Living Dangerously?

It’s been awhile, friend! I had lost my voice, but I’ve found it again.

I’ve been thinking about the fear of God lately and how it informs my life. The fear of God. A couple years ago I would have sneered at this whole idea of fearing the One who loves me unconditionally. How could I fear my Savior who comforts me, displays His unending mercy and grace, and lavishes me with goodness? I left the “fear of God” to those who stand on street corners condemning people to Hell. Today, I stand humbled and reverent…. On a good day when I’m believing the truth.

How do we reconcile this God in the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament in a way that brings comfort to our troubled souls? The conclusion I’ve come to is that…. We don’t really. He is uncomfortable.

I used to take canoe rides in the summer with a friend in Federal Way and we would discuss his beliefs about God and life. This friend openly shared that he didn’t know if there is a God and didn’t really care to figure it out either. He said one thing that will forever ring in my ears. He said, “If there really is a god of the universe then I sure would hope that my finite mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend it because I don’t like the idea of someone or something who I can wrap my head around being in control of the world.”

Yes. In a post-modern world (especially in my little millennial world) we don’t like this idea of submission. I don’t like this idea of submission…. And then I look in the mirror. When I come to terms with the idea of sin as my inherent state of being instead of the “bad things” that I do, is when I recognize that I need someone to lead me in this journey of living life to the fullest. When I’m left to my own devices (ie. When I trust in my deceptive heart) I am left seeking instant gratification and temporal happiness instead of the Kingdom life He promises us in His Word.

With this being said, something I hear quite often as I encounter new people and they ask me what I do for a living is, “Well, I don’t know if I could do that. I don’t know if I could go back and forth to Africa.” This comment is usually followed up with a confession about fear of spiders or an utter disregard for the heat or African food. I completely understand these comments and I try to affirm these fears and confess my own in the process. I don’t like spiders and I would prefer my state of being to be something other than “infinitely sweaty” when I’m in Sierra Leone. However, I fear the idea of fighting God’s best for my life even more.

I am writing this to affirm these thoughts in myself, because I sometimes waiver in this line of thinking as my circumstances consistently change and when I just plain don’t feel like doing something that His Spirit might be leading me to do. My Savior is not holding out on me. As His daughter, He has numbered my days, He has prepared the good things I am yet to do, to experience, to enjoy. He also promises He will be with me through the fire and that as He is there, the waters will not overtake me. He claims me as His bride and is fighting in the heavenly realms on my behalf. This leads me to fear turning my back on Him SO much more than the hard things He’s invited me to participate in alongside Him. I am writing to remind myself of these truths and take courage in the fear of the Lord (an oxymoron- I know!) because while, “Yes, He is dangerous, but He is good!” (C.S Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia)     

Becoming Disabled

I have made a total of eight trips to Sierra Leone over the past three years, some a couple weeks long, some a couple months. It seems the journey crossing into my different worlds, different identities, different personas, is starting to become easier. Nonetheless when I cross into my African life, I am turned disabled along the journey. I have to laugh because I feel like I was pricked again by this point on my flight from Chicago to Brussels on my way to Sierra Leone last week. I was running the transition through my head as I sat there quietly on the plane, thinking about how to mentally prepare myself for becoming disabled.

As the flight attendants wheeled the carts down the aisle, it was finally my turn to get asked by the very friendly looking flight attendant, “chicken or beef?” I asked for chicken, and as the woman went to hand me the tray with food on it, I accidentally stuck my thumb in the salad dish flipping salad all over myself and the seat next to me (thankfully unoccupied). Embarrassed, I quickly picked up the lettuce strewn everywhere and apologized for my clumsiness. As she bent down to help me, I saw her take a look at my arm, and her demeanor changed. She apologized profusely, assured me that my accident was all her fault, and then proceeded to try to open my food for me, butter my roll and tuck me in with a blanket. I saw her best intentions in her very visible display of empathy, so I responded by doing what anyvery mature young woman would do…. I asked her if she would burp me like a baby later as well….. Just kidding! The rebel in me said that in my head, while I just thanked her for her kindness and assured her I could do all those things independently. One of the biggest areas the Lord continues to refine in me through the ministry of Women of Hope is my pride and my independence. He rejoices when I am disabled in Him.

I feel naked often because I wear my heart for this ministry on my sleeve… literally. I want women to know their value is not in how independently we can do things, the perceptions of others or what society says about beauty because those are some of the things I truly cherish inmy relationship with my Savior.

One of the lessons we take the women through in Community Health Evangelism training is called Disability: A Calling or Curse. In the lesson we hear the story of a blind man who Jesus and the disciples encounter. One of the disciples asks, “Rabbi who sinned, the man or his parents that he should be born blind?” (John 9)

Living in the Sierra Leonean context, this story makes so much more sense to me. People in Jesus’ time thought disability was a direct result of a person’s sin or that of their parents. I would assume that the underlying belief about a blind man is that he carried no value because he was seen as a burden to society and one with an extremely limited ability to contribute to the community. In the eyes of Jesus’ disciples, this man was cursed by God with a disability.

In the passage Jesus addressed his disciples by saying, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

Today I see this blind man as my brother in Christ. As Jesus restored his sight, the blind man was transformed from one with no purpose in life except to beg for the charity of others. Hewas a nuisance to society and one who brought shame on the family as people like the disciples (men pursuing the very heart of Christ) looked on and questioned the integrity of him and his family to deserve such a fate as being born blind or giving birth to a blind son. He was turned into a conduit of hope for others, a member of the body of Christ with a valuable role to play as he was sent out, and one who now worships a God of miracles, a God who restores hope and purpose.

I felt like a fly on the wall as Jesus’ encounter was lived out before my eyes last week. We are hosting a small team of women who conducted some skills training classes for the women in order to helpwith our fair trade program. We’re working with the women on developing new skills to make products that can be sold in Sierra Leone and abroad to generate income. Over all there were 27 women who were taught knitting, patch-working, card making and loom knitting. All the women had various disabilities, but my favorite class to work with was by far, the blind women.

There were a total of seven women in the loom knitting class and all but one were blind. After the first day of loom knitting class, Marianne, the woman teaching it realized this particular class might need more one-on-one assistance; so I offered to learn. Those who know me well are aware of the fact that I’m not of the artsy-fartsy type, but I wanted to see how it could be done.

As I learned, I practiced with my eyes closed to try and manipulate the loom and figure out how best to support a blind woman in accomplishing the task. I tried over and over again to feel the yarn, holding the loom different ways, changing the positioning of the hook and practicing over again. I was able to manipulate everything well with my eyes opened, but when I tried to do it blindly, I inevitably made a mistake that I wasn’t able to catch leading to the ruin of the hat. I went to bed that night frustrated and skeptical that our women would actually be able to do it.

I came into class the next day and sat with my friend, Mariatu. I said a prayer, and then watched as she attempted to learn. I helped lead her hand at first, and then let her go, occasionally giving her verbal instructions. It was messy at first. Row by row, she very carefully wrapped the yarn around the pegs, feeling each strand and taking much effort to meticulously place the yarn properly. She would ask me to check each row for mistakes, and I would guide her fingers to allow her to make corrections. As I looked around the room, all the women slowly worked in a similar fashion as they began to conquer these looms. All the women worked tediously, staring into the air, with a smile on their face as they began to independently knit their caps. One-by-one, they would raise their completed caps in the air, and the whole group would clap and yell out of excitement over what they had accomplished. In that moment I was so extremely proud to be identified as a woman with a disability. In that moment I felt as though God said, “Kels, these women were born blind so that today you could see just one display of my works in them.”

There is something that can’t really be spoken of as we watch the human spirit (God’s very breath, breathed into us at creation) triumph over situations that could be crippling. Our staff member, Adama Conteh said, “Most able-bodied people don’t have the patience to teach us because we’re blind. We’re so happy to learn a new skill that we can use for ourselves.” As we all celebrated the hard work, perseverance and beauty of character displayed in that room, I couldn’t help but praise God for His creation in these courageous women.

So let us be disabled before a loving God. Let us wrestle with His character as we look at disability and suffering today. Let us seek the joy only He can give us in our sufferings, and let us sprint after His plans and purposes for our lives.

Tying Ourselves to the Mast

The last two months my eyes were really opened to the fact that we are in a war. Life = a battle. I’ve heard multiple sermons on the fact that we are in the midst of a war. I understood that if you didn’t start running into trouble when engaging in kingdom service, then chances are, you’re not doing something right. I’ve heard people talk about the urgency of the Gospel and the command that Jesus gave us to make disciples, but I guess I hadn’t really connected all the dots until now that I would have to fiercely fight for my personal relationship with my Lord as well.

I have been particularly struck by a song I found on another friend’s blog awhile back. The song is called Ulysses and it’s by an artist named Josh Garrels. He refers to the story of The Odyssey and the Greek hero, Odysseus, sailing home to his wife in Ithaca through treacherous waters where there are evil sirens who lure men into the sea to die with their beautiful voices and seductive nature.

The lyrics read:

Trouble has beset my ways, and wicked winds have blown

Sirens call my name, they say they'll ease my pain, then break me on the stones

But true love is the burden that will carry me back home

Carry me with the, memories of the, beauty I have known….

He goes on to sing,

So tie me to the mast of this old ship and point me home

Before I lose the one I love, before my chance is gone

I want to hold, her in, my arms

Battle.Those sirens songs are pretty sweet… but experience tells me they’re only fun for awhile and then I end up shipwrecked, with water in my lungs.

These last two months my eyes were really opened to the battle we’re in. Life. I recently got to spend almost a month in Makeni as Kim and I did some monitoring and evaluation of the program. We really wanted to look at what is working and what could be improved. As we sat down with the first group of women trained as Community Health Evangelists, it was as if we were interacting with new women. The same women who shared that they rarely left the house out of shame now looked us in the eyes when they spoke and they carried themselves with dignity after understanding that they are an image-bearer of the creator of the universe.

While it was encouraging to see how much they had learned about health and sanitation, basic community development principles and Bible stories, the dignity was what shone from each of them. The courage to be bold in living when society says you’re insignificant seeped from them. Their audaciousness to hope for restoration challenged me. The Holy Spirit is stirring in these women as they’re being drawn to Him and the restoration He brings.

Today I found out one of these women, Fatu Earnest, had to have her leg amputated due to cancer. Battle.

Fatu contracted leprosy some years ago, and so her body is already worn down because of the disease, with missing digits and an altered face. Now she has one leg. A few months ago Fatu lost her 19-year-old daughter, and now she cares for extra grandchildren as well. Sometimes I don’t know how to reckon with her situation. Battle.

I "happened" upon Psalm 43 earlier this week and I feel like the Psalmist articulates the process of tying oneself to the mast and sails through the tempest, not succumbing to the destructiveness of life’s sirens. He cries:

“1 Vindicate me, O God, and defend my cause

against an ungodly people,

from the deceitful and unjust man

deliver me!

2For you are the God in whom I take refuge;

why have you rejected me?

Why do I go about mourning

because of the oppression of the enemy?

3 Send out your light and your truth;

let them lead me;

let them bring me to your holy hill

and to your dwelling!

4Then I will go to the altar of God,

to God my exceeding joy,

and I will praise you with the lyre,

O God, my God.

5 Why are you cast down, O my soul,

and why are you in turmoil within me?

Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,

my salvation and my God..”

I try to bury this situation with Fatu somewhere in this Psalm. My sadness over her situation just as it seems she is drawing near to Him, does not change His character. He is still faithful.

I just picture the psalmist screaming at the top of his lungs, “Vindicate me God, and defend my cause!” And I picture God looking down on Him with pain in His eyes and loving reassurance as He says, (Isaiah 43:1-3) “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overtake you; when you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

The Psalmist is basically crying out, “let us tie ourselves to the mast and keep sailing on toward our true love.” Let us call a siren, a siren, and keep moving. Let us wrestle it out with our Savior until we get to the point of bowing down in worship, and confessing that we see only a piece of this enormous puzzle. Let us fall deeper in love with the one who waits patiently for us.

I pray that Fatu and I can one-day camp out in Psalm 43 together as sisters in Christ. I pray that as we continue on our individual journeys that we might be able to strap ourselves down to the mast, lift our cries to the One who hears them in the deep acknowledgement of pain, and make it on the long journey home. I pray we might not try to sugarcoat the situations that leave us with nothing but groans because words can’t even express the sadness. Let us ride the waves. And after we are done laying our cries before Him, I pray we might end in worship out of a deep reverence for who He is. I pray that Fatu and I might someday sit together in awe at the fact that the creator of the universe calls us by name and that He wants us to come to Him with our pain. I can’t wait for that day when the struggle is over, and I’m united with my one true love.

... Another Two-Cents

I’m a little late on this last month’s blog post, but…

This month has been filled with an International health conference in Maryland, a trip to St. Louis to pick up my repaired car (another praise!), and plenty of office work. It’s not at all glamorous, but Kim and I feel like the Lord is asking us to focus on strengthening infrastructure on the U.S. side by developing stronger and more efficient systems in donor investment, donation processing, and even setting up an office. As much as I love working out of Kim’s home office (not really), the time has come for us to move into office space in Memphis that was donated to us by an incredible Gospel-centered company called Barnhart Crane and Rigging. The goal is to move into this space by the end of July.

After celebrating sweat and toil that we poured into a very large government grant we were invited to apply for, Kim and I began to reflect on where God has taken this tiny dream that began almost two years ago now. He has carried us through, shedding light on His plans and purposes for these women one day at a time, giving wisdom to identify development strategies, insight into complex issues, and decided to use completely unexpected and ill-equipped people to facilitate His plans for Sierra Leone.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness…’” (2 Corinthians 10:9)

I can’t count the ways in which I have been humbled by collisions of His grace as He has made miracles happen as we have attempted to step out in faith, trusting that only He can really chip away at the deep brokenness within Sierra Leone. I have had countless chuckles over the crazy team He has purposed for the task at hand.

I’d like to introduce you to one of those team members He chose to be a part of Women of Hope. I met this young lady of hope in the fall as I worked a few hours a week in a church nursery. Her name is Hannah Emily. Please do not call her Hannah, because in the South, only the sweetest girls have two names :). Hannah Emily was one of the most polite young ladies in the nursery, and she was always diligent in watching out for her younger brother. She always addresses me as “Miss Kelsey,” and only responds to my questions with a proper, “yes or no ma’am.” I learned a lot from my time with Hannah Emily in the nursery, and I continue to learn from her as she lives out a beautiful child-like faith and sincerity in her walk with Jesus.

As I worked in the nursery last fall, Hannah Emily and her mother expressed an interest in WOHInt and decided they would like to partner with our little ministry in prayer and other ways. Hannah Emily committed to praying for WOHInt and myself regularly, becoming one of my biggest prayer warriors. One day her mother even told me that Hannah Emily felt the Lord prompting her to tackle my love-life in prayer, trusting the Lord for a husband for me. (She hadn’t even been talking to my mother either :) ).

A couple weeks ago the Holy Spirit led Hannah Emily to support the ministry in another way during a community garage sale we held as a small fundraiser. Hannah Emily and her family came on a Saturday afternoon and she had decided she wanted to contribute all the money in her piggy bank to WOHInt. I was a little hesitant to take a five-year-old’s life savings in one fell swoop, but her mother insisted that Hannah Emily came up with the idea all on her own, and her savings was exactly what she wanted to give so that disabled women in Sierra Leone could experience life transformation through Christ. Hannah Emily approached me with her shy little smile and handed over her entire sheep piggy bank. She handed over her savings with such joy, sacrificially giving all that she had to offer. I wondered how the Lord felt at her incredible act of worship. I can only imagine He beamed as only the Creator of the universe can, in adoration over His beautiful creation. I was again humbled by the way He moves in unsuspecting people and inspires them to do things outside of their own capacity that never seem to quite make practical sense.

I chuckle to myself as I write this (because I see many of the donations that come in), but Women of hope International is literally only possible because of little old ladies and four-year old girls. In spite of (or maybe because of) humble means, God is using this ministry to change the lives of women who have seemingly been discarded by the world; I have the privilege of seeing it. Aminata, Ramatulai, Matilda, Adamsay and Kadie do not know their value as a woman today because of practical sense or a bunch of resources. These women are growing in their understanding of their deep intrinsic value, and how they are capable of reaching their greatest potential because God pulled together a rag-tag team of misfits, and sent them to give their two-cents.

After spending at least a half hour counting all of Hannah Emily’s change, the Lord affirmed in me that His ways are truly contrary to that of the world’s. We are told that we need to get our acts together, get a Master’s degree, gain a grant, become a millionaire, gain more experience, or develop a flawless strategic plan before we can try tackling the world’s issues. He says however, “But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.” (1 Corinthians 1:27) He says, “For we are glad when we are weak and you are strong. Your restoration is what we pray for.” (2 Corinthians 13:9)

Hannah Emily’s entire piggy bank came out to $87.35.

I say, this beautiful five-year old is going to change the world. Thank you for inspiring me Hannah Emily!

A God Who Will Mess You Up

Where to begin? Sometimes I feel like God has to fill me to the brim before words can spill out in an explanation of what is going on in my head or in my heart. It’s been over a month since my last blog post or prayer update and mainly the reason was that I had no words to give you. Today I must be full, because the words are slowly trickling.

I got into Memphis Tennessee a little over two weeks ago, recovered from a bout of malaria and moved into a new apartment. Transitioning back into life here is a workout that I never quite seem to be properly conditioned for. Adjusting back into life in the U.S. is the hardest because it’s so easy, leaving me questioning whether the life I was living in Sierra Leone is actually real or if I just made it up. The past year I’ve spent more time in Sierra Leone than in the U.S. all together, which is a drop in the bucket compared to most missionaries. In my defense though, I think I've been exposed to a large amount of cracks in the system in a condensed period of time. I’ve found that upon arrival in the U.S., I vacillate between tears of joy over the opportunity of eating cheese (seriously- I get emotional), to thanking God for the ability to walk ten yards without adults and children yelling “White person! White person!” (translated from Temne). Shortly sometime after those two realizations, the feelings of deep responsibility for what I have encountered starts to seep in, and I sometimes mourn my ignorance, wishing to go back to not knowing what I do now.

“Deep responsibility,” doesn’t sound sexy. Please hear me out and don’t think I’m turning into a walking commercial with pictures of children with bloated bellies and flies on their eyes. I feel SO privileged to have the opportunity to travel to another country, learn another culture and work alongside beautiful and utterly complex people in a joint effort to bring the restoration of dignity and purpose to a group who have been utterly blinded to their own self-worth. By His grace and a series of events that I couldn’t have constructed myself if I tried, I have had the opportunity to meet these women, and now I struggle with a response. How do we respond to the depths of brokenness out there that is reality?

The last week I was in Sierra Leone, I was sitting with two friends who happen to be beneficiaries of WOHInt. As we sat together chatting about what the next few months look like for each of us, Ramatulai said, “Kelsey, don’t forget us, I beg.” I responded by saying, “I couldn’t forget you if I tried.” Every day whether in Sierra Leone or in the States, I work on fundraising, organizational development, income generation projects for women with disabilities or administrative work for WOHInt, the organization. I laughed at the thought of forgetting

Ramatulai and the other women, when over the past year and a half, they have become a serious focus of my life.

As I sit on my couch writing this with the air conditioning going, drinking a cold beverage, I confess that I have forgotten them today. The truth is that I choose to “forget” much more than our women, but even my neighbors grieving the loss of family and struggling for food in Missouri right now. I “forget” my new neighbor, Mr. Charles, who rocks lonely in the swing on his front porch, next door. I “forget” to listen to the answer of the checkout person at my grocery store after I ask how she’s doing. I “forget” because remembering is uncomfortable, it’s messy, and sometimes it’s just painful. Life happens and I know how quickly I forget the reality of Sierra Leone. Even when I work every day on the development of WOHInt, I’m able to turn the women into the far off “them” in order to separate myself from the discomfort of the reality of beggars and prostitutes in a developing nation. Poverty, rape, corruption, injustice, prejudice, hunger, illness, illiteracy- these things are heavy. I don’t want to carry such a load, after the Jesus I “decided” to follow a few years back told me his yoke is easy and his burden is light…. what’s the deal? I didn’t sign up for heavy!

I am not in any way saying that salvation comes through activism or even doing good things. Trusting Christ is something that comes from the acknowledgement that one can’t possibly measure up, and that one can only find true life by trusting that Jesus Christ has taken all my failures and disobedience upon Himself, restoring right relationship with the creator of the universe. Following Jesus Christ is pursuing freedom.

At the same time, I am acknowledging that Jesus will mess you up! Coming to Him means you’re giving Him free reign to change whatever plans you’ve constructed for your life with the utterance “your will be done.” The first statement in Mathew 6:10 is “your kingdom come,” meaning that shalom, or the restoration of the peace and tranquility that comes with right relationship with the God of the universe. What I get from this prayer is that He wants to restore the world but He will enlist us in the army He’s going to use to bring restoration. Honestly I say these things in fear because I recognize that there is no end to what He wants to do in and through us; it is a life-long process. Really, he tells us plainly that if we follow Him, we will be hated by the world, we will face hardship, we will be separated from our loved ones and we could even die. He is a God of dichotomies however, because in His Word He tells us that as he messes up our lives, He fills us with the fruit of the Spirit on earth (love, joy, peace patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control Gal 5:22-23) and He says in other passages He will reward us in eternity.

As I transition back into life in the States and the next season of whatever it is that I’m doing here (living in Memphis/ Sierra Leone), I confess the moans that seem to seep from my soul like what Paul discusses in 2 Corinthians. I can’t even put words to it, but I’m forced to reckon with a number of emotions. I yearn for His Kingdom as I reside on Earth face to face with the brokenness that exists in and all around me. I lunge to be content with what the world has to offer because, at a glance, it looks much cooler than the life that He calls us to as His followers. We read that John the Baptist ended up wearing camel’s hair and eating locusts. I’m seriously afraid I’ll end up in a denim jumper with a tightly wound bun in my hair everyday if I keep following this Jesus guy! What a buzz kill!

All at the same time, I have no choice but to cling to the only thing that makes any sense: His grace. I ask for help in trusting Him (because I can’t even do that right on my own). I throw myself on Jesus, and trust that He’s got it covered because He is who He says He is. Today I forgot Ramatulai because I didn’t want to remember her, but by His grace, tomorrow I’ll heap her in prayer upon Him who has offered to carry the “load” for me. Silly me! He doesn’t ask that I try to shoulder the weight of all this brokenness I see around me, but He does ask that I try to do some heavy lifting I couldn’t possibly do on my own so that I have to depend on Him for help.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness,’ therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, them I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Markings of Dignity

As I woke Monday morning to the very noisy street outside my window, I have to confess the anxiety that consumed me getting ready to go to work. Monday would mark the very first training of the Community Health Evangelists. If you’re familiar with the program, Community Health Evangelism is the grassroots development strategy we use to support women here, and the very heart of our program. For a little over a year now, the WOHInt national staff with direction from the U.S. staff have worked to introduce the concepts of CHE to women with disabilities in the community, working with them to identify their needs and the assets they already posses, committing to work alongside them to reach physical, spiritual and emotional wellness. After electing a governing body made up of women with disabilities, they selected Community Health Evangelists (CHE’s) who would be trained by our staff in areas such as health and sanitation, disease prevention, nutrition, disabilities awareness, exploitation prevention, micro-enterprise development and advocacy skills all incorporated with Christian discipleship.

This past year has been one of relationship building, “sensitization” (their word very frequently used for awareness building), boundary-setting, commitments, listening, praying, then listening and praying some more. Out of the over 300 women registered with the program, ten of those women selected by the community showed up at 9:00 am to receive their first CHE training. Out of the original 30 women selected, these ten women repeatedly demonstrated a dedication to the development of the disability community and committed their time and energy for the next six months. The trainings are one day a week for the next sixth months with the expectation each woman will transfer the learned concepts throughout the month to their assigned women.

As the Program Assistant, I have had my hand in all aspects of the program on the U.S. side and in-country, working with Kim to train the national staff so they can train the women. Our intent is to make disciples, so that they will then multiply as God fulfills His purposes in Sierra Leone and transforms the community. I was anxious Monday morning for a number of reasons, but mostly because I wasn’t sure the staff were as prepared as I had hoped them to be. Teaching development and community health principles to illiterate women so they are able to teach others is something that takes an incredible amount of creativity in engaging adults and using transferable concepts. Most of these women haven’t attended but a few years of the equivalent of elementary school if that, and so the ways they learn are completely different to that of someone who has gone to school here. Even the idea of sitting in one area for a period of eight hours is an unusual request for these women who have no school experience and never been to a workshop. Many of the parents of these women long-ago decided it was a waste of resources to educate them, and so they were sent into the streets beg for additional income to support the family.

While reading and journaling before breakfast I couldn’t help but bicker with God (because that works so well all the time J) confessing that I had envisioned this first training differently and I was finding it hard to believe it would go successfully. I had pictured at least thirty women receiving training and a staff much more organized. As I lifted up my concerns I felt the Holy Spirit say, “Hey Kels, you need to adjust your expectations and trust me for the results.” Grumbling, I left for the office bracing myself for what I would encounter. That wasn’t the response I was looking for after all the hard work I had put into the program up to this point. Finally I had to acquiesce, considering I was arguing with God. NOTHING goes as planned in Sierra Leone!

At the office I was happy to see the training was underway on time. Kim and I entered the office and politely greeted the women. Many of the CHE’s present were older women, each with hard stories written on their faces. In the social hierarchy of beggars, those who roam the main streets of town for their daily food are the lowest class. I recognized some of the women as falling into this category and others as being more respectable within the disability community itself. All of the women fall into the category beggars, prostitutes and second-class citizens in Makeni. Again I found myself wondering how the staff would accommodate the learning styles of these women, reach them wherever they’re at, speaking into their needs as individuals and as part of the greater whole.

Kim and I sat in the reception area of our office where we were able to look in on the training and show moral support for the staff, but not play an active role. I worked on Admin. team finances as I listened in on the lessons. They taught on the value of in-home medical care, proper sanitation, discussed expectations for all parties invested in CHE and again went over the CHE process. The women actively engaged themselves openly discussing issues they see and sharing with each other and the staff. As it neared noon, the staff told them they would be signing a voucher acknowledging receipt of a small amount of money for their transportation costs for attending the training. Immediately the women became restless and looked around in shock and excitement. None of these women knew how to sign their names. Most people in Sierra Leone who have never been to school are forced to give a thumbprint to acknowledge receipt of something or to make a formal agreement. A thumbprint “signature” is a dead give-away that an individual is uneducated, and therefore lesser.

Our Operations Officer assured them that a signature is often times an illegible scribble, and that they would be able to make up their own chicken scratch and use it as their personal signature. The women began to clap and squeal with enthusiasm as the staff first taught them one-by-one how to hold a pencil and gave them paper to practice the exact scribble that would serve as their personal identification. “Ah Papa God, we don’t know nothing and now we’re going to learn how to sign!” said one woman of significant years. These mothers and grandmothers each stood up, awkwardly with pen in hand and demonstrated her new signature for the rest of the group as the others yelled and clapped in excitement. With each “signature” presentation the women glowed with the dignity that had just been awarded them. I couldn’t help but cry at their unexpected reaction to such a secondary piece of the training.

I pray that some day we will be able to measure success in terms of a decrease in malaria outbreaks amongst our women, lowered infant mortality rates and reports of higher annual income. I believe God is working on that even as I write this blog. Basking in the enjoyment of the women I had just experienced I sat in our dirty little office recording recent expenditures, and I felt rich with the success of the program. At that moment I felt the Holy Spirit say, “Kels, I’m going to measure progress in chicken scratches.” My expectations were yet again adjusted and only my radical God could produce such beautiful results as these.

Dating Salone

Salone and I have well passed the honeymoon stage, and I am already beginning to combat the natural cynicism that seems to seep into many development relationships. I entered into this monogamous (on my part at least J ) partnership wrestling through the incredible barriers surrounding cycles of poverty and the overwhelming idea of really assisting in the journey of transformation for a small people group. God opened my eyes to the condition of women with disabilities here, and I had to begin asking Him questions.

One of the first questions I asked was, “why them and not me?” Why have I been awarded such opportunity and comfort while these women are left to maybe an elementary level education (if that), confined by stereotypes and stigma that perpetuate discrimination and feelings of low self-worth. The next question I had to ask is, “so how does one really love someone well anyway?” Those questions became a driving force in my participation with the birthing of WOHInt. The only real answer I had is that only God could possibly know.

Why had I been exposed to the plight of these women? What had God taken me through personally that might be of value to their lives, and what is my responsibility now that I have seen what I have seen? These questions haunted me. As I continued on the journey to finding the answers (this journey that I’m still on) God began to give terse responses to myself and the original founders of WOHInt. Those “responses” formed the strategies that we felt best matched Jesus’ development strategies.

I really believed these founding principles to be true, but this trip is making me put my money where my mouth is as far as what I really believe about the life transformation that Christ is working on here. While my relationship with Salone has not been one of pretenses I think, my eyes have been opened more to the deeply rooted oppression in governmental corruption and an unbiblical worldview that appears to bind many third-world countries, hindering their progression. Again, similar questions continue to plague me, and I am forced to ask myself if the answers He keeps providing me with are enough.

I wrestle often with the question of how one really loves well. As I look at the poverty that surrounds me and as I listen to the stories of my friends, so many of them are woven with sorrow. I vacillate between responding to my knee-jerk reaction of giving (although I have no money myself J) and maintaining a tough-love mentality, giving the promise to walk alongside each woman in her personal journey to find “dignity, purpose and life transformation.”

I have been working with one of our women named Fatmata for an hour every morning to strengthen my Krio. Fatmata contracted Polio as a child and now uses a caliper to help her walk. Last week she showed up for my lesson without her leg brace. She told me that her mobility aid had finally broken on her way home from our lesson the day before. She had been walking home and the metal that holds her leg straight completely broke. She fell in the street, and had to limp the rest of the way home, stopping every so often to rest her weak leg. It took her four hours to reach her house. She teared up when she explained the story and how she didn’t know how she was going to get her caliper fixed.

My initial reaction was to say, “don’t worry, I can help you with the fifty dollars you need to get your caliper fixed.” As someone who used to be dependent on my prosthetic, I was really able to relate to the feelings of anxiousness when your independence is ripped from you, and you aren’t able to do the same things you could once do on your own when your adaptive device is damaged. Fatmata has a five-month child and she is a single mother. As I stared Fatmata in the face, I realized that maybe my convictions weren’t as strong as I thought they were. I knew I needed to wrestle some more with what I believed to be true outside of the WOHInt strategic plan that looked quite good to me on paper. I needed to wrestle some more with what I believe to be true.

I started to think about the potential long-term implications of giving Fatmata this money. I could be playing into the common African belief that white people are their saviors, further speaking into the idea that the country will only succeed with continual help from the Western world. I could be communicating the message that I don’t think she is capable of managing on her own. On a bigger scale, I am assuming the responsibility of addressing the large-scale problem of a shortage of mobility-aid devices instead of working with the disability community to address the problem as a whole. Personally I could be stroking my own savior complex, elevating myself as a giver. Lastly, I would be hypocritical in my giving, undermining WOHInt and our commitment not to give, but to equip and empower women with disabilities.

The wrestling match led me to the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2:15). God made us for His own glory and our good, to work this Earth that He blessed us with and take care of it. He equipped us to carry out this task. He created Fatmata and designed plans for her life. He spoke into being skills and abilities, calling her His masterpiece. The best way I know how to love someone is to affirm just what God has created within him or her, supporting and equipping her for her own betterment and the ability to go bring “Garden living” somewhere else.

But what about all the brokenness? What about sin? What about the reality of the situation presently? We aren’t living in the Garden of Eden anymore. Romans 8:22 “We know that the whole of creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to this present time.” Paul recognizes that something is off here. There is extreme suffering, evil and pain. The answers I came up with aren’t really easy to digest.

I believe the only thing that doesn’t serve as a band-aid on the gunshot wound is the working toward this Garden of Eden restoration, the restoring of right relationship with God, each other, ourselves and the earth. The Jews used the word Shalom with the Hebrew translation being “peace.” The word can also encompass ideas of wellness, completeness, and wholeness. If this is true, then the best thing I have to offer Fatmata isn’t a caliper or some money, but instead the promise to work together in seeking shalom and bringing it ourselves. If I want to love Fatmata well, first I need to affirm the gifts she has been given and make the commitment to work with her and community to bring restoration physically, emotionally, socially and spiritually.

I talked over the situation with Kim, and we agreed that we could give Fatmata an advance on the money she was to earn for next week in order to pay for caliper repairs. This money would not be the total amount for a new caliper, however. We contacted a member of the WOHInt Advisory Board who is the Director of the Prosthetics Outreach Foundation and attempted to connect with Handicap International in Freetown to help Fatmata identify the best resources available for her. After a long weekend Fatmata returned from Freetown with a patched caliper. She was able to address her problem and meet her own need. She didn’t get a new caliper, and we haven’t solved the problem of sustainable mobility aid devices for the women just yet. I believe Fatmata is on a journey of discovering her dignity that has been worn down and oftentimes stolen by society because of her disability, her sex, and her economic status. I am privileged to journey alongside her.