This past week, I experienced a real gut check. Mark Feiner, the new but fantastically competent conductor of our South County Sound barbershop chorus, died in his sleep at age 55 over the weekend. We were all shocked.
We met as a chorus the next Tuesday night, to honor and talk about Mark and his impact on us; and then we talked about the future, our future. You see, we've been preparing--thanks to Mark's prodding and encouragement--to compete for the first time ever just 6 weeks from now, at a district competition. We'd been working hard and were beginning to feel we could actually do this, and place respectably.
When Mark died, our board chair immediately assumed we should cancel our participation, as he told me by phone a couple hours after we got the news. But he asked for group discussion about it on Tuesday. The discussion started as a seesaw. "If we do poorly on our first competition, we'll be known as a low performing group and will have a reputation, a hole to dig ourselves out of. That's how these things work." "No, we need to do this for Mark, no matter how we score in the competition."
Finally I felt a churning and spoke up. "Maybe this is a gut check time. True, the idea of competing was Mark's idea. He finally talked us into believing we could do it. Now he is gone. So it's our choice... will we decide this was Mark's dream and it dies with him, or will we now make it our dream? This could be a touchstone for SCS. If we do gather ourselves and compete, we may well look back for years and say this was a defining moment for our group, in giving us confidence and cohesiveness."
Finally, the Chair asked for a show of hands. Of the 40 guys there, as far as I could tell, when asked who wanted to press forward and perform at contest, 40 hands went up. It was amazing. Afterwards, a longtime barbershopper told me he'd never been in a group that has such commitment and cohesion.
A few days later at a vision trip orientation, I was reminded of a much more dramatic gut-check moment. The moment happened 10 years earlier, on a drive out to the Afar desert in Ethiopia, about a year before I became involved in the project, and directly related to how I did. In the early days of this project, which serve the fiercely independent, Kalishnikov-toting Muslim Afari people, the 300-mile road was hardly paved at all. The first visitor group was going out to meet the people and explore starting the project. That group was so large and the partnership so undefined that a non- WV vehicle with a non- WV driver was added to the caravan. This vehicle was forced by oncoming trucks onto the soft, slanted shoulder of the road, and it then flipped over, landing upside down. Two passengers were seriously hurt, (including my WV predecessor, who never fully recovered). Eventually, the passengers were extracted from the upside-down vehicle and transported back to the capital.
And that's when it happened: The remaining group gathered in the midday desert heat and asked: "In light of this major setback, should we see this as a warning and turn back, or do we press on?" After prayer and discussion, the decision was unanimous: we press on! The skeptical, resistant Afar people heard about it and came out en masse the next day to meet the visitors. The governor kept repeating with wonder, "But you came anyway..." As a result, new doors opened, walls came down, and a long-term bond was formed.
Every year I hear this story from Pastor Tom Theriault. And each year I am reminded this story is a key part of the history in the genesis of this amazing 12-year partnership.
We've all had gut-check times. These are "moments of truth", to a road we are traveling, to our faith, marriage, or job, and they are rarely orchestrated by us.
The first one I remember was when my 17-year old girlfriend emerged from the doctor's office and told me she was pregnant, equal parts excitement and fear. I was 18, and about as capable of taking care of her as Rolf in "The Sound of Music" when he sings "You are 16 [but] I am 17 going on 18; I'll take care of you." Yet I acted just as self-assured: we bought our first baby toy and began making plans for marriage. Thirty-eight great wedded years later, those solidarity responses still seem more mundane than heroic to me, but Janet would disagree.
Another seminal gut-check was when at age 26 I began to think more deeply about my dad's death at only 40 years old. In very good health, he died in his sleep of a brain aneurysm, and the doctor said those can run in families.
I started imagining dying at forty: will my life have made any difference? Yes, for my family, but I wasn't at all sure I was being faithful to "whatever God put me here to do." I recall sitting in church one day asking God to reveal that to me.
Then it hit me: What if God tells me? Will I actually do it?! It was then I decided to be "all in." I think that answering "yes" to God like that, before I knew the question, was the turning point in my life, from a place where Jesus' worldview was a suggestion, to understanding it was his invitation to me personally.
That's been a decisive difference in my life. And now it's part of my personal (and our marital) history. And though my singing group isn't making such heavy decisions as that, it quite likely will become part of our group's story, something recited to each new member ...like the Afar accident is recited each year to orient those traveling, as part of the history they are now continuing.
I think it's very easy to overlook these personal "history making" moments, to not see the invitation. Practical considerations overtake our thinking, we "stay in our head", we calculate the tradeoffs and mark off Pro and Con columns in our mind. Those are very helpful in most decisions, such as determining which couch or car to buy.
The trick is to keep our eyes (and hearts) open for the gut checks. Whether they are tests of our resolve or of our courage, they are invitations not to be missed, decisive touchstones and altars that many times actually become the most important trail markers we leave behind.
Cory
Addis Ababa
Feb, 2012
About Me
- Cory Trenda
- I've spent over 30 years with one foot firmly planted among the world’s poorest and the other firmly planted among the world’s richest. I chronicle some of my struggles to live as a Jesus-follower, integrating my global experiences into my understanding of Jesus’ example and teaching. This site is an ongoing extension of the book "Reflections From Afar", "an invitation to glimpse the world through the eyes of the poor and oppressed, and to incorporate those perspectives into our daily lives…"
Friday, March 2, 2012
Building Altars
A couple weeks ago while on a plane headed for Ethiopia, I was thinking and writing about Ethiopia's forlorn neighbor, Somalia. The UN had just officially declared an "end" to the famine conditions there.
Last summer, the UN had slapped the "Famine" label on Somalia, declaring this the first major African famine since the Ethiopia/Sudan famine of 1984-85. Granted, everything is relative. According to the World Food Programme, the "famine classification requires that rates of malnutrition are greater than 30%; mortality rates are greater than two deaths per day per 10,000 people; and access to food and water is limited to less than 2,100 kilocalories and four litres a day, respectively."
So... when 30% of children under age five are underweight, the FAMINE warning light starts flashing. When only 29.9% are underweight, the light quits flashing. Call it a "tipping point". Exact science, no, but we need these markers. Recession and bear market labels are based on crossing specific thresholds. And don't we celebrate when the indicators begin to oh-so-slowly tip back toward the positive?
So it should be with the news that the UN has officially un-declared a famine in Somalia, meaning that hunger is diminishing to the point that something under 30% of the children under age five are severely malnourished and underweight.
I'm not being sarcastic here; quite the opposite. My point is that even though there is still much work to do, let's pause to build an altar of thanksgiving to God that the dread stamp "FAMINE" has been washed away, due in part to effective, coordinated relief operations, and in part due to good rains over the past few months. Rains mean food (usually) in areas like this which are completely dependent on showers from heaven. Their dependence on rainwater is not a positive thing; their dependence on heaven is something from which we could learn a thing or two.
Building altars isn't something we do very often. But the patriarchs did, when God acted on their behalf. When God appeared to him in Shechem and at Bethel, Abraham built an altar. (Gen 12:7-8) When God brought him bounty, he built another altar. (Gen 13:4) Isaac, Moses, Noah. When God came through, they stopped and marked the place and time with a monument for posterity, “as something to remember” (Gen 17:14).
Knowing as St. Paul says that all things are being brought under subjection to Christ, let's give credit both to God and to the tools God employed in bringing a quick end to the Somali famine: the rain, the international community and humanitarian agencies. In 1984-'85, it is estimated that over one million Ethiopians perished due to famine there. Bad rains, bad government, tragic results. Again we had bad rains and bad government in Somalia, and yet only some "few" thousand died.
I ended my time in Ethiopia with a short visit to the Antsokia Valley, where World Vision had operated a huge relief camp during that famine 25+ years ago. I first visited Antsokia in early 1986, just as the rains were returning and our work was shifting from relief to rehabilitation. Antsokia's total devastation became the mother of invention, as WV innovated our signature Area Development Program model from this very place. I'll write some other time about how Antsokia was transformed from being a basket case to becoming the breadbasket of northern Ethiopia.
After a meeting there about a new innovation, which is bringing together Evangelical pastors, Orthodox priests and Muslim imams to work jointly for the wellbeing of children, I had a moment to wander through the old relief camp... the corrugated tin buildings still standing like historic relics: the “wet feeding center” for infants and nursing mothers, the food warehouse, the old shower I had used in 1986 along with the staff who were stationed there. Some 40-60 souls perished EACH DAY during the height of the disaster, just in this one location. I felt as though I were in an ancient burial ground, with literally thousands of bodies lying in repose all around.
In late 1984, World Vision had to fly in the BBC film crew that broke the story of the Ethiopia famine to the world. Back then, there were no sophisticated Early Warning Systems that monitored and graphed the prices of grains and livestock as reliable harbingers of looming disaster, there was less coordination of NGOs and less effective oversight by UN agencies, and far less access to information.
This is yet another result of the world "getting smaller." When people ask me if there's any hope in my work, with all the reports of disaster, hunger and suffering, I tell them that when I started 30 years ago, 45,000 children were dying of unnecessary causes every day. Today, with a billion more people on our planet, about 22,000 die daily. Without question, 22,000 is a terrible number. But the improvement is stunning.
So, if in heaven's accounting the difference between the Ethiopia famine of the mid-80's and the Somalia famine of 2010-'11 is that maybe eight hundred thousand fewer people died, who of us will take the time to pay attention, to build the altar, to pause and mark this moment?
The other thing I point out is how much smaller the world is becoming. People are reading and hearing about conflicts and tragedies from all over the globe. And as a result, they often care enough to act and be involved in the solution! We all can suffer at times from compassion fatigue, that sense of overload and even emotional exhaustion at the needs in this far-flung world. But the fact that we are even aware of these needs, and with a stunning speed and diversity of news sources, is amazing. And this knowledge makes a huge difference in the ability of groups like World Vision to respond faster, better and in wiser coordination with other caring groups.*
This is no small matter. If you were one of the 800,000 people who didn't die this time but would have died 25 years ago, you'd see my point. You'd build an altar. You'd stop and thank God for sparing you. And sparing others.
And that's where we come in, too. Because some of us responded with funds which helped save lives, some of us prayed, some of us read the news and didn't avert our eyes for happier stories.
Much work remains to make these areas and these people truly "food secure" like Antsokia Valley -- not so vulnerable to drought, and also work to tamp down global speculation in foodstuffs which is again pricing the poor right out of the food line. The situation in Somalia remains precarious; famine could return with another poor rainy season. And today I read a report that three countries in West Africa are now very vulnerable because of drought and high global food prices; every one of our 19 ADPs in Niger is impacted.
But this time when "Famine" was declared, the dreaded scourge did not lead to mass starvation of so-called biblical proportions. So let's take a page from our bibles and build an altar of gratitude with our prayers of thanksgiving.
Cory
March 2012
Last summer, the UN had slapped the "Famine" label on Somalia, declaring this the first major African famine since the Ethiopia/Sudan famine of 1984-85. Granted, everything is relative. According to the World Food Programme, the "famine classification requires that rates of malnutrition are greater than 30%; mortality rates are greater than two deaths per day per 10,000 people; and access to food and water is limited to less than 2,100 kilocalories and four litres a day, respectively."
So... when 30% of children under age five are underweight, the FAMINE warning light starts flashing. When only 29.9% are underweight, the light quits flashing. Call it a "tipping point". Exact science, no, but we need these markers. Recession and bear market labels are based on crossing specific thresholds. And don't we celebrate when the indicators begin to oh-so-slowly tip back toward the positive?
So it should be with the news that the UN has officially un-declared a famine in Somalia, meaning that hunger is diminishing to the point that something under 30% of the children under age five are severely malnourished and underweight.
I'm not being sarcastic here; quite the opposite. My point is that even though there is still much work to do, let's pause to build an altar of thanksgiving to God that the dread stamp "FAMINE" has been washed away, due in part to effective, coordinated relief operations, and in part due to good rains over the past few months. Rains mean food (usually) in areas like this which are completely dependent on showers from heaven. Their dependence on rainwater is not a positive thing; their dependence on heaven is something from which we could learn a thing or two.
Building altars isn't something we do very often. But the patriarchs did, when God acted on their behalf. When God appeared to him in Shechem and at Bethel, Abraham built an altar. (Gen 12:7-8) When God brought him bounty, he built another altar. (Gen 13:4) Isaac, Moses, Noah. When God came through, they stopped and marked the place and time with a monument for posterity, “as something to remember” (Gen 17:14).
Knowing as St. Paul says that all things are being brought under subjection to Christ, let's give credit both to God and to the tools God employed in bringing a quick end to the Somali famine: the rain, the international community and humanitarian agencies. In 1984-'85, it is estimated that over one million Ethiopians perished due to famine there. Bad rains, bad government, tragic results. Again we had bad rains and bad government in Somalia, and yet only some "few" thousand died.
I ended my time in Ethiopia with a short visit to the Antsokia Valley, where World Vision had operated a huge relief camp during that famine 25+ years ago. I first visited Antsokia in early 1986, just as the rains were returning and our work was shifting from relief to rehabilitation. Antsokia's total devastation became the mother of invention, as WV innovated our signature Area Development Program model from this very place. I'll write some other time about how Antsokia was transformed from being a basket case to becoming the breadbasket of northern Ethiopia.
After a meeting there about a new innovation, which is bringing together Evangelical pastors, Orthodox priests and Muslim imams to work jointly for the wellbeing of children, I had a moment to wander through the old relief camp... the corrugated tin buildings still standing like historic relics: the “wet feeding center” for infants and nursing mothers, the food warehouse, the old shower I had used in 1986 along with the staff who were stationed there. Some 40-60 souls perished EACH DAY during the height of the disaster, just in this one location. I felt as though I were in an ancient burial ground, with literally thousands of bodies lying in repose all around.
In late 1984, World Vision had to fly in the BBC film crew that broke the story of the Ethiopia famine to the world. Back then, there were no sophisticated Early Warning Systems that monitored and graphed the prices of grains and livestock as reliable harbingers of looming disaster, there was less coordination of NGOs and less effective oversight by UN agencies, and far less access to information.
This is yet another result of the world "getting smaller." When people ask me if there's any hope in my work, with all the reports of disaster, hunger and suffering, I tell them that when I started 30 years ago, 45,000 children were dying of unnecessary causes every day. Today, with a billion more people on our planet, about 22,000 die daily. Without question, 22,000 is a terrible number. But the improvement is stunning.
So, if in heaven's accounting the difference between the Ethiopia famine of the mid-80's and the Somalia famine of 2010-'11 is that maybe eight hundred thousand fewer people died, who of us will take the time to pay attention, to build the altar, to pause and mark this moment?
The other thing I point out is how much smaller the world is becoming. People are reading and hearing about conflicts and tragedies from all over the globe. And as a result, they often care enough to act and be involved in the solution! We all can suffer at times from compassion fatigue, that sense of overload and even emotional exhaustion at the needs in this far-flung world. But the fact that we are even aware of these needs, and with a stunning speed and diversity of news sources, is amazing. And this knowledge makes a huge difference in the ability of groups like World Vision to respond faster, better and in wiser coordination with other caring groups.*
This is no small matter. If you were one of the 800,000 people who didn't die this time but would have died 25 years ago, you'd see my point. You'd build an altar. You'd stop and thank God for sparing you. And sparing others.
And that's where we come in, too. Because some of us responded with funds which helped save lives, some of us prayed, some of us read the news and didn't avert our eyes for happier stories.
Much work remains to make these areas and these people truly "food secure" like Antsokia Valley -- not so vulnerable to drought, and also work to tamp down global speculation in foodstuffs which is again pricing the poor right out of the food line. The situation in Somalia remains precarious; famine could return with another poor rainy season. And today I read a report that three countries in West Africa are now very vulnerable because of drought and high global food prices; every one of our 19 ADPs in Niger is impacted.
But this time when "Famine" was declared, the dreaded scourge did not lead to mass starvation of so-called biblical proportions. So let's take a page from our bibles and build an altar of gratitude with our prayers of thanksgiving.
Cory
March 2012
Friday, December 16, 2011
A Little Child Shall Lead Them
Friends,
I think this meditation deserves a repeat-performance. It's a lovely story about Lilly and how her mom taught her a bit about malaria, and compassion. I was with Lilly and her folks recently and brought her an actual malaria net, like we use in Africa. She's a busy 7-year-old now and couldn't remember the entire incident, so I promised to find what I'd written and send it to her. Re-reading it blessed me and I thought you might enjoy it too...
----
A Little Child Shall Lead Them
This year, we all agreed to forgo the typical presents for our adult extended family members and instead choose gifts from the World Vision Gift Catalog. We'd given some similar "gifts" previously, but this year there was a special abandon to it, a desire to really make these "thoughtful" gifts for each receiver, a criteria very close to Janet's heart.
It's about time we did this--several donor friends had "made the switch" already and told me wonderful stories of how even their grandchildren "get into it" and draw pictures of the goats and ducks and school uniforms that are being given in Grandma and Grandpa's name. For young and old, these "gifts" can really bring to life our help for those in need, and at the same time they move our gift exchange focus off of ourselves. I read a quote by a woman this week who said that she gives her grandchildren only gifts from the Gift Catalog, as a way to change the theme of Christmas "from getting to giving." When I read this, I was convicted that we'd missed it a little, that we'd somewhat excluded our grandchildren from this new gift theme and thereby cheated them out of this shift in focus so as not to let them down in the "getting" department.
Everyone needs to negotiate these waters in their own way, and this actually isn't a commercial for World Vision's Gift Catalog, nor anyone else's.
It's a contrast between two events that happened for me last Monday, at the end of a lovely visit to Chico, CA where I stayed with my brother and his sweet young daughters as we celebrated our Mom's 75th birthday. We also celebrated Christmas early, and afterwards five-year-old Maya and I were in the kitchen, where I showed her the picture in the Gift Catalog of the ducks and chickens we bought her parents. Her dad asked her jokingly if they should keep the poultry in her bedroom, and I was trying without much success to explain to her who actually receives these animals. She was a good sport, but I'm not sure she really understood me. I think she'd rather have enjoyed keeping ducks in her bedroom.
We said goodbye a few hours later and were on the plane home that evening when I read the following email from a young couple who give to World Vision and whom I'd visited the prior week, along with their four-year-old, Lilly. The mom wrote: "On Friday, Lilly wanted to make believe we were in the desert. She then started to say, 'Look out for the mosquitoes; they'll bite you.' I told her sometimes mosquito bites make people sick. I asked her how we could help the pretend people not get bit. She thought about it and said, 'a cover?' I explained that, yes, they can use nets to cover themselves. I then told her that we could help real people, by buying them nets for Christmas. She asked where we could buy the nets, and I replied that we could buy them through World Vision. She sat for a second, then gasped and whispered 'Mr. Cory!' It was priceless... She is paying attention;-) I truly believe this will be a family affair in no time at all. So this year for the family we are buying mosquito nets, per Lilly's request."
The hero in this story without question is Lilly's mom. It's her worldview, her "world vision", which seamlessly transforms playtimes like this into teachable moments. In the process, Lilly is transformed in her own understanding. And somewhere along the line, a child's world becomes bigger, more inclusive, more expansive. "Neighbor" begins to mean to her something of what it means to God.
And in the transformation, another Christmas prophecy becomes real: A little child shall lead them.
Isaiah chapter 11 prophecies of the "shoot of Jesse", one coming from David's lineage. And the Spirit of the Lord will rest upon him. With justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth. (There it is again--God's special concern for the least and the last.)
The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling together;
and a little child will lead them.
The Peaceable Kingdom; led by a child. A very special Child. A child raised up in the way he should go. A child who grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men.
Christmas is about a Child. Children can be immensely self-centered. And children can put us to shame in their unabashed generosity. Which tendency will we feed?
This Christmas, may our children and our grandchildren grow in wisdom and stature, and may their world get a little bigger, like Lilly's did. I think the Child of Christmas would be pleased. And maybe they'll even lead us somewhere where treasure lies.
Christmas blessings,
Cory
2011 Update: Janet and I are trying a new idea for our family this year... we picked out a gift from the WV catalog for each person, and then bought or made a little 'matching' remembrance for the person which would represent and remind them of the gift that was being in their honor. It's been fun to do the "pairing" and we recruited our oldest grandchild to help us pick out the matching items...and we've all really enjoyed it.
I think this meditation deserves a repeat-performance. It's a lovely story about Lilly and how her mom taught her a bit about malaria, and compassion. I was with Lilly and her folks recently and brought her an actual malaria net, like we use in Africa. She's a busy 7-year-old now and couldn't remember the entire incident, so I promised to find what I'd written and send it to her. Re-reading it blessed me and I thought you might enjoy it too...
----
A Little Child Shall Lead Them
This year, we all agreed to forgo the typical presents for our adult extended family members and instead choose gifts from the World Vision Gift Catalog. We'd given some similar "gifts" previously, but this year there was a special abandon to it, a desire to really make these "thoughtful" gifts for each receiver, a criteria very close to Janet's heart.
It's about time we did this--several donor friends had "made the switch" already and told me wonderful stories of how even their grandchildren "get into it" and draw pictures of the goats and ducks and school uniforms that are being given in Grandma and Grandpa's name. For young and old, these "gifts" can really bring to life our help for those in need, and at the same time they move our gift exchange focus off of ourselves. I read a quote by a woman this week who said that she gives her grandchildren only gifts from the Gift Catalog, as a way to change the theme of Christmas "from getting to giving." When I read this, I was convicted that we'd missed it a little, that we'd somewhat excluded our grandchildren from this new gift theme and thereby cheated them out of this shift in focus so as not to let them down in the "getting" department.
Everyone needs to negotiate these waters in their own way, and this actually isn't a commercial for World Vision's Gift Catalog, nor anyone else's.
It's a contrast between two events that happened for me last Monday, at the end of a lovely visit to Chico, CA where I stayed with my brother and his sweet young daughters as we celebrated our Mom's 75th birthday. We also celebrated Christmas early, and afterwards five-year-old Maya and I were in the kitchen, where I showed her the picture in the Gift Catalog of the ducks and chickens we bought her parents. Her dad asked her jokingly if they should keep the poultry in her bedroom, and I was trying without much success to explain to her who actually receives these animals. She was a good sport, but I'm not sure she really understood me. I think she'd rather have enjoyed keeping ducks in her bedroom.
We said goodbye a few hours later and were on the plane home that evening when I read the following email from a young couple who give to World Vision and whom I'd visited the prior week, along with their four-year-old, Lilly. The mom wrote: "On Friday, Lilly wanted to make believe we were in the desert. She then started to say, 'Look out for the mosquitoes; they'll bite you.' I told her sometimes mosquito bites make people sick. I asked her how we could help the pretend people not get bit. She thought about it and said, 'a cover?' I explained that, yes, they can use nets to cover themselves. I then told her that we could help real people, by buying them nets for Christmas. She asked where we could buy the nets, and I replied that we could buy them through World Vision. She sat for a second, then gasped and whispered 'Mr. Cory!' It was priceless... She is paying attention;-) I truly believe this will be a family affair in no time at all. So this year for the family we are buying mosquito nets, per Lilly's request."
The hero in this story without question is Lilly's mom. It's her worldview, her "world vision", which seamlessly transforms playtimes like this into teachable moments. In the process, Lilly is transformed in her own understanding. And somewhere along the line, a child's world becomes bigger, more inclusive, more expansive. "Neighbor" begins to mean to her something of what it means to God.
And in the transformation, another Christmas prophecy becomes real: A little child shall lead them.
Isaiah chapter 11 prophecies of the "shoot of Jesse", one coming from David's lineage. And the Spirit of the Lord will rest upon him. With justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth. (There it is again--God's special concern for the least and the last.)
The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling together;
and a little child will lead them.
The Peaceable Kingdom; led by a child. A very special Child. A child raised up in the way he should go. A child who grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men.
Christmas is about a Child. Children can be immensely self-centered. And children can put us to shame in their unabashed generosity. Which tendency will we feed?
This Christmas, may our children and our grandchildren grow in wisdom and stature, and may their world get a little bigger, like Lilly's did. I think the Child of Christmas would be pleased. And maybe they'll even lead us somewhere where treasure lies.
Christmas blessings,
Cory
2011 Update: Janet and I are trying a new idea for our family this year... we picked out a gift from the WV catalog for each person, and then bought or made a little 'matching' remembrance for the person which would represent and remind them of the gift that was being in their honor. It's been fun to do the "pairing" and we recruited our oldest grandchild to help us pick out the matching items...and we've all really enjoyed it.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
The Rest of the Story
Last night Janet and I watched a recording of a recent World Vision weekly chapel service. It started with a faded documentary-style video, circa 1979, chronicling a dramatic moment when World Vision’s ship Seasweep rescued a floundering vessel crammed with Vietnamese boat people. One four-year-old boy who was on that boat that day …then stood up and spoke to the chapel crowd! Now in his mid-30’s, Vinh is a graduate of Harvard Medical School and a skin cancer surgeon in Colorado. He said, “Without a doubt, if it had it not been for World Vision, the story of my life would have ended anonymously at the age of 4 in the South China Sea.”
Vinh’s parents had 11 children (he has only three of his own, thank you very much), and of the 11, five have Masters’ degrees and five have doctorates. The youngest recently graduated from Stanford and is on his way to medical school at Penn. Dad worked every hour he could as a laborer for a company that manufactures air conditioners, though the plant was not air conditioned and he stood all day on the assembly line through Arkansas summers. As Vinh told the audience, thanks to his father’s commitment, today he and his siblings all sit in offices, make their living based on their minds, and work in air conditioned facilities.
All in one generation. It’s a great illustration of the incredible opportunity possible in America—with sufficient parental sacrifice, a strong work ethic cascading down to the children, (yes, let’s acknowledge serious IQs and study habits!) …and the kindness of others, especially the amazing church which sponsored them from the refugee camp, helped them into an apartment, likely found the father a job, and told them all about Jesus.
World Vision played but one tiny, yet also decisive, role…saving the lives of 93 people that fateful day caught on film, including this entire family. What an amazing privilege for our staff to hear “the rest of the story” from Vinh and to have played a small yet critical role in it.
Somewhere in here is a lesson on gratitude. Vinh was thanking “people I will never meet”: not only the World Vision staff, but also the donors who supported this risky, reckless and costly venture. WV put a ship on the South China Sea to resupply Vietnamese refugee boats at a time when no governments wanted to get involved. Then the crew superseded the rules of the ship’s registration by following the law of their conscience, dramatically hoisting these 93 people aboard the Seasweep when their refugee boat was irreparable and had been floundering helplessly for six days, now out of food. Vinh’s mother was so beside herself at being unable to meet her children’s needs that “she would have given her blood” to nourish them; she has since admitted that she considered drowning the youngest ones to save them an agonizingly slow death. Such was the desperation of their situation when Seasweep found them.
How do we—you and I—get the privilege of being part of stories like this, and of literally millions more we’ll never hear this side of eternity? Rich Stearns went up to the podium to close chapel after Vinh sat down, and he became emotional. He wondered if maybe this is what the entertainment will be in heaven, hearing such testimonies.
In the meantime, it’s a huge blessing to savor the representative gratitude of one young father, husband, doctor, and son. He was on his way to becoming a statistic, simply a rounding error to add to the estimated three hundred thousand souls who had by then already been lost at sea as Vietnamese boat people.
Often, this is what life is like. We do our one part, we respond to an inner prompting of the heart and provide a helping hand—a touch, a word, a gift, and we have no idea how the story of that life ends. We never learn the rest of the story. Granted, the story isn’t usually as dramatic as Vinh’s—certainly my own story is not, though someone I’ll never meet provided the scholarship which allowed me to finish college summa cum laude and land a great corporate job that fed my young family and gave me skills and clarity of purpose which I employ every day.
This Thanksgiving, it’s worth taking time to go beyond the more obvious and visible objects of my gratitude—family, friends, my life today—and remember those unknown people who helped me along my way, maybe even without knowing me, to have the life I enjoy now.
And perhaps I’ll even take a moment to thank God for those people like Vinh, those I’ve personally or vicariously been able to somehow touch, bless, and strengthen on their journey, often without even knowing them. The apostle Paul encourages us, “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we shall reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Gal 6:9)
Giving thanks isn’t just a way to honor God by recalling our own life’s blessings, but also an opportunity to encourage ourselves by recalling the privilege God has given us of helping others in our own outpourings of time, talent and treasure. And what a great way to not grow weary in doing good!
Who knows—maybe a long ago passerby or someone you or I haven’t even met, like Vinh, will be thanking God this week for a decisive impact in their life in which we had a hand.
Understanding that, Vinh’s story is a Thanksgiving gift to us all.
Cory
Thanksgiving, 2011
Vinh’s parents had 11 children (he has only three of his own, thank you very much), and of the 11, five have Masters’ degrees and five have doctorates. The youngest recently graduated from Stanford and is on his way to medical school at Penn. Dad worked every hour he could as a laborer for a company that manufactures air conditioners, though the plant was not air conditioned and he stood all day on the assembly line through Arkansas summers. As Vinh told the audience, thanks to his father’s commitment, today he and his siblings all sit in offices, make their living based on their minds, and work in air conditioned facilities.
All in one generation. It’s a great illustration of the incredible opportunity possible in America—with sufficient parental sacrifice, a strong work ethic cascading down to the children, (yes, let’s acknowledge serious IQs and study habits!) …and the kindness of others, especially the amazing church which sponsored them from the refugee camp, helped them into an apartment, likely found the father a job, and told them all about Jesus.
World Vision played but one tiny, yet also decisive, role…saving the lives of 93 people that fateful day caught on film, including this entire family. What an amazing privilege for our staff to hear “the rest of the story” from Vinh and to have played a small yet critical role in it.
Somewhere in here is a lesson on gratitude. Vinh was thanking “people I will never meet”: not only the World Vision staff, but also the donors who supported this risky, reckless and costly venture. WV put a ship on the South China Sea to resupply Vietnamese refugee boats at a time when no governments wanted to get involved. Then the crew superseded the rules of the ship’s registration by following the law of their conscience, dramatically hoisting these 93 people aboard the Seasweep when their refugee boat was irreparable and had been floundering helplessly for six days, now out of food. Vinh’s mother was so beside herself at being unable to meet her children’s needs that “she would have given her blood” to nourish them; she has since admitted that she considered drowning the youngest ones to save them an agonizingly slow death. Such was the desperation of their situation when Seasweep found them.
How do we—you and I—get the privilege of being part of stories like this, and of literally millions more we’ll never hear this side of eternity? Rich Stearns went up to the podium to close chapel after Vinh sat down, and he became emotional. He wondered if maybe this is what the entertainment will be in heaven, hearing such testimonies.
In the meantime, it’s a huge blessing to savor the representative gratitude of one young father, husband, doctor, and son. He was on his way to becoming a statistic, simply a rounding error to add to the estimated three hundred thousand souls who had by then already been lost at sea as Vietnamese boat people.
Often, this is what life is like. We do our one part, we respond to an inner prompting of the heart and provide a helping hand—a touch, a word, a gift, and we have no idea how the story of that life ends. We never learn the rest of the story. Granted, the story isn’t usually as dramatic as Vinh’s—certainly my own story is not, though someone I’ll never meet provided the scholarship which allowed me to finish college summa cum laude and land a great corporate job that fed my young family and gave me skills and clarity of purpose which I employ every day.
This Thanksgiving, it’s worth taking time to go beyond the more obvious and visible objects of my gratitude—family, friends, my life today—and remember those unknown people who helped me along my way, maybe even without knowing me, to have the life I enjoy now.
And perhaps I’ll even take a moment to thank God for those people like Vinh, those I’ve personally or vicariously been able to somehow touch, bless, and strengthen on their journey, often without even knowing them. The apostle Paul encourages us, “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we shall reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Gal 6:9)
Giving thanks isn’t just a way to honor God by recalling our own life’s blessings, but also an opportunity to encourage ourselves by recalling the privilege God has given us of helping others in our own outpourings of time, talent and treasure. And what a great way to not grow weary in doing good!
Who knows—maybe a long ago passerby or someone you or I haven’t even met, like Vinh, will be thanking God this week for a decisive impact in their life in which we had a hand.
Understanding that, Vinh’s story is a Thanksgiving gift to us all.
Cory
Thanksgiving, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Deeper Than Beauty
Deeper Than Beauty
I recently presented one of our supporters with a piece of original artwork, World Vision style. It was a lovely depiction of what appeared to be a peaceful village scene from rural Bangladesh, drawn by a Bangladeshi child…
Jim and I admired it together, wondering about the couple sitting on the ground in marriage attire in front of a tiny home, a child near another small hut, and what was clearly a church right smack in the center, replete with a cross on the peak of the roof beams. We both really liked the piece.
Then he asked, "I wonder what the wording on the signs say?" I told him I'd try to find out and get back to him, then took a photo of the piece with my trusty mobile phone to send on to my Bangladesh colleague. The reply I received sent my mind spinning for several days, until I remembered a moving experience.
A few years ago Janet and I had the privilege of decompressing for a few precious days at a friend's beach house, perched on a cliff right over the ocean. It was our final morning there, wispy clouds laying a blanket of quiet over the calm grey water, and hundreds of gulls and other seabirds were circling the sky half a mile out to sea. There was a telescope by the picture window, so I used it to see the birds more closely. After awhile, I discovered the magic of following just one bird in flight. The telescope pivoted back and forth, lilting up and down as it went, tracking a singular bird along its circular journey. There was tremendous visual beauty in this, an airborne ballet of white feathers against the distant outline of Catalina Island... everything simply backdrop as I momentarily entered the reality for the one chosen flier.
In the sanctuary of that living room, watching the sky ballet outside, I noticed my eyes moistening from the stunning beauty on the other side of the picture window.
I was indoors because of the cool, cloudy weather, spying the birds from the warmth and peace of the comfortable home, a CD of soft piano music playing in the background. Then Janet opened the door and a cacophony of their distant squawking blew in on the bracing breeze, waking me to the realization that, in all likelihood, barring this gull being a direct descendant of Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, my bird was probably flying not to create beauty in the eye of my beholding, but simply continuing its never-ending search for its daily bread, for sustenance to stay alive. These gulls hold no savings accounts, have no bigger barns to build for storing their bounties. Their stomachs ask every day, "What have you done for me lately?" The scene became a complicated mix of the mundane, the beautiful, and possibly the desperate all at the same time. Clearly, there was a deeper reality than simply the beauty I was enjoying, although beauty was definitely in it, as real in my mind’s eye today as on the day I witnessed it.
I remembered this experience when I re-read the translation sent by my Bangladeshi colleague of the child's artwork...
Dear Brother,
Greetings from Bangladesh. I am so much excited to know that the gift you chose to give was an art work of a child of Bangladesh. I am very happy and honored to illustrate the artwork. Please, find it as follows:
1. We see a man is exploiting a woman in the drawing (from left)...This is one of the social issues by which the life of the children is affected much. The wording says, " Stop repression on women..or stop exploitation of women...The first word is pronounced as "Nari" which means 'women'...the second one is as 'Nirjaton' that means 'repression' and the last wording as 'Bhondaya kor' which means 'to stop'...or stop it.
2. Now let's point to the corner where a boy and a girl are in bride and bridegroom dress. This is another social issue in Bangladesh that affects the lives of children....Early marriage/child marriage is very common in rural areas, especially in poor families who consider their daughters merely burdens...Where there is ministry involvement through our ADPs or special projects, we have programs to empower the children in most vulnerable situations to combat the issues...They are working to stop early marriage through Child Forums. The little child with a play card represents the child forum's participation in community development activities. The wording means...'Stop Child Marriage' The words reads as 'Ballu' that means 'child'...Bibaha..which means 'marriage'...and the last word is again 'Bhondaya kor' which means 'to stop'...or just stop it.
Yes, there is a church in the middle of the village...We have church in a Christian village...I think the child wants to say about his/her dream for the future....he/she wants to tell us about a society where there will be no 'repression on women'...where there will be no 'early marriage'...Finally, maybe it finds its expression in Kingdom of God values where there will be fullness of life...love and dignity.
To be honest, I struggled whether to share this translation with Jim. He and I had shared such a nice, idealized interpretation of the artwork, very pastoral, very peaceful, very pleasant… very nice to glance at and remember fondly one’s involvement with World Vision!
But in the midst of what appeared to be only a pleasant scene there was also drama, especially when one remembers this drawing was made by a child… a child who has had to learn about these social issues, a child growing up surrounded by very real dangers from those issues. I imagine this as something similar to a child living in the inner-city, creating art that depicts neighborhood violence: Only the uninitiated would see it only as beautiful, no matter how stunning the skill of the artist.
After a few days, I realized that’s exactly why I must share the translation of the scene with this supporter—because clearly we are uninitiated, because we are not aware. Because we need to walk a mile in this child’s shoes, and now Jim has both a lovely and a disturbing reminder on his wall of that child’s reality… as well as perhaps a glimpse of the artist’s childlike hopes for the Peaceable Kingdom.
Just like those gulls circling the grey waters, here drama and beauty are intermingled. The presence of one does not cancel out the other. There is beauty in every culture, and there is drama in every one. The presence of beauty does not negate our responsibility to understand the trauma. And the reality of trauma does not negate the invitation to appreciate the beauty.
Cory
I recently presented one of our supporters with a piece of original artwork, World Vision style. It was a lovely depiction of what appeared to be a peaceful village scene from rural Bangladesh, drawn by a Bangladeshi child…
Jim and I admired it together, wondering about the couple sitting on the ground in marriage attire in front of a tiny home, a child near another small hut, and what was clearly a church right smack in the center, replete with a cross on the peak of the roof beams. We both really liked the piece.
Then he asked, "I wonder what the wording on the signs say?" I told him I'd try to find out and get back to him, then took a photo of the piece with my trusty mobile phone to send on to my Bangladesh colleague. The reply I received sent my mind spinning for several days, until I remembered a moving experience.
A few years ago Janet and I had the privilege of decompressing for a few precious days at a friend's beach house, perched on a cliff right over the ocean. It was our final morning there, wispy clouds laying a blanket of quiet over the calm grey water, and hundreds of gulls and other seabirds were circling the sky half a mile out to sea. There was a telescope by the picture window, so I used it to see the birds more closely. After awhile, I discovered the magic of following just one bird in flight. The telescope pivoted back and forth, lilting up and down as it went, tracking a singular bird along its circular journey. There was tremendous visual beauty in this, an airborne ballet of white feathers against the distant outline of Catalina Island... everything simply backdrop as I momentarily entered the reality for the one chosen flier.
In the sanctuary of that living room, watching the sky ballet outside, I noticed my eyes moistening from the stunning beauty on the other side of the picture window.
I was indoors because of the cool, cloudy weather, spying the birds from the warmth and peace of the comfortable home, a CD of soft piano music playing in the background. Then Janet opened the door and a cacophony of their distant squawking blew in on the bracing breeze, waking me to the realization that, in all likelihood, barring this gull being a direct descendant of Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, my bird was probably flying not to create beauty in the eye of my beholding, but simply continuing its never-ending search for its daily bread, for sustenance to stay alive. These gulls hold no savings accounts, have no bigger barns to build for storing their bounties. Their stomachs ask every day, "What have you done for me lately?" The scene became a complicated mix of the mundane, the beautiful, and possibly the desperate all at the same time. Clearly, there was a deeper reality than simply the beauty I was enjoying, although beauty was definitely in it, as real in my mind’s eye today as on the day I witnessed it.
I remembered this experience when I re-read the translation sent by my Bangladeshi colleague of the child's artwork...
Dear Brother,
Greetings from Bangladesh. I am so much excited to know that the gift you chose to give was an art work of a child of Bangladesh. I am very happy and honored to illustrate the artwork. Please, find it as follows:
1. We see a man is exploiting a woman in the drawing (from left)...This is one of the social issues by which the life of the children is affected much. The wording says, " Stop repression on women..or stop exploitation of women...The first word is pronounced as "Nari" which means 'women'...the second one is as 'Nirjaton' that means 'repression' and the last wording as 'Bhondaya kor' which means 'to stop'...or stop it.
2. Now let's point to the corner where a boy and a girl are in bride and bridegroom dress. This is another social issue in Bangladesh that affects the lives of children....Early marriage/child marriage is very common in rural areas, especially in poor families who consider their daughters merely burdens...Where there is ministry involvement through our ADPs or special projects, we have programs to empower the children in most vulnerable situations to combat the issues...They are working to stop early marriage through Child Forums. The little child with a play card represents the child forum's participation in community development activities. The wording means...'Stop Child Marriage' The words reads as 'Ballu' that means 'child'...Bibaha..which means 'marriage'...and the last word is again 'Bhondaya kor' which means 'to stop'...or just stop it.
Yes, there is a church in the middle of the village...We have church in a Christian village...I think the child wants to say about his/her dream for the future....he/she wants to tell us about a society where there will be no 'repression on women'...where there will be no 'early marriage'...Finally, maybe it finds its expression in Kingdom of God values where there will be fullness of life...love and dignity.
To be honest, I struggled whether to share this translation with Jim. He and I had shared such a nice, idealized interpretation of the artwork, very pastoral, very peaceful, very pleasant… very nice to glance at and remember fondly one’s involvement with World Vision!
But in the midst of what appeared to be only a pleasant scene there was also drama, especially when one remembers this drawing was made by a child… a child who has had to learn about these social issues, a child growing up surrounded by very real dangers from those issues. I imagine this as something similar to a child living in the inner-city, creating art that depicts neighborhood violence: Only the uninitiated would see it only as beautiful, no matter how stunning the skill of the artist.
After a few days, I realized that’s exactly why I must share the translation of the scene with this supporter—because clearly we are uninitiated, because we are not aware. Because we need to walk a mile in this child’s shoes, and now Jim has both a lovely and a disturbing reminder on his wall of that child’s reality… as well as perhaps a glimpse of the artist’s childlike hopes for the Peaceable Kingdom.
Just like those gulls circling the grey waters, here drama and beauty are intermingled. The presence of one does not cancel out the other. There is beauty in every culture, and there is drama in every one. The presence of beauty does not negate our responsibility to understand the trauma. And the reality of trauma does not negate the invitation to appreciate the beauty.
Cory
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Looking Up From Down Below
Janet and I adore being grandparents. Six months ago we were blessed with our fifth grandchild, and the first in 12 years. What a delight it is to celebrate each new adventure, each new wonder, each new victory for Laith. (His name rhymes with "faith" and is Arabic for "lion"—so of course Grandma feels compelled to buy every piece of baby clothing she finds sporting an embroidered lion.) Seeing him discover how to use his hands as tools the past few months, grimacing when he nearly turned over but then rolled back...then finally made it. Everyone in the family loves these little triumphs and new frontiers.
Why is that? Somehow we put ourselves in a baby's shoes. We accept infants "as they are", and if we have eyes to see it we can appreciate each infinitesimal new step, celebrating its newness, not depreciating its smallness.
I just had that same experience, sitting on an airplane heading up the California coast while reading a report from West Africa. What a joy it was to "appreciate the newness" of their progress. Yet I also sighed, wondering how many others would miss it, "depreciating its smallness?"
The report was about a fascinating innovation with the anything-but-fascinating name "Farmer-Managed Natural Regeneration". An Australian missionary who now works for World Vision discovered it 25+ years ago. The idea simply is that areas experiencing terrible deforestation can be reforested without planting new trees! It turns out that the stumps of harvested trees still have roots which send out new shoots, from the trunk and through the ground, maybe 20-30 shoots. If properly cared for, these shoots can become large trees far quicker than new seedlings because of their pre-existing root system.
Today half the farmed land in Niger, West Africa is using FMNR, and countries all throughout that region are adopting the practice. Even better: it requires almost no money or outside help beyond a little technical coaching, and farmers adopt it on their own from seeing its impact for their neighbors.
The report I read was full of quotes from local villagers, chiefs and FMNR volunteer trainers, and I realized that if you and I went to visit there, these are the kinds of things we'd hear...or we might miss, due to their profound "smallness":
* “They used to tell us to plant trees [seedlings]. They would bring them out; we would plant them and the trees would die. These (shoots) are coming up themselves! It’s cooler already and the winds are not as strong and the soil remains moist for longer. We are already beginning to see changes such as improved crop growth.”
* “Grasses have also returned and so now there is fodder for our livestock. The animals used to have to walk so far and risk being stolen. Now there is plenty of grass nearby and they do not wander. Also, it used to be that if we took our animals to the market, they were so skinny that buyers didn’t even want to look at them. Now, they bring good prices.”
* “A wide range of non-timber forest products can now be found after almost becoming locally extinct. Talensi region has a rich diversity of edible and medicinal plants. Children are eating wild fruits and selling some, and they buy text books with the proceeds. The children used to walk long distances in order to collect this fruit and this was a big concern to parents. Now the fruit can be found close to home.”
* One day a fire broke out and the chief saw it from his bath. His only thought was to save the trees, so he ran to the fire wrapped in his towel to put it out. Seeing their chief doing this the whole community was compelled to run to his aid. After just 1-2 years we are already seeing differences. Bare spaces are hard to find. Attitudes have changed, especially towards fire. Today the community members are very keen to prevent and stop fire. We envisage that within just a few years we’ll have a forest and all its benefits.”
* “The arrival of FMNR in my village has enabled me to fulfil the meaning of my ceremonial name, which is ‘Tintuug Lebge Tii’, meaning ‘the small shrub becomes a tree’.”
When at our best, we celebrate others’ small victories. We recognize that in our offspring these small victories will lead one day to major changes. Lord willing, Laith will eventually learn to walk, to talk, to learn, to invent, to provide, to love God and his fellow neighbor.
In the same way, even though we can almost hear our naysayer instinct cry out, "These people are still absurdly poor by my standards" while reading each quote above, these seemingly small victories can lead to major changes. For instance, in Niger, over five million people have doubled their family income, just by growing these tree shoots! Last year, World Vision won an Innovation Award for FMNR from Interaction, a US-based consortium of international NGOs that seeks to affirm and disseminate best practices.
I met a couple last month who helped finance the powerful documentary "Born into Brothels." The storyline is simple: cameras were given to children whose mothers work in brothels in India. Through the camera lens, we get to see the world from their viewpoint, looking up from down below. If we as viewers can see life as those children see it, the directors understood, we can more truly understand their challenges, the deficits they face, and their enormous victories in what we might otherwise call the smallest things.
Laith is almost always looking up from down below. Yet I love to get inside his head, to empathize, and to celebrate what for him is massive progress. Without question, anything and everything we ever "accomplish for God" must look the same to him as our grandchildren's progress looks from our adult perspective. Yet, I don't believe God scoffs at our human attempts, though to him they are infinitesimally small baby steps. No, God instead rejoices: he knows what we can become.
He looks up from down below with us. Through our camera lens. And he calls us to do likewise.
And, as the very first psalm reminds us, it's alot more fun to rejoice with those who rejoice than to sit in the seat of scoffers.
Why is that? Somehow we put ourselves in a baby's shoes. We accept infants "as they are", and if we have eyes to see it we can appreciate each infinitesimal new step, celebrating its newness, not depreciating its smallness.
I just had that same experience, sitting on an airplane heading up the California coast while reading a report from West Africa. What a joy it was to "appreciate the newness" of their progress. Yet I also sighed, wondering how many others would miss it, "depreciating its smallness?"
The report was about a fascinating innovation with the anything-but-fascinating name "Farmer-Managed Natural Regeneration". An Australian missionary who now works for World Vision discovered it 25+ years ago. The idea simply is that areas experiencing terrible deforestation can be reforested without planting new trees! It turns out that the stumps of harvested trees still have roots which send out new shoots, from the trunk and through the ground, maybe 20-30 shoots. If properly cared for, these shoots can become large trees far quicker than new seedlings because of their pre-existing root system.
Today half the farmed land in Niger, West Africa is using FMNR, and countries all throughout that region are adopting the practice. Even better: it requires almost no money or outside help beyond a little technical coaching, and farmers adopt it on their own from seeing its impact for their neighbors.
The report I read was full of quotes from local villagers, chiefs and FMNR volunteer trainers, and I realized that if you and I went to visit there, these are the kinds of things we'd hear...or we might miss, due to their profound "smallness":
* “They used to tell us to plant trees [seedlings]. They would bring them out; we would plant them and the trees would die. These (shoots) are coming up themselves! It’s cooler already and the winds are not as strong and the soil remains moist for longer. We are already beginning to see changes such as improved crop growth.”
* “Grasses have also returned and so now there is fodder for our livestock. The animals used to have to walk so far and risk being stolen. Now there is plenty of grass nearby and they do not wander. Also, it used to be that if we took our animals to the market, they were so skinny that buyers didn’t even want to look at them. Now, they bring good prices.”
* “A wide range of non-timber forest products can now be found after almost becoming locally extinct. Talensi region has a rich diversity of edible and medicinal plants. Children are eating wild fruits and selling some, and they buy text books with the proceeds. The children used to walk long distances in order to collect this fruit and this was a big concern to parents. Now the fruit can be found close to home.”
* One day a fire broke out and the chief saw it from his bath. His only thought was to save the trees, so he ran to the fire wrapped in his towel to put it out. Seeing their chief doing this the whole community was compelled to run to his aid. After just 1-2 years we are already seeing differences. Bare spaces are hard to find. Attitudes have changed, especially towards fire. Today the community members are very keen to prevent and stop fire. We envisage that within just a few years we’ll have a forest and all its benefits.”
* “The arrival of FMNR in my village has enabled me to fulfil the meaning of my ceremonial name, which is ‘Tintuug Lebge Tii’, meaning ‘the small shrub becomes a tree’.”
When at our best, we celebrate others’ small victories. We recognize that in our offspring these small victories will lead one day to major changes. Lord willing, Laith will eventually learn to walk, to talk, to learn, to invent, to provide, to love God and his fellow neighbor.
In the same way, even though we can almost hear our naysayer instinct cry out, "These people are still absurdly poor by my standards" while reading each quote above, these seemingly small victories can lead to major changes. For instance, in Niger, over five million people have doubled their family income, just by growing these tree shoots! Last year, World Vision won an Innovation Award for FMNR from Interaction, a US-based consortium of international NGOs that seeks to affirm and disseminate best practices.
I met a couple last month who helped finance the powerful documentary "Born into Brothels." The storyline is simple: cameras were given to children whose mothers work in brothels in India. Through the camera lens, we get to see the world from their viewpoint, looking up from down below. If we as viewers can see life as those children see it, the directors understood, we can more truly understand their challenges, the deficits they face, and their enormous victories in what we might otherwise call the smallest things.
Laith is almost always looking up from down below. Yet I love to get inside his head, to empathize, and to celebrate what for him is massive progress. Without question, anything and everything we ever "accomplish for God" must look the same to him as our grandchildren's progress looks from our adult perspective. Yet, I don't believe God scoffs at our human attempts, though to him they are infinitesimally small baby steps. No, God instead rejoices: he knows what we can become.
He looks up from down below with us. Through our camera lens. And he calls us to do likewise.
And, as the very first psalm reminds us, it's alot more fun to rejoice with those who rejoice than to sit in the seat of scoffers.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Making Friends
This weekend, the futon in our guest room celebrates its tenth birthday with us. I don’t usually remember when we bought furniture, but this was one of those high-charged experiences when a confusing parable suddenly becomes clear—and you suddenly know what you need to do to obey it.
It was the Saturday after the September 11 attacks in 2001. Our daughter had just gotten married on September 1, and her bed became the marriage bed in their matchbox rental unit. We knew we needed to find a replacement bed for our now-empty second bedroom and thought perhaps we’d try a futon. Then 9/11 happened, and like everyone else, we became glued to the TV day and night, asking why, asking who. Within a couple days, our collective national finger was pointed at Afghanistan. Soon reports were surfacing of harassment and even violence against Middle-Eastern looking people living here. And still the incessant 24-hour news reports went on and on. Everyone seemed to be frustrated.
That Saturday afternoon, Janet and I realized we needed to get out of the house and just do something “normal”. There was already a reported slump in consumer purchasing, and we needed to start shopping for a futon, so off we went to check out a few stores and begin the process of doing our homework.
At the very first store, we were helped by a nicely-dressed man in his 40’s, wearing a solid blue dress shirt with a tie. He showed us their merchandise, and we focused on one futon. Between his features and his accent, it was easy to tell he was a native of the Middle East. In light of the charged atmosphere in our nation toward people who looked like him, we simply wanted to interact normally. But as we continued to talk, I noticed that the top of his dress shirt began to get dark and realized that sweat was soaking right down his collar.
Finally I told him that our daughter and her new husband had served in Jordan and asked if he was originally from that region. He said yes. Oh, what part? “I’ve lived here for 20 years, paid my taxes, had a family here… but I’m from Kabul” he blurted out, perhaps hoping I didn’t know where that was.
Our interactions alternated between touching furniture and this touchy subtext. At some point, I eased us into a discussion of the past few days and asked if he had personally experienced any of the harassment mentioned in the press. He warily recited several incidences of name-calling and gestures made from passing car windows, and then said, “Finally, the pressure was so much that last night I told my family we should go out and eat at Burger King, just to get out of the house and do something normal.” I could relate. “But as we were sitting there, a man at the next table began to speak louder and louder to his own family about how all Middle-Easterners should leave America or be thrown out…or worse. The man wouldn’t look at us, but it was clear what he was doing. I wanted to blurt out to him, ‘I’m an American citizen! My children were born here!’ But by that point he was swearing and I didn’t think it would do any good. I tried to distract my kids from hearing him, but it was impossible. We finally got up and left. I felt so ashamed in front of my children; ashamed of America.”
By now, the dark stains of perspiration were covering more than half his collar and working down even farther. I empathized and apologized, reminding him that America wasn’t founded on such xenophobic principles. But it sounded a bit hollow from my safe Anglo perch.
While he was checking on some futon covers or such, Janet and I looked at each other and knew we both wanted to buy a futon from him, today. Forget the shopping around, forget the waiting a few weeks. Our actions just might speak acceptance to him, only in some little way, but in a way that our 'cheap' words never could.
And suddenly I understood that peculiar parable of the “unrighteous steward” (Luke 16:1-9), where Jesus tells of the crooked manager of a rich man’s businesses who is about to be fired, so he makes secret deals with each debtor to lower their debt to his master … abusing the owner’s resources so as to make friends who might give him a job after he loses this one.
The kicker is the ending, where the rich man--and Jesus--actually applaud the crooked steward (v8-9). "The master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly. For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.”
I believe that I’m to be a “steward” of all of the time, talent and treasure with which God entrusts me, not just the portion I donate. And that day we learned something new about "good stewardship"... as important as it is to spend judiciously, there is ultimately a much more important function for money: using it to make friends for Kingdom purposes. If the owner in Jesus' parable apparently doesn’t suffer from this seemingly major fraud committed against him, how much less will the Lord of the universe, the owner of everything, suffer if we use the resources he entrusts to us in order to gain friends?
For us, purchasing a piece of furniture like this was not a trivial exercise, especially coming on the heels of our daughter's wedding expenses. But that day, we were given a very clear opportunity to dispense with our normal caution and see how God was inviting us to be used in a small way in this man’s life, provided we were willing to abandon our plans and accept the invitation.
It turned out to be a great purchase. After all, we’ve had ten years of reminders from that faithful futon of how things work in God’s economy.
Cory
September 2011
It was the Saturday after the September 11 attacks in 2001. Our daughter had just gotten married on September 1, and her bed became the marriage bed in their matchbox rental unit. We knew we needed to find a replacement bed for our now-empty second bedroom and thought perhaps we’d try a futon. Then 9/11 happened, and like everyone else, we became glued to the TV day and night, asking why, asking who. Within a couple days, our collective national finger was pointed at Afghanistan. Soon reports were surfacing of harassment and even violence against Middle-Eastern looking people living here. And still the incessant 24-hour news reports went on and on. Everyone seemed to be frustrated.
That Saturday afternoon, Janet and I realized we needed to get out of the house and just do something “normal”. There was already a reported slump in consumer purchasing, and we needed to start shopping for a futon, so off we went to check out a few stores and begin the process of doing our homework.
At the very first store, we were helped by a nicely-dressed man in his 40’s, wearing a solid blue dress shirt with a tie. He showed us their merchandise, and we focused on one futon. Between his features and his accent, it was easy to tell he was a native of the Middle East. In light of the charged atmosphere in our nation toward people who looked like him, we simply wanted to interact normally. But as we continued to talk, I noticed that the top of his dress shirt began to get dark and realized that sweat was soaking right down his collar.
Finally I told him that our daughter and her new husband had served in Jordan and asked if he was originally from that region. He said yes. Oh, what part? “I’ve lived here for 20 years, paid my taxes, had a family here… but I’m from Kabul” he blurted out, perhaps hoping I didn’t know where that was.
Our interactions alternated between touching furniture and this touchy subtext. At some point, I eased us into a discussion of the past few days and asked if he had personally experienced any of the harassment mentioned in the press. He warily recited several incidences of name-calling and gestures made from passing car windows, and then said, “Finally, the pressure was so much that last night I told my family we should go out and eat at Burger King, just to get out of the house and do something normal.” I could relate. “But as we were sitting there, a man at the next table began to speak louder and louder to his own family about how all Middle-Easterners should leave America or be thrown out…or worse. The man wouldn’t look at us, but it was clear what he was doing. I wanted to blurt out to him, ‘I’m an American citizen! My children were born here!’ But by that point he was swearing and I didn’t think it would do any good. I tried to distract my kids from hearing him, but it was impossible. We finally got up and left. I felt so ashamed in front of my children; ashamed of America.”
By now, the dark stains of perspiration were covering more than half his collar and working down even farther. I empathized and apologized, reminding him that America wasn’t founded on such xenophobic principles. But it sounded a bit hollow from my safe Anglo perch.
While he was checking on some futon covers or such, Janet and I looked at each other and knew we both wanted to buy a futon from him, today. Forget the shopping around, forget the waiting a few weeks. Our actions just might speak acceptance to him, only in some little way, but in a way that our 'cheap' words never could.
And suddenly I understood that peculiar parable of the “unrighteous steward” (Luke 16:1-9), where Jesus tells of the crooked manager of a rich man’s businesses who is about to be fired, so he makes secret deals with each debtor to lower their debt to his master … abusing the owner’s resources so as to make friends who might give him a job after he loses this one.
The kicker is the ending, where the rich man--and Jesus--actually applaud the crooked steward (v8-9). "The master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly. For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.”
I believe that I’m to be a “steward” of all of the time, talent and treasure with which God entrusts me, not just the portion I donate. And that day we learned something new about "good stewardship"... as important as it is to spend judiciously, there is ultimately a much more important function for money: using it to make friends for Kingdom purposes. If the owner in Jesus' parable apparently doesn’t suffer from this seemingly major fraud committed against him, how much less will the Lord of the universe, the owner of everything, suffer if we use the resources he entrusts to us in order to gain friends?
For us, purchasing a piece of furniture like this was not a trivial exercise, especially coming on the heels of our daughter's wedding expenses. But that day, we were given a very clear opportunity to dispense with our normal caution and see how God was inviting us to be used in a small way in this man’s life, provided we were willing to abandon our plans and accept the invitation.
It turned out to be a great purchase. After all, we’ve had ten years of reminders from that faithful futon of how things work in God’s economy.
Cory
September 2011
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