Joyful Girl

I am a joyful girl.

My smiles are genuine and my laughter is true.

I play my best for Him, pa-rum-pa-pum-pum.

Jerusalem

"United States of America, it looks like another sigh tonight."
- Casting Crowns, Jerusalem

"Are we human, or are we dancers?"

For a couple weeks now, I've danced my way through the day :)

I almost always belt it out and play the 'drums' while dancing in my car whenever I drive for more than a couple minutes. I love hip hop and I love the oldies.

I dance to the ooh-la-la music in my head in Tucker 404 right after seminar when Brittany tells me her husband is getting off work early so they'll have a special evening.

To celebrate the exciting Teach For America news, I did a little yahoo!! victory & appreciation dance.

Whenever Amanda is visiting, I can't helped but express her contagious spiritual joy through a little dance.

Sometimes when I run, I feel like I'm dancing. Oh the peace of early morning runs.

And lately, I am seeing that not only have things gotten better, they are so much better than they were before.
Just like Ashley said.

The Adventure continues!

Drum roll, please :)

. . .

I found out last night at exactly 6:43PM - with Connor looking over my shoulder in eager anticipation - that I have been extended an invitation to join the 2010 Teach For America corps!!
My offer is to teach secondary mathematics (grades 7-12) in the D.C. Region! Ha! Oh, the divine intervention throughout it all!
The D.C. Region includes the District of Columbia and Prince George's County, Maryland. I was placed in the district. I'll begin interviewing with principals in March and I'll train all summer in Philadelphia before beginning my teaching assignment at either a public or charter middle or high school in the amazing DC!

I am so grateful! So blessed! So excited! So nervous!

WASHINGTON, D.C. for the next TWO YEARS . . . here I come!

Much more to come about all this.

-

PS: I'm now 22 years old. Wow. Old fart.

In real life.

Today I feel everything. I feel excited, optimistic, joyful, grateful, and loved ... nervous, anxious, lonely, cautious, melancholy, yearning.

I feel good about work. I regularly make home visits and meet with teachers and understand the alphabet soup that is Special Ed. lingo. I attend leadership meetings at alternative-to-suspension schools and write so many case notes and call moms and dads and make referrals and prepare for supervision. I enjoy my internship and am learning so much, but I don't think I'll have a career in school social work or in special education. Nothing against SSW or SWD (School Social Work or Students With Disabilities) whatsoever - I love them. This just isn't my calling. I like my Teach For America job/internship, but marketing, advertising, recruiting, data input and analysis, etc. aren't what really excites me, either. I can do this stuff just fine. Heck, I'm probably doing it decently well. But Emma Goldmen once said, "If I can't dance, it's not my revolution." Yeah, so I'm still waiting to hear the beat, I guess.

-

It has been so hard to write in weeks past. Life is flying by. When I sit down to write, I don't know where to begin because so much has happened - so many experiences and thoughts every single day. And it's the little things I want to communicate to you, to the few who happen upon this blog from time to time. How do I choose which little things to write? It is the little things that are important in life. I'll remember the little things. It's just like Robin Williams says in Good Will Hunting when he's talking to Matt Damon about learning to trust in his new relationship, even if it means he could hurt in the end. For the first time in a year, I watched the movie while drinking coffee and relaxing after an 8 mile run. (Yesterday was a fabulous Sunday, btw.) During that scene in the movie, I remembered the last time I watched it and who I saw it with and I became overwhelmed with a sudden, unexpected sadness. No, I don't hurt anymore - I believe genuine healing started to really sink in around late May or early June. Most days, I love life and I love what lays ahead because I know it is so good, just like what was before. But yesterday I felt a distant and hard sadness for the indefinite loss of that great friendship. In another life, we'll all be perfect friends.

Anyways, Good Will Hunting is and always will be my all time favorite movie. Matt Damon is ... perfecto :o) Dear Future Husband, will you please be wicked smaht and haandsome like Matt Damon and say your 'r's' all funny? Ha, I'm a girl - I'm allowed to be superficial sometimes. So in my alter ego life, I'm a girl genius from Southy/Boston. In my alter ego life, I'm the rocker chic and punk that I dressed up as for Halloween. (I really liked wearing all black and heavy eye make up and a bandana!) In my alter ego life, I'm the amazing athletic tennis star who never got hurt and who played all four years at this Div. I school. In my alter ego life, I'm a prolific writer and budding theologian like Dorothy Day or CS Lewis. In my alter ego life, I sing opera and jam out on the guitar and master Beethoven and Chopin. In my alter ego life, I paint O'Keefe's. In my alter ego life, I'm a hip hop dancer, a prima ballerina, a master at the Charleston swing, and an actress on Broadway. In my alter ego life.

In real life, I meet with a couple of college girls each week and listen to them flesh out their walk with the Lord and offer two cents and a prayer now and again. In real life, I find peace when I run miles at dawn. In real life, I'm granted permission into the worlds of families in Athens as they trust me to help and serve them in times of strong need; I learn so much about schools and families and poverty and Education and loving neighbors. In real life, I learn about the utter perversion of humanity's sexual abuse and exploitation, find the wherewithall to pray about it, and am granted the courage to fight it through intercession and outreach. In real life, I can finally eat a piece of chocolate cake and not feel tremendously guilty. In real life, I have an absolutely beautiful and amazing family whom I love with all of me. In real life, I have a small handful of great friends. In real life, I laugh at myself singing along to the Phantom of the Opera, dancing in front of the mirror to Black Eyed Peas, and acting out random words in games of Catch-Phrase and Charades. In real life, I am known, and that matters. In real life.



In real life I smile and I am my Father's daughter.

Oct. 4 - 10

Words cannot express!

Education

I applied first deadline to Teach For America. I found out last night that I get to bypass the phone interview stage and have been invited to attend the final, in-person day-long interview. Yay! Over the next couple weeks, I'll need to figure out my region and grade & content area preferences. I've always said I wanted to do high school English in a large urban area like NYC, Chicago, DC, or Atlanta. I think I still feel this way, but I've recently become much more open to the possibility of a rural region like the Mississippi Delta or South Louisiana. Why? Because the need in these regions is at least as great if not greater than the need in urban areas. Because the possibility of impact is greater in a rural or small town community. I might have the opportunity to start a soccer team at an urban middle school, but it's likely I'd have the opportunity to start a soccer league in one of the rural communities. I love I love I love the city - it has been my passion for the last 3-4 years at least, but somehow I'm feeling tugged to seriously look into rural and small town America. We'll see!

By the time children growing up in low-income communities are in the 4th grade, they are already three full grade levels behind their peers in, say, Johns Creek. You know what this means? It means 9 year-old little Johnny in Nowswhereville, MS is reading "See Spot Run" when little 9 year-old Suzy in Suburbia, GA is reading Harry Potter. Fifty percent of children growing up in low-income communities will graduate from high school. That's ONE out of every TWO. Those that do graduate will read, on average, at an 8th grade level. One in ten will graduate from college. Why are more of us not enraged by this reality? We spend so much time blaming this-that-and-the-other politician and policy in our discussions of the current economic crisis; maybe we should spend more time tending to our nation's educational crisis. I honestly believe education is the key to it all - to breaking from the cycle of poverty, to realizing one's career goals, to effecting legitimate, lasting social and economic change, to reducing the crime, teen pregnancy, and substance abuse rates, the key to it all.

Like I'm Living

He's singing a song over me.

"Make a promise to me now
Reassure my heart somehow
that the love that I feel
is so much more real
than anything.
I have a feeling in my soul
and I pray that I'm not wrong
And that the life I have now,
it is only the beginning
It feels like I'm born again.
It feels like I'm living
for the very first time." - Third Day

One of the first teachings at Redeemed was on claiming our identities in Christ. The lesson included several Scriptural references to our being "born again." Prior to this teaching, I had always been somewhat skeptical of these metaphors. It's not that I didn't believe what is clearly in the Bible, but that these verses tended to be difficult for me to truly internalize. After the teaching, independent study, and prayer, I started to believe and accept and internalize it more than ever. My identity is a new creation.. Old = gone; new = here, and radiant. I am not the same as I was, and nothing can change who I am... who He says I am. I am His and I am known. And so I feel like I'm living and it feels like I'm born again. I've got this unexplainable energy and inspiration; I've got an explosion of life within me.

Happy Joy

I called in sick today. I am never one to miss if I don't absolutely have to. (Insert negative self - talk : ending previous sentence with preposition. Ugh!) But today, I didn't absolutely have to miss. Yes, I was beyond beyond beyond exhausted. And yes, I woke up sweating and feeling hot with a slight fever. And yes, I was achey all over. But I wasn't actively "sick." I don't have the swine flu. But I called work and said I was sick and that I was sorry and that I'd be back Monday. (I work M, T, Th). I slept ALL day, from 11PM last night until about 2PM today. Straight. (Okay, I got up for food twice.) I think my body needed sleep more than it ever has in the past. I feel ... happy. It is absolutely incredible what sleep can do for the body. I feel so refreshed.

I decided that I MUST get out of this constant stress, this panicky mindset full of anxiety that hangs over me like the most thunderous of dark clouds, or I will simply crash and burn. Crashing and burning does not have to be inevitable.

I am trying to reframe the way I perceive events in my life, and I'm relearning to choose joy. For example, rather than focusing on the 'scariness' of presenting at the Relay For Life Exec. Board meeting last night, I focused on the awesome opportunity I had to share with these wonderful, high-achieving men and women about Teach For America and how they can effect change on our nation's schools. I was still nervous and I still stuttered once or twice, but overall, it was an enjoyable experience.

I am remembering that ... Joy is an attitude, a state of mind. Happiness is circumstantial.
I might not always be happy, but I will choose joy.

Here's to choosing joy, enjoying the happiness that ebbs and flows, and taking care of ourselves so that we may serve, love, and empower others.

Stressed is desserts spelled backwards.

Stressed = Desserts. Ha. That is ironically appropriate.
I AM SO STRESSED OUT!
But life is very good. I should not complain. I am blessed with work, school, opportunity, friends, and family.
(Then why do I feel so lonely sometimes?)

A day in the life:

5:30 - wake to "Door Bell" alarm on my phone;
6:00 - 7:15 - shower, [professional] dress, coffee, cereal & banana, e-mailS, gather 3 bags to hold all my junk!, drive to work;
8:00 - arrive at the H.T. Edwards Building, walk to SSW offices;
8:10 - check [work] e-mail. (20 new e-mails since last night?);
8:30 - Child Find screenings set-up;
9:00 - begin intake assessments for mothers of 3 year olds who may qualify for special education services;
9:45 - realize I don't know how to politely move a client on in the intake questionnaire because it's 45 minutes later and we're still talking about how she didn't even want to get pregnant; make a mental note to learn assertive facilitation skills later;
10:35 - do a D-3 for the psychologist because we're behind and short-staffed. (I don't know how to do a D-3, nor am I qualified, but I read it over quickly and successfully complete the cognitive / social-emotional / adaptive-behavioral assessment portions);
11:15 - feel sad that one mother brought her 7 year old DHH son to this preschool screening;
12:30 - team meeting during lunch; check TFA and UGA e-mails during lunch while taking notes on each case; create a professional development self-reflection doc. in 15 minutes (due EOB!);
1:45 - input data into campus student information system;
2:00 - home visit with supervisor to find out why child has been sleeping at school so much; see the power has been cut off in home for weeks; get pit in my stomach from realizing a DFCS report may be necessary in a few months when it's cold and there's still no electricity;
3:15 - review last week's YES Committee case notes; can't make sense of child sexual abuse cases...
4:00 - leave work;
5:00 - meet K and A for discipleship/counseling; listen to them pour out their hearts; try to be an encouragement; try to offer wisdom; teach on identity;
6:15 - drive to Teach For America team meeting; get snack and diet coke on the way;
6:55 - arrive
7:00 - receive J's call; put us on conference; realize one member is still absent; try to cover for him;
7:10 - review deliverables; discuss SLX tracking systems; plan for presentation at RLF exec. board meeting tomorrow;
9:15 - leave team meeting;
9:30 - get home, talk with roommate;
10:15 - crappy junky carb filled overeating dinner;
10:30 - respond to UGA, TFA, Redeemed, and CCSD e-mails;
11:00PM - start homework;
1:30AM - bed.

Where is Kelley in all this?

Repeat...
5:30 - wake.

I can't do this much longer.
I crave sleep.

Desserts?

Facts.

Here are the facts:

_I am a college senior.
_I work 25 hours per week as a school social work intern (unpaid) and 10-15 hours per week as a campus recruiter for Teach For America (paid). I am carrying the requisite SOWK load 17 hrs of classes. I am committed to serving as a student leader for the Wesley Foundation three nights per week.
_By the grace of God, (maybe?), I am operating at the speed of light.
_I am becoming a Microsoft Outlook and Microsoft Excel wizard.
_I know how to file a Child Abuse & Neglect report with DFCS.
_I am 21 years old.
_I have learned SO MUCH about special education programs and laws and met many families with children with all kinds of developmental delays and disabilities and disorders. I don't often focus on the "dis" part of their 'situations', but on the incredible and inspiring strengths that I see in them. This is a true fact.
_At least 40 new acronyms and their meanings have committed themselves to my memory and daily vocabulary usage.
_Working with families who've experienced or who are experiencing domestic violence, child sexual abuse, child physical abuse, and/or child neglect is umpteen million times harder than you'd ever think.
_For the first time in my life, I am having to continuously improve/rethink/adjust my organizational and time management systems and skills, respectively.
_I wake up between 5:00-6:00AM every day except Saturday.
_My favorite part of each day is when I run.
_It is September 8th, 2009.
_I ran a great 10K yesterday, on September 7th, or Labor Day. It was all uphill. Metaphor appropriate.
_Conference calls aren't just something grown-ups do; they're something I do twice per week.
_I regularly use words and phrases like, "deliverables" and "contributing actionable feedback" and "moving forward..." and "best practices" and "strategic but aggressive marketing" and "progress reviews" and "data-based decisions."
_I am procrastinating right now . . . I should be prepping for a meeting in 33 minutes.
_I have some interesting questions about my faith, lately.
_Too many of these sentences started with "I".
_I miss the refugee families that I worked with all summer. Kumar called last night. He said, "Yeah, so, it is me, Kumar; I am wanting to hear you, Kelley. You are not calling us and I am missing you very much so please, be calling us soon." Esther sent me a text message the other day that said, "It is me, Esther. When we meet? I am missing you."
_I left my computer charger at home yesterday. Crap.
_I have three e-mail accounts and two voice mails to check every day.
_I am trying to reframe things so as not to feel stressed out, anxious, overwhelmed, etc. all the time. It is working alright so far.
_I love discipleship, both the discipling (pouring out) and the getting discipled (receiving in) parts.
_I've been challenged to actually observe the Sabbath this year. On the very first week of this challenge, I failed miserably.
_Two people very close to me are currently experiencing heart ache and hurt. It hurts to see them hurt. Their situation has, amongst other things, served as a catalyst to get me praying again. Funny how God works.
_Life is beautiful. (Is it? Or is that just something people say? After the YES! Committee meeting / hearing today, I'm not so sure.)
_God is beautiful.

Whoa

I am exhausted and I am really stressed out. When I lay in bed at night, I find my mind is racing, my heart is pounding, and my breathing is gradually becoming more and more labored. (Am I having mini panic attacks every other night!?) I asked a close friend and great mentor how I'd know if I was too busy, and he said that the mere fact that I am wondering if I am too busy is an indication that I am already too busy. I don't know how this happened; I didn't commit to anything frivolous or for the sake of buffering my resume or on behalf of a friend. No, my involvement at school/internship, at work, and in the church are all purposeful. The things that take up my time (and money!) are things and people and places I care deeply about (i.e. Redeemed Ministries, Teach For America, school social work). Yet, I want to cry at the end of each day. At the end of a good number of days, I actually do cry. I had an in-depth conversation on my way back from the Teach For America CCC training in Atlanta to my apartment in Athens ... it was an hour-long conversation between me and ... me. (That's just not normal.)

I set my alarm for 4:30AM tomorrow. I've gotta run. I've gotta prep for work and I've gotta read. Oh yeah, and I've "gotta" spend time with the Lord. (You know I don't view quiet times as a "gotta do" thing...)

After I finish this venting blog, I'm going to bed. I haven't checked my work e-mails since Thursday, and I've yet to finish organizing everything for school, Redeemed, and DT. It must not be a coincidence that on week number ONE of DT with Ashley in this year of the absurdly busy schedule, she suggested / challenged me to actually observe the sabbath. God is speaking. I better not be " too busy " to listen. (Whoa, conviction ... reality check.)

Each time I end these things with a "more later! I promise" and each time my mind is left racing and spinning of the people and families and stories and heartcries and love and craziness and pressure and burdens and experiences and opportunities of every single day. What more can I say?

Moore Beginnings

Life has been a whirlwind lately. In the past three and a half months, I've jumped from the end of my junior year to serving at an orphanage in Moshi, Tanzania to a traveling for a week throughout the Serengeti National Parks to climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro for six days to interning with World Relief in Stone Mountain, GA and working with refugees from all over the world for eight weeks to my present location in lovely Athens, GA, i.e. the start of my senior year of college. Whoa! This year I'll be interning with the Clarke County School District in the School Social Work Department. I had my orientation on Thursday and found out I've been placed with a supervisor who focuses primarily on special education. I'm excited about this because I've had relatively little experience in this specialty area. While I've worked and volunteered a considerable amount with early and late adolescents from the roles of tutor, teacher, mentor, counselor, and discipler and while I've had the opportunity to learn about and assist teenagers with various problem sets ranging from homelessness to teenage pregnancy to drug addiction to learning disabilities, I have but one semester of assistant 'teaching' in a special-needs pre-K classroom and just a few hours of volunteer teaching tennis to a group of adults with Down Syndrome. So, this year should be a great year of learning new things and being stretched and challenged!

In addition to the 25 hr/wk internship, I'll be taking 17 hrs of classes. They're all 5000-level SOWK classes: the curriculum for seniors in the BSW program is the same as it is for first-years in the MSW program. I'm taking (1) Research Methods; (2) Generalist Practice II; (3) Field Education / Senior Seminar; (4) Child Abuse and Neglect. Again, should be a great opportunity to learn. Does that sound cheesy? I think it does, but it is the truth. This is what I want to do with my life - serve and empower children, adolescents, and families who are experiencing a host of difficulties in their lives. I'm still not sure exactly what this will look like or in what capacity I might be called to serve, but I am grateful to gain skills that will help me be more effective in effecting change.

Beyond school, the 2009-2010 academic year will be ... full. I'm working as a Campus Campaign Coordinator for Teach For America. Along with three other CCCs and our Recruitment Director, I'll be recruiting top seniors at UGA to apply to the corps to close the achievement gap and strive towards educational justice. While I haven't decided for sure, it seems pretty likely that I will apply to the corps myself. If at all possible, I'd like to at least get my application in by September. That way I can have a few options on the table when/if I want to consider other options like graduate school and/or overseas service. One of the big choices I'll have to make in my application is in which regions I preference. Part of me wants to check the box, "Place me where I'm most needed / place me anywhere," and part of me wants to list the cities [ I think ] I most want to teach in; ex: DC, NYC, Atlanta, Chicago, LA, Twin Cities, Philadelphia, etc. More blog entries about Teach For America, educational justice, the achievement gap, our nation's civil rights "issue" of this era, and more to come in the coming weeks, I promise!

Other adventures and opportunities and responsibilities and privileges and burdens upon which to pray:

--> Leadership with Wesley:
** Getting discipled by the one and only . . . Ashley!
** Disciping two sophomore girls! (SO EXCITED!)
** Leading with/through Redeemed on behalf of girls and women in the sex industry [in any and every capacity] in Athens and Atlanta; guiding the community in prayer; interceding for the women; participating and leading outreaches; raising awareness; loving;
** Wednesday night leadership prayer and service; praying for and interceding on behalf of Wesley, the UGA campus - students and faculty, the city of Athens

--> Serving as a volunteer counselor / mentor at the Wellspring & Redeemed Emergency Housing Shelter for women exiting the sex industry [in any and every capacity]
** Updating and contributing to case notes;
** LOVE; prayer; discussion;
** Practical, logistic help such as transporting the women to doctor's appointments, drug screenings, etc.
** LOVE; prayer; discussion!!

------------

Oh my goodness... there is still so much more to write and I seem to have so little time! I will try harder.
Pray for me; I will pray for you!

Only An Official End

My internship with World Relief ended on Friday. It was a lot harder to leave than I expected. I got to know the families so well- they trusted me with their very lives [ at times ] and depended on me for everything from food to doctors' appointments to learning American cultural practices. The series of pictures from Aug. 2 are from dinners and outings of the past week that I had with 3-4 of the families that I became closest to. I invited my friend Anne and my friend Amanda to eat dinner with myself and the [ Nepali ] Poudels and the [ Iraqi ] Hamas, respectively. A volunteer, Amy, and I took the Somali family to downtown Atlanta and taught them how to use the MARTA bus and rail system.

I'm really struggling that I didn't get to see Esther before my internship ended. I went to visit her in the hospital on Tuesday, but she was in surgery. I couldn't do Wednesday night because I was already working overtime for Kristine and didn't finish until about 8PM. Thursday and Friday were dinners with families and other goodbyes. Though my internship has officially ended, I am still praying for her. I want her to get better. I pray for her heart to literally, physically heal. Hearing her testimony and the boldness of her faith in Christ is absolutely humbling. Her strength is contagious- ironic considering she weighs in at maybe 85 lbs after a Thanksgiving feast with all her clothes and a pair of boots on. I feel like there is still a lot for me to learn from her and her family. I miss the Monger's already, and I don't ever want the relationships with families in Clarkston and Stone Mountain and Decatur that I have so graciously had the opportunity to become a part of to fade away into memories of one of my college summers of interning. Friday was just official. Inshallah, the sharing and the relationships will never end.

Just words, and I have so few.

Stories to come, for now, pictures will speak for my lost voice.

Excerpts Upon Us

At the onset of sudden, torrential rains today, the Nepali man whom I was visiting remarked, "Oh, it seems the rainy season is now upon us."

On Tuesday, I drove the passenger van to the Perdue Chicken factory in Perry, GA. Perry is 117 miles from the World Relief office. That means the refugees who work there commute 2 hours EACH WAY (by MARTA, busses, and walking) every single day to provide for their families. Some of them work the night shift and then go to school during the day to try to better their opportunities for themselves and ultimately, for their families. I commented to a Sudanese man that working the night shift and going to school during the day must be very difficult and tiring. This man, Suleiman, who is an eye-witness to the crimes of genocide in Darfur and who was flown to Prague to testify at the ICC, quietly and simply replied, "Miss Kelley, I have done many difficult things in my time. I am happy to work and go to school."

This morning I took Esther to her pediatric pulmonology appointment. On Monday, she has a follow-up with the pediatric cardiologist. Her two weeks in the hospital for TB and pleural effusion were well spent - she has minimal post-surgery pain, a great prognosis, and an incredible and contagious joy. Her family and relatives, by the way, are refugees precisely because they are Christians. You know how the Apostle Paul talks about enduring prison, beatings, and persecution? And you know how many Western Christians try to make sense of that with respect to their own lives? Esther's family didn't have to try hard to make Paul's writings relevant. Bhutan does not allow any organized religion; when Esther's father (a pastor) refused to deny Christ, he was imprisoned and beaten. Praise the Lord, he and his family are here today, praising the Lord in freedom and praying for their brothers and sisters in Nepal and Bhutan.

Yesterday I set up home phone service for three families, all Iraqis. The mother in one of the families is the most welcoming, huge-hearted, give-you-a-bear-hug-that-completely-smothers-you-type woman I've ever met. She's a big lady with messy hair and a loud, raspy voice. When I arrived, I slipped off my shoes at the mat, greeted her with "Aasalaamu Aleikum" and received a "Wa-Aleikum Aassalaam!" This woman assures herself, anyone in her presence, and Allah himself that she wants only what Allah wills, for she utters, "In šāʾ Allāh," or "إن شاء الله" in Arabic (God willing) after every other word. Literally. Have you ever read Greg Mortenson's book, Three Cups of Tea? The title comes from the cultural practice in many Middle Eastern cultures wherein one does not talk business or anything of serious concern until the third cup of tea has been served. One cup of tea is for greetings and small talk, a second cup is for other/family matters, and the third cup is over formal matters. I wanted to discuss her AT&T plan and details of a job application, but she would NOT talk about this or anything else work related until I ate the full plate of rice, vegetables, and chicken with a cup of hot tea that she whipped up in five minutes. Though I was especially full since I had just eaten my own lunch, and was thus a little physically uncomfortable, I love this aspect of their culture. I wish Americans would adopt the practice of treating the guest as the king/queen and serving tea, coffee, fruit, etc. immediately upon the guest's arrival, and only after a time of relaxation and mutual niceties begin to discuss matters. Over my second cup of tea, we talked about my family and my brothers and sisters. I told her I had two brothers but no sisters, and she said, "My daughter, you have always two sisters who will love you and an extra mama here for you to make you good and fat; yes, we are here, always." She was referring, of course, to her own daughters and to herself. She asked if I wanted to get married and have children one day. "Yes, absolutely. I don't know when, but someday, In šāʾ Allāh, God will bring me a man who is perfect for me and will bless us with several children." ( I think it is INCREDIBLE that I, as a believer in and proclaimer of Christ as the living Son of God, can talk about God, His blessings, and matters of faith to a devoutly Muslim woman. )

A young wife and mother from Baghdad became very anxious when I told her she had a visitor coming to drop off some gifts from the World Relief donation basement because she could not see if the visitor was a man or woman and was afraid she would not have enough time to cover her head and put on a third layer of robes if the guest was a man. As a follower of one of the most conservative sects of Islam and under the strict rules of her husband, she may only be seen by her husband and friends who are women when she is without her coverings. This woman is breathtakingly stunning. Absolutely gorgeous. She is a gem, a jewel, a beautiful daughter of the King. But she does not know it. Through the language and cultural barrier, I can recognize insecurity and low-esteem when I see it because I know what that looks and feels like. Often, I am in that place myself... I pray for Zinah to know that she is worth saving, and to experience the freedom that is hers. She needs counseling for PTSD because she was in the buildings when a set of bombs exploded in Baghdad. I wish I could speak Arabic so I could get to the heart of things with her. I take comfort, though, knowing that I can pray for her. I take comfort and I experience joy, though, when I see that a smile, laughter, jokes, and silly faces are the same in all languages.

Last week an Iraqi man and a Sudanese man asked me to explain the difference between a cowboy and a redneck, and wanted to know when it was OK to call someone a redneck to his face. ("To his face? Pretty much, never.")

Tomorrow I'm taking one of my Somali families downtown Atlanta to show them how to use MARTA and the bus system. Abdi is the one who asked me to take him to my "social area" to speak with my father to "discuss a marriage proposal." Abdi and I get along great now :-)

Six Sudanese men live together in one apartment, and every time I visit, they serve me three oranges and two cans of Coke. I don't tell them I am afraid to drink regular Coke because of the sugar content, so I always tell them I will drink it on my way home. I normally eat 1 or 2 of the oranges and bring the 3rd back to the office with the Cokes for my coworkers. Mohamed and Abd Alla tested positive for methamphetamines on their drug screen at their job processing at the chicken factory. They weren't kickin' back on pain killers for the hell of it, though; they'd gotten teeth extracted a day or so before and the dentist prescribed them codeine. Unfortunately, they didn't think to tell us about their medicine, so now we're not sure if they'll be able to get jobs. I asked Yousif why there were almost all Sudanese men and very few Sudanese women here. "They kill all women and children and men. Boys run. We were boys. Now we men." Damn. Just damn.

Two young Somali men asked to be moved to the next apartment complex over where their mother and sisters will be placed next week when they arrive. I asked why they wanted to move, and they said that this other apartment complex is dangerous and "dominated by black criminals." (Keep in mind these men are black men themselves.) I asked them to explain further. They said they had heard of an incident in this other village, and that they wanted to move out of their current village so that they could protect their mother and sisters in this village that hosts many dangerous black men. I was at a loss for words . . . (though I think it's hilarious that they refer to apartment complexes as villages.)

I know A LOT about the conflicts in Sudan, Bhutan, Iraq, and Somalia. More than I ever could have hoped to learn in a classroom.

I'm learning that I love learning Arabic and experiencing the Middle Eastern culture, particularly Iraqis. I also absolutely adore and love all of my Nepali families. They. Are. Incredible. Too much for words.

It's all just too much for words.

deefekilt

Every day, something happens that triggers this mental note, "Kelley! You HAVE to write about this when you get home!" But then, something else will happen and then another something later in the afternoon. Pretty soon, I'll have learned and experienced more things in one day than I could adequately depict in a 1,000 word blog entry. I don't know where to start or how to end. Perhaps I must write a book. Or commit myself to writing blog entries almost every day, and then compile them into some massive journal. Between the stories I'm compiling and memories I'm making with the refugees through this internship at World Relief, and the experiences I'm encountering with the women coming out of the sex trade and staying at the emergency housing shelter, and the soon-to-come lessons learned from my time as an intern with the Clarke County School District, I have so much to write about.

I feel privileged that I get to know these people and be a part of their lives, if only for a few hours, days, or weeks. I know that I am blessed to be in a position to serve and love them, and to be served and loved by them. Every day I see the face of Jesus in the families with whom I work. Every day I learn a little more about how to love like Jesus loved. Every day I make mistakes and am (at times) selfish and proud, but, every day I am extended grace and continue to learn in love. Does that sound cheesy? Maybe, but it is true.

Even though I spent three months in some of the rougher (i.e. poorer, crime-ridden) parts of Washington, D.C. last summer, and even though I was one of four leaders charged with the daunting task of leading ~60 teenagers & their adult leaders and providing meaningful service opportunities for them in the district, it is only through this job in this city with these people that I feel I have truly stepped into the 'real world' of adulthood (whatever that means). I do things like activate food stamp cards, chance the PCP because a client is on PeachState and not WellCare Medicaid, take clients to get their social security cards, argue with DDS employees, drive 12-passenger vans to the chicken plant and check IDs and tax forms so they can get processed, teach families how to comparison shop at Thriftown, apply for waivers for the $50 deposit for home phone service, get money orders cheaper at the gas station across the street, put clubs on the cars we drive, explain to families why they really can trust the police and why they must not use their AK-47s to defend themselves, and so, so much more.

Sometimes my job feels like a scene out of the controversial and immensely popular film, Borat. (Ex: Upon discovering and attempting to use a water fountain for the first time, a young Nepali woman said, "Ooohhh, dees eez very deefekilt." ... also: "No, I cannot take you to my special social area for you to meet with my father to discuss a marriage proposal on my behalf.") Other times I feel like I'm an interviewer for the National Geographic or New York Times. (Ex: a Sudanese man is a witness to the crimes of genocide in Darfur and is being flown to Prague to testify at the ICC.) Occasionally I feel like a taxi driver. (Ex: every Tuesday morning I drive the passenger van full of refugees to get their social security cards; frequently I drive them to get groceries, to doctor appointments, etc.) Sometimes I feel like an interpreter. (Ex: Apparently some of the doctors from the CDC don't know how to speak slow, broken English. So I listened to them in regular, educated English and spoke to a client in the hospital for TB in slow, broken English.)
Always I know that THIS - assisting my two supervising case managers and working with these Iraqi, Bhutanese/Nepali, Somali, and Burmese families - THIS what I'm supposed to be doing this summer. Even when it is hard and stressful and overwhelming, it is good, and it is right.

I see the nations.
I see Him.

535,600 minutes

Five-hundred thirty-five thousand / six-hundred minutes. How do you measure / a year in the life?

5:30- alarm clock goes off; original plan was to run before work (plan failed);
6:45 - final snooze alarm buzzes: wake up; shower; dry & straighten hair; get dressed; make coffee for Dad & I;
7:30 - print copies of expense report, gas mileage report, Redeemed e-mails, & YW! D.C. prayer requests; make today's To-Do list (a.k.a. "Kelley's Git-R-Done's");
7:40 - eat one apple and 2/3 of Cinnamon Apple Oatmeal packet; fill water bottle; double-check gym bag; load car;
8:05 - leave house; drive to work; put in new CD Matt burned for me;
8:45 - stop at Dunkin Donuts on Memorial Drive; order small black coffee; pass police arresting man in parking lot next to store
9:00 - walk into WR office; catch up with Kristine; turn in gas mileage report to Brian; receive assignments for the day from Kristine; make action plan;
9:45 - record Farhan's blood sugar levels; tell Amina & Farhan to be ready for Dr. appt. at 8:30AM on 07/07/09; call customer service number on EBT card to find out when food stamps will be renewed;
11:10 - visit IV G-4 Somali family; take Amino & Owles to Thriftown; meet Gisheru & his Iraqi clients;
12:15 - drink tea with Amino & Owles;
12:25 - drive through middle of drug deal at corner of Northern Ave & Indian Creek Way;
12:50 - lunch at WR office; talk with Brian about JBU in Rogers, AR;
1:15 - meet Kristine at KW N-6; receive assignments for Iraqi family for afternoon;
1:25 - get bitten by 26 red ants outside apartment complex; watch foot swell at least twice its normal size and itch with pain & redness;
1:30 - drop off two Iraqis at Thriftown; take other two Iraqis to DENTIST; 'translate' for clients and dentist; explain why Maryam cannot get any dental work done (because Medicaid only covers basic exam & one X-Ray of one tooth); pick up two Iraqis at Thriftown; get halal bread; drive four Iraqis home;
2:15 - speak with AT&T representative to try to set up home phone service for Iraqi family; fax Georgia Lifeline form to national office;
2:45 - make copies, file papers;
4:00 - eat 'lunch' with Matti family;
4:55 - get call from Tom to take Shiva M. to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta to be with his daughter, Esther M., who [may have] TB
5:35 - park in Emergency Lot at hospital; walk Shiva to room 18 in ER; begin 'translating;'
6:30 - explain Medicaid coverage to Shiva;
6:45 - explain compressed lungs and chest full of fluid to Esther, Shiva, and Tom;
7:30 - explain contrast and CT exam to Shiva and Esther;
7:35 - get Shiva's signature on informed consent form;
9:30 - explain HIV/AIDS test to Shiva & Esther; get Shiva's signature on informed consent form;
10:05 - leave cardiologist(s) in room with Shiva & Esther doing echocardiogram; explain who will come tomorrow; promise to bring candy and a Bible written in English;
10:30 - arrive home; eat chinese chicken salad & cold spaghetti & 3 peppermint patties & a handful of 'puppy chow' chex mix
11:00 - run 2 miles; abs & back work-out
11:45 - blog this entry; shower; pray; set alarm for 6:00; sleep

Violent Fire in the Works

I didn't do anything to celebrate the 4th of July tonight. I was exhausted from running the Peachtree this morning and from having awaken sometime around 5:30-7:30AM every single day for the past 3 months. (Literally.) When I heard the fireworks starting to boom as I was laying in bed (see, I really didn't do anything), I had a set of very unexpected reactions. I thought of and pictured the explosion of bombs in Baghdad and of the shootings all throughout the West Bank. I imagined my Sudanese clients, who are now grown men, as children when the war in Darfur began - I pictured them running frantically towards safety and away from attacks from extremists. I pictured men being shot to death with AK-47s in Iraq, just like Basim told me. I saw visions of corrupt men in uniforms in Burma and Bhutan banging down doors and ... hurting people. Hardly a pretty picture of freedom and independence, right? Right.

I don't think I expected to experience as much spiritual warfare as I seem to be experiencing throughout my work with these refugees. I hear stories of racial, ethnic, and religious persecution; of abuse; of fleeing disease, slavery, and certain death. And suddenly, it seems like the weight of what I have heard and the faces of those who have experienced all this is smacking my heart around. I don't tell anyone about it because no one (okay, almost no one) wants to hear it. People are interested up to a point, and beyond that, it's too hard, too dark, too devastating.

... It's not just stories from and about the refugees. The stories and realities of the women and children caught up in the sex trafficking and sexual entertainment industry are at least as hard to stomach.

I know I'm in the right place, doing what I'm being asked to do. But it's hard. And sometimes, especially tonight, I feel alone.

This is one of the reasons I have started running so much.
I find refuge in running.
The world makes sense, if only for a little while, when I run.
I find a kind of peace when I run.


There is much evil in this world. I stumbled across a journal entry from 2006 entitled, "Why Is The World So Cold?" I wanted to know why suffering, why violence, why evil ... today I ask the same questions, though if I am honest with myself and God, I think I already have some of the answers. They're just hard. It's a hard, violent fire in the working. But there is Light ahead. I know it.

Freedom

I'll just write the facts. You can draw your own conclusions and make your own metaphors.

Basim is an Iraqi man with whom I will be working in the coming months. He arrived late Wednesday night with his beautiful wife and two young children from Jordan. Basim was an interpreter for American soldiers in Iraq - an interesting position to be in for a native-born Iraqi. After five years of service, he decided he needed to create a better, safer life for his family. After a long process of applications and interviews and fleeing and persisting, Basim was finally granted access to come to the Unite States of America - the land of the free. I did not realize just how free we are. (Wait a second for all you who are spiritually inclined - I am not talking about the kind of freedom from sin that Jesus talked about; I am talking about literal, physical freedom.) Let me explain -

After several hours of waiting and filling out DFCS paperwork in the WR office, I told Basim it was time to go home. I loaded up the WR mini van with car seats and got ready to go. He said he had one last question before leaving. "My wife has a gold watch. How do I ensure we are not robbed, and what happens if we are robbed? I do not like that the apartment manager has a key to my apartment." I explained that it's the law in America for all apartment managers to have keys to their tenants' apartments, and that he could buy a safety deposit box at the bank or one at Wal*Mart or a dead bolt lock for his door. "In Iraq, there is no problem. If man comes to my house to steal gold, I have AK-47 to defend myself." He was being dead serious here. "Basim," I say, "Remember what I was telling you about the justice system here and about the police?" (He'd asked if the police were corrupt and if he could trust them.) "Well, you can't just shoot people who come to your door because of the way our justice system works." He wasn't entirely comfortable with that answer. I suppose I wouldn't be, either.

When we got to his apartment complex, I showed him where the mailboxes were and where he'd go to sign the lease in a couple of days. I showed him the pool. "Miss, are we allowed to swim in this pool?" I almost laughed. "Yes, Basim, this is the pool for the apartment complex. You are allowed to swim here." He then asked, "What about this area over here? Am I allowed to walk around and exercise a bit?" This question caught me off guard. No one has asked me, yet, if he/she is allowed to walk here or exercise there. "Basim, you are allowed to walk wherever you please. You can leave the apartment complex and walk down the main road; you can walk to the library and you can walk 10 miles down the street that way, if you really wanted to." He responded, hesitantly, "Is this just in this part of Atlanta or is this true for all of Atlanta?" I felt my insides go funny. I probably made a confused, almost hurt face. "Basim, this is true for all of America. You are free to go wherever you like, whenever you like. You are free." Immediately his eyes bulged and he smiled and exclaimed, "Really!? Really!? Ha! This is America!" To his wife he said, "Shadtha, did you hear that!?" (He translated our conversation to her in Arabic and after a few seconds I saw the same reaction of bulging eyes and a widening smile in her beautiful, black eyes and mysteriously hidden smile.)

Freedom.

Ya win some, ya lose some

Boo jacked a hub cap straight off my tire.

For reals!?

Good grief. Who steals only one hub cap, anyways? And I have a stinkin' Toyota Corolla. It ain't like I got rims of gold. Anyways, I was coming out of Indian Valley G-4, visiting Farhan and Ayaan, and I saw a truck skid/speed away from where my car was parked. Two guys. No big deal, right? Then I notice my front right tire is ... all black. Now, I did take my car into the shop on Saturday so I doubted myself for a second, thinking maybe the Toyota service people forgot to put it back on or something. But after a few seconds of putting together the 'evidence' of the speeding car and the loose hub cap on the back left tire, I realized those crazy fools was just tryin' to make a buck with a couple pieces of metal for tires... Oh well. I just laughed, really.

Theresa in the City

It has been a few days since my last blog entry because every time I sit down to write in here, I realize I have no idea where to begin. So many things happen every day. For example, last week a Somali man asked me (seriously) if he could speak with my father because he had a marriage proposal that he would like to discuss with my father [on my behalf]. Last week I had to make a very quick decision about the direction to take with a seven year-old Somali boy who has diabetes because his blood sugar levels had suddenly, unexpectedly dropped and he was at the point of fainting. Last week I learned several new phrases in Arabic, Somali, and Nepali. Last week a Nepali woman gave me a bracelet and a Somali family served me three bottles of water in one home visit. I taught someone how to use a stove, an oven, a car door, a seat belt, and a trash can. Last week, I cried and freaked out after a very stressful day at the SS Administration office and at the WR office. Last week, I watched two Chinese refugees hand out literature about the persecution they experienced in China for their religion/spirituality -- Fulan Gang (sp?) -- at the Georgia Department of Drivers Services with more zeal than the most stereotypically fervent evangelical Christians hand out tracks. Last week, I learned ALL about food stamps, Medicaid, GA-IDs, EADs, EBTs, the Match Grant program, DFCS, and more.

I've learned so much already and seen and experienced so much already. I can't possibly write it all, can I? No, I can't. That's why I'm about to write about something that has nothing to do with my internship at World Relief. (Or does it?)

-

Today I went to church in downtown Atlanta at City of Refuge off of Joseph E. Boone Blvd., formerly Simpson St. They changed the name of the road in an attempt to stave off its reputation as the most dangerous crime-and-prostitution-ridden street in the city. Or so says Jason L. I heard about CoR through Jason L., a former youth pastor at Perimeter Church in fancy schmancy Johns Creek whom I knew fleetingly as an acquaintance in high school. Andrew and I were having dinner on Thursday night, and we ran into Jason at Chipotle. We caught up and got to talking about what's new in each of our lives. One topic of conversation led to another, and soon enough I was telling him that yes, I'd love to come visit his church / ministry / new place of employment, and that I'd see him Sunday at 9:00.

When I got there this morning, I parked in the wrong spot, in the Women & Children's Center. Oops. So I found my way to the church 'area.' Jason told me church started at 9:00, so I got there at 8:55. Turns out, the service starts at 10:30. From 9:00-10:30, we prepared ham & cheese sandwiches to be handed out to members of the community later in the week. From 9:00-10:30, we hung out with people from the community; we talked, laughed, and swapped stories. Ha... church at 9:00? No. But Church at 9:00? Yes.

At about 9:15, I met a woman named Theresa. Theresa walked into the building in a very short, cotton skirt and a very old, big, baggy, dirty white t-shirt. No bra. She looked ... in need. I didn't know her story, why she was there or what or who she was looking for. But I just happened to be the one to 'intercept' her when she came through the doors. After just a few minutes of talking, I found out that Theresa wanted something to eat before church. "Okay," I think to myself, "No problem. We just made over 300 sandwiches. Surely...," I checked with the person in charge in the kitchen and he said, bluntly, "Nope, we can't do that. Those sandwiches are for Tuesday, and if we give one to her, we'll have to give them out to everyone who comes in off the streets." Okay... Now, I get his line of reasoning. Really, I do. I'd probably have a similar sort of 'policy' if I were in charge, too. But dang it!! This is the Church!! And this church has a kitchen. And there is a woman in the Church who is hungry. There should never be a question about what to do here.

I talked with a couple other people in charge and eventually got them to give Theresa a bowl of cereal. Somehow, the scant milk and cereal didn't satisfy me in that it would satisfy her. Plus, I learned that she was two months pregnant. (A mistake, she said. Her and her husband were supposed to be DONE with kids!) Anyways, I told her to hang on just a sec, that I was going to my car to see what I could find. Thankfully, I had a Protein Power Bar and a 32 oz. PowerZero drink for her. They were supposed to be for me after my hour-long run later today, but I had $3 to buy a snack or 30 minutes to wait to get home to eat if I really needed something. She didn't. I happily gave her the [unorthodox] food and drink from my car. When I handed it to her, and sat with her and talked with her while she ate, I realized that I am truly at my happiest and I feel the most joy when I am in just that kind of place doing that kind of thing with people such as Theresa. God has shaped and molded my heart for this, for her, for His cities. I love the City. Theresa and I sat together for the service.

Honestly, I don't remember what the pastor spoke about. I do remember, however, that Theresa has three boys - all grown. I remember the way she looked me in the eye and said thanks; I remember her persistence in repeating my name so that she'd remember it. I remember that she looked very physically ill with her skinny legs and droopy eyes. I remember the strength in her embrace.

I remember Theresa in the City.

Sparks Fly

Today I filled out a job application for an Iraqi man to work on a production line at a factor in Kennesaw. This man owned his own import/export business in Iraq. His refugee 'camp' was in Damascus, Syria. The Iraqis' situation is a little different that that of most of the rest of the refugees. The Bhutanese and Somalis, for example, have typically spent several years in refugee camps in neighboring countries. You know, the camps that you'll occasionally see featured in TIME Magazine or on the news -- decrepit conditions, shantytowns, filthy, overcrowded, in desperate need of ... everything. Most of the Iraqis, however, fled to neighboring countries and were somehow placed in apartments and several had jobs (albeit lower-class jobs than they were used to.) Most of the Iraqis come from relatively well-educated and affluent backgrounds. So one might think it a tad odd at first to hear them ask for a bike for their kid or for a TV or a 3-person couch. But, as I explained it to my very surprised parents ("aren't they happy just to be in America?!?!"), their situation is comparable to my family being uprooted and placed in a rural village in, say, Kazakstan ... Just chew on that for a while.

Later in the day, I took two Iraqi couples to a grocery store called Thriftown (similar to Save-A-Lot) to buy groceries. One of the men, Atheer, spoke good English. He was a civil engineer in Baghdad before he had to flee and thus was very well educated and came from a position of influence. He is jealous of my freedom to go to university and study whatever I please. I taught Atheer and his wife along with a couple from a neighboring family how to budget a week's worth of groceries for a family of four for under $150. They asked me to help them leave $5-10 off their grocery bill so they could have money to buy halal meat and bread. Halal meat is cleansed by the prayer and blessing of an Imam. . .

In the afternoon, I taught my new Somali family how to use their new, $5 calling cards to call relatives back home. I almost cried when I saw how happy they were to tell their friends back in the camp that they were safe and happy in America, and that they were very surprised at how hot it is here, and also that there are 'street people' here, too. I did cry when another Somali family came to their apartment when I was there - they all shouted with such incredible joy and laughter and hugs and kisses at seeing familiar faces and hearing the same language. It was like My Big Fat Greek Wedding except it was My Big Fat Somali Reunion. In the Somali family under my case management, there are three men and one woman. The woman is of the sect of Islam that requires women to cover every inch of their bodies except their eyes (rather than allowing the shawl to show their faces). I think I saw Sparks Fly in this woman's eyes as they lit up; I heard her smile when she saw other Somali women smiling and bringing comfort food.  

No one with any shade of dark skin seems to understand why I have "rash-like spots" all over my skin. They all think my freckles are some kind of terrible misfortune. When I was visiting with the Somali men, the time came to pray. They stopped the conversation, pulled out their mats, faced East, and prayed to Allah and praised Mohammed. 

... I prayed silently for Christ to stir their hearts.

Come And Listen

Maybe I write things because I can't [I don't] tell my parents, and because even my closest friends don't understand The City. Very few people (including a lot / most people in the Church) seem to be interested in the details, or even in the Why. If you want to know the details, just ask. It is my joy to boast in His good works. Sometimes I am no good at communicating. But just come and listen; let me tell you what He has done for me, what He has done for you, what He has done for ... the refugees.  

More than anything, I want people to know I'm not doing these things because they're the "cutting-edge" human rights issues to focus on or because it's "exciting" & dangerous or because I'm "obsessed with helping poor kids" (as I imagine Hedden would put it). . . . I do these things because God said to do right, to seek justice, to encourage the oppressed, to defend the cause of the fatherless, to plead the case of the widow; He said to act justly and to love mercy; He said to remember those who are mistreated as if I myself were suffering. I do these things because Christ is my model and Christ was the servant of all.

John 3:30

A Thousand Tongues To Sing

This picture is from when I was in Tanzania. Statistically, Christians are in the majority in Tanzania. But there are still a significant number of Muslims, and in Moshi, it felt like a pretty even split in town. Since I've slowly but surely been developing a heart for the 1040 window, particularly within the extremely legalistic Arabic North Africa region and also for the girls in the sex industry in many parts of Southeast Asia, I asked Mama Moshi if we could visit a mosque. I wanted to understand better. I wanted to get a feeling for what it's like to follow the prayer rituals and respond to the chanting in Arabic. I wanted to try to understand, if only in the slightest respects, the female subjugation in the world of Islam. Where is the draw? How much of this devotion to Allah is genuine and how much is the result of tradition, upbringing, or societal expectation? I was hungry to learn. 

Mama Moshi said she couldn't do much for us in this department since she's Catholic, and you have to be invited by a member to a mosque: non-Muslims cannot just go any time they please. However, fortunately, one of the ZARA drivers named Saleem, a.k.a. 'Slim,' agreed to have his daughter, Ama, take the four girls on one Thursday for the noon prayer service. We had to be covered head to toe in kangas (wraps around our lower bodies) and shawls (seen in the picture above). Not an inch of my 'nakedness' nor my 'dirtiness' was allowed to show. I had to wash my hands, forearms, face, ears, legs, and feet three times before I was allowed to pray in the line of women gathered upstairs. (The men were downstairs.) Finally, after we purified ourselves, the beautiful sound of the call to prayer in Arabic commenced the repeated standing, kneeling, prostration involved in the prayer rituals. We prayed, apparently, for forgiveness, acceptance, and cleanliness... Rather than declaring Allah as the One True God and His Prophet Mohammed as the Final, True Prophet, I prayed [silently] and declared [boldly] Jesus the Christ as the Son of the Living God and Lord and Savior for all.

I don't yet have the words to articulate what occurred in my heart that day in the mosque. I might not ever have the words. 

In 1739, Charles Wesley wrote the famous hymn, "O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing." David Crowder did another version of it in one of his recent albums. Of course, Revelation 5:11-12 says it best. Either and every way, I pray for the nations.

-

Today was my first day as an Assistant Case Manager at World Relief in Stone Mountain, GA. Though the office is in Stone Mountain, most of the apartments and several of the partnering agencies are in Clarkston and within the city limits of Atlanta. As the only full-time intern for WR this summer, my job is ... everything. 

- I'll pick up incoming refugees from the airport and watch them step foot onto American soil for the first time;

- I'll teach them that refrigerators are for food, not clothes (a tricky concept when you stop to consider how much a refrigerator looks like closet shelving);

- We'll walk and talk together and I'll try to be a good listening ear or strong shoulder to cry on;

- I'll take Mohamed and Ahmed grocery shopping at Kroger and model how to comparison shop and show them how to use the EBT card; 

- On Mondays and Wednesdays, I'll drive Uger's wife and sister (and others, etc.) to First Baptist Decatur to outfit their family of six; 

- Often, I'll file paperwork for hours; 

- More often, I'll pray for hours; 

- Sometimes, I'll explain to Hassan that his one year old daughter gets 1.6 mL of the medicine, not 0.8 mL, which means he'll have to fill up the tubule twice each time he gives her the medicine. 

- Everyday, I'll try to love and serve the widowed and the orphaned; everyday I'll do my best to love and serve the nations as Christ has modeled and commanded us to do; everyday, I'll be lost and broken without Him.

"भला-कुसारि" is transliterated to "bhalā-kusāri" which means "greetings and good wishes"

I would like to speak Arabic and Nepali. . .

Wholly Yours

Today I went to an 8-hour training session called "Hands That Heal" at Peachtree Presbyterian Church. It was the first prerequisite to becoming a volunteer counselor at the Wellspring / Redeemed emergency shelter that will open to the house mother on Monday and to women rescued out of the sex industry next month. These women may have been forced or coerced into prostitution (i.e. rape for profit) by traffickers and pimps, or they may have found themselves seemingly pigeon-holed into selling their bodies in a desperate attempt to alleviate crushing poverty, relational difficulties, childhood abuse, etc. How and why they got into the night clubs, brothels, and streets doesn't matter nearly as much as the fact that these women deserve to recognize their worth as whole beings of a loving Father who will not abandon or abuse. Somehow, God has given me the grace to work with a handful of these women for [at least] the next year. I'll be spending a couple of nights (in 24-hour shifts) every month giving around-the-clock care to women who've been physically, emotionally, spiritually, and sexually abused for nights, weeks, months, or years. My mom asked me if I really thought I was qualified to do this. "Mom, of course I'm not officially qualified. But I'm ready . . . to love these women." 

In one of the role plays, we divided into groups of three. There was one person in the middle whose only responsibility was to listen to the two people on either side of her. The person to the left screamed lies, deceptions, hurtful statements, and negative comments into her ear. The person on the right screamed love, value, worth, and God's truths into her ear. I happened to be the person in the middle. I heard "You're fat! You're ugly! You're a slut! You are not worth saving!" at the same time I heard "God loves you. You are beautiful. There is nothing you can do to make God loves you less. You have been redeemed." I'm not sure what I was expecting going into the exercise, but I came out of it feeling ... dizzy? It was hard to listen. I tried not to focus only on the lies, though that was my temptation because I hear that voice so often, anyways. People can give you compliments and speak truth into your life on a pretty regular basis, but it might only take one or two stinging, hurtful comments to a particularly vulnerable area of your life to pierce your sense of worth and identity. At least, that's what I found to be true. If this was true for me, I am horrified to imagine the implications of this exercise for the women with whom I will be counseling. 

At this I pray for grace, for wisdom, and for courage. For my own self and for every single woman at this emergency shelter, I pray to receive and to be Wholly His.

Everything Glorious

"My eyes are small 

but they have seen

the beauty of

enormous things."

(David Crowder)

Well kids, today is June 9th. I stepped back onto American soil around 3pm ET (10PM Tanzanian time) yesterday, on June 8th. I suppose that means I'm due to update this blog? Had the internet not been slower than molasses in Moshi, I'd have jotted down a handful of scatter-brained blog entries throughout the 31 days I spent in Africa. But the internet was slower than the herd of elephants I saw waltzing across the Serengeti National Park, so I just signed on every few days to update my amazing family and closest friends. 

It's too hard to write about it all at once, or to write about all of it at all since I learned and experienced enough to write a book. So bare with me as I piece together stories and memories bit by bit. It's likely that this will be chronologically jumbled. Hakuna mattata. ("No worries.") I'll continue to write throughout this month... 

An overview: 

I was in Tanzania for one month [May 8 - June 8] through a UGA study abroad program. There were 8 of us in the service-learning group and about 15 or so in the more academically-focused 'Maymester' group. The service-learning group stayed in Moshi, Tanzania for the first two weeks while the other group traveled through the country to Arusha, Dar Es Salaam, and Zanzibar before we all met up to go on safari throughout the Ngorogoro Crater, the Serengeti National Parks, and the Oldupai Gorge for the third week of our trip. Fourteen of us climbed Mount Kilimanjaro for the fourth and final week of our time in Africa.

Our service-learning was concentrated at the Kilicentre for Orphans and Street Children. We raised the money for and built a chicken coop (and contributed something like 100 chics to inhabit it), developed a library system with additional books and a check-out system for the school, and taught several classes including English, Swahili, Art, Music, and Math. Each of us took a morning or two to work with a small group of students in a manner that reflected whatever we're studying back at UGA. Accordingly, Anne and I worked for two mornings with about 10 children, aged 6-10, in documenting their life histories and assessing, as best we could, the status of their mental health.

For an entire week straight while on safari, I saw lions, elephants, giraffes, a migrating heard of thousands of wildabeasts, antelope, impalas, baboons, ostriches, pink flamingoes, warthogs, water buffalo, jackals, hippos, eagles, vervets (sp?), zebras, and several other incredible creatures. One day a bunch of funky monkeys were hanging around our safari vehicles. Two of them started to get frisky. We later concluded that their monkey business (ha) was a ploy for another monkey who had jumped from the tree to the truck and reached down to snatch someone's banana out of her lunch box! The monkey then jumped back up onto the tree and ate his banana. I am reminded of the Dave Matthew's song, "Big Eyed Fish." Later in the week, just meters from our camp, thousands of wildabeasts began their annual migration. It was just like the Lion King with a forceful stampede of hundreds and hundreds of seemingly magnetically driven animals, obeying the laws of nature as they ran towards the next source of food and water. I never would have guessed I'd have seen a migrating heard of any creature in my lifetime. My favorite animal was the male lion. Probably because it reminds me of King Asland in The Chronicles of Narnia and all that he represents. "'Safe?' said Mr. Beaver... 'Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.'" (The Lion, The Witch, & The Wardrobe; CS Lewis). 

I have more pictures of God's art, especially in His sun that faithfully and beautifully rises and sets each day and night, than I ever could have hoped for.  

Less than four days ago, I was on top of the tallest free-standing mountain in the world, Mount Kilimanjaro, along with nine other fantastic guys and gals from our group. I wasn't originally going to climb Kili because I expected to get an internship that would have started yesterday. But I didn't get the internship (because God had a better one in mind). My parents ROCK and shelled out the money for me to climb last minute. Fourteen of us trekked the Marangu Route over six days and five nights, June 1-6. Due to altitude sickness and other unavoidable ailments, only ten of us made it to the top at Uhuru's Peak at a whopping 5,895 m (over 19,000 feet). I didn't think I was even going to make it to Gilman's Point because about two hours from that landmark, my head literally felt like it was going to explode from an earlier bout with minor sun poisoning and a build up of fluids in the brain - the beginnings of altitude sickness. I was beginning to stumble like a [mildly] drunk skunk and I started to feel a little lightheaded. Fortunately, the guides were exceptionally experienced and kept a close eye on me the whole time. I never got quite sick enough that I had to turn back. 

I also uttered a small and desperate but powerful prayer: "Lord, if you want to show me your a picture of you and your glory from the top, you're going to have to carry me there. I cannot take another step on my own." It took an incredible amount of mental energy to focus my words enough to pray that, but God did hear, and delighted me with an eternal picture of His glory by helping me get to the top. The sun beamed its first rays amidst the pearly white glaciers on this dormant volcano while the moon and stars faded into the receding night as the biting cold wind sung high and sweet. Yes.

I don't have the words to begin to describe what I saw and experienced. I can say, simply, that I was blown away. I can say, simply, that I had never seen anything like it, that it was beautiful, that I saw His glory, and that I am changed. Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro was the most amazing thing I've ever done or experienced for several reasons, most of which I can't fully or adequately articulate. It was also one of if not the most physically demanding feat I've ever accomplished. (Considering I've busted my butt for 15 years on the tennis court, that's saying a lot.)

On the mountain, I saw Everything Glorious.

"My eyes are small but they have seen the beauty of enormous things."

I'm working on uploading pictures onto a dotphoto account and when that's finished, I'll post the link. 

We began the climb on Monday, June 1st. On Friday, June 5th at 12AM, we began our ascent to the summit. We hiked 5.5 hours in the black of the freezing night under the brightest full moon and billions of stars to reach Gilman's Point at 5:30AM and then, after a restless break where I became exhausted from chewing and swallowing a forced handful of granola in hopes of receiving even an ounce of energy that I so desperately needed, we hiked another 1.5-2 hrs to the very top at Uhuru's Peak. After just a couple pictures, I had to start going back down (the lack of oxygen was hurting). We began the descent around 7:30AM and got back down to Kibo just before 10AM. (That's right - 7 hours to get up, 2 hours to get down). A short nap and an early lunch later, our exhausted selves began the trek back down to the oxygen-friendly Horombo huts.

We flew for something like 20 hours to get home: Kilimanjaro to Dar Es Salaam to Amsterdam to Atlanta. Obviously I'm still processing everything from this past month - heck, I haven't even begun to write about my time at the Kilicentre with the amazing, beautiful children - but one thing I do know is that I was not ready to come home. I am so grateful for the experiences of this past month. All thanks and praise and glory to Him.