Kenya!

This is from an article written by KJ Roelke.

“Mzungu! Mzungu! China!”

These were some of the first words that I heard out of the street boys’ mouths. After Pastor Shadrack had finished talking to them, they immediately ran towards where the food was being set up.

They knew the drill.

And here we were, a bunch of Americans stuck in a country full of poverty with a stampede (for it certainly was a stampede) of homeless boys running towards us, sticking out like a sore thumb. And then there was me. Not only was I one of the Americans, I was also the only Asian, not to mention someone with a defected right hand. I felt out of place. Leah jumped right in when she saw a baby, but me? I didn’t know what I could do. I thought to myself, all I can do is sing, dance, and play hacky-sack. What do I have to bring to the table? And the next thing I knew, I was on the ground teaching some kids how to dance: true-blue break-dance. I don’t really remember how I got there; all I can remember is wanting so desperately to distract these kids from the pains and suffering they had to go through, that I would do anything for them. I remember playing volleyball and giving them high-5s every time they made a good hit. They all understood that we were there to play with them for however long they were allowed to stay at the compound of Bridges International.

The boys inhabited a corner on the street, and many of them had glue bottles somewhere on their person. I found out during the trip that one of the reasons it is so popular is because the glue’s aroma dulls the hunger pains that they had. And when we stopped at a store really close to get Leah some girly accessory like eye-liner or something, a couple of the boys that knew me from the meal days (Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday) came up to our van and started waving. I had never imagined I would see them anywhere outside the compound (unless we were arriving there and they were waving at us through the windows), yet here they were, waving at me because I taught them how to dance, or kicked a sack of beans around with them? No, they waved because somewhere inside of them, they knew that God cared about them, and that I was one of the people God decided to use to tell them that. And they might not have known it at the time, and they might not know it now, but that is what I know, and I would go back in a heartbeat to play with them again."

Update from Adrienne

October 2008

I broke. After 7 hours of battling against aggressive, angry boys, I lost control of my emotional stability. I had been hit, kicked and called horrible names. Every time I enforced a rule, their behavior became worse and their anger shifted from being directed at their peer, to being directed at me. The anger inside these boys pierced through their eyes and penetrated deep inside of me, even though I desperately tried to remind myself of where these boys come from; telling myself it was not their fault. The last 30 minutes of the day, their behavior escalated even more. Alone I could not cope with this environment any longer. It was too much. I went upstairs to switch places with my co-volunteer. I sat, covered my face and let the tears run down my cheeks. Two small children, accustomed to seeing me strong, confident, and assertive, stared at me with deep concern written in their expressions. "¿Por qué lloras?" [why are you crying?] asked the little boy. I breathed in deeply and swallowed hard to regain my composure in front of the perplexed, worried Pamela and Jon Eduard. I responded with "estoy cansada, no se preocupen." [I'm just tired, don't worry.] I grabbed a broom and began sweeping.

The transition that my kids have made since that day is miraculous. They have acclimated to a structured atmosphere with rules and designated times for work and play. They respond to discipline, physical violence has decreased, and now they are able to learn. They still have days when they seem to regress, but the kids they were when they first arrived in June and the kids they are now, are very different. Hooray!

Esneider beckons me to come sit with him on the bus. I put him on my lap and wait for the other kids to start filing into the seats. Kati, his 2 year old little sister, scoots over on her seat and motions for me to come sit beside her. I move over, now with Esneider on my lap and Kati under my arm. Their older brother, Maicol, is sitting directly in front of us. My leg is beside the seat where he is sitting and he leans against it, ready for the long bus ride back to the south. They are three of the kids that returned to the Other Way after Colombianita was destroyed. Sitting on the bus with the three of them around me was a beautiful, holy moment. It reminded me of my purpose. These little people are why I am here in Bogotá. There was a great deal of peace in that moment. Peace in purpose. I believe that God provides this kind of peace to affirm that you are in the right place doing the right thing. It's an overwhelming sense of perfection in God's purpose for you. These moments are my fuel for days when I feel helpless, days like I described above.

This emphasizes the importance of placing God above all else. Love for God is the key to ultimate love for humanity. I am learning that people, unfortunately, cannot be a continuous motivating factor. They will eventually disappoint you. They will hurt you, intentional or otherwise. This is something of which I personally struggle because I want to believe that all people have some degree of inherent goodness. However, no matter how humanistic one might be, putting your hope and trust in people is not sufficient. You will burn out. You must have divine purpose in what you do. You must believe that God is love; this will reign over everything else and allow you to love and serve without condition.

I hope this letter finds you all very well. Please know how very much I appreciate everyone of you. Your prayers and support mean a great deal; without them, I could not be here. Thank you for continuing to read my little updates. I hope they paint at least a small picture of what things are like here. Y'all are amazing! THANK YOU!


With love,
Adrienne

Update from Liz

The truck hit a bump and all the contents in the bed bounced six inches into the air with a shout. The princess, draped in a green and orange chitenge, slid from center of my lap down to my knees. I clasped my hands as tight as possible around her waist, trying to save her limp body from falling onto the floor and awakening her from whatever dreams her seven year old imagination was portraying in her mind. As her head found its place on my collarbone almost like a perfect puzzle piece, I looked up across the seats, peering between her family members, and followed the dusk glow of the horizon with my eyes while whispering a prayer of thanks to God. I turned to Matt, my teammate who also decided to jump into the back of the truck with me when our leader asked if anyone would like to go with Chief Nyawa back to his village, and said..

"in this moment, my heart could explode."

It was the last night of our expedition to Nyawa village, and had i not hiked up my skirt & ascended into the back of the truck, i might not be able to say that i truly enjoyed myself. it's nothing again the people of Nyawa village, whose smiles when they met us spoke of more joy than a person who just won the lottery, or against my team, which consists of eight of the most colorful, diverse and Christ-seeking individuals you could ask for. the only person who could prevent me from enjoying myself is myself. As most of you know, in the few weeks leading up to my departure for Zambia, i heard the Lord just say 'you are going to be broken.' Broken? Broken being shattered, scattered, ripped apart and no longer of use.. this was the definition that came to mind. I must be broken of who i am in order to embrace that who God wants me to be. Ripped apart from the safe identity I have made for myself and physically apart from the comforts and familiarity of the west. No longer of use to fill the dreams and expectations I made for myself of being a typical 22 [almost 23] year old but become a useful servant in the Kingdom of God.

This first trip to the Bush was the beginning of that process. In the Bush, I expected to be challenged with bugs, dirt, and trees for toilets, which i was, but what i was not expecting was the theological challenge. Our first full day, we split our team into two, and i put myself on the evangelize team, because that's one of my weaknesses. As we left for the huts, one of my teammates grew ill, and our leader decided to walk with her back to camp, leaving two translators and yours truly, still wandering down the sandy paths out into the middle of nowhere rural Zambia. as we approached the first home, i realized that i have absolutely no idea what i am doing. i have been in Zambia less than a week! i don't know how these people live, what they believe or even how to greet them properly. Walking up to the door, i prayed on every exhale. "who the, what the, where the, how the, God.. help me!" I'll never forget that first house. I realized no matter how much 'preparation' or reading i could of done, nothing could of told me what to do in that situation. I sat on the floor, tucked my skirt under my legs, and asked the ladies a few questions about themselves, their children and whats for lunch. One of our translators, prompted and told me that this is the part where i should encourage them with scripture. i turned the bent pages of my bible, praying 'God give me something.. anything..' I landed in Ephesians and spoke about Gods love for their life, and how no matter what stuggles they face, he will never forsake them. simple, i know.. but that's all i felt leaded to say, and i pray that they understood how deep and wide Gods love truly is. Laura, our leader, approached us right when we were leaving and she congratulated me on not sinking since she pretty much threw me into the rive and said 'swim.'

this was only the first day of three. the following two days consisted of traveling around to other rural Zambian villages, hosting a plethora of meetings and services, praying over the troubled and sick. To be honest, through it all, my heart was burdened. Approach on ministry here is so different than the routine i knew in the states, and i was struggling with questions as to what exactly am i doing and does this truly work? All i was longing for was a connection to the people. A personal connection with the pastors wife, or clinic nurse, or one of mothers who filled the church's meetings, or even just a child. The past three days I felt completely detached from the world around me and i couldn't shake the spirit of doubt. As the evening approached on the last day in Nyawa, i collapsed on top of the sun bleached leather seats of the truck and just prayed for someone, anyone, to make me feel something other than doubt or confusion. The team hosted our last meeting in the church and we were all graced by the presence of chief Nyawa and his extended family. As the shadows grew longer and the third day came to a close, i gathered my things to walk back to camp. I walked pass the truck as Dan, our leader, started the engine making me jump. I asked him where he was going and he said that he needed to get the chief back to his palace before dark. it must have been the word 'palace' that provoked me to ask 'can i come?'

And it was on that two hour long drive, that God answered my prayer through one of his daughters, a little princess. I sat down in a seat among the Nyawa royalty with the thought of 'at least I'll see something different' when she climbed into my lap. the ride was a bumpy journey, but that didn't stop the family from singing and dancing the whole duration of the trip. the children and adults a like, did their best to keep balance while shaking there hips to the chitange song as their voices carried across the grass and scarce trees so that anyone within a 5k could hear their joy. the words between she and i were few, but her smile, laughter, and simple presence spoke clearly enough for me to know that i am, indeed, not spending three months in Zambia on a pointless mission.

after all, i make one awesome pillow.