While Shepherds Watched

There were shepherds staying in the fields nearby.  Suddenly an angel appeared and the radiance of the Lord's glory surrounded them.  They were terrified!!

"Don't be afraid!  The Savior - the Messiah - has been born in Bethlehem!  You will recognize Him by this - he's the one lying in a manger, wrapped in cloth."

Suddenly that angel was joined by a host of others - the armies of heaven - praising God.  Then they returned to heaven and all was silent again.  The shepherds turned to each other - let's go!

They hurried and found it just as the angel had said.  They marveled at the baby, and after they left, they went and told everyone what they had seen.

"All who heard the shepherds' story were astonished, but Mary kept all these things hidden in her heart, and thought about them often."  

Luke 2:8-21 (paraphrased by me)

Life interrupted.  First, for Mary.  Then, Joseph.  And now, shepherds. Four hundred years had passed since the last prophet heard from God.  400 years of silence - no miracles, no angels, no voices from heaven.

And then Gabriel the angel comes to a young girl with the strangest message yet.  Curious and confused, still she accepts this sacred mission.  "I am the Lord's servant."  And she believed.

But how to explain this to Joseph?  She tries, but he doesn't get it.  He's hurt, betrayed, embarrassed.  So an angel comes to him also, in a dream.  "Do not be afraid, Joseph.  Mary tells the truth.  You will be His daddy, you will name Him Jesus, and He will save His people from their sins."  And Joseph believed.

For nine months they shared this secret between them - watching Mary's belly grow - wondering what He would look like, who He'd look like, how He'd act.  Would he act like a baby or a Messiah?  Maybe Mary had sleepless nights, pondering, wondering, possibly worrying.  Had it all been a dream?  The two angels - maybe it never really happened.

The day came.  He was born.  But there was no angel, no voice from heaven.  He didn't look like a King or a God - just a baby.  A beautiful baby, I am sure, but a baby like all others.  Could this really be the Messiah?

And then noise outside, hurried footsteps, shouts, a knock at the door - and a bunch of dirty, smelly shepherds burst into the tiny stable, speaking of angels and bright light and a Savior in a manger.  And they saw too, and they believed.

"All who heard the shepherd's story were astonished, but Mary kept all these things hidden in her heart, and thought about them often."  Luke 2:19 NLT

I imagine her on the shy side, gentle and kind, one who thinks deeply and guards her words.   I can picture her in this place, quietly observing the commotion, proud smile on her pretty face, heart bursting with emotion.  A soft grin slowly works itself into a full smile, understanding now that God brought these shepherds here for her, to confirm to her wondering mind what she already knew in her heart.  Yes, this is the Messiah, the Savior, the Christ - it is true!  The angels told us too, a whole army of them in the sky!

They were astonished, but she was not.  She had known all along.  She'd had nine months to ponder, to pray, to watch the story unfold in her womb.  Each moment a treasure, leading up to this moment - in this stable, with Joseph and the babe and a ragtag bunch of sheep herders. Sometimes the miracle isn't only in the angels and the lights and the voices, but in the quiet trust of a humble heart.  One who says yes even when nothing makes sense, who sets aside agendas and fears and simply believes. 

For Such a Time as This

If you have any food in your fridge, any clothes in your closet, any small roof, rented or owned, over your head, you are richer than 75% of the rest of the world.

If you have anything saved in the bank, any bills in your wallet, any spare change in a jar, you are one of the top 8% wealthiest people in the world.

If you can read these words right now, you have a gift 3 billion people right now don’t, if your stomach isn’t twisted in hunger pangs, you have a gift that 1 billion people right now don’t, if you know Christ as the greatest Gift, you have a gift that untold millions right now don’t.   

(statistics borrowed from The Greatest Gift, by Ann Voskamp, p. 179-180)

Conviction.  Or guilt.  Reading those statistics for the first time I felt a mixture of both.  Why was I chosen to live in smalltown, USA and Kalkidan in one of the poorest sections of Ethiopia?  It's a question I have pondered often.  It's a marvelous gift for me, and a devastating curse for her.  The girl who was forced into prostitution as a mere child.  Grew up with a mother who died and a father who didn't want her.  Not allowed to go to school or learn to read.  Had a baby when she was just 14, by a man she didn't even know.  Forced by her circumstances to give up that baby to an orphanage.

 We sat under a blazing sun, the details of her story pouring out, stopping only so that my friend could translate.  I had asked her to tell me her story.  Me, a virtual stranger, and she was entrusting me with the darkest of secrets.  All I could do was hold her hand and stare into her eyes, willing her to see that I cared and that I didn't judge. Kalkidan, the the shy girl with sparkly eyes who photo-bombed every picture during our visit to Women at Risk earlier in the week.  The one who rushed to sit next to me, held my hand while we prayed, and wouldn't leave my side.  Precious girl, desperate for someone to notice her, to look past the sins of her past, and really see her.

Just moments earlier, Wenshet had told me a similar story of loss and death and heartache too early for any human being to endure.  I knew I only had moments left with her here in this place; our flight was leaving later that day, and I wanted to use these precious moments wisely.  

"Do you know Jesus?"  I asked.  She assured me she did.  "Then we will see each other again someday, even if it's not here, in Africa.  We will be together in heaven someday!  Do you know that?"  She said yes, she did, but she was afraid of her sin.  The things she had done in the dark, in the secret, things too shameful to mention.  Would she be excluded from this place, this heaven?

"I am afraid of my sin too.  It's too awful to mention.  But that is why Jesus came for us.  Jesus took our sin on Himself when He died for us - He became sin - and he made us as pure and white as...."

"Snow" was on the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered I was in Africa, and that analogy would not work!  I searched my mind for another word, then turned and noticed a scarf wrapped around the neck of the woman sitting near us, a beautiful pure white scarf with tiny glittering sequins on it.  "As white as this scarf!"  The woman wearing it lit up, having no idea why we were both touching her scarf, tears forming in our eyes.

I asked Wenshet if I could pray for her, and what she would most want prayer for. She told me she was scared that she'd return to prostitution.  She asked me to pray that she would be strong and keep learning about Jesus and forgiveness for her sin.

Kalkidan on the left, Wenshet on the right

When I whisper up a prayer for strength, it's usually so that I won't snap at my kids, or so that I can get through my endless to-do list each day.  When these girls pray for strength - it's a plea to survive one more day off the streets.  One more day of showing up at the program that is slowly teaching them to read, to learn a skill, to build a future.  What lives of contrast.

Lest I slip again into guilt, I remind myself that I was born "For such a time as this." This blog post, by Ann Voskamp, deeply touched Andy and I when we read it this past summer.  It served as a catalyst for us to say "yes" to going to Ethiopia. Please take time to read it - she explains it so well.  We, like Queen Esther of the Old Testament, are the ones living in the palace, and there's a whole hurting world on the other side of the gates.  We have a responsibility as palace dwellers.  "To whom much is given, much will be required."  Luke 12:48

These two precious souls - I can't get them out of my mind.  I pray for them almost every day.  I try to imagine what they might be doing.  I keep allowing myself to be haunted by their stories, lest I get too comfortable in the palace and forget.

 
 I think God longs for all of us to let our guards down and allow our hearts to see the hurt in this world, and be broken to pieces. Then, to place those broken bits before Him as our offering, letting Him heal and soften and turn those hard pieces into something that can be used for good.  With a softened heart,  we can then move from the safety of the palace into a hurting world and hurt with it.  No longer paralyzed by guilt or immobilized by indifference, we open our hearts to dare to move beyond our borders and bring hope.  Hope not in ourselves and in what we can do, but in a God who gave up everything to save humanity and continues to relentlessly pursue each one of us.

Compared to Jesus, we're all outside the gate, a mass of sin and pain and brokenness.  Yet with His one sacrifice - to be born into this mess, to die a sinner's death, and to raise from the dead victorious - the gates fling wide open and we all gain entrance into the palace of the King.  It's too wondrous to believe.  And yet we do - we believe.

 May I never become too comfortable in the palace.  May I offer up the broken pieces of my life to the One who brings beauty from ashes.  May I dare to believe that He'll use me to share His love and hope with a broken world.  May I live in awe of the sacred gift of Himself, not just at Christmas, but every day I have on this earth.

Merry Christmas, dear friends. 
Much love to you all.
~Katie

Re-entry

I still have so much to write about our trip, and yet this post has been brewing in my mind and heart for a few days now, so it's taking priority.  :)  

People keep asking us how we're doing.  "How's your heart?"  "How are you doing emotionally?"  "Are you feeling adjusted yet?"

Honestly, I thought I'd be completely wrecked and broken, but I'm not. Totally fatigued, groggy, and sad, yes.  Jet lag is NO fun.

The poverty in Ethiopia was tragic and sad, but it wasn't shocking for us.  Andy and I have both witnessed extreme poverty and maybe that's why - we were adding another layer of awareness to an already accumulated knowledge and compassion, instead of shocking our systems with a brand new reality.   It also helped that we experienced and processed this together, praying, debriefing, and talking through things as they happened.

When I returned home from my college missions trip to Mexico, I was a wreck.  I felt guilty for living in a house after witnessing people who lived in homes covered by plastic tarps and cardboard and whatever else they found in the dump.  I felt guilty that I could walk into a supermarket and have fifty choices of bread while others had to sift through garbage for their next meal.  I felt guilty for birthday gifts and restaurants and a working car and all of the other luxuries I had previously taken for granted.  It took a long time for me to reconcile the disparity between my life of abundance and their life of poverty.

I don't want to feel guilt.  Guilt alienates and it condemns.  It is a very poor motivator.   Instead of wallowing in guilt, I pray I can embrace gratitude.  Gratitude for this incredible opportunity.  Gratitude for the friends we made.  Gratitude for loving family and friends back home who supported and prayed for us.  Gratitude that God allowed us to be used, in whatever way, to advance His kingdom on this earth.  Guilt leads to shame and immobility; gratitude spurs action and service.

We saw and experienced things that will continue to impact us as we continue our daily lives here.  As we return to work and laundry and preschool pick-ups,  it's easy to begrudge the monotony of the life I've returned to.  And yet God never says that holding orphans is more spiritual than doing laundry.  He tells us we have a responsibility to care for orphans, widows, and the poor (James 1:27) but also says that whatever we do should be done in His Name and for His glory (Colossians 3:17).  Everything we do is spiritual if we're doing it for Him.  God is looking for hearts that see Him in the mundane as well as the extraordinary.  Hearts that ask, "How can I serve you here, in this moment?"  Hearts that expect Him to show up in mighty ways whether we're in Africa or in our family room.  He is a God of adventure, and He doesn't limit that to missions trips and mountaintop experiences.

So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life -- your sleeping, eating, going to work, and walk-around life - and place it before God as an offering. This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life.  It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike, "What's next, Papa?"  Romans 12:1, 8:15 MSG

What's next?  I'm not sure.  We had an awesome, amazing trip.  We learned so much.  We interacted with the most incredible people.  We saw poverty of things and wealth of relationship.  We hope to go back someday!  For now, our prayer continues to be one of openness and trust - open to whatever He has in store for us and continuing to trust Him without borders!

Bezaye

As we were planning our trip to Ethiopia, our friend Ashley told us she wanted us to meet her friend, Beza, and asked if she could help out that week with translating or anything else.  I looked her up on facebook and saw that was drop-dead gorgeous and had over 1,000 followers.  Not friends, but followers!  I thought to myself, "Who is this girl? A model?"  And I immediately started making assumptions about Beza -- probably shallow, aloof, and stuck on herself.

Wow, was I wrong.

Beza is sweet, kind, and gentle.  She has an infectious laugh and good naturedly endured Andy's teasing all week, responding with an equally quick wit.  Although more on the reserved side, she opens up easily with those she trusts (a lot like me!).  She is absolutely physically beautiful, and yet her heart is even more so.  Often we'd find her in tears, heartbroken over the poverty and brokenness we were witnessing together.  She LOVES coffee (buna) and could drink a whole cup faster than we could take two sips! 

Our first day together was spent at Embracing Hope, then at the coffee ceremony in Korah, and ended with a trip to an orphanage.  I think she cried at each one.  She has such a tender heart and strong desire to serve, and her love for others and Jesus shined in everything she did.

 
Beza confided in us earlier in the week that she did not want to watch the dental procedures during the dental clinics (neither did I!).  She was afraid she wouldn't be able to handle the blood.  The first day of clinic she worked in the medical room, helping translate for those that came in with skin and other minor issues.  After being diagnosed the patient was given a lotion or medication to help treat the problem.   Beza has been trained as a pharmacist, so this was right up her alley. 

On our second day of clinic, we were short some translators.  The oral surgeon, Dr. Steve, handed some surgical gloves to Beza and motioned her over to his chair.  Beza stood by his side all day, helping him to understand the patient's needs and pain level.  I popped in and out of the room periodically, checking to make sure she was handling it okay, and felt so very proud of her for jumping in and serving where she was needed most.

 Throughout the course of the week, we learned that we were hanging out with a pretty well-known singer.  Beza is a member of a Christian group called Zema 4 Christ, which in English means "the best for Christ." In their words:  "Our philosophy is one and clear that is to love and serve God with all our hearts, minds, strength, and thoughts. Worship is a product of the knowledge of God’s love to us and our response to it through dedication of our entire life to his will. We want God to use us in any way not just on our stages but through our day to day life among our neighbors, in the midst of this corrupted world system. Our first and prior mission is to live Godly life and be witnesses of God’s salvation by being light and salt to this world."  Zema 4 Christ just recorded their second album and tours all over Ethiopia, singing in churches, at festivals, and other gatherings. They're a pretty big deal in their country!





And yet humble Beza never even let on.  We found out from Sammy and others we talked to.  Someday I hope to see them sing in person, maybe even here in America!  Check them out on youtube!

On our last day there, we put in a full day of clinic and reserved a few hours so that we could go back to our room and pack for our 10:30 pm flight.  Our first stop was ice cream, of course.  Then we invited Sammy and Beza to come up to our room and hang out. We listened to music (from Jackson Five to Hillsong) and ordered room service - one more buna in Ethiopia!   We talked about life and God and love and everything else under the sun.  I felt like I was hanging out in my family room with two of my closest friends.

LOOK!  It's your favorite chair! 

 Finally we were packed and ready to go.  I had been fighting tears all day, and then the floodgates opened, for all of us.  The thought that we didn't know when we'd see each other again was just too much.  Experiencing all that we did together - the hours in the car, the poverty and brokenness, the beautiful children, the brave men and women making life changes - has formed a bond between us for life.  Andy asked if we could pray for them, and we all joined hands and choked back tears. 

In Amharic (the major language spoken in Ethiopia), -ye is added to the end of someone's name as a term of endearment.  Andye, Katiye, Sammiye.

Bezaye, you are a dear friend and my life is better with you in it. I miss you so much.  I think about you all the time and pray for you often throughout my day.  Thank you for sharing your heart with us, and for welcoming us to your beautiful country with open arms.  Thank you for teaching us Amharic and for laughing at us when we messed up.  :)  Thank you for putting up with Andy all week.  :)  You have a gift and God is going to use you mightily for His kingdom - He already is.  I can't wait to see what else He has for you.  You are precious, dear friend and little sister!  Much love to you always!  Until we meet again....

habasha and feringe :)

Happy Birthday, Sammy

Instead of apple and pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving dessert, tonight four of us shared a chocolate cake after a delicious Italian dinner.  Italian in Ethiopia?  It's one of Samson's favorites, and today is his birthday, so he got to choose the restaurant.  :)

 Sammy has been with us every minute we've been here. Well, except when we sleep.  :)  He helped us coordinate our trip by setting up appointments, lining up a driver (Yelli!), translating for us, and helping us navigate this very different culture.  We have been in touch with him via facebook during the month leading up to this trip, sending messages back and forth and asking him a million and one questions.

When we walked out of the airport on Sunday, we were looking for the man in the facebook picture.  As we scanned faces in the crowd, he emerged and we politely introduced ourselves and shook his hand. We made small talk in the car as we drove to our guest house.   He was an acquaintance, but one we trusted, as he came highly recommended by many friends who had been to Ethiopia previously.

Now, just five short days later, we can honestly say he is a close friend.  We've spent HOURS with him in the car, at various ministries, eating in restaurants.  We've asked him a million and one more questions.  He's patiently taught us words in Amharic and hasn't laughed (too much) at our botched pronunciation.  We met his gorgeous wife and adorable baby.  We've discussed theology and politics and culture.  We know he loves burgers and pizza and chocolate. We've prayed together and we've laughed til our sides hurt.  And today he was by Andy's side all day as he extracted too many teeth to count, and he said he loved it!  (Better you than me, Sammy!)  :)

Sammy's beautiful family

Great teamwork!

 Sammy's heart for Jesus reflects in everything he does.  He has such a gentle heart and a kind way about him.  He truly cares for others and has a strong desire to help those in need.  He's generous with his time, his talents, and his money.  As we have worked alongside him this week, we have gained a deep respect for his humility and love for the least of these.  He adores children and is so good with them.  Although more on the serious side, he is quick to laugh, especially when Andy teases him (How can you be Ethiopian and not like buna?).  :)

Singing with the kids at Embracing Hope

Guacamole and chips and Coke in a bottle - doesn't get much better than that!

 Sammy's the real deal, and we have enjoyed every minute spent with him.  Thank you Sammy, for everything!!  Our lives are truly more rich having met you. May God bless you and keep you and make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you.  Much love to you and Happy Birthday!

And to everyone reading, if you are ever in Ethiopia, make sure you get in touch with Sammy!  We've got his number. :)

We got coffee, Samson got ice cream.  :)

Deep conversations at a coffee house

Ethiopia Day 3: Women at Risk

Freedom

I am more of an introvert by nature.  If I'm in a large group of people I don't know, I get overrwhelmed and tend to let others do more of the talking.  I would much rather spend quality time with one or two people than be at a large party and endure small talk.

I'm married to an extrovert.  Andy has a quick wit and is able to talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything.  He is comfortable walking into a room of strangers and making friends with everyone there.  

So yesterday was a stretching experience for me.  We were scheduled to spend time at a ministry called Women At Risk. We didn't know much going into it except that it's a program for former prostitutes.  We had no plan except to show up.  

Upon walking through the metal gate into the compound, we were told the women were in the middle of a class, and we'd have to wait a few minutes. Two little ones caught our attention, and of course we gravitated over to the corner where they were playing.  Two or three children peered at us over a metal gate, and about ten or more happily toddled around, chattering and chewing on toys and throwing balls.  Their playroom was a very simple, very small concrete block of a room - concrete walls and concrete floor covered with a thin rubber mat.  Leaning over the gate, we talked and interacted with them while they reached out with toys and high fives and smiles that lit up the whole place.  One little girl handed me a green nesting cup - one that probably every child in America owns - and I goofed around with her and placed it upside down on my head like a hat.  She gave me a quizzical look, reached out for it, and then tentatively balanced it on her own head.  I giggled and she gave me a long stare and then marched around, proud as a peacock with that little cup on her head.  

Soon the director of the program, a distinguished looking Ethiopian gentleman, approached us.  He spent a few minutes explaining how they operate, pausing while Sammy translated for us.  

Women at Risk has been in operation for over 17 years and their vision is to love, respect, and reach out to women caught in the cycle of poverty and prostitution.  There are around 150,000 prostitutes working in the capital city of Addis Ababa, and three quarters of them are estimated to be HIV+.  Women at Risk serves women who are seeking to leave that life.  After an initial introductory phase, those who show interest and determination are invited into a year-long program which involves intense counseling, mentoring and career development.  From their website:  "By the end of the year, each woman is expected to have acquired life skills that help her work through past and present life issues positively, and is financially self-sufficient through healthy employment and/or small business ownership.  To date, about 90% of the women we have worked with through the years have left prostitution and have stayed away."

Sammy told us we would probably be able to spend some time with the women who were in the yearlong program.  They were learning how to cook and sew among many other life skills, and he was thinking they'd be very open to visiting with us.

But God had other plans.

The director led us to a small room filled with twenty women who were in the first phase program - the ones who had just recently come off the streets - the ones who were brand new and most likely to be wary of new people, especially feringes (white people) from America.

I'll admit - it was really awkward.  A bunch of girls ages 17-40-something, sitting in a circle of plastic chairs staring suspiciously at us, waiting for us to say or do something.  Except we had no idea what we were supposed to say or do. 

Thankfully my extroverted husband started talking. He introduced himself as Andy, which means "strong."  Name meanings are very important in their culture.  He told them he was a dentist.  He said they were so brave to take that first step toward freedom - that it is hard when they do, but each one gets easier to follow the steps God has for them.  He told them they were beautiful daughters of the King and that Jesus loves them and has a plan to use their gifts to impact the world.   

Meanwhile I sat quietly observant, smiling and nodding and praying that God would give me something to say.

One of the girls asked a question and all eyes turned to me.  I looked questioningly at Sammy and he said, "They are wondering why you don't talk."

I started laughing and told them I'm more shy in a group, that Andy is the talker, and I like to talk to one or two people. 

One of them asked if we grew up learning about Jesus, and Andy and I both shared a little bit of our story.  Andy then asked if they had any questions for us.  They ranged from serious (Does the government give money to poor people who have children?) to curious (What's the weather like?) to downright strange (Do you paint chickens in America?).  Not sure where that idea came from!!

When the question and answer session ended, we thanked them for having us and encouraged them to keep learning about Jesus and keep trusting God to make a way for them.  We stood up to go and one woman asked for a picture. After posing with a few, the others surrounded us, clamoring for a hug, a touch, just one more picture. They were so hungry for attention and even though we couldn't communicate, we all spoke the language of affection.

The little livewire on the left, Kalkadan, held my hand and had to be in every picture.  :) Weneshet is on the right.

Finally it was time to go and we exchanged our last hugs and kisses and on the cheek.  Women who had been strangers an hour before yelled out "I love you," and waved wildly as we walked to the car, blowing kisses all the way.  

 I can't imagine a scene like that ever happening in America.  We tend to be formal and stiff, unsure of ourselves, unwilling to put ourselves out there.  We greet with a firm, polite handshake. This culture, I am learning, embraces and welcomes and hugs.  And these women, who are in the process of transforming their lives, turned awkward into intimate, and we treasure that time we spent with them.

Pray for these incredible women - pray that the love of a Savior will continue to fill them with courage to keep taking steps and show them there is hope only in Him!

Day 2 Ethiopia: Coffee Ceremony

An American's idea of a good cup of coffee is rolling through a Starbucks drive-thru and ordering an overpriced cafe latte.  Don't get me wrong, I love lattes as a treat once in awhile - cinnamon dolce to be exact.  Andy and I also drink at least two cups each of home brewed coffee every morning.  I always prepare it the night before, adding water and heaping spoonfuls of ground coffee, then set the timer so that it will be freshly brewed by the time I wake up at 5:45 am.  We love coffee.

But our coffee, whether Starbucks or home brewed, is absolutely no match for the buna (coffee) of an Ethiopian coffee ceremony.  Every Ethiopian knows how to prepare a coffee ceremony, and we had the privilege of experiencing one yesterday in Korah, one of the poorest sections of Addis. 

You smell Korah long before you see it.  As you get closer, you see the piles of trash emerging from the landscape like mountains, dotted with people and stray animals and discarded furniture and old vehicles.  The smell alone brought back memories for me of a college missions trip to Mexico where we served the people who lived in the dumps of Matamoros and Reyes.  Similar to that, Korah is a community built around garbage - and its people depend on it for food, employment, and housing.

After driving by the actual dump, we turned down a side alley lined with shanties, bumped along a dirt road, and slowed down just long enough to pick up Amasale.  Wearing a long, flowing skirt and a bright red head scarf, she jumped in our van and started chatting happily with our translators.  In another minute we stopped and there was Alem waiting for us, huge grin on her face and arms open in welcome.  "Salaamno," (hello) she said, and we all got out and exchanged hugs and kisses on the cheek.  She pointed to a narrow opening in a concrete wall and motioned for us to follow her down another alleyway, the dirt path punctuated with rocks of all shapes and sizes.  After a short walk weaving past a few mud houses, she pulled out a little key and opened a padlock hanging on her door, and welcomed us into her home.

After our eyes adjusted to the darkness, we had a chance to look around.  A small raised bed stood in one corner.  Next to it stood a simple wooden hutch containing a few mismatched kitchen utensils and cooking pots.  We sat down on a small blanket-covered mattress opposite the bed.  Laid out on the floor was a small tray, eight small white teacups, a bowl of sugar, and a stack of white saucers.

 Alem sat down and pulled out a handful of green, raw coffee beans and began rinsing them in a plastic bowl.  As she rinsed, Andy asked her to tell us about herself, and over the next half hour, she weaved the stories of her life with the ritual of the traditional Ethiopian coffee ceremony.

While Alem rinsed beans, Amasale fanned the coals nestled in the bottom of the portable fire pit.  Next Alem placed the beans in a flat pan and began slowly stirring them with a metal poker, talking and pausing every so often so that Sammy could translate. We sat spellbound by the rich aromas and the beautiful lilt of the Amharic language.  A story emerged of love and loss, heartache and hope, children and blessing and poverty.  And all throughout was a message of rescue - of her God - her provider.

The beans turned a rich brown color and then Amasale took them outside and began grinding them in a large mortar and pestel.

Alem added the grounds to a simple metal teapot of water and set it over the fire to brew.  Then she carefully poured a cup of steaming, aromatic coffee for each of us, added a spoonful of sugar, and passed them out.

At home, I add a teaspoon of sugar and some hazelnut creamer to my coffee.  Andy always teases me that I'm not drinking real coffee.  I drank real coffee in that little one-room house yesterday.  And it was the most delicious coffee I have ever had in my life.  I don't know if it had more to do with the actual purity of the entire process, or the beautiful women we shared it with.

Beza, another one of our other translators, is on the bed.  She downed that coffee so fast! :)

 By American standards, these two women are poor.  Most would look at them with pity.  Yet Andy and I both agreed they are the blessed ones and it is we who are to be pitied.  "Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise..." When we have every resource at our fingertips, we have little opportunity to exercise our faith.  Both Amasale and Alem recently lost the jobs they had depended on for the meager income that allows them to buy food and rent their small houses.  Amasale told us through tears that she was very sad, but in the same breath, declared trust that God would provide.  Our tears flowed freely as we witnessed their rich faith and complete dependence on our God. Andy asked if he could pray for them.  Sammy translated, and after every sentence, in unison they both said, "Amen."  I can say they have a deeper faith then I do.  They are two of the most beautiful women with the most beautiful hearts I have ever met. 

Soon it was time to go.  We said "Amaseganala" over and over (thank you) which seemed such a paltry offering compared to what they had given us.  Amasale put her arm around me as we walked back to our van and although we exchanged no words, I hope she felt the deep respect and love I was feeling for her and her friend Alem.
 
Amasale and Alem, you showed us so much about hospitality and generosity and faith.  Thank you for that.  We will forever remember that day and that cup of coffee.  I don't know if we will see you again, but you are our sisters in Christ, which means we get to spend eternity with you. Until then, Ciao dear sisters and much love to you!

Ethiopia Day 2: Embracing Hope

Picture thirty or more three year olds running around, playing ball, peek-a-boo, climbing on your lap, playing with your hair -- and you probably think about a typical preschool, right?  Embracing Hope is just like any preschool I've been to, except there was a tree in the middle of their playroom.  And their playroom had no roof.  And it was in Ethiopia.

Christy Shannon graciously talked with us for over an hour today next to that tree.  We peppered her with questions about how they got started, how they operate, who they serve.  Meanwhile, her own children came in and out, asking for diapers, pushing kids on a merry go-round, and navigating preschoolers arguing over a ball. 

Embracing Hope started in 2009 after Christy and her husband realized the need for single moms in Korah to have daycare for their children so that they could hold down a job.  Korah is an area of Addis Ababa known as the forsaken place.  It's a city within a city and is home to the trash dump, along with an entire community of people who live and work there. EH started with about twenty kids and now serve 108 children.  The kids attend preschool and kindergarten right there at their facility  and receive two meals and snacks during the day.  Embracing Hope takes a holistic approach to serving these families by providing other services to the moms - literacy classes, groceries, and health care, and mentoring.  Some of the moms even work right there making beads which are sold as necklaces and bracelets.  Andy tried to make one and failed miserably, even though the women graciously told him, "Gobez," which means good job.  ;) You can read all about Embracing Hope on their website.  Please do -- it is an incredible ministry doing incredible things.

The children were absolutely precious, as you can imagine.  I had three little girls fighting over my lap, and one bossy one kept pushing the other two off.  :)  A little boy was fascinated with Andy's adam's apple and all wanted to touch his face.  Many stretched their arms out to be picked up or slapped a high five when prompted.  These are children who could be trailing behind their moms while they sift through trash but instead they are making friends, learning the alphabet, and being nurtured by a staff who loves them --- all so that they can go home at the end of the day with a mommy who loves them more.

There's so much more to write about this day but our internet is very spotty, and it is getting late, so it will have to wait.  We have fallen in love with this country and this culture already.  Our hearts are breaking, but not broken, because we see the hand of God everywhere we go, and we know He is redeeming us all in this journey.  Much love from Ethiopia! Ciao!