and a handful of other nameless faces. They wore what they had, not caring much if it was dirty or torn. They were covered, and they were kids looking for some sort of adventure and reason to smile in a world that offers so little reasons.

The next entry continues here: Tours, Talking, and Bob Marley

The next entry continues here: Tours, Talking, and Bob Marley

Part of the Family Day Two: Wake Up

2010-03-09T13:12:00.014Z

Day Two. (If you missed day one: you can catch up here)

I guess if you’ve grown up on a farm, you understand nature’s alarm clock. In Burkina it begins around 5:30 am. Roosters start asking the sun to come up, dogs get restless, donkeys are tired of standing on one place all night long, birds calling that you never actually see. You get up quickly after that to begin the day of work. With the rising of the sun through the dusty sky, I was able to see the courtyard for the first time. A shoulder-high wall surrounds the courtyard, with the back of a few neighboring housings making up the gaps. My host family has two buildings: two room mud-brick homes with a metal roof. The mother and four children lives in one of the houses and the oldest sister, Sylvie, lives in the second one. A few feet from where I slept last night is a large and very disgusting pig. The prodigal son parable makes a lot more sense now. There is a simple shelter of wood and one piece of steel, covered with grass to provide shade during the hottest parts of the day. It also serves as a shelf for drying clothes or keeping things out of reach of passing animals. A grass covered granary stood next to that. The “kitchen” was between the two houses. Consisting of a few rocks to rest the pots, and a type of “shelf” that is used as a counter and a place to grind the millet or corn into a powder, the walls were covered with black soot from the daily cooking fire.

After waking up and finding a nice tick crawling over my bed, I was given a chair and offered some peanuts that I hadn’t finished the night before. I took another bucket bath and proceeded to begin the day. Albertine’s family is Catholic so the mom and the oldest boy went to mass around 7 am. Albertine stayed in the courtyard to cook me a tasty dish of millet tô. I’ve had “good” tô once or twice – but not often. It’s typical and very cheap food, requiring flour (millet, corn, or wheat), water, and simple ingredients for a sauce. This 13 year old worked so hard in this hour-long process of making something that has a consistency similar to grits mixed with cornbread, but the taste of neither. We’ll just say there was a lot of praying that I was able to eat it without vomiting. Most meals in Burkina are tô. Rice is a special treat for the middle class. Tô for breakfast and dinner; apparently lunch isn’t normally eaten. Yum.

After breakfast, Albertine told me I was going to greet the neighbors, so she escorted me to neighboring courtyards to shake hands with the elders, letting them meet the nasaara that doesn’t speak any Mooré. They usually laughed at that; one lady found out I knew a few words so she just kept repeating them. I think she was just saying God is good, and God bless you.

Returning to the courtyard, Albertine grabbed the dirty laundry and proceeded to wash clothes for a few hours, scrubbing and rinsing and hanging them out to dry. Handwashing takes on a new meaning. Drawing several buckets of water from the well, pouring into several large basins. Albertine worked hard, as most girls do in this culture. Neighbor kids would come and go through the yard, glimpsing the strange white lady and playing with each other. Dishes were washed, the courtyard was swept, friends came to visit, and the sun grew hotter. The oldest son had fallen on his way home from church, and had a large scrape on his head. Besides the swelling and the attention all the neighbors gave, the main thing I noticed: it didn’t bleed. It was red and open, but there was no blood. I haven’t figure that out. A few hours later they got some betadine and that was the treatment. Done.

I was getting tired so Agath suggested that I take a walk with Albertine through the neighborhood. So we walked, stopping to greet those sitting in their courtyard, talking about the crops grown nearby in the rainy season, mangoes, and school. The sun quickly warmed up my water to boiling, and we returned in time for lunch to rest under the grass shelter. This family normally doesn’t eat lunch, so the mom sent Albertine on her bike to find something special for their guest. She returned with a dish of hot rice, sauce, and dried fish heads. In any other situation, I would have lost my breakfast. But I just looked at those heads and was grateful and humbled that they spent money to buy me some rice and sauce. There was no way I was going to eat the portion I was given, so I ate about half and then offered the rest to the family. They told me I could finish it later. I kindly convinced them it was okay, and I wanted them to finish it for me. I went inside to lie down for a while, peaking out the window to see all the kids around the mother, slowly finishing my lunch, a rare treat, I’m sure.

Work continued in the courtyard, as the girls gathered wood, swept up, washed the dishes and pots, fed the pig, took baths, etc. I took a bit of a nap as flies poured into the room. Chickens came inside my room in search of a bit of shade, panting in the heat.

It’s about survival. It’s about surviving another day and enjoying the fellowship of family and friends. If it didn’t involve deepening a relationship or providing life, it wasn’t done. There just wasn’t time. The boys play, the girls work, the adults work and talk. Life is slow – but purposeful. When you get hot, you rest. When you get tired, you rest. When you have enough dirty clothes, you wash them. When you're dirty, you take a bath. When it’s time for dinner, someone makes something if there is grain or flour left in the grain bin.

Lesson one of life in a Burkina courtyard: hard work.

The next post begins HERE: Meet the Family

Part of the Family Day One: Inside a Burkinabe Courtyard

2010-03-09T12:03:00.015Z

I’ve taken a few bus rides across the dusty country of Burkina Faso since I arrived. It’s an experience: riding past endless fields and catching a few seconds of life. I’ve seen fields full and ready to harvest; I’ve seen newly burned fields ready to endure the hot season, aching for the rains that are months away. In all seasons, you pass village after village, mud brick huts with grass or thin metal roofs, an endless and mysterious maze of trails through the fields, groups of people sitting in whatever shade that can be found, or workers bending low to till their lands. That moment is enough to make you wonder: what is it like in one of those courtyards? That child who is climbing that tree, what is his day like? What about that old woman carrying that load on her head? What is she going home to? What is life like to be surrounded with dirt and not much else all your life? I told myself one day I’d go visit one of these villages and live alongside of them. So allow me to tell their story and let you glimpse life inside the courtyard of one typical Burkinbe family.

Day One.

I first met Albertine on a Saturday afternoon, wearing her best dress. A friend of mine runs a sponsorship program for orphans in Yako, a small town a few hours outside of Ouaga. My friend is also working to change the face of education in Burkina by starting Christian schools in the area. Albertine is one of the sponsored children in the program, and Saturday was one of 3 food distributions the children benefit from each year. She’s a beautiful 13 year old, in the Burkina equivalent of 2nd grade. The next couple of days would be spent with Albertine and her family.

I arrived at the house after a moto ride through a maze of dusty streets and in between mud-brick walls, arriving in the dark of night. Entering the gate (which was just a gap in the wall), we entered the courtyard as my moto driver clapped to let the family know we’d arrived. [Clapping is the Burkina way of knocking. Ever try knocking on a dirt wall? Yeah, clapping is so much easier]. Albertine approached and welcomed us to the courtyard, finding a few metal chairs for her guests to sit on. In Burkina, guests are always given a place to sit, even if others have to give up their seat or they have to search for a bench at the neighbors’ house. A few women were in the courtyard visiting; each one greeting us with a welcome and a handshake. We were given a customary drink of water, and my driver excused himself to head back to town.

Albertine’s mother, Agath, moved to sit next to me and we attempted to communicate. Around 60% of Burkina’s population are Mossi, speaking a local dialect called Mooré (prounounced more-ay). How much Mooré do I know? A few words like “ã mina”[amen], “baraka”[thank you/it is good], “lafi”[health/good], and “nē y zaabré” [good evening] and “nasaara bon-bon” [white person, candy!!]. Not much more. So that makes for interesting conversations. Thankfully Albertine knew a bit of French so she tried to translate for us, but my French struggles so it was interesting. But we communicated. I thanked them for allowing me to spend time with them and told them I wanted to learn about life as a Burkinabe and the story of their family. “Pas de probleme” was the reply.

I was offered a dinner of tô, and they asked if I wanted to bathe. They drew a bucket of water and carried to the shower. If I may, bathrooms in Burkina are foreign to anyone in any developed country. A nice description? The bathroom: a small walled-in space of mudbrick, with an open door and open roof. Sometimes there is a deep hole dug and a small hole to relieve yourself. More often than not, because the cement for the floor is too expensive, it’s just a small hole that exits out one side to the street. This also serves as the shower, or rather, a place for bucket baths. Bucket baths are refreshing, although you have to be a bit creative since the walls are usually a little higher than waist-level. All that to say, I enjoy short shower to cool off and get the dirt off my feet from a long day with sandals, and tried not to think about what the bottom of my sandals might be touching.

Burkinabe sleep on plastic mats on the floor, but that just wouldn’t do for the white person (she’s too fragile). I had a thin mattress, and for that I was grateful. After convincing them I really wanted to sleep outside, they moved my bed from the house that was “mine” for the weekend.

“What about the mosquitoes?”

“It’s okay, the mosquitoes aren’t bad and I have some repellant.”

I'm sure they thought the American was crazy. And maybe I was. It’s just too hot inside. Sunbaked bricks from 100+ daytime temperatures don’t cool off quickly. Plus I was looking forward to viewing a full sky of stars as the moon wouldn’t rise until early in the morning. Agath told Albertine to move her mat outside next to me, I guess to protect me or be there if I needed anything. I know it was a sacrifice as she was cold with the temperatures in the upper 70s. The rest of the family shared a room in their house with dirt floors and dirt walls. But I was in heaven. Sleeping outside in the bush is one of my favorite experiences, hands down, provided that I have earplugs. So a little before 10 pm, I curled up on my mattress, not even having seen the courtyard around me. The only light was a small flashlight they only used for seconds at a time so they wouldn’t run down the batteries. Electricity isn’t even an option. Sleeping under a thousand stars, a few feet from a group of women chatting away in Mooré, that’s an experience. The sounds around captivate your attention (hence the need for earplugs the first few days). Women talking low, children resting on the ground sleeping or coughing from some serious illness, animals scurrying around, laughter from the next courtyard, music from the radio, a donkey or dog in the distance, a rooster forgetting what time it is, deep breathing and footsteps. After a bit of time and a little faith, you slip off to sleep and to a world of dreams, awaking periodically to re-adjust your neck that is used to having a pillow. Welcome to Burkina.

The next post begins HERE: Waking Up.

princessxuxa *//*