Friday, December 12, 2008
Congratulations to Mike
My dear friend, Mike Comes At Night, a member of the Blackfeet nation, just finished his coursework on his way to becoming a teacher. It's a long time dream come true for him, and I'm very happy for him and proud of him.
Interview with Teka
Here's an interview with a woman in Jamaica, talking about typical life up in the hills surrounding Montego Bay
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i77j6takbX4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i77j6takbX4
Kenton's Call
Remember Kenton - the rafting guide at Lethe? He called me today while I was on my way to the Adult Fellowship Christmas feast in the fellowship hall. He said things aren't going so good. The rafting company, which wasn't doing great anyway, actually had to shut down for two weeks. That puts a guide like him in a tough spot - with no money and even less food.
He said his kids are OK - living with their grandmother. One of them goes to a private school. The government doesn't provide food at private schools, though.
He's tried getting work in Montego Bay before, but he's not qualified - not enough education (remember Doris' son, who had a degree in Elec Engineering from Great Britain, and still couldn't get work? It's undoubtedly worse for a guy who probably didn't finish high school). Anyway, he didn't ask for anything. He was just sharing, although in his not asking he was begging for help with a little food or something. What else but desperation would prompt a call all the way to the states to talk about a situation so bleak? I'm reminded of the call I made to Teka a year ago this week, asking how it was, and finding out that there was no food in the house - and hadn't been for quite some time.
Dominos. When business isn't good, the company doesn't operate. When teh company doesn't operate, daddy doesn't work. When daddy doesn't work, the kids have to move away or not eat, either. All that on my way to a luncheon in which the leftovers would probably feed he and his family for more than a week. I tell you, shadow-walking hurts your feet sometimes.
Anyway, I'm reminded how far $40 or $50 would go if it were wired to somebody like him. Maybe a little bit of light in a dim world.
Dominos. Listening to stories, doing what we can, leads to a dynamic friendship that shatters the lingering static and stereotyped souveniers from tourist visits. This connection is uncomfortable, prompting those with listening ears to re-orient themselves, to live into the hope that maybe a little bit of caring action as the body of Christ can change a life. God only knows what Kenton can offer the world that his poverty keeps him from offering.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Sunday Night Musings - Jamaican style
Sunday, October 26
Joan, and her daughter Teka. Teka has five children. Her cousin has a few more. Her other cousin, a few more, including a two month old named VJ. Twelve children, one house. Teka’s brother was killed when he fell from the bucket of a utility truck a couple years ago. Teka’s uncle has had two recent strokes. Teka is the only real income amongst a family of 18 in that house.
She works in a supermarket, in the bakery. There is no water cistern at the house, except two large rain barrels. There is no fresh water cistern. When the nearby spring goes dry, or the pipe of municipal water breaks, theer might not be any water for some time. They didn’t know what they would eat that night. This is Teka’s “blank week”. She gets paid every two weeks with a salary that only lasts one week. Two times a month, there is no food. Teka gets four days off this week, because Friday she collapsed at work and had to be taken to the emergency room. Low blood pressure. They wrote her a prescription for medicine. She must get it in Montego Bay. Getting there takes money. How will you pay for it? Well, I don’t know, she says.
The baby daddy doesn’t come around. He doesn’t pay for any support of the kids. Is that a good thing or a bad thing, that he doesn’t come around? Mostly a good thing, because when he comes around, he demands sex in return for anything he might give. We don’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that Teka wasn’t really wanting 5 children.
Paul, our driver, says he only has 1 boy – a teenager. He says he wanted only 1 so that he could raise them right – so he would be able to afford them. Paul is a rare soul.
I was bothered this morning by our morning meal. There was more food on our table than Teka and Little had in their possession to feed 18 children and 8 adults. I think that sums up the need pretty well.
When you start talking about needs, two subjects quickly emerge. 1) The enormity of the needs, and 2) the limitations in addressing it. A third subject, which may be a subset of limitations, is the issue of socio-economic relativity. How much is enough? Is it ‘enough’ assistance to restore a house to having no leaks? Or is it enough to build a home to North Raleigh standards, or even Mrs. Moore’s standards? These are issues we will need to wrestle with.
Where do we focus our assistance? Here is a common sense hierarchy based upon my observations:
Water – for drinking, bathing, and washing
Food – calories, nutrition, preparation
Clothing – adequate amount, replacement, washing
Shelter – security, elemental protection, social space, cooking space, resting space
Family – Safety, boundaries, sharing, encouragement
Health Care – Medicine, Dr., Diagnosis, Treatment, Prevention
Education – enough said
Income – skills, money, time away from working
Spiritual – church, prayer, learning
Community – support, encouragement, greater resources, laws, protection, sharing
Government – infrastructure (schools, roads), justice, provision
Some High Schools have agriculture teachers who operate farms and gardens as teaching tools.
Mrs. Moore bought 30 eggs for $40 Jamaican, but eggs are not a typical part of the Jamaican diet – they are high in cholesterol and ‘you’ve got to watch the color’. Even so, 30 eggs cost about 60 cents US.
Mr. Hugh Johnson, a member of the church in Hopewell, is a choir man, a Men’s ministry leader – he’s a welder, and he has grown boys. They get together on holidays once a year at a reunion. He used to work at the bauxite mine as an aluminum welder. Now he does ironwork and repairs. Arc and oxycetalene welding. He says a skilled tradesman makes roughly 10K Jamaican per month. Unskilled, maybe 4-5000. Minimum wage is 3000 per month. Hospitality/reception industry – 6000, cleaning – 4000.
Reverend Joseph, the deacon, works primarily in Lethe. She lives at the Bethel parsonage. She worked regularly at the home in Copse – West Haven.
Mrs. Moore knows the tax administrator – he is a circuit steward and goes to Bethel.
She showed Celeste the garden today. She also arranged for the youth to come and speak to us. They want us to make a tape and send it to them of our youth.
She spoke at length with us, talking and laughing. Her husband likes the house, she loves the neighborhood, but would like a smaller place. This is too much to take care of.
Joyce has a friend who told us Joyce is struggling. The husband doesn’t help much. Joyce works hard for little pay.
Mrs. Moore told us that Nicholas came from very poor situation, has a learning disability, struggles in school.
At church this morning, Rev. Joseph preached about how the church must change to create welcoming environment for the youth, or we will lose a generation. She also said anyone over 70 is on borrowed time – don’t waste it. When we see the destruction, lay it at the feet of the almighty. She asked individuals to quote their favorite Psalms, into a microphone. I did the Youth sermon. I talked about being afraid of the Shark I saw in the ocean last year, I asked them what they are afraid of – insects, snakes, and lizards. I told them about the gunshot last year that we heard during church. I used Psalm 27:1-4, the Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?
We bought groceries for Mrs. Irving and Teka’s family. Hopefully we can get more “Tings” tomorrow.
Tonight we gathered on the roof for a cool breeze and plenty of stars. What a blessing.
Joan, and her daughter Teka. Teka has five children. Her cousin has a few more. Her other cousin, a few more, including a two month old named VJ. Twelve children, one house. Teka’s brother was killed when he fell from the bucket of a utility truck a couple years ago. Teka’s uncle has had two recent strokes. Teka is the only real income amongst a family of 18 in that house.
She works in a supermarket, in the bakery. There is no water cistern at the house, except two large rain barrels. There is no fresh water cistern. When the nearby spring goes dry, or the pipe of municipal water breaks, theer might not be any water for some time. They didn’t know what they would eat that night. This is Teka’s “blank week”. She gets paid every two weeks with a salary that only lasts one week. Two times a month, there is no food. Teka gets four days off this week, because Friday she collapsed at work and had to be taken to the emergency room. Low blood pressure. They wrote her a prescription for medicine. She must get it in Montego Bay. Getting there takes money. How will you pay for it? Well, I don’t know, she says.
The baby daddy doesn’t come around. He doesn’t pay for any support of the kids. Is that a good thing or a bad thing, that he doesn’t come around? Mostly a good thing, because when he comes around, he demands sex in return for anything he might give. We don’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that Teka wasn’t really wanting 5 children.
Paul, our driver, says he only has 1 boy – a teenager. He says he wanted only 1 so that he could raise them right – so he would be able to afford them. Paul is a rare soul.
I was bothered this morning by our morning meal. There was more food on our table than Teka and Little had in their possession to feed 18 children and 8 adults. I think that sums up the need pretty well.
When you start talking about needs, two subjects quickly emerge. 1) The enormity of the needs, and 2) the limitations in addressing it. A third subject, which may be a subset of limitations, is the issue of socio-economic relativity. How much is enough? Is it ‘enough’ assistance to restore a house to having no leaks? Or is it enough to build a home to North Raleigh standards, or even Mrs. Moore’s standards? These are issues we will need to wrestle with.
Where do we focus our assistance? Here is a common sense hierarchy based upon my observations:
Water – for drinking, bathing, and washing
Food – calories, nutrition, preparation
Clothing – adequate amount, replacement, washing
Shelter – security, elemental protection, social space, cooking space, resting space
Family – Safety, boundaries, sharing, encouragement
Health Care – Medicine, Dr., Diagnosis, Treatment, Prevention
Education – enough said
Income – skills, money, time away from working
Spiritual – church, prayer, learning
Community – support, encouragement, greater resources, laws, protection, sharing
Government – infrastructure (schools, roads), justice, provision
Some High Schools have agriculture teachers who operate farms and gardens as teaching tools.
Mrs. Moore bought 30 eggs for $40 Jamaican, but eggs are not a typical part of the Jamaican diet – they are high in cholesterol and ‘you’ve got to watch the color’. Even so, 30 eggs cost about 60 cents US.
Mr. Hugh Johnson, a member of the church in Hopewell, is a choir man, a Men’s ministry leader – he’s a welder, and he has grown boys. They get together on holidays once a year at a reunion. He used to work at the bauxite mine as an aluminum welder. Now he does ironwork and repairs. Arc and oxycetalene welding. He says a skilled tradesman makes roughly 10K Jamaican per month. Unskilled, maybe 4-5000. Minimum wage is 3000 per month. Hospitality/reception industry – 6000, cleaning – 4000.
Reverend Joseph, the deacon, works primarily in Lethe. She lives at the Bethel parsonage. She worked regularly at the home in Copse – West Haven.
Mrs. Moore knows the tax administrator – he is a circuit steward and goes to Bethel.
She showed Celeste the garden today. She also arranged for the youth to come and speak to us. They want us to make a tape and send it to them of our youth.
She spoke at length with us, talking and laughing. Her husband likes the house, she loves the neighborhood, but would like a smaller place. This is too much to take care of.
Joyce has a friend who told us Joyce is struggling. The husband doesn’t help much. Joyce works hard for little pay.
Mrs. Moore told us that Nicholas came from very poor situation, has a learning disability, struggles in school.
At church this morning, Rev. Joseph preached about how the church must change to create welcoming environment for the youth, or we will lose a generation. She also said anyone over 70 is on borrowed time – don’t waste it. When we see the destruction, lay it at the feet of the almighty. She asked individuals to quote their favorite Psalms, into a microphone. I did the Youth sermon. I talked about being afraid of the Shark I saw in the ocean last year, I asked them what they are afraid of – insects, snakes, and lizards. I told them about the gunshot last year that we heard during church. I used Psalm 27:1-4, the Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?
We bought groceries for Mrs. Irving and Teka’s family. Hopefully we can get more “Tings” tomorrow.
Tonight we gathered on the roof for a cool breeze and plenty of stars. What a blessing.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Dominoes and Shadow Walkers
Saturday Night, October 25, 2008 Mrs. Moore’s
“Shadowlands”
Shadowwalkers we are. 2 homes. Combined household income, not very much. Children at home – 17. That in and of itself is remarkable. Considering one house has only 5 people makes it staggering. We walked with Little, who went by “Leeker” or Licka or Leeka depending on how you pronounce it. Mrs. Irving is how we were introduced originally. We met her near the SHOP on the road to Lethe; we tried to drive to her house, but the bus wouldn’t make the climb. We were reduced to walking, which, in truth, we preferred. It was steep and slow. From the road below I heard, “Me like dee back one!” That was me. How flattering. Too bad she wasn’t my type J.
Mrs. Irving is shy. Exccedingly so. Very quiet. At least around us. W e climbed the very steep road to an intersection, bordered on the right by a cinder-block house. Turning right up a two-track “road” that followed the ridgeline, past a rusted out car. Past a muddy low spot. Up an even steeper hill to her house. A one story cinder block tin-roof two room house, with a rough outdoor kitchen and a cement-pad extending out from the house, covered. TO call it a breezeway conjures up a much too polished image, but the functional description would be accurate. Eight children, from about 2 years old up to 13 or so, playing dominoes – gathered around the table on cement stools on the breezeway.
Little doesn’t live there. They are her children, though. Little lives with her parents up the road. Her boyfriend, the baby-father, works during the day tending goats.
She has six children. One has moved away. ONE LOVE on the wall. Crosses painted on the outside. Ussain Bolt, the new national hero, on the wall. Inside there is a small gas range and oven. Little problem – a tank of gas costs about $100 US. No gas. When there’s no gas, you use the outside kitchen and make a little fire out of wood. Occasionally there is nothing to eat. IT’s mostly a safe place, she tells us, but rarely it happens that someone is angry and comes around.
The kids – they want to be a mechanical engineer, a teacher, a doctor, a bat man in the cricket sense, They believe they will be. There is no doubt.
Back at our guest house, we talk with Joyce, Mrs. Moore’s (our guest house owner) assistant. We learn that she also assists the teachers at a local school. She has a house full of children, too. The baby daddy lives in England. Her oldest son is an electric engineer. He studied for three years in England until his visa ran out. Now, he’s home, with no Visa and no work for him here in Jamaica. It’s frustrating. She told us how she met Mrs. Moore. Some 12 years ago, she was having a hard time. She knocked on a door looking for work. Explaining her situation, and desire for work, the teacher coincidentally was teaching all her children. She listened, and introduced her to Mrs. Moore. They’ve been together ever since. It’s frustrating, though, that she needs to be together. She uses that word, “Frustrating”, a lot. It sums up so much.
Mrs. Moore, she is a beautiful soul. She worries about her mother, who is lately not well. That is exhausting for her – helping to take care of her mother and the rest of life. She went to choir practice tonight – We played dominos. “Reverend, you play a wicked game!” she said. We were sworn to secrecy on the final tally of the games. Buck out, means you are lucky. We slammed the dominoes on the table. The hard the knock, the better your chances, after all.
“Shadowlands”
Shadowwalkers we are. 2 homes. Combined household income, not very much. Children at home – 17. That in and of itself is remarkable. Considering one house has only 5 people makes it staggering. We walked with Little, who went by “Leeker” or Licka or Leeka depending on how you pronounce it. Mrs. Irving is how we were introduced originally. We met her near the SHOP on the road to Lethe; we tried to drive to her house, but the bus wouldn’t make the climb. We were reduced to walking, which, in truth, we preferred. It was steep and slow. From the road below I heard, “Me like dee back one!” That was me. How flattering. Too bad she wasn’t my type J.
Mrs. Irving is shy. Exccedingly so. Very quiet. At least around us. W e climbed the very steep road to an intersection, bordered on the right by a cinder-block house. Turning right up a two-track “road” that followed the ridgeline, past a rusted out car. Past a muddy low spot. Up an even steeper hill to her house. A one story cinder block tin-roof two room house, with a rough outdoor kitchen and a cement-pad extending out from the house, covered. TO call it a breezeway conjures up a much too polished image, but the functional description would be accurate. Eight children, from about 2 years old up to 13 or so, playing dominoes – gathered around the table on cement stools on the breezeway.
Little doesn’t live there. They are her children, though. Little lives with her parents up the road. Her boyfriend, the baby-father, works during the day tending goats.
She has six children. One has moved away. ONE LOVE on the wall. Crosses painted on the outside. Ussain Bolt, the new national hero, on the wall. Inside there is a small gas range and oven. Little problem – a tank of gas costs about $100 US. No gas. When there’s no gas, you use the outside kitchen and make a little fire out of wood. Occasionally there is nothing to eat. IT’s mostly a safe place, she tells us, but rarely it happens that someone is angry and comes around.
The kids – they want to be a mechanical engineer, a teacher, a doctor, a bat man in the cricket sense, They believe they will be. There is no doubt.
Back at our guest house, we talk with Joyce, Mrs. Moore’s (our guest house owner) assistant. We learn that she also assists the teachers at a local school. She has a house full of children, too. The baby daddy lives in England. Her oldest son is an electric engineer. He studied for three years in England until his visa ran out. Now, he’s home, with no Visa and no work for him here in Jamaica. It’s frustrating. She told us how she met Mrs. Moore. Some 12 years ago, she was having a hard time. She knocked on a door looking for work. Explaining her situation, and desire for work, the teacher coincidentally was teaching all her children. She listened, and introduced her to Mrs. Moore. They’ve been together ever since. It’s frustrating, though, that she needs to be together. She uses that word, “Frustrating”, a lot. It sums up so much.
Mrs. Moore, she is a beautiful soul. She worries about her mother, who is lately not well. That is exhausting for her – helping to take care of her mother and the rest of life. She went to choir practice tonight – We played dominos. “Reverend, you play a wicked game!” she said. We were sworn to secrecy on the final tally of the games. Buck out, means you are lucky. We slammed the dominoes on the table. The hard the knock, the better your chances, after all.
Jamaica Journal - October 24 - Airport Musings
Friday, October 24, 2008 – Miami Dade International Airport
Almost there, but not quite.
As they say, it’s all over but the talking. I’ve got Bob Marley in the headphones (Pearl Jam and Cowboy Junkies, too)
We’re eating Pizza Hut, watching CNN. There’s a sign across the way that says some company helped save millions of dollars. The news is continuously playing the stock market losses.
Teka called to say she was going to work, and to say she’ll see us tomorrow.
The Cowboy Junkies song is called, “Cheap is how I feel.” It couldn’t be more opposite. I have so much. We’re going to a place with very little. Besides a little technology and the clothes we’re wearing, we go with ideas and empty hands. And yet we live every day with so much. I, for one, brought four pairs of shoes.
I wonder how much offense we may cause, not bringing much. I guess that’s what we want to do – build trust. Trust comes when what is promised is not yet seen. Trust builds relationships.
Almost there, but not quite.
As they say, it’s all over but the talking. I’ve got Bob Marley in the headphones (Pearl Jam and Cowboy Junkies, too)
We’re eating Pizza Hut, watching CNN. There’s a sign across the way that says some company helped save millions of dollars. The news is continuously playing the stock market losses.
Teka called to say she was going to work, and to say she’ll see us tomorrow.
The Cowboy Junkies song is called, “Cheap is how I feel.” It couldn’t be more opposite. I have so much. We’re going to a place with very little. Besides a little technology and the clothes we’re wearing, we go with ideas and empty hands. And yet we live every day with so much. I, for one, brought four pairs of shoes.
I wonder how much offense we may cause, not bringing much. I guess that’s what we want to do – build trust. Trust comes when what is promised is not yet seen. Trust builds relationships.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Jamaica Journal - 10/24/08 Mrs. Moore's
Mrs. Moore’s – Friday Night –
Crickets and Cicadas, chirps and excited far away yells. Cars and buses on the highway far down the hill.
A single low-energy fluorescent bulb overhead. Ceiling fans spinning. Breat and Celeste silently writing. A strange flying bug lands on my head.
We arrived on time. We breezed through customs. It’s the slow season, we learned, making the invitations and solicitations of the red caps and taxi drivers all the more robust. Paul Campbell, our driver/guide, met us outside. He’s a tall, very gracious man. He was holding a white sign with red letters that read “Priesta”. Our eyes lit up with excitement and relief as through the miracle of the telephone we met the person who was waiting for us, though we had never met. “I knew it was you” he said. “Only if you were told to look for three white people lost in a sea of people.” I replied.
He is here to serve us – to take away that portion of our stress. “Free your mind,” he said a few times. Just relax. Tell me what you want to do, and I will tell you the best way to do it. He has known Mrs. Moore 20 some years. He takes many groups – church groups. “You may be wondering about the half-bottle of whiskey. That was left behind by a friend. It’s not mine.” (It was sitting next to him). “Sure,” we said, laughingly. We believe him. Seriously.
We’re driving to Lethe. T raffic is building – the sights – driving on the left, driver on the right – are both shocking and comforting – rough looking skinny bloodshot eye rastas and school children in uniforms. Near accidents and posters with the fastest humans – titles now held by Jamaicans.
We start to see familiar kids faces, now grown a year older. I recognize the faces mostly because I’ve been looking at a slideshow and picture frames of them for a year now. Funny how when all you’ve got is a picture, your mind doesn’t apply its own aging to the people you’re looking at. The children stand at bus stops. They walk the pot-hole ridden roads.
We arrive at the school. Mrs. Brown, with her many, thin brown braids – isn’t sure she recognizes me, and I’m not sure I recognize her. Her 1st grade teacher, I remember well. There are a couple of older male helpers around. The first grade teacher (Mrs. Needham) and Allison McGee are there. We are introduced awkwardly and straight away to Mrs. Irving – a VERY SHY woman – having a very hard time making ends meet. Six children – all ages – one grown. She lives up from the school on the right. Her smile is precious – her hair braided close on her head. We meet her at 10 at the little shop up the road tomorrow.
Yes, it was awkward. We stood between the buildings of the school. Celeste coached me in the van afterwards that in my discomfort my arms were crossed and I looked stern the whole time. It was my first real venture trying to create something from nothing cross-culturally.
We learned about some needs:
Physically – the building needs repair but is government-owned. Red tape here.
Computers with learning software are desired. On carts?
Perishable supplies such as construction paper, books, lined paper.
Money for the food program.\
Roughly 80 of the kids get fed breakfast – 70-100 more need it.
Path identifies kids in need – for lunches? If kids miss more than 3 times, they are off the roles. Breakfast is based on donations and hasn’t happened this year. Everybody comes when it is offered. Remedial education – reading and math – would be helpful, but there is no money. Possibiliity of funding through the church. Uniforms for schools are not provided.
The gutters leaked – rusted through. Birds fly in and through the classrooms – 7 rooms, divided by chalkboards.
I’m sure they’re talking to their husbands about us. That pastor seemed angry. Why is it all about needs? What if we could feed the kids?
My aunt is a teacher. Her worldview is one of persistent compassion mixed with the apathy and cynicism that comes from years and masses of troubling circumstances.
Striking things:Derelict structure on side of road
Lazy work ethic
Led to introspection.
So many things to do –
They don’t believe we’ll do anything
Decompressing 3 hours – vs. Bret’s experience
Paul – Relax your mind
Jumble of ideas
Uniforms – see it, touch it, feel it
Helps with pride
Appropriateness
Clothing/Shoes
Tutoring program
Crickets and Cicadas, chirps and excited far away yells. Cars and buses on the highway far down the hill.
A single low-energy fluorescent bulb overhead. Ceiling fans spinning. Breat and Celeste silently writing. A strange flying bug lands on my head.
We arrived on time. We breezed through customs. It’s the slow season, we learned, making the invitations and solicitations of the red caps and taxi drivers all the more robust. Paul Campbell, our driver/guide, met us outside. He’s a tall, very gracious man. He was holding a white sign with red letters that read “Priesta”. Our eyes lit up with excitement and relief as through the miracle of the telephone we met the person who was waiting for us, though we had never met. “I knew it was you” he said. “Only if you were told to look for three white people lost in a sea of people.” I replied.
He is here to serve us – to take away that portion of our stress. “Free your mind,” he said a few times. Just relax. Tell me what you want to do, and I will tell you the best way to do it. He has known Mrs. Moore 20 some years. He takes many groups – church groups. “You may be wondering about the half-bottle of whiskey. That was left behind by a friend. It’s not mine.” (It was sitting next to him). “Sure,” we said, laughingly. We believe him. Seriously.
We’re driving to Lethe. T raffic is building – the sights – driving on the left, driver on the right – are both shocking and comforting – rough looking skinny bloodshot eye rastas and school children in uniforms. Near accidents and posters with the fastest humans – titles now held by Jamaicans.
We start to see familiar kids faces, now grown a year older. I recognize the faces mostly because I’ve been looking at a slideshow and picture frames of them for a year now. Funny how when all you’ve got is a picture, your mind doesn’t apply its own aging to the people you’re looking at. The children stand at bus stops. They walk the pot-hole ridden roads.
We arrive at the school. Mrs. Brown, with her many, thin brown braids – isn’t sure she recognizes me, and I’m not sure I recognize her. Her 1st grade teacher, I remember well. There are a couple of older male helpers around. The first grade teacher (Mrs. Needham) and Allison McGee are there. We are introduced awkwardly and straight away to Mrs. Irving – a VERY SHY woman – having a very hard time making ends meet. Six children – all ages – one grown. She lives up from the school on the right. Her smile is precious – her hair braided close on her head. We meet her at 10 at the little shop up the road tomorrow.
Yes, it was awkward. We stood between the buildings of the school. Celeste coached me in the van afterwards that in my discomfort my arms were crossed and I looked stern the whole time. It was my first real venture trying to create something from nothing cross-culturally.
We learned about some needs:
Physically – the building needs repair but is government-owned. Red tape here.
Computers with learning software are desired. On carts?
Perishable supplies such as construction paper, books, lined paper.
Money for the food program.\
Roughly 80 of the kids get fed breakfast – 70-100 more need it.
Path identifies kids in need – for lunches? If kids miss more than 3 times, they are off the roles. Breakfast is based on donations and hasn’t happened this year. Everybody comes when it is offered. Remedial education – reading and math – would be helpful, but there is no money. Possibiliity of funding through the church. Uniforms for schools are not provided.
The gutters leaked – rusted through. Birds fly in and through the classrooms – 7 rooms, divided by chalkboards.
I’m sure they’re talking to their husbands about us. That pastor seemed angry. Why is it all about needs? What if we could feed the kids?
My aunt is a teacher. Her worldview is one of persistent compassion mixed with the apathy and cynicism that comes from years and masses of troubling circumstances.
Striking things:Derelict structure on side of road
Lazy work ethic
Led to introspection.
So many things to do –
They don’t believe we’ll do anything
Decompressing 3 hours – vs. Bret’s experience
Paul – Relax your mind
Jumble of ideas
Uniforms – see it, touch it, feel it
Helps with pride
Appropriateness
Clothing/Shoes
Tutoring program
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Jamaica Journal October 19
Sunday, October 19, 2008 10:45PM. 4 ½ days until we arrive in Jamaica
Mission Work, done well, takes a lot of communication. Next week at this time, God willing, I’ll be sitting on a rooftop in Hopewell hearing the sounds of dogs barking and reggae music blaring.
This past month has been filled with the sounds of communication. A phone card from OneSource.com has enabled twenty five cents per minute calls. These calls have been made to renew relationships, to set expectations, to make arrangements. I’ve spoken with Allison McGee and Mrs. Brown at the Lethe school; with Delores Moore who runs the guest house; with Teka and her mother Joan in Copse; with Rev. Llewellyn who is the Methodist District Superintendent (actually the Senior Pastor of the 11 church circuit in Montego Bay / St. James). We have a tentative schedule arranged, and a budget that is as reasonable and definite as we can make it. I write the schedule below for the posterity of historical record and the amusement of seeing how much it will change:
Friday we land in Montego Bay at 1:00 pm
We hope to meet the Lethe staff at about 3:00pm
We are hoping that at that very important meeting we will assess the needs of the children, and begin to formulate a plan for sustained involvement. We also have requested a pairing with one or two families who are in significant need, that perhaps we can visit with them on Saturday and Sunday. Teka’s family is expecting us on Saturday. She has a job now; last year at Christmas her family had nothing to eat.
On Sunday we will worship with Mrs. Moore. Hopefully we will also meet with the St. James Poor Relief agent. Monday morning we are scheduled to meet with Rev. Llewellyn at his office in Montego Bay.
I am very excited to see again the children from last year, and to renew those very early friendships.
In my most sincere dreams, I hope to somehow connect in a meaningful way with an urban center for street kids, or perhaps plant the seeds of creating one and getting in at Blossom Gardens. Perhaps, if that home for infants is hurting as much as it appears, we can make a real difference there. We also hope to explore the possibility of feeding the children in Lethe, either the forgotten children on weekends, or the children that don’t qualify for government food during the week.
This week, I must buy gifts for Daniel (backpack, shoes), Teka and her family, Mrs. Moore, the Lethe school, and Rev. Llewellyn. I also would like to see if my friend wants me to take Sasha anything.
I pray that our team will be bold in faith, yet secure in God’s protection. I pray that we will be at the same time humble and effective in accomplishing God’s purpose, not ours. I pray that we would see our Jamaican friends as God sees them, and that our hosts would see Christ in and instead of us.
This morning, the congregation prayed for us at 8:45. It was a very sacred and humbling and powerful experience. We do not really take anything but openness, and some long-sought direction. We trust totally in God’s love and the Truth that God’s word does not return without accomplishing its purpose.
Mission Work, done well, takes a lot of communication. Next week at this time, God willing, I’ll be sitting on a rooftop in Hopewell hearing the sounds of dogs barking and reggae music blaring.
This past month has been filled with the sounds of communication. A phone card from OneSource.com has enabled twenty five cents per minute calls. These calls have been made to renew relationships, to set expectations, to make arrangements. I’ve spoken with Allison McGee and Mrs. Brown at the Lethe school; with Delores Moore who runs the guest house; with Teka and her mother Joan in Copse; with Rev. Llewellyn who is the Methodist District Superintendent (actually the Senior Pastor of the 11 church circuit in Montego Bay / St. James). We have a tentative schedule arranged, and a budget that is as reasonable and definite as we can make it. I write the schedule below for the posterity of historical record and the amusement of seeing how much it will change:
Friday we land in Montego Bay at 1:00 pm
We hope to meet the Lethe staff at about 3:00pm
We are hoping that at that very important meeting we will assess the needs of the children, and begin to formulate a plan for sustained involvement. We also have requested a pairing with one or two families who are in significant need, that perhaps we can visit with them on Saturday and Sunday. Teka’s family is expecting us on Saturday. She has a job now; last year at Christmas her family had nothing to eat.
On Sunday we will worship with Mrs. Moore. Hopefully we will also meet with the St. James Poor Relief agent. Monday morning we are scheduled to meet with Rev. Llewellyn at his office in Montego Bay.
I am very excited to see again the children from last year, and to renew those very early friendships.
In my most sincere dreams, I hope to somehow connect in a meaningful way with an urban center for street kids, or perhaps plant the seeds of creating one and getting in at Blossom Gardens. Perhaps, if that home for infants is hurting as much as it appears, we can make a real difference there. We also hope to explore the possibility of feeding the children in Lethe, either the forgotten children on weekends, or the children that don’t qualify for government food during the week.
This week, I must buy gifts for Daniel (backpack, shoes), Teka and her family, Mrs. Moore, the Lethe school, and Rev. Llewellyn. I also would like to see if my friend wants me to take Sasha anything.
I pray that our team will be bold in faith, yet secure in God’s protection. I pray that we will be at the same time humble and effective in accomplishing God’s purpose, not ours. I pray that we would see our Jamaican friends as God sees them, and that our hosts would see Christ in and instead of us.
This morning, the congregation prayed for us at 8:45. It was a very sacred and humbling and powerful experience. We do not really take anything but openness, and some long-sought direction. We trust totally in God’s love and the Truth that God’s word does not return without accomplishing its purpose.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Messed up
Messfest '08
What a blast it was to get messy with a bunch of our youth. Chocolate syrup + whipped cream + bags of flour = a HUGE mess. I think God specializes in being present in messy situations. It's there that we risk everything we have so carefully tried to hold together. More often than not, it turns out with rough edges. But it's there that there is the promise of laughter in the face of threat, peace in the face of chaos. I hope I'll always be willing to follow Jesus into the messy places of the world, sometimes in solidarity and sometimes helping to clean up, occasionally part of the problem and in need of Jesus' hose to clean me off. Thanks Andrea for reminding me about ministry.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Go and Learn What This Means
My new niece Addison
In the Christian bible, the writer Matthew ascribes the following saying to Jesus: "Go and learn what this means: "I desire mercy, not sacrifice." For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners."
The phrase is haunting me. Go and learn what this means. How does one go and learn mercy? I realize that it haunts me because, for the most part, my life situation doesn't require mercy all that often. And, my life path does not intersect persons in desperate, visible need of mercy all that often.
And both of those, I think, reflect sin. Sinful institutions, sinful societies, sinful individual decisions, because the people that I name as brothers and sisters are in need of mercy. And if they need it and I don't, then we are divided. And division, especially division between the suffering and the not-suffering, is sinful.
Perhaps the best way to go and learn is to enter situations vulnerably, to join with the vulnerable. But I don't know.
The phrase is haunting me. Go and learn what this means. How does one go and learn mercy? I realize that it haunts me because, for the most part, my life situation doesn't require mercy all that often. And, my life path does not intersect persons in desperate, visible need of mercy all that often.
And both of those, I think, reflect sin. Sinful institutions, sinful societies, sinful individual decisions, because the people that I name as brothers and sisters are in need of mercy. And if they need it and I don't, then we are divided. And division, especially division between the suffering and the not-suffering, is sinful.
Perhaps the best way to go and learn is to enter situations vulnerably, to join with the vulnerable. But I don't know.
Picture posted on www.irrawaddy.org/article.php?art_id=8524
Sunday, May 25, 2008
But that's China
3000 people died on 9/11/01 in America's busiest city. I heard a country song about it yesterday in honor of Memorial Day.
3000 people died in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in August 2005. Extreme Makeover Home Edition just built a new church and pastor's home there last week.
4000 US troops have died in Iraq since the war's inception. The US spends more than the rest of the world combined on its military spending. It is arguably the most emphasized plank in the presidential campaign platform.
The death toll in China reached 60,000 today from the earthquake. Nearly 100,000 died after the Myanmar cyclone. 
We remember our nation's fallen in all its wars this weekend. We will not remember the date of the earthquake or the cyclone on Memorial Day 5 years from now. Those people are farther away. We feel for them, enough to utter how tragic it is that they've died while watching the evening news. Sure, people are people, but that's China.
We remember our nation's fallen in all its wars this weekend. We will not remember the date of the earthquake or the cyclone on Memorial Day 5 years from now. Those people are farther away. We feel for them, enough to utter how tragic it is that they've died while watching the evening news. Sure, people are people, but that's China.Friday, May 23, 2008
Seven Minutes of Terror
“Abraham and Isaac” by George Segal (b. 26 November 1924)
NASA is about to land a rover on Mars, and the engineers are anxious. They are departing from their recent success with air-bag landers, and trying to navigate with parachutes and rocket thrusters. There is a lot that can go wrong during the entry and soft landing. They've only been successful at landing on mars 55% of the time. That is great in baseball, but not so reassuring when millions of dollars and lots of science is at stake. The critical point in the 8 month journey is the landing - the contact with the atmosphere - the slowing down process. It takes roughly seven minutes to go from 13000 miles per hour to a complete stop, and everything has to go just right. For the engineers with careers on the line, it's seven minutes of terror, CNN says.
Seven minutes of terror. It was a good headline - it grabbed my attention. Fox might want to think about using that label for their international news spot. It could boost ratings. If I think back on my life, seven minutes of terror could aptly describe my experience as a 10 year old on Space Mountain in Disneyworld.
Or the time when my wife and I, when we were newlyweds, went on a canoe trip on a river in North Georgia. We had read in a guidebook that miners had drilled a shaft through a horshoe bend in the river. It was a few hundred yards from the entrance to the exit, at the elevation of the riverbank, and water flowed through the shortcut. "IF you can see daylight coming from the other side, odds are there are no dangerous obstructions." When we arrived, we anxiously debated whether to try it or not - how brave were we feeling? Was it worth the risk? Ah, to be young again. We pointed our canoes into the cave, and paddled forward.
It was like a real-live mine ride, minus the corporate liability prevention measures. We were instantly surrounded by blackness. The water picked up speed to a swift rapid pace, and so did our canoes. Several mid-shaft dropoffs added to the terror. Our paddles banged against the close, cold, wet rock. Our screams were not of the manufactured variety that you hear on a roller coaster to add to the fun; we were terrified, and the ride would not stop.
Our canoes tipped just before the current jetisoned us out the other side. We emerged bruised but otherwise unharmed, imagining all of the ways that the descent could have gone wrong. Seven minutes of terror.
I wonder what it was like for Abraham, when God asked him to sacrifice his son? Anxiety building, resolve wavering, exit considered, faith overcoming, all quietly kept in Abraham's heart. With each curious question of his son, the tears must have welled in Abraham's eyes, sucking the moisture from his already dry mouth and throat. And then, the moment when Isaac's curiousity unveiled the truth. There was no other sacrifice to offer. Dad is going to kill me as he serves our God. Seven minutes of terror, before the ram was produced and the story had a happy ending, all the while leaving the participants and the reader with a disturbing and innocence-killing aftertaste.
Oh, that we could promise the world only seven more minutes of terror. Oh, that the Janjaweed militias would have only seven minutes of numb destruction remaining. Oh, that the Lord's resistance army would have only seven minutes of child-soldier training left in their strategic plan of chaos. Oh, that there was only time for one more house-to-house search in Iraq. Oh, that a drunken father would come home angry for the last time, and after seven minutes of reckless searching, would pass out and later awaken to peace, repentance, and eternal sobriety.
Come quickly and provide us a ram, Oh God. Sacrifice our innocence if you must, but spare our children from another seven minutes of terror.
Seven minutes of terror. It was a good headline - it grabbed my attention. Fox might want to think about using that label for their international news spot. It could boost ratings. If I think back on my life, seven minutes of terror could aptly describe my experience as a 10 year old on Space Mountain in Disneyworld.
Or the time when my wife and I, when we were newlyweds, went on a canoe trip on a river in North Georgia. We had read in a guidebook that miners had drilled a shaft through a horshoe bend in the river. It was a few hundred yards from the entrance to the exit, at the elevation of the riverbank, and water flowed through the shortcut. "IF you can see daylight coming from the other side, odds are there are no dangerous obstructions." When we arrived, we anxiously debated whether to try it or not - how brave were we feeling? Was it worth the risk? Ah, to be young again. We pointed our canoes into the cave, and paddled forward.
It was like a real-live mine ride, minus the corporate liability prevention measures. We were instantly surrounded by blackness. The water picked up speed to a swift rapid pace, and so did our canoes. Several mid-shaft dropoffs added to the terror. Our paddles banged against the close, cold, wet rock. Our screams were not of the manufactured variety that you hear on a roller coaster to add to the fun; we were terrified, and the ride would not stop.
Our canoes tipped just before the current jetisoned us out the other side. We emerged bruised but otherwise unharmed, imagining all of the ways that the descent could have gone wrong. Seven minutes of terror.
I wonder what it was like for Abraham, when God asked him to sacrifice his son? Anxiety building, resolve wavering, exit considered, faith overcoming, all quietly kept in Abraham's heart. With each curious question of his son, the tears must have welled in Abraham's eyes, sucking the moisture from his already dry mouth and throat. And then, the moment when Isaac's curiousity unveiled the truth. There was no other sacrifice to offer. Dad is going to kill me as he serves our God. Seven minutes of terror, before the ram was produced and the story had a happy ending, all the while leaving the participants and the reader with a disturbing and innocence-killing aftertaste.
Oh, that we could promise the world only seven more minutes of terror. Oh, that the Janjaweed militias would have only seven minutes of numb destruction remaining. Oh, that the Lord's resistance army would have only seven minutes of child-soldier training left in their strategic plan of chaos. Oh, that there was only time for one more house-to-house search in Iraq. Oh, that a drunken father would come home angry for the last time, and after seven minutes of reckless searching, would pass out and later awaken to peace, repentance, and eternal sobriety.
Come quickly and provide us a ram, Oh God. Sacrifice our innocence if you must, but spare our children from another seven minutes of terror.
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