Back to America

September 9th, 2014

I’m writing this from the airport, waiting for the first of a 3 planes to take me back to America. I’m so excited to be going back, to see family and friends again, to see and hug all the people I haven’t been able to talk with face-to-face in 7 months. At the same time, I’m leaving with the feeling of wanting to be able to teleport back to Africa whenever I want, to go to the market, practice French, visit people or check how patients at the clinic are doing. 

In some ways, I feel like it is time to leave, and like I have reached a place where I have done what I came to do. I am confident and believe so much in the people who are going to continue teaching and helping with the nutrition education program, and with the Moringa project. I believe it’s going into capable hands, to people who care deeply about the ones they serve, people who inspire me with their faith and love for Jesus.

The last month of being here I spent putting together a nutrition book. It is basically a plan of how to identify people who are malnourished or really needing nutrition help, and then how to carry out the actions needed to address those issues. The book also includes an index with many different health problems, along with instructions and education sheets about nutrition can help. Now, the clinic workers will be able to have that as a guide and teach others. It feels good to be able to leave them with that.

Creating education materials! The little girl across from me is
Mimi. She is the daughter of Fatou, a woman who works at the
clinic. Mimi usually came to work with her mom and would hang
out with me and Grandmom as we worked.

 

Grandmom, Mimi, and me.

On the other hand, it’s hard to leave the people that I have become so used to seeing every day. As the days got closer to when it was time for me to leave, I realized more and more how much I would miss everything here. Especially not knowing the next time I will see all these people again – my church family, the ladies I always buy fruit from at the market, the people who work at the clinic, the regular patients who have become friends. The relationships that I have with these people are so special to me.


Koniba (all better now!) and his grandmother, who takes care of
him and his 2 sisters. A family very close to my heart.

Thinking about this journey and looking back, I am just thankful, for so many things.

I’m thankful for all the people have supported me, encouraged me, and prayed with and for me. For the friends and brothers and sisters in Christ who I have met along the way. For all of the people who have no idea how they have blessed my life and how much they mean to me. I'm thankful to even have this opportunity in the first place, to come here and learn and serve. It has been an adventure, one where even the simple things in life are difficult but which makes the little joys and victories so much more meaningful. And being able to know the joy from these things is something that I would never trade.

I’m thankful that the time here that allowed me to be able to know people personally and develop relationships with them. The people here who have welcomed me so willingly into their lives and homes, who have taught me and laughed with me. Familiar faces and personalities that I have come to know and love. These are real people with real stories, who if you would meet them too you would know that they are they aren’t so much “poor people who I am helping” as people who teach and are a blessing to me. People who are strong, hard-working, and caring.  Who have their own personalities, hopes and dreams just like people everywhere.

Yes, in many ways things are different than in America, but a lot of it is because people here just value different things, and life here is based around those values. For example, people here could care less if clothes match, or if toys are made out of old bike tires and tin cans. Things that don’t last just aren’t so important. People don’t need anything more than a little cement house with one or 2 small rooms, because they spend all of their time outside in the courtyard anyway. Cooking, washing, playing, talking, and being in community with each other. Values and life are based around getting along with each other, helping people who need help, visiting people who are sick. They have an understanding that people are what matters.

Included in these people who I cannot thank enough for everything they have done for me and made my time here so special, are the missionaries…Andy and Stephanie Gable and their 5 kids. As basically the only other white people in town, and the only other Americans, I really don’t know what I would have done without them. They’re the ones who have built their lives here, and have helped me understand the culture and community here works. They’ve shared stories of their experiences here and been such an encouragement to me in so many ways. The kids always left me flowers and notes on my door, Andy would take time from all the work he does to help me with questions that I had. Stephanie would me her expertise on sewing projects, and for their weekly pizza night I always got to make a side with all different varieties of vegetables. (To my fellow pizza hut workers who know my love of topping pizzas with veggies galore, ...some things just never change). As another side note, it’s a little sad to think of how less colorful/green their pizza nights will be now.

 

The pizza crew!

Anyways, onwards. I’m thankful for the opportunity and challenge of learning French, and even some Jula.  For being able to have a basic conversation in a language not my own. Other simple things, like recognizing someone I know as I’m walking around town, and stopping to talk or say hi.

Buying mangos on the side of the road.

I’ll miss the market with all its business and people and crowded narrow stalls, even the smell of raw meat and seeing who knows what animal parts laying out on display. There’s something that it is just so appalling about it that it makes me love it even more.

 

 

Also, buying all the exotic fruits and trying new things and making friends with all women selling things.  Every trip to the market was an adventure.

 

All other things too…visiting people, teaching English, playing with the missionary kids next door. The more things I think about, the more grateful I am to have so many things and people I am going to miss.

Mama Shoke, and some of the kids that she has adopted into
her family after they were left with no one to take care of them.
 Possibly the most joyful ladys I know in the entire world.

And in the middle of all of this bittersweet thankfulness, I find Jesus. I don’t even know what to say to people who think that anything I have done is special, because if they actually saw me here and knew how much I didn't/don’t know, how clueless and lost I often felt, they would know without a doubt that anything that went RIGHT was only because of the grace of God. I really can’t take any credit.

I can’t know the love that Jesus has for me and not want to lose my life serving Him. I feel alive and like I am doing what I was created to do when I live knowing I am loved my Him and that nothing else matters more. The kind of love where I don’t care if I make a fool out of myself because I know that nothing I do for Jesus will ever be wasted. So all the French I’ve butchered, the mistakes I made, the times I don’t understand what’s going on and I feel so different and misunderstood, like I can’t express what I really want to say... I always want to be thankful even when I feel like being frustrated, because it just means that I can relate to my Savior more. I know that somehow and in some way, everything is going to be okay, because Jesus knows, and He is right here with me. He “gets” it, He’s lived it too, and I love knowing that there won’t ever be something that He doesn’t.  Going home, with life changing again, there is such comfort and assurance knowing that God is the same always and everywhere, even when everything else changes. My solid and un-moving hope, no matter where I am or where I am going.

It is a custom here in Ivory Coast that when you are visiting someone at their house and are ready to leave, you have to demande la route, or ask for the road. It’s like asking for permission to leave, because when you visit someone it is understood that you are under their care, their protection. And when the person responds and “gives you the road”, they will usually add that you can have half the road, so that with the other half of the road you can come back again. That a part of their protection, their love, will always be with you as you go. For me, I don’t know exactly what the road ahead will look like. But I am blessed beyond words to be able to carry in my heart all the love I have received from the people here, all the experiences that I’ve had in Cote D’Ivoire, with me as I go.

Living with the locals

This past week I spent 5 days living with an African family in town.  During this time, Haruna and his wife Poupaula, along with their teenage son and 3 younger daughters, welcomed me and my friend/teammate Courtney into their lives and little cement house next to the rice fields.

I learned and experienced so much in such a short amount of time during my stay with this beautiful family. It’s hard though, because when I try to describe it, words just don’t do it justice. (Actually I feel like I have this problem a lot, trying to explain anything about life and what I am experiencing here). And because I can’t fully explain it I end up not wanting to write anything at all. But I’m learning that’s ok to have moments that just can’t be shared with anyone else. There is something special about experiences that only Jesus understands, secret moments that are between me and Him alone.

At the same time, I know this experience is not really about me. It’s about Jesus, and what He’s doing, and to not share it would be a really sad thing. So from my eyes and with imperfect words I’ll try to express a very small part of the story of life that God is writing here.

The time with our host family was spent simply by living life with them. Which meant...going to the fields with Haruna and watching as he pounded dried rice grass against large metal barrels, so that the grains of rice fell into a big tarp in the middle of the circle of workers. Going to the market to sell onions, garlic, and matches with Poupuala. Walking through the narrow rows of market stalls and stands with her 10-year-old daughter Bentou, selling plastic bags for people to carry their food. Taking bucket showers under the stars, sleeping under a mosquito net, and learning Dioula (the main language spoken by many Muslims who live in town). Sitting on wooden benches and talking with people as they pass by on the dirt path that crosses the yard, on their way to the fields or the market. Eating meals of kabatoe (dense balls of dough made by boiling corn flour and water and stirring it until it turns solid), attieke, and rice with different kinds of sauces from one big community dish or bowl. With our hands of course.

One time in the middle of the night I wake up in our too-hot room between Courtney and Bentou. I try to avoid arms and legs as I crawl to the edge of the bed and under the mosquito net, so I can step outside and get some air and use the bathroom (aka, pit latrine). As I open the door the warm night breeze hits me I have to stop to take it all in. Where I am and the beauty of the night around me, the kind of moment that makes you think, how did I get here? The fireflies make the tall grass and green plants on the edge of the rice fields sparkle like the stars in the clear sky. The air still smells like campfire, from the fire under which dinner was cooked in a big pot, and the night hums with the sounds of crickets and people singing and dancing somewhere nearby to the steady beat of drums.

Because Haruna and his family are Muslim, we were also able to observe Ramadan with them. For the whole month, they fast from sun-up to sun-down. Our last full day we spent with them, we joined them in their fast, waking up at 4 am to eat a big breakfast of rice and sauce. When they went to the mosque to pray, Courtney and I sat on a straw mat on the ground in our room, reading our Bibles with flashlights and spending extra time with Jesus before the sun rose. And later that night, we celebrated the end of the fast with them at sunset with fufu (fried balls of mashed up beans) and 3 different kinds of dishes that they had prepared. It was a really neat thing to get to experience. All the others days except for that one though, they wouldn't hear of us going without food, and fed us often with spaghetti sandwiches and heaping bowls of attieke. About every 3 hours they made sure we were given some kind of food, and portions at the main meals for us alone were enough to feed a family of 6.

The last day of our stay, Haruna continued to teach us more words in Dioula. (In any moment of down-time during the week, he took it upon himself to teach us this language that sounds nothing close to either French or English by rapid-firing common Djoula words to us. Which varied between being very overwhelming and very funny).

"Duniya, the world", he says, and then uses it in a sentence. “The world is very difficult. Oui, le monde est difficil, c'est sa,” he repeats in French with a serious face. I ask him how to say the word for hope. He thinks about it for a minute, like he’s trying to figure out if there is a word for it in Dioula. Finally his face lights up. “Jighi,” he says. He explains that, "For example, I have hope in you. J'ai 'Jighi'. Or maybe you have hope in your family, or your husband, or your friend."

My heart skips with excitement, because I know where my hope is. I tell him simply, "My hope is in Jesus. How do you say that?" Haruna has heard about who Jesus is from missionaries who had held a Bible-story telling group a number of years ago. "Ah yes, Jesus is for all the world," he says with a grin, and he teaches me how to say it in Jioula, pronouncing the sentence slowly and multiple times so that I can copy it into my notebook on my lap.  

I can't keep the smile off my face. Nn ta jighi bay Jesus. My hope is in Jesus.

Before we leave, Haruna thanks us for visiting his family out of all the people that we could have stayed with in Abengourou. (I love that opening your home to others is considered an honor for the hosts in this culture.) He tells us that here is very different than when we live in America, and to take the lessons we have learned here in Cote d'Ivoire with us wherever we go. But I’m learning that even though living here is nothing like what I am used to, as people we are more the same than we are different. And, "Don’t forget Africa," he adds. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.     
 

Just thinking...

I like being here a lot. I love getting to know the people, learning the language, learning what it means to love and learning how far the love of my God really reaches. I love it even when I feel like dirt never comes off my feet and it's so hot and humid that I can't move without sweating, because I know that in this dirt and mess Jesus is with me still. I like learning about people’s lives and their stories and the realness of them. Especially because I feel like people can’t hide the mess of their lives so well here, where as in America we just do a better job of making it look like we’ve got everything together. 

Not to say that things are constantly all wonderful and amazing here either. Even though I know I should seek the beauty in every single day, there are days that I forget to look. Days that just seem normal and that nothing special has happened. It goes back and forth, because there are memorable days when I feel so confident and sure of God’s plan for me and stand amazed at all He is doing in my life and the lives of people around me.  Then there are the days where I just don’t know what I’m doing here at all.  Where I feel like I can't do anything right and I wonder if anything I am doing makes any difference at all.

As I wonder if I am doing anything that matters, God reminds me that I am not the one who will change lives or do anything amazing. That is His job.  Mine is to love the person in front of me, and I am learning more of what that means and looks like every day.

Paul writes in 1 Cor 15:58, "So then, my dear friends, stand firm and steady. Keep busy always in your work for the Lord, since you know that nothing you do in the Lord's service is ever useless".

Nothing. No matter how small, every act of love matters. And the love is the most important part, because actions in themselves are empty anyway. It's the love of Jesus that changes lives.

I need His help so much because it doesn’t work trying to make myself love like Him on my own. And sometimes I get so caught up in distractions and little things that don’t matter, that I forget just how pitiful my attempts are.

And even though I really do not like messing up and getting it wrong, the times when I realize how imperfect and weak I am, there is a strange sense of comfort of knowing how impossible it is to do it on my own. Of how short I really fall from the perfect holiness and majesty of all that is my God.

Because when I feel like I’m not doing enough and feel lost and confused and like I failed at loving like I’ve been loved, I open the pages of the Bible and read that still He is with me.

That He is mighty to save, that He takes great delight in me, even when I struggle to grasp why.

That even before He laid the foundations of the earth He chose me to be His own. To be perfect and blameless in His eyes. His adopted child, ransomed by Jesus’ blood, because that was how much the God of the universe wanted me, me, and poured out this love to us all in a beautiful thing called grace.

It’s this kind of grace that doesn’t depend on me and my shortcomings that picks me up and gives me hope that God can use me. A trust that He is doing something even when I can’t see it or feel it. That He started a good work in me, and it is HIM who will complete it. In all of my failures and mistakes that it takes to get there I know it’s going to be okay somehow, because my defense is in Jesus and He will never fail.

Moringa

A little over a year ago I finished my thesis just in time to graduate. It was on a plant called Moringa and how it's seeds could be used to purify water. The idea sounded really exciting to me; like God's natural solution to the problem in developing countries of people who don't have access to clean drinking water.  Instead these people drink water from unprotected ponds, creeks and rivers, causing intestinal worms, malnutrition, diarrhea and even death - especially in children. I was amazed to learn that Moringa evens grows best in the parts of the world where malnutrition is the most prevalent.  I researched and planned and spent countless hours collecting information about the importance of clean water.  How it purifying water with Moringa could reduce so many preventable diseases and their devastating effects. This was going to be so great.

Except, the experiment didn't work.

I was disappointed. Why was this happening? What went wrong? This plan was supposed to be flawless. I changed a few things and spend another whole day in the lab over spring break re-doing the experiment. I prayed, God, please let this work this time. I want this to work. I want to prove that this can help people.

It still didn't work.

I wrote my conclusion with it's failing results anyway. I hated making the "results" graph with the steady line that just reminded me of what didn't happen.

I graduated and went to Africa.

Moringa grows commonly here in Ivory Coast but few people know the extend of it's amazing health benefits.  The leaves are packed with nutrition and can cure almost any vitamin/mineral deficiency.  I get to help teach people about how to cook with this plant and how good this tree is that often grows in their courtyard or somewhere near where they live.

The other day we were in the village of Kogina where we are planting Moringa in Papa Trough's field. The term "field" here refers to a small area of cleared land in the middle of a vast expanse of wilderness, reached by walking a narrow winding path to get to. Trees and plants in every shade of green cover the hilly landscape and the scenery looks like a dinosaur sighting is could be completely possible, while above all the green the brilliant clouds are stretched out across the sky. 

 

 

Grandmama and Papa Trough in their Moringa field.

 

The man who lives in the little mud house or campemont in these fields works clearing and burning plots of land for planting. I follow a trail to the pond that him and his family get their water from, including their water for drinking. I can't help but take back some of the water in an empty water bottle to take it back to my house and test it out with the Moringa seeds. Just because.

 

Amimatta and her father live and work in the fields. 

 

 The pond where Amimatta and her family get their water from.

Annd the experiment begins...

 

I pour out the dirty water into a jar,

pound a Moringa seed into powder, and mix it into the dirty water.

 I wait about 30 minutes until it looks like all the dirt has been pulled to the bottom.

And then I pour the clean water on top into another jar.

 

 

IT WORKED. (!!!!!!!!!!)

 

It was a special moment and kind of ironic but even so I could hardly contain my excitement. This was for real! And to be able to share this with people that are living with the reality of drinking this kind of water is amazing. Not to mention so much more exciting than writing a 90 page thesis on it.

After my excitement died down, I had to smile when I realized that God had answered my prayer from over a year ago. It was answered way later than I expected and in a completely different context than I ever imagined. But here it is. I won't pretend I know how and why God works the way He does. But I am amazed and stand in awe that I can pray to a God who hears, who sees, who knows, and who answers, even when it is in a way that is so different from the way I would have planned it.

Depending on God

When I arrive at the clinic this morning I walk over to Wisdom’s office. Wisdom has worked at the clinic since it opened. He is the kind of guy who can make the atmosphere instantly calm just by walking into a room. It’s his understanding, non-judgmental, easy-going nature that makes him so perfectly cut out for his job as a counselor for patients who have HIV.

I tell him the story of what happened yesterday when I got home, after talking with him about the current serious problems the clinic is facing and assuring him I would pray.  I tell him how 8-year old Sage showed up at my door, and how we prayed together for the impossible situation. Of how she asked how much money the clinic needed. I told her I wasn’t sure the exact amount, but that it was a lot. Really a lot. “I’m going to do something a little crazy. Be right back,” she announced. She runs next door and comes back a few seconds later with her change purse. She pours out all the coins she has, then carefully adds them up and gives them to me. The amount is a grand total of 370F, not even 1 US dollar. “Give it to the clinic and tell them this is from me,” she says. So matter-of-fact. So undeterred by the huge need.

And who am I to tell her it doesn’t make sense? Jesus fed well over 5,000 people with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. So I hand the money to Wisdom in a bright pink envelope and tell him the story. We can’t help smiling, knowing that we have been taught something really special about what it means to trust God with the childlike faith that He so desires. Wisdom says he will share the story with the rest of the staff to encourage them, and that he will tell people at church on Sunday. And from this attitude of faith, the impossible doesn’t seem quite so impossible. Because we are thinking about the God who we are praying to, as we continue to pray for this situation that is just so out of our hands – the God of the impossible. We are relying on Him to provide, so that His work here will continue.

Because this clinic is God’s work. Our church is filled with people who started coming because they were invited when they first came to the clinic for help. The clinic is a place that is known for its caring staff; the warm and inviting way that each person who comes to the clinic's doors is taken care of. It is a place that keeps people from spending all of what little savings they might have on special charms for protection and healing, and resorting to witch doctors for cures and remedies for their sicknesses. We’ve even had witch doctors come to the clinic, which is an amazing testimony by itself! Everyone in need receives help here, and no one is turned away.

What's more, the clinic has such a high success rate of healing and return visits that national programs have asked what this clinic is doing differently. Other clinics started following our clinic’s example of investing in social services, a non-income generating job that exists to help people through issues that medicine can’t solve. Issues like dealing with the social stigma attached to people with HIV, and how to tell their spouse or family that they have the disease. Patients are also told why their ARV medicine is so important to take, even when they start to feel healthy again – something that many other medical facilities here don’t bother to explain. The counselors here teach people that their disease doesn’t define them. Most importantly, they tell patients that they are a person who God loves and who Jesus died for. And patients have come to trust and respect these wonderful people who work in our social services department. This place that is safe and confidential and where they don’t feel judged.

There are even HIV support groups that have developed through the help of the clinic, which meet either at the clinic or at peoples houses. One of my favorite stories I’ve heard was when a group of people from all different people groups gathered for such a support meeting. The rich sat next to the poor; there was young and old, different languages and cultures all mixed together. Among them was a rich Anyi man. Here was a man who had every right in society to look down on those around him. He had a high social status, a deserving and prideful attitude. He stood up from his seat next to a few poor old Dyula women.  And with tears in his eyes, he said something that no one would ever had expected him to say. “It just feels so good to be in a place where everyone is just like me.”

I can only imagine being there to witness that.  One of those moments that just leaves you in awe, thinking, “God...this is Your work...wow.”

And now, the clinic is in danger of having to stop HIV care.

The situation is something like this. The clinic is in a partnership with another organization that provides funding for the clinic’s activities. A short while back, after agreeing on a budget and signing the contract, the organization cut the amount. By a lot. People would have to work without pay to make ends meet, in order to continue seeing patients and investing in HIV care. And they have. But if this wasn’t hard enough, they were recently told that this amount (which wasn’t even enough to make it until this October) now had to be enough to make it until March of next year. Basically meaning that the clinic would have to run with no funding for 6 months. Basically meaning that the situation is impossible.

For us, that is. Which is why I am asking for prayer. Because nothing is impossible for God. I believe that He hears our prayers. I believe that He knows our problems. I believe that He cares. Even in the past few months alone, I have seen God answer prayers in situations where I have no idea what to do and so I just pray. I have experienced Him providing in amazing ways. I know He is able.

And really, this situation is an opportunity - to depend fully on God for the clinic’s needs. It’s one thing to say that we trust God to provide our needs while relying on other people. I know I am guilty of it. Sometimes I think it can even happen without intending to rely on someone or something other than God. But the situation now is simple. We need a miracle. We need God's gracious help. We have no options but Him. Please pray with us that God will come through in this situation like only He can!

"Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."
 – Ephesians 3:20-21

A Morning at the Market

There’s a little boy I know named Diallo who only has one pair of faded, worn out clothes. So early one Saturday morning I head to the part of the market when I have seen people selling clothing. Because it is still early, the clothes are not laid out on tarps yet.  There are just a few bundles of clothes strapped tightly together. As the first one is cut open and poured out, women are literally on the ground scrambling and pushing and shoving to have first pick.

For the children’s clothes, the woman selling them sits on little stool and piece by piece looks at each item before tossing it onto 1 of 4 piles, by size of the clothing. I join a few other women sitting around watching, going over to a pile when we see something we want. One woman takes it upon herself to help me decide on some good picks. “Ici, c’est joli,” she says smiling, smoothing out a little pink undershirt with flowers. I say thank you but tell her that I’m looking for a boy about 6 months old.  

“Ah, oui! Un garçon,” she repeats, although half of the things she continues to pick up to show me are still pink or have ribbons.

As more clothes are thrown onto the piles, a woman with a shawl wrapped around her face picks up a baby bib with a big pocket at the bottom. I try not to laugh as she holds it up to her friend with a questioning look, who responds with a face that shows she is obviously just as confused.

After a few seconds of leaving them in suspense, I attempt to explain the real purpose of this mysterious item of clothing. “C’est pour quand un bebe mange,” I say, “Si il renverse…" I trail off and demonstrate that the pocket can catch the food. Translation: It is for when a baby eats. If he to spill…” (So not perfect French grammar, but they got the message).“Ahh,” both women say in unison, nodding, and their confused looks are replaced with ones that give the message of, “Well, that’s strange.” Shrugging, the woman holding the bib pats it and places it back down on the pile. 

It’s moments like these that I feel like God is letting me in on something really special.

These opportunities to reach across a cultural bridge and connect with people from the most different of backgrounds, even if it’s in a really simple way. To step out and choose to see past myself and my own little world and learn something new. God is opening my eyes to see that everyone has a story, and that it’s always worth it to take the time to reach out to other people and to know theirs.

A few days later me and 2 friends that I work with at the clinic, Grandmama and Marceline, hop in the car that belongs to the mission to go visit Diallo and His elderly grandma.  Diallo's mother died a few months after he was born, most likely due to complications of AIDS.  With the father not in the picture either, this grandma is the only family left to care for both Diallo and his 2 sisters.

There is no one at their home when we arrive, but it's probably a good sign that on this day she has been able to find work washing someone's laundry. Just as we are turning to leave, "Tantiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine!" Auntie! Three little kids are running towards me, even as I try to tell them to slow down. The only reason for this being that the oldest girl, who I'm guessing is around 6 years old, has baby Diallo tied to her back with a faded pagne, the colorful fabric that everyone makes their clothes out of here. As she runs his little head is bouncing up and down behind her small shoulders.

I hug the kids and hold their hands as we walk back to their house.  We give them eggs that someone at the clinic gave to us to give to anyone in need. And in a wrapped plastic bag I place a few new clean clothes for Diallo on top. When we walk back to the car we give the kids some little bags of "Chipsy" that I keep in the trunk of the car for whenever we go on family visits. ("Chipsy" is the brand name of a snack company here that makes things like chips, popcorn and peanuts). It's amazing how happy these kids get at the sight of a little bag of popcorn, and I love how this small gift can make their day. I see the kids waving in the rearview mirror as we drive away.

It's special moments like these, just like the morning at the market, that are tying my heart to the people in this country.  Visiting with the ones who are going through some hard times, bringing food to people really in need, the joy of knowing that you can do something to make some little kids' faces light up with excitement. 

I’m learning that every day, God is inviting us on an adventure, if only we will step across the lines we’ve created for ourselves and allow Him to take us on it. He is able to open our blind eyes to see the opportunities he gives us every day, to love the people around us who are Jesus in disguise.

I can guarantee this truth: Whatever you did for one of my brothers or sisters, no matter how unimportant they seemed, you did for me. -Jesus

Healing love

 

 

Meet Aisha and Affousata.  They are 1 year and a few months old. Their mom, Ramatou, brought them to the clinic a little more than a month ago.  One of them was very sick, and both of them were very malnourished.  

I remember when we visited them at home for the first time and seeing the girls sitting naked in the dirt.  As their young mom held a bag of soupy white porridge, one of the girls stood on her stick-like legs crying and reaching for it while leaning against her mother’s lap, legs that couldn't support even her thin body frame.

Ramatou is a student and won't be able to start working for another 2 months. After school loans she is already in debt and must rely on the rest of her extended family for money and food. While she’s away at school, it’s hard to know what the girls are being fed, although from the looks of them it’s definitely not very much. It's possible that the other aunties in the courtyard don’t make feeding them a priority because the twins aren’t their kids and they’re just two more mouths to feed anyway. 

This culture breeds the survival mindset, meaning that until the age when children can do anything useful they are often only another burden in a life that is already too hard. If a small child dies it is common for the mother to be told to stop crying, after all, it was only a baby. Here, the ones who suffer most from the effects of poverty are the kids. They are the ones who are innocent and helpless and who can do nothing about it.

They’re also the ones that God cares deeply about. The ones He asks us to take care of. In Proverbs 31:8, He reminds me of His heart for these little ones:

"Open your mouth for those who cannot speak, and for the rights of those who are left without help"

A little baby who died not too long ago because of careless neglect and issues that grown-ups couldn’t work out is still so clear in my mind. As is the resulting promise that I never ever wanted to wonder again if there was anything more I could have done to prevent a precious life from slipping away. One who was created in the image of God and who deserves a chance at life and a future.

We start to see the twins at the clinic regularly.  Whenever Ramatou brings them all the people on the staff know these little girls and come to ask how they are doing.  I am in all my glory getting to regularly make them bags of a super-nutritious concoction of peanut paste, dried milk, sugar, oil, and Moringa powder.

 

We also visit their family at home often to see how they are doing.  One Sunday Ramatou came to church with us in the little building where we meet right next to the clinic.  Somewhere in the middle of all this I think she started to realize that we really cared about her and her family.

Because it seemed like all of a sudden, something just changed. The twins came to the clinic one day with clean clothes and little hats covering their heads.  They were even wearing thin shoes on their tiny feet.  Ramatou said that Affousata had started to stand and even take a few steps on her own. As she tells us about these things, it seems like there is new life and hope in her voice and in her eyes.

We continue to visit them, and I notice that there is suddenly enough food to feed the twins and that now they are now always washed and wearing clean clothes. The girls’ previously overextended bellies are getting smaller while their arms and legs and beautiful little faces are getting fuller. 
  
I guess I can’t say for sure what changed, what made the difference for the better.  But I think that when you believe that someone really cares about you, it changes you.  You start to think that maybe you matter. Maybe there is hope. Maybe you are worth it. Maybe the lie you have believed for so long, that your life doesn't make a difference, isn't true. 

It is by our love that people will come to know that this hope is real and lasts forever because of Jesus. Jesus said that as we have been loved, we must love each other. That people would know His followers by the way that they love.

Because how can anyone even begin to grasp the truth that God cares about them if they have never experienced what love looks like in their life? This is what Jesus is all about, the hope He brings. That you are worth it. You are worth dying for. There is a God that wants you, who says I love you and you are mine. There is hope and joy unspeakable in knowing Jesus, in learning that you are a child of the King. There is no better news, no higher hope, no truer love. It changes lives and changes everything, for the better.