Long Time, No See

Ahhh, Matt Wertz. So good to see you again, my friend.

My buddy Jill and I took a road trip down to Nashville (NashVegas to some) this past weekend to see Matt Wertz and Ben Rector in concert.  The last time I saw Matt in concert was 4 years ago and the ticket cost $5 - and to be honest, I didn't know who Ben was until probably a month ago when we decided to actually make the trip happen. 

It was at this little venue called Exit/In in the West End of Nashville, near Vanderbilt's campus.  We spent Friday night and Saturday morning/early afternoon bumming around downtown Nashville, The Gulch, and then the West End.  So many great little niches in the area.  And after walking around Vandy's campus, I had fleeting thoughts of wondering why I didn't go to school there. 

Our tickets said 8:00 start time.  So, in my orderly little mind I took that to mean the show would actually begin at that time, with doors opening maybe an hour or so early.  I should know better when it comes to such things.  We walk up at 7:15 or so and there is already a line of people waiting.  So we jump in line, thinking the doors will open soon.  But no.  The doors don't even open until 8, let alone have the show start.   We finally get in, get settled up on the balcony, decent view.  Eight-thirty rolls around.  No Ben.  Nine comes and goes.  No Ben.  Not even so much as someone walking on stage to check his guitar or something.  Jill and I are checking our watches, thinking we are such grandmas because we are already yawning, thinking what a brutal morning it is going to be after being up so late and then having a 7-hour drive ahead of us.  Nine-thirty - movement behind the curtain.  It's Ben!  Finally!  He jams out to a few songs, and then the magic hour rolls around.

Matt makes it on stage at 10:30 and I think I broke out into the most absurd grin ever.  I adore this guy and I love his music!  He plays a great set and then about part-way through, he's talking about how he wrote this next song with a good buddy of his,  Dave Barnes.  Then Dave walks out!  Could the night get any better?!  I was done checking my watch at this point.  We stuck around for the encore songs and walked into fresh air at 12:15 a.m.  My body didn't know what to do at that hour.

Matt Wertz and Ben Rector - you were worth the 14-hour round-trip from Ohio, the long wait in line, the hotel bill, and everything in between.

But do you think you could make it to Columbus next time?     

My dear Wormwood

A devotion from the NIV Women’s Devotional Bible, written by Beth Donigan Seversen:

The Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis is a fictitious diary of scolding letters from a mature demon (Screwtape) to his young nephew (Wormwood). It is Wormwood’s job to keep a recent convert to Christianity from being productive for Christ (the Enemy). Screwtape’s letters point out where Wormwood has failed or missed an opportunity. I have often mused that there must be a missing appendix to these letters somewhere that reads like this …


My dear Wormwood,

The following instructions shall help you proceed in handicapping your convert’s effectiveness in the Enemy’s kingdom. One of our great allies at present is her perception of herself. It is your task, therefore, to feed her poor self-esteem. Already she wastes time primping in front of the mirror and worrying about her looks.

You must continue to encourage her to compare herself with so-called “spiritual giants” whom she admires. This will eventually immobilize her. When she feels inadequate she will no longer attempt anything for the Enemy’s kingdom because of her fear of failure. Her warped self-image will lead to unhealthy relationships and hinder her ability to love others. The more often she tells herself that she is a bad person – that she’s not competent – the more easily she will feel threatened by others. This will turn others off to the Enemy and his loathsome Christianity.

Ultimately, her relationship with the Enemy himself will be adversely affected. Since she is not satisfied with how the Enemy has created her, her intimacy with Him will be destroyed and she will find it difficult to trust the Enemy, pray to Him or read that detestable Book.

Finally, emphasize her weaknesses so repeatedly that she begins to believe that she is unimportant to the Enemy. This will push her to compulsive striving to please Him through her own accomplishments. Her works will no longer be motivated by faith, but by a dislike for herself. Confuse her so that she never feels forgiven. If you successfully convince her that the Enemy is never pleased with her, she will grow weary and give up altogether. But more of this in my next letter.

Your affectionate uncle,
Screwtape

Depraved Indifference

Enseko = Laughter = Sseko Designs

I cringe at the thought of spending more than $10 or $15 on a pair of shoes.  I am not a shoe person - never one of those girls that had a shoe fetish, with a closet overflowing of them.  I have one pair of boots that I've had since I was a freshman or sophomore in high school. So, you know, per my usual MO, a decade later, I'm still valiantly holding on to them.  They're in great shape - waterproof and all.  It's a running joke in my family, though, my choice of footwear.  My brothers actually bought me a pair of tennis shoes one year for Christmas because up until that point I refused to buy some myself.  I didn't see anything wrong with the current pair I had, but clearly the family thought otherwise.  My mother eventually had to force me to part ways even with those shoes.  It's not that I'm partial to the shoes, it's just that if there's nothing wrong with them, I'm not going to spend a fortune on a pair just to get an upgrade or a better looking version.

But earlier this week, I spent what I would deem a small fortune on a pair shoes.  And I didn't think twice about it.

A few weeks ago, my friend Emily sent me the link to a company that had a job opening she thought I might be interested in.  It was with Sseko Designs in Kampala, Uganda, for the Director of Operations.  (The thought process behind that possibility is an entirely separate post all together).  So I checked out the site, browsed around the products, checked out the story, and was hooked. 

Because you want to know the really beautiful thing about this company?  It's not about sandals - it's about the women behind the sandals.  It's about opportunity and change for a people and a country that have been hurting for so long. 

Sseko \say-ko\ Designs was created to help these bright young women continue their education. The Ugandan school system is designed with a nine month gap between secondary school and university. These nine months are intended to allow time for students to earn money for tuition before continuing on to university. However, in an impoverished and male dominated society, many of these young women struggle to find fair work during this time.


Sseko Designs hires recent secondary school graduates for this nine month period to live and work together, while earning money that will go directly towards their university education. These women will not make sandals forever. They will go on to be doctors, lawyers, politicians, writers and teachers that will bring change and unification to a country divided and ravished by a 22 year-long war.

Sseko Designs is a not-just-for-profit enterprise that recognizes the power of business and responsible consumerism to support sustainable economic development, which in turn affects a country's educational, justice, and health care systems. The goal of Sseko Designs is two-fold: provide university tuition for these promising young women through a sustainable monthly income, while also contributing to the overall economic development of Uganda.

Although consumerism makes many empty promises, responsible and proactive consumerism has the ability to change lives. Like the lives of Mercy, Mary and Rebbecca.

Every sandal has a story. This story has only just begun, but with your help, it will be a story of hope, success and change.

So that's why.  That's why I don't think twice about paying $50 for a pair of sandals.  To me, the sandals are just icing on the cake.  They're cute.  They're trendy.  They're durable and well-made.  But it's the opportunity to help these women that gets me.  I'll gladly go on buying more sandals and more straps, for myself and for others. (I see birthday and Christmas gifts on the horizon!)  They may live half-a-world away but they're dreamers just like me.  I love funding dreams.

Boys will be Boys...

...regardless of skin color or country of birth.  Dirt is still the universal food of little boys and animal noises are the universal language. 

I checked my e-mails this morning and I had an e-mail from the village in Kenya.  The Child Care Director passed along a recent happening, which she knew I would appreciate:


While the Rafiki employees met with the Village Director on Thursday afternoon, two MiniMissionaries (short-term staff) and two other ROS (Rafiki Overseas Staff, long-term) and I watched the 97 children as they played. It made me wish that I had some afternoon play time with the kids every day. The kids had fun blowing and chasing bubbles, rolling tires, running, kicking footballs (soccer balls) and talking with us. One conversation when something like this:


An unidentified voice- “Mrs. Patty Yoss, Randall is eating dirt.”

Me - “Randall, come here.”

Randall - “Yes, please.”

Me - “Randall, please don’t eat dirt. It’s not good for little boys to eat dirt.”

Johnson- “Mrs. Patty Yoss, is it good for little girls to eat dirt?”

Me - “No, Johnson. It’s not good for any children to eat dirt.”

Hannah- “Only thieves should eat dirt!”

Much laughter by all!
 
Meanwhile, a few nights ago we went out to dinner for mom's birthday.  My nephew Rocco was there and I had the privilege of sitting next to him during the meal.  He has recently become prone to roaring at just about anything as he believes he is a tiger.  At the end of the meal, he turned to me and said in his little lispy voice, "You a lion and I'm a tiger, now roar!"  So I roared somewhat quietly, however he missed the memo about roaring at an equal decibel which prompted half the restaurant turn around and look our way. 
 
He then proceeded to go around the table, naming each person a particular animal name.  I was a lion, he was a tiger, my dad was a puma (clearly this kid has been to the zoo a number of times as I don't know too many three year olds who know what a puma is), my mother was a cheetah.  And then we got to the grandmothers and I thought, "Rocco, my friend, you better tread lightly when it comes to naming the matriarchs of the family." 
 
You could tell he was giving it a great deal of thought what he would name my grandmothers.  I just thought, "Dear Lord, please don't let the words rhino, hippo, or elephant come out of his mouth."  He settled on a giraffe for my one grandmother, which she was quite pleased with because she jokingly said, "I'll take that, considering I'm neither tall nor skinny!"  He then came to my other grandmother and I was anxiously waiting for what his animal choice would be and I could see he was on the verge of one of the dreaded three.  So I leaned over and whispered, "Rocco, maybe she can be a panther."  He looked at me and then he looked at her and said, "You can be a panther!"  
 
Bullet dodged.
 
I'm sure the time will come when I have to explain to Rocco, too, that dirt is not to be eaten, whether in Africa or America. 

With Our Own Eyes

To say that I think of Africa, namely Kenya, a lot would probably be an understatement.  Although it seems here lately that none of us can escape it really, considering the situations happening in Libya, Egypt, and the Ivory Coast.  And those are just the ones that are making headlines.  Don't even get me started on Zimbabwe.  I recently watched a documentary called "Mugabe and the White African."   It's a very compelling documentary, one that made me vacillate between wishing God would somehow wipe Robert Mugabe off the surface of the earth to wanting to cry my eyes out over the injustices in this world.  I was both disturbed and inspired - disturbed by Mugabe and his regime and inspired by the men featured in the story, who were choosing to take a stand, even at risk to their own lives. 

But that's beside the point.

I realized something tonight as I was reading over some Bible verses.  I was working on my lesson material for this week's small group and one of the verses we were to focus on was James 1:27, which says, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress..."   Our study actually focused on the previous verses, but I was left pondering this one.  I dug around through some commentaries and I was struck by the notes from Vincent's Word Pictures:

"James strikes a downright blow here at ministry by proxy, or by mere gifts of money.  Pure and undefiled religion demands personal contact with the world's sorrow - to visit the afflicted and to visit them in their affliction."

I, of course, read this and thought of Africa (you may think of your own example).  I thought of Johnson and Benson and Elijah and Denise and all of  the other little faces that I so dearly miss on a daily occasion it seems.  And while I spend a lot of time looking back, I look ahead to what the implications of this verse and this quote from VWP really mean.

It's not enough to simply give money or to wish for a better life for those who are afflicted.

I have to see it with my own eyes.

You have to see it with your own eyes.

If we are to care for the fatherless and widows of this world, those who are without a leader, a guide, a husband, a shepherd - if we are to care for them, then we have to go and see them. 

I loved the definition of "to visit" in Thayer's Greek Definitions - "to look upon or after, to inspect, examine with the eyes."

You see, it's not enough to merely watch the world's hurts on the news or to read about it in a book.  We have to see it with our own eyes.  And I think that's the driving force in my desire to go back to Africa.  I want to see it again - with my own eyes, with the understanding that I am responsible.  I think there will always be this part of me that will never be satisfied until I set foot on that continent again - and to come face to face yet again with the world's deepest needs.  Even as I read over that above quote from VWP, I thought of Zimbabwe and the situation there.  If we are to be the Christians that we say we are, then maybe that even means going to Zimbabwe (or wherever - that's just my example)to see the afflicted people there in their affliction.   Maybe it means going to Egypt.  Maybe it means going to Libya.

Or maybe it means going up the street to the hospital to visit those who don't have families.  Maybe it means going to a homeless shelter and meeting the afflicted there.  Whatever it may mean, we have to examine it with our own eyes if we have any hope of making a dent.  

I loved the story David Platt gave in his book Radical. He talked about a trip he took to Sudan, one where he originally questioned whether it was worth going himself, maybe he should just send money rather than spending everything on a plane ticket and such just to get to the people.  But then he went and when he got there he met a man who thanked him for coming - thanked him for being present in the flesh, for not just sending money, but for physically giving himself to the people.  It meant more to that man that David be there, laboring alongside him and with him, than it meant to simply receive whatever money he might have sent.

Our physical presence matters to the people we encounter and help.  We have to be willing to give of ourselves and not just our finances or well wishes.  It matters to them that we see them.  

I Need Africa More than Africa Needs Me

I listen to a lot of Matt Wertz's music.  And Matt Wertz loves Africa, which makes me like him even more.  He supports an organization called The Mocha Club and while browsing around through the Mocha Club's website, I found this:



"When I think of Africa, the following images immediately come to mind: Starvation. AIDS. Child soldiers. Genocide. Sex slaves. Orphans. From there, my thoughts naturally turn to how I can help, how I can make a difference. "I am needed here," I think. "They have so little, and I have so much." It's true, there are great tragedies playing out in Africa everyday. There is often a level of suffering here that is unimaginable until you have seen it, and even then it is difficult to believe. But what is even harder is reconciling the challenges that many Africans face with the joy I see in those same people. It's a joy that comes from somewhere I cannot fathom, not within the framework that has been my life to this day.

The images spilling out of my television showed circumstances that could seemingly only equal misery, and I was fooled. I bought into the lie that circumstance defines happiness. The truth is, in Africa I find hearts full of victory, indomitable spirits. In places where despair should thrive, instead I find adults dancing and singing, and children playing soccer with a ball crafted of tied up trash. Instead of payback, I find grace. Here, weekend getaways are not options to provide relief from the pains of daily life. Relationships and faith provide joy. Love is sovereign.

My new reality… I know now that my joy should have no regard for my circumstances. I'm ashamed by my lack of faith, but at the very same moment I am excited by my new pursuit. I'm forced to redefine the meaning of having much or having little. I'm uneasy with the prospect of change and of letting go, but just the thought of freedom is liberating. I want what I have learned to trickle down from my head into my heart - I no longer want to need the "next thing" to have joy.

I'm not saying that Africa does not need our efforts. It absolutely does need our partnership. But for me, I've come to understand that I NEED AFRICA MORE THAN AFRICA NEEDS ME. Why? Because it is Africa that has taught me that possessions in my hands will never be as valuable as peace in my heart. I've learned that I don't need what I have and that I have what I need. These are just a few of this continent's many lessons. I came here to serve and yet I've found that I have so much to learn, and Africa, with all its need, has much to teach me.

Bucket of Confidence

*3/9 update - SHE PASSED!  :)

If you have followed my blog for any length of time, then you have met my friend Alex.  While I was making the trek to Kenya, she was off to Germany to do research for Ohio State. 

Alex is getting ready to give what feels like the test of her lifetime.  She is in the Material Sciences program at Ohio State (don't ask me what that actually entails - I generally fudge my way through that question when people ask me) and is getting ready for her Ph.D. candidacy test on Tuesday.  The test basically determines whether she will continue on to the Ph.D. program and receive her Masters in the process or whether this is the end of the line for her, stopping with a Masters.  It's a several hour long verbal exam in front of a committee comprised of various faculty from within the program.  The girl has been hacking away at material by studying about 12 hours a day, all while still doing research, and trying to remain somewhat of a normal person who hasn't completely fallen off the face of the earth. 

It's proven to be a challenge. 

A girl I used to mentor, Leah, told me that she had a school teacher who told her one day after battling some insecurities, "Leah, you just need a bucket of confidence!"  Meaning, despite whatever insecurities you have, you just gotta have some confidence in yourself and your abilities!  

I decided Alex needed a bucket of confidence in preparation for her test on Tuesday.

So I put one together.  

I e-mailed friends, family, and colleagues, asking them to write Alex an encouraging note for the upcoming exam.  E-mail after e-mail came in from various people, most I had never met, who offered words of encouragement and affirmation.  I printed them each out, glued them to cardstock, stuck a popsicle stick on the back and stuck them in the bucket.

 I bought some of her favorite bags of candy and stuffed those in the bottom, along with some bags of popcorn and a gift card to some favorite places.  On one of the bags, I wrapped it in a piece of paper that said, "Just remember...you're great at giving hugs!"  The story behind that being one day Alex seemed to be having a bad day and I mentioned to her that she gave great hugs.  We laughed about this and then she said, "So if all of this fails, I should just sell my hugs on the street corners?  Does that make me a prostitute?"  Thus, now every time she tells me she's not sure about how this is all going to work out, I remind her that she's great at giving hugs.  There's always hope, my friend.

So, to you, Alex.  I have no doubt that you'll knock this test out of the park.  Despite whatever misgivings you might have about your knowledge or abilities, I am confident in you and the God we serve.   As one of the notes to you mentioned, you've been a good steward of what you've been given.  And just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego said when they were standing before the fiery furnace - even if our God doesn't save us, we'll still worship him.  Even if this doesn't turn out like you think it should, still worship him.   

You Know It's Been A Long Day When...

In my particular job, I do a lot of correspondence with donors for our Foundation, primarily thank you notes and birthday cards.  Yesterday's job was to tackle the birthday cards for the month of March.  The job consists of printing up the envelopes and then addressing each of the cards, about 130 of them.  Inside each card I write "Dear so-and-so," and then include "Thank you for being a donor!"

Well, yesterday I got a little distracted.  I tend to be somewhat of a global thinker, someone who has one thought that leads to another that leads to another and so on (one book I recently read called this transitive thinking - I am not a psychology major so I do not know the technical terms).  So while I was busy writing my birthday cards, I was about 80 cards into it and I got to thinking about what a pain it would be to be famous and have to sign autographs all the time.  I mean, you hear people talking about how celebrities will sign autographs for hours on end.  I was only halfway into this project and my handwriting was turning out all sorts of weird just from the monotony of the task.  I'm sure if I'm ever famous (not likely, but in the event) I will limit the amount of time I spend signing autographs. 

So the celebrity thought made me think of Taylor Swift, no particular reason.  I happen to be a fan of Taylor despite most of my family's intense dislike for her.  Thoughts of Taylor led to thoughts of how I'm sure she signs things "thanks for being a fan!"

This then is what I subconsciously started writing on my birthday cards instead of "thanks for being a donor!"  Thankfully, I caught the mistake as soon as I finished the note.  But then about 20 cards later I was still distracted and wrote "thanks for being a fan" again.  I gave up on the project at that point and decided to call it a day.

Riverdance

Oh.my.heavens.  I went to see Riverdance last night at the Ohio Theater here in Columbus.  I wanted to start crying and they hadn't even made it through the first song.  I know, I cry in libraries, I cry over really beautiful works of art, I cry at the Skull Session before an Ohio State football game, and I cry watching Irish dancing.  Please don't think me a blubbering fool because anybody who knows me knows I am not prone to crying at the drop of a hat.  But there are just some moments that catch you by surprise and evoke a response that you weren't quite ready for. 

We had managed to get free tickets from my brother's fiance whose friend had given them to her and so my mom and I jumped at the chance to go.  I remember watching Riverdance on VHS as a child all the time.  I would rent it from the library on frequent occasion and watch intently as Michael Flatley did his thing.  I found it to be mesmerizing.  Of course, when you watch things like that, you think "how hard can it be?"  I always think that when I listen to Yanni play the piano.  We somehow think it can't be that difficult and that we can just sit down at the piano and bust out a tune just like he does, or in this case, that after watching one performance of Riverdance we think we can somehow be just like them at the flip of a switch.  Yeah, no.  I'll keep dreaming. 

There were so many pieces of the show that I was fascinated by - the dancing, the guy on the fiddle, the outfits, the drummer, the blonde-haired singer who had a voice to die for, the sheer athleticism of what they do night after night.  The guy playing the fiddle clearly was someone who loved his job.  I didn't think he was ever going to stop smiling.  And talk about the devil going down to Georgia - this guy could wail on the fiddle.  He just looked so dang happy while he was playing.  And it was so intuitive. For someone who is not musically inclined and had a hard time marching and playing the clarinet at the same time while in high school marching band, my hat is off to anyone who can play a musical instrument and make it look like they're breathing.  It was like it was an extension of his body, that fiddle.

Oh, and the tap dancers.  There was one act where they had a tap dancing/Irish dancing duel.  One, it was hysterical because each side mocked the other, but two, I just remember thinking "what a gift."  I mean, these guys' legs are essentially their own musical instruments.  They can control and manipulate sounds just by moving muscles and shuffling a certain way.  I was jealous.   Much like marching band, tap dancing was short-lived for me as a child.  I had what seemed a terribly embarrassing moment on stage when I was a kid and I don't think I opted to stick with tap dancing for long after that.

 

But seriously, if you ever get the chance to see Riverdance live, do it.  I don't care how cheesy you think it is or how girly.  It's worth the money.  And take me with you.  :)