My Photo Album and Journal - Botswana Summer 2005
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The following paragraphs, poems, and stories are entries from my Africa journal last summer.
June 16, 2005
Every time I read this poem it inspires me more and more. Thanks to my good friend, Chase, I now have a copy of it!
I read about how you touched them
and they were healed
or even if someone just touched your cloak
they were forever changed
you let a broken woman bathe your feet in her tears
and you washed your best friends' feet
I’m just wondering though…
did you ever just hug people?
I mean, I know it’s a silly question and all, I’m sure you would have… why wouldn’t you have? But its just one of those things that was never mentioned.
And it got me thinking about it.
And whenever there was a touch from you
sins were forgiven
and sickness fell
I think I’m caught up with all my sins
and last time I checked all my body parts are properly working
nothing special here.
I’m just a kid with a heavy heart these passing sunrises and sunsets.
I don’t think our encounter would have ended up in your gospel or anything
because all I really need is a hug
I mean, that’s okay for me to imagine right?
That’s not going to be conflicting with any sort of theology, is it?
Ok. Good.
Then hug me.
But not one of those sideways, one arm around the neck type hugs, or the ghetto, right hand, clasp fist, elbows to the chest, pat on the back, or the you put your right arm over my right arm and I put my left arm over your left arm and we make this weird sort of diagonal thing.
No.
None of those.
Bear hug me man.
Take your old school carpenter arms and throw them around my upper body leaving my arms dangling beneath yours somewhere and I can barely move because you’re squeezing me so hard.
But don’t pick me up and make my back pop, because I hate it when people do that.
And hold me.
Hold me in your arms until I start to cry.
Because I want to cry, but I just cant seem to do it on my own.
I’ve been teary-eyed once recently
but not even enough for a
drip
down
my
cheek.
There’s just hurt in my soul that needs to be purged
so hold me in this hugging pose
until the pain is flowing from my eyes and nose.
June 20, 2005
Hospital . . . the definition of our kind of hospital is a nice place that is always sterile and neat. You wait a long time to be seen, only to be placed in a nice room with a bed, TV. and plenty of medicine.
Today I learned the true definition of an African hospital. Fly infested place with a capacity of about 20 people but has thousands crowding in it. Dirt and water stains on the wall, cockroaches and wall spiders are in such multiple numbers it is beyond belief. The walls are rotting, it is impossible to tell the original color of the hospital. The people waiting are dying; they have such desperation for someone to care. These people have hit the rock bottom of their lives; they need the truth… Something to latch onto for dear life. The looks on the faces are haunting images in my head. There is so much you can do, but so little time. I have never seen so much hopelessness in my entire life. Seeing people on their death beds, shaking in screaming agony and there is no medical help for them! How can a hospital not even have enough medicine for one person? How can they turn away those most in need? As their family members are there mourning their eminent death, there is no comfort. Seeing the elderly, weak, distressed, it seems as if they had lived for nothing at all. The young, desperate, starving, deformed, discouraged, wondering why they had been brought into the world. I began to wonder, how could God abandon them? With all of this before my eyes it would be easy to lose hope, but God was still there. His love is offered, just waiting for them to take it. God offers such an amazing gift, but without someone sharing it, they can’t see it. I can't wait for someone else to show it. It is up to me to show it to them… “How then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent?” Romans 10:14. When people ask me what was Africa really like, I will tell them you must see it for yourself. It’s an experience you’d never forget.
July 8, 2005
Only God Knows Magdalene
An old woman sat upon the ground; her aged body was idle as she watched a group of foreigners come to her door. She welcomed them to her home with open arms. As she slowly maneuvered herself into some shade, you could feel the aching of her bones. They were worn with years of overuse. You could sense the years of deception that had built walls of spiritual isolation surrounding the hut. It had crept in like a snake . . . slowly, slithering, with it mind set upon destroying one thing. Not only was her body slowly deteriorating, but her spirit of hope was fading as well. The foreigners all had a concerned look come upon them. It was apparent that she was crippled. She was blinded by ten years of deception and physical handicap. Doctors tried to explain but there was no answer as to the reason why she was crippled. She had tried healing water, witch doctors, and many other superstitions . . . but there was never a real answer. Only God knows what happened in her forgotten past . . . only God knows. Reaching for her cane she tried to move again, barely being able to maneuver herself. When she spoke her voice came out in sweeping breaths.
Magdalene was her name; she told them how this ailment hindered her life. Knowing only one thing to do they prayed together for her healing. Commanding in the name of Christ for the pain to leave her aged body . . . now singing and praying in agreement their voices rose, strengthening each other. She began to sing along . . . she stood up and danced to the song! Frozen in amazement . . . tears welled up in one of the foreigners eyes . . . soon enough hot tears ran down all of the foreigner’s cheeks. She sang louder praising God. For only he, the one and only God had made himself so evident to everyone. Through the healing of Magdalene new abundant faith was restored in the foreigners. Her bones were like new, her muscles restored. Magdalene knew there was now only one answer . . . God. That day . . . her life changed. In turn she changed the lives of the foreigners . . . one in particular . . . me. Only God knows the thoughts that raced through her head, revealing a new life . . . Only God knows.
July 13, 2005
When I was asked to lead discipleship class for my team by my team leader, Genese, I was excitedly nervous! I was sick to my stomach, but thank God Tshiti let me pay her to use her cell phone to call my parents and ask for prayer; that helped a lot!
I had been preparing to teach all day, but my stomach was trying to prepare for something else. I was so happy that Mandela was translating for me. He is so amazing! On our way there (my whole team had come) our truck broke down. Stranded, Genese told me to get my stuff because now only Genese, Mandela, and I were going. We arrived 15 minutes late, there were about 20 people waiting for us to arrive. More and more began showing up as I began my lesson. To tell you the truth I don’t even remember what I said. Before I had begun the lesson I had given it all up to God. I told Him I will not speak, but that I was relying on Him to speak through me. Throughout the lesson I felt a quiet peace cover me, my stomach was calm and the words were flowing out of my mouth. Finally at the end I asked if anyone wanted to receive Christ, and every person raised their hands immediately! I was so happy! That night, through me, a simple teenager, God brought many people to Himself. It was so amazing; my team leader told me afterwards that she hasn’t heard many people speak with that kind of grace before. I looked her straight in the eyes and said that it was not me at all. Thanks to everyone at home praying for me that night, God worked a miracle!
July 17, 2005
A Living Miracle
Wandering street after broken street aimlessly he has no where to go. He is lost in a world of hopelessness. His rugged clothes are infested with holes from years of wear. Shoeless . . . his feet are cracked with dry skin . . . dirt is incrusted deep . . . covered in multiple wounds from who knows what. He was left unwanted in a cruel world, surrounded in loneliness. The scar on his head reveals a painful past of surgeries. His eyes being a useless tool, he wandered.
From the moment my eyes caught sight of him, he captured my heart. When the sea of African children raced to me like a roaring wave; he was almost trampled. His soft voice cried out for help. I reached down and picked him up. He stayed with me the entire day, he never spoke a word of English but I kept him in my arms. Finally by the end of the day when the other kids were leaving, I grabbed my favorite translator, Mandela. We sat down and began to talk with him.
His name was (click) Tne, he was a native of the Bushmen River Tribe. He was a blind orphan, who was successfully recovering from a brain tumor. Hearing this, my heart was ripped out and shattered into innumerable pieces. Speaking with him was one of the most life changing moments I’ve ever had. Surprisingly, he knew God; he told me more and more of his knowledge of Jesus. I had an urgent need to pray with him. As I prayed, I was giving him bits and pieces of my heart. I began to cry, one of my tears dropped on his hand, he recognized what it was. He told us he had felt that many times. He whispered in my ear… “No need to worry, my life is in God’s hands, and He knows what He is doing.” He knew God could heal him and that it was all in God’s hands. This touched me so deeply; I squeezed this severely mal-nourished 11 year old Bushmen boy. He continued to speak but the rest was a haze, he blew me away. He had spiritual maturity beyond many Christians I know today. God gave him such wisdom and grace in his words. I began to fall in love with this boy; he captured and kept my heart. The love of Christ invaded our relationship that week. It became so evident to me that from the time I met (click) Tne to the moment we parted that God had been kind enough to give me a glimpse of a true living miracle.
July 22, 2005
Walking down these familiar streets . . . seeing the desperate faces of poverty. Sad to say, but I feel like I am getting used to seeing raggedy children and thousands of broken down homes. How can the world come to this? How sad can it get? When I was speaking with one of my teammates, they told me that they don’t feel anything when they see this. I can’t believe that people’s hearts aren’t shocked every time we get in our busses and travel to see such things. Maybe natural self-protection to be indifferent to seeing people almost starved to death has taken hold so that such things do not hinder them. I want to know how people can see all this and refuse do a single thing about it! How sad can it get when you have to walk away from things like this because you can’t handle it. How sad is it when you ignore such things because you don’t want to be uncomfortable. Not being able to do enough about this is what I cannot handle. I then realized that when you don’t have a passion for what you are doing you will not believe in your cause. But having these feelings just confirms my calling, to be a servant to those in need. This is my future.
July 25, 2005
See the Beauty
Beauty surrounds us. Everywhere you look . . . it is there. Whether it is standing on a hill, watching an African sunrise while the breeze carries leaves and aromas that caress you. Whether it is the ocean at your feet and the waves carry a spray that cools your body. Whether it is standing at the foot of a deep forest with a moist air, and hearing the noises of the animals that inhabit it. Whether it is a painted sky that had too many colors to count and shapes of far away lands and mystical creatures. Whether it is at the top of a mountain with the clouds so close you can touch them, and a valley of grass below you. Whether it is the faces of children laughing, and playing . . . the sweet chirps of their voices. Whether it is a mother’s love for her child, something no one can explain. Whether it is such a simple thing as a loved ones voice that you can recognize anywhere. Whether it is the connection between best friends that can never be broken. Whether it is absolute strangers helping those in need. Beauty surrounds us . . . everywhere you look . . . it is there.
August 5, 2005
Homesick
Loneliness . . . a single word with a thousand meanings. The word especially comes up when away from home. When you are in an unfamiliar place, with no recognizable faces, I call this homesickness.
Though for me I am homesick constantly, I have a sickness that no one can understand. Continually in a tug-of-war of feelings, my heart screams out for contentment. A contentment that can only be accomplished within years of earnest work. With these feelings in my head I’m always in a whirlwind, it is hard to think straight at times. I believe that there are many different kinds of homesickness, and I experience all of them.
First . . . That sudden urge to see your loved ones. When separated for an extended time it begins to eat away at your concentration on the mission. With every exciting moment there's still a longing and tugging in your heart.
Second . . . That breathtaking and shocking moment when you enter an entirely new world. When you go from total opposite ends of the earth not only literally, but economically as well. I have this urge to go back to a simple life, to forget the selfish past I used to live . . . the selfish past we all lived, and still do. Not wanting to leave such a wonderful place; the stars every night . . . the singing of African children whose music is carried to the heavens . . . the hearts of the people you meet . . . the people you pray for . . . the songs of the birds every morning . . . the African sunsets and sunrises.
