Hopes and Expectations EXCEEDED!

We held our first official "Conversation Club" with the refugee women today... and, well.... I'm grinning.  Ya know the kind that's rooted so deeply in your heart that it can't help but inch all the way up and glisten from your face?  Yeah that kind.  

Of all the things that I was praying on my drive over to the complex I can't think of one thing that didn't get answered!  God was good to us and His heart is blessed today I'm sure.  There is something so beautiful about a small group of women from different walks of life, ranging from 25 years old to 67, some alone and others not, but all definitely in need of feeling loved, heard, and important coming together to talk about life, gain insight into others' trials and triumphs, to feel broken with the downcast and then walk away feeling changed and maybe with a sliver more of wholeness.  

Here were some of the highlights...

* OPENNESS!!  When the ladies got to share their general stories we were surprised at the willingness to go a little deeper than we were asking.  Slowly but surely some of the women began telling of their tragedies in escaping their war-torn countries.  I prayed beforehand that God would allow us to see His heart for their hurts and wounds, that we might see the hidden parts of their journeys so we can know how to love them well.  I remember sitting there in awe and remembering my prayer... and I just smiled.  

These women want to be known.  

They are already much more vulnerable than I expected and it was just the first day of introductions.  

* DETERMINATION!!  We visited with a 67-year old Burmese woman who escaped her country when she was 61!!  And she did it ALONE.  She escaped Burma and spent 3 years in Malaysia which would be the equivalent of a single Mexican grandma crossing illegally to America and working crap jobs under the table for any cash she could get.  There are no camps in Malaysia like there are in Thailand so the refugees who flee south to Malaysia have no government refuge and must fend for themselves.  3 years later she was accepted into the Resettlement program and arrived at Serrano Village in Phoenix.  Of the 6 ladies that came her English was by far the best.  As a general observation, if the refugees arrive past the age of 40 (or so) it is quite rare that they (a) learn the language at all, let alone (b) become proficient in it.  She was simply amazing, yet my heart breaks because I am sure due to her age she is full of horrific memories from the genocide in her country.  

Another woman was also an older single refugee woman but she was from Baghdad, Iraq.  She knew no English upon arriving.  She took the bus for 6 months all across town and would map the routes out herself to learn the city.  She enrolled in college where she continues to learn English.  She lives alone in a very modest studio apartment where she remembers the large house and new car she left behind after Muslim extremists left a message that read:  If you are not gone in 3 days time we will come back and kill you.  

These are just a few stories from today, but I am blown away at the drive and determination of these incredibly inspiring women.  

* HUMILITY/THANKFULNESS!!  The last question that we wanted them to answer as they introduced themselves was "What about America shocked you when you arrived?".  Their answers were windows into their souls.  One woman said, "Freedom".  Simple freedom.  Another elaborated and said, "You can do what you want" after explaining that her people were forced into imprisonment if they refused to adhere to the King of Bhutan's tyranny.  Another woman as she watched her one-year old son play at her feet said, "That I could have my baby and the government paid for it".  This will immediately aggravate some people, but for me, I just smiled for her.  I smiled because she didn't feel entitled at all.  She didn't feel like she got away with something.  She felt helped.  And she felt shocked by the help.  She was humbled by the help.  She was nothing but thankful and moved that she wasn't turned away because she had nothing to offer.  Another woman was shocked that it's safe here and there's justice.  She felt protected by the law.  She commented that even the dogs are protected.  That made us all laugh... but then she returned to sharing what a contrast it was in her country where you can't trust anyone that's meant to "help" and how power is abused at every level.  Another woman shared that her surprise came when she realized just how hard learning English was.  She was dropped into the city and could only say, "Yes" "No" and "Thank You".  We all laughed as she mimicked herself in those early months as she held her hands together, bowing her head down and saying, "Yes, no, thank you" all in one sentence... because that's all she knew!  How far she has come in 3 years.  She came as a single mother and now she's married and expected a spring baby while sitting in a conversation club without a translator.  What a beautiful thing.  

ANYWAY... those are some of the stories.  As in all of my interactions with folks from other cultures and backgrounds, I walked away moved and humbled that I can learn about life from such precious souls.  I believe God is going to do great things in all of us, and He was already so faithful today in giving us His eyes to see into their hearts.  And what tender, thankful, perseverant hearts they are. 

A NEW WORK! (insert cheers!)

Greetings!  What joy I have sitting down before the house stirs and preparing to write about new work with refugees!  From the outset I'd like to say that God is awesome!  I'm grinning as I think that when His hands were forming my mind and my heart as my momma grew me in her womb that He purposefully placed a yearning and partiality in me for the nations.  What a beautiful thing!  ANYWAY... the new work!  What is it?? 

Today I get to return to Serrano Village and knock on the doors of some women and invite them to come and do what women of all cultures LOVE to do.  TALK!  

Background:  I serve on the board of a ministry to refugees called "Abounding Service" (aboundingservice.org) who's mission is to "provide Life Skills training to legally admitted refugees, demonstrating the love of Jesus through word and deed to foreign born people God is bringing to America by the thousands".  Love this organization and the people that make it possible!  Of those people is my new friend and fellow board member Jenny.  Together we sat on my couch a few months ago and threw around our ideas, hurts, frustrations and dreams regarding refugee ministry.  In the midst of our chatting was born an idea for a "Conversation Club", something neither of us had on our minds before our meeting and before she left the entire concept was on paper - thank you Jesus!  

The overarching desire we have is to HEAR from refugee women.  We are inviting women with intermediate to advanced English skills to come together and talk every Monday from 12-1.  We will not be teaching English but providing a safe and intimate circle for women to converse and be known.  What are their stories?  How did they get here?  What would have made a big impact had one or two things been different upon their arrival?  What is the hardest part about life now?  What do they really enjoy?  What confuses them about this culture?  How are their children or husbands or parents doing?  Are they happy?  We want to know their "soul needs" and pray that by asking these questions and providing a safe, consistent and loving environment for them to be known that God will open the windows of their hearts to show us where they are desperate or totally turned off.  Lord let it be!

The other major component to these times will be our intentionality in weaving God's story into our conversations.  We believe that the Father's heart is to comfort, protect, heal, affirm and renew the minds and hearts of these women who have walked through unspeakable suffering and loss.  Through intentional topics and/or simply having His story on the forefronts of our minds we believe that His truth will be seasoned on top of all that we do.  

So that's the general idea!  To talk!  To be known, to foster an environment that helps the ladies open their hearts, to let God in and do His work, to show us where this refugee machine might benefit from some oil, to simply lend time and build relationships and learn from other women about life.  It will be an adventure I'm sure... one I'll be delighted to take you on :)  

PS... it's good to be back! 

Popped Balloons

I'm sitting on the couch with my babies asleep and some coffee beside me.  It would be an ordinary Friday morning if there weren't boxes scattered across my family room.  Instead of going to the park or grocery shopping tomorrow we are leaving Serrano Village and locking up for the last time.  I thought that holding off as long as possible to write that last sentence would make it easier... nice try Kel, it didn't work.  I don't really know what this entry will look like, and unlike most other posts I do not have a progression in mind or some themes I'd like to hit on.  This one is just me saying things out loud because it's time...

I'm sad.  This place grabbed a hold of my heart the moment we started moving.  The refugees flocked to us and random people who'd never met us and had no reason to love us started hauling boxes into our apartment.  An hour later an Iraqi lady came with a plate of fresh baked goodies and told us welcome and she loved us.  Our kids were the talk of the village, and everywhere we went they were scooped up and ushered into apartments to visit with others... my participation was optional.  From the start people opened up their lives to us and I felt safe, trusted and loved in a matter of days. 

It's no secret that this road has been rough, and it didn't consist of delightful plates of middle-eastern pastries and warm home-visits hearing people's life story.  Life has been hard and whether it was external circumstances or things brewing inside our four walls, we were stretched to our personal limits and when the balloons popped we got to see what we were made of.  I haven't thought through this analogy so give me grace if it's awful... but I'm sticking with this popped balloon idea.  I believe that in God's goodness and great love for me He let the balloons in my life get blown up so big that they would burst and the contents would be splattered across the white walls for me to see.  God did that for me and I sit here with nothing but thankfulness for that.  It's in His mercy that He unveils broken things, things that won't survive without being popped and re-filled.

This last year of my life has forced me to press into God in ways I never knew that I wanted or needed.  I think some of my sadness in leaving is that life will become easy again, the hard lessons that rattle me to my core and change the way I see life and God will be lifted.  The pressure gauge will be eased and the desperate dependency to know the power and promises of the God I love will be tested.  Life will become much more comfortable again. 

Why am I crying about being comfortable?  Because my discomfort has brought me to my knees before God, it has brought me to the end of myself and caused my balloons to pop - revealing all the things I thought were okay that in fact were not.  I hated when the balloons popped, but in the aftermath I discovered a God who sat on the kitchen floor with me and held my hand as we looked together at the dirty walls.  He told me some things weren't my fault and He was so sorry that they happened... and other things He showed me were my attempt to make it on my own and yet others were flat out sin and selfishness.  All I know is that every popped balloon meant more freedom and a chance to start fresh with a God who will sit with me in my mess. I also met a God who was eager to wipe away the stains, to sit with me on my floor as we stared at beautiful white walls again, walls He will wipe clean time and time again if I need Him to. 

So... I guess this is it... not for my blog of course because the saga continues on in other ways.  But for this season, living and breathing refugees day in and day out, we say goodbye.  I've loved to hate it and hated to love it... and I know that pieces of my heart will forever dwell within these four walls. 

Not the way it's supposed to be...

For anyone who sits back, today of all days, and shakes their head at how broken this world is - I agree... it's not the way it's supposed to be.  

I wrote this after I sat in my Surge group last night and we went around in a circle stating things in our lives that were not the way they were supposed to be as a result of this fallen world.  I said that me loving and giving, loving and giving out of fear of a broken family or fear of abandonment rather than out of pure joy and freedom is NOT the way it should be.  I have never sat down with God and just solemnly observed how broken things are.  I always have an optimistic closer.  I'm the "yes, but..." girl with a continuous smile.  I cover the bad news... all the time.  Today I didn't.  Today I sat in it and cried over it.  And it felt freeing... in a way I felt closer to God knowing that His heart must ache and groan over what we have made this world.  I know there's good news, and I know Who the good news is.  But it doesn't make the bad news go away.  So today I wrote about the bad news... 

Terrified, panicked and in shock.  Despair.  Horror.  Lost, confused and numb.  Alone.  Angry.  Hopeless, depressed and defeated.  From living freely to being a wanderer.  No homeland - the wicked regime blew that up.  Broken family, dying children, buried parents.  Weak.  Utter weakness that begins with the physical body but splinters into the mind and infects the entire soul and spirit.  Crippling weakness that a good night of sleep won’t cure.  The kind of weakness that overshadows another day of breathing and thinking and remembering.  Darkness so dark the light seems like a vain imagination. 

This is not the way it’s supposed to be. 

Sad.  So, so sad.  So confused.  Hurt and wounded.  Going through days, submitting to routine without even engaging mentally.  Checked out.  Physically suffering from the emotional storm.  A 12-year old with ulcers.  Doctor says take some Maalox.  I wish Maalox penetrated the heart and made those kinds of cramps go away. 

This is not the way it’s supposed to be. 

Ignore it… time heals all wounds.  Except that’s a lie.  And the storms never stop, they just change.  And before you know it 10 or 20 years have passed by and what should be a mist of rain or a little breeze feels like a hurricane that threatens the entire house.  It’s just a little sprinkle.  Sure… on top of too many covered up storms, too many hurricanes rumbling beneath the surface, too many to tame.  A deep hidden world beneath the public show, and with each passing trial the pressure mounts…. and mounts… and mounts. 

This is not the way it’s supposed to be. 

It’s people who are hurting who hurt people even though they never meant to hurt people.  But those hurt people then hurt other people or instead they turn inward and hurt themselves because they are scared to death to hurt people. 

This is not the way it’s supposed to be.

These tired ol' shoulders

It seems that whenever I sit down lately all I want to lead with is, "Well, it's been a hard few months... but we're still here!!".  But that's been my go-to opener for almost a year now. 

There's a heap of things going on... from our son's pending diagnosis with his muscular / neurological concerns to two broken and unhealthy adults trying to live life together and deal with issues we wouldn't have ever expected.  Oh and the village - can't forget that!  The people, their needs, the practices, the smells, the emergencies, and on and on... Real life has been inescapable, but believe me when I say that we have tried running fast and hard.  We have said without words that it's easier to feel numb, that it's less painful to fill the days with tasks and the nights with Netflix, and to hope that by the passing of pages on the calendar things will improve. 

We were wrong. 

What we have discovered is that being healthy and whole takes work, and you have to look backwards in order to move forward.  My new pastor's wife shared an analogy of a person rowing a boat pressing on powerfully in the water but their actually facing behind.  I'm realizing that I can't get this boat to make serious progress if I don't turn my darn seat around for awhile.  It's messy to ask the questions that bring up old scars, it's terrifying to pray that God would reveal the root of some major issues, and it's humbling to realize that in all of my efforts, we are still unraveling. 

I've had a beautiful few days with God as He has been showing me that this backpack full of boulders that I'm carrying were never intended for my shoulders.  Maybe it has been pride in thinking I could handle things, fix things, or process things on my own... or perhaps fear of handing this bag of boulders over to my God who I am still confused by, sometimes angry with, and perhaps keeping an arm's length away because it's deceivingly easier that way.  So rather than run to Him and joyfully cut off these straps that are breaking my back, I take painful step after painful step... trying to keep it all together, trying to present a pretty little package on the outside when the inside is a decaying mess.  My how He must look on me with sad eyes and a compassionate nod of his head... wondering when I will give up, deeply desiring to take that bag from me... a load I was never designed to carry.  

It's not the emotional act of letting go of my boulders, it's walking away without them and not picking them back up.  And I have sadly began to identify myself with this backpack that was killing me, and sit here wondering what my life looks like if I'm not managing my marriage, fixing my son, and relying on destructive coping mechanisms.  I don't know what it feels like to be free.  But I do know that freedom can be found, and chains that I've bound myself in can be loosed.  I believe there's health and wholeness ahead, but like everything worth having, it will be hard and messy... but the picture on the other side is me hauling the backpack I was designed to carry... full of promises and love, faith and trust.  Cotton balls of freedom perhaps :)

What do we DO here??

What do we even do here?  What don't we do is a better place to start. 

Oftentimes folks hear of people going overseas to be 'missionaries' and picture the following:  A group of white people in white collared shirts, khaki shorts, hiking boots and tan floppy hats show up in the jungle and spend years changing the people into American-type Christians that fit in a pretty box.  They setup a church with music and teachings and Sunday school.  Often they take much of their culture away because it's not biblical and get rid of their customs that they shouldn't be practicing as new Christians.  After some years the missionaries leave behind a national pastor and hope he does things the way you showed him.  Because duh, the Americans know best!  Come on, tell me the idea of missionaries isn't like that!?!  Ok, I'm the only one :)

Now for the 180.  There is an amazing book called "Bruchko" that tells a story of a young American missionary going into a primitive and violent tribe of Indians called the Motilone. I think he was 17 when he went, and he went all by himself with no backing of any missions organization!  He almost died multiple times.  He learned their language, he learned how they hunted, traded, and worked.  He learned how they held ceremonies for births and deaths.  He participated in their rites of passage.  He became a Motilone to them, a "blood-brother" of the chief's son.  When Bruce Olsen, or Bruchko as they named him, finally told the story of Jesus it was years and years after initially going to be a "missionary" among them.  He told his story in a way that used one of their very own customs that was ingrained  in every Motilone's life; young, old, male and female.  And it wasn't just another story, it was the only piece of an incomplete puzzle that had been troubling them for centuries.  Jesus wasn't an addition to their culture, He was the designer and the foundation of their culture.  He was the one whom all of their culture had pointed to for centuries, and they understood that truth the moment the story was explained.  That's what Jesus is to all cultures.  He is the missing piece, and when presented to the people within the context of their culture, He makes total sense and is oftentimes the relief their souls have been desiring.  (I don't have fanciful ideas that everyone upon hearing of Jesus drops their beliefs in other gods, I'm just making the point of how powerful it is to present Him in culturally relevant ways).  

How amazing is it that God created culture and He is in every culture already, and by His own design? I just love that.  So our job is to find Him in it as we live among them.  And we do it with grace, and patience (lots of patience!).  With genuine love for the people and not an agenda besides that which is pure and abounding in kingdom desires.  We do it with an urgency in our souls that sacrifices self at every corner if they would just see Jesus.  Then, it's the work of God, the heavenly and majestic work of a soul and it's redeemer dancing together to the sweetest song of all time.  Ok, that was sorta cheesy, but I'm not deleting it  :-).

So what exactly do we do here?  Well for starters, we walk around and pray... we get out of our apartment and prayer walk in the complex.  We ask God to show us connections, reveal the "men of peace" like in Acts, we ask that He would orchestrate times of tea and snacks in someone's home, bring along someone who is suffering or rejoicing so we can pray with them in Jesus' name.  We invite people over for meals or for play-dates.  We spend time engaging the people right where they are.  We ask about their cultures and participate in their celebrations, even if they have alters built in their apartments (no joke).   We learn about what is important to them.  Not because we are trying to pull out our trump card one day, but because we genuinely desire to know them.  We are making friends... the kind of friends that care about each other and spend time in community together.  We hang out in their homes and listen to stories and then tell stories of our own.  

We are always praying for God to give us bridges or on-ramps to talk about Him.  In all of these story-telling cultures they enjoy hearing us talk, even when it's about our God.  Unlike American culture, it is considered odd to them if we love our God and then do not share about Him with others (a post on that later!).  So we pray for those bridges, a time in the conversation where we are reminded of a story of Jesus or a story in the Old Testament that shows God's heart. Then we pray for more on-ramps, and thank God immensely that He allows us to engage such precious people as we serve Him. And we eat lots of interesting food.  Prayers appreciated :-) 

Uneaten Feasts

Like so many other things in life, we are doing the opposite of what Jesus said to do.  God hit me right between the eyes this morning as I stared at my blog and read the intro underneath the heading.  "...join us as we LIVE among them, LOVE them practically, and LIFT HIGH the name of Jesus".  We've certainly got the living among them part down, and sadly that in itself takes up most of our personal, emotional, and spiritual strength!  But what about loving them practically?  

What about how hard and inconvenient it is?  No one told us that.  What about when they just want to use you for what you know, or ask you about working the system for more money without having to work?  Or ask you to help them get out of government trouble when you told them beforehand not to lie on their taxes.  Do you help them?  What about when you plan big gatherings for special families only to have them not show up?  What about when the kids are mean or disrespectful with your belongings?  What if they make fun of your son who is behind in his development?  What do you do then?  

Loving people practically.  It's easier to write on a cute tagline than actually flesh out in real life. But the truth is, the picture of us living here and having to "deal" with these refugees and all of the annoying and sometimes hurtful things they do is just a clear picture of how Jesus has to deal with me daily.  I get upset that they are being dishonest on their taxes, like I've never manipulated anything for my own gain.  Or I get so mad that I warned them ahead of time that making a choice would come back to bite them, as if I have never heard God tell me no and did it anyways.  And I put forth effort to host them, I clean and cook and spend hours preparing a feast... to have my heart dashed.  So God has never laid out riches and blessings before me just to have me decide something else was more important?  And kids make fun of my baby... as if I have never pridefully judged someone thinking I'm better.

The only way we can be that "city on the hill" or the "light on the lamp stand" in spite of our emotions of frustration, hurt, or flat-out annoyance is to remember how incredibly gracious God is with us DAILY.  The lengths it takes Him to love us daily is far more than He is asking us to do for these refugees.  So when I am hurt or mad, instead of closing all of our blinds for a week and pretending to be "busy", God asks that we still be that city on a hill, a place people can look for unconditional love and grace.  A place that doesn't exist in their world.  A place that says they can stand us up ten times and leave us with uneaten feasts, but if they come on the 11th time, surely a feast will still be waiting in their honor.  He does it for me constantly, shame on me for saying they had their chance.