My next post will be from Nepal. :)
Here's my last video update from Oz.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
The Metaphorical Resonances
I'm sitting here in the dining room on base while waiting to start the day. I'm listening to the wonderful Bruce Cockburn on my iPod, but I can hear the cafe blasting Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor in the background. The conflict of musicality is surprisingly appropriate to my mood this week.
I feel like this week has been a week of conflicting duality. On the one hand, I've experienced such incredible things as getting my prayer language, God giving me the physical hugs I'd been asking for, and being healed of something after prayer for the first time. But on the other hand, I'm feeling dry. I think this is mostly due to the fact that I am pretty much a zombie at this point. (Walk, watch me walk like a zombie ...)
So the contrast between what may be the most famous organ piece written and an obscure artist's album inspired by St. Augustine is a pretty good metaphor for my topsy-turvy, mixed up mindset.
Speaking of metaphors, it has not been lost on me the accidental symbology of my imminent departure date. The school will be flying out of Perth in two Sundays, leaving on the afternoon of Easter Sunday. My school is primarily female (only one male student, poor chap!), and will be leaving to spread the gospel on the anniversary of Christ sending the women to spread the news that He had risen.
Coincidence? I think not!
Outreach is quickly approaching, and my excitement is growing. Over this last weekend, $9,000 came in so that ALL our school will be able to go! My current problem is locating a place I can put a bag of clothes on outreach. Because we will be dressing like the people in Nepal and Cambodia, I will have no use for my tank tops, shorts, and most of my tee shirts. I'm sure you can understand why I'm not too keen to backpack with absolutely useless items as a result. I want room for sanitary wipes. ;)
This week is focusing on missions, and I hope to tell you more later.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
System Overload
A Note of Explanation: Despite the rather ominous title, this is quite the positive post. However, I tend to imagine my brain as capable to handle only a certain amount of crazy busy before it starts dreaming of electric sheep. Thus, I also imagine it giving me status reports in a polite, electronic voice - "all systems go," " system overload," "low fuel," "system failure," etc.
Well, this week is pretty much jam-packed with craziness. In addition to all my funds being due in two days' time, I have a group research project to work on (read: start) and a militant atheist to follow up with, not to mention the fact that I won't be speaking until Saturday except for evangelism and keeping up with supporters from home.
But I do need to tell you the cool things God has been doing around here. We'll go chronologically.
Week 8 was all about evangelism, and is my favorite week so far. The speaker somehow managed to combine all my passions and experiences in speech and debate in his teaching of how to share the Gospel. I'm telling you, it's majorly exciting to realize that your background in analyzing strangers to persuade them to your side can actually be used for good! And yes, I know I was told that inside the league at almost every opportunity. Some people are just slow learners.
For application that week, we did street preaching. All American prejudices against showing my hand aside, it was an incredible time. We were in Northbridge on Thursday night as usual, and just had a whole lot of personal testimonies and presentation of the good news. That night, two people prayed to repair their relationships with God! That was a first for our team!
The next day, Ian resurfaced. Remember the false prophet I mentioned a while ago? Yeah. So one of the girls in my school, Nicole, is from Germany. She was sitting in the city centre, reading a book, when she happened to over hear the conversation of two women near her. It dealt with one of the women's children, and Nicole felt she was supposed to talk to them about Jesus. This was not on any base evangelism day, just on her own.
Anyway, as soon as she decided to talk with them, Ian walked up to her and started staring at her intensely. Nicole tried to ignore him, but the second time she made eye contact, he started speaking about how she and her country had killed so many people, and how she had to come Australia to kill more. Nicole told him that Satan had told him that, at which point Ian walked away.
Nicole was then able to share with the women, who asked her for prayer into the situation.
On a side note, I really like the philosophy of evangelism here in YWAM. It can essentially be summed up as "effective evangelism ends up bringing the subject closer to Jesus than when the conversation started." It definitely takes the pressure off, as I am no longer expected to hit people over the head with a pre-canned "turn or burn" speech, and can instead focus on actually getting to know and care for that person.
On the same note, I still suck at starting conversations with complete strangers.
That weekend, I started emailing with a young man I had encountered on outreach with the drug kids of Perth. This particular gent was not part of the gang, but because he was on break from working in the mines and his best friend ran with that group, he was out with them too. Bonus points for run on sentences, OK?
When I first met him, we spent a while arguing about the Bible and the difference between absolute Biblical truth (do not kill) and cultural Biblical truth (don't wear anklets with bells on them). The weekend after week 8, I discovered a Facebook message from him, wanting to continue the argument in person sometime. Granted, this request was phrased in terms of the "intellectual challenge" I presented, but I figure any opportunity to talk about God while using the skills I learned in debate should be seized upon.
Piled on top of that lot, I became very I'll during week nine. It didn't become apparent until that Wednesday, and I still don't know what it was. It involved a fever, sensitivity to light and noise, lethargy, dizziness, and a hoarse voice. I'm pleased to report that I didn't miss a single class, but don't assume that I was present for them. I sat in the back of the room, alternatively bundled up and not, trying not to fall asleep or fall over while the teacher taught.
I'm very glad that I wasn't incapacitated until Wednesday. Tuesday was my shift for Hands-On Compassion, and it seemed like my team would finally be able to visit the detention centre, which had opened up for the first time for the previous group. It was not to happen.
However, I think God never actually wanted me in the detention centre. I'm almost 100% certain I joined the Priceless group to give me a greater heart for city people. Every week we haven't been allowed in the jail, we've gone to the city instead.
Last Tuesday was pretty incredible. That morning I'd dressed as closely to my Northwest normal as I could, complete with hair, make up, and matching weather. The fact that it was overcast seemed enough to make my day pretty awesome (it is the simple things in life), but when we went into the city, we ran into a group of cybergoths and punks who were just chilling on a corner.
It was my first time having someone try to sell me drugs - pot and speed - and it was really heart-breaking to hear a 17 year old state calmly that drugs are the only reason people like me talk to people like them. It was a great time - I had a conversation about Bach and classical music theory with an older punk man who called himself "Vomit," but the thing I really was impressed by that week was how diverse and wonderful city people are.
I have another update to write, so I'll let this one die now.
Thank you for your prayers!
Whimsy
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Evangelism 2/21
As I sit here on my smartphone at 7:40 am, I realize that I don't have a smart introduction to this post. I think I may need to get some coffee which, as we all know, is the source of all wacky, jacked up inspiration.
Thursday nights here in Perth are dedicated to evangelism. Work duties are rearranged so that by the time 3:30 pm rolls around, the base is ready to be completely shut down.
This week was very tiring, for reasons I'll get into in another post, so by the time 6:00 rolled around and it was time for evangelism, I was feeling almost disassociated from my own body. You know that feeling that you're experiencing everything from the other side of a thick glass wall? That was me on Thursday night.
My school's assigned area is in a part of town called Northbridge. Northbridge is full of ways to distract oneself - gentleman's clubs are right next to nice Asian diners and fancy clothing boutiques. Bars and arcade centers jostle for attention with art galleries, backpacker's travel agencies and hostels and a university. In short, Northbridge is the place to go if you are looking to fulfill any number of lusts.
Going on in Northbridge right now is the Fringe Festival. If you were to take Seattle's Folklife Festival and add theater, art showcases, freak shows, and institutionalize the alternative lifestyles present there, you would have the Fringe Festival. There is, no kidding, a tank of water with people dressed as mermaids inside it.
When we got into the festival on Thursday night, a group of film students had set up a green screen and were airing a number of short films on a giant film screen in the centre of an amphitheayre . They would walk through the crowds and get innocent passersby to step in front of the green screen and act the main roles of the short. When one of the students approached our group, my friend Azera jokingly volunteered my services.
She didn't expect me to actually do it.
There are pictures and someone recorded part of it, but I haven't gotten copies yet. When I do, I'll be sure to post some here for your entertainment.
But in all seriousness, being totally ridiculous on a giant screen helped me get in the evangelism mood. That night, we were supposed to hold up "free prayer" signs in an attempt to attract the attention of the denizens of the festival.
That begs the question - is there a time when it isn't free?
But I digress. I was standing in an area near one of the beer gardens. Of course, they aren't "beer gardens" at Fringe, they're "the fountain of Acquarius" and yes, there is a literal fountain involved. Inside the area was a good old fashioned band playing music that was a mix of big band swing, klezmer, and all-Americana folk. Nothing sounds quite like it, especially when they started playing that song from the Aristicats.
Erinne and I were bravely holding our sign, and there were no takers. I approached one man who was standing nearby and asked if he'd like prayer. He said yes, that he was alone that night, and wanted to go to a Chinese art film that was showing for free, and would I go with him? I told him no, but that I'd pray he'd find someone. :P it was hard to pray for him after that, but I did soldier through it.
After that uncomfortable incident, Erinne and I decided to apply teaching from that day and surrender our right to reputation. To translate, we started signing and dancing to the kelzmer/swing/folk band's music. It was incredible to see the total change. As soon as we started actually being fools for Christ, people started coming up to us! There were also a couple of videos taken as well... :P
In addition to a couple of people who just wanted a good life, we got to pray for an ethnically Asian Jew and his well-mannered atheistic friend who told us that he applauded our guts for offering prayer, but wouldn't tell us anything we could pray for lest he mock our convictions (!).
However interesting that experience was, I think my favorite interaction was with a man named Mark who was obviously tripping on something. He ran up to us and without any introduction, laid hands on us and started praying hedges of protection around Erinne and I, and to send angels with us, and to walk with us, among other things. After he finished praying, we started talking with him about what we could pray for him about. Because of the lighting and noise, Erinne and I have slightly different intepretations of what he meant, but the gist was that he and his girlfriend had split up, and that he had "lost" his two - year - old daughter in the process. This could either have been through death or from the girlfriend taking the daughter - it was hard to tell. Mark wanted prayer to find his daughter and to get off drugs, and I was so glad we had just finished the father heart of God week. When he left, he asked us to continue praying for him and his daughter.
You may be wondering why I liked this interaction. You may not, but I'm going to tell you anyways. The experience with Mark was *real* in a way that many conversations can only aspire to be. So many times, Christians get caught up in the desire to be good witnesses for Christ to the extent that they dive into religiousity. We ty to sell Jesus by saying that He solves our problems, so if we have issues, we conceal them to make Christ look more appealing to outsiders. Or if we do allow that we have a problem, it's the carefully cultivated prayer group problem. The one that lets others know that "I'm being honest with you" but in actuality simply blocks others off from the internal life that is desparately in need of grace.
Mark identified as a Christian, but he was frank and honest and didn't beat around the bush with his problem. He didn't say "I'm really struggling with this issue, and would like prayer for continued strength in dealing with it." He said " I've lost my little girl and cannot find her. And I need prayer to get off marijuana and cocaine."
That is integrity if I've ever seen it.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Slum Survivor Redux
This weekend, the 2013 Compassion DTS went camping. This trip was not like the other DTS' camping trig the previous weekend, which was filled with ham-flavored crisps and canoes and swimming and sausages. This wasn't your all-American camping trip with a tent and a little air mattress, bacon and hot chocolate.
No, this was Slum Survivor. Take a normal camping trip. Now take away the tents. And the food. And the possibility of showers, the presence of deoderant, the ability to chill around a campfire in nice little fold-up chairs, and electronics, changes of clothing, and any non-prescription medicine.
Now it's starting to look like Slum Survivor. Essentially, SS is a simulated slum environment designed to give as accurate a picture of slum life in as short a time as possible. In this post, I'm going to start by describing everything that happened, and then go on to discuss how it impacted me. Otherwise, my perspective may not make much sense.
Happy? Alright, let's boogie.
We boarded the buses at 8:30 am Saturday morning with nothing but the clothes on our backs and a few toiletries - toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap. After a two-hour bus ride (listening to everything from Ellie Goulding to Coldplay and Lecrae) we arrived at the Reserve. I can't remember the name of this particular one, but trust me when I say it was in the bush. Really in the bush. After driving for fifteen minutes on a dusty red road, we arrived at the group camping area. Biting flies swarmed everywhere - we ended up "inventing" a dance that made us look slightly less dorky while serving to drive the pests away.
As it turned out, there were a few other families camping in the group site which we had reserved. The leaders could technically have turned them out, but as they had many small children, they decided the family's presence could only serve to increase the reality of our situation. On arrival, we were instructed to go swim in the river for forty-five minutes.
"Big deal," you might be saying. "It's a river. Get over it."
Calling it a river would be polite. Calling it a pool of standing, stinking, stagnant water would be more accurate. What little current there was was almost undetectable aside from the general migration of algae from one end to the other. Lest I sound like I'm complaining, it was actually quite nice, once you got over the slime. The swim essentially served two purposes: one was to make us dirty, the other was to tire us out. More on that later.
After swimming, we hiked back up to the site, where we were instructed to build houses out of the piles of garbage that had been brought along. These houses had to be wind-proof and water-proof, and at the end of 1.75 hours, the facilitators would come around to test them "by fire", as it were. Our outreach teams would serve as the basis of our slum families for the duration of the time, so we set to work. The slum house was surprisingly hard to build - by the time we started, our blood sugar was starting to drop. After all, when you go swimming for forty-five minutes, you tend to deplete energy stores. As we dragged wood pallets and giant cardboard boxes around in the heat, that fatigue began to worsen.
I get hypoglycemic quickly, so it could be that I was affected by the feeling of thinking through molasses sooner than the others. It really doesn't matter much.
During the time we were building, I started realizing how appreciative I was of my background in Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, and Surviving Camping Trips With My Family. Because our slum was to be built on a slope, we needed to find a way to brace the structure so that the walls would stay up when shaken violently.
Suffice it to say, more effort was spent on the walls of our hut than the roof. We figured that since it wasn't going to be raining that night, we'd do the bare minimum to keep from getting drenched when the facilitators fired water guns at us.
We passed that test, and then it was time for the challenges. Each challenge was designed to explore different realities of slum life: the first was a piggy-back obstacle course race in which the families competed against each other for rock melon (US' cantalope). Every family paired up in twos, and each pair had to complete the course twice, to imitate the act of pulling or pedaling rickshaws. At the time, we did not know what the prize would be, only that it was food. However, we were extremely motivated at this point: physical labor in the heat of the day with no food and little water had already started to seriously handicap us.
As I typed that last sentence, I felt seriously wimpy. It is so difficult to describe in words the challenges faced in SS. I guess I'll have to hope you'll get in the spirit as I continue to describe my weekend.
When the India team won that challenge, they were kind enough to share the melon so that everyone got a few bites. It was incredible how much of a difference two bites of fruit made! Everyone started smiling a little more, and felt more energetic. This was definitely a good thing as the next challenge was to: 1. Improvise a soccer ball, and 2. play a soccer tournament with the winner receiving another food prize. Team Cambodia all the way! We won the soccer challenge, and were given what was probably the most disgusting-tasting Gatorade I've ever had. Trust me on this one, guys, warmed Protein Gatorade is a thing only to be enjoyed in extremity, but it tasted amazing at the time.
Going back to the slum area, another challenge faced us. Crime and theft is a huge problem in slums around the world, so each family designated a thief to steal something from another family's slum house. Yours truly stole for Cambodia, and I took a pen that someone had foolishly left laying about inside the shack. Each family had to search for where the thief had hidden the items (a pen, a toothbrush, some toothpaste) and when the items were found, we had more free time while the facilitators cooked our dinner. Some people went swimming, but I went to the waterfall to wash my feet.
At dinner time, we ate rice and dahl in our families, then had intercession for the slums of the world. That was pretty incredible, but more on that later.
By the time we finished, the sky was dark and the stars were out. It was so beautiful to be so far out of the city that we could see the Milky Way. At one point, I was getting really annoyed about a bright light coming from the side, until I realized that it was the moon. In all honesty, star gazing was probably my favorite part of the weekend. It was good to be reminded of the unchanging beauty of creation even in the face of the physical challenges. Also, singing Disney classics and jazz standards by the light of the stars is just lovely where ever you go. It was a good night to be alive.
As we settled in to sleep that night, the babies next door started yelling. Imagine the angriest scream you've ever heard a child create. Now extend that noise for two hours. Just as we started to fall asleep, someone came into our slum and completely collapsed the roof on us. It took us a while to settle in again, but our screaming had awoken the babies again. And then the kookaburas started. And then it got cold. And then I slid out of the slum because I was on the slope. And then the ants started biting.
The next morning, we had quiet time, then more rice and dahl, and then we had an illiteracy challenge. For this one, we had to guess which pills were the "poisonous" or "safe" ones, with ten seconds and a basic table containing the new alphabet. The station with red and blue pills was unexpectedly hilarious.
After deconstructing our slums, we waited around for the buses to come back and get us. The leaders had told us we wouldn't eat until 5:30 that night (5 hours away). I was totally reconciled to that reality - I really didn't care that much and just looked forward to a shower by that point. I was thus extremely surprised and delighted when we made a detour for an good old, All-Australian barbie on the way back. I swear, friends, food never tasted as good as the burnt sausages and caramelized onions did.
So. Now you know the basics of what actually happened. Now I'm going to talk about my thoughts. I'm assuming that's why you've toughed the boring explanation out, after all.
In all honesty, this weekend was not the hardest thing I've ever experienced. Yes, it was tricky and uncomfortable and I had a migraine-strength headache the entire time. I've physically exerted myself to a greater extent on the same amount of food before. Yes, I was dirty. It was not as dirty as the weekend I was certified for Leave No Trace. Yes, we were camping without protection from the elements. It wasn't as uncomfortable as the time I woke up in a pool of water in the middle of a gullywasher in the Olympic Rain Forest.
But understand that this experience was limited and surreal. I only had to keep it together until Sunday evening. The roughly 1 billion people who live in slums are born into or forced into this reality indefinitely. The true slum dwellers aren't rewarded with rock melon and Gatorade for competing in games. True slum dwellers must acquire the food for themselves, and don't have handy supplies of clean drinking water just a few steps from their doors. They don't necessarily have toilets with seats. They don't necessarily have fancy REI sleeping bags and Northface jackets.
The thing about Slum Survivor is that it was patently unrealistic, and yet I found it challenging. You would not think that a period of two days in which you eat only two meals would incapacitate you as much as it does until you live through it yourself.
And yet, even if you ever have this opportunity, you'll understand when I say that it's just a waiting game. Even if you do it for a week, for a month, there's still that knowledge in the back of your head. "I have a home to go back to. My cell phone and two solid meals a day are waiting for me. There's a shower and shampoo and a mattress all at my disposal when I get back."
There's the knowledge of your privilege to keep you going. I'm ashamed to admit, but I gave in to fantasizing about "the first thing" I was going to eat when I got back - and I was only out there for two days!
No, Slum Survivor was not physically difficult to an extreme. But it was spiritually difficult. Why? Because by chance of birth, I am an American citizen. By owning two pairs of shoes, I am automatically among the "rich" of the world. Even when my family was experiencing financial difficulty as a result of the 2008 bubble, it was never a question of us not eating that day. True, we might contemplate many nights of ramen and no pizza, but that's nothing. There was never a suggestion of becoming homeless.
And as I lay there in the dark, listening to the child screaming and the kookaburas laughing, I realized how handicapped we are. We get caught in this mindset that one person cannot help. One billion people live in slums - what possible good could one person do? It's too scary, it's not my problem, those lazy lay-abouts ought to get jobs. Why should I exert myself to help people who just aren't working hard enough? The homeless steal from law-abiding, economy-boosting citizens. They shouldn't be rewarded for that, right?
"He has told you, O man, what is good: and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" Micah 6:8.
If you want more, read Isaiah 58. Especially Isaiah 58:7-8.
Throughout the Old Testament, God describes himself as "the gracious and compassionate God" (Exoduss 34:6) who has a heart for the prodigal second sons, the homeless, the dispossessed. I once heard it said that if God says something once, He means it. If He says it twice, it's very important, but if He says it more than thrice, than Christians had better sit up and pay strict attention because God means business.
Preparing for this trip, I spent a lot of time reading about God's compassion and mercy. Even so, I was totally unprepared for the itsy-bitsy peek at what slum life is like. As I result of staring into that abyss, I am so thankful for the electricity in the room as I type, the food slowly digesting in my stomach, and clean hair. Yes, it's petty. Yes, it's simple. But if I had not experienced this weekend, I would be stuck in complacency, taking these things for granted.
And for that disruption to my nice, neat, first-world existence, I am truly grateful.
No, this was Slum Survivor. Take a normal camping trip. Now take away the tents. And the food. And the possibility of showers, the presence of deoderant, the ability to chill around a campfire in nice little fold-up chairs, and electronics, changes of clothing, and any non-prescription medicine.
Now it's starting to look like Slum Survivor. Essentially, SS is a simulated slum environment designed to give as accurate a picture of slum life in as short a time as possible. In this post, I'm going to start by describing everything that happened, and then go on to discuss how it impacted me. Otherwise, my perspective may not make much sense.
Happy? Alright, let's boogie.
We boarded the buses at 8:30 am Saturday morning with nothing but the clothes on our backs and a few toiletries - toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap. After a two-hour bus ride (listening to everything from Ellie Goulding to Coldplay and Lecrae) we arrived at the Reserve. I can't remember the name of this particular one, but trust me when I say it was in the bush. Really in the bush. After driving for fifteen minutes on a dusty red road, we arrived at the group camping area. Biting flies swarmed everywhere - we ended up "inventing" a dance that made us look slightly less dorky while serving to drive the pests away.
As it turned out, there were a few other families camping in the group site which we had reserved. The leaders could technically have turned them out, but as they had many small children, they decided the family's presence could only serve to increase the reality of our situation. On arrival, we were instructed to go swim in the river for forty-five minutes.
"Big deal," you might be saying. "It's a river. Get over it."
Calling it a river would be polite. Calling it a pool of standing, stinking, stagnant water would be more accurate. What little current there was was almost undetectable aside from the general migration of algae from one end to the other. Lest I sound like I'm complaining, it was actually quite nice, once you got over the slime. The swim essentially served two purposes: one was to make us dirty, the other was to tire us out. More on that later.
After swimming, we hiked back up to the site, where we were instructed to build houses out of the piles of garbage that had been brought along. These houses had to be wind-proof and water-proof, and at the end of 1.75 hours, the facilitators would come around to test them "by fire", as it were. Our outreach teams would serve as the basis of our slum families for the duration of the time, so we set to work. The slum house was surprisingly hard to build - by the time we started, our blood sugar was starting to drop. After all, when you go swimming for forty-five minutes, you tend to deplete energy stores. As we dragged wood pallets and giant cardboard boxes around in the heat, that fatigue began to worsen.
I get hypoglycemic quickly, so it could be that I was affected by the feeling of thinking through molasses sooner than the others. It really doesn't matter much.
During the time we were building, I started realizing how appreciative I was of my background in Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, and Surviving Camping Trips With My Family. Because our slum was to be built on a slope, we needed to find a way to brace the structure so that the walls would stay up when shaken violently.
Suffice it to say, more effort was spent on the walls of our hut than the roof. We figured that since it wasn't going to be raining that night, we'd do the bare minimum to keep from getting drenched when the facilitators fired water guns at us.
We passed that test, and then it was time for the challenges. Each challenge was designed to explore different realities of slum life: the first was a piggy-back obstacle course race in which the families competed against each other for rock melon (US' cantalope). Every family paired up in twos, and each pair had to complete the course twice, to imitate the act of pulling or pedaling rickshaws. At the time, we did not know what the prize would be, only that it was food. However, we were extremely motivated at this point: physical labor in the heat of the day with no food and little water had already started to seriously handicap us.
As I typed that last sentence, I felt seriously wimpy. It is so difficult to describe in words the challenges faced in SS. I guess I'll have to hope you'll get in the spirit as I continue to describe my weekend.
When the India team won that challenge, they were kind enough to share the melon so that everyone got a few bites. It was incredible how much of a difference two bites of fruit made! Everyone started smiling a little more, and felt more energetic. This was definitely a good thing as the next challenge was to: 1. Improvise a soccer ball, and 2. play a soccer tournament with the winner receiving another food prize. Team Cambodia all the way! We won the soccer challenge, and were given what was probably the most disgusting-tasting Gatorade I've ever had. Trust me on this one, guys, warmed Protein Gatorade is a thing only to be enjoyed in extremity, but it tasted amazing at the time.
Going back to the slum area, another challenge faced us. Crime and theft is a huge problem in slums around the world, so each family designated a thief to steal something from another family's slum house. Yours truly stole for Cambodia, and I took a pen that someone had foolishly left laying about inside the shack. Each family had to search for where the thief had hidden the items (a pen, a toothbrush, some toothpaste) and when the items were found, we had more free time while the facilitators cooked our dinner. Some people went swimming, but I went to the waterfall to wash my feet.
At dinner time, we ate rice and dahl in our families, then had intercession for the slums of the world. That was pretty incredible, but more on that later.
By the time we finished, the sky was dark and the stars were out. It was so beautiful to be so far out of the city that we could see the Milky Way. At one point, I was getting really annoyed about a bright light coming from the side, until I realized that it was the moon. In all honesty, star gazing was probably my favorite part of the weekend. It was good to be reminded of the unchanging beauty of creation even in the face of the physical challenges. Also, singing Disney classics and jazz standards by the light of the stars is just lovely where ever you go. It was a good night to be alive.
As we settled in to sleep that night, the babies next door started yelling. Imagine the angriest scream you've ever heard a child create. Now extend that noise for two hours. Just as we started to fall asleep, someone came into our slum and completely collapsed the roof on us. It took us a while to settle in again, but our screaming had awoken the babies again. And then the kookaburas started. And then it got cold. And then I slid out of the slum because I was on the slope. And then the ants started biting.
The next morning, we had quiet time, then more rice and dahl, and then we had an illiteracy challenge. For this one, we had to guess which pills were the "poisonous" or "safe" ones, with ten seconds and a basic table containing the new alphabet. The station with red and blue pills was unexpectedly hilarious.
After deconstructing our slums, we waited around for the buses to come back and get us. The leaders had told us we wouldn't eat until 5:30 that night (5 hours away). I was totally reconciled to that reality - I really didn't care that much and just looked forward to a shower by that point. I was thus extremely surprised and delighted when we made a detour for an good old, All-Australian barbie on the way back. I swear, friends, food never tasted as good as the burnt sausages and caramelized onions did.
So. Now you know the basics of what actually happened. Now I'm going to talk about my thoughts. I'm assuming that's why you've toughed the boring explanation out, after all.
In all honesty, this weekend was not the hardest thing I've ever experienced. Yes, it was tricky and uncomfortable and I had a migraine-strength headache the entire time. I've physically exerted myself to a greater extent on the same amount of food before. Yes, I was dirty. It was not as dirty as the weekend I was certified for Leave No Trace. Yes, we were camping without protection from the elements. It wasn't as uncomfortable as the time I woke up in a pool of water in the middle of a gullywasher in the Olympic Rain Forest.
But understand that this experience was limited and surreal. I only had to keep it together until Sunday evening. The roughly 1 billion people who live in slums are born into or forced into this reality indefinitely. The true slum dwellers aren't rewarded with rock melon and Gatorade for competing in games. True slum dwellers must acquire the food for themselves, and don't have handy supplies of clean drinking water just a few steps from their doors. They don't necessarily have toilets with seats. They don't necessarily have fancy REI sleeping bags and Northface jackets.
The thing about Slum Survivor is that it was patently unrealistic, and yet I found it challenging. You would not think that a period of two days in which you eat only two meals would incapacitate you as much as it does until you live through it yourself.
And yet, even if you ever have this opportunity, you'll understand when I say that it's just a waiting game. Even if you do it for a week, for a month, there's still that knowledge in the back of your head. "I have a home to go back to. My cell phone and two solid meals a day are waiting for me. There's a shower and shampoo and a mattress all at my disposal when I get back."
There's the knowledge of your privilege to keep you going. I'm ashamed to admit, but I gave in to fantasizing about "the first thing" I was going to eat when I got back - and I was only out there for two days!
No, Slum Survivor was not physically difficult to an extreme. But it was spiritually difficult. Why? Because by chance of birth, I am an American citizen. By owning two pairs of shoes, I am automatically among the "rich" of the world. Even when my family was experiencing financial difficulty as a result of the 2008 bubble, it was never a question of us not eating that day. True, we might contemplate many nights of ramen and no pizza, but that's nothing. There was never a suggestion of becoming homeless.
And as I lay there in the dark, listening to the child screaming and the kookaburas laughing, I realized how handicapped we are. We get caught in this mindset that one person cannot help. One billion people live in slums - what possible good could one person do? It's too scary, it's not my problem, those lazy lay-abouts ought to get jobs. Why should I exert myself to help people who just aren't working hard enough? The homeless steal from law-abiding, economy-boosting citizens. They shouldn't be rewarded for that, right?
"He has told you, O man, what is good: and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" Micah 6:8.
If you want more, read Isaiah 58. Especially Isaiah 58:7-8.
Throughout the Old Testament, God describes himself as "the gracious and compassionate God" (Exoduss 34:6) who has a heart for the prodigal second sons, the homeless, the dispossessed. I once heard it said that if God says something once, He means it. If He says it twice, it's very important, but if He says it more than thrice, than Christians had better sit up and pay strict attention because God means business.
Preparing for this trip, I spent a lot of time reading about God's compassion and mercy. Even so, I was totally unprepared for the itsy-bitsy peek at what slum life is like. As I result of staring into that abyss, I am so thankful for the electricity in the room as I type, the food slowly digesting in my stomach, and clean hair. Yes, it's petty. Yes, it's simple. But if I had not experienced this weekend, I would be stuck in complacency, taking these things for granted.
And for that disruption to my nice, neat, first-world existence, I am truly grateful.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
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