Church is Always an Adventure in Freetown

This week I had to make a hard choice about where to attend church.

The children from Cheshire Home were doing their annual Thanksgiving Service at King Memorial United Methodist Church.  Thanksgiving here has nothing to do with turkeys, Columbus, or pumpkin pie.  Thanksgiving here means, "we are going to do a special presentation, we will had out offering envelopes for you, and you will fill them with money, and bring them to the front of the church while we sing, dance and clap." 

By Friday evening I had received eight envelopes from children at Cheshire Home.  This seems to be a very big deal.  I have tried asking some of our local workers what the meaning is behind the envelopes - is there a competition?  Do they keep track of who brings in the most about of money (the envelopes have always been numbered, and this time some of them have names of the children written on them)?  Do they get punished if they don't return their issued envelopes?  So far the issue remains unclear, but it seems that there is a lot of pressure to make sure your assigned envelopes come back full of cash. 

Another option was to head back to Pastor Angel's church, Mercy Baptist in Mayenkeneh town.  Today was a special Sunday as our friend, "Joseph" was getting baptized.  Joseph was raised in the Fullah tribe, one that is 90% Muslim. He became a Christian several years ago through the influence and friendship of another Mercy Shipper from South Africa, a man named Henry.  Joseph desires to serve the Lord and make His glory known, despite receiving death threats, unwanted visitors in his home, and being ex-communicated by his family.

In addition to Joseph making the decision to be baptized, five other church members had decided to be baptized this week as well.

But, I had already promised the kids from Cheshire I would be at their Thanksgiving, so to King Memorial I went.

Church was good- about 30 minutes by foot, the sweat was rolling down my forehead and my neck by the time I arrived (but I've learned to carry a handkerchief like all the locals for this).  We sat in the balcony of this church that seats about 600.  Well, I take that back.  In America this church would seat about 400.  In Sierra Leone, I think it would seat about 1000 if needed - you just make more room.  You sit right on the skirt or coattails of the person next to you.  The baby on the lap of the woman next to me this morning was touching my arm the whole service.

The First Lady of Sierra Leone, Mrs. Koroma, read the Old Testament reading today!  What a pleasant surprise.  The children of Cheshire all had matching shirts made and they sang their choruses from their seats.  The sermon was nice, the hymns were familiar, and the heat made it difficult to fight the gravitational pull on my eyelids.  But, the grins that came from the front row as they saw our little "bright" (white) faces in the balcony made it all worth it.

"Disability is not the same as inability" is their motto (Mottos are very important to culture here.  Every Sunday the church has a motto.  Every school has a motto.  Every organization has a motto).  So true.

As I was leaving church, Mommy K. found me.  This is Rugiatu Kamara, mother of Foday, Kadiatu, Haja, Salamatu, and Aisha.  She is a Muslim woman who lives with her family of seven in a one room hut outside the perimeter fence of Cheshire Home.  The father is around sometimes- I certainly don't see him all the time.

They sell nickel candies and plastic bags of water at the side of the oversized cemetery on Race Course Road (called so because of the proximity of the cemetery, and we are all on a "race to the grave," is the local explanation I have just received for the nomenclature.

Mommy K handed me Aisha and asked where the "lorry" was ("motor car," aka car), and I explained I arrived on foot.  "Okay, let's go," she tells me and we head off - me carrying Aisha on my hip, and her walking empty handed.  The children from Cheshire (including her three daughters) were being shuttled back to the home in a pick-up truck belonging to another foundation. 

Rugiatu stopped at a stand along the way to buy three lollipops.  I thought it was for her three daughters that sang that morning. but she handed them to me explaining they were for Kylie and Savannah.   Along the route I received many stares and comments while I carry this chocolate skinned precious baby.  "You take this one, eh?"  Trying to give away other people's children seems to be a popular event.

Halfway back to the ship, my sandal broke.  The leather strap between my toes separated from the base of the flip flop making it impossible to wear.  Immediately Rugiatu took it from me and gave me her own shoe.  She walked on the sweltering blacktop, garbage, and broken glass with only one shoe on.  I kept trying to give her shoe back but she insisted.  Even when we got to the street where I turn off, she wouldn't let me give her back her shoe.  Instead, she gave me the other one, put on my one functioning sandal (which was about three sizes too big for her) and set out for her home, two kilometers away, with her sweaty baby.  She told me she'll get my sandal fixed by Tuesday when I head over to Cheshire Home next.  I cajoled and begged but she would not relent.  This was her way of saying thanks.

Thanks for what?  What have I done do deserve this?  A few used clothes we gave for her girls? A few dollars for medicine when Salamatu "Isatu" was sick? A million twirls of the jumprope for Kadie & Haja?  A few hugs?  Is there any sacrifice in that?  I didn't burn my feet for her.  I didn't give beyond my means.

We have so much to learn about the sacrificial gift of Christ from the poor.  Giving when it goes beyond our comfort.  Loving even when it's not convenient. 

Where did I come from, and where am I going?

 

This will be my first attempt at blogging. It has been a 10 month journey so far with Mercy Ships. It began with a question. You know, those little nagging things that should have an easy solution but are just a little elusive for you. I asked God, “What is the power of the Gospel?” As I look at our society and even myself I know there has to be more. When addiction rates, debt ratios, divorce rates and suicide are just as high in the church as outside of it, it raises more questions. How can the power of Jesus bring freedom and change to this world? How are people who are losing jobs, homes and family supposed to believe and find hope in a place that doesn’t really look any different?   The first thing I felt was this: Do I look any different? It had to start with me. I have been involved in missions for 18 years now and thought to myself, “Sure, I’m different. I go around the world and serve my church.”  As I worked deeper into this question it became apparent to both Tiff and I that we were supposed to take it a step further. If living for Jesus brings freedom from this world we should be free to follow anywhere. Was it true? Well, we had to sell cars, a boat and find people to rent our homes. We had to sell a lot of our “stuff”.  Not to say it was easy but it is possible if you are willing.  So, we started our journey.

We showed up to Gateway and I was prepared for starting and being a part of something exciting. I thought making the change and selling everything was the whole process. When we showed up in Texas we would “arrive” and then just have to sit back and enjoy the ride. I was sorely mistaken. This was just going to scratch the surface of what God has in store for me.

Gateway was a swirl of emotions for me. Some good, some bad. I was glad to have started and be somewhere I had no doubt I was supposed to be. I was frustrated that just about everything didn’t live up to my expectations. Classes weren't what I expected. Time off and people didn’t fit into my world view. My pride started getting hurt and I started to let bitterness creep in. I know this doesn’t sound like a very good missionary story and I should probably clarify that right now. I’m not sure I’m a “good missionary.” I am a man trying to seek out God’s will for my life and  probably stumble more than I run and fall down more than I win.

After four weeks in Texas we left for Sierra Leone. Maybe I would “arrive” there. Maybe this would be the situation I was looking for. We packed up our family and headed overseas. Now, we have done this several times as a family and I look forward to the travel. It was a bit different though to head out and know that we had no return tickets. We were not planning on being back to the States for around 18 months!

We finally arrived and I started to get  a LITTLE bit of a glimpse of the direction God had for me. We met amazing people as we started construction of the Hope Center. And were able to get a feel for life in the local culture. Power was intermittent. We had A/C shut off and we worked in the heat.

All of this time God was working on me. I was in Africa and I was “doing”. Would I stop there and let that be enough or would I continue to seek Him and see where he wanted me to go? I would like to say I always do, but I too must  “choose this day whom I will serve.” Some days it was Jesus, some days it was Dan and his dumb pride and ego.

Seeing the ship arrive was probably one of the most profound moments in my life. As it was pulling up, the hope and joy that seemed to radiate once again confirmed that this is where we were supposed to be.  Now you have read many stories of people we have been able to help and I am absolutely certain that because of the care we have given we have saved lives. Through it all the question before me is: “What is the power of the Gospel?” Right now I know it to be this:  Plain and simple, it is the power of a testimony. It is the story of a life changed. A life becoming something different and better because of the power and grace that can only come from Jesus. I am trying to live that testimony. Each day I must choose to move forward. Some days I do better than others but I absolutely learn something every day.  It is my choice to serve that can maybe change me into what God is wanting. It is this story and this change that can maybe bring hope to those around me. This is the power that can change our friends, family, communities and the world.

Just as a boy can show joy and have hope when his leg gets cut off, maybe we can learn to show the power of a Gospel that can actually change lives and bring hope to those around us.

While They Wait....

What is the Hope Center? 

The Hope Center is our off-the-ward housing for patients, pre and post-operation.  Often our patients come from many hours away and aren't able to arrive the morning of the admission due to transportation scheduling.

So, they come early.  Other times a patient isn't critical enough to be on the ward any more, but they have follow up appointments including dressing changes, x-rays, physical therapy and more.  For those that live far away, it does not make sense to send them on their way home in between these visits.  So, they stay.

While they wait they often feel well, and are looking for something to do.  

This year it has been a blessing to have the Hope Center literally right up the street.  As you exit the port, it is the first building on "Bad Boy Lane" (ominous, I know) aka Savage Square.  

As often as we can, we try to go up to the Hope Center to spend some time with the patients and their family members.  If anyone comes onboard for surgery under the age of 18, they must have a caregiver with them.

This past week we went to the Hope Center during "family night" as a great way for our girls to connect with what is happening, outside of school.

We held some kiddos, gave some hugs, and played some soccer.

Here are the girls with cousin Emily and Aminata, Sorie, Joseph, and Al Hasan

Today

Last night as we were out on deck 8 observing what we thought was a normal sunset, we noticed that the sky was doing unusual things.  I thought I’d share the various viewpoints that I captured over the course of 24 minutes. 


Out the port side, we could see rain over near Lungi airport – and this massive head cloud – it was impressive.

Pretty soon the sky was swirling above us and it seemed we were in the eye of a storm.

Watching these form was a reminder of how small we are.


We are docked right where the river meets the sea and you can see all the currents changing and merging.

Indescribable.


At this point I was wondering if it’s possible for there to be tornadoes in Sierra Leone.



Meanwhile, on the starboard side of the ship, the skies were gorgeous blue.

The sun was setting peacefully, with the storm trying to chase it.











Dust storm attacked on our dock, but notice all the blue sky!

On the other side of the ship, you can barely see anything beyond this little tug.




Sometimes there are not words to describe what you witness.  This can be smiles or expressions, acts of kindness, acts of violence.  But as I watched this beauty in the sky, I couldn’t help but stand in awe of the Creator of the Universe and be reminded that I am held safe in the palm of His hand.


Today I choose to follow You
Today I choose to give my “yes” to You Today I choose to hear your voice and live
Today I choose to follow You

As for me and my house we will serve You
As for me and my house we will spend our lives on You today
Wonderful counselor, everlasting father
Eternal King, Lord of Hosts, willingly we follow
I’ve had this song (by Brian Doerksen) stuck in my head for the past several days and it’s a firm reminder for me to participate in this great life we are given.  I can CHOOSE to follow – choose to give my “yes,” choose to hear, choose to spend my life on Him, and do so willingly.  He is a mighty, awesome God.  I’m so grateful for this choice.

Pumpkin Carving in Africa??

One of our most consistent fall traditions has always been carving pumpkins (and eating the roasted pumpkin seeds).  So this fall we were growing a bit sad to imagine a fall without this event.

 

However, our grief was in vain! 

 

Through our chandler (yes, yet another profession I have never heard before living on a ship - along with a steward, a bosun, and a purser!) we acquired a locally grown “pumpkin.” 

 

It’s a bit different than our October pumpkins back home.

Green in flesh.  VERY firm and hard to cut.

Bright on the insides though.

The girls were prepared for the stink- Kylie, especially, HATES the smell of slimy pumpkin innards, but this was a pleasant surprise.

It smelled a bit like a cross between honeydew (musk melon) and pumpkin.  Quite nice.

The insides weren’t as slimy as usual – dryer and easier to separate from the seeds.

With out handy dandy knife and spoon we were able to rather easily clean it out.

Savannah was enjoying taking pictures every step of the process.

Here you can see that it’s not a stringy and wet as our pumpkins.

Kylie was thoroughly engaged in the whole process.

And Savannah couldn’t keep the camera away from herself…

Oh, one day I’ll have to post the thousands of photos I have like this one.

Voila!  We have ourselves a Jack-o-lantern.

 

The seeds were tasty, the pumpkin was illuminated with a battery operated pillar candle, and we had a bit of familiar fall, in the midst of Sierra Leone!