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Day 1: It’s Complicated

Musings from our trip to Israel…

I would say the experience truly started on the flight from Paris to Tel Aviv. It was a full flight. Full of Jews–most of them young men in dark dress pants, a white dress shirt with a prayer shawl underneath, and a dark head covering in one of two styles. About a third had a long curl of side burns.

I was seated next to one of the more “liberal” young men; black, white, and prayer shawl: check. But instead of the typical head coverings, he wore an Under Armor baseball cap.

He was pleasant, which was convenient, because I suddenly found myself with so many questions. I’ve been quite a few places, but these people and their culture intrigued me perhaps like no other.

A few years ago, no matter how many questions I had, I wouldn’t have asked. But I’m older and much less inhibited, I guess. I’ll ask if I want to.

I asked why some had the curly sideburns and others don’t. He sort of explained…complicated. That’s the answer.

Then another lady came down the aisle. Are you in the window? I asked, pointing at the only empty seat left in our row.

“Yes,” she replied. “But I would prefer to sit here.” She pointed to my aisle seat. Well then. So now I was in the window. But my victim was still stuck next to me.

This young man was from a Jewish community in Long Island. He was returning to Israel to finish the last of three years of schooling in Israel. Apparently, in their final semester, the boys do a combination of one-on-one discipleship and group partying.

Why did he come to Israel to school? Basically, the answer was, “it’s complicated.”

Sitting in the boys’ section gave me a little taste of what they probably mean by partying…they were asking the flight attendant for Whiskey and watching crazy stuff on their iPads. Probably not much different than a bunch of guys from Long Island not Jewish.

I asked him questions about the economy, the safety, the lifestyle… and the recurring answer was that Israel is a complicated country.

I asked him what he would do after school and he said, “Go into finance. Like every other Jew.”

At least that one wasn’t complicated.

He hoped to get married soon so I asked if he had a girlfriend. I got the impression that the girlfriend thing hadn’t worked out so well for him, but the fall back was matchmaking. Apparently, a process now largely handled by moms. Sounds complicated.

I asked him how many kids Jewish families had and he told me, “Some have as many as God gives them. Some have as many as they can handle.”

Okay, so I did refrain from asking how they keep their little caps on. Some had little clips, but others mystify me. But I had to let him nod off after a while.

While he slept, I tried to think of a creative way to bridge our conversation into the gospel. But when I tried, he was clearly not interested. That much was simple.

If the airplane food was in any way an indication of what food they serve in this country, I am going to lose weight on this trip. The only thing on the tray I would label as “good” was a piece or dark chocolate the size of my thumb.

But then, never judge a country by airplane food. Even my captive seat mate didn’t eat it.

It was about midnight when we landed. I said goodbye to my new friend and we took our weary bodies to the hotel looking forward to exploring this complicated country for ourselves.


Welcome to Israel!

Posted on by lgandre · 7 Comments

She Smiles at the Future

A cheery voice always greets me when I call my grandparents.

“Hi, Grandma, This is Danielle” I say–Figuring it is too much to expect her to recognize my voice among those of her five daughters and eight grand-daughters (not to mention grand-daughters-in-law, great grand-daughters, and whomever else).

“Well, what do you know!” She always says, as if she is both surprised and very glad to hear from me.

Phone conversations with my 97-year-old grandmother are always short. She was raised in the day when you paid by the minute; and as a child of immigrants, then a school teacher, and later as a missionary wife with six kids, every penny counted and she counted every penny.

My grandma—Frances is her name—was born in Pennsylvania after the milk man and the nanny to a wealthy family fell in love and got married.

I don’t know why, but her father never showed her affection. The only memories of him I’ve heard her recount are the rather painful birthday spankings he gave her and the stinging disappointment when he wouldn’t let her ride with him and a friend in his friends’ new automobile saying (in her hearing) “well, if we wanted to take a pretty little girl, we wouldn’t take that one.”

Whether he was joking or not, I don’t know. But ninety years later, she hasn’t forgotten those ugly words.

Grandma worked several jobs at a time to put herself through college at Wheaton. She attended at the same time as Billy Graham and recalls going a few times to hear him speak at the “Tab” as they called the Tabernacle.

I’ve heard her tell a few stories of her teaching years, first at a country public school and later at a private boarding school. At the country school, the students would take turns bringing the teachers meals as part of their pay. One of the students brought a live chicken which proved to be a little much for the two “city girl” teachers and their cramped living quarters. Fortunately, one of the other students’ mothers put an end to the indoor “chicken run” chaos by taking the chicken home and bringing it back fried on a platter.

At the boarding school, she counts Elizabeth Elliott among her students; but there were many others she taught over the years . As World War II drew to a close, my grandfather (whom she had gotten to know some at Wheaton) wrote to her from Japan and asked her to marry him. She wrote back and said yes.

Her students and fellow teachers were excited for her but the administration less so when they found out that she was leaving. The headmistress dropped her off with a single suitcase at the train station while the rest of the school was in a chapel service.  No thanks. No goodbyes. No well wishes.

“It’s probably for the best.” She told me. “Because I loved teaching. And the next few years would be fairly difficult ones.”  As it was, I never looked back.

She left everything she knew for what would soon be a fairly isolated life as a missionary wife in Japan—a several month boat ride away from anything familiar. She didn’t know Japanese. The Japanese didn’t know English. There weren’t grocery stores full of familiar foods or phones to call her family.

Before long, the couple had six kids, a budding church, and a historical opportunity to reach Japanese for Christ. And they did it with all their hearts for thirty years.

I love to hear my grandparents talk about their years in Japan and I love to tell their story—even though I know my knowledge of it is limited to a tiny window into a huge world. There is a lot I don’t know.

But the part that has really struck me recently is not what happened in the past for my grandma, but what is happening in the present. You see, after 30 years on the mission field, they “retired” to jobs in Florida—Grandpa as a property manager/maintenance man and Grandma as a bookkeeper. Then, just before Grandpa turned 80, they “retired” again to Penney Farms, where they volunteered in all manner of other ways—Grandma at sewing service, the resale shop, the dining hall, the assisted living center, and as a Sunday School teacher.

Slowly, in the last few years, Grandma has had to give each of those items up. Her vision got so bad she couldn’t see to sew. Eventually, her legs bothered her enough, she couldn’t do resale, Sunday School, etc. I think she still wraps silverware at the dining hall one morning a week, but things have scaled back greatly. For a while, she enjoyed listening to audio books, but I think now it is hard for her to stay awake for long periods to follow the story line.

Amazingly, Grandma still cooks and does laundry. But otherwise, she spends the majority of her time in her stuffed chair or her bed listening to the Bible on CD.

And her chair is beside the phone. And if I ring that phone, I will hear her cheery voice on the other end.

Because with each season of life, Grandma seems to have mastered the beauty of not looking back. She never whines about the ways her body has limited her activities. She will tell stories if I can get her talking, but she doesn’t longingly brag about who she once was and what she once did. She isn’t bitter about life being reduced to a two room apartment; she seems to embrace the simplicity of it and be willing to let go of the things she can no longer enjoy.

Another woman in my grandma’s shoes might be looking in the rear view mirror at the hard things: the father who was never affectionate, the growing years on a lonely island in the South Pacific, the need to work right up into her 80s. Her quiet life so far from her family.

But instead, with each passing year, I’m more and more amazed at how bravely Grandma looks forward. Praying for her children, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren. Taking care of my grandpa. Listening to her Bible. Living in an ever-changing, always complicated world and yet letting life become more simple.

When I wasn’t able to get down to Penney Farms for her 97th birthday, she told me about it on the phone in a voice that rivaled a kid at Disney World. Because she is a contented woman with a beautiful life.

I want to be like that.

And maybe there’s hope for me. I can honestly say that I’m glad that God saw fit to keep me single for a longer-than-average length of time. Because it was here, in singleness, that I learned to love life for the beautiful gift that it is. Not waiting for the next season. Not fearing what is to come. Just enjoying the precious present. Because I too have a beautiful, fulfilling life.

Not quite as simple, perhaps. But beautiful just the same.  I can look at the future and smile.

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Five Great Valentine Ideas to Make Your Wife Happy.

It all started because Pastor Joel asked me to design an invite to the church Valentines Dinner. I went of course, to Bing for inspirational graphics, and what I found was a ton of great blogging material. Which reminded me…my Valentines blogs last year were wildly popular. (I mean, as compared to my other blogs which, basically, nobody reads.)

Ahhh yes. Valentines Day. It started the day after Christmas. I guess Wal-Mart finds it necessary to display six aisles of pink and red merchandise beginning the 26th of December as a courtesy to all of the men out there who like to plan their romance a full six weeks in advance.

Six weeks is a long time if, for example, you are babysitting someone else’s kids. But it’s not a long time for other things. Like, being engaged.  Or being pregnant.  Or…well, planning just the right Valentines Day celebration. So, while the bad news is that most of your six weeks is expired, the good news, gentleman, is that I’ve found a few gems for you last-minute planners and there is still time to incorporate them into your epic celebration of all things romantic.  Because I know you’ve been stressing about what to do.

fingersOkay, so here’s the first little gem that popped out at me.  Show your wife you love her by drawing people hugging on your hand.  It’s really a great idea, because all it requires is a gel pen, just the right audience, and a serious lack of sleep and this could win  you some serious creativity points.   If nothing else, she will love the gel pen.

My second “find” was this touching little poem.  The upside: it wouldn’t be hard at all to memorize.  You could quote it to your wife on Valentines morning with very littlefingers5 prompting.  And if memorization isn’t quite your thing, you could tape it on a card and give it to her with a rose or candy.  Apparently, the author of these inspiring words chose to remain anonymous leaving the door wide open for you to take all the credit to be had after your wife recovers from the joy of being loved to bits.  If that makes  you feel guilty, I bet you could grab that gel pen and write a poem all your own (although it might be hard to match this one for quality and creativity).  Then again, if nothing else, she will love the gel pen.

 

fingers2This one I actually don’t recommend.  It sounds noble and all, but it was probably written by a bitter wife and repeated by cheap men who were hoping for a cop out.  Don’t be one of those cheap men looking for a cop out.  Of course we need special days.  Otherwise, we don’t have any special days.  And if nothing is special, well…what’s the fun in that?  Do something special.  Like drawing people with a gel pen.

Now things are getting interesting.  I mean, what wife doesn’t covet these lovely hearts for her finger nails?  What a practical gift.  It won’t make her gain weight like candy.  It won’t wilt like a flower.  It’s cheaper than dinner.  You might even offer to have the family help apply them for her–turning it into a great team building experience and cooperative effort.  She will be grateful for your thoughtfulness and can enjoy the beautiful results for a full couple of hours before she has to wash a dish or something.

fingers3

Here’s my final free suggestion:  A page of valuable coupons.

fingers4

Because nothing says “I love you” like a sheet of expired coupons.

Seriously though.  The expiration date is only the first clue that this was written by a very, very clever man.  A man who liked hearts, pink and purple, and fancy fonts.

I’ll leave the back rub alone I think and jump in to the dishes.  Note it doesn’t say, “I’ll do the dishes.”  It says, “free get out of dishes.”  That leaves a lot of room.  Room for the kids to do the dishes.  Room for paper plates.  Room for the dishes to be left for another day.  Yep, he was a very clever man, he was.  He used a lot of pink hearts, but he didn’t fool me.  He knows a thing or two about getting out of dishes.

Then notice the next one–“free watch what you want and I will watch too.”  Very clever here.  Very clever.  Because he used “watch what you want” and the “Free Video Game Night” to sandwich in “Free Candle Lit Dinner” in the middle of the page where it will never get clipped and used before the impending expiration date.  Because what wife has time to watch TV or cares about playing video games?  In 34 years, I’ve never heard a single wife complain that her husband won’t play video games with her.  Not once.

But I think he was even smarter than that.  He made the sheet look like something incredibly sweet and thoughtful, when, in reality, half the coupons were things he would enjoy more than she would.  His unsuspecting wife might even find it on the internet and give it to him for Valentines.

Okay, so maybe I’m mistaken about his motives, but I really suspect I’m on to him.  Which doesn’t mean you can’t use the coupons.  As long as your wife doesn’t read this blog.1

Finally, in addition to all the other ingenious attributes of this sheet, notice that the final offer is a “free night out–dinner and a movie.”  Free.  That sounds to me like a lap around Costco tasting all the samples and watching cartoons on the giant big screens.  If she complains, hey, remind her that you can’t get much for free anymore.

Especially not meaningful Valentines Gifts.

If I haven’t made anything else clear perhaps that is it:  Meaningful Valentines gifts are unlikely to be printed off of the World Wide Web.  Sorry I couldn’t carry the water for you on this one.  But Wal-Mart does have six aisles of merchandise.  And Office Depot has great gel pens.

—

1.She’s the one that showed it to you, didn’t she?  Guess the coupons are out. 😦

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Lessons from a Dirty Dog

I ate cookies for breakfast.

That was the only thing handy in the kitchen besides potato chips. And everyone knows you shouldn’t eat potato chips for breakfast.

Would it help if I told you it was 11:00? It seems a little more forgivable to have cookies for lunch. But then I would have to admit that the day was half over when I entered the kitchen for the first time. It was 11:00 and I had accomplished nothing. Nothing but finishing a good book that had kept me reading into the wee hours and then kept me glued to my bed in the morning.

I guess it goes without saying that I recommend the book–Laura Story Elvington’s, “When God Doesn’t Fix It.” I can’t remember the last time I read any book over a single weekend. I’m not even sure when I last finished a book. But the deeper look into the struggles Martin and Laura faced during his brain tumor and dealing with his resulting memory loss had me pondering through many of her insights about the God who sees and yet lets us suffer. God allows circumstances to show us that our problem is sin.

By 2:00 pm, I could still only claim to have crossed two things off my list. I was still in workout clothes–which means I hadn’t had a shower.

And I hadn’t actually worked out. I was just dressed like I was going to when I pulled in at Peaceful Way to pick up Julie Ann. She had spent several days there playing with Jack while we were in Kentucky.

Julie Anne seemed happy enough to see me when I entered the garage. She quickly lost her enthusiasm, however, when she realized what was coming next. But I had to do what I had to do because my little white dog looked more like a nasty grey wolf. She had dirt, grime, grease, and just general filth matted through her coat. It was a good thing I hadn’t bothered with clean clothes and a shower because this was going to be a mess.

Julie Anne fought me as I placed her in the sink and held her under the stream of water. She squirmed and slithered in my grip as I lathered whitening shampoo into her nasty fur. It was not coming clean easily and she was certainly not making it any easier.

I didn’t enjoy it any more than she did, but it had to be done. It was fine to run around the farm like a street urchin, but I knew once I took her home, she wasn’t going to want to be outside. She was going to want to be with me. She was going to want to cuddle in my lap, perch in my chair, snuggle on my couch, lounge on my carpet, and roam through my office.

I couldn’t let that ball of dirt do any of those things. I just couldn’t. If she was going to be with me, she was going to have to be clean.

But she sure wasn’t happy about it.  As I adjusted my hold on her soapy, squirming self, she seized the opportunity to try to spring from my hands.  I let out a bit of a shriek as I struggled to maintain my grasp.  What she thought was a leap of freedom would likely be death by concrete.  It was a long way down and there was nothing between my soapy hands and that garage floor.

By some miracle, I was able to hang on.  Barely.  So rather than a dead dog, I just had a half clean drama queen slithering back into the sink.

I was too relieved to be irritated at her.  And even more than the relief, I felt a twinge of humility that came from a pointed picture of myself in the hands of my Creator–perhaps more freshly in my mind after my read of “When God Doesn’t Fix It.”

He comes for me.  He picks me up when I am a mess.  He wants me to be with Him, so He takes me straight to the sink.  In love, He begins to clean me up.  I squirm, I twist.  I try to get away.  And He holds me close.  Directly in the way of the constant stream of cleansing water.  Patiently scrubbing the dirtiest, nastiest, most unattractive parts of my being.  He isn’t trying to torture me…It just feels that way.  And it takes longer and hurts more because I fight Him all the way.  We’ve been through it hundreds of times, and I still don’t trust that He knows what is best.  I’m convinced I’d be happier if I could only jump out of his grip.

When Julie Anne was back to a recognizable state, I set her down and she shook violently.  No gratefulness, just good riddance.  She couldn’t wait to get away from me.  She would look 100 times better when she dried (provided she could stay out of the dirt long enough), but she didn’t seem to care.

She is a dog. And some things she will never fully understand. That’s why I don’t let her make her all own decisions. Because she would go splat.

She would probably do things like eat cookies for breakfast.

So…I haven’t learned this lesson: this lesson of embracing the scrubbing process. I venture to guess you haven’t either. And neither has Laura Story Elvington.

God doesn’t have an obligation to “fix it.” He might. He might not.

But He does have an obligation to clean it. To purge it. To make us more like Him. If we want to be like him, He must clean us up. And while I may feel broken in the process, I’m learning to embrace every reminder that helps me squirm a little less and trust a little more. Fight a little less. Rest a little more. Complain a little less. Praise a little more. Be a little less like myself and a little more like Jesus.

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I’m 34 for a moment

Just because I haven’t been blogging doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking. In fact, the month of August is my own little New Years–partly because it is my birthday month and perhaps partly because it is the month I moved to Charleston and started a new job, new church, and new life of being on my own and having to do things like pay rent and purchase car insurance.

Or maybe because it is hot, rainy, and ridiculously humid.  Even after eleven years, I’m not quite over the 300% humidity.

In other words, the month of August always has me seriously thinking, planning, buying, selling, or wondering–very much aware of the ticking clock of life. (Yes, despite what some people believe, I’m very aware of that clock.)

And this year has been even a bit more so. Perhaps because I’ve had to face mortality in new ways. The untimely death of my uncle in January, serious health issues of my grandparents, the unexpected passing of a colleague, the agonizingly painful one of a client, and so many other reminders that life and health are a gift and not a promise.

Then, last week I went to a Bible study on Time. It was actually the last one of the series, but I missed all the others because…well…because of time. But Andy Stanley took us through the book of Ecclesiastes in one night and I believe it was on of the best summaries of the book I’ve heard.

Basically, there is nothing new under the sun. There is nothing to gain from your toil under the sun. In fact, life is futile under the sun.

Kinda depressing. Actually, depressing. Not kinda depressing.

His conclusion: Fear God. Obey His Commands.

His motivation: Because life is not about what happens under the sun. It isn’t over when the sun goes down. It isn’t limited by what you can see by the light of the sun; or by the time that the sun divides into days and nights.

We revolve around the sun; But God does not. We are a moment; But He is forever.

After challenging us to live in the light of eternity, Pastor Stanley wrapped up the video series by playing the hit song “100 Years.” I had never heard it before and in some ways I was surprised he played it; it isn’t a Christian song. But for some reason, the catchy line, “I’m 33 for a moment” stuck in my mind; playing over and over. I’m 33 for a moment…and then “I’m dying for just another moment…”

The simple melody wasn’t gloomy. The words weren’t particularly profound. Just gentle reminders that life is fleeting under the sun.

I’m 34 for a moment. Dying for just another moment.

My life is full. I don’t think there is much denying that. But I ask myself often, is it full of things that are just for a moment? Is it full of things that are just under the sun?

Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived. He had everything. He knew about royalty. He knew about riches. He knew about romance. And he wanted us to know how little all of that mattered.

All of his stuff was just for a moment. On the day he passed on, it was going to stay under the sun.

So He wrote a whole book to get us to pay attention to these four words: Fear God. Obey His commands.

I’m 34 for a moment.

Dying for just another moment.

Enjoying what is under the sun, but living for what lies above and beyond the fiery ball of matter we call the sun.

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Day Six: The Big Day

Today is Friday.

The Big Day. The culmination of years of prayer, planning, giving, and hard work. Our team has worked incredibly hard to get the facility as nice as possible. Today is the climax our our trip–the dedication of Hope.

We were a bit slow getting together for our morning announcements and devotions. But despite our slightly ragged beginning and the cumulative exhaustion of the week, everyone opted to leave for Hope right away despite being given the opportunity to spend a few extra hours at the hotel and come later.

The team had already accomplished a lot. 54 sets of bunk beds. Counters and  for the kitchen. Shelving for the pantry. Bookcases for the library. Power throughout three buildings. Plumbing for 7 sinks, 12 showers, 12 toilets…two stoves…and much more. And every building has been swept out at least 13 times. Just for good measure.image

There is always more to do…and the men were determined to get as much as possible done this last day before the kids finished school and joined us for our dedication celebration and dinner.

So that was the plan.

No clinics. No kids. All hands on deck as we got as far as we could making tables, benches, and cubby holes for flip flops and belongings. Then final set up and clean up and fun time with the kids–giving them their sponsor gifts and watching their excited faces as they saw their new home for the first time.

Yummy Gummy and Light & Shine rolled out of the resort something around 8:30. I was hoping this day would be a lot more profitable than the day before. There were a number of items on our shopping list to finish putting up fixtures and furnishings.

Somewhere in the course of the morning, I heard some rumblings about the day being a Bhuddhist holiday. But it was no big deal. We aren’t Buddhist.

Light & Shine was softly paying one of its three songs in its selection when we started noticing that we sure weren’t moving very fast. We were inching our way down the same roads we had been traveling all week. But rain the night before had flooded many of the streets and we found ourselves amazed at the cars forging the flooded streets. Some people were even bathing in the street. A few were washing their cars–using the street as a bucket.

A few times, we were concerned that we would get stuck, but we shouldn’t have been. These bus drivers are something else!

Finally, we reached what seemed to be the other side of the flood. That was encouraging. But if we thought we were going to be able to pick up the pace, we were wrong. Time ticked by with us just sitting in the road being passed by people on foot. It was a mess.

The busses were close enough and the pace was slow enough that we were able to go back and forth between the busses. It was then that we learned that the traffic mess had something to do with the BHuddhist holiday. School was out. People were out. It was a mess.

Pastor Paul, the linchpin of our local contacts also kept calling excitedly. There was some kind of intense storm due to hit Rangoon later that day. It was going to be even more of a mess.

We started doing the math in our heads. It was already 11:00. We had been on the road three and a half hours already and there was no end in sight. The road was combination parking lot and swimming pool. After dropping us off, the busses would have to return to pick up the kids. And then after the dedication celebration, they would have to reverse the process for us before taking us to the airport–a drive that by itself could prove to be an all day affair in this traffic. What a mess.

Our flights out Friday night and the wee hours of Saturday morning suddenly seemed to be approaching rapidly. Our work time was disappearing rapidly. In fact, the only thing not moving rapidly was us.

We hated not being able to see the kids again and not being there when the kids saw Hope for the first time, but between the ridiculous traffic and the impending storm, it was becoming increasingly clear that our plan was just not going to work.

So…We had to cancel the celebration and figure out how to turn busses around in the crowed street. It was about noon.

I was disappointed. But I didn’t feel bad for myself as much as for the kids, who had been looking forward to this; for the construction team who had worked so hard all week without getting to see much of the kids; and for the rest of the team who had traveled to the other side of the world to be ready for this big day.

But there didn’t seem to be any easy way out of this and the best plan seemed to be to stop the traffic and turn Yummy Gummy and Light & Shine toward the barn. As it was, we didn’t expect to get back until around 3:00.

The Agape home was near the resort, so we took the time to stop there, give the kids our gifts, and play with them for a few minutes. They sang for us in English–“Shout to the Lord!” and we were reminded by innocent voices of the incredible power of our God. We didn’t know the day would go like this, but He knew. “I sing for joy at the work of your hand. Forever I’ll love you, forever I’ll stand…nothing compares with the promise I have with You.”

It was a tough afternoon. It was tough leaving with projects undone that we really wanted to finishIt was tough not having the closure of watching everyone get to spend time, take pictures, and give gifts to their sponsor kids. It was tough not having the climax of watching the kids see their new home. It was tough feeling like our best efforts in planning ended in a mess.

But the maturity of this team came through this afternoon in incredible ways. It wasn’t what we wanted, but people accepted the circumstances and the decision and made the best of a day that turned out exactly how God–in His wisdom–knew it would. To me, it was a mess. To God, it was a rainy Friday, but not the least bit outside of His control.

We finished by praying with the kids, then loaded back on the bus to leave Agape. I tried to let go of the regrets and rejoice in the work of His hand. The girls were crying. We said our goodbyes. We took some photos. We hugged. We waived. We hugged. We waived. We took photos. We said goodbye.

And I thanked God that even though we couldn’t take the kids to Hope, we were still able to share with them the Hope we have as an anchor of our souls. These kids know about storms. They know about floods. They know about unpleasant circumstances. So more than anything, after each time we come, I want them to know a little bit more about Hope.

P.S. – the worst news is, I lost track of the score, but I’m pretty sure we lost. I saw two huge rodents scurrying around my room in broad daylight today.  Guess I didn’t make much of an impression.

Posted on by lgandre

Day Five: Women at Work…sort of

It went something like this. All week, Geno–our videographer–has been trying to get a quick interview of me and some of our other team members. All week, it just hasn’t worked. I had told him that first thing in the morning would be best. I’m not good on camera, so at the very least, I’d like to do it when I’m clean, fresh, and looking a little more like a Remember board member and a little less like a refugee.

So this morning, before we did anything else, we tried to set up for an interview.  But, alas, our chosen location of the open air breakfast rendezvous proved too noisy because of the busy street right in front. Oh well, there would be time later and if I looked like a drowned rat, it would be so much more authentic.

When we arrived at Hope, I was given the important task of “a quick run into town” to get some fresh pineapples for everyone–including some local talent who were helping finish the trash task we had started yesterday.

I recruited Gino to go with me to keep it safe. Then I found the bus driver. Then I hunted for a translator to tell the bus driver where to go. The translator suggested we take the truck rather than the bus since the truck driver knew the local area better.  Probably a great idea since it can be difficult to maneuver the tight corners and narrow streets lined with bamboo huts selling various trinkets.  Our bus driver has proved it can be done, but no need to push it. Literally.

So I hunted down Curtis who said the truck was needed to haul trash so I better stick with the bus. But…I needed to be sure to take a translator with me.  The only person I found who could speak English couldn’t go but he could call someone else who could go. We would just have to wait for him to come from Faith.

While we were waiting, Geno thought we should give the interview another try.  With the generator running, it was too loud near the buildings, so we took a plastic chair and headed toward the front of the property. But just as we got there, and got set up, someone started running a weed eater. So…we dragged the chair, myself, Gino’s camera equipment, and my blue bag of everything important to me–through the orchard to find a quiet place for an interview.

It had rained pretty heavily the night before so the fire ants weren’t out in force, but I still rather gingerly picked my way through the muddy grass in my flip flops while dodging leaves and Jack fruit.   We reached a quiet spot and arranged the chair, the camera, and the microphone. Geno opened his mouth to ask the first question and a drop of rain hit.

In seconds, it was a steady pelt. We ran for the shelter of the trees, but it was basically like trying to use a dozen spatulas as an umbrella. Just not a great plan. I hunted around in my trusty blue bag for plastic to cover the camera with. And we tried to wait it out  –more just so we could feel like we accomplished something.  But after a while, not only was I getting passed the drowned rat stage, but Geno’s equipment was going to get ruined. Foiled again. 

Pastor Khar, the leader at Faith needed to speak with Curtis and I, so the newly arrived shopping translator, the bus driver, and my escort disbursed so I could have the fun of finding them again in a little while. So much for the quick run into town.

It was nearly noon by the time we finished and I re-recruited the bus driver, the translator, Geno, and Mary Lou for our quick run into town. Unfortunately, the bus was stuck.  In an ordeal that nearly took out the generator, one wall, and the rest of Rick Jackson’s non-gray hair (and involved four men pushing) , we got the bus turned around and we were on our way.  I had some other shopping to do, but this was just the quick run…we would do the real shopping later.

We have two busses–the Yummy Gummy and Light & Shine. We were in Light & Shine, but apparently, Yummy Gummy was feeling left out, because the next thing we knew, it was me, the escort, the translator, Mary Lou, the bus driver, the back up bus driver, and the back up bus and its two man crew threading our way through the narrow streets to get pineapple.      Seizing the moment, I did bend the rules a bit to buy the trash cans, brooms, and a few chairs. The translator did come in quite handy and just to make sure everyone had something to do, they loaded the chairs in the Yummy Gummy.

We did manage to get back to Hope with enough daylight left to make another stab at the interview. Because of sound issues, we had to head back to the orchard. The sound issues followed us when our Burmese help  turned on a radio to entertain the trash pickers. As an aside–We’ve been treated to our share of Burmese music during our daily rides in Light & Shine.  We all have at least one of the three songs on the rotation memorized.

So here we were–me in the chair; Geno with the camera; and the soft background music wafting through the damp air.

Why do you do this? He asked me.

Fair question. I knew I must be quite a sight. Wet, dirty, and a bit frazzled–feeling like my day wasn’t amounting to much.

Why do I do this?

I didn’t say it well. Maybe I can’t put it into words that do it anything like justice. But I do it for Zaw U. I do it for Kyi Yom. I do it for Naw Li.  I do it for Friday.  I do it for Hope. I do it for Jesus.

And I do it for me. Because it’s good for me to pick up trash. To go pineapple shopping. To sweep floors. To move beds. And to pick up beads.  Some days it doesn’t look like much. But maybe that’s the perfect thing to help me understand these people so I can love them a little bit more.
     P.S – the rats and mice have figured out this rat thing. The score is now 8 – 8.

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Day Four: Men at Work

Picture this: 30 plus construction workers on one site. Picture those workers living at that site for weeks. Now picture that in Burma…a place where cleanliness is next to godliness…right at the bottom of the list of priorities for human existence. 

Then let me back up and tell you about Hope. 

Remember’s work with persecuted Christians in Burma actually started about 10 years ago with Freedom house orphanage.  But after the children were relocated (and some killed) about five years ago, we began supporting Agape Children’s Home–a place for children of Karen and Kachin believers who needed a home. Some of these kids lost their lives directly due to Christian persecution. 

After Agape came Faith.  We supported about 50 more children at a second location.  

After meeting the kids, it was love at first sight. After visiting the facilities, not so much. No room for beds, no ventilation, no place to play soccer. Flooding at Faith. Over development around Agape. It was time to move. 

And that is why we needed Hope. God has blessed, and over the past few years, He provided the funds to purchase seven acres and build a new concrete structure that will not flood in anything short of Noah’s flood. 

This week is a major milestone in the  dream of Hope coming to life!  And God has put together a truly remarkable team of skilled craftsman. I’ve seen less hard working hills of ants. Today, in fact. 

The generator was already humming when I arrived at Hope this morning. Men were measuring. Cutting. Carrying. Pulling wire. Building stoves. Framing cabinets. Installing plumbing.  Assembling beds, beds, and beds. All of you with husbands and sons over here should be very proud. I mean that. 

   

  

  

 Since I don’t have any skills, I busied myself by grabbing empty cement bags and filling them with trash.  There was an endless supply of empty cement bags, the downer was having to dig them out of the mud and then flick off the worms. While getting eaten by fire ants.  But I really didn’t want our kids to start out life at their new home living inside a perimeter of construction garbage.  

It probably didn’t look much like a dream come true at that moment. Years of fundraising, planning, praying, working (and even days of going barefoot!) and here I am…finally at Hope stuffing empty bottles, cigarette packs, plastic candy wrappers, and various articles of muddy clothing into cement bags while slapping at fire ants and dodging rain drops. 

But that’s the stuff dreams are made of. Lots of praying. Lots of giving. Lots of hard work.  Lots of picking up garbage. 

Of course, without the blessing of God–all of this amounts to nothing.

So…thanks to everyone who has had a part in making this dream come true.  Those who travel and work; and those who stay and pray. 

In just two days, we plan to bring the kids to see their new home. And we have already been telling them about the people in the United States who love them and the Lord enough to sacrifice to make Hope a reality.  

But in the meantime, there is a whole lot of work to be done.  And a whole lot of prayers to be prayed. And a whole lot of trash to be bagged.  Unfortunately, I got fired from that job and I’ll have to find something else to do tomorrow. Bummer. 

   
P.S – this is Wade. Electrician and rat Cather extraordinaire. The score: Wade 6, Rats 3. 

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Day Three: Me at Play

The kids. A lot can be summed up in those two words. That’s why Remember supports the Faith and Agape homes. That’s why we come. That’s why we bring doctors. That’s why we are building bunk beds. That’s why we send money every month. That’s why we have Hope…But I’ll tell you about that in a later blog. 

The children’s ministry contingent of our team was at Agape for day three. The kids welcomed us with fanfare and sang even sang for us–One of the most beautiful choirs I’ve ever heard. Our phones and cameras fog up in the humidity making it difficult to get a good shot…or maybe it is just my eyes fogging up. 

  It was a little tough getting started. Our translators had not arrived which makes for a lot of fun. I’ll remain very greatful for Naw Li and a few other kids willing to exercise their mad English skills. 
We have a large team this time and everyone jumped in and made fast friends of the children.  For me, there was a good mixture of old and new faces–some we’ve seen grow into handsome young men and women. 

Because of the clinic set up, we moved our activities into the boys dorm– a thatched building with a patched floor that covers the mud and standing water below; and a thin roof that seems to amplify the sound of the beating rain.  It is hot in there–even with the windows open to let in the breeze and squares of light.  I cannot wait to see these children go to Hope–but I’ll tell you about that in a later blog. 

We played. We painted. We tried to communicate. We watched in despair as puzzle pieces fell through the cracks in the floor. We decorated bags. We painted boxes. Then I looked at the clock. It had been about an hour. Time to get creative!

We made bracelets. My, but we made bracelets!  There was not a soul among the 40+ kids that didn’t seem to enjoy twisting colored bands into bracelets.  To all of you who donated bands and looms–God bless you!

I believe we accomplished our goal of sharing the love of Christ and encouraging these kids to seek Him. Or perhaps that is never a goal you accomplish. Just a field you keep farming. 

Time seems to fly and crawl when we are there and we reached the end of our visit all too soon. If you hate long goodbyes, never come with us to Butma. You will say goodbye, get pictures, give hugs, waive. Then do it all again. Then get on the bus. Then do it all again.

    If we were allowed to take them with us, there would not be any kids at Agape children’s home. Or Hope for that matter…but more on that in a later blog. 

  
P.S–if you followed the last story, just want you to know the score is now Wade-5, Rats-2.

Posted on by lgandre

Day Two: Rats at Play

So…if you read my last blog, you may have choked on the first sentence.      

I know how I think. 

And when I read “we arrived at the resort/hotel”...  I think sandy beaches and five star accommodations.  I don’t think mission trip. And you might be the same way. 

So let me just clarify something.  This isn’t the kind of resort where you get unlimited fluffy towels, soap, and toilet paper. But to give you the best picture, I’ll just start by telling you what happened after we said said our goodbyes to the kids Sunday night and worked our way back to our rooms.  Mind you, I have a very nice room and it does overlook a large pond/small lake and if I had time, it might be fun to sit out on the porch and enjoy the view. 

Mind you, it is also true that about 10:30 pm when I and a few others had finished repacking bags for the next day and were ready to call it a night, I was very grateful to see Wade Jackson show up with rat traps. 

Even though I had slept hard the night before, the one thing I remembered is the russle of tiny bodies in various locations around my room. 

The Jackson’s had warned us not to keep food out and they did NOT have to tell me twice. But if I was in for I repeat appearance of the furry little monsters, I was not opposed to it being their last. 

Wade had no sooner set the traps and headed for the door than we heard one snap. Hmm…probably wasn’t set quite right. I figured. 

It was me that was wrong. 

One down, an undefined number to go. 

With that boost of confidence that we were winning the rat war, I clicked off the light, laid my tired self in bed, and listened to the almost immediate scampering of my furry friends. I thanked God for teenage boys who are willing to set rat traps and I drifted to sleep. 

It was not long later when I was awakened by a snap! followed by a thump, thump, thump, thump…as that particular creature refused to give in to the jaws of death. I laid still, not about to intervene unless absolutely necessary. Things were eventually quiet and I fell back asleep believing that perhaps his friends would wise up and just go away. 

It was about 1:30 when I heard the other Snap! followed by its own thumping. 

Score: Wade 3, Rats…?  I didn’t know. 

That was all of the traps however. It would be quiet the rest on the night. 

Not so much. It was like their stories had been published in the obits and their friends came to pay their respects or something. I kept hearing rustling, scampering, gnawing…I even turned on the light at one point but the only rats I saw were the two with their heads on the chopping blocks. 

Sleep still evaded me.  It was the ones under my bed that really kept me on edge. At one point, I was sure I felt one creeping along the end of my bed and while I didn’t scream, I did start kicking wildly–listening intently for the sound of a rat flying across the room before thumping on to the floor. But it never came. It was just me and the realization that that particular critter was in my head and not in my bed. 

Whew. 

 They were not all in my head and Wade can testify to that.  Because when he got there the next morning to empty the traps, at least one of them had already been disposed of by his ex-friends. They left just enough behind to make his prior existence undeniable. We’ll leave it at that. 

So, I’m not complaining. I’m just explaining.  We have it great and we are honored to be here. But if you hear the terms “resort” and “hotel,” don’t think about white sand and five star accommodations. Think about me getting two hours of sleep.   

And definitely not about fluffy towels, soap, or unlimited toilet paper.