Deb's day out

Today is World Water Day. 

Earlier this week I had the opportunity to join my friends from Universal Outreach Foundation (UOF) for a day out in a village where they were undergoing a well restoration project. UOF is a Canadian NGO that works in several much needed areas in Liberia-- education, small business development (specifically honey) and water & sanitation. The village we went to was about 2.5 hours outside of Monrovia so we had to leave early to get there in time to get everything done.

You gotta start every day right-- coffee and donuts the Liberian way.

The village was a tiny place with a name I can't pronounce or spell. The people were very friendly and grateful for the team's presence there. With the sun and temperature rising quickly, the well team got right to work fixing the only well in the village.

Fixing the well.

Their well had been broken for several months and the people had no other option than to drink from a nearby spring. The spring water was very dirty and literally bubbling with tadpoles. An older woman in the village told us that when they used that water to take a bath their skin would itch all night. I can only imagine how it was to drink it.

The spring the village had to drink from-- all the black you see in the bottom are tadpoles.

Photo op: Here the old woman is telling us about their horrid water conditions.

It didn't take long for the well to be functional again. The brilliant part of UOF's well restoration program is that they don't just come in, fix a well and leave. They spend time in the village teaching key people to be able to fix it themselves the next time something goes wrong. This village, that was drinking contaminated water for months because there was no one to fix it started the day with no clean water and a broken well. At the end of the day they had eight people trained, able to maintain and fix any problems that may come up in the future. The team also spends time teaching both adults and children in the village about proper hygiene and the importance of clean water.

There is not a lot that goes on in this tiny village-- all the kids lined up to watch the process.

This little guy was very shy and scared to come too close to the strangers in the village. I was able to lure him over with my camera-- 1st pic was as close as he would get, but I got his attention. 2nd pic, he had to come over and check out his picture. 3rd pic, what's that a smile? 30 seconds later he was curled up in my lap!

After a full day in the village we started the long trek back home. We were slowed down by a very uncharacteristic March monsoon rain storm. It was a 13 hour day, I was exhausted but thankful to be able to see first hand the amazing work my friends at UOF are doing every day. 

rain clouds

how i feel...

I find myself in an odd place these days. (and I don't mean Liberia, although it is definitely bizarre here.) I am not talking about a physical place either, it is more of an emotional place that I don't know how to define. It is like I am standing on the top of a hill and on one side I can see where I've been, where I've sacrificed and cried and laughed and grown and met amazing people and developed quite a love-hate relationship with an entire nation. On the other side is something new, yet familiar. Something I am excited, yet cautious about jumping into with both feet. On this side are old friends and dear family members. A house I love. A "real" job. Running water. Target. There are things I love on both sides of the hill. I am not leaving one side for the other because I don't love it, I am moving in a different direction simply because I know it is time. Standing on this hill, looking out over both sides I see things I love and will miss, things I dread and look forward to. Not only do I not know how to define this place, I don't know how to feel about it. Should I be happy? sad? excited? cautious? hopeful? torn? In fact, I feel all of these things and somehow they seem to have formed themselves into a huge conglomerate of nothing so that all I really feel is kinda numb. I've never really looked upon change as something I enjoy. I can identify that it is necessary and change does not mean bad. Change can be quite exciting and good. Yet still, I tend to be someone who prefers her comfort zone. How this small, strange land became my comfort zone is still a mystery to me, but it is true. I think I may have more concerns about returning to life in America than I have of leaving Liberia. There is a sweet simplicity among the chaos here that I fear will be lost in the midst of the rat race at home. I don't want to lose the person I've become here, I want so badly to find a way to bring her with me but am afraid in the process I will lose her. So, here I sit at the top of my hill so close to the peak that I know there is only one way I can go. I do have fears. I do have excitement. I do have peace-- sweet, deep, doesn't-make-sense peace. I know this is the direction I am supposed to go, but... it. is. not. easy.

(I do not write this looking for answers. I simply write to try and discover, to attempt to explain, where I am-- Because people keep asking how I feel, and I don't know what to say.)

forty days

Forty days seems to be a significant number throughout history.

It rained for forty days and forty nights after Noah built his ark. Moses spent 40 days on a mountain talking to God.  Jesus was tempted for forty days in the desert. We are currently in the 40 days before Easter that many observe as the season of Lent. (and there are more.)

Today, forty is the number of days left before I get on a plane and fly home. Yes, I’ve done this a few other times over the last five years. This time is different. It is not the last time (I will be back), but it is the last time as a full-time resident of Liberia. After five wonderful, horrible, fantastic, life changing, stretching, enriching, painful, years… a change is coming.

The quick and easy answer is that I need to spend time logging some hours to keep my nursing license current. But honestly, it is more than that. I’ve felt this transition coming, God has been preparing me for this and even though I don’t know if this is a temporary arrangement or the start of something else completely, I know this is the next step.

It is a little surreal. As I’ve been preparing for this over the last several months, it feels as if life has brought me full circle— In forty days I’ll be moving back into my old house. In forty days I’ll be starting back at the same hospital I used to work at. In forty days I’ll be returning to my church and friends and family (minus a few dear ones I’ve lost over the last few years) that I left behind when I started this journey. In forty days I say goodbye to the kids who have literally changed my life, my world view, my heart. In forty days I’ll be leaving behind friends and family here in Liberia.  And let’s be honest here, in forty days I’ll be walking the halls of Target and sipping a Starbucks.

In forty days everything is going to change. In forty days a lot is going to be the same as I left it, but somehow different… because I’ve been changed and the world has changed.

All this is happening in 40 days. A few weeks ago I realized that I am leaving on Easter, March 31, 2013. I booked the ticket months ago but never realized what day it was. (This is significant… are you ready for this?) When I left the US for Liberia five years ago, it was on Easter morning! Two words-- full circle. One more-- wow!

{I realized after I posted a status on facebook earlier today about ‘forty days to go,’ that, based on some of the comments I received, I have maybe not been as good at explaining to people my plans as I thought I have. If you have questions please feel free to e-mail me- debbie @ orronline [dot] org. I’m not trying to keep anything a secret, and am happy to talk about my plans (as I know them) so far.}

Happy Valentine's Day!

"When love does, life gets interesting." -Bob Goff

Love ya lots!

Armed Forces Day (redux)

Piko, Leighanne, Ma Mary, me, and Carissa at the beach this afternoon.

Today was our 5th annual Armed Forces Day swim with Ma Mary and Piko. 

I love that we still celebrate this way!

The surf was not that fun today-- strong currents and huge waves crashing right on the beach-- but it did not stop us from laughing and frolicking and getting sand in places where, well, sand is just not welcome.

To remember why we started this tradition read the original Armed Forces Day blog I posted on February 11, 2009.

This is Amah

Amah is about 13 years old. He loves to laugh-- his smile brightens the room. He loves to play card games or soccer with his friends at the orphanage where he lives. He has a tumor growing on his knee.

Multiple doctors that have examined him concur that the only viable treatment plan for him is not available in Liberia. Best case scenario he will need a series of surgeries to remove the tumor from the bone and rebuild his leg. Worst case-- full blown cancer treatment. Either way he is looking at long-term treatment, and ongoing follow-up care. The best option for Amah at this point seems to be adoption.

I am NOT writing this blog in search of an adoptive family for Amah. Several families have already come forward with interest and I am hopeful that one of those will be the perfect match for him.

I am writing this blog to ask that you pray earnestly with me for Amah, for Amah's new family and for me as I try and facilitate this process. This is not a small thing. A lot has to fall into place for Amah to get to the states and his medical care can not begin until he gets there.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." Psalm 139:13-16

I am confident that our God, who created Amah, and knit him together, can and will make a way for him.

Thank you for your prayers.

God, Moses, the Israelites and me.

I was reading this morning in Exodus (chapter 6) about Moses and the Israelites (God’s people = all of us). The Israelites had been slaves in Egypt for generations and God was ready to rescue them, to finally set them free. He sent Moses to talk to the king of Egypt and asked him to let His people go. Not too surprisingly, the king of Egypt said, “No!"

Moses was kinda mad at God after this conversation with the king. He marches right back to Him and asks why in the world would He tell him to go do all of this, to risk his life, if it wasn’t going to work. This is God’s response—

“Then the Lord said to Moses, “Now you will see what I will do to Pharaoh: Because of my mighty hand he will let them go; because of my mighty hand he will drive them out of his country.”

God also said to Moses, “I am the Lord.  I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob as God Almighty,  but by my name the Lord I did not make myself fully known to them. I also established my covenant with them to give them the land of Canaan, where they resided as foreigners.  Moreover, I have heard the groaning of the Israelites, whom the Egyptians are enslaving, and I have remembered my covenant.

“Therefore, say to the Israelites: ‘I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the yoke of the Egyptians. I will free you from being slaves to them, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with mighty acts of judgment. I will take you as my own people, and I will be your God. Then you will know that I am the Lord your God, who brought you out from under the yoke of the Egyptians. And I will bring you to the land I swore with uplifted hand to give to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob. I will give it to you as a possession. I am the Lord.’” vs 5-8.

Did you catch all that?

I am the LORD. (Yaweh, I Am Who I Am, I will always be)

I have heard…

I have remembered…

I will bring you out…

I will free you…

I will redeem you with an outstretched arm… 

I will take you as my own…

I will be your God…

I will bring you to the land I promised... 

I am the LORD. (He says it again, actually three times. He is saying, I am always there and in control, trust me.)

What words of promise. Who doesn’t want to hear that affirmation?

You are heard. You are known. You will be rescued. You will be redeemed. You belong to someone who loves you.

Then the very next verse says something interesting—

“Moses reported this to the Israelites, but they did not listen to him because of their discouragement and cruel bondage.” vs 9

This is so sad. I wonder if they didn’t listen because they couldn’t listen? Their circumstances were pretty extreme-- severely oppressed, laboring all day to meet impossible quotas. Maybe they were so wrapped up in despair, in their own particular, absolutely horrible situation, that they could not accept the promises, the hope, the rescue, the way out that God was offering them?

Don’t I (don’t we all) have times like this? Times where I am too discouraged to feel, to see, to accept the truth? Times where I am so wrapped up in my own circumstances, my own distorted reality, my own jealousies, to accept the truth that God wants to rescue me from it? (That sounds like cruel bondage to me.)

Since I was a teenager, and started reading these stories on my own, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with the Israelites. I totally understand their struggles and am completely frustrated with them for their constant complaining and circular acceptance of God’s gifts to them. When it comes down to it I think I am most annoyed with them because they remind me of myself.

God help me (help us all) to accept the freedom from cruel bondage that you continually offer to rescue us from. The question really comes down to will we let you? 

A greater opportunity

This year marks the 10^th anniversary of peace in Liberia. Civil war ravaged the country for decades and destabilized the entire infrastructure. Basic necessities such as jobs, health care, and education had become all but nonexistent. Many of the educated population fled for safety, leaving a huge hole in the education system. By the time schools started running again, almost every single child was behind. Displaced by these circumstances, many children also ended up living in orphanages during this time. The Liberian government says that youths over the age of 18 can no longer live in orphanages; however, most have not graduated by that time. This results in a huge gap in care, education, and life skills for young adults all over the country.

Possibly thousands of youths fall into this place in-between, and there is no one doing anything about it.

Orphan Relief and Rescue, the organization that I work for here in Liberia, is trying to start assisting some of the orphans that we know who find themselves in this situation-- young adults between the ages of 18 and 21 who have been kicked out of an orphanage due to their age, but have not yet finished high school and have very little life skills or experience living outside the walls of an orphanage. We have started a Greater Opportunity Assistance program that will help them to stay in school and learn skills that will help them survive life in the real world.

We are currently only able to assist three young adults through this program. Jestina (18), Eugene (20) and Sackie (21) are all seniors in high school who are no longer allowed to live in the orphanage where they grew up. Their school fees and basic living expenses are covered so they can focus on doing well in school and don’t have to worry about where they will lay their heads at night or how they will fill their stomachs each morning. We have seen that helping them with these basic needs and mentoring them through basic responsibilities of life has released the pressure they were under.

Recently, we were able to move Jestina into her own apartment. Pride shines in her eyes as she shows off her new place-- her meager belongings kept tidy and clean, everything in its own place. The boys are working part-time; hopefully, they will also be moving into their own place soon. All three of these young adults are happy and confident. They are not just surviving--they are thriving. They are really living, and we are so proud.

Eugene and Jestina

www.orphanreliefandrescue.org

such love

My mom has a gift. She loves people through the unfortunately-going-out-of-style art of sending cards. The paper kind, not text on a computer screen. There is just something about the act of putting pen to paper, choosing just the right words, the time spent thinking about someone-- the love shines though. I received a card from my mom this week. Not for Christmas or my birthday, just because. On the back it told a story that I feel I need to share...

"In the Makapa Valley outside Nairobi, Kenya, thousands of homeless families live in a vast shantytown that begins to assault the eyes, ears, and noses from high atop the surrounding ridge. The ankle deep med, open sewers, and hungry, hollow-eyed children overwhelmed me within minutes. Sensing my discomfort, my guide, an Ethiopian friend, said to me, "You see only the despair. "Come and see the hope."

Down an alleyway and around a corner we came to an open courtyard about ten yards square, surrounded on all four sides by lean-tos. Two of them were for sleeping, one was for cooking, and one was a classroom. Small children filled the courtyard. A dozen old women sat on benches along the outer edges.

"What do you see now?" my friend asked.

What struck me most were the smiles and the energy.

"What makes the difference?" I asked.

"Love," he replied. "These children are outcasts-- orphans with no one to care for them. And these old women thought they had nothing to live for until they began to look after the children. The orphans had no hope until they were touched by such love. Look around you. The shacks here are no better than those elsewhere, the ground is no cleaner, the food no more plentiful. The only difference is God's love reaching out through human hands." 
(Written by Eric Fellman)

I was blessed to have had such love from my mother (and father) when I was growing up. Now I am blessed to be able to love orphans in Liberia who live in similar conditions as the Kenyan children in the story above.

If you read my last post, you know I've been thinking about moments lately. Each moment is a chance to change a life. My mom does that through her card-sending. The old women in Kenya through their care of the children. Sometimes I get to hold a child in my arms and love them deeply.

What is your moment? Look for it, embrace it, linger with it. It is worth it. And when you take that moment you don't only change yourself, you get to change someone else's life as well.

This is the moment...

Paul, Damawah and their baby brother Lawrence lost their mother just a few weeks before Christmas. After their father was put in prison, their mother moved them to a small village up country where she had found work. Sadly, she became sick and, since they had no family in that village, no one was there to help her in time. She died in a wheelbarrow, while a stranger was attempting to transport her to a doctor.

Scared, confused and alone, the children found themselves in an orphanage that I work with closely. When they arrived, they had swollen bellies, sunken eyes and wouldn’t make eye contact. After only a few days of consistent food, care and attention they started looking better. After a week I was able to play a game of catch with Paul and even caught a shy smile from him. By the time Christmas arrived and Christmas bundles were delivered, the kids were actively involved-- although they weren’t really sure what to do with a gift of their very own, it was possibly the first one they ever received.

Today when I was at their orphanage, I saw Paul sitting by himself looking at a book. I called his name and he looked confused, but eventually understood I wanted to spend time with him. He brought me the book, crawled into my lap, and I proceeded to read it to him, and then another, and another... After the first few books, I realized he wasn’t really listening to the stories, he was just enjoying the special time. Eventually I stopped reading, he nuzzled in deeper, we just sat that way for a quite a while-- watching the other kids playing a card game, a lively football match, listening to laughter nearby.

Sitting there, soaking in this cuddle-time with Paul, was the second time this week I had a revelation-- yesterday it hit me while I was watching a football game at a different orphanage—THIS IS IT. If this was the only moment, the only good, the only experience I’d had in Liberia, ever, it was worth it. Everything in the last (almost) five years could be completely about this moment and that is ok, like Esther’s ‘such a time as this.’ This is where I am supposed to be at this time, all the other questions that may surround that don’t matter. And I have to say, that feels pretty good.