My Dusty Road

[It’s after 1am and as lay under my warm covers, attempting to go to sleep, my mind begins to wander. This is nothing new. However, tonight my mind wanders to the dirt road that I live on in Liberia. I begin to think about that road, and I can’t stop thinking about it, so I grab my computer and begin to type.]

I’ve never lived on a dirt road before, not until I moved to Africa. The exact color of the red dirt is vivid in my mind. I can feel the dirt caked on my feet--a reminder of where I’ve gone. When I’m in Liberia, no matter how many times I scrub and no matter how much soap and water I use, the dirt of Liberia does not come off. My feet are permanently caked with the red dirt of that beloved country. It is inescapable, intrusive and persistent. Strong, for a road that doesn’t even have a name.

I begin to think about what that road has seen. In dry season, the road is so dry that it’s almost a constant dust storm--blowing into my house and covering everything inside. And during rainy season, it eventually becomes a well-worn rushing river. As the water flows, it tries to erase the road, but the road never gives in. Somehow, some way, she survives. She is determined.

I also think about all of the feet that have traveled on that road. Tired and weary feet that have kicked up her dust. Feet that know the road well--like the man who calls, “empty bah-tle” almost every morning--or feet that are on the road for the first time. The things the road has seen. I begin to recount.

My neighbors. 

To my left is the Passawe family--an ever-growing family with ever-growing responsibilities and struggles. Parents who would do anything to provide for their children. But it’s difficult when you can’t read or write. Again, to my left...Menitama. A gas station, small convenience shop and cement depot by day, and a music blaring night club at night. Mr. Menitama was shot on that dusty road a few years ago. He died, leaving his wife to run the family business. Moving across the street. One neighbor who woke me up screaming in the middle of the night because their house was broken into and everything of value was now gone. 

Next to them, a house full of children. Children who make me laugh when they dance in the rain in only their flip-flops, or want to come closer but are terrified of my harmless dog. I’ve also heard their screams many times as their parents beat them for punishment. To the other side, neighbors who are dear friends, and have also had their struggles. Armed robbers, again. And then you move behind my house. 

I can’t see those neighbors because of my cement wall with barbed wire on top, but we are all somehow still connected. Every morning, I hear children laughing and singing. It’s an orphanage. Another neighbor, who came knocking on my gate late one night because something was wrong with their newborn baby. We walked as fast as we could in the dark and through the garbage, only to find the baby laying on the bed, not breathing and blood drops under his nose. The mother weeping in the front yard, while neighbors gathered to bury the tiny baby in the ground. And then there’s “the praying woman”. Her gut-wrenching cries and prayers frequently wake me up around 4am. I’m never sure if she’s angry or desperate because I can never understand her, but she is crying out to God for something.

I think about every person who has ever come to my home. They have walked on this dirt road. And myself, I have strolled down the road, leaving dust in my wake, hundreds of times. I walk to visit neighbors. I go to the road to meet friends. And my favorite route is straight towards the ocean. It is my escape. After a long day and a big bowl of rice, I put on my “beach shoes” and duck out of my red gate and start walking down the dirt road. The children across the street call out to me and wave. I pass the woman selling roasted corn and snacks.

The music of Menitama is my soundtrack. I wait to cross the highway, a constant parade of traffic heading into town from the airport. I run across the busy highway, and I breathe alittle easier because it means I’m almost to my happy place. The cool breeze has a calming effect, as I get closer. I pass more children--”the jumper” and the small girl who swears her name is Snow White. Willie and his friends are playing marbles, or have carefully drawn out a game of hop-scotch in the red dirt. I say hello and shake hands, and try to get to the beach without a following of children. I just want to be alone, to think, make up songs, or pray. I enjoy singing my favorite songs as loud as I want. Nobody can hear me above the roar of the waves.

I get the end of the road and walk across the football field made of sand, filled with pieces of glass and lined with garbage. I pass through the grassy area, watching where I step, and ignoring the people using the restroom behind the bushes. I can see the water now. I get to where the grass meets the sand, stop, take a deep breath, scan the horizon, kick off my flip-flops and jump down onto the sand. Some days I’m more tired, and just sit down in the grass, and close my eyes and breathe in deep. But most days, I walk south towards the hotel. After four years, I’ve got the sunset all figured out, so I know that I have enough time to turn my back and walk for awhile, and when I turn around to walk back, I can enjoy the best part of the sunset. I look for shells, sing worship songs and feel the breeze on my face. I manage to escape from my day and from this country, if only for a moment.

But back to the road.

My dusty road is like my own journey. Rainy season comes and tries to carve out it’s trail. Holes form and people try to repair them, but it’s never quite the same. In the driest of dry season, the dusty road is desperate for water...even if it’s just enough to make the dust go away for a moment. The red dirt welcomes people, and sends people on their way. It ushers in new life, and death. It makes a mark on every person who journeys on it. And for some, it leaves its mark and doesn’t want to come off. 

The red dust is caked on my feet. I carry that red dust with me, even now; even though my feet are clean. The thing is that every person who’s walked that road and gathered dust on their feet has walked across my heart. There are dusty, rust colored foot prints all over my heart. The road is just dirt. But so much has happened on that road. The road has changed over time. It has been the gateway to my heart, for all of the Liberians that have walked on that road and knocked on my red gate. As soon as the red steel gate opens, that person is part of my life. They are friends or family. They change my life, and maybe I change theirs. We laugh together, and sometimes cry together. They take me in, as if I’m their daughter, mother or sister.

The best part is that when I get back to Liberia, that will still be my dusty road. I won’t have to run across the highway anymore on my way to the beach, because I will live alittle closer to the salty breeze. The red gate will be gone, and my neighbors will change. But we’re all still on the dusty road. I will still say hello to the woman selling corn. I will still hear the sounds of Menitama, but from alittle father away! I hope to still be able to hear the children at the orphanage singing “All Hail, Liberia Hail” every morning before school, as they raise the Liberian flag over the school yard. So many of my friends will walk down the road to come to my new home. And so many new friends will step foot on that dust for, perhaps, the first time.

There will still be needs and hurting people. One of my new neighbors told me his stories from during the war. How rebel soldiers would walk up from the beach when the family would be cooking and order them to hand over all of their food. They feared for their lives, so every day, they handed over what little food they managed to scrounge together. They eventually walled in their small kitchen and added a steel door just to be able to feed their family.

My dusty road. If only that road could talk. To share the stories of the people of Cooper Beach. To celebrate the life, and mourn the death. To smile and look expectantly towards the future. Seeking change. Sensing hope.

And the soundtrack of Menitama continues, I’m sure.

[I don’t have any great ending in mind for this reflection. I just knew that I had to write about my dusty road and all of the memories that are there. Otherwise I’d be rolling around for hours, playing with all of the words in my head, hoping to remember in the morning. We all know how that goes...I wouldn’t remember a thing! Maybe this story is headed somewhere else entirely, but for now, I wanted to get it down on paper.]

Momo's Story

Stories.

Stories about Liberia.

Being a storyteller.

Being His storyteller.

Those are all things have been impressed on my heart over and over again throughout the last six years. I have always believed that God sent me to Liberia to listen to the stories, and to bring those stories back to America and share with others. This blog has been one of my outlets, and you all have heard hundreds, if not thousands, of stories. Some stories make us laugh, while others bring us to our knees in tears. I don't always have the right words [or enough words] to say, and that's when I pray that the story  will simply be heard. Today I want to tell you another story.

This is Momo.

[Soko, Momo, Zinnah, Marthalyn, Small Ashley, Yatta and Naomi in front of their house]

If you have heard any of my stories, then I'm sure that you have heard about Momo. He is ORR's chief security guard, but really he is so much more than that! We call each other 'best friend'--we share secrets and clothes--no joke! We can tell each other anything, we can spend hours giving each other a hard time and we do alot of laughing! His family is my family--we've experienced birth, graduations, marriage, death and everything in between together.

[Momo and Marthalyn with Soko and Yatta on their wedding day]

When I lived in Liberia, Momo would come to my bedroom window every morning and greet me with, "Morning Asslee." If you know anything about me, you know that I'm so not a morning person...but Momo's 7am greeting was always acceptable. In the States, I have a post-it note beside my clock that says, "Morning Asslee," which serves as my pseudo-Momo greeting.

[Newly-weds]

Momo is also the best example of a true servant. I have never met someone who tirelessly serves, comes running at anytime of the day or night, always has a smile on his face and literally puts his life on the line for others. He is also the best example of dedication, loyalty and joy! Momo has seen and experienced more than most of us could ever imagine, yet he has this uncontainable joy and child-like spirit. He really is the best!

[One big happy family with constant laughter]

Momo lives in a small two room house [that isn't his, has no bathroom or water source, and his children sleep on the floor] with his wife Marthalyn, along with his son (Soko), sister-in-law (Naomi), and daughters (Zinnah and Small Ashley). His other daughter (Yatta) lives in the neighborhood with their Auntie. He does whatever he can to provide for his family, but it's not easy! After he does his best to 'put food on the table' [they don't have a table], there's school fees, medical bills, diapers for a newborn baby, and clothes and shoes to take care of. It's a struggle!

[Momo and Marthalyn on the beach together]

I could write an entire book on Momo--he's a constant source of entertainment and full of Yoda-like quotes--but I'm sharing this brief story today because I'm asking for your help. Momo's family is packed into a small two room house that they don't own. Momo has always dreamed about having a place of their own, and I have always dreamed of doing my part to help them. Momo doesn't know how much longer they will be able to live in their current place, and is trying to purchase land and start the process of building a home for his family.

[Me and Momo with our one tomato]

Momo's story is a common one in Liberia--a devoted husband and father with so many needs and no opportunity to get ahead in life. Momo and his family are my family. He's been a driving force behind the community center (he did all the leg-work to find a place and I can't wait until he can learn how to read and write through our adult literacy classes!). He's the hardest working, most honest and most full of pure happiness person that I've ever met! Him and his family deserve this!

If you would like to be a part of Momo's story, please contact me. ANY donation amount is greatly appreciated--whether it's $5 or $50, it all adds up! I am just trying to do my part--to tell Momo's story and enable others to get involved. And of course, if you are unable to give, you can always pray for Momo and his family!

Will you please help me make Momo's dreams come true?!

My Friend Lamie

[I really wanted my next post to be fun, upbeat and light-hearted. Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen. Sorry. Maybe the next one?]

Does God ever just bring people to your mind? You know, you just keep thinking about them and praying for them? I have learned that when someone keeps coming to my mind, there’s usually a reason. Just the other day, I was going to ask you to pray for two people...two people that God keeps bringing to my mind. The truth is, I wanted to show you photos...so you could put a face with a name and pray...but I didn’t want to show you this photo:

This is Lamie.

I have sat down many times to try to write about Lamie. But there just never were the proper words. I haven’t talked about him to most people, because again, words were not sufficient. I would try to tell the story, but there wasn’t a happily-ever-after yet, so I waited. Today, just now...the story ended.

I met Lamie just before Easter. Well, when I met him, he couldn’t even tell me his name. I honestly didn’t see him until Elena asked me if I’d seen the man laying on the side of the road by the dumpster. That evening, after we loaded our bikes up at the end of our bike ride, we intentionally drove past the dumpster. There laid a man. We weren’t sure how long he’d been there; a few days, at least...and the sun had been blistering hot that week! We began to talk about our options, as we tried to figure out what to do.

The next morning, we sent Momo [thank God for Momo!] to go investigate. When you’re the ‘white woman,’ you quickly (and sometimes difficultly) learn that if and when you jump in to help, it complicates things and changes the entire situation. You are suddenly either held 110% responsible, or you are 110% to blame. So, that’s why Momo went on a fact-finding mission. He began to ask the women who were selling in the market about the man laying on the side of the road. People told Momo that the man was crazy, he ‘wasn’t correct’ and that whenever someone threw 5LD (about 7 cents) his way, he’d buy alcohol. During Momo’s investigation, he took the above photo and came back to the house. 

The situation didn’t sit well with Elena or I. It didn’t make sense. It was too hot for someone to be out in the hot sun all day. The man was very thin. And to make matters worse, he was disabled and couldn’t even get out of the hot sun, garbage and his own toilet if he wanted to. Even if the man was a crazy drunk, he surely didn’t deserve this. Even the chickens scratching around the dumpster deserved a better place to scratch.

Momo continued to investigate, and eventually heard that a woman in the area used to care for the man. So Momo went to talk with the woman, and she told him that she couldn’t take care of him anymore, so she had to put him on the street. Momo met with the woman a few more times, in order to get sufficient information, before the white women got involved. We decided to go and meet with the woman and her husband. We prayed that they would be compassionate people who really cared for the man, but just became too overwhelmed. We sat under the coolness of the mango tree in their yard and talked about ‘having a human heart’ and not being able to leave a human being like that. We were told that they just didn’t have a place to keep him, but that they had built a friendship. Long (and painful) story short, we agreed to finish a small room on the side of their house for the man to stay, and we would help provide things like soap, a mattress, laundry tubs and clothes for the man. When we met with the woman, we learned that the man’s name was Lamie.

We bought a mattress, put it in the bed of the truck and went to take Lamie from the street. He got a bath and clean clothes. Momo gave him a haircut. Lamie couldn’t communicate, but I told him that he didn’t have to say anything because I could see the thankfulness in his eyes. I think that’s when I became his ‘daughter.’ 

Lamie lived in his new room for a week, and then all hell broke loose. We ‘weren’t doing enough’, the woman couldn’t take care of him anymore, people were threatening her and wanted a share of the money she was getting (she wasn’t getting any money...we were scraping to provide!), and so she was going to put Lamie back on the street. [We were expecting this to happen, but were hoping and praying that it wouldn’t.] There was so much ungratefulness and anger and deceit and evil...I had reached my breaking point!

We knew the woman really didn’t care for Lamie; so we knew he couldn’t stay there...but where would he go? We were also angry...so we wanted to take our room (or at least our zinc) with us. I’ll be honest, there was anger and I felt so disappointed by the human spirit and there was principal. That’s when things got momentarily ugly, but in the end, we took Lamie and his soiled mattress and left. Lamie ended up living on our front porch. It was truly a team effort to bathe him, dress him, bundle him up at night, do his laundry, make sure his mosquito net was over him and help him move around. We were all pushed to the limit--taking care of Lamie was taking time away from the children and our other responsibilities. We were exhausted!

But, Lamie’s cheeks got fatter. He was eating...and eating. He was clean. He was starting to talk and smile and limp around with his walking stick. I enjoyed bundling him up at night, and talking with him. He would just laugh and laugh. Drinking hot tea was a treat and he even started bossing Momo around! Lamie was improving so much, but he couldn’t live on our porch forever. We began asking around to see if there was any kind of old folks or nursing home around. After a few attempts, we found an old folks home downtown, and they sent three social workers to our house. They were very hesitant and, in actuality, probably didn’t want to take him, but they did. I had to tell Lamie that he wasn’t going to live on my porch anymore, but he was going to a new home...that was inside and he’d make friends.

During the week that he lived on my porch, I tried to ask Lamie about his life. He couldn’t remember much, but whenever I would ask him about where he was from or his family, the tears would well up in his eyes. I could tell when he would get flooded by memories. It was evident that Lamie had had a stroke, and his left side was paralyzed. It also affected his speech and memory. He told me he was a tailor, and he used to work in town on Mechlin Street. I told about how I sew with the girls at the orphanages, and maybe one day when he was healthy and strong, he could sew with us too! That brought a smile to his face.

The next day, we loaded Lamie and his mattress back into the bed of the truck. I didn’t want to take Lamie to his new home because I knew that he was sad to go and I felt like that was saying we were giving up on him. But, because I’m his ‘daughter,’ I took him to his new home to show him that he was a part of our family, and that we weren’t giving up on him.

Because of our work schedule, we would go and visit Lamie about once a week. If I told him I’d see him on Tuesday, I would make sure that I was there on Tuesday! I had to stick to my word with Lamie, because I knew it mattered to him. His new home wasn’t the best of places, but there wasn’t any other option. There were about 25 other old people living there, and it was always fun to see them, especially the ‘characters’. They always brought a smile to my face, and I always brought a smile to theirs. 

Lamie began to improve. He was gaining more weight; which could only be seen in his fat cheeks. He was getting around alittle bit, with the help of his walking stick and friends. He was smiling and laughing. I felt like our prayers had been answered, but I also knew that the home couldn’t fully provide for all of Lamie’s needs.

After a few weeks, Lamie got sick. He was coughing alot and not eating very much. One day when I went to visit, I found him laying on the floor on the other side of the room--he had tried to get around and had fallen and couldn’t get back up. I was worried. I kept praying and kept visiting Lamie.

My time in Liberia was coming to a close, and I knew I was going to have to tell Lamie that I was leaving Liberia. I went to visit, and explained to him how I was going to the States because my sister was having a baby. I told him that I didn’t know when I was coming back to Liberia, but that I would always be thinking about him and praying for him. He didn’t say anything, but the tears began to roll down his cheeks. That made me lose it! I gave him a big speech about how I wasn’t giving up on him and that he was still part of my family and that he couldn’t give up on himself, even when the people at the old folks home were giving up on him. I told him I would come back in a few days before I left for America.

That day was terrible. I was sad and he was sad. There wasn’t much to say. I gave him another speech, and prayed for him. I told him that I would come and visit him as soon as I got back to Liberia. He was so sad, and I told him that he needed to smile so I could remember him happy instead of sad. And just like that, as he was laying in his bed, he rolled over and gave me the biggest smile. His smile matched the smile he had when we snuck plums in for him and he ate one...juice dripping all down his face and arms...he was like a kid in heaven! That’s how I remember Lamie--his big toothy smile, his child-like laughter and his strength and determination to overcome so much!

I was thinking about Lamie alot yesterday, as well as this morning. I checked my phone and I had four missed calls from Momo. I called Momo and he told me that he went to visit Lamie today and when he got there, he was told that Lamie had died.

My only response was, “are you serious?!” And then my eyes began to well with tears.

Life is so unfair. This isn't right. It doesn't make sense. Why does a man have to suffer so much and feel so unloved and unwanted, only to die alone. I am filled with sadness, but I’m still seeking the joy.

Lamie’s body is whole again. Lamie died knowing that those crazy white people loved him. We fed, clothed and gave cold water. We fought for truth, justice and for what was right. It didn’t matter that we were different or that he was from a certain tribe or that he was a stranger. It didn’t matter that he was physically disabled--his heart was gold! He brought laughter and unity and compassion. He was an example, and a reminder. There is no happily-ever-after for this story and this morning, Lamie’s story came to a close. But, I know that his story and his life weren’t told and lived to be forgotten. He lived his story so that he could be remembered. His insurmountable obstacles, but he kept that spark in his eye. The joy in his smile, despite his circumstances. His literal example for us, to be the Good Samaritan. Lamie was my friend--my beautiful, laughter-filled, sweet-spirited (unless he wanted a haircut from Momo) friend. At one point, Lamie had taken everything out of me, but I pressed on because Jesus filled me and equipped me to keep going. Lamie was and is a part of my story...and a reason why I just can’t walk away from Liberia.

[This is the only other photo that we have of Lamie. Consider this the "after".]

[The next post will be about that second person that I was going to ask you all to pray for! And then we'll get something happy up in here!]

A Gift for Joshua

If you’ve been around here long enough, you probably know that there are a few children who are extra special to me. [I’m not supposed to have favorites...but I do.] One kid--um..young woman--who is extremely special to me is Jogma. You’ve heard alot about her already: here, here and here. Jogma and I have always been close, but her pregnancy and difficult four-day-long-labor really cemented our friendship!

It’s hard to believe that little Joshua will be one year old in less than two weeks! Time has flown by...and he’s so stinkin’ cute!  First birthdays are a HUGE deal in Liberia! I think a big reason is because so many children don’t live to see their first birthday, so the parties and celebrations are BIG! Today, I’m asking for your help to make Joshua’s birthday alittle more sweet!

Before I left Liberia, I gave Jogma a few small things for Joshua’s first birthday. I could  give Joshua clothes or toys or a big party, but I think one of the best gifts that I can give is an opportunity for his parents, Jogma and Cyrus. Both Jogma and Cyrus are extremely hard-working and incredibly smart! They have big dreams for their son, but they also have dreams for themselves--they want to continue their education.

That’s where you come in! 

Jogma has finally made it to her 12th grade year at a local Catholic high school. She is a bright student, and she really loves learning. Whether it’s reading Harry Potter (yes!) or learning a new skill ...she is like a sponge! Jogma needs $420 to finish her senior year of high school. This will cover her tuition, text books, uniform and other supplies. If you want to donate $5 or $500--AWESOME! Or, maybe twenty-one people want to each give $20, or one person wants to give $35 every month...or any other combination.

To begin with, Cyrus will take a twelve week course in Microsoft Office and the internet. Then he hopes to take more advance courses in Access, basic SQL and A+ Hardware. These courses will take 8 months, and then the final 16 month course is a Cisco Certified Network Associate. I would LOVE to raise enough money to cover the first two courses, which will cost $210, plus the cost of a used laptop. 

By furthering Jogma and Cyrus’ educations, they will better be able to provide for their family and it will give Joshua a brighter future! If you would like to donate, please leave a comment or send me an email and I can give you further details. Thank you, and a super huge thank you from Jogma, Cyrus and Joshua!

Day 3--The Backbone

Lately you've been hearing about kids, orphanage directors, orphanages and my teammates...so I thought I'd switch it up. I wanted to introduce you to the ORR field team backbone--our Liberian staff! They work hard, keep us going, sacrifice for us, put their lives on the line, cook, clean, do laundry, go on bread runs, act as a gatekeeper, get sent on crazy errands, love on kids and deal with endless strange 'white man' things (Legos, Trouble, Chutes and Ladders, baseball, composting, American chocolate, rice krispie treats, blueberries, pancake breakfasts, fried okra, ping-pong, surfing, rollerblading, computers, Skyping with someone in the States...I could go on and on). If it weren't for these amazing people, we would not be able to function! They mean so much to our team and the kids, but they really are my second family, my home away from home, my Liberia mother, brothers and friends--best friends. So without further adieu, here are a few beautiful, Liberian souls that bring joy to my day, make life in Liberia alittle easier and who truly are family.

I feel obligated to start the list with my best friend, Momo. If you've spent anytime with me, listening to my forever-long stories about Liberia, then you've heard plenty of Momo stories. I could seriously write a book just about Momo. I am also telling the truth when I say that he is my most favorite person in the world. I have never met anyone so full of life and laughter, innocence and wisdom, and he just makes me laugh...constantly! Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of frustrations that come along with Momo, but it's also pretty hard to get upset at the guy. Momo goes above and beyond on a daily basis; unless he's decided to just relax and think for the day. Momo is our Chief of Security and literally puts his life on the line for us and our safety. But Momo does so many other things! He gets bread and eggs or soft drinks, he helps me garden, he cuts the grass, he paints things, he fixes things, he breaks the things he's trying to fix, he pumps water, he negotiates deals, he finds parts, he sweeps the yard, he cuts down trees, he plants trees, he takes care of chickens, he's the dog whisperer, he sings and dances, he rollerblades, he's been known to use break fluid as lotion, he has an amazing fashion sense, he enjoys talking to my family on Skype, he takes care of visitors, he gets vexed if I'm still out in the neighborhood when it gets dark, he wakes me up just about every morning, he washes cars, he takes out the compost, he carries heavy bags of rice, he loads trucks, he unloads trucks, he translates, he loves giving guests a hard time, he loves telling guests about Liberia, he bathes in the ocean, he removes bottle caps with his teeth, he's a mean bamboo cutter, he can out garden anyone, he can eat 6+ mangoes in one sitting...I think you get the idea! Like I always say, "everyone needs a Momo in their life."

{Momo and Marthalyn's wedding day, with Momo's children}

Momo's sweet and beautiful wife, Marthalyn, is also a part of our Liberian family. Not only is she an amazing woman because she puts up with Momo, but she's pretty amazing because she washes our clothes and helps clean our house. This girl has some serious muscle! She is so giving and humble and hospitable. She works hard; she hardly makes a sound when she's cleaning, but she laughs alot. Some of my favorite times with Marthalyn are when I just go over to their house and sit on the front porch with her as the sun sets. We can spend hours talking and laughing, talking and laughing. We're the tag-team that keeps Momo in line. Marthalyn also takes care of two children (Momo's son and her younger sister), and she also has a small market table where she sells cookies, peanuts, and other snacks (which she somehow finds the time to make--I've seen her roasting peanuts over a fire at 11pm with a headlamp!). Marthalyn is a good friend, and I've really enjoyed watching her loosen up over the past few years. 

The true backbone of our house is Ma Mary! She is one of the most humble, Godly, sincere, hardworking and honest women I know! Ma Mary is just that--she's my Liberian Ma! She also keeps the ORR team running by filling our food baskets. She cooks dinner for us during the week--every single meal is cooked full of love, pepper and amazingness! She works her magic in the kitchen, but she also helps me run the relief program. She keeps up with the feeding schedule, buys the food in the market, counts cups and cups of rice and beans, and sneezes away as she counts. She also LOVES the children! We finally figured out a way to get her out of the kitchen and with the kids, so she helps me with the CDP program too. She is a woman so full of God! While she's slicing onions, pounding cassava leaf or slicing pumpkin she is usually praying or singing hymns. It makes my day to hear her praying for the children or humming 'How Great Thou Art'. She has endured and survived the war and loosing her husband, but because of her determination and business sense, she runs multiple businesses so she can put her two sons through college! Pretty much if you have a question or need advice, you ask Ma Mary. I LOVE this amazing woman!

Ma Mary's partner in prayer is Piko! These two women have been friends since they were children, and I always love to hear their stories from growing up together. Piko is a firecracker and so full of laughter!  We spent alot of time laughing together. Piko has worked for me every since I started with ORR, and has done an excellent job monitoring our orphanages. She is basically our eyes and ears in the orphanages on a consistent basis. She can tell you who's sick, who's misbehaving, the meals that were cooked, the whereabouts of the children or orphanage staff--she knows it all! Piko also helps with the CDP program. Like Ma Mary, Piko is a Godly woman who enters her prayer closet, for ORR and the children we serve, on a daily basis. On Friday mornings, I make her tea (unless it's just too stinkin hot), we talk about the kids and then we pray. Piko is a giver, and she's been through alot in her life, but she has joy in Christ. She is such a great friend and an amazing woman of God.

Amma is a newer member of the ORR family. He's our weekend daytime security guard. When he was first hired, he was always very serious. We also had some difficulty communicating, because his English isn't the best. But, now we communicate much better and Amma has really blossomed into a very funny person! He laughs and jokes and is quite the character. He discovered rice krispie treats and absolutely loves them! Amma is also a serious gardener, but he doesn't quite get the science behind it all. He frequently dumps entire seed packets into one small pot or covers plants up to protect them from the rain but doesn't uncover them to get some sun, but it's so cute, so I just leave it that way. He loves to just help out in the yard and to learn new things about gardening. I also had the hilarious privilege of introducing Amma to American baseball--the baseball eventually turned into a soccer ball and the car tires became his goal--but he's a die-hard Braves fan (aka he's always wearing the Braves hat that I gave him!). Amma has a sweet daughter, Sinoe, who comes to visit sometimes, and that's when we pull out the coloring books. Amma colors with us too. Amma works hard to try to provide what he can for his daughter, and he was so proud when he was able to register her for school this year--she's 12 years old and it was her first time going to school! Amma's got a big heart and plenty of laughter to go around!

And finally, our driver Joseph. Like Amma, Joseph took awhile to come out of his shell. But once he came out, there was no stopping this guy! He's a true comedian. So much so, that you start to get confused if he's still joking because he thinks it's so funny or because he's actually serious. Not only does Joseph drive us around and take care of our vehicles, but he runs errands, he negotiates for us, he sometimes is like an ambulance driver, he hauls construction supplies, he mentors the older boys and he helps out with the CDP program. If you can't find Joseph, you can usually find him in the garage with his headphones in trying to catch some quick zzz's. He also loves to eat! Whenever I bake with the girls, he always tries to get an entire pan for himself. Joseph enjoys alittle friendly competition, but I've only lost 100 LD (about $1.38) to him. He's a pretty amazing man--he's got three daughter, but has a house full of children that he takes care of by himself. He's a deacon at his church and has a heart to work with the older boys in the orphanages, but he doesn't mind playing Chutes and Ladders or football with the smaller kids. He gets us where we need to be, and provides laughter along the way.


All of these people are integral to ORR's work in Liberia, but more importantly, they are my family. Please pray for our Liberian staff members--that God would bless them and that He would keep them healthy and safe. Pray that God would provide for their families and that He will meet their needs. Pray that God would strengthen them so that they can press on and continue the work that He's called them to. Pray that they would come to know Him in new and fresh ways. Pray that they would be blessed for all of the sacrifices that they make, and that their hearts would continue to be burdened for their fellow Liberians. Pray that they would know Him and make Him known.

It Could Have Been Me [Or You]

Exactly four years ago today, I was running around like a crazy woman and staying up until 3am packing for an adventure of a lifetime. You see, on February 15, 2007, I boarded a plane for Monrovia, Liberia for the first time. February 14, 2007 is a milestone date for me. It was the last day of my so-called "normal life". This is what I wrote in my journal on that night four years ago:

I'm seriously going to just spew out love for 34 days straight. Everything is pretty overwhelming! Hopefully I will get some good sleep tonight; ready and refreshed for the longest, craziest day of my life. My life will never be the same again! That is what is exciting...and scary!"

I thought spewing out love for 34 days was difficult...but [mostly] spewing out love for 4 years is another story! I would have never guessed that four years later, I would still be in Liberia, and it would be called home. I know so much more about the country and culture; and I deeply love the people--especially the children that have so greatly impacted my own life. My life has not been the same since that February 14th four years ago.

Sometimes people ask me questions like, "when did you know that Liberia was your calling?" or "when did it click?". The single experience that made Liberia real and that made this all click happened just 5 days after I arrived in Liberia, and it has to do with a girl named Rosie.

[Rosie greeting me on my last morning in Liberia in 2007]

I remember Rosie so well. Cautious, skeptical, stern looks, the type to just sit back and observe. Rosie hardly said a word. One afternoon, we were sitting inside a thatched wall school, reading books and letting the kids play with my camera. I hadn't figured out how to have conversations with the children in the orphanage about their past. But for some reason, I started asking Rosie about her family, and her life at the orphanage. And for some strange reason, she began to open up and tell me her story.

Rosie had been at the orphanage for four years. She came from far away--"on the other side of the river"--but I didn't know enough about Liberia to know what she meant. She had two older siblings and two younger siblings; she's a middle child, just like me. She likes gospel music and she loves to sing. Both of Rosie's parents died during Liberia's civil war. Two of her siblings went to live with her aunt and the other two went to live with her grandmother. I asked if she got to visit her siblings and she put her head down and was holding back tears. The only thing I could say was, "you don't get to visit often enough, right?" She still kept her head down, without saying anything. Rosie has finally started to open up to me, even asking me about my family, but now she was completely silent. I sat back in my chair and my eyes welled with tears. I tried to watch the other kids playing through my tears, but then I just lost it. I put my hands over my face so the kids wouldn't see my crying and tried to compose myself. That didn't work and I just needed to get out of that room. All of the children became concerned, so I told them I was just going to go outside for a minute. I walked down the back steps and headed towards the lagoon to take a breather.

I wasn't crying because Rosie has lost her parents. Or because she seemed so sad. I was crying because I couldn't imagine her pain. Her siblings were at home and together, and she is the one who got let go of. If I were her, I'd be angry and asking God "why me?!" It was in that moment that I understood her silence. As I walked to the lagoon and back, I wrestled with God and asked why her?!

When I came through the line of coconut trees, all of the children who I had left inside were waiting for me. They all ran up and hugged me and grabbed my hands. I noticed that Rosie wasn't with everyone else. She came walking through the crowd and when she reached me I explained that it wasn't her fault and that she hadn't done anything wrong. I went on to explain that I was sad because she was sad. But that we shouldn't be sad because God gives us hope. The kids smiled and nodded and then we headed back inside to read more books.

That moment with Rosie forever changed my life. Hearing her pain broke my heart, but made me want to love her even more. In that moment, I realized that it could have been me. I could have been that middle child that nobody wanted. I could have been the one shipped off to the orphanage. It could have been me, but thank God that it wasn't. I also realized that I didn't have anything adequate enough to give these kids, but that I could be Jesus' hands and feet.

For the rest of my trip, every morning Rosie would be waiting for me in the driveway of the orphanage. As soon as I jumped out of the van, she was there with a smile on her face and would grab my hand. We would spend hours together under the plum trees, talking and laughing, and she would patiently teach me to crochet. To this day, whenever I show up at her orphanage, the children alert Rosie that I'm there, and she comes out with a smile and grabs my hand. Today, Rosie is a beautiful young woman.

It could have been me. Or it could have been you. But thank God that it wasn't. Thank God for Rosie--that her past and her pain were used to change my life. And that her story can be used to change all of our lives. Because of Rosie, four years later, I am still in Liberia being Jesus' hands and feet to those who need to feel His love the most.

The Balancing Act

In case you don't know, Liberians can carry anything [see photo below] on their heads. I am always amazed at what women can carry on their heads--they gracefully walk and turn their head from side to side without using their hands and without their load even wobbling. I understand, it frees up their hands. I can't get over the weight of the loads sometimes either--a 5-gallon tin of oil or water...which I can hardly carry in my hands. Grace. Balance. Strong Necks!

Last week, Ma Mary and I bought 2 cases (6 tins each...33lbs. of milk, plus the weight of 6 metal canisters) of milk in Red Light. Ma Mary had the man put the case on her head, and without blinking, told the man to put the second case on my head. Now, when I first came to Liberia, I went with the motto: "When in Liberia, do as Liberians do", so I ended up carrying cement blocks on my head. After about 6 blocks, I got yelled at: "Put the block down. Your neck and head are not used to the weight. Your head can be hurting." I think that might have been the last time I carried anything on my head. So, as I was walking through Red Light with the milk on my head [and as everyone was commenting on the 'wha womah wit da low on her heah'], I couldn't look from side to side, and after about 20 steps I could feel my neck straining. And I was using my hands! Phew! Anyway, the point of all of this is to be able to show you this fabulous picture from the other day. I pulled out of my gate, and this is what was passing by:

[Woman on the right--an average Liberian load. Woman on the left--never seen anything like it. Yes, it's a toilet! And yes, the women aren't using their hands!]

And Then There Were Three...

[Me, Cramer & Deb]

Now there are only 3 of us in the ORR team house. Last Monday, we took Cramer to the airport and shipped him home to Ohio. Tonight, we shipped Deb back to Seattle. Things are changing for us...our 'waterboy' and 'mirror' are no longer here with us. Things are getting quiet. There's less loud laughter. No more spontaneous singing or running. I'm feeling less beams off the mirror already. And, I'm sure there will be less dancing in the kitchen. Anyway, you can be in prayer for Cramer and Deb. That they will use their time at home wisely. That they will be renewed, refreshed and encouraged. For divine appointments (Deb, you better have handed out those business cards to everyone in first class!). Pray for those of us still in Liberia (me, Jen, Matt, Mariel & Andrew). It's so amazing how different parts of Christs' body are represented in each of us, and when one (or two) parts go missing for awhile, the other parts can feel the change. God sure knows what He's doing--creating this amazing family, full of incredible people, to do His work!

Since I've Been Home

Sorry things have been so quiet on this end. Some of you have been wondering where I've been and what I've been up to. Let me show you.

I've been spending time with these people:

[My family, Leslie, my sisters, Juju--my sister, best friend and Bride-to-Be (I've been waiting for the perfect time to use this picture...it makes me laugh everytime! I think Juju was being a turtle??), and the soon-to-be Mr. & Mrs. Daniel Baily]

And then there's the wedding junk:

[cupcakes, showers, ice skating, bachelorette party, belly dancing, making over 600 truffles, centerpieces, altering dresses, cleaning, packing, moving, organizing, making to-do lists, running errands, making airport runs, laundry.....]

The rehersal and rehersal dinner are tonight, and tomorrow's the big day!! I'll post pictures from the wedding as soon as I recover. And after I recover, I'll also get out my November newsletter (oops!). And tell you some stories about Liberia...and give you some of my reflections and thoughts.

Faces

Field Team Complete!

The field team in Liberia is finally complete! We are so excited for Debbie to join the team! Debbie will be serving as our Healthcare Coordinator. We have had some medical challenges and now we have a knowledgeable nurse! Not only does Debbie have over 8 years of nursing experience, but with Debbie around, our team is full of joy and laughter.

We welcomed Debbie to Liberia on Friday night. In celebration of Debbie’s arrival, Friday was known around our house as Debbie Day. We wished each other ‘Happy Debbie Day’ all day long.

Debbie's feeling a bit overwhelmed, as we all do when we first arrive; so I know Debbie would appreciate your prayers. Pray for Debbie as she adjusts to life in Liberia. Please keep the rest of the field team in your prayers, along with all of the orphanages that we are working with. Pray for God’s provision—for the orphanages, the children and our ministry. Pray that OR&R’s ministry in Liberia would continue to touch the lives of Liberia’s orphans.

[L to R: Jennifer, Ashley, Matthew, Andrew, Debbie]

Thank you all for your continued prayers and support

Pray for Gifty

Let me introduce you to Gifty.

We've (well, mainly Andrew) has been advocating through hospitals for her this last week or so. About one month ago, Gifty was placed at one of the orphanages that we're involved with. Her mother died from hepatitis, and her father is not in the picture. A neighbor lady started to take care of Gifty after her mom died, but the lady was leaving Gifty with other people to go and sell in the market. A neighbor of the orphanage asked if they could take her in, and they did.

Gifty is very thin...the thinnest child I have seen in Liberia. She is 14 months old, and weighs just over 11 pounds! Her forearms aren't much bigger than my thumb. Her belly is distended and full of air and liquid. The whites of her big, beautiful black eyes are very yellow. She is very septic right now, but has been going through antibiotic treatment.

After getting her admitted to Island Hospital (run by MSF), and after a number of tests, we learned that Gifty has a liver disease where her body does not produce bile. If she lived somewhere else in the world, and had access to quality healthcare, she would have received a liver transplant within the first month or two of her life. Now it is too late. The only chance for Gifty to live a normal life is to get a live transplant, but we are in Liberia, and that will not happen here.

We got Gifty transferred to Benson Hospital (also run by MSF) this week, and now we are just waiting. We don't know what Gifty's future looks like. The doctor has told us that it will be a continuous cycle--septic, treatment, septic, treatment--but we don't know how long the cycle will last.

I met Gifty yesterday, and I can tell that despite her condition, she is a strong little thing! She made it clear that she wasn't happy, and also that she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to be my friend. I think next time, I need to take Andrew's approach and just eat her up with kisses...maybe that will work? But seriously, I'm asking that you pray for Gifty. Pray for healing...pray for a miracle!

I will keep you updated.