Leaving Liberia

As most of you know by now, I will be taking a break from the field and leaving Liberia on March 2. That, my friends, is only 27 days away. And, as I've said many times in the past, time here is flying. It's like I blink, and a day is gone. Then two days. Then a week.

As I start looking ahead to my leave, trying to plan and prepare for all that it entails, I find myself on a bit of an emotional roller coaster. So much of me feels torn. There's the Elena that is at home here in Liberia--and then there's the Elena that is so happy to be going home to Pennsylvania. My problem is that I don't quite know how to reconcile the two. In fact, I don't even quite know if that is possible.

Now, please hear me when I say that I am very much looking forward to this upcoming season at home. Aside from spending precious moments with my Papa, and being there for my sister (who is expecting), I am also thankful to have been granted a time of rest and refreshment. I believe God has much work He wants to do in my heart, and I feel the best place for me to go through that is at home. I am looking forward to sweet times with friends, family, and my church. And I've been so blessed to be able to stay with my dear friends Bala and Laly again, to be a part of their family once more, and to spend my days with their little ones that I love so dearly. God is good, my friends. Yes, this time at home is necessary, in some ways--but it is also a gift, and I treasure that.

But going home means leaving here--leaving the kids, my team, my Liberian family and friends. I have spent the better part of the last year and a half in Africa, and it's difficult to think about that changing. The kids will be fine; of that I have no doubt. They are healthy and thriving, and they have plenty of "aunties" and "uncles" here to give them the love and care that they need. But I will miss them. Terribly. They have been a part of my daily life for so long now. I know their names, faces, stories, moods, needs. We are a part of each other's lives, so it is going to hurt to leave them behind--not because they will not be okay without me (because they will), but because I wonder how okay I will be without them.

Same with my team. They've seen me at both my best and my worst, and we've been through a lifetime of experiences together. This past weekend at Robertsport, as we were sitting around the campfire, made me realize just how much of me is invested in them, in ORR, in the work being done in Liberia. Still--I must go for a while.

On a more personal note, as March 2 gets closer and closer, I find myself fighting against fears and insecurities that I know are lies but feel very true. Part of me feels like a failure. Part of me feels weak, useless, ashamed, like I'm giving up, like I've wasted all this time and money. I worry about my finances, about being able to survive in the States again, and I worry about disappointing the kids, ORR, my supporters--even God. It is such a heavy burden to carry. And it's a truly sucky (because I can think of no other word that fits so well) feeling.

So this morning, as I was having quiet time, I started praying for God to reveal to me His way of looking at this situation. And then I felt Him speaking words of truth, life, and love--cool water upon my parched desert of a heart. He was saying that I needed to stop being so hard on myself. He said I can walk way on March 2 in peace, knowing that I have done the job He has given me--and done it well. I have "trained up a child in the way that he should go." I have "preached Christ crucified." And, most of all, I have "loved deeply--from the heart."

This morning, my Abba told me that He was proud of me. And oh, how I needed to hear that. He also gave me this scripture, which I will hold on to in the coming months:

"Comfort, comfort my people," says your God. "Speak tenderly...and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed...." Isaiah 40.1-2

A 'special' day

Although I love all the kids that I work with here in Liberia, there are six teenage girls that have a very special place in my heart. I meet with them every Wednesday afternoon for our small group. We talk, laugh, pray, read; the activities will vary depending on the day. One thing I always try to communicate, however, is that each one of the girls is special, uniquely created, and deeply loved.

Living in an orphanage means that these girls often feel like just another face in the crowd, simply another number in the midst of many. They don't have a lot people in their lives who can affirm or encourage them, to help them see and reach their full potential. As teenage girls, they struggle with self-esteem and image issues. They often put themselves down and call themselves ugly or stupid. I look at them and see some of the most beautiful, talented, amazing young women I've ever met--and it breaks my heart that they don't see it in themselves.

In November, I planned a "special" lesson for the girls. We read You are Special by Max Lucado and talked about how all of us are wonderfully created by a God who loves us more than we could ever know. I had also written little notes to each girl, letting them know how much I love them and how much they mean to me. It was a beautiful, memorable afternoon.

Yesterday, when I went to the orphanage, I brought a surprise for the girls. I had ordered them each a copy of You are Special and gave it to them as a reminder of how treasured they are (by both God and me!) As each girl unwrapped her gift, a huge smile lit up her face, and many of them started giggling. After hugs and thank-yous, I asked them, "Do you know why I gave you this book?" All at once, the girls replied, "Because you think we are special!" My heart smiled, as I realized that they finally are starting to believe what I have been telling them for weeks. They have begun to understand just how special they are.

For the rest of the afternoon, we had "girl time." We painted our nails, sang songs, did an art project, took photos, and just talked. It was one of the best afternoons I'd had in a long time. As Janet, who was sitting on my left, grabbed my hand and held it, and Teddy, who was on my right, rested her head on my shoulder, I started tearing up. 'This is what it's all about,' I thought. I've been meeting with these girls faithfully each week, hoping that love, care, and attention will help make a difference in their lives. And in the process, the relationship we've built has totally changed me.

So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth. (Job 5.16)

For the past few months, God has been showing me more and more of His heart for the plight of the needy. The fatherless. The widow. The poor and oppressed. The abused. The hungry. The sick. The disabled. The insecure and lonely. The ashamed. The broken. Abba grieves over them. And He wants our hearts to grieve for them, too. Over and over again in His Word, I see His love for the needy: Exodus 22:22-23. 1 Samuel 2:8. Psalm 72:12-14. Proverbs 21:13. Isaiah 11:3-5 and 9-10. Ezekiel 34:11-16. Zephaniah 3:19. Luke 18:7. One thing is clear--God cares.

Tonight a broken, needy man named David showed up on our doorstep. He used to work for us, but we had to let him go for various reasons I don't need to go into here. Every few weeks, he would call Debbie, begging for her to help him with money so he could eat. I won't lie; it became frustrating after a while. Money is such a quick fix, and we were worried it was only feeding his dependency.

But tonight, as David sat crying on the porch, my heart broke inside of me. He wasn't eating. He had been beaten so severely that he couldn't walk straight, and his eyes were blood red. He couldn't see properly, he couldn't find a job, he was utterly alone, and he was sure that he would soon die. I couldn't handle it, couldn't stop the tears from coming. All I kept thinking was, "God made this man, and God loves this man. It doesn't matter what wrongs he has done in the past--he is precious in Jesus' sight. No one deserves this. No one."

So I ask that you would please, please, PLEASE pray for David. The word that keeps coming to mind is "restore." I believe God wants to restore David, to health and to wholeness. This man needs your prayers. He needs hope, and he needs to know that someone out there cares.

Bucket

Those of you who have followed my blog and receive my newsletters most likely remember Timothy's story. He had a serious speech problem and, as a result, was often teased by his peers. Since April, I have been meeting with Timothy on a regular basis to help him with his speech and reading, and I am continually amazed by all the progress he has been making.

Today, I went to the orphanage to teach Timothy's lesson. Before I got a chance to sit down with him, though, Evelyn (the mother of the home) pulled me aside and said, "Elena, I want to tell you about the good English that your son was speaking today!" She said that Timothy and a few of the other kids had been drawing water, and all of them were talking about the "buck-eh" (FYI: many ending sounds are omitted in Liberian English.) Finally, Timothy spoke up and corrected them: "It's not buck-eh; it's bucket! You have to pronounce the 't'!"

It's a funny story, but it also melted my heart because it reminded me of just how far Timothy has come. (It also totally made me feel like a proud parent!) Sometimes, I can get overwhelmed when I focus on the enormity of need here and I start trying to figure out how to help them all. But then I remember stories like Timothy's, and it brings me back to reality. I wasn't called to help them all--but I was called to help Timothy.

Mother Teresa once said, "If you can't feed a hundred people, then feed just one." I love that. The truth is, I can't help them all. I wish I could, but it's just not possible. But I can help one. And that's a pretty good start, if you ask me.

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!