Lessons from Rwanda

This is not my story. I am simply a vessel, a way for a story to be told. I am merely a fragment of the story which I pray I can find the right words to tell.   It's a story of violence, anger, sadness, loss, strength, pride, love and faith all at once.

Ethiopian airport

As I was traveling toward Rwanda, I felt my material comforts were slowly being stripped from me.  Upon arriving in Ethiopia for a layover, I felt small and lost. Gone were comforts of an American airport, no familiar food vendors, dirty bathrooms, my language only spoken by my team members. No TV, no music that was familiar to my ears and my cell phone was useless. I was a minority and a stranger.  I was free.  Free of all things that we think make us American, and it was amazing. 

 

 

 

 

Our hotel

Rwanda welcomed us with open arms, literally.  Smiles and hugs were given easily, our guide Pastor Peter welcoming.  Our hotel seemed extravagant given the surroundings and I found myself feeling guilty.  Ezekial was the manager of this hotel and went far above expectations to make us feel comfortable. I have never stayed anywhere in the U.S. where I have experienced this much hospitality.  Given the friendliness of its people, I found it even harder to imagine the gruesome history of Rwanda.

Graves at genocide memorial

In April of 1994, Rwanda experienced a mass genocide where over 800,000 men, women and children were murdered.  I remember being 20 years old and this was simply a blip on my radar as Rwanda was a world away and did not affect me.  Our first day in Kigali, we had the privilege of visiting the Genocide Memorial museum.  I thought I knew the history, the story, the suffering.  What I found in that museum proved me horribly wrong.  The images of the violence will forever be etched in my memory.  Horrific details that we were spared by our American journalists were glaring.  I found myself crying out loud at the disbelief that so much hatred had occurred and we stood by.  Simple observers half a world away, I was ashamed.  We were given this opportunity to learn from their history and to see the miraculous change that has occurred in Rwanda, giving us even more appreciation of the people.  Along the streets of Kigali, we would see beautiful gardens with statues being tended to constantly.  These gardens mark the spot of mass graves and the ground considered sacred.  Driving by them was a somber reminder of what once occurred along these bustling, vibrant streets.  Rwandans express pride in how far they have come in 19 years.  They are not dwelling in the past but growing from their experiences.

Outside walkway and bedrooms

The orphanage at Kimisagara

Our first visit to the orphanage was the afternoon after visiting the Genocide Memorial.  I was already raw with emotion as I'm sure my team members were.  The climb to the orphanage was hard and consisted of three separate steep hills, the last one being the steepest.  My thoughts along those hills were of what I would see and how I would react once we reached our destination.  I knew I would see hardship and living conditions far below most standards. I felt I was ready for what was ahead and as we finally reached the top of those long hills, I quickly learned that I was not at all.  The building was very small and literally perched on a cliff.  There was no outdoor space except a dirt courtyard about the size of my living room for the children to play.  Smoke was billowing out of the small kitchen where the children's meal of rice and beans was being prepared.  As I entered the courtyard with my team members, I felt tears come to my eyes and I began to doubt I had what it would take to participate in our mission. 
                                                                              

Then I saw the children, so many of them at first wary of our presence.  It did not take long before we were all surrounded by children who were so excited to see us.  My fears and doubts quickly dissipated when little arms were reaching up and wanting to be held.  Without hesitation or
reservation, my team members and I held children, hugged older children and played games on the dirt floor.  We saw past the dirt, runny noses and stained clothing.  Instead we saw beautiful children who needed love and attention.  We were so ready to give it. We spent our days playing games, doing arts and crafts and singing songs.  The children were without so much but able to smile at the littlest things.  Bubbles and balloons entertained even the older children and little fuzz balls became prized possessions.  I left with my team every evening tired and covered in dirt.  It wasn't until I was away from the children that the enormity of the situation would overcome me and I would succumb to tears.

The days spent at the orphanage went by at lightening speed. Every day we became more attached to the children and their caregivers. There is so much love at Kimisagara as the older children love and tend to the younger children.  Our mission was to hug, hold and love on as many children as we could.  Whenever the opportunity arose we prayed with the children.  I tended to stay near the younger children and would often sit on the floor so that I could hold as many on my lap as possible.  Sometimes I would whisper a prayer in a little ear not knowing if it went unheard or understood.  Then one day I had my answer.  Jesus was already at Kimisagara.  The children had as much faith and love of Jesus as anyone I have known.  It all became obvious because of a little sidewalk chalk.  All over the walls they wrote affirmations of Jesus.  Some even wrote wishes for God to bless us.  I was overwhelmed with emotion as a person new to faith.  The children had so little, material things virtually nonexistent, but they were so rich in faith and love.  I felt as if we were suddenly somewhere so holy and that we were given the gift of sight.  They had nothing.  Nothing to stand in the way of their faith.  I couldn't help but think of our society and how when we don't get what we want we tend to lose faith or doubt God.  I was humbled by what the children showed me.  Something I will carry with me forever.

All too soon, it was time for us to go home.  I was definitely ready to see my family but so sad to leave the children of Kimisagara.  Each of us had a child or a group of children that "claimed" us each day that we were there.  The bonds were strong among all of us.  The last day, Pastor Peter spoke to the children on our behalf, telling them that we were going to be gone but that we will continue to work at home for them. Together we bowed our heads in prayer, tears flowing, hands held. We were a family.  Leaving the orphanage was probably the hardest thing I have ever experienced.  Sabina, who had become my little girl during our time there, would not let me go.
I noticed that my team members were having the same troubles.  When we walked out of the orphanage for the last time, we were sobbing out loud.   Once again we were sweaty, smelly and covered in dirt and hand prints, yet none of us were ready to wash it away.

My heart still hurts today.  I have been home for a couple of days now. I have not been able to talk about my experience with anyone besides Adam and those who were there with me.  My team and I have forged a bond that will last a lifetime.  What we experienced together was hard and amazing at the same time. They get it.  I feel as if verbalizing my experience will belittle it somehow, make it less important.  I hope writing conveys what I am feeling better than spoken words.  I went to Rwanda to help the broken.  Turns out it was me that was broken and the children of Kimisagara have left me whole.

I would like to send my love to Kara, Ryan, Molly, Lynett, Julie, Craig, Dieudonne, Lonnell, Martha, Manya, Peter, Kayla, Brad and Abigail. You will forever be in my heart.

 

Coming Home

"And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears,
And Love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With Grace in your heart..." ~ Mumford and Sons

I have gotten over my hill.  Yes, I am getting older, but that is not of what I am speaking.  Today I signed a Statement of Faith.  I first laid eyes on this statement shortly after I accepted an invitation to visit orphans with Visiting Orphans, which is a Christian based organization.  My first hurdle was the application process, which I struggled to bring myself to fill out.  Of course, I have always wanted to go to Africa, and my heart longs to serve those in need.  What was stopping me was the request, "Describe your walk with Jesus."  I had nothing to say.  I did not feel worthy to answer the question as I watched my twelve-year-old daughter answer the request with such ease.  My heart was heavy because though I wanted to go on this mission, I did not want to go as a fraud.  How could I share the love of Jesus when I didn't know that love myself?  Conflicted, I wrote the only answer I could think of..."seeking."  And then began the most incredible journey.

I have always been a skeptic, perhaps even cynical.  I have always relied on my own strength to get me through life, though I would acknowledge a higher Being, but could not (would not) give myself over completely.  Honestly, I viewed faith as a sign of weakness, but mostly I did not feel I belonged.  The few times I have attended church I felt uncomfortable, an outsider trying to get into an exclusive club.  I prided myself on not needing this Love, this community or their compassion.  I felt that if I was meant to be a Christian then I would already have faith and that it would come easily.  I believed that Jesus was merely a great man, philosopher and teacher.  Then I received a book that would forever change my life.  "Mere Christianity" was written by C.S. Lewis.  He was an atheist that became one of the greatest Christian advocates of our time.  I accepted this gift with an open mind, but it was what I read inside those pages that opened my heart.  Lewis quotes nonbelievers as stating, "I'm ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don't accept His claim to be God."  He refutes this by stating, "That is the one thing we must not say.  A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher.  He would either be a lunatic-on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg-or else he would be the Devil of Hell."  Wow.  I had never thought of that way before and suddenly I found what little foundation I had shaking under me.  There were so many parts of this book that I felt reflected my thoughts, my struggles and yet made having faith seemingly attainable. Where do I go from here?  I had a choice.  I could completely let go of the teachings of Jesus and hopes of faith.  Or I could do what I stated on that application, I would seek Him.

I was invited to join a small group that attends Christ Community Church of the Nazarene.  Annabelle has been attending this church with the Braatzes for many years.  I accepted this invitation with some trepidation.  I knew the Braatz family loved and accepted me despite my faults, despite my doubts.  I was afraid of being scrutinized for my lack of church attendance, lack of biblical knowledge, my lack of faith by the other members.  Instead I was greeted with love and understanding.  We began discussing "The Good and Beautiful God" by James Bryan Smith.  I enjoyed reading the book and was amazed by what I found.  I had expected to hear words of living up to God's standards, why I am a sinner and how I should be ashamed and repent.  Instead, I heard nothing but words of love.  Love!  How incredible that even someone like me could be loved by God. That God so loved us so much he gave us Jesus. To save us from our sins, to be our salvation.  That Jesus seeks me like I am seeking him.  That He came for the weak, the weary and the broken. That He wants us to live in peace.  To live as we were meant to by God.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I did not have much to offer during our discussions those first few months. There were no human words for what I was feeling.  I was afraid to put my growing faith into words, that it would make it meaningless somehow.  I felt my growing faith was fragile and if I spoke of it, it would shatter.  I knew I had to keep feeding this faith to allow it to grow.  I continued to read books about Jesus.  I reread the "Case for Christ," and it was as if I were reading it with new eyes.  I believed the arguments for Jesus. I read passages of the Bible, especially the Gospels.  I began to feel a peace within me and at times would be moved to tears when I least expected it.  Yet, I could not bring myself to say it aloud to anyone and was still unsure of where I stood.  I began to wonder how I would know that I believed.  Would I wake up one morning and just know?  Would there be some kind of sign?

It took a national tragedy to solidify my faith, but not without first testing it.  The shooting at Newtown was hard for me, as it was for many.  I couldn't stop crying; seeing patients that day was difficult and I often had to leave the room to go wipe the tears away.  I couldn't understand how God could allow this to happen. I returned to my readings looking for solace and answers. I was shaken and was afraid that all that I had gained would be lost. Then as I was discussing it with my husband a few days later I said: "I have to believe that Jesus was there. That He was taking those babies into heaven.  It's the only way I can get through this."  A revelation!

I confessed my love of Jesus to a friend at First Watch.  Not a church, not to a pastor or even to my small group.  It was not planned and it was very unexpected.  My friend was asking me about the spiritual journey I was on and for the first time I finally felt I could put it into words.  I told her that faith does not always come easy, that Jesus wants us to seek Him.  That with seeking Him and believing in Him, we will have all the answers we need.  I confessed, "I am a Christian and I hope to be baptized in His name."  True story.

This past Sunday, I was driving home after making rounds at the hospital.  Instead of taking my usual way home, I took a path that led me past Christ Community Church.  I felt compelled to enter those doors, to hear more of Jesus and to feed my soul.  It was after the service had started so I had to park at the farthest point of the parking lot.  As I got out of my car, the church greeter spotted me and starting waving to me.  It was as if he knew I was coming and was waiting for me.  When I entered the church I was overcome by a sense of peace and tranquility.  I did not feel awkward or uncomfortable.  I looked toward the cross, fought back tears of relief and knew I had come home.

I would like to thank Kara, the Braatz family, my small group and especially Adam for supporting me on this journey.  I thank God for believing in me..