True humanitarian

A coworker passed away last week after spending four decades with the organization. I did not get the chance to know him, but I wish I had. BBC news reports called him a “legendary humanitarian” and the news spread quickly throughout the country. At one point, he was the only expat left in Freetown during the civil war. He risked his life on many occasions, standing up to armed combatants and hiding men in his house, delivering food to displaced people and taking tea while bullets passed overhead.

His funeral was attended by hundreds of people, almost all of them Sierra Leonean. Scattered throughout the crowd were pockets of color, reds here, green and blues over there. They were the boys he coached and encouraged, the boys to whom he had given so much of his life. Over 40 of soccer players he mentored are now playing professionally in Europe or on the national team.

The day after it happened, my taxi driver dropped me off at the office and asked what the black banners were for. I told him about his passing, and my driver let out a groan and covered his heart with his hand. “He was a father to all of Sierra Leone,” he said.

Read more about him here and here and here.

Prayers

For those who pray, please pray with me for:

Kampala and all of the terrible, terrible things that happened on Sunday. I can't believe that something like this could happen in peaceful, safe Kampala. Please pray for comfort for those who were there and for the families of those involved.

One of our guards who lost a family member last night. His family is out in the provinces and he is going to be with them for the next few days. He could not look me in the eyes when he told me this morning. Pray that David and I would be able to be there for him and connect with him despite our cultural and language differences.

Patience in dealing with taxis and drivers. They are always late, if they show at all, and I'm having trouble having to depend on them so much. It's the rainy season so I can't really walk unless I want to trek through water overflowing from the sewage drains(which I did this morning when my taxi didn't show up).

Thank you!

Yet time continued to pass

Today was rough. Something happened that I haven't been able to get out of my head, and just writing about it makes my heart race.

I was running by the harbor and ahead of me I saw a family walking down the sidewalk. They looked liked tourists with their hats and cameras. The teenage son said something to the mom and she laughed in response. Then, just as I was about to pass, something happened. The mom answered her phone, and within seconds she began to sob hysterically and collapsed to the grass. The dad told the boys to sit down and the mom held the phone to her ear while she let out high pitched, painful sobs. It was the kind of noise you never want to hear. It was the kind that is inside of all of us, just waiting for a time to come out. I wondered what the bad news was. I wondered if the family would be okay. What would they do next? Where would they go?

And then I kept running. I looked back at the family sitting on the grass, knowing they were beginning a time of devastation and grief. But, within minutes they were out of sight. For me, nothing had changed. The sun did not stop shining. Time continued to pass. My legs kept going.

Reminder

Last night I dreamt about my sister Kristin. I haven't done this since a few months after she died. We were running around a house together, dancing and laughing. We went to a hallway and she taught me some steps from a line dance. She was healthy and full of life.

I wandered over to the bedroom from my childhood and everything in it was gone. Kristin had stuffed it all into my closet. When I opened the closet door, I found all of my things and a pair of gold heels that I love. I was relieved to know it was all still there, just moved to a different place.

When I woke, I wasn't sad. The dream didn't seem at all out of the ordinary. Maybe God was using it to remind me that Kristin is like those things in my closet, still here but in a different place.

It is well

A few days after the earthquake in Haiti, a family stood up in church and asked for prayer. They held hands and fought back tears as they explained their situation. For months they had been waiting for their adopted Haitian daughter to be cleared and flown to the US. With the earthquake a few days before, they were desperate to see her and hold her and tell her everything was okay. At 6 years old, they were unsure of her emotional state and how much she would be affected by the terrible things she had seen.

A few weeks later, the church service had just begun and the congregation was singing.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

A family walked in and took their seats in the back. There she was- the one who had experienced disaster, tragedy, pain- holding her new mother's hand. Bundled in a hot pink jacket and snow boots, she stood just a few feet tall. She was introduced to the crowd, and as tears welled up in our eyes she buried her face in her mother's coat. She doesn't speak English, and her family only knows a bit of Creole. She doesn't like the snow, and she hates wearing shoes.

How different is her life now; how drastic are the changes. But she ran and played with the other kids after the service with a silliness and happiness in her face. I smiled as she passed me. She patted my hip, covered her face and giggled. She is still a child.

To Kristin

(Kristin and Kim)

I miss you, Krissie. It has been just 4 years, and I think about you all the time.

Death is not the end

Death can never be the end
Death is the road

Life is the traveller

The Soul is the Guide
Our mind thinks of death

Our heart thinks of life

Our soul thinks of Immortality
Sri Chinmoy

The sacrifice of a life

A curious thing happened yesterday on Highway 1. We took a trip up to Big Sur with the Schuler sisters (more on that later), and around San Simeon we picked up a hitchhiker. This isn't normal for us- actually, none of us had ever done this before. We passed him walking along the highway, and we felt compelled to offer him a ride. He carried a large pack, and his small body looked tired as he struggled down the road. 

His name was Darrell, and he was a rancher from Montana. It didn't take him long to feel comfortable in the back seat next to the sisters, or perhaps his situation in life made it so that comfort necessary before opening up to strangers. He had come out from Montana for a visit to the coast, and he was making his way up to Eureka where his brother would take him to surgery. He had cancer, and was probably going to die soon.

He told of how he'd spent years in Vietnam and was on the ground when the US sprayed Agent Orange. The government said it was a harmless herbicide that would clear the plant life but leave people unharmed, and the soldiers believed it. They even bathed in the containers. Now, it had given him a tumor in his brain and a few more in his stomach. He spent years feeling helpless as he tried to get the government to take responsibility for what it had done, for stealing his life. He collected 6,000 signatures of soldiers and presented them to representatives in DC, and he saw the signatures thrown into the trash as he walked out the door. 

His entire life has been affected by his years as a soldier. He still has nightmares about what he saw, and did, in Vietnam. He didn't choose this life- he wasn't really given a choice. I wish I could say he taught me some beautiful lesson about how to feel hope and joy despite terrible life experiences, but that is not true. His spirit was beaten down and heavy. He smiled, but there was pain. 

I've never felt much emotion connected to Memorial Day. It is hard for me to comprehend the depth of a sacrifice of an entire life, entire lives...but his story made it easier. 

Darrell's daughter is 6 months pregnant, and we are praying that he lives to see the birth of his granddaughter.  

A crown of beauty instead of ashes

I am usually thankful for tears. The welling up of feelings and pain finally overflows into an exhale of relief. Then there are other times when the pain is so big and so terrible that tears don't help. Instead of relief, you feel exhaustion and bitterness and a terrifying lack of control. My sister Kristin died almost 4 years ago, and I still feel those tears. And then sometimes, when the tears are far away, I feel guilty that time has passed and I have moved past too. And I worry, did I grieve properly? Am I grieving properly?

These past few days stories of death and loss have been all around me. One of the volunteers at my work has lost 5 people this year. This week she came into the office, and I overheard her say, "It is good. I know that doesn't make any sense, but it is good. It only makes sense in God's kingdom."

I know it is the experience of pain that makes other moments sweet. And life is rich when we live in all sides of it. When we breathe in the pain. When we do not rush to replace it with fleeting joy. When we can sit, feel, grieve, and accept.

God is weaving our lives' experiences into a tapestry of redemption and reconciliation. One day we will see the pain there with the joy, and we will see God's spirit through it all. What seems so arbitrary now will be shown as a piece of a plan much bigger than ourselves. This is not the end. No, this is a step on the way to a much better end. There is more. We must hope.

"...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair...." Isaiah 61:3

We'll miss you, Hannah

Sweet Hannah was put to rest today. She was an excellent pup, and dalmatians were better for having her around. Jen brought her into our family as a baby, and she quickly bloomed into a mature, patient, and loving dog who always seemed ready to give a listening ear. She will be missed.