African Cinderella

I got to play fairy godmother to my new family from Burundi! They had told me that the schools did not allow flip flops or plastic sandals -- and this news put everyone into a dither. Without the time or financial resources to take all 10 of them shoe shopping, I was able to locate a bag full of donated shoes.
When Tim, Andrei and I stopped in for a visit, everyone was home. That's eight children and two parents. (Not to mention several neighbors!) The teenage girls began to try on shoes, and the room was transfixed. With all eyes on the process, the older girl gave two pairs of fancy heels a try -- both at the same time with one on each foot. The younger declared the black shoes too tight.
Now the younger girl gave the blue heels a try.
Nope! Way too tight. Hmm . . . I began to worry a little.
Next she tried the white heels. I held my breath. Would the glass slipper fit our Cinderella?

Ta da! Isn't she lovely? Okay, maybe they're a little too big. She didn't mind. She traipsed proudly around the room in her first pair of real shoes. Little sister was bemused by the whole event.One of these days she'll be old enough to play Cinderella. I take comfort in the hope that the years to come will bring her peace, safety and much joy.

A bullet in her leg!

"There's a bullet in my leg! It hurts!"

These words uttered by the Somali woman I often visit drew me up short. A bullet . . . in her leg? How long had it been there, I asked.

"Since 1993," she told me. That's the year she fled her home in the midst of a civil war that wiped out her family and forced her to become a refugee.

This day brought one surprise . . . and one heartache . . . after another. My guest was a Kenyan woman who has a doctorate in community health development. Our first stop at the home of this gentle woman from Burundi spoke to the incredible need here. She works every night in a chicken factory. Her job barely pays for childcare and rent.
"Are you happy?" I asked her.

She shook her head. "No, I'm not."

I didn't have to ask why, though she told me anyway. She is a single mom with three children. Her job is hard. She is thin and hungry and exhausted. The walls inside her apartment are filthy, crawling with cockroaches. The odor almost overpowers her guests.

What future does she have? What hope? She needs our prayers and whatever support we can give.

The second home is inhabited by my Somali friend, her husband, and their seven children. Today she was entertaining guests who had just arrived in America from a Somali refugee camp in Kenya. Seated on the floor, she was complaining about the pain in her leg. When she began to talk about the bullet lodged there, I sensed the long history of suffering and loss she has endured. (photo removed by request)

While she talked to my friend from Kenya, I greeted the young Somali woman in the kitchen. It's Ramadan, so none of the adults may eat from sunrise to sunset. But they were preparing a big feast for the moment they could eat. (photo removed by request)

"Why do you fast?" I asked my friend. She avoided the question by telling me about her woes -- too many children, a broken dryer, and -- oh, yeah -- that bullet in her leg.
(photo removed by request)

I'm not sure she knows why she fasts during Ramadan. But I know. She and her family use the month as a time to repent of their sins and ask God to forgive them. By doing good deeds and obeying the laws of their Muslim faith, they hope to be allowed into heaven.

I'm grateful that Jesus gave Himself as the ultimate sacrifice. I don't have to try to be good enough to please God. When God looks at me, He sees the face of Jesus who removed the penalty of my sins -- now and for all eternity.

Do your level best !

"Do your level best to help us, please," the young man urged me today. Eager to practice his English, the handsome Burundian regularly peppered sentences with his favorite idiom: "Do your level best." This morning, I met this newly arrived family of ten very tired Burundian refugees. Though they were suffering jet lag, they welcomed me and three women from World Relief, the agency that is resettling them. This Burundian immigrant served as translator. Their caseworker will help them on many levels -- health, English, jobs, school, and countless other issues.
The volunteer coordinator helps people like me meet families and learn how best to minister to them.
I brought a big "zawadi" (gift) today! A church women's group in Atlanta had filled many baskets with cleaning supplies, food, diapers, and other essentials. The family was thrilled.Dad speaks great Swahili and was eager to talk about his family's long journey from Tanzania to Kenya, Switzerland, Houston, and finally Atlanta.

His two oldest sons learned to speak English in the refugee camp in Tanzania. Most of the children were born there, and the family spent many years there until they were forcibly "repatriated" (sent back to Burundi) by the Tanzanian government. They lived in Burundi only three years before war broke out again and they fled for their lives back to the camp in Tanzania.

The oldest boys informed me, "We will do our level best to get good jobs in America."
Beautiful sister was happy to see the school supplies. Many members of the family will start school next Wednesday. Another sister helped care for the baby who is three years old but very tiny. The little one was scared of all the noise and people, and I'm sure she was tired, too.After looking through the presents, the family asked to visit the "African store." I drove mom, dad and both of the older sons to the "Tropical Foods" grocery where a Gambian immigrant was proud to show off the dried fish, cassava flour, plantains, and other goods he imports from Africa. You can even buy a goat head there, if you're so inclined!On returning my new family to their apartment, I set up a plan to visit often. I'll help mom learn English and deal with other issues that arise.

Afterward, I drove over to visit two more of my families. One is new to America. The other, a family of nine, has been here a while. They've gone through many rough times, and I was happy to see members of both families gathered in the same home to chat, laugh, and relax.

Playing with the baby makes everyone smile. This pretty mother is thankful to have friends nearby so she can visit and learn from them.Dad was getting ready to go to his job at the chicken factory. He works the night shift and seems tired most of the time. But I can usually cajole him into laughter. I like to see that smile.
The matriarch of the family had on her pajamas at 2 in the afternoon. Then again, maybe she didn't know they were pj's. She was enjoying life -- and that's the main thing!
I love these three families. God has blessed me greatly with the opportunity to minister to them through friendship, English lessons, and other supports. I don't always get things right, but after all . . . I do my level best!

Will you pray with me for these families? C'mon . . . say it with me: "I'll do my level best!"

Drowning for Jesus!

One day the Sudanese boy who plays the drums at our church asked Pastor Dave, "When are you going to dunk me in the water like you did Nuk?" Dave had to think for a moment before realizing the young man was asking about baptism. After many weeks of Bible study and discussion, our little drummer boy was ready to make known his repentance and surrender to Jesus. Pastor Dave said this caused a lot of excitement among the other boys. Several asked, "So when are you going to drown him?"

This past Sunday, we all gathered at the local swimming pool . . . not for a drowning but for the start of a new life in Christ. The congregation of Sudanese, Congolese, Burmese, Karen, Burundians, Liberians, Americans and others sang hymns as pastor Dave and this young Believer stepped into the water. He was proud to announce his faith to everyone and then display his surrender by public baptism.
After the ceremony, it was time for a potluck lunch. Can you imagine the delicious variety of food our congregation brought? Yummy...Then everyone headed for the water to swim . . .
and play . . .or hang out on a swing in the shade.
We love our church family in Georgia, and we're so excited to share the joy of walking alongside them in the peace of Jesus Christ.

You move me ...

We had a moving experience this weekend! After much thought, discussion and prayer, we felt God's stamp of approval on yet another transition. We now live in an apartment near Clarkston -- closer to Andrei's apartment complex and the refugee relocation site. Tim will continue to run the after-school program at Huntington Ridge, and we will both help plan and supervise activities for the community. He will keep his job at the tennis center right behind HR, too.

All the same, it was hard to say goodbye to friends and neighbors. We will miss them.Packing boxes again was no fun, either. We are so grateful for friends Bill , Alex and Andrei, who helped us with the move.
And yet another Alex who helped us settle in. After a long, sweaty day, we all approved of Andrei's suggestion -- ice cream!
Please pray for us as we continue to serve God at Huntington Ridge and Clarkston. As our pastor said, "You're now Clarkistanis!"

Spaghetti in the dryer!

"This no good!" my Somali friend told me. "No working!"She had just taken a box of spaghetti noodles out of the clothes dryer in her kitchen. When I exclaimed about her unusual -- but clever -- storage solution, she explained that the dryer had quit working long ago. As a mom with seven children, she's in a panic about the approach of winter. She won't be able to hang wet clothes outside when its cold. (photo removed by request)

But her good cheer returned as she dumped the noodles in hot water and began cooking what she called "Somali pasta." During her childhood in Mogadishu, she had been able to buy ready-made pasta. But in the refugee camp where she fled, she had to grind flour and make noodles herself.

Pasta in Somalia? It took me a few minutes to figure out why pasta would be a favorite Somali dish. Then I remembered that Somalia had once been an Italian colony. Makes sense now!She proudly displayed the traditional Somali bread -- injera -- she had made. Her husband would soon wake up and eat lunch in preparation to leave for his night shift at the chicken factory. She planned to feed the whole family a hearty meal. With four preschoolers at home (including a baby), she has her hands full.

Outside, our son Geoffrey was playing soccer with my friend's children. I noted some mutual curiosity between a white man with a faux-hawk and his new Somali refugee friend. Geoffrey got a kick out of holding the baby. That was mutual, too!
This Somali mom is proud of her family, eager to practice her English skills, and always welcoming. Whenever I get ready to leave, she says, "Goodbye, sister! Thank you, sister!"

(photo removed by request)

Goodbyes are never easy for me. Sending Geoffrey back to Missouri to finish his senior year of college was especially hard.

Moms love their children. I see the love in the eyes of my Somali friend when she looks at her little ones. And I know how deeply I love my big tall boy. Come back soon, Geoffrey!

Andrei's new life!

Andrei has moved into his "supported independent living" apartment. This lovely complex is in Decatur, a town that was surrounded long ago by the Atlanta megalopolis.
These brick apartments are an 80/20 community. This means that the owners decided they wanted 80% of their residents to be senior citizens. So it's very quiet and serene there. Just what Andrei needs after 3 months of SWAT teams, gunfire, and break-ins where we have been living.
Andrei shares the apartment with another client of Georgia Community Supports and Solutions. Each man has his own bedroom and bath. They share the livingroom, dining room, and kitchen.
It's a very nice place, and we are thanking God for this great blessing for Andrei.
Today, Andrei reported that he and his apartment-mate worked out how to manage the kitchen -- storage, utensils, cooking duties, and food purchases. We're proud of them for taking care of this on their own.
Please keep Andrei in your prayers. Soon he'll be starting a job search, and learning how to ride on the MARTA transit system. We sure love that young man!