REFUGEES IN PHOENIX

God ripped our rug

2012-02-09T08:20:00.000-08:00

Weused to have a rug. It was so pretty. It was a big, sturdyrug. We liked it so much that we moved from house to house withit. We got it as a joint present to each other right after being married,and when we moved from our first house in California we brought it to Arizona,and then we put it in our last house as well. Wherever we have gone, wehave joyfully carted it along. It was a big, pretty rug... and wewouldn't dare consider living without it.

Thiswas no ordinary rug. It wasn't what was on the design that made itspecial. It wasn't the warmth on your feet, or the decor it brought tothe room. As our children grew it wasn't the comfort it brought to theircrawling knees or toddling toes. No... it was much more amazing than allof that. It was underneath the rug that made it so special. Thisrug had special power to take away our problems, to eliminate our stresses, andto bandage up the hurts. It made the past seem perfect, the presentsatisfying, and the future exciting. There was one rule though... you canput whatever you want under the rug, but you cannot take anythingout.

Thissystem was obviously working wonderfully, and why wouldn't it?!? I mean,who wouldn't want a magical rug that could hide anything uncomfortable orunhealthy? Sweep it under and just move on with the day! Talk about ideal. Well it wasn't until we moved intoSerrano Village that things started to change (how many times have I said that?!). We realized soon afterarriving that our magical rug got ripped during the move in a few differentplaces. We tried to put the couch over one tear and the coffee table overanother... but there wasn't enough covering that would reverse the damage and replenish the "magic". Furthermore, when we lifted up the corner to put something under it,some of what we swept underneath came out of a rip! UGH!! After afew months of trying to work with this broken rug, we finally realized our efforts were in vain.

When we began this process in the Village with hundreds of refugees, we knew it would be a little about what happened because of us and a lot about what happened inside of us. In this episode of our journey, God ripped our rug. He is good, so he ripped our rug. He is loving and deeply involved in our personal, day to day lives... so He ripped our rug. On one hand I'm experiencing God in a sweet and gentle way, letting me work through things and know Him deeper so we can go further down this road. But on the other hand, He is showing me that He is still GOD. He is still righteous. He is still the judge. He is holy and He doesn't share my heart with unhealthy habits that sacrifice integrity for comfort. He is God, and I'm glad He ripped our rug. See ya rug, you were never as pretty as I made you seem, and I need you far less than I ever believed...

PAUSE!!!

2012-01-27T08:57:00.000-08:00

Surrendering is sometimes very un-fun. Yes, un-fun. Yesterday I was sitting on my patio while the babies were sleeping and the chorus of a song came into my head that says, "In joyous surrender, with our eyes fixed on you..." and it actually made me shake my head 'no'. Since I'm talking to God again (we had a dark spell for about a week) I told Him that at this juncture in life I reject the notion of surrender being joyous. Right now it just sucks. It's raw, uncomfortable, scary and affronting. How else to say it besides simply un-fun.

Can real surrender be joyous? Can we hold things precious and sacred to us and open those hands as an offering to God with joy? If you can't does that make it less of an offering? Does it matter if it's through tears and doubt and fear?

Often in life we take something that is unfavorable and contrast it with something favorable. Yes it's a hard season because _________, but at least we still have __________. Generally both of these things are physical, which is normal because the most obvious trials or blessings are things that we can see. But what happens when you've given the tangibles away? What happens when you have trouble filling in the positive blank when you just look around at the reality of life. The second blank ceases to be a something and is FORCED to become a someone. We get Him. We are forced to receive Him more fully, lean on Him more dependently, and seek Him like He really is here.

This season has taught me that it's okay to question and it's okay to distrust God (did she really just say that?). He can handle it. And He knew that I would get here. It would be ludicrous to leave my kids with someone I heard was a really neat guy who adopted all kinds of orphans, helped people recover from deadly diseases and went to sit with the elderly to read them stories and say, "Since I've heard you are such an awesome person, here are my kids... I'll just leave you guys alone! Do with them whatever you see fit, you don't even need to ask me. Good or bad, I'll just adjust, because I know you are right". That would be silly in the physical realm of life... so why is it so bad to say PAUSE! in the spiritual realm when we just aren't comfortable?

So here I stand... paused. I'm hand in hand with my God and we are halfway across the bridge. We aren't looking behind or ahead, just pausing and taking in the beautiful landscape around us. To the right is everything I've given Him, and if we keep walking left it's giving Him more. It's my kids, it's our safety, it's whatever He sees fit. He is quietly telling me things about Himself, loving on me and not judging me, telling me stories of times past, and confirming the reality that He dwells with me all of the time. He is telling me often that He loves me unlike a love I have known. He is letting me walk if I want to, and sit when I need to. He is soft and sweet, understanding and patient. He is my God whom I will follow to the other side, when I know Him more deeply and trust Him more fully. And He is okay with that. He is my God.

Oh, to be Spaghetti!!

2012-01-09T14:59:00.000-08:00

I was once told of a word picture to describe the differences between men and women's brains. Men have waffle brains, women have spaghetti brains. Men have compartments and can function efficiently within each segment regardless of what's happening in the others (to a degree of course). Women on the other hand are completely interwoven, like noodles, and if something is happening on noodle number four it's happening on noodle 79. I've been seeing this waffle vs. spaghetti idea play out in the different cultures here... and as we live life in the Village, I realized that as always it's an 'us versus them' thing and yet again we are the odd-balls. So in this addition, we are the waffles and they are the spaghetti.

As Americans, we are masters at compartmentalizing our lives. We call it "switching gears", so in keeping our waffle analogy, this means hopping over the wall of thin bread into the next waffle square. The sqaures are anything in your life... work, family, goals/vision, parenting, friendships, church, relationship with God, finances, neighbors, etc, etc. Think about your own life and how many different squares you have, and if they are truly related to one another. I find that some of my squares can (and do) exist completely independent from the others, although that is changing rapidly!

The spaghetti-types would be everyone except us... as always :). Their lives are giant plates of noodles, the sticky kind that you can't pull apart and it looks more like a confusing clump than individual strands. Everything connects, everyone is part of this messy plate, and they don't know anything different, and I asume they have no desire to (well... maybe the youngsters being raised here, but that's another post entirely). The idea is that everything flows into everything else, and this big hot mess is the beauty of having all things in common and owning the true identity of group or community.

I submit to you that their God, gods, religions, idealogies - whatever you want to say - is the sauce. It is poured over everything, and the entire plate is saturated by it. Their faith and gods are at every turn, under all they do, and covering each move. We tend to live our spiritual lives more like a waffle topping plopped onto the middle that may or may not spill over into each square. Our work, school, finances, even relationships can be untouched by this and it can just stay in the section of church and maybe a quarter of our finances and relationships. It's an interesting concept, and it has probed me to really live like my kids and nieghbors and money and husband and church are not only connected but saturated by Jesus. Oh Jesus, fill up these squares, every single one!!!

Love the sidewalk, Hate the sidewalk

2011-12-01T06:42:00.001-08:00

We have a love/hate thing with our sidewalk. To most people it's just a normal sidewalk, but to us it's a long skinny barrier the divides two very different worlds.

This is an extremely unique setting in many ways, but one way is how suddenly the world as you knew it changes over to something unfamiliar and occasionally overwhelming. When people normally enter cultures so opposite to their own, a car ride plus a long flight (or flights) plus another long car ride usually provide some much needed time to turn one switch off and another switch on. We have about a 2 second hump to drive across and our parallel universe switch is now forced on.

On the south side of the sidewalk lies the America that we all know and love. Trust me when I say, we love America. We love that we can still eat all of our favorite foods, shop at the grocery stores we are familiar with, get anything that we want or need, order something online and it arrives a few days later, receive regular mail, drive on roads that don't make us crazy (relatively speaking), communicate clearly, worship freely, visit all of our friends and family with relative ease, see baseball games, get babysitters... on and on. We love that we can go to the bank, the grocery store, Target and stop for food all in one afternoon. Ya know, America! Easy, familiar, convenient and extremely efficient.

And then there's the north side. This world, where we spend much of our time, is completely opposite. I wish by reading words you could imagine the feel of life here, but there's much that is lost without actually seeing it, walking it, and yes, smelling it :). My family is visiting for Thanksgiving and when my parents pulled in to the complex my mom said very slowly, "It's like a completely different world" as the sea of children parted ways in the street to let the car pass. My sister sat on our patio and asked question after question for almost a full hour. It takes a lot of time to process just how different the world is on this side of the sidewalk.

It's not a complex with refugees, it's a refugee complex. It's literally like another country. But instead of one culture and language, there are 15 totally different cultures and languages. As in other countries, accomplishing the small tasks of life is ssss-lllll-oooooo-wwwww here. To go do laundry takes a long, long time. Many times walking to throw the clothes in turns into an invitation to have some tea or fruit in someone's home, and a 10 minute trip turns into an entire afternoon... and the laundry hasn't even been switched yet. All of life is that way here, any task outside of this apartment needs to be multiplied by 26 to correctly estimate when that task will be complete. Okay, maybe by 4 or 8, but you get the point.

As culturally sensitive as I think I am, nothing spells "American" more than being yanked out of a white middle-class suburban neighborhood and dropped in the midst of a life that is slow, relational above all else, slow, all things in common, slow, neighbors = family, slow, and you always must be ready for company... and I mean always. There's no structure, little convenience, and things like problem solving or being proactive are foreign concepts. This, for an American, is enough to buy a one-way ticket on a slow boat to China. Well truthfully that's only the case a small percentage of the time. More often than not, I find myself longing to be home in the village when I'm out and about being a productive American. I love the security, the unspoken love, the ability to feel warmth down in my heart just by looking at people smile at us, the fact that my babies are learning that people are more important than time or a checklist. There are beautiful qualities that I'm jealous for and comforted by on the north side of the sidewalk.

We would both agree that the hardest part of our new lives is that we have to transition so quickly between worlds, that we have to constantly turn our switch on and off depending on which side of the sidewalk we are on. We do not have the luxury of being thousands of miles away from home to detach completely from the comforts and mindset of America, we must learn to adapt and function successfully in both. This is a tough feat.

Our story board

2011-11-21T06:27:00.001-08:00

We're not in Kansas anymore

2011-11-17T06:00:00.001-08:00

Well... I've been staying away... purposefully. I guess the seemingly sudden transition from our exotic global village honeymoon to "what were we thinking??" reality took me by surprise and it's taken some weeks now to process and stand on some steady, reality-rooted ground. It comes and goes... but at least it's in sight now! Isn't God good to bring us to the end of ourselves so He can show us Himself??

This happened when I was in Kenya. The strange bugs were "interested and amazing!", the awful pollution made me feel "so sad that all of these nationals have to breathe this :(", the food was a fun cultural experience and a neat bridge of trust to build with my new African friends, the mosquito nets were like real and exciting 3rd world living, the constant (and I mean constant) bouts of illness made me feel honored that God would esteem me worthy to experience what so many in the world face constantly, the cold showers reminded me of how on the edge I was living and I loved it! Fast forward a few months and it aaaalllllllll changed.

The bugs were freakishly large and "interesting" was at the bottom of the list as far as adjectives I thought of when being affronted by these little devils - surely God accidentally spoke these into existence... he must have coughed or sneezed in the middle of creating other bugs and these were the result. The pollution made me want to scream "Ever heard of a smog test???" during my morning prayer walks (yes, I know), the food.... oh the food... let's just say that God is faithful to answer prayers when you say, "Lord, if you don't keep this food down my throat I WILL throw it up all over their table and shame them to no end!". The mosquitos defied my nets and had a love affair with my feet, the cold showers made me go stinky and HEY that meant I was fitting in better!, and the illnesses that drove me to be alone for hours and days at a time were very difficult to see God in (but He was there!!). The sunshine, puppies and ice cream became gray skies, mangy Tijuana street dogs and Fear Factor food.

Life here has faded into reality also. The excitement of everyone being so communal is actually a problem... they need to assimilate to America, learn the language and get jobs. The different groups are each very set in their ways and mainly trust their own people, who do not know what it takes to make it in this country. The friendships by nature of their culture are all very easy to establish, but very shallow in depth. I can go on and on about the 47 mothers I've gained since being here and how none of them think my babies are ever dressed enough and might freeze to death if 2 more sweaters aren't heaped on them in 70 degree cloudy weather, how the kids decided knocking on the door is too much work and jumping our gate and opening the patio door to come in and play is much easier.

What has been constant through these scenarios are two things: Jesus and Jeff Jackson! Jeff is our Pastor and I met him when he trained myself along with 7 other missionaries getting ready to go into the mission field. He knows a lot about a lot, but cultural insight seems to be at the top of his gifts in my opinion. I was prepped going into Kenya and could senses my emotions shift so I could decipher things really well... but in this situation I was shocked at how sudden and sad it was! He brought us both back down to reality and reminded us that we aren't flung out here alone despite our feelings, our church body is still beside us, lifting us in prayer and loving on us, that all of our feelings are totally normal, that we are literally in the middle of the trenches completely submerged in a cross-cultural setting. I suppose the biggest comfort is knowing we aren't alone, that in the midst of the seemingly unattainable goals we are probably here so God can accomplish great things inside of us... not because of us or through us.

We truly are living in a global village, and all that separates us from the America you live in is a sidewalk. And that sidewalk makes all the difference in our world. More on that next time. Please pray for us :) I'm making dishes today and tomorrow to deliver to some of the families and begin more of this relationships via food thing.

Where God says Follow, He also says Swallow

2011-11-10T06:04:00.001-08:00

Well I haven't written in awhile... mostly because I'm in a quiet, sober place right now. More on that later... but to pave the way for more writing I thought a funny story would do me well. Well, funny a bit... gross a lot... and anger-inducing for my special someone. Intrigued?

FOOD. One of the most important extensions of friendship in cross-cultural ministry... if not the most important. If we are invited to someones home, or happen to be walking around and they lead us ever so lightly (ha!) by the hand into their apartment and begin sharing food with us... there is just no question about it. You eat the food, you eat it happily, and if they give you more... you eat that too. So far I've had some funny run-in's with the delicate balance of honoring them and trusting the by receiving this gift of friendship VERSUS keeping it down and not losing it all over the plate, thus shaming them for a lifetime! So far I have succeeded... but that almost came to an end yesterday.

It all started the first week we lived here. I delivered some fresh baked cookies to a family (I will leave details out, heaven forbid they ever read this!). As is customary in these cultures, I fully expected them to return my plate with another treat. Well weeks went by and finally they came back with some of their own cookies plus an entire pot of dinner for us. This particular dish we've had before and neither one of us desired to willfully partake inside the privacy of our own home so we just let it sit there while we ate our own yummy American food. The next day (yesterday) I was coming home from the gym and the wife/cook sees me hauling both my sleepy kids to my door and in true community fashion, she picks up a kid and starts trailing behind me to come into the house and help. NOW... if I thought she might just drop him at the door and consider her help over I wouldn't have panicked... but they NEVER stop at the door. How American would that be? They come in, pick up toys, close my open cabinets, put extra sweaters on my kids because apparently they are never warm enough.

So there I was, pretending not to find the right key to get into the house, sorting out how I could hide the dish without her knowing. My success in this moment determined the fate of our friendship with this family and if I would shame her beyond our American comprehension. So I rush in and take the lid off and dump the whole dish down the sink and stick the empty pot over the drain. She walks in behind me, after about 3 seconds sees the empty pot, smiles, I smile back... pat my tummy and say "Excellent!!" in her language. She lit up and was so happy that we ate all of her dish and thought it was amazing. She left and the second wave of panic set in. How on earth can I get this out of the sink? I knew it wouldn't clear the pipes... and I made one large mess... and the topper was that I had to work in the office an hour later. So I got around, my husband came home and I left him with two babies and a clogged sink full of food he had no desire to eat let alone sift through with nasty additions that have been sitting in the drain pipes.

Long story short, they had to snake the pipe (eeeek!!) and the water (if you can call it that) slushed out all over the tile and was quite the scene. The second I walked in two hours later my husband said, "TAG" and walked out. He needed some alone time.

Moral of the story? Use the trash next time... and do it the night before. What a mess.

One stinky heart

2011-10-30T08:59:00.000-07:00

Today is day three of no hot water and I'm getting stinky. I realized this morning as I was reading my bible that more than my outside body feeling the stink of no shower for 3 days... my heart was the one that seemed dirtier. I sit here amazed at how far gone my perspective on life has become. This attitude of entitlement is all-consuming, and when I don't get what I think I am due... my heart gets real stinky. It's interesting that the things that I have had all my life (showers, shelter, clothes... nice, cute, appropriately sized clothes) somehow seem mandatory and flat-out deserved. It is ugly, and He took my water to show me just how dirty my heart really is.

God has been stretching us in ways we have never known... and I'm thankful on this morning that He has pulled back another layer of my heart by taking away a simple luxury like hot water. When I was in Kenya, all the believers in our church came from the slum directly behind the church building. They all bathed out of buckets with soap and cold water outside of their 12'x12' homes made out of concrete slabs and corrugated metal walls. To this day I have never seen a clearer, more inspiring picture of hearts so in love with God and so confident in His sufficiency. So many people here came from camp-life and had to be taught how a shower works... and I bet on this morning they are not griping about being unable to bathe. They are adjusting and they are just getting on with the show. I am writing a blog about it. Oh Lord... clean my stinky, stinky heart.

Community... a novel idea

2011-10-27T21:42:00.000-07:00

I am amidst a revolutionary idea... I hope you are sitting down for this one. Neighbors!! I mean the kind you (dare I say it)... TALK TO! Like.... every day!! I knew it was a lot, I hope you are okay!

The moment I drive up, whether I have groceries or just my normal load of two babies... I'm greeted nine times out of ten with eager helpers of all ages and ethnic groups. When someone sees Levi struggling in his walk to the apartment, he just gets scooped up and taken into my house. If we wander around the complex I can only get as far as one unit away before an hour has passed and it's time to eat dinner. I'm thinking of driving to the opposite side of the buildings and then walking around so I can visit with the other half of the residents here! It is a joke of course but only to illustrate how refreshingly un-American life is here. People make people the priority. I've never seen this in action, and it is a beautiful, infectious habit.

This idea just came to me so I hope it makes sense... living here makes me feel like I'm at a giant family reunion where I don't know anyone but somehow I know instinctively that we have a connection and a certain level of trust that wasn't really earned. What is that? Ahhhh... community. Selflessness. Looking out for the group. Ya know... how the rest of the world does life. I like it. I like it a lot.

This land was made for you and me

2011-10-26T06:46:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder what it would be like to be torn from your home and forced to retreat to a border country in order to remain alive?? Your house and all of your possessions have been burned to the ground... family members and friends have been killed. Not only is your home no longer an option, but your very country is now a hostile place to you and it is with great urgency that you get off of it's ground. It's so far from reality for us that it seems more fitting in a movie. Yet this is life for millions. (Hey, on the movie note... watch Rambo (the one made in 2008). Strong language, but a very real picture of the true story happening TODAY in Burma).

Tonight at midnight we will be receiving a family that fled Burma and has been living in a refugee camp on the Burma/Thailand border. After they land, Ledi, a Congolese case worker will greet them and bring them to their new home at Serrano Village. She will show them how the showers work, how to use the dish soap, how to use the toilet... that they each have a bed to sleep in. Then, around 2 or 3 a.m., she will leave and they will be left alone in this strange place to begin picking up the pieces of their shattered lives.

If you have ever been overseas and plopped right in the middle of a foreign land, you know the unnerving feeling of having all of your comforts and abilities to navigate stripped away. In many cases, English is spoken in most airports and large cities in the world. Sadly for our new neighbors, they have no English skills. Imagine the shock -- liken it to being dropped into Beijing. You cannot read the signs, ask anyone for help... you don't even know how to buy groceries!! The result is a group of people that are accustomed to community and using their hands to make a living now trapped by fear inside of an apartment week in and week out. The mental and emotional impact in the days, weeks and months ahead in the lives of each new arrival will bring them just short of insane. I'm not exaggerating... many refugees struggle with alcoholism and suicide as a numbing alternative to their new reality.

So what does all of this mean for us? I suppose one thing we can all do is search our hearts regarding our feelings toward "immigrants" or people who now call America home for whatever reason. It is true that many come in search for a better life... but some come in search of keeping life. "This land is your land, this land is my land... this land was made for you and me" -- can you say in your heart that you would have a smile on your face that stretched down to your heart if you sang this to an Asian person who didn't speak a word of English? And as far as you could tell didn't have any drive to learn it?

The truth is that at some point all of our families came here to improve the future for the generations to come. Yet because many of us feel so American, we can quickly look at people from other nations and feel a sense of selfishness and dominion that clouds our ability to feel compassion and simple kindness. Have you ever pondered that you could have been born into a war-torn village in the middle of Iraq? Or even more controversial... in the middle of a crime-ridden, disease-infested, gang-dominated colonia in Mexico? As a mother, I would be lying if I said I wouldn't do anything in my power, including breaking the law, to move my family to a place with safe neighborhoods where my kids could walk to school without fear of being killed. We can forget that in the middle of these political arguments lie people. People. People with hopes and dreams. Not of a nice retirement or good colleges for their kids, but survival. Just survival. Let us search our hearts when we see these "intruders" in our country... and remember it isn't our country, it's God's, and He gives and takes away. Let us be thankful that He has chosen at this time to allow us to share this land with whomever He allows to enter in... and maybe, just maybe... He brought them here so they might know of the One who has preserved their lives and desires to give them life and give it more abundantly through faith in Him.

WE TAKE TEAMS!

2011-10-25T16:15:00.001-07:00

Want to come experience third-world missions in the states?? Come stay at Serrano Village!!!

Visit the FAQ section of this website for more info... it is an AMAZING week-long trip and your life along with a refugee's life will forever be changed!

www.phx1040interface.org

Or email me and we can chat :-)

Come see the pandas!!

2011-10-25T16:07:00.000-07:00

So this story is funny... and a good picture of just how much we feel like the "Where's Waldo" books.

A few days after moving in I put the kids out on the patio of our apartment to have some play time. I was out there with them for a few minutes, then went inside to put a few things away in the kitchen. I could see them from my view but not much else beyond the patio. About 5 minutes later I went back out there to sit with them and I was so amused at what I found. About 20 feet away from my patio sat about 8 adults and 4 or 5 children. Just sitting and watching the whities. They were squatting and staring directly at the kids. I called my mom and said, "It's like they are a zoo exhibit!!" And not only any exhibit... panda-type exhibits worthy of calling your family and friends to come look!

This true story is a great visual because it shows how bewildered these refugees are at our presence. I've had several conversations that go something like this:
"So where are you from?"
"The Congo. And what about you?"
"Oh I'm from here" (with a nice Jesus-y smile)
"No I mean before here"
"Yes I know.. I am American!"
"No no... (looking frustrated for not communicating well enough in English)... I mean where were you born?"
"Yes I understand. Here... I lived in California and then I came here to Arizona".
"But this is a place for refugees"
"Yes I know! We love refugees! We want to live here and share your food and your culture and teach you about America" (insert another Jesus-y smile)
At this point they stare for a few of the longest seconds I've ever sat through, and they smile and still feel misunderstood.
"Ok then you come to my house for some food!"

Our moving here has certainly been the talk of the village. A friend was lost in the complex as she came to visit and she just asked the first stranger and he knew exactly where to point her. The apartment of the Americans is not a mystery here.

We have a tremendous opportunity to use this bewilderment as a parallel for the gospel. Their heads spin as you see them try to really understand what we are doing here... and in every persons heart who knows the story of the gospel, our heads ought to spin at how bizarre and unthinkable it is that the creator of the universe, the knitter of our souls, perfect in every way and divinely complete would become a man and come dwell with lost and dying sinners. That should make our heads spin. Does it?
Imagine the bridge that this incarnational ministry has! "You think it's crazy that we moved in here... let me tell you what Jesus did!!". These people come from story-telling cultures... we are learning Jesus stories and look for opportunities to just talk about who He is and what He has done... surely there will be more to follow on this topic!

I used to be a pigeon!!!

2011-10-25T15:27:00.000-07:00

You know how the fall leaves get swooshed around by the fall winds and you get this beautiful circular movement of flowing leaves all around the streets and sidewalks? Doesn't it just make your insides warm and light? Well we have that same thing here... only the beautiful orange and red leaves are pigeon feathers.

There's a lot to get accustomed to here... from the A/C unit that sounds like a freight train (hey built in white noise for the babies!) to the freezing cold turned scalding hot showers (114 apartments operating off of 2 water heaters!!)... and most of it is funny if not mildly irritating. It's like real mission field living sometimes!!

However, there is one aspect of this mission field living that my flesh does not find funny... and that is the pigeons. I don't know why but they bring out the worst in me! When my baby is picking up pigeon feathers that blow in from outside or when they are stuck to her little hands from just being on the patio and she tries to eat them... that is just gross!!
I was sitting out on the patio the other morning before the kids got up and all the while these pigeons are flocking left and right... and walking joyfully all around me. OH! The sudden flesh that those pigeons bring to the surface!! I was reading Esther and marveling at someone so willing to risk her very life for the sake of her people, and in the same breath of "Lord may I have the heart of Esther! To count your people so dear that my own life would be laid down!!" came "Those cursed rats with wings!" Same sentence... true testimony! So I caught my bipolar ways and began praying, "Ok Lord, give me love for the pigeons!" And as I sat there staring at these pigeons, the sun began hitting the building next to me... little by little the warm rays began resting on more and more of the roof. Each pigeon began moving into the sunlight, but there wasn't room for all of them. Those stuck in the shade kept pushing and nudging to be in the warmth of the light.

It may seem silly, but I took that picture and praised God for redeeming my dirty and diseased soul. He has indeed rescued me from darkness and delivered me into His marvelous light. The feelings I now have toward the pigeons are praises to my God, that He would look on me... a sick and troubled spirit, unclean and used up, no real good to anybody in the state I was in... YET still he saw value. He set my feet upon a rock and gave me a new song. I got pieces of Psalm 40 tattooed on my back when He became my God... and declared never to turn on Him again. Oh the grace that has been shown to me... the goodness and forgiveness I could never earn. Lord may I NEVER forget that I was a pigeon.

Those who are well have no need of a physician...

2011-10-23T16:28:00.000-07:00

Jesus said that those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. This is a sick, sick community.

I am working in the office a few hours each week and just a few days ago I got to hear the stories of different families as we separated leases that needed to be flagged for renewal.

This Cuban woman hears voices and is deeply troubled, this Iraqi man suffers greatly from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after being in combat in Iraq, this Karen woman is beginning the divorce proceedings and her alcoholic husband may turn violent, this Kareni family is entirely illiterate and the father died 2 months ago and the husband died last month. They can't pay their rent and have no idea how to get out of this hole. This family .... the stories continued.... I got numb and stopped taking notes. The need is overwhelming. The need is pressing. The need can only be met by my God.

I have a greater love for the Jesus of the Gospels now than ever before. I have greater confidence in His presence than ever before. I always heard people say "God is with you, He will never leave you nor forsake you" as a comforting word in times of need. But more and more I am seeing that verse not as how it can benefit me... but as the power and divinity that is crucial to tackling this monstrous task ahead. It is a simple realization, but astounding in this season.

Desperate and passionate prayers are needed for the people here. There are over 100 families living in this complex, all from war-torn countries, and all with pasts that few of us can fathom. God knows, He has been there with them, and He is waiting on the other side to be their Physician. Oh Lord let it be.

TRL

2011-10-23T16:08:00.000-07:00

TRL - That's Refugee Life!

After moving into Serrano Village to live among the refugees we discovered a need very early on... say, around day 2... for a saying that would express our sentiments when no amount of words really could. We spun the classic TIA (This is Africa) into our own little world and came up with TRL.

When we join together at the end of the day, we share our classic TRL moments. "Babe... I had such an awesome TRL moment today!! I saw a goat being slaughtered on the patio of an apartment!!". Yes... this is a true story... it happened just yesterday.

Life's highlights will be much more colorful from now on... and I do hope you'll continue following!

Pictures from my journeys

2010-06-08T15:33:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted pictures in quite a while... and let's be honest, who will read blog entries without photos?? So here are a few shots from our visits to the refugee apartments.

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Birthday Party, Bhutanese (Nepali) Style!

Here are the parents, aunts, uncles and cousins
of the two little birthday girls.
Really it was only one birthday girl, but they
celebrate for both of them so the other does not
feel left out. Their culture is not "me-centered",
and in all they do it is a family/group event.
There weren't any gifts, but they prayed for them,
sang a worship song and then ate A LOT of traditional
Nepali food. We were stuffed.

The girls were made to look like Nepali dolls...
this isn't they way we had ever seen them!
Usually they are in whichever clothes fit,
boy or girl clothes... and no make-up!
We were a little surprised when we walked in!

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Random pics from my English lessons with the Bhutanese

They don't let me do ANYTHING.

This was a FUNNY day. Every time I go we sit around after
the lesson and eat fruit. For months I ate the flesh of the
mango out of the middle and put the skin on the plate.
They did the SAME THING! Nothing weird, right?
Well one day, a Bhutanese neighbor came to their
apartment and ate the whole slice if mango, skin and all.
I asked if that was normal in their culture and they all said,
"Well, yes. We were just eating it the other way so you wouldn't feel bad".
CLASSIC for refugees from these cultures...
they will do anything not to offend someone!
So, from that day forward, I ate Mangos like a Nepali!
They were dying laughing at me.

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The Iraqi refugees are altogether different...
and I must say, their food is VERY tasty!
I haven't had something I disliked yet, and with the Nepali food
it was often a constant internal prayer (or pleading) in order
to get the plate cleared. But don't clear it too fast or more will be
dumped on!!

Traditional Iraqi dish. Rice, ground beef and pees.
It was seasoned A TON, their dishes are very flavorful.
My husband was there and he HATES pees, so it
was interesting to watch him be 'cultural' and
finish up like a champ. These cultures show their
appreciation for you by cooking food from their
homeland. Refusing anything would be extremely insulting,
so if you don't like it... tough! Praise God I've been pregnant
twice while living here and only once have I puked
while eating food refugees prepared!
Goat Tongue Soup.... REALLY?? :-)

Mike teaching 2 Iraqi refugees ESL at the church

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Well those are all of the pictures I could find... I should start taking more, I know.

Until next time,

Kelli

The Fiasco Factor

2010-03-29T17:10:00.000-07:00

CCIF - Cross Connection International Fellowship - a multi-ethnic church in the making. What is going to a multi-ethnic church like, you ask? Well, in one word, I would say it's unique. If you have ever attended church in a foreign country, it is pretty much the same but with some added dynamics. You see, church in the rest of the world is about building relationships, people come to be others-focused. They visit, chat, let their children sit with them, worship actively and with excitement, explain things to each other if a point in the message was missed, verbally help each other find scripture passages... ya know, acknowledge that others are with you and relate with them during service. This is church in any other part of the world... relational. If you are in Kenya, for example, you are of course thrown off guard for the first few services you attend. But after awhile you become accustomed to their culture and how it flows into all aspects of their lives, and begin to see the beauty and sensibility that it has.

In America, on the other hand, church is only relational between you and God, people come to be ‘ministered to’ and by it’s nature, American church is self-focused. Don’t get me wrong, there are many who serve the congregation week in and week out, but the majority of church-goers come on Sunday morning to get ‘filled up’ and then they go home. We show up and chat with folks before service, but the moment a "Good Morning Everyone" announcement comes, we promptly return to the seats that we have already reserved with our bibles and sweaters (since we arrived 15 minutes early). We worship, standing when they say stand and sitting when they say sit. We do nothing outside of the normal guidelines of the service (stand to worship when everyone else is sitting - inconceivable!). When it's time to greet people, we turn to the left, right, front and back to shake hands and deliver the same line week after week (Good Morning, God Bless You!). We sit and quietly listen for the duration of service. When the study is over, we pray, sing one more song, and are dismissed. If we get a guest teacher who is long-winded and the service crosses that 90-minute mark... we get fidgety and wonder if it will ever end. Get up and leave before dismissal? Never!

So what do you get when you have a church service full of people from contrary cultures? A Sunday morning at CCIF! It is much tamer than a traditional Kenyan service (used because of my personal experience there), but also not as flawless as a traditional American service either. So we meet in the middle. We have a specifically directed service, but we have a meet and greet that includes culturally relevant hellos, and we greet everyone in the sanctuary! We have organized worship, but are free to stand most of the time, but sit if you'd like! The excited flavor of worship in other countries would not exclude occasional burst of "HALLELUJAH" or "AMEN!"… so our church welcomes the enthusiasm. We have a quiet time of teaching, which is mostly calm besides the predictable cell phone ring mid-service (classic refugee ringtones not to be forgotten). We call it ‘The Fiasco Factor” and are reminded each week that church for us is more of a missionary experience, but the beauty is we didn’t have to cross an ocean to enter in.

Serving our multi-ethnic congregation is what fulfills those of us who would drop everything in a heartbeat if God opened doors overseas. It can be frustrating if we forget the nature of our ministry and refuse to be flexible, but when those things are in tact… the ministry is operating exactly as designed and we love every second.

Until next time…

Refugee Resettlement 101

2010-03-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

I think it's necessary to devote a post to explain WHY refugees come to the states. The HOW of refugee resettlement can be found anywhere on the internet, so if you are interested in the actual process, by all means, please research it. What I want to explain is what you won't read about online... the events that cause these foreigners to land on US soil. The most common misconception about refugees is that they are the same as immigrants... leaving their homes in search of a future with more opportunity. In actuality, refugees are forced from their homes when they had no desire to leave. Many would love to return to their homes and live the rest of their lives in their village. All of them are making the best of their new lives here, but many would return if they could. But they can't. They are never allowed back to their homes that they love and miss daily. The land of their language, culture, food and familiarity. Where they know the lay of the land, the traditions, the people. The very fabric that makes them who they are -- to be stripped of that, and for it never to return... Lord help us understand even slightly!!

War is the #1 reason people are forced to flee their homes. Imagine being invaded by another country (Iraqi refugees), or having your own countrymen rise up against you (Burmese refugees), killing your loved ones and destroying your home. I do not write my opinions about these wars, but the effects they have on the people caught in the middle. If this happened to you, and you would die if you remained in your homeland, you would be forced to flee to a neighboring country. You would be left without options and on the run. This is hard to imagine for an American mind, unfathomable in fact. Nevertheless, it is reality for millions.

If they make it out alive (quite literally), a neighboring country will accept them as refugees and place them in a refugee camp on the border. Hundreds of thousands of people live in these camps, and the refugees we meet in Phoenix have spent as much as 18 years in these camps. They rely on bags of rice to be delivered by international aide organizations, they become dependent for years on end. They were used to working many hours a day in fields and farms, and now they are dependent upon bureaucracies for their most basic needs.

The 2009 World Refugee Survey reports there are over 8 million refugees who have been confined to camps for 10+ years, and 62 million refugees worldwide (unconfined).
http://www.refugees.org/FTP/WRS09PDFS/WarehousingMap.pdf

Like I said earlier, the process of resettlement can be found online so I won't go into that - but I hope you have gleaned a glimpse into their lives. Until next time...