Part 2 of The Trip

So I've been struggling with what to write regarding the trip to Addis. There's so much to tell and I'm so inadequate to tell it but still I feel compelled to keep trying.

I guess I have to move on chronologically. I touched on the issue of equality in the first post I wrote about the trip. The issue of equality is probably the truest theme of our visit with Hope for the Hopeless. I'll tell you what experience drove the point home for me personally. A trip to the Cardiac Hospital in Addis.

In the interest of time I won't go into all the details of my symptoms leading up to the decision to go. If you want a taste of what I was feeling read this post. It was pretty much the same though my hands weren't as purple. I will just say that as I lay on the bed that first day after we had arrived I thought to myself that 14 days might as well be eternity. I was scared for my health. I listened to the sounds of the Guest House neighbourhood outside our window begging God for a way out of this experience. I felt so vulnerable to be so far away from my comfort zone, all that was familiar to me AND (big AND there) Western medicine. I needed help. I told Dustin, "That's it. We gotta go. I can't do this for the next two weeks. I can't stay here feeling like this. We gotta go to a Hospital." It was terrifying to have to come to that conclusion.

Dustin had to carry me down the stairs and a taxi was hailed while I waiting lying on the floor of the Guest House entryway. The wonderful staff at Ethiopian Guest House was terrified. One of them rode with us to the Korean Hospital. The cab ride would cost us $45.00 US. The whole ride there I lay head tilted back listening to the music the driver had playing which was indistinguishable to my ferengi ears while the warm African sun warmed my face through the back window. Bumpy roads and noxious fumes mixed with prayers from the bottom of my heart. "Be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power." Habakkuk 3:19 the amplified version was on repeat in my brain. I recalled the time not too many months ago when I was driving our kids home from the pediatrician and I was trying to wrap my head around the doctor/patient ratio in Ethiopia and trying to imagine what life would be like as a mother in Addis. I tried to imagine being in need of an ambulance and not having one be available. The irony was not lost on me. Believe me.

Aki, Mark and Julie were already there when we arrived (they had been out shopping around town and met us there.) As soon as I walked in I was whisked straight back by Aki (our dear friend Aki) and didn't even notice the fact that there would be no waiting to be seen for me, despite a waiting room full of dark eyes following me as I walked straight back to the triage room. It wouldn't occur to me until later what had just happened. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I was told there was no cardiac specialist at the Korean Hospital. We would have to go to another place. Amharic words passed between Aki and the Australian nurse and we were off to the next stop this time in Aki's taxi. A short drive later we pulled into the gates of the Cardiac Hospital. A woman lead me past an old woman sitting in a wheel chair in a dark corner wailing in pain, beyond a curtain to an examination room. No waiting for the rich woman. Again.

I surveyed Addis Ababa's finest Cardiac Facilities with a keen eye. It is here that I find I struggle for the right words. I would NEVER wish to degrade the facility or the fine people who work there. I never want to be a snob. Only accurate. The walls were plaster and painted about 3/4 of the was up with gloss paint. the rest was flat. There was no trim around the floor. Just rough edges where the plaster ended and a gap between the wall and the floor. It was dark. There was an EKG machine. A huge (oxygen?) tank and some other piece of equipment which I don't recall it's use. I was led to the staff bathroom to leave a urine sample. I won't even begin to describe the conditions there. Let's just call it different.

We prayed with Mark and Julie. The woman relentlessly moaned through her pain. A young man who loved her tried to soothe her in Amharic. "Ishi," (okay) he'd say and whisper other quiet words to her. All I could think of now was Psalm 20:7 only I adapted it and added "and others in doctors and Western hospitals" after "horses".

My treatment would be pay-as-you-go. Total for the services I received: $28.00 US. Seemingly so small a price. So far out of reach for SO MANY in Addis.

After I returned to the Guest House, the following day the staff member who rode with us to the hospital was thrilled to see me much improved. She asked if they took good care of me. "Oh yes! Very good care." I stated.

"It's the best hospital in Addis!" she told me.

And it is.

How I Know the Trip Changed Me

This might be the first of many installments to come. Who knows? It's just that things are different in my heart and I don't even know the half of it yet. To try to put all this into words is nearly impossible for me right now (and that's saying a LOT for a chick who rarely finds herself speechless).

To be completely honest recovering from jet lag and finding my balance with a baby in the house hasn't been conducive to my hasty processing of our experiences in Addis Ababa. Tonight I experienced a moment of clarity via an unexpected burden.

Food.

Since we've been home our "family" at Palm Valley Church have been AMAZINGLY supportive of us. They have loved on us SO MUCH in a variety of ways but one outward expression has been the delivery of dinners for our family. Night after night we've been the happy recipients of delicious fare delivered to us by loving friends we thank God for. It's been such a HUGE gift to us.

***So, here comes my disclaimer for this post: If you are one of those loving and special friends who've brought us food please understand that this has NOTHING to do with you. This has to do with work that the Lord is doing in my heart and the heart of my husband and it just happens that the food you gave us is the tool He's used to prick our hearts. Please read the following in that light. And, know that we LOVE you and appreciate you SO MUCH!***

On to the gist of this post. I must begin with a story. One of the snap shots from our trip lodged forever in my memory. An infant. The sex of whom was unknown to me. Of the sort I'd only ever seen in magazines depicting famine. The kind I've cried over many times, only this time this particular child was real life to me. Before my very eyes, in a crib in room number 5 of the intake orphanage which was our son's first stop on the way home to us.

Room number 5, as far as I can tell, is for the healthier infants of the orphanage. This tells me that I must have met this child in an improved state which, to me, is unbelievable. This baby was SO THIN, literally flesh stretched over bone. The jawline nearly brought me to tears. And, I would have sat right down and cried myself a river but for the pride I had in the faithful women who serve the children day in and day out. It was their hard work keeping this baby alive. Cry babies need not apply for that job and they sure didn't need to deal with Jen being hysterical. Instead I just laid hands of that beloved child and prayed. Maybe for the first time I truly understood what Paul meant when he wrote about the Holy Spirit interceding when we cannot verbalize our prayers.

Then, there are the kids at Hope for the Hopeless. 2 meals a day. No meat. And we bring suckers. What!? That's a bandaid on severe laceration. Don't get me wrong. The kids loved the suckers. I've got nothing against suckers but I'm not kidding myself. I can't pat myself on the back for sending a bag of suckers to the needy kids in Africa and call it a day. As if that will satisfy God's desire for justice and equality.

Malnutrition. Starvation. I don't exactly know what to do with these things. How can I cope? All of a sudden I have this urge to preach to the world. (As if they need to hear me talk!? HA!) But, I do wish everyone could go to Africa and see what I saw. If only to help them understand me at this point. I know, It's my race to run, and they've got their own. I can't make their race be about mine. I can't force my burdens upon them. But I want them to know too.

So here I am. As the knocks on the door bring with them pounds of food my heart grows heavier. I am now freezing the leftovers because I DARE NOT LET A MORSEL GO TO WASTE.
I cannot help but feel like sometimes I've gotten things so wrong. It's tempting to think that because my stomach is full and I have abundance, that I am one of the blessed ones. I am growing fearful though. Abundance is truly a burden. A fact I've come to KNOW. We aren't intended to have more than our needs require. While we were in Addis Mark directed our attention to 2 Cor 8: 13-15

13Our desire is not that others might be relieved while you are hard pressed,
but that there might be equality. 14At the present time your plenty will supply
what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then
there will be equality, 15as it is written: "He who gathered much did not have
too much, and he who gathered little did not have too little."

I'll have more to write on this subject later but equality was a word that kept popping up for the four of us often during out trip. The lack of equality was astounding. So stark a contrast and frankly embarrassing for us as wealthy members of the church universal. Where's the equality?

I've made it nearly 30 years without ever really seeing starvation face to face. That makes me a rarity on this planet. I saw starving people because I made choices to put myself in that position after following the Lord's lead but I could have EASILY chosen ignorance. Ignorance is a luxury (if you want to call it that) that the vast majority of the earth cannot afford. That's makes me royalty, really. I belong to the class of the elite privileged of our generation. I might as well wear a tiara and a sash. Scratch that. You know those few extra pounds around my belt line? Those are the jewels in my crown of abundance. A crown that is cockeyed and tarnished when I look closely.


Oh God, do not let me be one who just sheds a few tears and then goes on her way. The same as ever before.

Matthew 5
The Beatitudes
1Now when he saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His
disciples came to him, 2and he began to teach them saying: 3"Blessed are
the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 4Blessed are
those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 5Blessed are the
meek, for they will inherit the earth. 6Blessed are those who hunger
and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 7Blessed are
the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. 8Blessed are the pure in
heart, for they will see God. 9Blessed are the peacemakers, for
they will be called sons of God. 10Blessed are those who are persecuted because
of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 11"Blessed are you
when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against
you because of me. 12Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in
heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before
you.

Beyond the Silver Gates

I had better get this up. The family is clamoring for video and pictures of Jonas. Here's video of the first day we met Jonas in Addis.

Hope for the Hopeless Video

..... from our trip with Mark and Julie.

Brooke and Kim this is especially for you :-)

Hope in Pictures

Here we are at the Hope for the Hopeless property. L to R Akliliu (Aki) our awesome driver from Ethiopian Guest House who became a very good friend, Jen, Julie, Fikadu the director of Hope for the Hopeless in Addis, the construction manager, Mark. We prayed over the land and the construction looking forward to the day when the children could be living there. Notice the doors and windows thanks in large part to the benefit concert held in Phoenix! There's more work to be done but they are making strides.

Jen and Hanok. This guy's super bright and instantly endears himself to everyone he meets. His English in impressive and made for some great conversation. He's such a leader amongst the children. They all look up to him.

My buddie Kebron on the left. He never left my side. With huge eyes begging the question "Will you notice me?" My answer was YES!

Julie and the littlest girls. This crew was a hoot. So bubbly and full of laughter. They adored themselves in pictures all thanks to Brooke who took pictures of the kids on her trip to Addis last July and had the genius idea to make prints for the children.

The simple joy of seeing themselves in photos. It was a lot to realize they have probably never had their own photos of themselves.

Samson is THE MAN at the Drop In Center. The kids LOVE him. He is a kid magnet. He does the counseling and he is the man on the streets developing relationships with the street kids and bringing them to Hope. He was quiet but his presence spoke volumes!