Some Quick Notes and a Few Pictures

Well, it took us about a week to recover from the pathogen’s visit to our tender sensibilities.  I will spare you the details.  Now that we are no longer limited to a 100 foot radius from a bathroom, we have regained our range and stride - Julie and the kids are back teaching full time and I had another adventure in Gambella.

This week Eliza conducted a first grade class of her own (the teacher didn’t show).  Evidently, if you are the youngest of 5, you yearn for such moments – she tried to take them all the way to fifth grade in a single class.  Mostly true.

Caesar, a teacher here who is blind, cornered Sophie to ask her if she was Mexican.  True.  

I bought three cell phones, one for me for when I am in Gambella, one for Julie, and one for the kids when they are about and about with friends.  Regardless of which phone rings, it is always for Sophie.  Mostly true.

Lily found a way to impale her foot with a towel rod in the shower.  True.

Benjamin’s classes enjoy perfect attendance.  Partially true.

More substantive posts are on the way. There is so much happening here to our little minds that we can’t get the thoughts out fast enough.  We are drifting on a big sea like little boats but we are getting swamped.  More comes in than our little pails can return.  Hopefully we don’t sink.  If we do, God will lift us up – He always does.

This is Benjamin and Girma – I had to ask them to switch places because the auto focus/light balancing feature on the digital camera made the boys disappear.

Girma and the Kids

Because we have to boil water to do dishes we have started eating out of the same dish – just like a traditional Ethiopian meal.  This was the last of the apple pie Julie made tonight…what an American Mom…

I was in Gambella again this week trying to line up some supplies.  These are children outside the Pokewo Clinic.  Hopefully we can fix their solar PV system next month.

More about Girma

[Post from Julie]

We’ve struggled some this week, coping with two sick children without the benefit of a bathroom. (Both Lily and Eliza are on the mend thank God, and our bathroom is due to be repaired this week!!) As I hung out the many laundered sheets and towels we’d washed in the kitchen sink, it occurred to me that the challenges we’ve faced this week are the same ones most Ethiopians face every day, no indoor plumbing and a sick, or perhaps hungry, crying child. 

We met one of those former hungry children last week as he was introduced to us by a widow from Arizona. Dorothy’s parents were teachers at the school where we work when she was a child.  She married in the US and lived and worked there as a nurse.  When her husband died, she returned to the place of her childhood to live out her life serving the people of Ethiopia.  Dorothy met Girma when he was a young boy of about 11 selling tissues to automobiles along the roadway.  She was captivated by his friendly smile.  Girma has no memory of any family.  He ended up at the Sisters of Mercy (Mother Theresa’s group) after three different bouts of sickness from living on the streets without shelter in the rainy season.  It was there he asked for a  name and how old they thought he was.  They gave him a name and made up a birth date for him (June 18^th).

On a couple of occasions, Girma has been our guide in the markets of the city.  He negotiates prices for us to make sure we are safe and not taken advantage of.  He is a young man of (approximately) 17 who walks an hour each morning to get to school with the hope that he will one day become an engineer.  He lives with another young man in a place without running water, takes showers at the soccer club when he can find the extra money, and carries not an ounce of bitterness in his countenance.  Instead, he is hopeful that if he studies hard, he will score well enough to continue his studies at a University some day.  He told me that he does sometimes worry about his future because he knows he will never be able to afford college and he cannot get a job easily unless he has connections.  He shrugs as we walk along, “Without family, jobs aren’t easy to get.” 

  We’d asked him several times if there was anything he needed while we shopped.  He continually shook his head “no.”   Our last stop was at a stationery store to purchase a couple of pens and post-it notes.  Girma eyed a small calculator in the case.  Benjamin noticed and asked him if he needed one.  Reluctantly, he smiled and said that he did.  When the shop girl placed the calculator in his hands, his eyes lit up like he was given the keys to his own car.  Perhaps it will help him go places - one small $5 dollar tool that might help him get somewhere. 

[Girma is surprised by Pop Rocks!  before and after shots]

Weaned Children

“Oh Lord my heart is not proud, nor have my eyes been arrogant; neither do I concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful to me.  Surely I have stilled and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me.”  Psalms 131: 1-2

Well, all things considered, I had a good trip to Gambella rekindling the relationships established on our last visit.  Hopefully, the stage is set to fix a well, restore two health clinics’ power (so they can keep vaccines cold and have some lights so women don’t have to deliver their children in the bush at night) and maybe secure a block making machine – for them to build their assembly hall and make some money selling blocks to the town…we’ll see..

[here is a picture of a delivery room - what you can't see is the bats flying around in the eaves.  What you can't smell.....]

I have spent time with some extremely seasoned, experienced American missionaries – whose personal accounts from decades of living and ministering in “ground zero” places (Malawi, Congo, Sudan, Uganda and Ethiopia) during the worst of what man can do to man – make one feel somehow small and unqualified.  All you can think is why didn’t you get the heck out of there?  Some have had children die in their arms (their own and/or others), some have been shot at, all have been robbed, yet none have run back to the US for safety.  They clearly believe that this life is not all there is.

Though they are careful about their personal safety – it is all within a framework of practical limitations – when your number is up, your number is up – here or there we all die sometime, better to die doing good, right?  They have each received a “call” to stay and love and help; delivering babies, digging latrines, outfitting clinics, teaching in schools, counseling victims of violence and facilitating peace building workshops between blood lusting factions – and above all, explaining and teaching that God Himself will redeem this world – engaging His church to do it and that Jesus will be back – when, no one knows.

Some come from generations of missionary families (“as a young girl, I lived in Burma, until the Japanese came”   - “I met my wife on Mt. Sinai” - “When the Marxists came, they took our homes and forced us to leave”) Though they sound like Americans they float outside our culture – they know little about pop culture, US politics, financial markets – they live on pennies, speak several languages, and have no concerns about what they wear. When asked if they have ever thought of writing their blockbusting autobiographies – they demure – they have little time for or interest in themselves, they have this singular focus on spending it helping others.  “But, it might inspire others to come and help”…They doubt this, and leave a lot unsaid; they resist judging others who don’t do what they do.  They pray all the time – and testify to the joys and miracles they have seen while grieving the ones they have not.  They see themselves as weak and needy. They hold degrees from the US’s top schools (you have to ask where they went to school).  They have their foibles yet invest little time in hiding them.  They know about Evil, have seen it, confronted it and do not think of it as concept but as a physical kingdom that opposes Good. 

They ask African Christians to pray for America and suggest it won’t be long until Africa is sending missionaries to the US to help us regain our spiritual lives. The Ethiopian Evangelical Church now has 5.2mm members and is growing rapidly – up from some 4,000 five decades ago.  Some quotes from conversations I have had:

“People say we pray a lot – when you are poor, you have to pray for everything – you are absolutely dependent on God for everything.  In the US you have the luxury, or misfortune, of depending on other things.”

“When you are a persecuted church, you cannot afford to be careless.”

“Don’t fool yourself, we are only here for a short time, therefore we must always do our best.”

“Perhaps the US Church will become strong again, but only after it becomes marginalized.  That is happening – that can be a type of persecution – and that might strengthen it.”

“We don’t know what God is doing with our histories, but we know that in the end, no one will be able to say it was not good.”

Finally, this quote, from a missionary who was recounting his early days in Egypt; his Muslim dinner host was trying to convert him, to which the young missionary replied that Muslims can believe whatever suites them, and in turn, he [the missionary] could believe what suits him…

“The man slammed his fists into the table so hard that everything on it flew up into the air – ‘How can we have a real dialogue when not even you believe what you say you believe?!!’  He had a point, and it made me consider whether I really was a believing Christian – that was one of those moments when I had to decide if I was serious about the faith.”

 [a literacy class being greeted]

[a Heifer type project being evaluated - i.e. PC USA has given some cows to generate food and income]

Some Gambella Pictures

Today we went to Abobo and had their specialty.

There were dozens of half naked children where ever we went.

 Most seemed oblivious to their poverty and were pretty regular kids. 

This boy wants to be a driver when he grows up...

The watering hole...

and my favorite find:

Arriving in Gambella

[ ]

“Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has entered the heart of man the things that God has prepared for those who love him….A natural man does not receive the things of the Spirit, for they are foolishness to him and he cannot understand them because they are spiritually discerned.  “For who has known the mind of the Lord that he may instruct Him?”  But we have the mind of Christ.” 1 Corinthians 2: 9,14, 16

Today I travelled to Gambella – the flight was full of representatives from USAID, the UN, Samaritan’s Purse, World Vision, OxFam, Berlin Mission Society, some Irish delegation, 5 folks from PC USA, and a Bishop from the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Gambella is in the cross hairs of all of these organizations for a variety of reasons that are best not to “blog” about.  Though I can say I left the Gambella airport with a military escort – that would be misleading; it was really just a courteous and honorific welcome for the Bishop.  Everyone else had to wait until the convoy was well underway – we ate their dust, as they say.

Though I had been warmly received here before (the Church had sent their choir and drummers to the airport last year), I was not expecting something beyond this. Well, we were met again by the choir and drums outside “baggage claim” and then when we arrived at the compound, the people formed two singing, clapping, drumming lines along a path of freshly strewn palm leaves.  Half way down it, we were made to sit down so they could wash our hands face and feet.  Here were two of the fiercest/proudest tribes the Anuak and the Nuer (with a shared history of violent tribal conflict) signing together joyously at our arrival. There we were, pasty white Americans smeared with sunscreen not knowing exactly how to hold one’s face so that it can be washed.  Thankfully, the Africans in our delegation were also greeted in this way – so it wasn’t just for us “forengies” – however, if your “politically correct” sensibilities are getting inflamed right now then I won’t recount to you the sermon…more than to say it could have be titled “Thank God for the Americans Because They Brought Us the Light of the Gospel.”  Though the cynic in me tried to recast the reception as merely intense and well rehearsed “donor relations,” there was something much greater afoot here.  Something that put tears in your eyes and made it hard to breathe – and when you looked across the way and saw that many of them were crying too – you just thought, good Lord, what is going on?  The emotional content of this moment was NOT that we were not being treated as saviors (believe me they “get” the US’s complicity in their suffering and they know about our problems) RATHER that we were being treated as brothers and sisters in Christ.  Something, speaking just for myself, I knew I did not deserve. It was Grace they were showing us, just Grace and it was very beautiful.

Held in Relief

[posting pictures is still a challenge  - after I post them, I cant see them, evidently I posted 2 of the same one in the last post - I think I have fixed it.  I will add a picture of Girma and Dorothy to this later]

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart, I have overcome the world.”  Jesus – as quoted in John: 16:33

From our balcony we see acres of corrugated tin roofs, punctured by the occasional minarets and steeples and halfway completed high rises. The Muslim’s call to morning prayers (duly amplified) at the mosque start at 5am sharp, is soon met by the singing of the psalms from the orthodox church (equally amplified) and then the buses and trucks start their chirping and bleating, then the breakfast coal fires start filling the air with a sweet smelling smoke – and then the day is upon you like a stiff wind.  Because we have been going to bed so early, the 5am stirrings are no bother; they are a gentle sort of beckoning to another day of the totally foreign.  We get up, say our prayers, eat breakfast, have a little family meeting (trying to figure out who goes where) and then plunge into Ethiopia. Amharic is an enchanting sounding language but it is difficult for our stiff, fat tongues to lift the sounds delicately enough to match our hosts’ prompts.  Their thick accents make even make English sound foreign. 

Well, there is nothing quite like surrounding yourself with the totally unfamiliar to distill yourself down to your own basic personal recipe – your character’s “DNA,” if you will.  You wind up feeling somewhat naked, separated from your own culture - the one you have spent your life mastering, the one you can deftly manipulate in front of others to cover yourself and present a more elaborate, less vulnerable version of yourself to.  Over here, you feel peeled and basic; your person’s list of core ingredients is frank, short and unflattering:  Spoiled, selfish and untested.  You easily discover so much to repent of – there is nothing else to do – your favorite hiding places aren’t currently available – so you repent, ask for forgiveness and wait.

Against this broad theater of the “human condition” (conflict, depravation, tragic suffering) as parents, Julie and I think of our preoccupation in the US with keeping ourselves and those we love safe and comfortable; somehow all the mental energy we invested in that seems manic, if not comical.  It reminds me of my grandmother, who during World War II would take turns with neighbors watching the skies for Nazi bombers.  She was living in Hartford, Connecticut.  What have we been afraid of?  If these people can trust in God, why haven’t we?  Do not worry…says our Lord – like I’ve said before, such words have new meaning here.

Our hosts have made us feel so welcome, so important, so valued that it is hard not to get a little puffed up.  They are very protective of us and want us to be comfortable.  “You are very welcome to be here. Whatever you need you ask me, ok? All arrangements can be done for your satisfaction.  We will make you a nice home….”  Here at the church compound they work long hours, face arduous daily journeys on an astonishingly elaborate network (albeit v. fragile) of public transportation.  Simple things turn into day long trials of patience and wit.  (I spent half a day looking for a single 7 amp fuse.  It was something like joy when I found one in a little hole in the wall store in a dusty ally.) Despite this, they still smile a lot and genuinely enjoy each other - they never rush us or seem to busy to listen. 

They insist on doing for us, buying us tea, snacks, and even meals.  Sometimes, they crack a bit, they get you alone in an office and ask for a computer, or a hearing aide, or a scholarship for their teenage child.  “My child is berry intelligent, but there is not good future here, please, make for me a scholarship so she get good degree.”   You want to help and assume you should try to figure something out.  You talk it over, but can’t help feeling bewildered, knowing there are thousands of yet to be spoken requests by all your other new found “friends.”  The next day, the petitioner finds you, apologizes, ashamed of their forwardness – “just pray that God help us.” If you are at risk of any sort of Messiah complex, this place will expose that ruse within seconds.

Each person here seems to have a personal story that knocks the wind out of you – one that makes your own story seem akin to “born, bred and over fed in a padded, clean room.”  This morning we met a 16 year old boy, Girma, who is being sponsored in school by a local missionary.  He is a mix of tough and sweet.  Both of Girma’s parents died when he was very small, so he lived in the streets.  He was given a job selling little packages of Kleenexes – but then he got too big (the smaller, more pitiful children sell more).  He somehow lucked out by finding this missionary (a widow from Arizona, mind you) and petitioned her for money so he could go to computer classes, from there he has been working to get caught up in school (school isn’t free here) and the missionary helps him as best as she can.  He still lives on the streets with a friend, but he has a plan, he has faith and God has presented Himself in this boy’s life in the form of a white haired elderly widow who seems to simply love Jesus. 

As Girma (prompted by his sponsor) recounted his biography, my kids sat listening - watching him as one might watch an actor from Slum Dog Millionaire being interviewed for TV.  Is he an actor? Can this all be true?  That can’t all be true, right?  I would love to get into their minds and see how they are processing all of this.  They seem to be faring well.  We’ll see.

Lily and Sophie and Their Students

We have had a full week and are glad to have a weekend to decompress a bit.  I have some more posts to add, but wanted to get this pics up and Lily and Spohie's comments as well - They are  actually teaching their own classes.  We are a bit surprised by this, but both seem to be embracing the challenge - a few pics and their thoughts below...

Lily:

The children here are the most affectionate I have ever met. Although I have only been teaching for two days, I have found it to be an incredible experience. It is somewhat of an interesting one as well – I consider myself still a “kid” but these children address me as “teacher.” All of the children I have been in the classroom with are highly motivated and have an intense desire to learn. They beg to be taught, even during their recess. They ask many questions and I can see that they respect me. What they do not know is how much I respect them for their diligence. Today, several children surprised me with little gifts, the majority of which were pictures drawn on torn pieces of paper. These presents are now my treasures, as are the children.

Sophie:

The kids in my classes are very grateful to have an American teacher helping them with their English. When I first walked in the classrooms I was shocked to see so many kids in one room. There are 50 kids to a class and the rooms are pretty small. The kids take school very seriously. During break time the children all circle around you and ask you many questions. Their English isn’t great so it’s hard to understand them. I nod my head a lot and say yes like in the movie Madagascar. I’m very excited to be teaching here and to be getting to know my students.

Benjamin's Teacher Debut

[from Benjamin]

Today I received my schedule, and realized I had already missed three classes. I did have the chance though to teach a first and second grade class before lunch. I was surprised both times that I was alone in the classroom. Terrified at the aspect of trying to pronounce Amharic, I stuck to English. They did not. Pleading with the first graders to learn the musical alphabet, I started saying,”a,b,c…” when they took off with rounds of the entire alphabet. Because singing, even the alphabet, is musical, I sung with them desperately to regain control of the class. For the rest of the period, I would do anything to keep control, even taking their laughter at my humble attempt at “row your boat”. The second grade class was heaven however, because of their considerably greater knowledge of the English language. Modeling Julia Andrews’s example, I started with do re mi. They were fast learners and within half of an hour they were singing a song we sing at Olivet, “Open the Eyes of My Heart.”  My mom walked past the window with a tear in her eye at their angelic voices singing “holy, holy, holy.” The whole thing was exciting; I had fun.  As I walked back to the apartment, I heard them practicing their new song: “Open the eyes of my heart, Lord, open the eyes…”.  Cool.

When Helping Hurts

We think this book, When Helping Hurts, is a terrific book. It is greatly shaping what we are trying to do.

To Our Friends and Visitors

Please note that we are not able to respond to your comments, because they come into my email from a "no reply" address. We enjoy reading them, however, and hope you will add more comments.

Little Fish

By the way, Eliza is desparate to know who won the Super Bowl, so she can tell Benjamin, who is equally desparate to NOT know until he can watch the game. I found out, but I think it is funny to watch them struggle in this way.

Though we continue to do well, we feel like fresh water fish (think 6 little minnows from a Sugar Hollow stream) being placed in a vast salt water ocean - the air is really hard to breathe – the pollution is intense;  This world over here seems unfathomably big and dusty with a variety of peoples and customs we lacked the imagination to consider; just beyond the walls of this school are (literally) hundreds of thousands of people who live in tin, tarp, or cardboard homes with no electricity, running water, or sanitation – they come to the car windows begging for anything a foreigner might give – and though there are likely organized rackets where the vulnerable (women and small children) or the severely disfigured are “monetized” for collections, one cannot always rationally turn away. We found a ministry that provides “meal tickets” and these we give to the children (a meal is 1 “Birr” about $.07) – this help us feel better - a bit, but we get easily overwhelmed and try to hush ourselves and our longings to get the heck out of here. Julie and I now read scripture as one might drink water when thirsty, not that we didn’t read it before, but now we are without our many crutches, comforts and forms of distraction – it is indeed terrific news that ours is a suffering God but one who has a plan to wipe every tear, make every sad thing become untrue, and to redeem us all. Such a thing cannot come soon enough, but alas, ours is also a God of waiting. We stare at our fallen world (how can it be that both Charlottesville and Addis Ababa are both on the same planet?) and feel hopeless for these people, and hopeless for our ability to do anything of lasting value here. Whose idea was it to drop six minnows here?!!

Well, to a hammer everything looks like a nail. To the materially and comfort rich, everything looks pronouncedly materially bereft and painful. Though there is no denying there is real pain and poverty here, it is not the whole story and what we don’t see easily is our own spiritual poverty, and the destitute Ethiopians’ vast resources of spiritual strength and mental ingenuity – Gerry rigged wheel chairs, carts, 1950s and 60s cars (VW bugs, Fiats/Ladas, Toyotas – my driver told me yesterday, laughing “In Ethiopia, a car can never die.”). It is humbling to see what these people can endure, and yet they have measures of joy with their families, their friends, and their neighbors that we often just pretend to have.

The value of Julie’s teaching notwithstanding, I am beginning to doubt if I will be able to accomplish that much over here:  “MMMM, Jonaton, you have minny ideas, but it may not be pussible – we will see, but we are hoppy you have come.”

Nevertheless, it is clear to me this experience is going to “leave a mark” on us – at least I hope it does; how lasting, I don’t know. It is difficult to underestimate our ability to hide unpleasant things from ourselves. As I have said from the outset, I hope that this trip is far, far more than just a “learning” experience or adventure for the Bakers – that somehow God redeems us and the expense of this trip to the Glory of the Church. Big "ask" I know...we’ll see.  

Some Pictures

I was just writing to a friend that somehow, being shaken up by our new surroundings, scripture is easier to read, and it is much easier to get engrossed in it.  "Whatever things are written in the past were written for our learning so that through endurance and the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope." Romans 15:4.

Julie's new colleagues:

Secret nap spot:

Washing hands before dinner:

Different opinions about the food:

Nyles and Anne Reimer - they lived in Gambella from 1955 to 1972.  They are in the final stages of translation of the Bible into Annuak.

Sophie and Friend:

Eliza with Friends:

Omod (President of EGBS) in Addis for meetings:

Well, I had internet, and now I don't - so I am borrowing Michael Weller's computer just to get this out. It is a long story – I will just say that it took hours to get my little internet device for my laptop – that was supposed to provide a month’s worth of emailing and blogging, and it worked swell for slightly less than an hour – so I will bring brought the device back to the store aka Ministry of Telecommunication for another session, during which many, many people will weigh in with their perspective on the matter.  Because it is so data intensive, I will have to wait to post the pictures - we have some good ones.

Hopefully this will go out, this evening. We are trying NOT to find out who won the super bowl, so we can buy the DVD on the street and watch it at home. Don’t be a spoiler!

We went to two church services on Sunday, one at the International Evangelical Church, and then one at the Mekane Jesus Seminary. I could write a lot about both, but suffice it to say that the Holy Spirit is really on the move over here. I was sorely tempted to lift my hands, and even clap but I kept my Olivet composure – I am likely to weaken on this front.

I will let Lily write about our visit to Mother Theresa’s orphanage for HIV orphans….

Settling In

The children have been confusing the onset of death with jet lag. 

Benjamin was convinced his body had forgotten how to fall asleep and that he would never sleep again.  He was very serious and very upset until he fell asleep for 10 hours.  Eliza has discover she is at risk of falling asleep even while in the midst of dressing.  I found her asleep on the floor by the front door with her sweater half way over her head.

I have been out in the markets trying to get the basic household items (dishes, pots, pans, broom, utensils, tp, etc.) – every time I would come back to unload my bundles, Julie, with her hair all tussled would great me at the door denying that she had taken a nap.  The children reported dutifully “Daddy, Mommy slept for 3 hours!” Julie shuffled away muttering denials.

Remarkably, the school has laid claim to all the kids to help in the classroom – their need is to hear native English spoken.  Eliza will read books to the younger children, Lily will be teaching 3^rd and 4^th grade grammar; Sophie, will be teaching 3^rd, 4^th, 5^th and 6^th grades spoken English; Benjamin will be teaching Music to the elementary kids, and Julie has a massive load of teaching Kindergarten, 1^st, 2^nd, 9^th, 11^th grammar, writing and spoken English (all told, just for Julie, 14 different classes).

I have been able to connect with some of the elders from Gambella who happen to be in town to start mapping out timelines for the projects.  They inform me that now is the beginning of the hot weather (110 in the shade) The rains won’t come again until August.  I think I will bring some water.  I still hope to run – there is no running in Addis.

The Mosque begins its calls for morning prayers @ 5am – we are getting to the point where we can sleep through it – it certainly starts the morning with an exotic flair. The streets are full of old Russian taxis, burrows carrying big sacks of grain, people with massive amounts of produce stacked in baskets on their heads, busy shoppers, many street urchins, handicapped beggars, The children all want to touch Eliza’s hair – it doesn’t look real to them.

Our hosts are warm and caring – they have clearly done a lot of work to make sure we are comfortable.  Our apartment is extremely spacious.  When we leave it will be turned into a hostel of sorts with three separate residences – my point being they are really treating us like royalty.    

We all appreciate your prayers.  We are doing fine, likely as a result of them.  When the school returns from break (this Wednesday) and I head off to Gambella (next Sunday) that is when we are going to really need your support.  We miss all of you and the clean air of Central Virginia – but feel this is where we are supposed to be.  I will try to post more pictures later but they take FOREVER to load.

Peace.

Arriving

[Julie]

Tuesday morning we arrived in Addis Ababa earlier than expected. We even made it through customs with a minimal payment to the baggage handler at customs. We loaded two vans and headed to our new home. The streets were busy with cars, pedestrians, peddlers, donkeys, goats and packs of dogs. It was a veritable smorgasbord for our eyes. The constant ebb and flow of traffic, the jerk of the vans navigating through the crowds, and the stench of diesel from a bus just up ahead made my head swim. Eliza started retching in the back. I thought to myself, “What have we gotten into? I don’t know if I can do this.” I was panicking.

But then I remembered that God has promised us He will not give us more than we can bear. “God help me to bear whatever comes my way, “ I whispered.

A moment later we turned into the compound of Mekane Yesus Bethel School.  Our apartment, just completed on the third floor, seemed to be just above the fray of city life. The sun streamed into the windows and balcony where we have a stunning view of the city. We had running water, electricity and beds! More than we had expected.  

How We Fool Ourselves

[We are here safe and sound and have a lot more to report than this mopey thing - it is a post written on the flight over - we have written more, but are just getting our internet going - bear with us while we get caught up...and thanks for reading!]

I am writing just off the coast of Nova Scotia.  The cabin is bright with a mid day light unfettered by the lower atmosphere.  Even here there are many ways to distract us from what is really going on right around us.  The back of the headrests offer games, music, movies, shopping channels, news.  Most keep their minds in the trough (er, like my children), but a few actually look out the window.  When they do, they look a long long time.

The land is white and the seas navy blue.  Though I’ve had a lifelong love affair with commercial aviation, I begrudge this miracle of flight for its making things too easy; glossing over a more personal (though grueling and at times, likely terrifying) encounter with God’s brilliant, yet harsh topography; the mountains, the icy bogs, the frozen rivers, the uncertain footing in marshy, frosty lowlands, the valleys, the shores the seas, the unmarked islands and the many, many weeks, months it should take us just cross the Atlantic.  On foot, a day’s travel along the shore might cover 20 miles (2 minutes and 17 seconds for us up here) then there could be a rock out cropping that might force you to backtrack to get around it to continue northeast.  Maybe you lose half a day, or even a day’s travel.  Ultimately, there would be no denying the need of a boat to carry your person above the deadly dark and icy waters – From Nova Scotia to Ireland you would be sailing for a month, I am guessing. If I had to travel this way, I would not take so many bags.

To one degree or another we are all here because our ancestors survived very treacherous journeys – some just this one: crossing the Atlantic.  Though we are their offspring, we would likely all die trying to cross like they did.  I think of Opiew - he is like one of our ancesters, no food or water for 4 days in the Sudanese desert and then only to discover the provisions he finds have been poisoned.  I would have lain down died at the point.  No Gatorade, no power bar, no insect repellant, no Jonathan. This huge expanse between Virginia and Ethiopia – who put it there and why?  The expanses, the vast and terrible expanses – so many human bones have settled on the ocean’s bottom.

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.  When the earth was formless and empty, and the darkness was over the surface of the deep, His Spirit hovered over the face of the waters.  And He said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.  Then He said, “Let there be an expanse in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.”  So He made the expanse and separated the waters under the expanse from the waters above it, and it was so.  Then He said, “Let the waters under the heavens be gathered into one place, and let the ground appear;” and it was so.  And He saw that it was good.”  Genesis 1: 1-10

I have never had the mind that can see the world for how big it really is.  When I fly over the tens of thousands of homes along the east coast I am confronted by my impish, narcissistic sorrow that there are so many people I will not get to meet – or more to the point, there are so many people who won’t get to meet me. I dart from this thought to one of the privilege of my vantage point – I see them, but they cannot see me - I am less than a buried pin prick of a face in a white contrail, a dully rumbling line in the sky, should they even be outside, or bother to look up.

I am also likely guilty of superimposing my own thoughts and feelings on the geopolitical landscape - just to tame it, just to preserve a prominent place for myself.  Ethiopia, and other crowded places put stress on my conceits – and force me surrender any claim on knowing what the “big picture” is.  It is also hard on my delusional overly weighted sense of self – that is a hard one for me to be disabused of, really hard.  Every once in awhile I confirm this with a prayer for a horrible situation to be undone – the “no” answer also answers the question whether or not I have a bit of messiah complex going.  Embarrassingly, I do. What will God do with a guy like me?

 If the Bible is to be trusted, I am informed that there will be a happy ending to all of this, but few of us, if any, have the wit to grasp how that will come about.  The Bible is also clear that we not delude ourselves with our “good” activities as they invariably get warped by our deep seated neat to justify ourselves – and that eclipses any hope of relating to God – the being who made EVERYTHING and figured out that making ice float would really be a cool trick to confound the chemists and permit an atmosphere that defies all odds that we should even exist.

We are to sit still in God’s grace and wait, just wait, wait with this ironic twist that we are supposed to both, actively do good (be unselfish, help others) AND not believe WE are making a difference, but rather Him through us .He is inscrutable; He is “love,” but He is inscrutable.

In five more hours we will be flying straight over Cairo – 6 little miles of air will separate the people of this hushed cabin from the despair, uncertainty and hope of the Egyptian people below.  I will look for fires and wonder what is burning.  I will wonder about the people standing around the fires – what they are looking at, what they are feeling, and what their personal hopes are.  And then I bring all these musings and show them to God and ask him,  do you really care about all these children? What is your plan for redemption?  “Jonathan you haven’t the mind to grasp it.  Sit down and do your bit. I am good and though you are very small and silly, I cherish even you.  Go to Ethiopia and respond to what you see, oh, and don’t be an idiot.”