It's kind of sad, but here it is:
I was going to write about some of the funnier moments that happened this week, and there were several, but I just wanted to take a moment to do something out of character and be serious. First, I will explain that I love Christmas. I start listening to Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving every year. But this year, whether it was the fact that my Thanksgiving meal was eggs and hot peppers with Somali bread or the fact that I am in a dusty desert surrounded by refugees living in tiny huts or the fact that I couldn’t decide where I was going to spend Christmas--whatever the reason, I didn’t want to listen to Christmas music. I was not depressed or sad to be missing Christmas…I wasn’t thinking about Christmas at all. And I love Christmas…so it was strange for me. I tried to listen to Christmas music but turned it off after one song. But this last week, maybe because of the nearness of Christmas in Indonesia (ticket prices finally decided for me), I started listening again. And then I started singing along. And all week I have heard over and over again the words from the second verse of “Oh Holy Night” (a song that is resurrected and murdered by various divas and divos without fail every Christmas): Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother, and in His name all oppression shall cease!
This week I’m grieving the oppression I see around me. I am especially hurting over the fate of a little boy I recently came to love. Khaled’s story touched my heart right away when I first met him. He’s an Oromo, a minority Ethiopian ethnic group that has been persecuted in Ethiopia and sometimes is allowed refugee status in Yemen if their story is horrific enough. Khaled’s parents are divorced and both remarried. Neither new family wants him, and he has been passed along in the camp foster system from family to family, all Somali, who don’t want him either because he makes trouble and runs away. Finally, after trying every foster family in the camp and the orphanage in Aden, Khaled decided he wanted to work in the village. This week I found out that he has been working in the village, but that he is living with a man who is sexually abusing him. I wanted to run in and get him out. I pestered my boss and the social counselors who all told me that we can’t deal with this, a different NGO is in charge of protection. I know that NGO won’t do anything. And I don’t know what else I can do. Khaled’s story is common here.
Every day I am approached by refugees asking for assistance who don’t yet know that I’m only in charge of gardens and small business loans. These people are desperately seeking help for medical procedures that can’t be done in the camp. Some of them want food for their children since the rations they received were full of worms. Others just want a blanket because it’s gotten cold here at night and they are worried about the health of their families. These people left everything they knew hoping for a better life, and frankly, in many cases, it’s worse here in the middle of nowhere in an unknown land far from family and friends.
So where is my hope? What am I even doing here? I keep asking myself that because it’s about time to renew my contract, and I find myself wanting to run away again to start a new adventure somewhere else. I am afraid, knowing that I can’t change lives, and I can’t bring the light of Jesus to this place. I am the only believer here. What can I do? I know that I can’t do anything, but I know that Jesus can. And I know that it is true that in His name all oppression will cease. It may not be right now, but that time is coming because He came and fought for us and won. And this Christmas, in beautiful green and rainy Indonesia, I will celebrate the end of oppression and suffering that will come even here in the dusty and dry Yemeni desert where 13,000 Somali refugees are hoping for it. Please pray for me, my precious Somali refugee friends, and the volatile country of Yemen where we all live. Pray for the light of Jesus to come to this place to break the chains of slavery, violence, suffering, and abuse.
But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid! I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.”
I was going to write about some of the funnier moments that happened this week, and there were several, but I just wanted to take a moment to do something out of character and be serious. First, I will explain that I love Christmas. I start listening to Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving every year. But this year, whether it was the fact that my Thanksgiving meal was eggs and hot peppers with Somali bread or the fact that I am in a dusty desert surrounded by refugees living in tiny huts or the fact that I couldn’t decide where I was going to spend Christmas--whatever the reason, I didn’t want to listen to Christmas music. I was not depressed or sad to be missing Christmas…I wasn’t thinking about Christmas at all. And I love Christmas…so it was strange for me. I tried to listen to Christmas music but turned it off after one song. But this last week, maybe because of the nearness of Christmas in Indonesia (ticket prices finally decided for me), I started listening again. And then I started singing along. And all week I have heard over and over again the words from the second verse of “Oh Holy Night” (a song that is resurrected and murdered by various divas and divos without fail every Christmas): Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother, and in His name all oppression shall cease!
This week I’m grieving the oppression I see around me. I am especially hurting over the fate of a little boy I recently came to love. Khaled’s story touched my heart right away when I first met him. He’s an Oromo, a minority Ethiopian ethnic group that has been persecuted in Ethiopia and sometimes is allowed refugee status in Yemen if their story is horrific enough. Khaled’s parents are divorced and both remarried. Neither new family wants him, and he has been passed along in the camp foster system from family to family, all Somali, who don’t want him either because he makes trouble and runs away. Finally, after trying every foster family in the camp and the orphanage in Aden, Khaled decided he wanted to work in the village. This week I found out that he has been working in the village, but that he is living with a man who is sexually abusing him. I wanted to run in and get him out. I pestered my boss and the social counselors who all told me that we can’t deal with this, a different NGO is in charge of protection. I know that NGO won’t do anything. And I don’t know what else I can do. Khaled’s story is common here.
Every day I am approached by refugees asking for assistance who don’t yet know that I’m only in charge of gardens and small business loans. These people are desperately seeking help for medical procedures that can’t be done in the camp. Some of them want food for their children since the rations they received were full of worms. Others just want a blanket because it’s gotten cold here at night and they are worried about the health of their families. These people left everything they knew hoping for a better life, and frankly, in many cases, it’s worse here in the middle of nowhere in an unknown land far from family and friends.
So where is my hope? What am I even doing here? I keep asking myself that because it’s about time to renew my contract, and I find myself wanting to run away again to start a new adventure somewhere else. I am afraid, knowing that I can’t change lives, and I can’t bring the light of Jesus to this place. I am the only believer here. What can I do? I know that I can’t do anything, but I know that Jesus can. And I know that it is true that in His name all oppression will cease. It may not be right now, but that time is coming because He came and fought for us and won. And this Christmas, in beautiful green and rainy Indonesia, I will celebrate the end of oppression and suffering that will come even here in the dusty and dry Yemeni desert where 13,000 Somali refugees are hoping for it. Please pray for me, my precious Somali refugee friends, and the volatile country of Yemen where we all live. Pray for the light of Jesus to come to this place to break the chains of slavery, violence, suffering, and abuse.
But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid! I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.”
We are and will continue to pray for them. Hold on the the hope and promise of who Jesus is!
ReplyDeleteWe are praying and we'll pray together while you're here. It IS dark there, and it's dark here in a similar yet different way. But the darkness cannot overcome the LIGHT. And we will HOPE in his Word. Love you, Mom and Dad
ReplyDelete