Some Sat in Darkness
In recent months, the lives of homeless people with whom I work have borne witness to these words. And through their experiences I have been reminded that it is not me who opens the door to hope and a better future but the Lord himself in answer to their cry.
Mira's story Mira came from a comfortable background. She told me she started drinking vodka because that was what everyone else was doing at work and she wanted to join in the fun. But the drinking had taken over her life and at the age of 47 she was living a hopeless life. Abandoned by her well-to-do brother, shunned by her sister and mother and deserted by her embarrassed children, she sat all day and slept all night against a wall in 'Drunken Alley'.
Mira had been homeless for about five months. About eight months ago she had been drinking heavily and was then knocked down by a car. She sustained serious injuries and in the end required a below-knee amputation. After discharge from hospital, she found herself on the street.
Stories varied. She said her sister and mother rejected her and refused to have her home; Mira's sister Marina told me, with obvious disgust, that Mira had not needed an amputation, but had asked the doctor to do it so that she could claim disability pension. She and her mother had not wanted to have Mira home after this as she had already made life so difficult for them.
When I introduced myself to Mira, I bought her something to eat. 'Do you know Jesus?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said, 'I used to go to the church of Jesus Christ.'
When I asked her whether she could still pray, she looked at me as if I was asking her to approach an estranged friend. 'Mira,' I said, 'you only need to come to Jesus and ask him to forgive you and he will.'
Lord, it's getting colder. Mira will die unless we get her somewhere.
'Alright, would you please pray for me?' When I took her hand, she cried pitifully. 'Please come tomorrow,' she said.
This is how I got to know Mira. She was always pleased to see me and we always prayed together. I told her that I would try to get her into a home for people with disabilities. Such a task proved to be much more difficult than I had bargained for. First, at Mira's request, I went with one of my local church members to find her sister's house. The sister was friendly to us but adamant that she had had enough of Mira and would not help us get her into a home.
'She doesn't care about herself,' she began. 'She sold the crutches we bought for her for vodka. She does not move from the wall she sits against – even to defecate. She's lost all dignity. My brother bought her a house after she squandered her own to buy vodka, and what did she do? Behind my brother's back, she sold that one also! She has no sense of responsibility, her husband is on the street too – though not with her, and now both her children are on the street.'
What a history! I couldn't condemn Mira's sister. Would I have felt any different in her situation?
When we visited the brother, the response was worse. Mira's sister-inlaw would not even let us see him. She told us they had had more than enough of Mira, they had spent such a lot of money on her.
'Please help,' we persisted. 'The social work department can't do anything for us unless the relatives help and complete these documents.' Unsuccessful in our pleading, we wrapped up warm and ventured back into the cold night.
Mira cried, 'You're lying to me! You are not going to help! I'll die here!' I was so aware we were racing against the falling temperatures. Snow was imminent. But no door opened to us.
As we went from one department to another, we heard again and again 'No, without the relatives' help you can do nothing!'
'Mira, our hands are tied,' I said. 'I believe God wants you to seriously pray for yourself and that then he will open the door. I believe then things will happen.' Mira took on board what I said. She started to cry out to God and put her faith in him alone.
I lay awake praying, 'Lord, it's getting colder. Mira will die unless we get her somewhere.'
Deliverance Then in the night the idea came.
In the morning, two voluntary helpers and I took Mira (with her consent) in a taxi to a friend's apartment, where she bathed, washed her hair and was de-liced. In fresh clothes, she looked like a new person and I hoped that the detox hospital might think twice before rejecting her. Soon after we arrived, however, we were turned away because Mira had a temperature of 38oC. They advised us to take her to the general hospital where she could be treated for probable pneumonia.
But once again we were shunted from department to department and eventually advised to try yet another hospital.
An idea came to mind. I pulled out a little green card given to me by the Director of the hospital days earlier. Thinking 'It's who you know' I ventured, 'This doctor gave me her card two days ago and said if I had any trouble with sick homeless people I could ring her, even at home.'
'Oh really,' the on-duty physician responded with raised eyebrows and sudden enthusiasm. 'We'd better ring her then.'
It worked a treat. Mira was admitted without further argument and she had a complete examination.
After discharge we had Mira admitted to the detox hospital where she remained for ten days until, with the help of a worker from a homeless shelter, we completed all the documents so Mira could be admitted to the home for people with disabilities.
Mira has grown leaps and bounds in her faith. What a changed woman she has become! She is now settled in the home, and her son and Marina, delighted by the outcome of our endeavours, have agreed to go and see her.
Guided by God
At the age of 11 the Lord made it very clear to me that it was his plan for me to go overseas, but he did not lead me there until I was much older. I had not the slightest inkling I would be working with the homeless until a month or two before I left for Central Asia. The Lord began to show me in different ways that my work would be with those in the shadows, his treasures which I would find hidden in dark places.
This work gives me joy, satisfaction, frustration and sadness – and often all in one day. It is not for those who want to see quick results. To make friends and love the homeless is to take risks with your own life. It is not a glamorous position and on many occasions the anger of society at the homeless will also be directed at those that come alongside them, but it is where Jesus loves to be.
Coming Home
Well, I made it back, a little weaker in body, especially due to the salmonella friends I brought back with me, but stronger in the broken places and stronger in my walk with God.
Things I noticed when I got home
* Everything was so green and all the food tasted so good. I saw the world with new eyes, nothing deterred me, not even hardly sleeping for three days.
* I caught myself still checking the floor when I got out of bed to make sure I didn't step on a scorpian.
* I don't have to cover my head, but I feel half naked without it, and the clothes I wore for two months straight now feel like pajamas.
* I don't shower three times a day and I wear socks and usually a sweatshirt because I'm always cold.
* People aren't always holding my hand anymore, reaching out to stroke my blonde hair, kissing my head, laying hands on me to bless me or asking me to do something I don't know how to do in a language I don't understand. (I think I've lost some popularity and status.)
* I wear a seatbelt and people use breaks – amazing!
And so much more. It's a totally different world.
So what about God? Never once did I question whether or not God had called me there, but I did question why he had called me and not someone else. Why did he lead me out of my comfort zone, away from the life and people I cared so much about and to a life of pain and starvation and to one that is threatened on a daily basis?
I guess because that was his plan for me. It was his way of refining me. He had prepared a place for me there and I needed to fill it.
I found my heart growing with love for the broken people that I worked with all day, everyday and sometimes through the night, but it was also growing for the people back home in Canada with whom I couldn't even keep in touch.
It takes tremendous courage to love when we are broken, yet I wonder if love becomes more authentic when it matures out of brokenness. Brokenness compels us to find a force outside of ourselves and leads us to God, whose essential nature is love.
Through being stretched by grief, suffering and loss, my heart and soul were able to feel more peace, strength and joy. In the valley of suffering, despair and bitterness are brewed, but there also character is made. The valley of suffering is the vale of soul-making.
God had prepared a place for me in Pakistan and I needed to fill it.
You realise as everything is crumbling around you that you're falling – falling straight into the arms of the one who created you, the one who calls you son or daughter. All you have to do is trust that he'll catch you.
What else did I learn? I learned the truth of the saying, 'Humility is not thinking less of yourself but thinking of yourself less'. We're not home yet – this earth is not our home – we're only here for a short while.
So what's really important? When we pass into eternity, into our Father's presence, what will matter? Not the things of this world. What counts are people, service and relationships.
A story of brokenness She looks at me, her face contorted in pain as we inspect her contracted belly. Tears fill her eyes as we tell her she really could not have been feeling her baby move; there is no heartbeat.
How she must have worked to get that baby where she did: I can see the head, but there he sits, stuck, with the life squeezed out of him, on his way into this world but skipping it and passing straight into eternity.
I see his lifeless purple body lying there on the table. Perfect. Every finger and every toe in place, but no breath, no heartbeat. Gingerly I touch him and gently place him in the water, washing away the blood, the dirt. His body is here in my hands, but he is not.
Where is he? Why God? Why must it end like this? How can I stand by and watch? What is happening to my heart?
Rachel's journal – an extract
Most of the people who come to the hospital are Pushtu speaking Phutans. They are probably the poorest tribe in Pakistan, but they look regal and elegant as they are often tall (apparently they are descendants of Alexander the Great) and appear to be floating under their large burkas which cover them from head to toe. You never know if the person standing before you is a beautiful 20-year-old carrying her first child or an ancient, wrinkly woman until she leaves the presence of men and lifts up the front of her burka.
The men are often herdsmen or businessmen, and the women have children and run the home. The average woman has 8-12 children. It is more important to have sons, so the boys are often fed first. And if they are ill, their parents are more likely to bring them to hospital instead of just letting them die.
When taking obstetrical histories, one often discovers that it is the females who have died. In one example of 2-month-old twins (nonidentical), the boy weighed 10 lbs while the girl only weighed 6 lbs.
We also have some Afghan refugees coming through. The hospital was built on one of the main routes for the purpose of helping refugees.
A Young Girl in Nepal
Sarita is nine years old and lives in a remote village two days' bus ride from Kathmandu. She is the youngest, and also the only girl, in a family of nine children. She was at the top of her class at the local government school. One day when climbing a tree she fell and broke her arm. There was no health clinic in the area to take her to, so a villager did what he thought best: he tied her arm tightly to a bamboo stick – so tightly that he cut off her blood circulation.
Her arm, naturally, got worse, so the next place they took her to was the witch doctor. The witch doctor would have gone into a trance, killed a chicken that the family had provided, and then rubbed the dead chicken on the affected arm. Ten days after simply breaking her arm, her family brought her into Patan Hospital for treatment. Her arm was so badly infected they had to amputate it at the elbow. What pointless pain and suffering she has been through.
Making things better After several weeks, Sarita was feeling quite at home in hospital, and was always there to greet me when I arrive on the ward. We wanted to sort out two things in particular for Sarita: a false arm and her education. Sarita's parents are very poor and they will be unable to send her to school once she goes to secondary school. (Primary school is free at the government schools.) We talked to her father about the possibility of finding a children's home here in Kathmandu so that she could continue her education. He was very happy, knowing that his bright daughter needs an education now more than ever. Sarita was delighted at the news and told her father, 'Go: I'm staying here and going to school.'
But plans changed. It was arranged for Sarita to go to a good Christian boarding school in Hetauda, which is on the Terai. From Hetauda, her home, also on the Terai, is perhaps four hours away, so her parents would be able to visit her regularly.
We tried to take Sarita to Hetauda, but we were unable to go because of the travel strikes.
In the meantime I went with Sarita to an orthopaedic clinic to see about having a false arm fitted for her. A real blessing is that her amputation was below her elbow, and there is just enough arm to fix a new forearm. The doctor examined and measured, and said she would have a new arm in ten days.
Sarita's father had been keen to return home, having been here in Kathmandu for over two months. He left Sarita with her uncle who lives here. I went with Sarita and her uncle back to the clinic to have a cast made. Her uncle was a very nice young man. When he was ten years old he fell and broke his arm very badly. He almost had his arm amputated above the elbow, but they managed to save his arm, although it is badly deformed and he has no movement in the lower arm and hand.
We planned to take Sarita to Hetauda once her arm had been fitted.
Changing plans Plans changed again. Sarita is not at the Christian boarding school. The school director thought it would be best for her to live with her parents, and everyone was very happy with this arrangement. It was also agreed that it would be best for Sarita not to use an artificial arm at the moment: with the unhygienic conditions in her poor home village, the arm could cause more harm than good. Sarita's school fees are now being fully paid for her to go to a good school in her area.
The best plans aren't always the plans we think of first, nor even the plans which appear best to us. The Lord has done so much in Sarita's life, and we know that he has a wonderful plan for this bright young girl. What a blessing it is to be a part of Sarita's and other people's lives as we see God at work daily.
A Need to Feel Useful
My patient, swathed in layers of black including a cloth wrapped firmly over her lower face, was indicating the problem that had brought her to clinic today. I could not understand the words, but the actions were clear enough as she clutched almost every joint in her body one at a time.
'And has she got a headache?' I asked my translator.
'Yes,' she answered, 'she has a headache all the time, for the last six years.'
'And what makes it worse?'
'It's worse when she works.'
It took me more than two months of living and working in that rural community to begin to understand what 'work' meant to the women there. Two months of hearing over and over again about chronic neck, back, knee and arm pain. Two months of watching anonymous black shapes mounting impossibly steep paths with brightly coloured objects on their heads, before I realised those objects were 20-litre containers of water and that the women were carrying them uphill two or three times a day as well as working the fields, cooking the meals, baking bread and looking after their many children.
I felt embarrassed that I, supposedly open-minded and aware, could be so ignorant of how hard these people's lives really were. We can never know what it is like to live the way they do. I finally realised how dependent we need to be on God and his guidance to have any positive impact in such communities.
One of the most ancient lands on earth, this country is also one of the world's poorest nations, with high maternal and infant mortality. Despite this, the population is burgeoning, stretching already stretched resources further and further. Most of the illnesses we saw were due to water-borne diseases. Our medicines were only a temporary solution to deep-seated problems. Slices of modern medicine have made an impact, but sophisticated scans and the latest antibiotics do not seem the best solution. We felt like an ambulance parked firmly at the bottom of the cliff struggling to keep up with the injured fallen.
We needed to lean on God the whole time we were away. We had many questions. Why had he called us to this country when we were able to offer so little? What are the best ways to help break cycles of poverty and improve health? How does he regard their religion? How far should we conform to strict standards of dress and protocols that may identify us as members of the religion ourselves? How should we cope with our own feelings of inadequacy and sometimes of not being wanted by certain people there?
God used the time to challenge us too. Why did we need to feel useful? Why did we need to feel that we had made a difference? Although God calls us to be agents of change in a broken world, he wants to do it through us rather than have us take it all on ourselves.
This has two implications. One is that we can let God take on responsibility for the problems that are just too big for us to cope with. His power is sufficient and we can rest in that knowledge. The second implication is that any success in our work is God's success, not ours; we should be pleased to give him the glory. God used our time in this country to teach us humility and the need to trust in his power and goodness. We are now working on the application of this lesson!
They are All His Children
Interserve Malaysia chairman Philip Chang reports on the work of Hischild, a nongovernmental organisation (NGO) in South-East Asia, where fellow Partners Johnny and Lucille Lee are helping to bring hope into the lives of many children and youth.
Meet Tam-Tam Tam-Tam is almost six years old. She was born in a town known for its casinos and other vices. Her mother is of an ethnic minority and had fled from her home country. After a run-in with government authorities, she was relocated and now tries to work for survival. Until recently, she did not know the whereabouts of Tam-Tam's father and did not even want to keep her daughter. Furthermore, the nature of her work and her living environment was not conducive to bringing up a young girl. Over a year ago, an agency found Tam-Tam and brought her to Hischild. When she arrived at the organisation's halfway house, she had scabies all over her body. She was uncommunicative and withdrawn. But within two months of staying at Hischild, Tam-Tam's scabies cleared up, and she began talking and smiling and now participates fully in the daily activities with the other children; she likes to talk to herself, role-play and playfully supervise other children. She will be attending a local school next term.
It is not yet certain whether Tam- Tam's mother will sign a release form for the authorities to give Hischild custody of Tam-Tam where she will continue being cared for. But many children in this country are even less fortunate. Some may end up being sold into vice or living on the streets, begging or searching for food in rubbish dumps.
Meet Sokha When she was young, Sokha became a resident in the orphanage home run by Hischild. In the 12 years she has lived there, she has managed to complete her schooling and her university studies, obtaining a degree in English. Since then she has received several relatively lucrative job offers because of her good command of English, but she has turned them all down. Instead she has chosen to work at Hischild (accepting a much lower salary than her other offers) where she teaches English, translates, and helps to manage the local staff and children of the homes.
On some days, Sokha joins Johnny and Lucille and other staff workers for the street children ministry. By 4:00am, they are out of their beds, ready to start work. They drive their bus to a different area in the capital city each morning and park near the streets and alleys where children are sleeping. When the children wake up, they are invited into the bus to be bathed and to have their wounds cleaned and scabies treated. Reading and writing lessons follow as well as Bible-story teaching, a video cartoon show, and finally a meal. The programme finishes by mid-morning, and twice a week the bus then travels to another location to run a similar programme in the afternoon. Over 500 children receive care in this way each week.
On Sundays, Sokha teaches and leads worship in the church started by the staff. She is also in charge of the youth. It is a great joy to watch the children worship God, singing and praying with all their hearts, thanks to capable national believers like Sokha who has committed herself to serve her own people with her talents.
Meet Theng Theng started working as a driver with Hischild one year ago. He was not a Christian then. He drives all the vehicles to fetch the children, staff and visitors from everywhere and anywhere. Throughout the year he has attended the church meetings on Sundays and has seen lives being transformed by God through the work of Hischild and through the personal witness of the Christian staff. Recently, during an altar call in one of the meetings, Theng took a step of faith and accepted Jesus as his personal Lord and Saviour.
Meet the needs The success of Hischild is evident in the emerging national leadership represented by Sokha – herself once a child in its care. Every Sunday about 80 children and 50 adults gather for worship. This is a place where the future leaders of the Church in this country are being raised.
Johnny and Lucille are praying that more Partners will join them in their ministry with Hischild. The needs are great as the number of children in their care has continued to grow. For example, the halfway house, which provides short-term accommodation for up to one year, now has 20 children transitioning from the streets to more secure living arrangements. These children will either be reunited with their families or move into the orphanage. The orphanage is home to 52 children and provides healthcare, safe accommodation, daily nutritious meals, and education in an atmosphere of family love and care over the long term.
Some projects are also in the pipeline: for example, a school for trafficked children and a vocational training centre. They need people who can upgrade programmes and train staff and older youth to manage these areas. They also need a mechanic who can take care of two large buses and other vehicles owned by Hischild. Other personnel needs include: an accountant to help manage the accounts and finances; a medical doctor to improve the health programmes; and a child psychologist to diagnose problems, design treatments and train the key staff to administer treatments. Child specialists, English teachers and Bible teachers are also welcomed.
Any Godly person who loves children and likes to work with them will definitely experience a great sense of joy and fulfillment when they serve with Hischild, whether long or short term. Precious lives will be transformed in the process, giving each child a hope and a future.
If you are interested in ministering to children in South-East Asia, please contact our Personnel Director or visit our website (www.interserve.org) to check out the openings.
Meet Johnny and Lucille
Johnny and Lucille are both 60 years of age and have one grandchild. They retired from their jobs a few years ago and felt the strong calling to serve overseas. But how? After praying and making enquiries, a friend introduced them to Hischild where they served for six months. They returned home with the feeling that it was right to serve there long term.
By chance they heard that Interserve were recruiting personnel for South-East Asia. They applied to become Partners and were sent out by their home church, St Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, Kuala Lumpur. As Partners, they have enjoyed becoming part of a larger fellowship and are assured of member care support both at home and in the field.
Presently Johnny and Lucille work together with one other expatriate from Korea, Jung Young, and a team of 20 national Christian staff. They are dubbed the 'A-Team' – 'Anything, Anytime, Anywhere' – because they literally have to handle everything that comes their way. Many times they feel illequipped for the challenges they face. For example, children who have been involved in vice activities often have emotional and mental problems that they cannot properly diagnose.
Johnny is finding his skills and experience as a former businessman very useful. Not only does he provide a fatherly figure for the children, but he also uses his knowledge in finance management and office administration. Complementing him is Lucille who provides motherly love and care for the children, helps in administration and gives guidance to the local staff.
In partnering together with their sending church and Interserve in this ministry, Johnny and Lucille feel a great sense of fulfilment and peace that they have obeyed and answered God's calling at the right time and at the right place, and in the process, God is also meeting their personal needs. This whole experience has indeed transformed their lives.
Life Behind the Veil
Having just trained in development, I wanted to find a role where I could put my knowledge into practice, and I had a very clear interest in Middle Eastern or Central Asian countries. I was drawn to Interserve's commitment to professional standards and was not quite ready for a long-term Partner commitment, so I was delighted to discover the On Track programme.
After interview I was offered and accepted a one-year position seconded to an NGO working in Central Asia. I was to be the Technical Adviser to the management of a disability and deaf education project in the eastern region of the country. I arrived in the country's capital and within a few days began one-to-one language training. An understanding of the importance of learning the local language was also something that drew me to Interserve. It made such a difference in building relationships. The small amounts I learned were appreciated and extremely helpful.
After a month in the relatively liberal capital, I moved east to a more conservative and rural city. I lived in a spacious compound with very high walls (the norm for all nationals) which were topped with barbed wire (the norm for all foreigners). I lived with three other single women, and we had a dog and two guards. Outside our compound were open sewers and children playing. The children used to throw stones at foreigners; now they just shout names at us, identifying us as outsiders.
My daily work took me to a school for a few hundred deaf, blind and mentally disabled children. Just a small percentage are disabled from war injuries, more from untreated diseases that escalate to permanent disability, and perhaps the majority have congenital defects due to generation after generation of intermarriage. This is one of the few schools in the country where boys and girls are educated together. As they are seen as not normal, they are exempt from some of the national rules governing schools and share classes up to Grade 1, after which they are taught in single sex classes but in the same school. The hearing teachers teach in Sign Language, as do the deaf teachers for whom it is their first language.
Cultural adjustment My daily attire was a shalwar kameez (trousers and tunic) and a large chadar (scarf) that covered not only my head and shoulders but also my back down to my thighs. There are dress differences across the regions. In some areas, much smaller, almost nominal head scarves can be worn, but in the region I was in, the adherence to veiling is much more strict. Eastern women still wear the burqa when outside their home compounds. The more forward thinking families permit their women to be uncovered in their places of work and therefore seen by their male colleagues. Many long for the time when they will not have to wear the burqa.
The conservative customs of the city meant that I was not to drive and I was not to walk anywhere alone. I was not to greet any male unless he greeted me first, nor to offer my hand unless he did so first. I was not to be in a room with any man on my own, nor to laugh loudly or blow my nose in public.
Shopping, for foreign women, consists of making a shopping list for the guard and leaving him to go out and get it or sitting in the car on the bazaar road, sweating and being stared at, while the driver does your shopping for you. Kidnapping threats are regular occurrences as are random bombings in the bazaar areas.
Despite such prohibitive social practices, there are no restrictions on hospitality, which embodies the Persian saying that guests are God's friends as well as the Arabic proverb, 'A house that receives no guests, receives no angels'. We were always welcome at our friends' and colleagues' homes for meals at tables filled with freshly killed halal meat, vegetables, freshly milked yoghurt and cups and cups of green tea. If the neighbours cooked too much they would send round a plateful to us. And so we learned to do the same.
The people there know the importance of spending time with one another. Their cutlure speaks of the value of human beings not human doings: Take off your watch and sit cross-legged on the rug; do not be embarrassed about silences – speaking the same verbal language is inconsequential; sharing time and space is a blessing.
A year of challenge, a year of blessing There were hardships to the life: rare hot water and sporadic electricity; extreme heat in summer and no heating in winter; limited social options with other foreigners; no sport but what you could rouse yourself to do in your own room. And yet what a valuable year: learning about my own capacity to deal with an extremely different culture; learning a new language; living a very simple, timeconsuming life where the tasks of cooking, cleaning and washing leave little time to think of the television you do not have. A year to learn how to continue to be vibrant in my faith without the support of a local Christian community. How to minister to and encourage one another (my housemates and I) in our spiritual lives and in the trials of a life lived so contrary to what we were used to. How to survive such solitude from all the mod cons and social options of European life.
To say there were not times when I felt ashamed to be a woman, that I took on that spirit of shame which is so prevalent in that situation would be lying. There were times when I wanted to dance in the rain and laugh out loud, to wear jeans and walk bearfoot, to run up a hill, to be in male company of any sort without someone thinking ill of me.
It was at these times I had to look to the Lord and remember what he thinks of me: that I am not pure or saved by anything that I have done of my own merit or can ever do, but through the sacrifice of Jesus I can come to him as his daughter. When my love is wanting, he gives me more to pass on. When my spirit is weak, he gives me strength to persevere.
God took me to Central Asia for the year, and he was with me in all his abundance throughout. He blessed and protected those I left behind and has brought me back again, filled with ever more determination to give my life as a living sacrifice. I expected a desert and I got an oasis.
