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.  

A refugee stole my baby!!

You've heard me talk a lot about the beautiful and refreshing dynamic of this communal living in the past.  The everything in common reality, the focus on relationships over task, the warmth of people who aren't mere neighbors, but friends and even family.  Today is not that day.  Today I'll choose from a plethora of instances that made me want to go buy a house, with a garage, hence a garage door opener, so I can go home and park in the garage and shut it immediately without anyone have a chance to barricade us!  It's been one of those months!

The other day I was paying bills while the kids were in the playroom together.  I was in the bedroom busying myself with things I can only do when the kids are doing their morning Independent Play time.  Basically, Dani goes into the pack and play with toys, and Levi hangs in the room with toys, and they play.  Alone.  Daily.  So in this scenario they cry.  Often.  Can't fit the toy through the hole?  Cry.  She has something I want.  Cry.  Immediate and urgent craving for crackers.  Cry.  The list goes on, but they work it out and I find it important to teach them the value of this independence.  Plus I like to pay bills without a 1-yr old pressing the big blue power button on the computer.

So to make a long story short, after realizing they had been too angelic for too long, I poked my head in to find an empty room.  Surveying the room and our apartment, I knew before my evaluation that (a) they had not escaped on their own and (b) they were not abducted by some bad man in dark clothes with a ski mask @ 9:00 on a Tuesday morning.  I knew a refugee took them.  I just knew it.  Crying babies heard through an open window in our community is a wide open invitation to *help*.  Knowing this didn't relieve my panic, so when I walked out of my door and saw them across the way in my neighbor's apartment with huge smiles as they sat on their couch eating bananas and watching TV in Arabic, I was pretty stern in my stance of "You cannot come in my house and take my babies".
Them: "They were crying!!!"
Me:  "Yes, but you can not come into my house and take my babies" (thinking: "If whimpering is a big deal you would call the police if you saw how we do time-outs!")
Them: (picking up on my unhappy face and serious tone) "Oh, this is a problem for you?"
Me: "Yes, big problem.  I am not happy.  You scared me, I didn't know where my babies were!"
Them: (Clearly understanding now) "Oooohhhhh, sorry sorry sorry (insert lots of Arabic), no problem now, sorry sorry sorry..." (more Arabic and patting their hearts showing me they feel bad)... this goes on for some time

Anyway, the wife didn't know that the husband and daughter rescued my children that morning, and what did she do that afternoon?  Swooped Dani (14-months) off the patio while she was playing.  A little African girl was playing inside with Levi and said, "Ummm Kelli, that lady is taking Dani".  TWICE in ONE DAY!  This time there was no rescue, just a desire to get some grandbaby time.  Like borrowing a mop and assuming I know she'll return it when done.

So, the big question... what is God showing me?  To get GPS chips in my kids.  Just kidding.  Kind of.  He is showing me a few things.
* I still have no idea what community is... No clue. 
* "Neighbor" in the bible is translated "friend" in the Hebrew, and I still live like I have neighbors.... not close friends who are personally involved in my family life, and definitely not the kind of friends from other cultures who intervene in your life when you need *help*. 
* Am I opening up to the community?  Or just living here?  Are we really truly here with our hearts?  God is revealing an absence of heart within us. 
* Spending time with home-sick friends so they can receive love from my babies is something that makes their hearts overflow.  I need to do it more.
* Is "Independent Play" reasonable in a cross-cultural setting?  What does that portray to my neighbors as I hang laundry in the other room while my babies are isolated and whining in another room?  If I foster the importance of independence, am I setting them up for success in an American setting but predisposing them to a mindset (and a heart!) contrary to that of the rest of the world?  Hmmmm.... heavy stuff to ponder as a mom...
* Boundaries is something they need to learn.  Taking babies from homes and patios without telling the parent is something they can go to jail for in this country.  They understood.  And in a shame-based culture, they were very uncomfortable to see me unhappy with them.

It was a valuable lesson all the way around.

Disclaimer: For any of you who still feel uncomfortable about the baby-napping incident(s), I will keep my door locked during Independent Play... if we keep that going!  :)

Love the sidewalk, Hate the sidewalk

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.

We're not in Kansas anymore

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.

Community... a novel idea

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.

Come see the pandas!!

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! 

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

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

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!