My (not-so-little-anymore) little guy

Yesterday, Deb asked me if I would like to go see Beyan and bring Christmas gifts to the kids. My immediate reponse: "Umm, YEAH!" (Everyone knows I can never resist a Beyan-visit!)

When we arrived at the orphanage, Sarah was the first kid to come up to us. Right away, Deb and I started oohing and aahing over how much she'd grown. Moses showed up next, followed by a giggly Koiboi. And then I saw Beyan, in his telltale red and black striped jersey, poke his head around the corner and give me a shy little smile. Immediately, I called him over to me and gave him a huge hug (I have to say--there's nothing like a snuggly Beyan-hug! It's one of my favorite things in the world!) He, of course, was his usual frisky, mischievous self; every time I pulled out my camera, he'd start "bluffing", acting all serious and doing his best to hold back his smile:

Then I'd make a funny face or pull him close and poke his belly, and he'd dissolve into giggles again.

Later, as I watched him laughing and playing with his friends, I was struck (yet again) by how much of a change I see in him. When I think of the Beyan I first met in 2008, I remember a pathetic, frail, hungry and neglected little boy. I remember a boy who didn't smile, didn't talk, who just sat in the dirt and stared at me with the saddest eyes I think I've ever seen. Those eyes haunted me; those eyes are one of the reasons I came back to Liberia.

Today, the Beyan I saw had no more sadness in his eyes. His belly was full of rice, and there was a light and a joy in him that was never there before. As he handed me three pink flowers he picked off a bush, I felt like my heart was going to explode with happiness. And, when I knelt down and looked into his eyes and asked him, "Beyan, do you know that I love you?", he smiled and nodded yes!

I know that, as much as I joke about Beyan being my "son", and even though the kids call me his "ma", he is not my own. I know the day will come when I will have to say goodbye, and I know it will tear my heart apart. Until then, I will cherish days like this one, moments of laughter and hugs and love. They're what keep me here.

Merry Christmas, Liberia-style!

This has been a long week, and I'm not going to lie; I'm exhausted. But even though it was tiring, it was also a LOT of fun, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Monday: After days of sorting clothes and shoes, wrapping gift bundles, and writing Christmas notes for the kids, it was finally Christmas delivery time! We spent the afternoon with 31 amazing kids, giving out Christmas gifts and celebrating the season with singing and dancing. One of my favorite moments of the day was watching Aaron hurriedly change into his new outfit to go get his picture taken. He LOVED his new purple t-shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers, and couldn't wait to show them off!

Tuesday: Christmas delivery day two! Again, we loaded the pick-up with boxes of clothes, flip-flops, gifts, books, food, and more. The kids were jumping up and down and cheering as they watched us pull up to the orphanage. I loved watching the girls squeal with delight as they opened their gift bundles to find little purses with jewelry inside, and the boys immediately took their toy cars outside to play with them. They were so thankful and so joyful. Days like that make me realize how blessed I am to be here and be a part of these kids' lives.

Wednesday: Final Christmas delivery day--for EIGHTY TWO KIDS! Some of the kids are new to the orphanage, so it was their first time experiencing an Orphan Relief and Rescue Christmas. It was amazing to see their eyes light up when they realized they were getting a new outfit AND new shoes AND a gift bundle AND a copybook AND a storybook! They kept laughing and saying over and over, "It's all for me!" Priceless!

Christmas in Liberia 2010 from Orphan Relief and Rescue on Vimeo.

Thursday: I woke up feeling absolutely drained; I think my body was telling me it was time for a break. I enjoyed a relatively calm Thursday and later wrapped some gifts for a very special Christmas delivery the next day...

Friday: Today I went to visit Beyan and three other kids I know living at an orphanage nearby. (It's been about two months since I saw my boy, and I was blown away by how much he's growing!) As I handed out the gifts, I explained that, even though we don't see them all the time, we love them and have not forgotten about them. The kids started grinning as they received their gifts and, even though they seemed anxious to open them, all four opted to save it and wait for Christmas Day.

After that, Deb and I made a quick stop at the supermarket to buy food for the weekend. We were greeted by a Liberian...in a Santa suit...ringing a bell. Yeah. It was awesome.

Tomorrow, Deb, the Cramers and I are planning to go out for a big breakfast and then spend Christmas at the pool/beach. We'll probably go to Sajj, our favorite local hangout, later in the evening for dinner. After that, I have a week's worth of vacation--which I am more than ready for and definitely in need of. Sun, sand, sleeping in. Lazy mornings. Lots of porch time. Good friends, good food. It's going to be wonderful.

Obviously, Christmas in Liberia is different in many ways than Christmas at home. I'm used to white Christmases, candlelight services with my incredible church family, and hot chocolate by a cozy fire--all things I undoubtedly miss at this time of year.

What I miss most, though, is you. You, dear family and friends, are missed terribly and thought of and prayed for often. I hope you have a very, very Merry Christmas, and that you are filled with joy as you celebrate our Savior's birth!

Spread some Christmas cheer!

Okay, folks; Christmas is LESS THAN TWO WEEKS AWAY! Eek! This is an exciting time in Liberia, as we are starting to get everything ready to bring Christmas to the awesome kids that we work with.

Each child gets new clothes and flip-flops as well as a gift bundle. Oftentimes, this is the only Christmas gift that these children receive--which is why we aim to make it extra special for them! Gift bundles include pencils, a copybook, some candy, a toothbrush, a toy, and an apple. (Apples in Liberia are a sign of love, just like hearts are in the States. So the kids get super-excited when they get their apples because they recognize that these truly are gifts of love!)

Now, if you're anything like me, you wait until almost the last minute to get Christmas gifts for your friends and family, and I know that "the last minute" has a way of sneaking up on you. So why don't you check out the Christmas page on our website and buy a gift bundle or two while you still can! For just $25, you can give a child in Liberia a gift of his or her very own. You can even send along a Christmas greeting that is sure to put a huge smile on a child's face. Please join us as we bring the joy of Christmas to kids who need it!

two years later.

Today is my Liberian two-year anniversary. It was a mere 730 days ago that this crazy, wonderful whirlwind of a journey began.

Two years ago, I had just gone through a messy, painful, drawn-out divorce. I was on the verge of losing my job and, consequently, my apartment. I was over my head in debt and bills I couldn't pay, some of my (seemingly) most meaningful relationships had fallen apart, and I was honestly pretty close to falling apart myself. I had absolutely no clue what came next or how I would get there even if I knew what to expect.

I arrived in Liberia for the first time on November 21, 2008, shell-shocked and exhausted, still having trouble believing it was actually happening. I had clearly heard God tell me to go to Liberia, and I truly believed that it--whatever it was--was the culmination of a dream He put in me almost two decades ago. I was finally on African soil, and I knew deep down in my core that it was going to change me forever.

Liberia both captivated and tore my heart apart. I saw things I didn't want to see, things I didn't know how to process or explain. Poverty became real. It had a face--the face of a beautiful people that deserved so much more. For the first time in a long time, I wept for someone besides myself. Walking away from Liberia almost broke me, yet something inside knew that I'd be coming back.

One year ago, I was packing up the remains of a life I once lived, preparing to return to Liberia at last. I'd just gone through a season of intense prayer, of confirmation and later doubt, of waiting, of loss of hope and then hope renewed, of trying to come to terms with the fact that my entire life had become something not my own. Everything was changing...
I had finally come to a place where I could laugh again, where I felt a lightness of heart, where my life was filled with good people that I loved and who loved me. And I was saying goodbye to it all. I was going back to Liberia. I remember feeling excited. Happy. Unsure. Scared. Hopeful.

During my second stay in Liberia, I laughed, cried, learned, taught, wrote, questioned, prayed. God used that time to grow me in a way I had never thought possible. He used Liberia (and all the experiences that came along with it) to completely turn my world upside down. Each day was more challenging than the last--yet also more rewarding. And when the time came for me to go home, I was once again torn. I knew that I was supposed to come back; I knew I wasn't done in Liberia. Yet I also ached for home, for the way things were. A part of me wanted to just...go back.

Even so, today I sit here, back in Liberia once more. Looking back, I am simply awestruck that this is where I am, that this is who I am. I see things with fresh eyes these days; even so, I know I'm only getting a mere glimpse of how all the puzzle pieces from the last two years fit together. Somehow, though, I have peace. I feel stronger...

I'm amazed every day as I feel Him working through me. What's even more amazing to me, though, is how I feel Him working in me. He has promised me newness, beauty from ashes, and I believe this season is the beginning of it. He is taking all my broken pieces and shaping them into something glorious, soon to be revealed. He's rescued my raw and wounded heart and is anointing it with His oil. He's seen my emptiness and whispers to me that soon I will be full. He brought me all the way here, to the "land of liberty" in order that He may set me free.

Please pray for Bill

This is Bill. He's shy and soft-spoken, and has one of the sweetest smiles I've ever seen. I first got to know Bill last year, as he was in my small group on Monday afternoons. Though he was usually quiet in the big group, he'd often come alive during one-on-one time, asking lots of questions and working hard on whatever project was put in front of him. He likes coloring and drawing, writing and being creative, and has dreams of going to university one day.

Last year, Bill started complaining of "bone pain." None of us were really sure what that meant or what to do for it, but we definitely could see that it was real, and that it was greatly affecting him. Hearing him cry out in pain, tears streaming down his face, broke my heart. I can remember going with Ashley to take Bill to the hospital one day; he was sitting on lap, terrified and hurting, crying softly to himself. They released him later that evening, but he still continued to suffer.

A few weeks ago, Mary and Piko, two of our Liberian employees, suggested to Deb that it might be sickle cell disease. Apparently, they knew a girl who had suffered with many of the same symptoms, and that had been her diagnosis. Deb then made the arrangements to have Bill taken to the hospital and tested. Sure enough, Bill was diagnosed with sickle cell disease this past Wednesday.

I don't know too much about sickle cell, but I do know that Bill has a difficult road ahead of him. Many of the treatments are simply not an option in this country, and the complications of the disease are extremely serious, sometimes even life-threatening.

So I'm asking that you would please remember Bill and pray for him regularly. He is such an incredible kid, and I want him to have a full, long, and healthy life.
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." I believe these very things for Bill's life. Please stand in faith with me.

Some really special girls

Everyone knows that being a teenager is difficult. Personally, I think girls have an especially tough time during those years. They worry about their appearance, school, friends, family. They struggle with self-esteem, confidence, and image. They're trying to figure out who they really are in the midst of a world that is quick to tell them who they should be. It doesn't matter whether they live in the States, Canada, or here in Liberia; the struggles are still the same.

This is the story of six precious, beautiful, amazing girls that are very close to my heart. I think one of the reasons their sadness affects me so much is because I see myself in them. I remember being that age and having many of those very same problems. I was lucky, though, to have people in my life that I could talk to about my issues, people to love me and encourage me and inspire me. These girls don't have many people like that, and that's what breaks my heart.

Please consider taking the time to write a short note of encouragement to one of these girls. You can use the Orphan Relief and Rescue contact form or email me directly. It only takes a few moments of your time and will make such an incredible impact. Thank you!

"the days keep coming; they never fail ya."

so many of you have asked me what my life here in Liberia is like. the answer--often unexpected. rarely going according to plans. surprising. hectic. beautiful. challenging. rewarding. atypical. something like this:

wake up at about seven o'clock, often still tired from a night of sweating, tossing, turning, barking dogs, car horns, and the other various sounds of our neighborhood. sometimes, i do sleep surprisingly well. especially if it rains at night. rain equals a cool breeze. and that's always nice.

coffee. and water. porch time. breathing huge, deep, contented sighs. this is my sanctuary. i read. i write. i sing. i pray. there are usually interruptions. sometimes, it doesn't bother me, and i resume. sometimes, i get frustrated and go back inside.

get dressed. eat breakfast. bread. and eggs. lots of bread and eggs. i usually wish for cereal. or yogurt and granola. fresh fruit. a bagel.
sometimes there's bacon. that's when i know it's going to be a good day.

"work" begins. emails, Facebook, blogs. planning lessons. writing curriculum. reading children's books. brainstorming. more computer work. it's hot. i don't drink nearly enough water during the day. i remember what it was like when i'd plan lessons for my students. so many resources then. such a different world.

it's busy inside the fence. people are coming and going. people are just stopping by. people come in and out of the house. two or three people are trying to talk to me at once. cell phones ring. someone is knocking on the gate. i chuckle and shake my head. i can't stay irritated; i love these people too much.

sometimes i step away from the computer and run errands in town. i really don't like going to town. it's loud and busy and hot and chaos. or maybe i'll go to an orphanage in the morning. hopefully, i don't need to go near Red Light. or Duala. more loudness. more business. more chaos. it's exhausting.

lunch time. or something like that. sometimes i eat. sometimes i keep working. sometimes i read. sometimes i nap.

time to go to an orphanage. load up the car with supplies for class. drive--or, rather, sit while Joseph drives. marvel at the sheer insanity of traffic here. lots of car horns. no actual speed limit. so many people are walking. i wish we could pick all of them up. i feel guilty and over-privileged. they're covered in sweat and dust, and they're walking. i pass them in my air-conditioned truck.
lots of people staring. some wave. some point. some give me the thumbs up. some look terrified. "white woman!" usually i'm okay with being the white freak show. i don't enjoy it, nor do i want the attention, but i accept it.
sometimes, though, i hate it. i want to cry. i want to yell. i want to run away, back to a place where i can fit in, where i'm not constantly on display.

arrive at the orphanage. cheers and waves. running kids. jumping kids. hugs, kisses, handshakes. these days, they look so healthy. they're taller. fat cheeks and clean clothes. toothless smiles. they hold my hand, play with my hair, fight over who gets to sit next to me. they crawl in my lap, throw their arms around my neck. this is where i have to fight back the tears. i wish i could explain how much i love them. i wish they knew how beautiful and special and talented they are. i feel sick when i think about them being hungry. or ill. or dirty. or sad. or lonely. i want them to have every good thing. i wish.

class begins. we pray. they listen and laugh. usually we understand each other quite well. sometimes i can tell by their blank stares that they have no idea what i just said. questions. they're learning to raise their hands and wait their turn before calling out. they've grown and changed so much. we read our Bibles. play games. they color, do a craft. i compliment their work. their eyes light up, and they smile. i want them to believe that it's good, that i'm proud of them. sometimes their work gets taken from them. 'don't do that,' i want to say. 'it's theirs. they made it. it's special. please, just let them have something special.' we pray again. more hugs, more handshakes. "next week," i promise. they'll be waiting.

going home. more people walking. crowds. loud, busy crowds. markets. selling. old, filthy money. never enough of it to go around. yelling. laughing. make sure all the doors are locked. people tapping on the windows, on the side of the vehicle. they want me to buy from them. they want money. there's so many, too many. i don't have enough for them all. i have to look away.
crying children. playing children. cool water in the hot sun. dirty feet. worn out flip-flops. tattered tee-shirts. bright lapa. they're beautiful. all these people--so beautiful. i want to apologize to them, but i don't exactly know what for.

dinner. 5:00, always. Ma Mary makes sure of it. rice. pineapple. plantains. soups: palm butter, pumpkin, cassava, collard greens, beans. so many starches. and oil. Ma Mary is the best cook in Liberia. but sometimes i just want a salad.
or maybe we'll go to town for dinner. Lebanese restaurant. Bangladeshi restaurant. sometimes a hamburger and french fries. foods i often can't pronounce, and i don't always know what's in them. i don't go hungry. but so many people here do. why? why, why, why? i'm always asking that question.

the generator is turned on. charge computers and cell phones. the guard pumps water. the nightclub next door blasts distorted rap songs that were popular almost a decade ago from their blown-out speakers. and Nigerian hip hop. i usually sing along. but i always wish it could just be quiet.
watch a movie on the computer. play cards or dominoes, everyone around the big table. take a walk to the beach to watch the sunset. everyone waves. kids run up to shake my hand. i'm thanked for "taking my exercise." the beach is dirty. it smells. but the ocean is so vast, so incredible. the sky so vivid. the breeze delicious.
email. Facebook. it is so good to hear from my people back home. i miss them, miss being a part of their everyday lives. i don't want to be forgotten.
showers outside, preferably under the stars and after the water has been warmed by the sun all day. try to unwind--as much as is possible here, anyway. so many noises. i tune them out, but they still find a way to get under my skin and put me on edge. the guard sharpens his cutlass. i pray again that there would be no rogues tonight.

lights out. generator off. under the mosquito net. trying not to think about the spiders and cockroaches and rats crawling on my floor. hoping none of them get inside my net. i pray. i drift off but wake up with every little noise. my earplugs never to seem to fit my ears right. i toss, and i turn. or i fall asleep instantly. always amazed by another day. always in awe that this, all of this, is my life.

A Beyan update

Today I got to experience one of my favorite things about Liberia: visiting Beyan.

Most of you, I'm sure, remember Beyan's story and have heard me talk about him many, many, MANY times. (If not, you can read about him here). I can't explain what it is, but something about that little boy just makes my heart so happy that I feel like it could burst. His picture remains on my bedroom wall here in Liberia to help me remember why I'm here and why I do what I do.

Last year, there was a fire at the orphanage Beyan was living at. I honestly believe that fire was an act of God because it finally persuaded the Ministry of Health and Social Welfare to shut that particular orphanage down--a decision we had long been advocating for. The truth of the matter was that Beyan and the other kids there had not been getting the care they needed or deserved, and it was clear that the best thing for them would be alternative living arrangements.

So, after the fire, all the kids were placed in various other orphanages and, luckily for me, Beyan's new home was a mere 15 minute drive from my house. I went and saw him once before I left Liberia in June; at that time, he had been in the new orphanage for only a few weeks, yet he already was starting to look like a different kid. He was clean and obviously well-fed. He was laughing and playing and looked healthier than I had ever seen him. It was hard leaving him, knowing I wouldn't see him again for several months, but I had to entrust him to God's loving care.

Today I finally got an opportunity to go to the orphanage and check in on my "son." The matron of the home sent for Beyan and, a few minutes later, in walks this little boy that is several inches taller than I remember--and quite a few pounds heavier, too! I used to be able to pick him up and put him on my lap without a problem, as he was so skinny and small. But not anymore.

So there's Beyan, sitting on my lap, talking a mile a minute, telling me all about school, showing me his "toy"(which was really a spool of thread), giggling every time I kissed his cheeks or poked his belly, laughing as I exclaimed (for the tenth time) that I couldn't believe how big he was getting. And all I kept thinking was, My little boy is growing up! And even though it makes me a little sad, I can't help but rejoice because it shows me that God truly is taking care of him--and all the other kids here that I wish I could help but can't. It was yet another reminder that, though I love Beyan more than I can ever articulate, God loves him infinitely more than that. He truly does have "plans to prosper [him]" and "...to give [him] hope and a future" (Jeremiah 29:11).

I think the light in his eyes and the smile on his face confirms that. Don't you?

Coming up next...

I know that many of you are praying continually for both myself and the kids here in Liberia, and I want to thank you for that. I'd also like to ask for you to join me in prayer about something new that's happening in the Child Development Program.

Many of you have heard me say that Liberia is an extremely "religious" country--but that religion doesn't always necessarily translate to transformed lives. See, one of the things I've noticed as I've been working with the kids here is that, while they certainly have a whole lot of head knowledge about the things of God, most of them lack any sort of deeper understanding that translates to their heart. These kids can quote me scripture after scripture, and they know all the right answers to every 'God question' I can give them. But I've found myself wondering more and more often, Do they really know Jesus? Do they truly understand what price he paid--for them!--on the cross? Do they know how to live their lives as "new creations", loved, redeemed, and free?

This year, then, the kids in the Child Development Program are going back to the basics. We're starting from scratch, and we're going to walk through the Gospel together, from beginning to end. It is my goal to "preach Christ crucified" (1 Corinthians 1:23), and I wholeheartedly anticipate that we will see God move in some pretty amazing ways. I believe that these kids will come to know, beyond a shadow of any doubt, that they are fully and deeply loved by their Savior--and I believe that knowledge will forever change their lives.

So will you please pray for this with me?

Life lately.

First off:
a) I realize that the last time I blogged was more than two months ago.
b) I apologize. But...
c) ...life has been so busy. And...
d)...blogging will (hopefully) become much more regular from here on.

As you know, I got back from Liberia in late June, and spent the first month or so resting, relaxing, and catching up with those I love so dearly. August and September (thus far), however, have been an absolute whirlwind. I made two trips to Canada, did speaking engagements about Orphan Relief and Rescue, held two major fundraisers, and packed for Seattle and, after that, Liberia.

I arrived in Seattle on Sunday and was happily reunited with some of the team. Along with that, I had the pleasure of getting to know some new people who have joined the Orphan Relief and Rescue family. This week, we've all been meeting for prayer, worship, Bible study, and teaching. The field team has also had the privilege of spending time with a sweet, feisty Cuban woman named Margarita who is a crisis and trauma counselor. She has been helping us process some of the events that happened this year in Liberia.

We also had a day of silence and solitude at Mt. Rainier. Honestly, I can't sum up the experience. All I can say is that it took my breath away. It was challenging, transforming, and...necessary. In a word: incredible.


Finally, despite all the headaches from rising airfare costs and ever-changing itineraries, I was able to purchase my plane ticket back to Liberia! I leave Seattle on September 30 and will arrive in Liberia on October 1. Though I wasn't able to get the exact itinerary as Debbie, she and I will be leaving Seattle within just a few hours of each other and have plans to meet up in Brussels. Please keep the both of us in prayer, as we make our final preparations to go back.

Again, I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for making memories with me these past two months. Every coffee date, concert, sleepover, shopping day, road trip, sweet prayer time--all of it was just amazing. I love you guys, and can't wait to update you again from Liberia in just a few weeks!

Much love.

Home sweet home.

I know, I know -- it's a been a while since I've posted. Please forgive me. Life has been...well, crazy (to say the least) and blogging has simply fallen to the bottom of the to-do list.

As you know, I made it safely back to the good ol' US of A on June 29th for a time of rest, relaxation, and fund-raising before I head back to Liberia in the fall. I'm in Pennsylvania until August 2, and then I'll be driving up to Ontario to visit my family in the Guelph/Toronto area. I'll be back around the 14th, only to fly out on the 17th to see my Mom and siblings in Alberta. I get back to Pennsylvania again on the 26th of August, and have a little time left at home before I have to head out to Seattle sometime around the 9th or 10th of September. And after all of that, it's back to Liberia.
(WOW. Talk about a full schedule; it's even making my own head spin a little bit, to be honest!)

Life at home has been wonderful, though. Busy, yes, but also absolutely wonderful. It was definitely a little weird at first; part of me felt like it was still in Liberia while the rest of me was trying to jump into life here head-first. After a couple of days of adjusting and getting acclimated, I quickly fell back into the routine of life here. I have so enjoyed catching up with old friends and making new ones, talking about all that has happened over the past seven months. It's so much fun to share stories and pictures and videos from Liberia, and I am continually overwhelmed by all the love, encouragement, and support I've received. (You guys are the BEST!) And, of course, I can't deny how nice it's been to take a hot shower. To walk around Target and bookstores and sit around my favorite coffee shops. To drive my car again--on paved roads! In a place where there's actually traffic laws...and people who abide by them! To grab my iPod and hit the trails at Gring's Mill (one my most favorite ways to unwind!) To see my church family (who, by the way, are amazing. Absolutely, hands-down, 100% amazing. I love you guys!) To straighten my hair (I know--totally girly and a little high-maintenance. But I'm being honest. I really missed my flat iron while I was in Liberia!) To eat something besides rice or bread. Liiiike....salads. And cereal. And Panera. Oh, wow. I'd almost forgotten how much I love Panera...

Anyway, like I said: life at home has been wonderful. I am so thankful to have this time, and I want to savor each and every moment.
(And if you and I haven't gotten together yet...well, we really need to. Send me an email or Facebook message, and we'll make it happen.)

Crafty Kiddos

Last week, Ashley's mom Karen came to Liberia to visit, along with Jake, who goes to Ashley's church in Atlanta. Some of their time was spent working at Danny Feeney, the new orphanage that we're building for 37 kids who are currently squatting in a deteriorating building that was once a radio station. (You can read more about the project on our blog.) The rest of the time, though, they were at orphanages, participating in the Child Development Program. They brought fun and colorful foam crosses for the kids to decorate with stickers, markers, stick-on jewels (which the kids call "shine"), and glitter glue (which is called, funny enough, "shiny-shine.") Below are some favorite pictures from the week--thanks Karen and Jake (and Ashley) for the great photos!

"Do you know that I love you?"

Many of you have heard me talk about Beyan, the little boy who captured my heart when I visited Liberia in 2008. Actually, he is one of the main reasons that I came back here. You see, there are so many Beyans in Liberia--so many children who are stuck in seemingly hopeless situations, children who are starving for love and care and attention, children who just deserve...more. So, when I heard God telling me that He wanted me to "speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves" and "defend the rights of the poor and needy" (Proverbs 31.8,9), I knew that, in a way, I was being called to speak up for the Beyans. If I truly loved them with the heart the Father, there was no way I could stay silent...and no way I could walk away from them.

The first time I saw Beyan after coming back to Liberia was on my birthday (talk about the best birthday present ever!) I wasn't sure if he remembered me or not, but he sat in my lap while I hugged and squeezed and loved on him as I choked back my tears. Since then, I've tried to make it out to the orphanage he lives at every two weeks. Through spending time with him, I've learned so much about Beyan's personality. As adorable and lovable and snuggable as he is, he has quite a temper as well, and can throw some pretty intense tantrums. He can also be extremely stubborn when he wants to be (especially if he's in trouble for something), refusing to talk to look at, talk to or even acknowledge you. As we say in Liberia, "that boy is frisky!"

Still, I make it a point to pull him aside and say goodbye to him every time I leave. I hug him and tell him that I'll miss him and I'll be praying for him. Then I ask, "Beyan, do you know that I love you?" He always looks down at the ground and shakes his head no, so I give him another hug and make sure to tell him, "Beyan, I want you to know that I love you so much." Over the past six months, this has become our routine.

Yesterday, I made my normal visit to the orphanage. Beyan and I sat and colored, played with one of his toys, and then he took me behind the building to show me some purple (which is his favorite color) flowers he discovered, all the while smiling and talking more than he has in weeks. In fact, he was so animated and chattering away so quickly that, most of the time, I had no clue what he was saying!
When it was time for me to go, I took Beyan's hand, told him I would miss him and be praying for him, and gave him a big ol' hug. Then I asked him the question. "Beyan, do you know that I love you?"

This time, his response was different. Instead of looking down and shaking his head like he normally does, Beyan looked right at me, gave a little smile, and nodded! My heart felt so full at that moment that I was sure it was going to burst.

For all I know, I could go back to the orphanage next week, and Beyan could be back to his old, feisty self, wanting nothing to do with anyone, staring at the ground and answering no when I ask if he knows I love him.
But that's okay. I still have the hope of yesterday to hold on to, and I still have the promises of my God which tell me love is the greatest of all gifts, the one that can never, ever fail.

Timothy

Timothy is a shy, soft-spoken little boy who is in my small group on Friday afternoons. He's usually pretty quiet, but he always gives me a hug when he sees me and flashes me a smile that just melts my heart.

About a month ago, Timothy was a participant in the Bible Contest (you can read more about the contest here). When I asked him to recite the books of the Bible, I noticed that he seemed to be having some difficulty saying certain words. Curious, I asked the director's wife if she had noticed Timothy having any problems with his speech. She told me that he'd always struggled with it and, though the other kids at the home could usually understand him, he did get picked on and made fun of at times. Hearing that, my heart just broke. I hate knowing that any child is being teased -- especially sweet Timothy, and especially for something that isn't his fault.

I made up my mind that day that I was determined to help Timothy any way I could. Now, in America, if I noticed one of my students having problems with speech, I would arrange for him/her to go to speech therapy; in Liberia, however, kids don't have that option. There is no speech therapist at Timothy's school and, as hard as I tried, I was unable to find a contact in the area who could give me advice. Disappointed, I started praying for God to send someone to help Timothy.
I had no idea that the someone would end up being me.

As I was laying in bed one night, thinking and praying about the situation, the figurative light-bulb finally went off. I remembered that I had brought a whole bunch of phonics materials with me when I came to Liberia, as I had planned on using them to assess reading levels in the kids. But then I realized that I had seen the same phonics materials used for speech lessons, since they help children practice letter and special sounds! It appeared I had found the answer. Quickly, though, my excitement faded as my fear and insecurity started to set in: There's no way I can do this. I'm not qualified. I've never done this kind of thing before. It's not going to work.
But then I heard Him -- clearly. Distinctly. "I've never given you a task that I haven't equipped you for." And then I saw Timothy's precious little face and that sweet smile of his, and it was such a gentle, beautiful reminder that the whole thing wasn't about me at all. It's about the God who loves Timothy so deeply and so fiercely, the Father who desires for His child Timothy to have every opportunity and chance to succeed in life, just like any other parent would.

So, for the past two weeks, on Wednesday afternoons, Timothy and I have been having "our special time." (It's very important to me that he doesn't think I'm meeting with him because he's in trouble, or because he's different or has a problem, or because I've singled him out. I want him to know I love him, and I like spending time with him -- and that's why we meet.) We practice his speech with flashcards, by reading together, doing alphabet puzzles, or just telling stories and talking with one another. Timothy seems to be excited about our time, and he's eager to "study" his sounds throughout the week (I've left some flashcards that I made with him, and he practices saying the letters, sounds, and words.)

Please remember Timothy in your prayers in the coming weeks. Pray that he and I will continue to bond with one another and build our relationship, and that he will continue looking forward to and being excited about our times together. Pray that, with practice and over time, he will be able to clearly communicate with his friends, his peers, his family -- everyone he comes into contact with. Pray that his self-confidence will increase, and that he will come to believe that he truly can "do all things through Christ" who strengthens him. And pray that, above all, he will know that he is a dear, special child of God, uniquely created, "fearfully and wonderfully made."

Everything In Its Place

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm all about order and organization. While it's true that I have gotten much better about keeping my cool in the midst of a mess, I still have a hard time leaving anything laying around; it's like I feel compelled to pick it up and put it back where it belongs!
So, something I'd been wanting to do for a while was to create a "supply area" here at the team house for the Child Development Program. All of the crayons, pencils, construction paper, scissors, etc. were scattered throughout the office in various bins, boxes, and suitcases, and that made it difficult to keep an inventory of our supplies. (Plus, they were just taking up too much space!) So, we decided we would take some measurements and find someone to make us a shelf for CDP materials.

This weekend, though, Ashley and I decided to go check out a local garage sale -- and we found a shelf that was just like the one we had in mind! We got a great deal on it and happily took it back to the house.

The next task, then, was to dig through all the program's supplies and organize them accordingly on the shelf: one bin for markers, one bin for glue sticks, etc. -- and labeling everything, of course!
We had some time this morning, so we eagerly got to work. A few hours later, we flopped down on the couch (drenched in sweat, might I add!) to admire the finished product. Ain't it pretty?!

New Creations!

As a follow-up to our Easter lesson, the kids in the Child Development Program are making butterfly crafts this week. We're relating the metamorphosis that the caterpillar goes through to the change that occurs when we have Christ in us. We're also reading the story of Saul and what happened to him on the road to Damascus; he's a great example of a life completely changed by Jesus!
The kids had a blast decorating their butterflies with crayons, paper and glitter-glue, and they loved showing off their creations. Please pray that the message will sink in and stay with them for years to come: that they, too, are just like butterflies -- new creations in and because of Jesus!"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" 2 Corinthians 5.17, NIV

Guess My Skin Disease!

If you guessed miliaria rubra (also known as "prickly heat", "heat rash" or "sweat rash"), you're correct.

About a week ago, I started noticing some red bumps on my shoulders that were extremely irritating in a sting-y, burn-y kind of way. Not thinking too much of it, I lathered up with some antibacterial soap in the shower and went to bed. I woke up in the morning to find the bumps had spread from my shoulders almost down to my elbows. As time went on, it appeared on my chest, back, neck and jawline. And I won't lie to you -- it's making me pretty miserable.

Apparently, treatment options include moving to an air-conditioned environment and avoiding sweat-provoking activities. Umm...yeah right. Not gonna happen. (It's also recommended that I take frequent cool showers, which I plan to start doing. I have this pretty awesome antibacterial soap that turns your skin blackish-blue when you lather up. And it also smells a little bit like Lysol, so that's pretty interesting, too.)

Please note that this rash is completely separate from the one that I have on my left forearm, which I suspect is also heat/sweat-related. That one consists of about a dozen red bumps (some raised) that are more spread out across my skin. And that one doesn't sting; it only slightly itches every once in a while.

Fun, fun, fun. : /

Rainy Day

Today, Ashley and I decided to go visit some of our favorite kiddos in Liberia. It had been two weeks since we last went to their home, so we both were itching to see all their adorable little faces!

When we pulled up to the orphanage, only a few of the youngest children were playing out front; everyone else was nowhere to be found. The little kids told us that there was a football game on the field that was close to the home. "Do you want to go?" we asked them. Their faces lit up as they jumped up and down, nodding emphatically and squealing, "Yes! Yes, les' go!" So, with Varbah's hand in mine--and Beyan on my hip--off we went to the football field.

All the spectators were distracted by the arrival of the "white women," and Ashley and I were soon surrounded by dozens of kids, all wanting to shake our hands and say hello. We found the other children that live at the orphanage and greeted them. We had been standing there for only about five minutes when the rain started. And it wasn't just a light drizzle; it started pouring. We looked for the kids to ask them what they wanted to do, only to find several of them had already started running back in the direction of the home. So, we gathered everyone together and took off running after them, jumping through puddles and stopping every few minutes to catch our breath under the plum trees.

We made it back to the orphanage and huddled together on the porch, watching the rain come down in torrents. Ashley and I had just (jokingly!) whispered to each other that we should have the kids grab the soap and go take a bath in the rain (they were pretty dirty today) when Joshua tore off his clothes and ran outside. Blessed, Arthur and Varbah quickly followed, laughing and splashing and waving to us all. And then the kids decided they want to "wash the car" so off they went with a rag and some soap. I honestly think it was one of the cutest things I've ever seen.

It's days like today that I'll remember for the rest of my life. It's days like today that make my heart so happy that it feels like it could burst. These kids never have enough food, never have enough care--but on a rainy day like today, they laughed and played and shrieked with joy, just like any other child living anywhere else. It's days like today that remind me yet again that children truly are God's best, most precious gift.

torn.

So, I’ve been in Liberia for about three months now and, to be brutally honest, there are still moments where I have no idea what I’m doing here. There are times where I start thinking I’ve made a huge mistake, where I feel utterly overwhelmed, where I want to just run away, where I want to throw up my hands and throw in the towel. “Sorry, God. I can’t do this. You’re going to have to find someone else.”

Now that I’ve been here for a while, the excitement and “newness” starts to fade, and reality starts to kick in: I work with 100+ kids each week, each one with their own story and struggles and fears and hopes and dreams and needs. And I have to try and make each one of them feel special, each one of them know they’re loved. I have to give individual attention, speak life into each child, and encourage them to succeed.
There are moments where I come home from an orphanage and just cry, overcome with the enormity of the task at hand. There are days where I feel just … drained and helpless.
And when I start thinking: It’s only 100 children. There are thousands more out there, just like them. What about them, God?

What about the kids who live at homes without a director or even a caretaker, toddlers who wander off on their own in the community, going to their neighbor’s houses because there’s no food at the orphanage, and at least the neighbor will feed them? What about the little boys who roam the streets, hustling, trying just to make enough money to survive? What about the teenage girls who dream of becoming doctors, yet they’re still stuck in fourth grade; what do you do when you know that their dream isn’t at all realistic, that they’re more than likely not going to finish school? What about poverty and corruption and deep-rooted anger and death and loss? What do you do when your heart aches for what could have been; how do you rid yourself of the “if only” mentality and the deep sadness that comes with it?

Whenever I come to God and lay all of this before Him, I am reminded of 1 Peter 5:7 – “Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you” (NLT). He cares about me, and He cares about the children of Liberia as well. He has plans to prosper me and not to harm me, plans to give me hope and a future (see Jeremiah 29:11) – and that’s His plan for them, too. And when I believe that and I choose to give up all the worry and fear, it frees me to stop agonizing over the countless number of those I’m unable to help and instead focus on the one or two that I can. When I’m not thinking about everything I can’t do, I am able to see what GOD is doing here. Beyan, a little boy who, one year ago, didn’t even speak, runs to me whenever I come, smiling and chatting and giggling. Augustus, who used to be afraid to speak up in class for fear of giving the wrong answer, is growing in self-confidence as he expresses what he’s thinking and feeling. (Now he’s usually the one who gets the group discussions started!) I see kids starting to believe that they are special and unique because they were created by God. I see kids finally getting the chance to just be kids--playing and singing and dancing and laughing. I see Leemue’s face light up every time she gets a hug, and I watch Ruth smile whenever I ask her if she wants to pray. I see kids learning how to study, and I see their grades improving as a result. I see them getting the opportunity to be creative, to express themselves, and how much it means to them to have someone willing to listen to what they have to say, someone who cares about what’s on their minds.

Those are the moments that I cherish. Those are the moments that keep me going whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed or inadequate or under-qualified; they’re reminders that I wasn’t meant to do this work alone, that it’s not even my own to do it all. They’re reminders that God is active in these children’s lives, that He is at work in real, tangible, and beautiful ways.

“…he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Phillippians 1:6)

Please join me in prayer for these kids as we watch Him carry on His good works. Pray for the fullness of His plans to unfold, for all that He has in store for them to be realized in each one of them. Pray that they know Him and love Him with all of their hearts, souls, and minds.

Operation Waterwheel!

So, most of you know of "Operation Waterwheel" by now; if you don't, you can read about it here. More pictures can also be found on my Facebook -- so enjoy!

(a drive to remember)

(the scenery was absolutely stunning)

(mud, mud and more mud!)

(22 hours & a lotta muck later...)

(the happy group in Harper!)

(beautiful beach)

(simply breathtaking)

A Very Merry Christmas

This year, I celebrated my first Christmas in Liberia! To get the kids into the spirit of the season, we in the Child Development Program taught a Christmas lesson--complete with stories, Christmas songs and even an art project! We talked about why we celebrate the holiday, about the significance of Christ's birth and how thankful we are to God for sending us His Son. It was a beautiful reminder that all over the world, whether here in Liberia or back home in Canada and the US, people everywhere were celebrating Jesus and His glorious birth!


Then it was time to get to work and make some Christmas bundles! Each bundle contained a washcloth, a toothbrush, two pencils, some candy, a small toy and an apple (here in Liberia, the apple symbolizes a heart, so to give someone an apple is to say, 'I love you.')


After that came Christmas deliveries, which was probably my favorite part! In addition to a bundle, each child received some new clothes, (there's a pic of Deb and I fitting the kids for new outfits below) a new pair of slippers (ie, flip-flops), and a notebook with a letter from someone in America. I loved sitting with the kids, helping them read their letters, and watching their faces light up as they heard about people they had never met but who loved them and wanted them to have a wonderful Christmas. It was so personal, so intimate, and beautiful.


Of course, one of my favorite things about the holidays is spending time with those that I love. Whether it was swimming in a pool on Christmas Day (well, I was sick, so I ended up just watching everyone swim!), eating baked potatoes and playing dominoes with some friends, or worshiping during one of the most intensely and intimately beautiful Christmas Eve services ever, I was struck over and over again by how richly blessed I am.


I'm so thankful to have been able to truly celebrate this Christmas, in every sense of the word. The angel said, "Behold! I bring you good tidings of great joy!" What a reason to celebrate!

This holiday season, I'm thankful for the gift of joy, for the gift of friendship, for the gifts of smiles and laughter and hugs and tears. And even though I couldn't be with you in person, I'm ohsothankful for you. I know it's a little late, but I'm going to say it anyway: MERRY CHRISTMAS to each of you! I hope it was your most joyous one yet.