My Final Letter from Ghana
27 August, 2008
I want to tell you the story of a man called Samuel, but my knowledge of his life is limited to a fifteen minute exchange in an alleyway in Accra. We (Thomas, myself and a team of students recently arrived from the UK) were driving home from a prayer meeting at the church when Thomas decided to show us the church’s first sanctuary. He stopped adjacent to a dimly lit, narrow street in the heart of the Okaishie Market. Here, the congregation had worshipped, studied and prayed. Preparations for the morning service had included shoveling out the piles of refuse which had accumulated during the week.
Thomas parked, hopped out of the car, and walked over to talk with some people sitting on a tabletop, who were eyeing us curiously. I followed, along with one other student. After introducing myself to a young woman and one of the men seated nearby, I wandered over to the group that had initially grabbed my attention. A man holding an old, manual Canon camera with a large flash attachment was photographing a man in a wheelchair holding a baby girl. His studio was a white cloth thrown over a support beam under the awning at the entrance of a dilapidated factory building. Lighting was a single bulb dangling low overhead. The wheelchair-bound man was clearly another of the multitude of polio sufferers in Ghana. His body was completely withered from the hip down and he sat with his legs curled beneath his thin frame. My eyes were drawn upwards, however, to a pleasant face and a ready smile. I asked him his name. “It’s Samuel,” he said.
The photographer asked if I would be in the picture with Samuel and the little girl. I agreed with pleasure, kneeling beside Samuel and taking the baby’s hand in mine. The camera flashed and Samuel smilingly relinquished the petite, wide-eyed infant named Grace. Making herself at home, she nestled into my arms and took a generous handful of my red curls with a firm purpose to explore and discover. I’m not sure what she intended to find, but her eyes were unblinking as she examined every line of my face and routinely stroked my tresses. This was probably her first exposure to a white face, and though barely a year old, her desire to make sense of this puzzling apparition was evident in every crease of her thoughtful little brow.
It was getting late, and Thomas indicated that we had to leave. As I began to say my goodbyes and restore Grace to Samuel, a man in his early twenties walked up and introduced himself as Grace’s father. He had seen her in my arms, and noted my obvious pleasure in holding her. As I attempted to loosen my curls from Grace’s clutching hand and return her to Samuel, her father asked repeatedly if I would like to take Grace with me. Of course, that wasn’t possible. It’s the unconscious response we all would make in a similar situation. But in the car, on the way home to a bed, shelter, and food, I couldn’t help but note the stark contrasts of my life and that of Grace’s. I felt that I had denied her a “better life.” But then I checked myself. God had not said I was to remove her from that alleyway in Accra. He determined exactly where she was to be born and He knows the type of life she will lead. I am to pray over her and trust that He holds her securely in His hands. I believe the key in such situations is to be prepared at all times to act according to His voice, and never question it, no matter how ludicrous His commission may sound. If He had said, “Take Grace home,” I would have somehow found a way.
Today marks three weeks since my return, and inevitably this question has been asked by many well-meaning people, “What did you learn?” Well... Where would I begin? How do I describe the young girls selling bananas on the streets? Or the elderly men kneeling on a strip of cloth praying to Allah at sunset? Or the joy in the eyes of the street children when you smile and wave to them? What about the beggars with polio, literally crawling among the cars, asking for change? There aren’t any words to describe what happens in your Spirit when you come face to face with the broken heart of Christ. Please don’t limit what I’m saying to the boundaries of Ghana, or even within Africa. His blood was spilled for all. And that includes the next door neighbour with a Mercedes, the Mexican girl working at McDonalds, and the commander of the Taliban soldier in Afghanistan; the brothel owner in India, the sheik in Dubai, and the child who bullies your children at school. They all are God’s people.
During one of our Sunday services, Reverend Keith made this statement: “Our real capacity as followers of Jesus Christ lies not in how much we retain, but in how much is poured out.” We are not saved so that we might live with the assurance of heaven and Christ’s blessings or grace. We are saved because we are loved by Him. And because all are loved by Him, we have been commissioned as His children to love as He loved. This love will never spring from emotion or by reasoning. He has given us His capacity to love through the gift of the Holy Spirit. Hanging on that cross, Jesus was not enraged at the soldiers who drove the nails through His hands; He was moved with such love and compassion for them in their blinded state, that the anger created in His human state drove Him to usurp war and simply offer Himself to the enemy before the first arrow was drawn.
Yes, there is pain on earth. Yes, there is death. Yes, there is injustice. But we were not created for this world. We are to love as if there is no hatred, live as if there is no death, and be just in the face of injustice. To love so intensely requires an attitude of selfless intent to reach the nations (and our neighbours) with the message of Jesus Christ. Every word He spoke was truth, no matter how hard, or radical, or politically incorrect. Paul gave us a good idea of what the life of a follower of Jesus Christ will look like:
“But in all things, we commend ourselves as ministers of God: in much patience, in tribulations, in needs, in distresses, in stripes, in imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in sleeplessness, in fastings; by purity, by knowledge, by longsuffering, by kindness, by the Holy Spirit, by sincere love, by the Word of Truth, by the Power of God, by the armour of righteousness on the right hand and on the left, by honour and dishonour, by evil report and good; as deceivers, and yet true, as unknown, and yet well-known; as dying, and behold we live; as chastened, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.” 2 Corinthians 6 : 4 -10
If we choose to live this way, we will come into contact with some of the “least of these.” It may be messy and a little scary at first, but this is exactly where Christ said He would be. Look past the sorrow and despair - as followers of Jesus, we have the Truth that will bring joy to every soul! Don’t live in such anticipation for Heaven that you are blinded from seeing the Kingdom of God among us today. There is so much to be done while we’re here! Embrace the opportunity to live each day in imitation of our Saviour.
This my last letter to you concerning Ghana. I want to reiterate my thanks, both for the financial support from many of you and the multitude of prayers that were lifted up during my time there. Please send me an email (rmsplawn@gmail.com) if you have any thoughts or comments that you’d like to make on this letter or any of the others preceding it. I love hearing your responses!
With much love from me and all the Splawn family,
Rebekah
Friday, 24 April 2009
Newsletter 3 - Ghana
Update #3 from Ghana:
Picture clouds, large and full, resembling freshly whipped cream and weightless as cotton. The sky is that true blue, almost translucent, making the observer feel the magnificence of its breadth. Red clay roads abruptly cut through fields blanketed with tall green grass, bounded by a far-reaching horizon interrupted by sporadic clumps of trees. Nestled among all is a mud-built, nearly circular compound, roughly 20 paces in diameter; the silhouette of a woman with a bundle on her back can be seen on the roof, stooped over and apparently in the action of stirring something with her hands.
This is Zuprii (zoo-pree), a little village an hour's drive outside of Wa, a large city in the north-west corner of Ghana. The village is barely two miles from the border of Burkina Faso. The circular compound is the chief's house, where he lives with his three wives and children. His village is made of the farms of his people; fields with large mounds of earth in neat rows for planting yams, with the family's mud home and cattle corral nearby. Goats, chickens, and dogs wander in and out of the house, but the donkeys and cows are kept in pens built of sticks and branches.
A team from Virginia came to Ghana in May and built a community centre for the people of Zuprii. In essence, the building is a concrete structure with half walls and a peaked, corrugated iron roof boasting three entry points. This second trip was made to complete the building project by painting the walls, making a ramp up to one entrance for the disabled villagers, and constructing gates for the doorways to keep out the animals.
About eight years ago, the Jaggers planted a church in this village. The chief was saved on the first day, thereby freeing to rest of the villagers to accept Christ as well. When Keith and Debbie returned to teach and encourage the people, God had beat them to it. The villagers were in the middle of their church service, grouped underneath a tree, praying and prophesying to each other. A local pastor who had taken over this little church told the Jaggers that he had never taught on prophesy and that they hadn't yet seen a Bible (primarily because most are illiterate). They were prophesying scripture they had never read, and practicing biblical truths they'd never been taught! This is their revelation of the Messiah.
I had the great priviledge of visiting Zuprii during my second week in Ghana. I travelled by road, with Keith and Debbie and two guys who were sent by a church in North Carolina. The drive was a little over ten hours, a vast improvement on previous journeys, which the Jaggers said used to take seventeen hours. Roads have improved thanks to the current government, and travel is much smoother throughout the country. Roadside robberies are still a concern, however, so we left early in the morning and drove all day to avoid travel at night.
Our base was in Wa, where we were joined by five Ghanaians who had previously worked with Keith and Debbie. Two have completed Bible school and are preparing to be missionaries. They were a wonderful addition to our team, especially as they spoke five or six different languages between them. The next four days were spent in Zuprii, painting the concrete building that will double as a community centre during the week and a church on Sundays. We constructed gates for each doorway, poured the concrete ramp, and painted the interior and exterior of the building. Most tasks I was not permitted to do because I'm a woman!!! (and frankly, I didn't have a clue how to mix concrete by hand or build a gate). So the bulk of my time was spent keeping the men watered, and then photographing the children and women of the village. They loved my digital camera, and everyone wanted to pose for an individual portrait, twice. =) Their favourite part of the experience was looking at themselves in the little screen after I'd snapped the shot. Yes, you will see these photos as soon as I get home and will thus be in a position to send them.
I played with children one afternoon, while all their parents and older siblings were out farming. Debbie pulled out a multi-coloured parachute and a big rubber ball, and they played and laughed for hours. These kids impressed me so much. Little seven-year old girls were carrying infants and toddlers on their back, taking full responsibility for the little ones until the mother returned from the fields. And the boys watch out for the little ones just as readily as the girls. Everyone helps with fetching water from the well, and they were eager to run errands for us whenever a need arose. In one instance, we needed more paint thinner, but it would take three hours round trip to drive to Wa. One of the boys (approx. 12 yrs old) hopped on his bike with the empty can and rode the next village where there was a gas station (single pump) where he could get petrol as our alternative thinner. It was a two-hour trip, and he returned sweaty, tired, and happy to help the team.
On the last day, we celebrated the completion of the building by having a short service underneath the tree, which formerly sheltered their "church". Their instruments for praise and worship were cowbells chimed with a ram's horn, clapping hands, and uplifted voices. They danced, sang, and beamed with joy. Keith made a brief speech, celebrating the building, and ensuring that the people knew that this great blessing is the result of their faith in God and not the result of the white men's money. We closed in prayer, with the majority of the village on their knees (children included), praying fervently for their families, neighbours and for the churches in the States who had provided the funds for the building. Their simple faith was challenging to everyone on our team. They don't try to rationalise, they simply accept as truth every word and promise that God spoke, knowing that He will be faithful, even if they don't eat that day.
Two weeks remain of my time here in Ghana; these weeks will be filled at the office with Thomas, where my computer and organisational skills have come in handy, and at the orphanage with the children. I head home on August 13th, and arrive the following morning in England. Thank you again for your prayers. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd make through these last few weeks, but God is faithful and He knows exactly what we need. Continue to pray for the church here, which is growing stronger each day in their personal revelation of Jesus Christ. Be encouraged, be blessed, and remember that we serve an Awesome God.
In Him,
Rebekah
Picture clouds, large and full, resembling freshly whipped cream and weightless as cotton. The sky is that true blue, almost translucent, making the observer feel the magnificence of its breadth. Red clay roads abruptly cut through fields blanketed with tall green grass, bounded by a far-reaching horizon interrupted by sporadic clumps of trees. Nestled among all is a mud-built, nearly circular compound, roughly 20 paces in diameter; the silhouette of a woman with a bundle on her back can be seen on the roof, stooped over and apparently in the action of stirring something with her hands.
This is Zuprii (zoo-pree), a little village an hour's drive outside of Wa, a large city in the north-west corner of Ghana. The village is barely two miles from the border of Burkina Faso. The circular compound is the chief's house, where he lives with his three wives and children. His village is made of the farms of his people; fields with large mounds of earth in neat rows for planting yams, with the family's mud home and cattle corral nearby. Goats, chickens, and dogs wander in and out of the house, but the donkeys and cows are kept in pens built of sticks and branches.
A team from Virginia came to Ghana in May and built a community centre for the people of Zuprii. In essence, the building is a concrete structure with half walls and a peaked, corrugated iron roof boasting three entry points. This second trip was made to complete the building project by painting the walls, making a ramp up to one entrance for the disabled villagers, and constructing gates for the doorways to keep out the animals.
About eight years ago, the Jaggers planted a church in this village. The chief was saved on the first day, thereby freeing to rest of the villagers to accept Christ as well. When Keith and Debbie returned to teach and encourage the people, God had beat them to it. The villagers were in the middle of their church service, grouped underneath a tree, praying and prophesying to each other. A local pastor who had taken over this little church told the Jaggers that he had never taught on prophesy and that they hadn't yet seen a Bible (primarily because most are illiterate). They were prophesying scripture they had never read, and practicing biblical truths they'd never been taught! This is their revelation of the Messiah.
I had the great priviledge of visiting Zuprii during my second week in Ghana. I travelled by road, with Keith and Debbie and two guys who were sent by a church in North Carolina. The drive was a little over ten hours, a vast improvement on previous journeys, which the Jaggers said used to take seventeen hours. Roads have improved thanks to the current government, and travel is much smoother throughout the country. Roadside robberies are still a concern, however, so we left early in the morning and drove all day to avoid travel at night.
Our base was in Wa, where we were joined by five Ghanaians who had previously worked with Keith and Debbie. Two have completed Bible school and are preparing to be missionaries. They were a wonderful addition to our team, especially as they spoke five or six different languages between them. The next four days were spent in Zuprii, painting the concrete building that will double as a community centre during the week and a church on Sundays. We constructed gates for each doorway, poured the concrete ramp, and painted the interior and exterior of the building. Most tasks I was not permitted to do because I'm a woman!!! (and frankly, I didn't have a clue how to mix concrete by hand or build a gate). So the bulk of my time was spent keeping the men watered, and then photographing the children and women of the village. They loved my digital camera, and everyone wanted to pose for an individual portrait, twice. =) Their favourite part of the experience was looking at themselves in the little screen after I'd snapped the shot. Yes, you will see these photos as soon as I get home and will thus be in a position to send them.
I played with children one afternoon, while all their parents and older siblings were out farming. Debbie pulled out a multi-coloured parachute and a big rubber ball, and they played and laughed for hours. These kids impressed me so much. Little seven-year old girls were carrying infants and toddlers on their back, taking full responsibility for the little ones until the mother returned from the fields. And the boys watch out for the little ones just as readily as the girls. Everyone helps with fetching water from the well, and they were eager to run errands for us whenever a need arose. In one instance, we needed more paint thinner, but it would take three hours round trip to drive to Wa. One of the boys (approx. 12 yrs old) hopped on his bike with the empty can and rode the next village where there was a gas station (single pump) where he could get petrol as our alternative thinner. It was a two-hour trip, and he returned sweaty, tired, and happy to help the team.
On the last day, we celebrated the completion of the building by having a short service underneath the tree, which formerly sheltered their "church". Their instruments for praise and worship were cowbells chimed with a ram's horn, clapping hands, and uplifted voices. They danced, sang, and beamed with joy. Keith made a brief speech, celebrating the building, and ensuring that the people knew that this great blessing is the result of their faith in God and not the result of the white men's money. We closed in prayer, with the majority of the village on their knees (children included), praying fervently for their families, neighbours and for the churches in the States who had provided the funds for the building. Their simple faith was challenging to everyone on our team. They don't try to rationalise, they simply accept as truth every word and promise that God spoke, knowing that He will be faithful, even if they don't eat that day.
Two weeks remain of my time here in Ghana; these weeks will be filled at the office with Thomas, where my computer and organisational skills have come in handy, and at the orphanage with the children. I head home on August 13th, and arrive the following morning in England. Thank you again for your prayers. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd make through these last few weeks, but God is faithful and He knows exactly what we need. Continue to pray for the church here, which is growing stronger each day in their personal revelation of Jesus Christ. Be encouraged, be blessed, and remember that we serve an Awesome God.
In Him,
Rebekah
Newsletter 2 - Ghana
Dear friends and family,
Where do you usually spend your Sunday morning? Thomas' church is called Okaishie (formerly The Church with No Walls), and has recently been able to boast, not only of walls, but also a ceiling and some fans. They meet in an area of Accra called the Arts Centre, a giant market selling local crafts, food, and clothing. Most of the sellers have decided to make it home as well. After their goods are packed away in the evening, a curtain is stretched across the front of the wooden structure, and the transformation from fruit stand to family home is complete. The church building is a concrete structure with three steps across the threshold and a raised section at the farthest end of the building acting as a stage. Wooden benches are brought out to accommodate the sixty or so people that show up for the 10am service. They have a band and several instruments, and a podium for the pastor to rest his Bible on. If you arrive at 9am, you can join in the Bible study where the nearest English speaker will happily translate the Twi (local dialect) for you. The service begins with prayer, which usually lasts for over half an hour. Everyone prays out loud at the same time, and some with microphones. So you can imagine the level of noise, especially since the women like to accompany their prayers with tambourines. But the amazing thing is their discernment at falling completely silent with one accord at the end of it all. These people know how to make a joyful noise and how to stand in silent awe of their Creator. Prayers close and the band begins, reverent in worship and dancing in praise. The children are eager participants: 7 yr old little girls with infant brothers held on their backs by a swath of cloth and young boys watching their elder counterparts closely, mimicking every jump of joy and every tear of brokenness. And the majority of these devoted followers and expectant children probably slept on the curb the night before. Okaishie is made up of street people who heard the message of Christ and grabbed hold with all their heart. Don't flippantly believe they took hold of the Gospel because of its promises of blessings, prosperity and grace. They acted on their revelation of Jesus Christ. They don't serve God despite their poverty; they serve Him in their poverty.
It was day seven, my first time in the city centre at Thomas' office. He wanted me to be involved in some of their street ministry, so the plan was for me to join three leaders from Okaishie and head into Tudu, an area of Accra known for its drugs and prostitution. We left late (time doesn't mean very much in Ghana), and after a walk and a taxi ride, found ourselves in a packed open-air market. Passing the local mosque, distinguishable by Arabic inscriptions over the doorway, we took a left down an alleyway and entered the heart of Tudu. The walls were lined with people of indistinguishable age, but a familial likeness of wasted body and empty eyes. I primarily filled the role of onlooker, taking part when English was discovered as the common language. With 50+ varying dialects in Ghana, most locals speak at least two or three languages, and the people of Tudu were no exception. Everyone was eager to practise their English and shake hands with the white madam. Their words were brief and sad, but their countenances spoke volumes.
One of the women, whose name I discovered to be Ami, caught my eye. She stood apart from the group and watched us interacting with her neighbours. Her beauty would have attracted much attention under other circumstances, but the weariness of her being enshrouded her features. I waved, and she walked over slowly, extended her hand, and introduced herself. She said I was very beautiful. All I wanted to do was cry. I told her that was exactly what I had intended to say to her when I had invited her to come over. She smiled shyly, and apologised for not being better dressed, that she wasn't expecting to be seen by us. I told her to always come just as she is and that beauty isn't determined by what she wears. She said thank you and excused herself to go check on her sleeping baby girl. Although we have been back to Tudu, I have not seen Ami again. Please pray that she will get involved in the small group that now meets in the centre of Tudu to encourage and pray for each other. Pray also that any generational curse on her life will be broken, preserving her precious little girl.
I realise this is a lot to absorb - and these two updates have been written from the experience of my first week alone! Much has been left unwritten, chiefly because I haven't had time to process everything personally. For now, however, we'll move onto lighter subjects. I'm sure you'd like to know what it's like to live here day-to-day, so here is a snapshot of my life in Accra:
I'm living above the orphanage, in a room in Thomas and Felicity's home. My room has a double bed, a set of shelves, and a ceiling fan (the most important part of the room). No, my fellow Americans, there isn't any AC. They also don't have hot water and I wash my clothes by hand in a bucket. I'm glad I only brought five outfits! On cleaning day (usually Saturday), I sweep my room with a broom made from tall, dried grass, and I mop with a floor cleaner that, strangely enough, smells like bubble gum. Their staple food is rice, and the most common meats are chicken and fish. Felicity is an excellent cook, and I've eaten strictly Ghanaian since day one: Half a fish in peanut soup with rice, fried plantain (jumbo bananas), and waakye (black-eyed peas with rice, seasonings, and hand-crushed, hot pepper sauce) are just a few examples.
Driving in Accra is a lot like sitting in the car your 7 yr old boy is controlling on his Game Box. Although they certainly have a highway code and driving tests, most Ghanaians operate their vehicles according to these two rules: If you're moving forward, don't hit the guy in front; if you're moving backward, don't hit the guy behind you (this assessment of driving skills is courtesy of Keith Jaggers). Among other hazards to watch for on the roads are the street sellers. They have taken advantage of the congested roads, and hawk everything from plantain chips to chirping plastic birds, as they move in and around the idling cars. I find the disparity in classes to be most obvious in this setting. A street man crippled from polio will propel himself with his hands while sitting on a makeshift skateboard, begging at the window of a Lexus, where an ample-waisted, wealthy Ghanaian fingers his gold cufflinks. I don't mean to imply the prosperous Ghanaians ignore their suffering neighbours - just that this scenario is a painfully common part of life in Ghana.
Difficult doesn't begin to describe this place. It may seem overwhelming and hopeless, but these people would rather see you help their neighbour than watch you walk by both of them and give nothing.
I was going to write about my trip up to the village in the north of Ghana, but I think this enough for one week. Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to respond to my last update. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, and helps me to process again the things I've experienced. This is my confessional, and I am grateful for your ready ears. These past weeks have been the most painful and trying time I've experienced in my life thus far. I'm not yet able to express what I've been going through; it's something akin to the teaching of life's truths to an eager, rather naive child. God is the teacher, I, the child. Yes, probably over eager, but the teacher smiles at such precipitate readiness, calms the excitement, and asks first for a ready ear. Molding and shaping is painful; ideas, notions are corrected and reformed; beliefs are more fully developed as trust is built. If I can maintain a teachable spirit for the rest of my life, I can then come a little bit closer to following in Jesus' footsteps. He did exactly the bidding of His Father, and every action was performed with Him in mind.
Thank you again for your prayers - I ask for strength to make it through these next three and half weeks, and wisdom in knowing how to live each day according to this verse: "I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Galations 2:20 Please lift up these precious Ghanaians as well, thanking God for their unquestioning faith and declaring His promises over their lives.
Until next week and with much love,
Rebekah
Where do you usually spend your Sunday morning? Thomas' church is called Okaishie (formerly The Church with No Walls), and has recently been able to boast, not only of walls, but also a ceiling and some fans. They meet in an area of Accra called the Arts Centre, a giant market selling local crafts, food, and clothing. Most of the sellers have decided to make it home as well. After their goods are packed away in the evening, a curtain is stretched across the front of the wooden structure, and the transformation from fruit stand to family home is complete. The church building is a concrete structure with three steps across the threshold and a raised section at the farthest end of the building acting as a stage. Wooden benches are brought out to accommodate the sixty or so people that show up for the 10am service. They have a band and several instruments, and a podium for the pastor to rest his Bible on. If you arrive at 9am, you can join in the Bible study where the nearest English speaker will happily translate the Twi (local dialect) for you. The service begins with prayer, which usually lasts for over half an hour. Everyone prays out loud at the same time, and some with microphones. So you can imagine the level of noise, especially since the women like to accompany their prayers with tambourines. But the amazing thing is their discernment at falling completely silent with one accord at the end of it all. These people know how to make a joyful noise and how to stand in silent awe of their Creator. Prayers close and the band begins, reverent in worship and dancing in praise. The children are eager participants: 7 yr old little girls with infant brothers held on their backs by a swath of cloth and young boys watching their elder counterparts closely, mimicking every jump of joy and every tear of brokenness. And the majority of these devoted followers and expectant children probably slept on the curb the night before. Okaishie is made up of street people who heard the message of Christ and grabbed hold with all their heart. Don't flippantly believe they took hold of the Gospel because of its promises of blessings, prosperity and grace. They acted on their revelation of Jesus Christ. They don't serve God despite their poverty; they serve Him in their poverty.
It was day seven, my first time in the city centre at Thomas' office. He wanted me to be involved in some of their street ministry, so the plan was for me to join three leaders from Okaishie and head into Tudu, an area of Accra known for its drugs and prostitution. We left late (time doesn't mean very much in Ghana), and after a walk and a taxi ride, found ourselves in a packed open-air market. Passing the local mosque, distinguishable by Arabic inscriptions over the doorway, we took a left down an alleyway and entered the heart of Tudu. The walls were lined with people of indistinguishable age, but a familial likeness of wasted body and empty eyes. I primarily filled the role of onlooker, taking part when English was discovered as the common language. With 50+ varying dialects in Ghana, most locals speak at least two or three languages, and the people of Tudu were no exception. Everyone was eager to practise their English and shake hands with the white madam. Their words were brief and sad, but their countenances spoke volumes.
One of the women, whose name I discovered to be Ami, caught my eye. She stood apart from the group and watched us interacting with her neighbours. Her beauty would have attracted much attention under other circumstances, but the weariness of her being enshrouded her features. I waved, and she walked over slowly, extended her hand, and introduced herself. She said I was very beautiful. All I wanted to do was cry. I told her that was exactly what I had intended to say to her when I had invited her to come over. She smiled shyly, and apologised for not being better dressed, that she wasn't expecting to be seen by us. I told her to always come just as she is and that beauty isn't determined by what she wears. She said thank you and excused herself to go check on her sleeping baby girl. Although we have been back to Tudu, I have not seen Ami again. Please pray that she will get involved in the small group that now meets in the centre of Tudu to encourage and pray for each other. Pray also that any generational curse on her life will be broken, preserving her precious little girl.
I realise this is a lot to absorb - and these two updates have been written from the experience of my first week alone! Much has been left unwritten, chiefly because I haven't had time to process everything personally. For now, however, we'll move onto lighter subjects. I'm sure you'd like to know what it's like to live here day-to-day, so here is a snapshot of my life in Accra:
I'm living above the orphanage, in a room in Thomas and Felicity's home. My room has a double bed, a set of shelves, and a ceiling fan (the most important part of the room). No, my fellow Americans, there isn't any AC. They also don't have hot water and I wash my clothes by hand in a bucket. I'm glad I only brought five outfits! On cleaning day (usually Saturday), I sweep my room with a broom made from tall, dried grass, and I mop with a floor cleaner that, strangely enough, smells like bubble gum. Their staple food is rice, and the most common meats are chicken and fish. Felicity is an excellent cook, and I've eaten strictly Ghanaian since day one: Half a fish in peanut soup with rice, fried plantain (jumbo bananas), and waakye (black-eyed peas with rice, seasonings, and hand-crushed, hot pepper sauce) are just a few examples.
Driving in Accra is a lot like sitting in the car your 7 yr old boy is controlling on his Game Box. Although they certainly have a highway code and driving tests, most Ghanaians operate their vehicles according to these two rules: If you're moving forward, don't hit the guy in front; if you're moving backward, don't hit the guy behind you (this assessment of driving skills is courtesy of Keith Jaggers). Among other hazards to watch for on the roads are the street sellers. They have taken advantage of the congested roads, and hawk everything from plantain chips to chirping plastic birds, as they move in and around the idling cars. I find the disparity in classes to be most obvious in this setting. A street man crippled from polio will propel himself with his hands while sitting on a makeshift skateboard, begging at the window of a Lexus, where an ample-waisted, wealthy Ghanaian fingers his gold cufflinks. I don't mean to imply the prosperous Ghanaians ignore their suffering neighbours - just that this scenario is a painfully common part of life in Ghana.
Difficult doesn't begin to describe this place. It may seem overwhelming and hopeless, but these people would rather see you help their neighbour than watch you walk by both of them and give nothing.
I was going to write about my trip up to the village in the north of Ghana, but I think this enough for one week. Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to respond to my last update. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, and helps me to process again the things I've experienced. This is my confessional, and I am grateful for your ready ears. These past weeks have been the most painful and trying time I've experienced in my life thus far. I'm not yet able to express what I've been going through; it's something akin to the teaching of life's truths to an eager, rather naive child. God is the teacher, I, the child. Yes, probably over eager, but the teacher smiles at such precipitate readiness, calms the excitement, and asks first for a ready ear. Molding and shaping is painful; ideas, notions are corrected and reformed; beliefs are more fully developed as trust is built. If I can maintain a teachable spirit for the rest of my life, I can then come a little bit closer to following in Jesus' footsteps. He did exactly the bidding of His Father, and every action was performed with Him in mind.
Thank you again for your prayers - I ask for strength to make it through these next three and half weeks, and wisdom in knowing how to live each day according to this verse: "I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." Galations 2:20 Please lift up these precious Ghanaians as well, thanking God for their unquestioning faith and declaring His promises over their lives.
Until next week and with much love,
Rebekah
Newsletter 1 - Ghana
July 11, 2008
Dear friends and family,
I hadn't really formed any expectations before boarding the plane at
Heathrow, because I simply didn't know what to expect. I'm not sure anyone
could have prepared me for Africa. The only sensation I could recognize for
that first week was numbness. It wasn't necessarily the poverty, it was the
spiritual oppression. Life is heavy here, I'm not sure how else to describe
it.
One of the things God has been showing me this year, and especially since my
arrival in Africa, is that sometimes we must allow our spirit to understand
without trying to rationalize with our minds. We are spiritual beings,
living in a spiritual world created and governed by a spiritual God. I've
discovered this dependence on the Holy Spirit is a lot easier said than
done. Our minds want to analyse and understand, and God is saying, "Where is
your faith?" I'm learning that we have to silence our fleshly desire to be
"in the know", believing that it gives us some semblance of control, and
rest in the knowledge that God holds the whole world in His hands and that
not one sparrow falls out of His sight.
Shepherd's Home is the name of the orphanage run by Thomas and Felicity
Okyere in the capital city of Accra, Ghana. The Okyere family (Thomas,
Felicity, and their two daughters) live on the second floor, (where I have a
room), and the seven children who are part of Shepherd's Home live below. In
the past, the children have had a "mother" that lived with them. However,
it's been a struggle recently to find someone willing to make such a big
commitment. These children are not necessarily orphans, but usually come
from one parent families where there is insufficient care due to lack of
finance and education.
Manyama, or Ama, is the youngest child at Shepherd's Home. She came as an
infant and is now three. Persistent and engaging, she has a smile from ear
to ear and loves to comb my hair at every opportunity. Kwesi is a handsome
six year old with a voracious hunger for knowledge and a determination to
teach me Twi, his native language. Anita is the eldest at ten years old. She
is absolutely beautiful and shoulders her responsibilities as the big sister
with readiness and grace.
Hawwaa, at eight, also takes a position of authority alongside Anita. She is
striking and has a tremendous ear for beat coupled with a natural affinity
for dance. Kwabena can jump higher than anyone I've ever seen. He's seven,
and his athletic abilities extend to climbing as well. He has a habit of
coming up behind me and climbing up my back and onto my shoulders in under
three seconds. The other athlete is Daniel. An avid soccer player, he's nine
years old and loves to joke around. Small Anita is eight, with the sweetest
nature and a charming, open face. She's a little quieter than the others and
likes to sit next me, holding my hand.
I wish all of you could meet them. They're fascinated by my red hair and the
fact that you can see my veins through my skin. Amongst their numerous
questions were: What's your belly button look like? What kind of money do
you have in England? Have you seen snow before? Can people live on the moon?
Do you know how to swim? What languages do you speak?
There are many stories to relate, but this last one made a great impression
on me. I went downstairs to play with the kids one evening as they were
finishing up dinner. It was yams with a sort of vegetable sauce. We were all
talking and Anita wanted me to taste her food. So, she gave me a bite from
her hand, and then everyone had to do the same. Little fingers holding food
crowded around my mouth because each wanted Auntie Rebekah to taste their
dinner. These kids get three meals a day, no snacks, and treats are a
rarity. They drink water, and occasionally tea. I have never heard them
complain that they're hungry, and whatever they have, they share.
I'm sure you're overloaded with information now, and I apologise for not
getting something out sooner. Depending on my internet availability, you'll
get weekly updates until my departure in August.
Thank you so much for your prayers and financial support. In all honesty,
these three and half weeks have been tough. (More on daily life in Ghana and
the other street outreaches in my next update). Please pray that I would
hear His voice and have His wisdom in the words that I speak, especially to
the children. Know that you are all in my prayers, and be encouraged. The
faith that I have met in these Ghanaians is strong and continually growing.
It's a first-century type of faith, and their love for their Saviour is
infectious.
With much love,
Rebekah
Dear friends and family,
I hadn't really formed any expectations before boarding the plane at
Heathrow, because I simply didn't know what to expect. I'm not sure anyone
could have prepared me for Africa. The only sensation I could recognize for
that first week was numbness. It wasn't necessarily the poverty, it was the
spiritual oppression. Life is heavy here, I'm not sure how else to describe
it.
One of the things God has been showing me this year, and especially since my
arrival in Africa, is that sometimes we must allow our spirit to understand
without trying to rationalize with our minds. We are spiritual beings,
living in a spiritual world created and governed by a spiritual God. I've
discovered this dependence on the Holy Spirit is a lot easier said than
done. Our minds want to analyse and understand, and God is saying, "Where is
your faith?" I'm learning that we have to silence our fleshly desire to be
"in the know", believing that it gives us some semblance of control, and
rest in the knowledge that God holds the whole world in His hands and that
not one sparrow falls out of His sight.
Shepherd's Home is the name of the orphanage run by Thomas and Felicity
Okyere in the capital city of Accra, Ghana. The Okyere family (Thomas,
Felicity, and their two daughters) live on the second floor, (where I have a
room), and the seven children who are part of Shepherd's Home live below. In
the past, the children have had a "mother" that lived with them. However,
it's been a struggle recently to find someone willing to make such a big
commitment. These children are not necessarily orphans, but usually come
from one parent families where there is insufficient care due to lack of
finance and education.
Manyama, or Ama, is the youngest child at Shepherd's Home. She came as an
infant and is now three. Persistent and engaging, she has a smile from ear
to ear and loves to comb my hair at every opportunity. Kwesi is a handsome
six year old with a voracious hunger for knowledge and a determination to
teach me Twi, his native language. Anita is the eldest at ten years old. She
is absolutely beautiful and shoulders her responsibilities as the big sister
with readiness and grace.
Hawwaa, at eight, also takes a position of authority alongside Anita. She is
striking and has a tremendous ear for beat coupled with a natural affinity
for dance. Kwabena can jump higher than anyone I've ever seen. He's seven,
and his athletic abilities extend to climbing as well. He has a habit of
coming up behind me and climbing up my back and onto my shoulders in under
three seconds. The other athlete is Daniel. An avid soccer player, he's nine
years old and loves to joke around. Small Anita is eight, with the sweetest
nature and a charming, open face. She's a little quieter than the others and
likes to sit next me, holding my hand.
I wish all of you could meet them. They're fascinated by my red hair and the
fact that you can see my veins through my skin. Amongst their numerous
questions were: What's your belly button look like? What kind of money do
you have in England? Have you seen snow before? Can people live on the moon?
Do you know how to swim? What languages do you speak?
There are many stories to relate, but this last one made a great impression
on me. I went downstairs to play with the kids one evening as they were
finishing up dinner. It was yams with a sort of vegetable sauce. We were all
talking and Anita wanted me to taste her food. So, she gave me a bite from
her hand, and then everyone had to do the same. Little fingers holding food
crowded around my mouth because each wanted Auntie Rebekah to taste their
dinner. These kids get three meals a day, no snacks, and treats are a
rarity. They drink water, and occasionally tea. I have never heard them
complain that they're hungry, and whatever they have, they share.
I'm sure you're overloaded with information now, and I apologise for not
getting something out sooner. Depending on my internet availability, you'll
get weekly updates until my departure in August.
Thank you so much for your prayers and financial support. In all honesty,
these three and half weeks have been tough. (More on daily life in Ghana and
the other street outreaches in my next update). Please pray that I would
hear His voice and have His wisdom in the words that I speak, especially to
the children. Know that you are all in my prayers, and be encouraged. The
faith that I have met in these Ghanaians is strong and continually growing.
It's a first-century type of faith, and their love for their Saviour is
infectious.
With much love,
Rebekah
Friday, 4 April 2008
Gleaning
What is it that has changed? This question has revolved over and over in my mind since the evening I left Israel. There isn’t a defining moment that I can remember, not a word or a look, no tremble of realisation, nor revelation of understanding. I’m just...different.
A great deal of time has passed since my last posting, primarily due to a busy schedule, but also because I felt the need to wait. My three and half months in Israel were so special to me that I didn’t want to simply relate a story which you would read, smile over, and then brush away as you move on to the next email in your inbox. The desire to somehow communicate to you the things God has shown me runs very deep. In my previous attempts to sit down and write, I have left my computer frustrated with the inadequacy of my words. I am not finding it much easier now, but I feel it has been too long already and I pray that God will give me the words I need to share with you.
In brief, this is what happened during that last month in Israel: I travelled to Jerusalem with friends in early January and spent that weekend in fellowship with believers and exploring the Old City. The prayer conference began the Monday following on a kibbutz outside the city. Over 230 delegates attended the conference, plus the many locals who joined us for the evening sessions. It was an interesting mix of nationalities, languages, and personalities. Aside from stuffing envelopes, answering questions, and handing out lunch coupons, I was still able to attend all the prayer sessions in the morning and the teaching sessions in the evening. My eyes were opened wide. The attendees backgrounds were so diverse, and communication among the delegates was sometimes difficult; but, united by a love for God, His Son, and His People, they prayed with a fervor I’ve never witnessed before. Intercession is a pouring out of oneself to stand in the gap for another, and that is what these people did. I felt like I was in way over my head, but God ministered to me that week through others, who saw my heart and encouraged me. They did not look down on me because I was young, but commended what they saw being rooted within me and said, “Patience - seek Him, and it shall grow.”
After the conference ended, I spent a few more days in Jerusalem visiting family friends and getting some much needed rest. Then, it snowed! What a singular blessing, for now I can say that I have been in Jerusalem in the snow. =) I was also able to have lunch with a couple that have since become very dear to me - they gave me much to think about in regards to future plans and were a great blessing in allowing me to process all these swirling thoughts out loud. I soon left Jerusalem for Arad, a town in the Negev Desert. My time there was too short, but I had the opportunity to celebrate Shabbat with newly-made friends and attend their congregation the following morning. This particular congregation has undergone much persecution from the Orthodox Jews in the town, but God has given these believers grace immeasurable and hearing their stories challenged me and strengthened my faith.
My last two weeks in Israel were a whirlwind of activity. I was racing around collecting gifts for everyone, saying goodbyes to all my new friends, and fulfilling my commitments at work. Before I knew it, I was on the plane home. The journey had a twilight-zone quality about it. My parting in Tel Aviv was painful, but sweet in the hopes of meeting again. In Manchester, my reception was very different. Tender, eager, and brimming with determination to not waste a single moment I was embraced multiple times by each family member. They came bearing “Welcome Home Bek!” placards and a single pink rose - Dad photographed every moment. It seemed like years, and yet a single breath, had passed since seeing each other. I was struck with how very precious they are to me, and now am determined to the make the most of every day with them as I will be leaving for university very soon.
There is so much to say that it wells up within me, but I do not have the words to bring it forth. Along with His Word, my devotional by Oswald Chambers (My Utmost for His Highest) was a constant companion on all my travels. I realised that I had come to the point in my life where I start making decisions for myself, theologically, without riding on the coattails of my parents. My belief system, the teachings I choose to accept or reject, all must be evaluated in my own heart and mind. Do I believe this or not? Do I accept what that preacher says? What does God’s Word say about this? It’s rather frightening really, because these things will lay a foundation from which I will speak into the lives of others, not the least of which will be my children, someday.
“To him who is given much, much will be required.” (Excerpt of Luke 12:48) Our responsibility as believers is so great, and it seems that too often we minimise it. The funny thing is that God could do it all without us, and sometimes I think we’re more trouble to Him than we’re really worth. But that isn’t the way He looks at it. He loves us, and He wants to work through us. He’s not asking to fit into our lives; He’s asking us to forsake our lives, that every breath we breathe is His Spirit in us. We are here to give Him glory, and He will require much sacrifice from some of us. Think on a larger scale. Not only is He asking of us our time, each day set aside to fellowship with Him; He wants to know if you are willing to say, “Father, everything I have, my family, my possessions, my very existence is Yours alone. Do with them what you will. I am Yours.”
In light of the tragedies that seem to be ever-present in our world today, think about this statement: “My attitude as a saint to sorrow and difficulty is not to ask that they may be prevented, but to ask that I may preserve the self God created me to be through every fire of sorrow.” (Oswald Chambers) Many of us will never personally experience such anguish in our lives. However, His Spirit within us can enable us to identify with those around us who are hurting, through prayer, but more specifically through intercession for them. Why? Because He weeps for them. As His earthly representatives, will you dare to ask God to break your heart for the things that break His?
This walk was never meant to be easy. And the rewards on earth will be scant in comparison to what awaits us in Heaven. But all that aside, we should desire to glorify Him regardless. For look at what He has done for us! All honour, praise, glory, and majesty be to Him, Christ the Lord. He is the Lion of the Tribe of Judah and the God of Abraham! And it is for Him we live, and for Him we will die, should He ask it of us. "The apostles left the high council rejoicing that God had counted them worthy to suffer dishonour for the name of Jesus." (Acts 5:41)
Thank you for reading. I hope at least some part of my experience has given you joy, or provoked you to thought. I am so glad to be able to share the things He has begun to show me. That which He has in store for each of us in His Son will be wonderful, as it will glorify His Name in our world. Peace has been given to us, thus may blessings be measured to you in abundance. And thank you, Lord.
In Yeshua and with much love,
Rivka
A great deal of time has passed since my last posting, primarily due to a busy schedule, but also because I felt the need to wait. My three and half months in Israel were so special to me that I didn’t want to simply relate a story which you would read, smile over, and then brush away as you move on to the next email in your inbox. The desire to somehow communicate to you the things God has shown me runs very deep. In my previous attempts to sit down and write, I have left my computer frustrated with the inadequacy of my words. I am not finding it much easier now, but I feel it has been too long already and I pray that God will give me the words I need to share with you.
In brief, this is what happened during that last month in Israel: I travelled to Jerusalem with friends in early January and spent that weekend in fellowship with believers and exploring the Old City. The prayer conference began the Monday following on a kibbutz outside the city. Over 230 delegates attended the conference, plus the many locals who joined us for the evening sessions. It was an interesting mix of nationalities, languages, and personalities. Aside from stuffing envelopes, answering questions, and handing out lunch coupons, I was still able to attend all the prayer sessions in the morning and the teaching sessions in the evening. My eyes were opened wide. The attendees backgrounds were so diverse, and communication among the delegates was sometimes difficult; but, united by a love for God, His Son, and His People, they prayed with a fervor I’ve never witnessed before. Intercession is a pouring out of oneself to stand in the gap for another, and that is what these people did. I felt like I was in way over my head, but God ministered to me that week through others, who saw my heart and encouraged me. They did not look down on me because I was young, but commended what they saw being rooted within me and said, “Patience - seek Him, and it shall grow.”
After the conference ended, I spent a few more days in Jerusalem visiting family friends and getting some much needed rest. Then, it snowed! What a singular blessing, for now I can say that I have been in Jerusalem in the snow. =) I was also able to have lunch with a couple that have since become very dear to me - they gave me much to think about in regards to future plans and were a great blessing in allowing me to process all these swirling thoughts out loud. I soon left Jerusalem for Arad, a town in the Negev Desert. My time there was too short, but I had the opportunity to celebrate Shabbat with newly-made friends and attend their congregation the following morning. This particular congregation has undergone much persecution from the Orthodox Jews in the town, but God has given these believers grace immeasurable and hearing their stories challenged me and strengthened my faith.
My last two weeks in Israel were a whirlwind of activity. I was racing around collecting gifts for everyone, saying goodbyes to all my new friends, and fulfilling my commitments at work. Before I knew it, I was on the plane home. The journey had a twilight-zone quality about it. My parting in Tel Aviv was painful, but sweet in the hopes of meeting again. In Manchester, my reception was very different. Tender, eager, and brimming with determination to not waste a single moment I was embraced multiple times by each family member. They came bearing “Welcome Home Bek!” placards and a single pink rose - Dad photographed every moment. It seemed like years, and yet a single breath, had passed since seeing each other. I was struck with how very precious they are to me, and now am determined to the make the most of every day with them as I will be leaving for university very soon.
There is so much to say that it wells up within me, but I do not have the words to bring it forth. Along with His Word, my devotional by Oswald Chambers (My Utmost for His Highest) was a constant companion on all my travels. I realised that I had come to the point in my life where I start making decisions for myself, theologically, without riding on the coattails of my parents. My belief system, the teachings I choose to accept or reject, all must be evaluated in my own heart and mind. Do I believe this or not? Do I accept what that preacher says? What does God’s Word say about this? It’s rather frightening really, because these things will lay a foundation from which I will speak into the lives of others, not the least of which will be my children, someday.
“To him who is given much, much will be required.” (Excerpt of Luke 12:48) Our responsibility as believers is so great, and it seems that too often we minimise it. The funny thing is that God could do it all without us, and sometimes I think we’re more trouble to Him than we’re really worth. But that isn’t the way He looks at it. He loves us, and He wants to work through us. He’s not asking to fit into our lives; He’s asking us to forsake our lives, that every breath we breathe is His Spirit in us. We are here to give Him glory, and He will require much sacrifice from some of us. Think on a larger scale. Not only is He asking of us our time, each day set aside to fellowship with Him; He wants to know if you are willing to say, “Father, everything I have, my family, my possessions, my very existence is Yours alone. Do with them what you will. I am Yours.”
In light of the tragedies that seem to be ever-present in our world today, think about this statement: “My attitude as a saint to sorrow and difficulty is not to ask that they may be prevented, but to ask that I may preserve the self God created me to be through every fire of sorrow.” (Oswald Chambers) Many of us will never personally experience such anguish in our lives. However, His Spirit within us can enable us to identify with those around us who are hurting, through prayer, but more specifically through intercession for them. Why? Because He weeps for them. As His earthly representatives, will you dare to ask God to break your heart for the things that break His?
This walk was never meant to be easy. And the rewards on earth will be scant in comparison to what awaits us in Heaven. But all that aside, we should desire to glorify Him regardless. For look at what He has done for us! All honour, praise, glory, and majesty be to Him, Christ the Lord. He is the Lion of the Tribe of Judah and the God of Abraham! And it is for Him we live, and for Him we will die, should He ask it of us. "The apostles left the high council rejoicing that God had counted them worthy to suffer dishonour for the name of Jesus." (Acts 5:41)
Thank you for reading. I hope at least some part of my experience has given you joy, or provoked you to thought. I am so glad to be able to share the things He has begun to show me. That which He has in store for each of us in His Son will be wonderful, as it will glorify His Name in our world. Peace has been given to us, thus may blessings be measured to you in abundance. And thank you, Lord.
In Yeshua and with much love,
Rivka
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
This Land
Merry Belated Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone! These holidays have been a little surreal for me. Neither are celebrated nationally in this country, so it seems anticlimactic for me to be writing 2008. I had my first (and hopefully the last) Skype Christmas. I have a webcam on my laptop, so everyone at home could watch me open my gifts. Yes, my mother... and my grandmother... and my Aunt all sent me packages. I was doing just fine, not emotional or anything, and then I opened the box and saw my brother's handwriting on the gift he'd bought me saying, "Love and miss you Bek!" I burst into tears. I'm realising more and more each day that I couldn't have ever imagined a better family. Mom is still counting the days - a little under six weeks remain. It's gone fairly quickly on my end, but Mom says she ready for me to come home. I know they miss me, but they're also so excited that God made a way for this trip to happen.
I have reconnected with more friends, specifically my kindergarten teacher and her family. We spent last Shabbat together and it was a precious time of fellowship and laughter. They are pastors of a small congregation here in Tiberias, made up of East Europeans, some East Asians, local Israelis, and a handful of Americans and British. And my teacher and her husband are French! I love this aspect of living overseas. The mix of people is so much fun! Languages are intermingled with various styles of dress, music preferences, cuisine, and measures of personal space. The typical Israeli doesn't need more than a couple inches of personal space, and nobody is a stranger. They're confrontational and very blunt. It's so refreshing to hear to exactly what someone thinks instead of doing the "politically correct" waltz around everyone's conversational sensitivities.
On a more serious note, please do keep these congregations in your prayers. They have undergone persecution in the past, and by grace are going through a time of peace right now; however, further south, there are many groups of believers experiencing great persecution. The children are especially a concern because they are threatened at school not only by their peers, but by adults as well.
I've had complaints from a reader who says I haven't been writing in enough detail. Thus it should follow that I make an apology for this oversight and cast my mind back over these most recent weeks in search of material to satisfy the demand.
A friend of mine, Abby, recently celebrated her 17th birthday, and invited me to come along for a day at a recreation center with herself, her parents and another friend. The first order of the day was to pick up burekas from a local bakery and then to make the drive out to Mt. Hermon in search of snow, followed by the rec center. The drive to Mt. Hermon took us through land that used to be part of Syria but was reclaimed by Israel during the 1973 Yom Kippur War. As you drive along the road, barren rocky ground gives way to earthen mounds atop which settlements have been made to stake their claim in the land. Remains of bunkers and army posts are a frequent reminder of the real cost of those hills; however, I must confess that nothing made as great an impression on my mind as did the fenced off areas bearing yellow signs with red triangles: "Warning: Mines!" The Israelis have cleared whatever land they needed for crops and development, but the general view seems to be that if there is another war, why not use the enemy's own mines as a barrier against them? As the road weaves and narrows to a single car's breadth, we come upon what appears to be an impassable barrier constructed from boulders. It is only an illusion, for as we approach an opening becomes visible and the road makes a 90 degree turning through the passage. In response to my questions, I was told they were barriers built across the road at multiple points in an attempt to slow the passage of tanks.
Israel would be a frightening place to many of us from the west who have never known the sound of rockets whistling over our heads or the wail of the sirens urging us into our bomb shelters. Everywhere you go, it seems, there are reminders of this land's war-torn history. Israel bears the marks of fallen rockets and many locals still jump when they hear any sound resembling a "boom" or the rumble of a fighter jet passing overhead. I ride the bus and grocery shop with young Israeli soldiers who are never without their weapons and, in the girls' case, their Gucci-like sunglasses and painted nails gracing hands casually draped across their Uzi machine guns.
I don't mean to paint a picture of a terrifying land with cowering, desperate people. This is simply not the case. Life goes on just as it does in our communities. Children go to school, mothers hang laundry and go shopping, the men work and loudly discuss the news over botz (Turkish coffee) and a cigarette. The religious Israelis stand at the bus stops in the morning silently mouthing the text from their open prayer book on the way to their studies and workplaces. By Friday afternoon at about 3pm, the shops close and the Sabbath (Shabbat) is observed until sundown the next day. This is time for family and friends, for prayer, and is a time to simply stop and appreciate the life you have. The Israelis are open, friendly people. I can't put into words the incredible differences between their culture and that of our Western world. All I can do is encourage you to come. This truly is God's land. Jesus is coming back to Israel, specifically Jerusalem, not Europe or the US. His name is forever stamped in Israel. I feel as if experiencing or at least learning about Israel is a necessary step towards an understanding of God's heart and of His Word.
I hope I have quenched the thirst for detail, indeed it is encouraging because it means someone is enjoying my writings about this journey. I promise to follow this posting with more stories, of the lighter variety, I hope. My plans for these next two weeks involve audio checking at work, but late January will find me in Jerusalem for the prayer conference, followed by a trip to Arad to visit a friend. Please keep me, and the other conference delegates and staff in your prayers; pray we would have open ears and ready hearts to hear from the Lord during the conference and the weeks preceding. Also that travel will be smooth (visas, etc) and safe.
Thank you again and again for all of your support. I marvel each day at the people God has placed in my life. You are demonstrating Christ's love to me and illustrating your faith in Him. We serve a mighty God, worthy of all honour, glory, power and praise!
In Yeshua
I have reconnected with more friends, specifically my kindergarten teacher and her family. We spent last Shabbat together and it was a precious time of fellowship and laughter. They are pastors of a small congregation here in Tiberias, made up of East Europeans, some East Asians, local Israelis, and a handful of Americans and British. And my teacher and her husband are French! I love this aspect of living overseas. The mix of people is so much fun! Languages are intermingled with various styles of dress, music preferences, cuisine, and measures of personal space. The typical Israeli doesn't need more than a couple inches of personal space, and nobody is a stranger. They're confrontational and very blunt. It's so refreshing to hear to exactly what someone thinks instead of doing the "politically correct" waltz around everyone's conversational sensitivities.
On a more serious note, please do keep these congregations in your prayers. They have undergone persecution in the past, and by grace are going through a time of peace right now; however, further south, there are many groups of believers experiencing great persecution. The children are especially a concern because they are threatened at school not only by their peers, but by adults as well.
I've had complaints from a reader who says I haven't been writing in enough detail. Thus it should follow that I make an apology for this oversight and cast my mind back over these most recent weeks in search of material to satisfy the demand.
A friend of mine, Abby, recently celebrated her 17th birthday, and invited me to come along for a day at a recreation center with herself, her parents and another friend. The first order of the day was to pick up burekas from a local bakery and then to make the drive out to Mt. Hermon in search of snow, followed by the rec center. The drive to Mt. Hermon took us through land that used to be part of Syria but was reclaimed by Israel during the 1973 Yom Kippur War. As you drive along the road, barren rocky ground gives way to earthen mounds atop which settlements have been made to stake their claim in the land. Remains of bunkers and army posts are a frequent reminder of the real cost of those hills; however, I must confess that nothing made as great an impression on my mind as did the fenced off areas bearing yellow signs with red triangles: "Warning: Mines!" The Israelis have cleared whatever land they needed for crops and development, but the general view seems to be that if there is another war, why not use the enemy's own mines as a barrier against them? As the road weaves and narrows to a single car's breadth, we come upon what appears to be an impassable barrier constructed from boulders. It is only an illusion, for as we approach an opening becomes visible and the road makes a 90 degree turning through the passage. In response to my questions, I was told they were barriers built across the road at multiple points in an attempt to slow the passage of tanks.
Israel would be a frightening place to many of us from the west who have never known the sound of rockets whistling over our heads or the wail of the sirens urging us into our bomb shelters. Everywhere you go, it seems, there are reminders of this land's war-torn history. Israel bears the marks of fallen rockets and many locals still jump when they hear any sound resembling a "boom" or the rumble of a fighter jet passing overhead. I ride the bus and grocery shop with young Israeli soldiers who are never without their weapons and, in the girls' case, their Gucci-like sunglasses and painted nails gracing hands casually draped across their Uzi machine guns.
I don't mean to paint a picture of a terrifying land with cowering, desperate people. This is simply not the case. Life goes on just as it does in our communities. Children go to school, mothers hang laundry and go shopping, the men work and loudly discuss the news over botz (Turkish coffee) and a cigarette. The religious Israelis stand at the bus stops in the morning silently mouthing the text from their open prayer book on the way to their studies and workplaces. By Friday afternoon at about 3pm, the shops close and the Sabbath (Shabbat) is observed until sundown the next day. This is time for family and friends, for prayer, and is a time to simply stop and appreciate the life you have. The Israelis are open, friendly people. I can't put into words the incredible differences between their culture and that of our Western world. All I can do is encourage you to come. This truly is God's land. Jesus is coming back to Israel, specifically Jerusalem, not Europe or the US. His name is forever stamped in Israel. I feel as if experiencing or at least learning about Israel is a necessary step towards an understanding of God's heart and of His Word.
I hope I have quenched the thirst for detail, indeed it is encouraging because it means someone is enjoying my writings about this journey. I promise to follow this posting with more stories, of the lighter variety, I hope. My plans for these next two weeks involve audio checking at work, but late January will find me in Jerusalem for the prayer conference, followed by a trip to Arad to visit a friend. Please keep me, and the other conference delegates and staff in your prayers; pray we would have open ears and ready hearts to hear from the Lord during the conference and the weeks preceding. Also that travel will be smooth (visas, etc) and safe.
Thank you again and again for all of your support. I marvel each day at the people God has placed in my life. You are demonstrating Christ's love to me and illustrating your faith in Him. We serve a mighty God, worthy of all honour, glory, power and praise!
In Yeshua
Sunday, 9 December 2007
The Cultural Bridge: Sincerity
Well, a little over a week ago marked the one month anniversary of my absence from home. This momentous occasion was duly noted by family who tell me they are counting the days till my return. One would think I'd gone away to war or something. And in actual fact, spiritually, life in the last month has been a battle.
Although I don't look for demons behind every bush, I am beginning to feel the real difference between living here, and living in Europe or America: this land is God's land and the Jews are His people. The struggles here are different, and the level of maturity in my walk with God has really been challenged. Plus, my family in England have been going through a rough time, so it's difficult knowing that I can't be there to walk it out alongside them.
On a lighter note, I am enjoying my time here immensely. Work is going well - I am in the process of completing another project and helping prepare for a company fundraiser next weekend. Aside from that, I want to share with you the meeting that prompted the title of this particular posting.
Last weekend, I visited some family friends in Migdal, where they run a greatly enlarged version of a Bed & Breakfast with a rotating team of volunteers from all over the world. There's an involved history behind this next part of the story, but in short, we were all invited to a Druze family's home for lunch after fellowship, or church (more info on Druze peoples: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Druze. It was one of the most touching and awe-inspiring afternoons I've ever experienced. The matriarch of the family, along with a daughter and daughter-in-law, had prepared a feast of Druze specialties, and the food was delicious. Throughout the meal, we discussed faith and family, our respective cultures and world views, all of which were interspersed with laughter in our attempts to make ourselves understood. Some of the family present spoke only Arabic and Hebrew, others spoke both those languages as well as good English. All the volunteers can all speak English, but for some it's their second or third language, so needless to say there was much repetition in a cacophony of languages. It was incredible, and grace and good humour were extended to all.
Following the meal, we had coffee and fresh fruit while we watched the wedding videos of two of the sons - one recently married, and the other preparing to celebrate his twentieth wedding anniversary (the children number thirteen - eight boys and five girls). They were so eager to share their culture with us, and equally curious about our own cultures. I cannot pinpoint why that afternoon made such an impression on me, but the one thing that really stood out to me was their sincerity. They genuinely enjoyed serving us and spending time with us, and willingly invested themselves in our lives, regardless of how short the time was.
There are moments in our lives where it seems Heaven's floodgates just open over our lives, and pour out God's abundance. It was only a few hours, but I believe God blessed that family as much as He used them to bless our group that afternoon. Don't pine away life for such times, but when they do come along, savour, cherish, and remember them. His grace and blessing is always there, in the midst of any circumstance. Have faith.
In Yeshua,
Rebekah
Although I don't look for demons behind every bush, I am beginning to feel the real difference between living here, and living in Europe or America: this land is God's land and the Jews are His people. The struggles here are different, and the level of maturity in my walk with God has really been challenged. Plus, my family in England have been going through a rough time, so it's difficult knowing that I can't be there to walk it out alongside them.
On a lighter note, I am enjoying my time here immensely. Work is going well - I am in the process of completing another project and helping prepare for a company fundraiser next weekend. Aside from that, I want to share with you the meeting that prompted the title of this particular posting.
Last weekend, I visited some family friends in Migdal, where they run a greatly enlarged version of a Bed & Breakfast with a rotating team of volunteers from all over the world. There's an involved history behind this next part of the story, but in short, we were all invited to a Druze family's home for lunch after fellowship, or church (more info on Druze peoples: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Druze. It was one of the most touching and awe-inspiring afternoons I've ever experienced. The matriarch of the family, along with a daughter and daughter-in-law, had prepared a feast of Druze specialties, and the food was delicious. Throughout the meal, we discussed faith and family, our respective cultures and world views, all of which were interspersed with laughter in our attempts to make ourselves understood. Some of the family present spoke only Arabic and Hebrew, others spoke both those languages as well as good English. All the volunteers can all speak English, but for some it's their second or third language, so needless to say there was much repetition in a cacophony of languages. It was incredible, and grace and good humour were extended to all.
Following the meal, we had coffee and fresh fruit while we watched the wedding videos of two of the sons - one recently married, and the other preparing to celebrate his twentieth wedding anniversary (the children number thirteen - eight boys and five girls). They were so eager to share their culture with us, and equally curious about our own cultures. I cannot pinpoint why that afternoon made such an impression on me, but the one thing that really stood out to me was their sincerity. They genuinely enjoyed serving us and spending time with us, and willingly invested themselves in our lives, regardless of how short the time was.
There are moments in our lives where it seems Heaven's floodgates just open over our lives, and pour out God's abundance. It was only a few hours, but I believe God blessed that family as much as He used them to bless our group that afternoon. Don't pine away life for such times, but when they do come along, savour, cherish, and remember them. His grace and blessing is always there, in the midst of any circumstance. Have faith.
In Yeshua,
Rebekah
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