Pray for Peace in Liberia

Today the winners of the 2011 Nobel Peace Prize were announced. Three women who have fought hard for peace have been awarded this great honor. Two of the women are from Liberia. One is the current president, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf. There may be many different speculations on the timing of this announcement-- she is up for re-election next Tuesday, but I am going to choose to use it as a reminder that Liberians can stand for peace.

A lot is up in the air and uncertain for the future of Liberia. The elections next week could go very badly, the country could easily fall back into the familiar pattern of war. But, and this is what I am praying for, the elections could go well, a leader could be chosen who can continue to lead them in peace. Whether that leader is Ma Ellen or not, hers is an example that I pray is followed by many.

I have a lot of friends in Liberia, not to mention the children I have been serving for the last three years. What happens with this upcoming election has the potential to drastically affect all of this. To use a Liberian phrase-- I beg you, please join me in praying for Peace in Liberia.

Going Home

Tomorrow I am starting the 30+ hour trek back to Washington State.

Going home.

I've been in Liberia for a year straight this time. Some people would ask "What's the big deal about a year?" But anyone who has lived in Liberia will understand-- I kinda feel like I am going insane. I love Liberia, and am coming back, but it is time for break.

It is always a strange feeling to leave a place that I have spent so much time, a place that has become home in it's own way-- to go home.

In years past I have fought against leaving Liberia to return to the states. This time, I am VERY ready. But, I am not without mixed feelings. It is difficult to leave people and places-- a way of life-- that has become so familiar. In a way, I am heading into a great unknown.

As much as we may try, I don't know what people back home have been through in the last year and they don't know about me. As my life has been going full force here, so has everyone's back home. I have found with some people it is easy to pick right back up, while with others it is more difficult each time I return. I find myself feeling very insecure about where or how I will fit back in to people's lives.

It is an awkward feeling to be sitting in a room of people I've known well, for years, and not know the inside jokes, the hurts and the celebrations of the last year. To not get the pop-culture references or be the only one at the table without an iphone. I've learned all this from past experiences, but I've also learned something else... it's worth it.

To reconnect with loved ones, to hear stories of pain, sorrows, frustrations, joys, happy-times, mediocre times. To be able to laugh, hug, cry, talk, whisper, walk, together over coffee, in a familiar living room, at the mall, on the trail, in a car.

This year there have been some horrible things that happened while I was gone, like the death of one of my closest friends, my dear Michelle. I don't know what life on that side is like without her. People have been hospitalized, become engaged, travelled to other parts of the world. I want to hear all the stories.

And so, as I pack up my Liberian life in a neat little package to carry back with me, I hope those of you I know on the other side of the Atlantic will want to hear my stories too. Let's be patient with each other, listen and learn from each other. We might not know or understand everything that has gone on in the last year of our lives, but we know and love each other. I think that alone, being in the presence of someone who loves you, who wants to know you more-- that is going home. 

"Sometimes I can feel scared."

Yesterday I visited my friends at Frances Gaskin orphanage. After I made my rounds—watching the cook serve up their daily meal, checking in with the orphanage Director, changing a dressing on a girl fresh from surgery, administering some other miscellaneous first aid and giving out plenty of hugs—I sat on the porch, listening to the August rain and had a chat with my friend Jeremiah.

Jeremiah is 10 years old. He is curious about everything. He is constantly asking questions and observing the world around him. And he remembers everything I ever told him. I love to sit and talk with him whenever I get the chance. Yesterday our conversation drifted towards the upcoming elections in Liberia. Even though Jeremiah is young, he is very aware. He was telling me about how everyone is scared of bad people during this time. He remembers when armed robbers broke into the orphanage a few years ago and how scared he was. He told me, “I thought they were going to harm us.” Thankfully no one was hurt that day.

Living in Liberia, a country that is still recovering from 14 years of civil war, safety and security are always close to mind. Not too long ago my neighbor was shot and killed. I am thankful for the security fence I have around my yard to keep my house safe.

I could talk all day about why I think Frances Gaskin needs a security fence, but instead, let me tell you what Jeremiah says about it—“I don’t like to be in the yard without a fence because anytime somebody can just come in the yard.” He went on to say that, “Sometimes I can feel scared.”

Here, Jeremiah is standing near the existing 'fence,' a hedge of hibiscus bushes. You can see the road directly behind him. He is open, exposed, without protection.

I hate the fact that children are feeling scared to live in their own home. A home should be a safe haven. We still need $3000 to finish the security fence that will help keep Jeremiah, his brothers and sisters safe. Please help today.

Marathon!

Today was an historic day in Liberia. The first ever marathon in this country. In America there is probably a marathon somewhere every week, but here, it is actually a really big deal. Many Liberian's have never even heard of a marathon and the concept of a 26 mile road race is incomprehensible.  Even though this was the first race of it's kind in Liberia, it was officially accredited to count for serious marathon runners-- meaning we may (probably will) see people who ran today in the next Olympics.  

I am not a runner. Never have been and have no real desire to torture myself by running for 26 miles. I think people who do it must have a certain level of insanity (don't we all) but I greatly admire them. 

I was, however, a part of this momentous day in Liberia by volunteering on the medical team. We set up a make-shift hospital at the end of the race-- SKD Stadium. The bonus of being there was watching the winning runner cross the finish line. The down-side (but reason we were all there) was caring for the dozens of passed-out, exhausted runners. At one point every cot was full and we were starting IV's on people laying on the floor. We were worried, there were several cash prizes available, including $3000 USD for first place. Unfortunately, that is more than many Liberians would see in a year. No one knew how many would turn out to run, untrained but hoping for the cash prize. Thankfully, even though there was chaos, there were no major injuries. It was pretty amazing to watch people who collapsed, after after pushing themselves through 26 miles in the pouring Liberian rain, perk up after a half hour of fluids and snacks and walk out of the medical station smiling and showing off their medal.

A friend of mine wrote a great article about today. Follow this link to read it.

about a mile in.

the finish line

the first runner into the stadium. a sweet ethiopian man who was WAY ahead of everyone else.

just passed the finish line.

there was a 10K race for amputees as well. 

Jogma

Please pray for my friend Jogma. Last week she had a semi-emergent c-section. I feel like any surgery in Liberia is a scary one, but especially this one. After 60+ hours of labor and still no baby-- she was exhausted, baby's heart rate showed signs of stress, the doctors decided that was the only way to go.

Thankfully, the baby was born without any problems. Small Joshua (as we call him) is perfect in every way.

Jogma, however, is having a really hard time. She has been having a lot of pain and fevers since Joshua was born. Two days ago I took her back to the hospital to have her stitches removed and they found an infection in the wound. Today I brought her back for a dressing change and not only is the infection there, she is severely anemic. She has been re-admitted to the hospital (I will say again here how scary hospitals are in Liberia!) for IV antibiotics and an emergent transfusion.

Jogma is young, 16 years old, and scared. She is one of the smartest, sweetest and most talented girls I know. Please join me in praying for her health and safety today.

Updates--

Baby Wonderful

When I first met Wonderful, in March of 2008, he was a pathetic nine month old trying to recover from pneumonia.

At almost four years old, we can't call him 'baby' anymore. Whenever he sees my truck driving up he comes running with a huge smile and leaps into my arms (sometimes even smelling of cologne, never to young to impress I guess).

 Korpu

Longtime readers of my blog will remember Korpu. Here she February of 2010-- four years old and 15 pounds.

She has never been a fan of the camera, but here she is today. She actually looks her age!

 Emmie

I first told Emmie's story about a month ago-- head covered with sores from a chemical burn at the hands of her step-mother. Today she is laughing and playing with the other children in the home-- head clean and clear, new hair growing in.

Rough edges

I’m tired.

Today, I am tired. I am discouraged. I am saddened.

I want to give up. God says, ‘Press on.’

I have realized over the last few weeks how deeply exhausted I am. How tired I am of fighting so hard for everything. Can’t anything be easy? Can’t I just have a refrigerator that works all the time and I don’t have to think about changing the tank? Is it so much to ask for a day of running errands without the hassle? Can’t anything ever go as planned? And don’t even get me started on hot water! 

My strength is over. It’s finished.

I was talking to a friend the other day and he said he felt so stripped of everything he didn’t even think God could use him anymore. My response to him— that’s exactly when God can use you. I guess this is one of those times I need to take my own advice. But that, of course, is not always easy.

Today was filled with rough edges-- A confrontational meeting, traffic, disappointing news about choices that some kids are making, a child afraid to smile, a small boy still limping three years later, a brand new fence… busted.

And of course today's rough edges just build on the ones from yesterday. 

I am not meaning to sound sorry for myself, just being honest. Today was a rough day. I am tired. If it was up to me I would be curled up in the fetal position—done. I am even discouraged that I am discouraged.

Some of this may be true. Some may be hormonal. Some may be situational.

The day may have had rough edges, but there is so much more. There is the beauty of a child’s laugh, a hug, an interlaced hand-hold, coffee in the morning, sunshine in the afternoon, someone who cares enough about me to fix my favorite dinner. 

A God who says, ‘Press on,’ when I don’t want to anymore, and then gives me the strength to do it.

“But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on… I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” Phil 3:13-14, 4:13