Love. Learn. Engage.
In that order. If we engaged life with love...I think we can agree this world could be a radically different place.
Check out the World Relief NEXT Project video.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
lake lake
Upon my arrival to Burundi last September, dry season ruled supreme. I distinctly remember the mélange of burnt grass and dust filling my lungs as I walked across the tarmac to Bujumbura International Airport (whose architecture is not too unlike what a communist would build with “hills” for a muse). Bujumbura shrouded itself in dry season haze and dust-near sighted.
A breath of fresh air. The wet season brought cleansing rain, and I saw through clear air for the first time! Patchworks of green crept up from the shores of Lake Tanganyika to the towering Burundian hills to the east and south along the lake. Rice paddies and banana plantations reveling in the steamy valley extended north from the lake. To the near west loomed Congo! Gargantuan, mordoresque mountains levitate jaggedly from the western lakeside-both striking anxiety in your mind and arousing adventure in your soul. There is more to Burundi then the restaurants and beaches of Buj!
Thus I find myself in Nyanza Lac. Translate the first word from Kirundi you get “lake”. Translate the second word from French you get “Lake”. Lake Lake. Appropriate I guess for a community that makes a living off the tasty eat-with-its-head-still-on mukeke fish and the palm trees that thrive on the lakes humid shores. The 2 hour drive south takes you on a old crumbling road through endless palm plantations and along the edge of clear blue Tanganyika waters. Aside from pothole-induced whiplash, it’s a beautiful drive.
I’ve been here many times due to the fact that World Relief’s Refugee Rehabilitation and Livelihoods program is based here in Nyanza Lac. With a steamy cup of chai to bring me to a proper sweat, I glance around the compound. Roofing sheets, iron frames for latrines, bags of cement, roofing nails, door frames, and window frames lie neatly stacked ready to be distributed to identified families. Many of them have recently returned from refugee camps in neighboring Tanzania and now will start a new life in a province whose land is spread thin and waters over fished. No wonder receiving a goat brings such radiant smiles from recipients!
At a goat distribution a few months ago an older returnee shared with me, ““Yes, I am a Christian, but when the war came I lost my faith. But now, I have come back to my faith. I know that God exists. I am so blessed!”
So this is our hope. That now in peace, we continue to see the guiding hand of God. We can lose faith in times of hardship or blind ourselves in times of peace and prosperity, but constant endures His love for us.
A breath of fresh air. The wet season brought cleansing rain, and I saw through clear air for the first time! Patchworks of green crept up from the shores of Lake Tanganyika to the towering Burundian hills to the east and south along the lake. Rice paddies and banana plantations reveling in the steamy valley extended north from the lake. To the near west loomed Congo! Gargantuan, mordoresque mountains levitate jaggedly from the western lakeside-both striking anxiety in your mind and arousing adventure in your soul. There is more to Burundi then the restaurants and beaches of Buj!
Thus I find myself in Nyanza Lac. Translate the first word from Kirundi you get “lake”. Translate the second word from French you get “Lake”. Lake Lake. Appropriate I guess for a community that makes a living off the tasty eat-with-its-head-still-on mukeke fish and the palm trees that thrive on the lakes humid shores. The 2 hour drive south takes you on a old crumbling road through endless palm plantations and along the edge of clear blue Tanganyika waters. Aside from pothole-induced whiplash, it’s a beautiful drive.
I’ve been here many times due to the fact that World Relief’s Refugee Rehabilitation and Livelihoods program is based here in Nyanza Lac. With a steamy cup of chai to bring me to a proper sweat, I glance around the compound. Roofing sheets, iron frames for latrines, bags of cement, roofing nails, door frames, and window frames lie neatly stacked ready to be distributed to identified families. Many of them have recently returned from refugee camps in neighboring Tanzania and now will start a new life in a province whose land is spread thin and waters over fished. No wonder receiving a goat brings such radiant smiles from recipients!
At a goat distribution a few months ago an older returnee shared with me, ““Yes, I am a Christian, but when the war came I lost my faith. But now, I have come back to my faith. I know that God exists. I am so blessed!”So this is our hope. That now in peace, we continue to see the guiding hand of God. We can lose faith in times of hardship or blind ourselves in times of peace and prosperity, but constant endures His love for us.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
the small things.
A picnic.
Yesterday was a holiday. Some friends and I decided that a picnic would be the perfect way to spend our day off. Now, usually when planning a picnic there isn’t too much strategy put in to it. You raid the grocery store, buy the food, and then go to your picnic location, and voila! You have a picnic. Divergently, in Burundi, a strategic plan needs to be drafted, ratified, and implemented with careful optimism and with plenty of room for changes.
Location, location, location. Burundi is small, and has a lot of people. Thus, there really is not an area you can go where you are completely alone. Unless contained within razor tipped gates and concrete walls, you are a spectacle to be admired and stared at. A picnic complicates things even more because food (in Burundian culture) is meant to be shared, and if 50 people are watching you, and you’re not sharing…you’re being quite rude! In conclusion, we chose a stretch of beach between two hotels 7kms out of the city.
Perfect. Billowing clouds, placcid lake, mountains looming, gentle breeze, fresh food, and good friends.
With a little effort, planning, and good humor life isn’t that bad!
Yesterday was a holiday. Some friends and I decided that a picnic would be the perfect way to spend our day off. Now, usually when planning a picnic there isn’t too much strategy put in to it. You raid the grocery store, buy the food, and then go to your picnic location, and voila! You have a picnic. Divergently, in Burundi, a strategic plan needs to be drafted, ratified, and implemented with careful optimism and with plenty of room for changes.
First a list of food items needs to be drafted according to availability/price. With this done, the scavenger hunt begins. A minimum of 3 stores will be hit for various produce that they offer at the lowest price we know. If it is a holiday, some might be closed and subsequently items are crossed off the list. If an item is not found, the Asian quarter is a sure bet of having it and at a good price (imported from Dubai of course).
Location, location, location. Burundi is small, and has a lot of people. Thus, there really is not an area you can go where you are completely alone. Unless contained within razor tipped gates and concrete walls, you are a spectacle to be admired and stared at. A picnic complicates things even more because food (in Burundian culture) is meant to be shared, and if 50 people are watching you, and you’re not sharing…you’re being quite rude! In conclusion, we chose a stretch of beach between two hotels 7kms out of the city.
Perfect. Billowing clouds, placcid lake, mountains looming, gentle breeze, fresh food, and good friends.
With a little effort, planning, and good humor life isn’t that bad!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
the feeling of losing control.
The past few months I have been experimenting with this concept/feeling of losing control. From bungee jumping to cascading down a grade 5 rapid on a body board to placing my future in God's hands and not my own. Its been thrilling, exhausting, and my faith has grown. But, a car accident is different.
First of all, it happens so fast. At no point did I even think of my own mortality. All I remember thinking was, "We shouldn't be passing this truck...". Next thing I remember I was upside down, unbuckling my seat belt and screaming to make sure everyone was alive. Adrenaline pumped through my body as my claustrophobia flared up. It was dark and I couldn't see a way out of the wreckage. Eventually I contorted my body out the hole that was once my passenger-side window...to see that the truck we had foolishly passed had plowed into us and also hit a bicyclist.
In the aftermath all 3 of us in the car, the bicyclist, and truck driver are OK. I have some vigorous whiplash, but hopefully it will go away soon.
God is in control. Always. My life is in the palm of His hand, and that's the safest place for it be.
I hope this event is continuously life changing to me as I go on living in this fragile body. May every day be used well, and every moment used to praise the One to whom all glory is due.
First of all, it happens so fast. At no point did I even think of my own mortality. All I remember thinking was, "We shouldn't be passing this truck...". Next thing I remember I was upside down, unbuckling my seat belt and screaming to make sure everyone was alive. Adrenaline pumped through my body as my claustrophobia flared up. It was dark and I couldn't see a way out of the wreckage. Eventually I contorted my body out the hole that was once my passenger-side window...to see that the truck we had foolishly passed had plowed into us and also hit a bicyclist.
In the aftermath all 3 of us in the car, the bicyclist, and truck driver are OK. I have some vigorous whiplash, but hopefully it will go away soon.
God is in control. Always. My life is in the palm of His hand, and that's the safest place for it be.
I hope this event is continuously life changing to me as I go on living in this fragile body. May every day be used well, and every moment used to praise the One to whom all glory is due.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
death
Nothing could have prepared me for this.
The Rwandan Genocide. I had flipped through the many pages of its dark literature, and most recently looked across the thousand hills where it unfolded its rage. But now, it invaded my unguarded senses full on.
My stomach plummeted down a dark shaft of unknown horror and emotion as the first classroom of bodies was opened. White, 
twisted, maimed, disfigured bodies. Preserved in lime, the bodies looked almost alien to me. Yet the toes, fingers, and tufts of hair screamed of their once undeniable humanity. The severed ankles cried of the unmerited torture endured before their slow death. Some arms seems raised in an attempt to defend their life. Children. So many children.
Classroom, after classroom, after classroom.
Many had run from their killers to church buildings for safety. Many looked to the West to save them. Not but 20 feet from fresh mass graves the French played volleyball during their Operation Turquoise.
More than comprehending just the sheer volume of people that died I cannot understand how someone could so methodically plan such a massacre. But what are numbers of dead in Africa? It would seem that at least over one million must die before acknowledging that genocide is taking place.
Rwanda and Burundi are dealing with their respective genocides and ethnic differences in their own separate and very different ways. While I have my opinion these different approaches I want to express my belief in the unconditional love and hope of the Father. He is the great healer, and without Him all is lost. All the Western development money and political advice cannot and will not heal, if barely numb, the pain of human sorrow. Only He is able.
The Rwandan Genocide. I had flipped through the many pages of its dark literature, and most recently looked across the thousand hills where it unfolded its rage. But now, it invaded my unguarded senses full on.
twisted, maimed, disfigured bodies. Preserved in lime, the bodies looked almost alien to me. Yet the toes, fingers, and tufts of hair screamed of their once undeniable humanity. The severed ankles cried of the unmerited torture endured before their slow death. Some arms seems raised in an attempt to defend their life. Children. So many children.Classroom, after classroom, after classroom.
Many had run from their killers to church buildings for safety. Many looked to the West to save them. Not but 20 feet from fresh mass graves the French played volleyball during their Operation Turquoise.
More than comprehending just the sheer volume of people that died I cannot understand how someone could so methodically plan such a massacre. But what are numbers of dead in Africa? It would seem that at least over one million must die before acknowledging that genocide is taking place.
Rwanda and Burundi are dealing with their respective genocides and ethnic differences in their own separate and very different ways. While I have my opinion these different approaches I want to express my belief in the unconditional love and hope of the Father. He is the great healer, and without Him all is lost. All the Western development money and political advice cannot and will not heal, if barely numb, the pain of human sorrow. Only He is able.
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