For Those Brought In and Loved

I want to pause and acknowledge what a sweet spot we are in with our work.  For the moment, there are thirty-six babies receiving formula from us while being cared for by their extended family members.  There are four children in our host families.  One of our host mamas who recently reunified her host daughter with the girl's birth family is ready to receive the next child in need of a temporary home. 

That's forty children who are not defined by the desperate moments that sent them our way.  That's forty children blended into the community.  They are on the backs of their caregivers headed to the market.  Some are sitting beside us on the pew in church Sunday morning.  They are learning Burkinabe family life at meal times, rest times, and every other part of the day.

Praise God!

May this report please our Father who sent us among people he'd already prepared to do this great work.  Thank you for your prayers and please, please, please keep it up.  Pray for our host families, the birth families, and the spiritual harvest of redefining one who was cast off as one who is brought in and loved.
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Photo Friday: Troy's Visit

When our church in San Antonio heard about the struggles we were having with this transition, they did what churches have done for two thousand years.....they sent a brother to encourage us.  Our modern day Barnabas came bearing gifts of encouragement from the church and our family in his suitcase, gifts of worship as he lifted the name of Jesus throughout our house, and the gift of his presence to see what we see and do what we do.  With only three days together, we prayed the LORD would stretch the time, and He did!  On the way to the airport last night, we marveled at all that had passed in such a short time.

From the airport on Monday night, we went straight to Emily's piano recital.  

What?  A piano recital, you say?  She's only had four lessons, but her sweet teacher (also a missionary) put her name on the program, and it was so fun!  We are incredibly thankful for new opportunities that have just opened up to us like this by moving into a big city.

Much of the visit was spent with our young Burkinabé friends.

On Tuesday the guys ran many errands capped off with a time of prayer at the former Cappuccino restaurant.  Darkness does not have the final word!  

We ate traditional Burkinabé food at our favorite African restaurant for lunch.

Watching the chickens out the restaurant's back window kept the baby entertained.

 The great turkey hunt of 2016....Surprisingly, the guys were able to find turkeys in anticipation of the Thanksgiving holiday.  However, for a scrawny, live bird, the price was $100.  We decided to have chicken for Thanksgiving!  Troy took this picture at the turkey location, where they apparently also butcher chickens, and I think it captures daily African life beautifully.

 Naturally, we had to show Troy the ice cream shop that wasn't here when he visited in 2014.  Even the baby enjoys a bit of Italian gelato....

 On Wednesday we made a trip north and Troy was able see that mission site in person.

 On Thursday, we packed up Christmas gifts for Troy to take back for our family and shared a Thanksgiving chicken dinner with two other missionary families and a handful of African friends.  From there, it was sadly off to the airport.

Pictures seem disappointingly two dimensional when trying to share what the LORD was doing in the unseen realms.  Philip said it best, "As overwhelmed as we were with troubles and challenges, we are now overwhelmed just as much with joy and encouragement."

Happy Friday!

Standing Tall in Christ

"They are following Jesus into death, so they can also follow him into life." - English

"Ils suivent le Seigneur Jésus dans la mort, ainsi qu'ils puissent aussi le suivre dans la nouvelle vie." - French

"Oub tuan Zézi haála Kounni, nayilab lé tông tuan vin paalu-wan."- Mooré

The BAPTISM of our son Titus and our friend Tall brought together a beautifully diverse group of friends.  Some of our crowd needed the talking in English, since our French isn't strong.  Some of Tall's friends spoke no English or French, so it needed to be translated into Mooré.  Another friend speaks no English or Mooré, so it needed to be translated into French, as well.  After each of Philip's sentences in English, Ruth translated into French, then Souley translated into Mooré.
"Jesus....."   "Jésus......"    "Zéki....."
Of the more than twenty people present, only one could understand the Gospel in all three languages being spoken.  I couldn't get over how beautiful the sound must be to God.  To hear His word repeated over and over and over.  Some of us couldn't speak to each other without a translator, but we could each speak to Him.  It was more beautiful than I could ask or imagine.

Two and a half years ago, our friend Troy met Tall when he came out here to visit us with his family.  He has been faithfully encouraging and praying for Tall ever since.  Troy's heart was already here when he knew this baptism was coming but, amazing to us, the LORD made a way for him to be here in person!  This is more than we could ask or imagine.

Faithfulness begets faithfulness.  Someone is watching your seemingly unnoticeable acts of faithfulness. Tall was a bit nervous, not knowing what to expect at a Christian baptism, so he was overjoyed for Titus to lead the way.  Titus was ready because he's seen many go before him.  Thank you for that.  Tall was ready after watching Titus.  Who's to say now what the future holds for the four Muslim friends who came to watch Tall?  Or the many more who are watching him to see what this new life in Christ is all about?  We can't say what's to come, except that faithfulness begets faithfulness.

Can A Water Bottle Be Offensive?

It's the token trademark of us Western missionaries.  We tote our water bottles along wherever we roam.  In a place where the drinking water can give you typhoid and there is rarely A/C to relieve the 100+ degrees, safe drinking water is no laughing matter.  As a community, we teach our children to always pack a water bottle and give them snazzy water bottle holders.   At the expat church, kids can get a happy check mark by their name in Sunday school three ways:
1. Say the memory verse.
2. Bring a Bible.
3. Bring your water bottle.

It's that important, folks.  Makes complete sense, too, after our newbie mistake of not carrying our own water once led us to buy Emily a cold sealed bag of juice in a village market.  She was sick for eleven days after that, possibly from germs found on the outside of the juice bag. We've carried our own water ever since.

We have a national friend who recently started spending more and more time with Westerners.  As a result, he received three different water bottles from various people, yet he continued to show up without water to activities at which there was clearly going to be a need for water (like a full day of work).  If you had asked me a week ago what was going on here, I would have chuckled, "It's that little cultural stereotype where Westerners like to plan ahead while Burkinabe like to live in the moment."

I would have been wrong.

Our friend explained to us, "The heart of the matter is hospitality.  In our culture, the guest is to come needy in order to give your host the honor of caring for you."  

It's true, the first thing to do when someone visits your home is offer them a drink.  

"If I show up with my own water," he continued, "then before the visit begins I have already said, 'I do not need you.'"

Can you hear the wound of saying "I do not need you" in such a communal society?

The lesson of the water bottle is this: we have come to West Africa needy.  We need wisdom to understand a world so different from the one we knew, and we need grace from those we unknowingly offend as we learn our way into this new culture.

The Sacrifice

"They want you to give the sacrifice," Philip whispered from two rows away.

I asked for clarification and he repeated, "They want you to give the sacrifice."

My first thought was a personal pep talk, "Okay, I'm going to do this.  I'm going to give the sacrifice. What does that mean in this context?"  Funny how, living in a culture where actual animal sacrifices of chickens, goats, and cows are still commonplace for the large animistic part of the population, I didn't pause to consider if I'd heard him correctly.

Only after considerable reflection did the revelation occur to me he'd said, "They want you to give the SACK OF RICE."

That is how it came to be at the celebration ceremony for one of our host babies returning to her birth family, that I gave the birth father a sack of rice as a gift.

Here's a family restored after a season of tragedy.  The father was so happy.

 Among the day's participants were leaders in the birth family, a pack of neighborhood children, a group of the father's friends, as well as two cars full of our entourage with our family, co-workers, and visitors.

Below you see what courage looks like.  A host mama who has loved this little one as her own and whose family now grieves as they celebrate her return to her father's home in the village.  They are the ones who gave the real sacrifice-to love with their whole hearts, knowing it was for a short time.

48 Hours of Crazy

I can tell you the moment I realized we had a serious problem.

It wasn't when the moving truck showed up twelve hours late.  These things happen.
It wasn't when the truck that arrived was grossly inferior to the agreed upon truck.
It wasn't even when the truck was loaded and all the shouting began.
These were disappointments to our cultural bias, but not reaching the unexpected quite yet.

When Philip burst into the bedroom, scrambled to find the ipod, and exited the room without a word,  I glanced at the discarded ipod to see what he had been so intent on finding.  Like something out of a movie, staring back at me on the screen was the phone number of the police chief.
That was when I knew we had a serious problem.

What followed was Philip and his local friends tracking the runaway moving truck, then passing it to be waiting at the mandatory stop, the military checkpoint an hour away.  Thinking about Philip and his friends standing in the dark waiting for the moving truck that had all our possessions, I am deeply humbled.  Our friends fought for our family's possessions as if it were their family's possessions without regard to the material discrepancy between our households.  No matter how great this headache, this reminded me early on that tracking down a truckload of furniture and household goods is still a first world problem, even when carried out in the developing world.

Though well past bedtime, at this point the kids and I were at home laughing hysterically at the hope the first tote of stolen goods the moving guys unpacked would be the one full of our dirty stinkin' laundry.

Beginning with the one a.m. confrontation and following in small confrontations for the next twelve hours, we got a small taste of the helpless, trapped feeling of those who live without a social system to back them up, as well as what it looks like to believe God will bring justice when you live in a world that won't.

Literally in the middle of our move - day two, somewhere down the road - we finally cut ties with the original moving company and got all our stuff back.  Enter (with applause) moving company number two, who shall hereafter be referred to by us as "The Three Angels of Transport."  They were trustworthy, honorable, efficient, and skilled.  They transferred all our stuff from the first truck to their far superior truck on the outskirts of a make-shift soccer field.

It is here that the part I most want to forget occurred.  Throughout this glorious transfer, our sweet daughter walked her dog, attracting the attention of a large number of kids.  The kids began to throw rocks at our dog, who ended up hiding among our unloaded belongings while Emily crouched down with her and cried.  Most parts of this story are hilarious or praise worthy in retrospect, but that one still feels just plain hurtful.

Once re-loaded we had another six hours on the road caravanning with the new moving truck.  The first five passed with great peace and joy knowing we were surrounded by the greatest of friends and reliable movers.  Then, an hour away from our new hometown, we had a flat tire on the highway after dark.  This is not an American highway.  This is an African highway.  It is one of our safety protocols to not drive outside the city after dark, so to find ourselves suddenly stranded was like a piece of my own personal "worst case scenario" imagination file coming true.

Only it got worse.

There we were, side of the road with the spare tire in place ready to complete the journey when.....the truck wouldn't start.  Philip fixed the flat tire only to have the battery die.  Stranded. Vulnerable.  Afraid.  I have to be honest and say, this is where my faith wavered.  Where was God?  Did He not see this mess?  Or did He not care?  Or did He set us up?

Within minutes, our moving truck caught up to us and they hopped out to push our truck so Philip could pop the clutch, and it worked!  Before I could even think all of the above questions, we were back on the road, soon to be home.

When you think about the two days of trouble that had passed, know Philip, Emily and Anne were sick, realize we'd missed several meals, our water filter was not set up, and Anne was wearing the very last diaper in our possession, you can imagine what it meant to have friends who would deliver cold, filtered water and a package of diapers to our house at our 2 am arrival.  This is the moment I realized the church is bigger than that whole string of problems.

In closing, I have to give a shout-out to Philip.  He tackled a family move in Africa with more hardships than I thought were physically possible, doing it all in a relationship based honor culture (rather than our truth based efficiency culture), and in a foreign language - and he ROCKED it.  Philip, I hope we never have to do that again, but if we do, I want to do it with you.

Outside My Window

Outside my window I hear our guard plucking out a song on our guitar he's teaching himself to play.  Earlier today the same window brought the sound of the Muslim call to prayer.  Before that the neighbor sneezed and even though he was in his house across the wall and I was in mine, I almost said, "Bless you" because he was that close.

These are the sounds of home.

As we pull out with a moving truck tomorrow, the reoccurring thought in my head will be, "He did it!"  We came wanting to establish an orphan care project in a part of the country that didn't have it, and by the grace of God none of that will be lost.  In fact, we believe the future will be better for not having our Western faces at the forefront.  The ability to watch our project grow after we move, is not by our own devices.  He did it!  Who could imagine hiring a night guard who'd worked with the Red Cross (and so understood Western accountability and standards) or who had a heart for evangelism (and so will give this ministry a greater impact for the Kingdom of God than we had dreamed)?  Our ministry leader grew into the ministry as we did.  He taught Philip cultural principles, Philip taught him orphan care principles.  It's hard to tell which one is the assistant because the level of give and take is mutual, reminding me ours is a God of "but that just doesn't happen."  Well, He did it!

For two years, every time we pulled into our town, we played "Home" by Philip Phillips.  In the beginning, it was God's words to us speaking of what was to come, a promise I couldn't yet believe.  I remember the neighbors' stares as we pulled up to the gate for the first time.  I remember telling myself to pretend like it didn't bother me as I climbed out of the truck.  As we pull out tomorrow, I know I will be sobbing.  I am wiping tears as I type this.  And that's just the point.  He. did. it.  All week I've been thinking, "If He did this, made this place feel like home and these neighbors feel like family, what other promises has He made that sound crazy right now?"  I can think of a couple and I bet you can, too.  In honor of His faithfulness to us in this place, may today be a day to hope in the promises yet to be fulfilled.

"Hold on to Me as you go

As we roll down this unfamiliar road

And although this wave is stringing us along

Just know you're not alone

Cause I'm gonna make this place your home.

Settle down, it'll all be clear

Don't pay no mind to the demons

They fill you with fear

The trouble it might drag you down

If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you're not alone

Cause I'm gonna make this place your home."

Until He Returns

Grown people should never be crawling in the dirt.  Recently we joined friends to see their ministry to the local community with disabilities.  There we met new friends who had calluses on their knees and palms from a lifetime of crawling through the dirt and rocks.  In this culture, they have been rejected by their families and left to beg in the streets.

 On the day we were visiting, our friends blessed six recipients with mobility trikes.  These trikes get these friends off the ground and grant them independence.  Personally, it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever been privileged to watch as lives were literally transformed before our eyes.

 The local preacher spoke words of life, "Jesus has seen you have trouble getting around.  Jesus is giving you this trike.  He is coming back to take us to a place where you will not have a disability.  No one will say there, 'I don't have money for my kids' school.'  There will be only health there."

Until He returns, it's fun to be His kingdom on earth!