dontsqueezethejj.com

It’s a little hard to believe I’m done.  Two years of intense study in scripture, culture, history and theology and I have my MaT.  There is much reflection still to be done and the learning will go on the rest of my life, but it still feels good to be finished for now.

I was incredibly humbled by having my family and Rachel’s parents come down to celebrate with me.  I even got a little emotional thinking of all my friends who showed up for the open house afterwards.  I am beyond blessed to have such amazing support.

I am in the midst of packing up and heading to Fullerton to my new place of residence with the Rozencranz’s.  I start teaching Communications and Leadership at Hope International University in August and will still be working part-time for Life in Abundance.

More to share later, but for now I am recovering from my usual post-finals sickness.

Everyone in my family is fairly artistic in some way. We all sing, are comfortable on stage, some play guitar, some are crafty. But my brother Ben is kind of head and shoulders above the rest of us when it comes to art. He can carve, paint, sculpt, draw, and is creative beyond belief. But, it is his latest project that has blown me away.

For Christmas this year he decided to make us all personalized sweatshirts. He designed one for each of us based on things we love or parts of our personality that remind him of us. They are made with bleach. Mine was a sweatshirt with the names of God in Hebrew on one side and the names of God in Greek on the other. It is quite possibly my favorite gift I have ever received.

Since then he has been practicing and taken the art to a whole new level. Here are just a few of his “pieces.” Every one is made by hand and every one is original.

Kyle in his Mortal Combat
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Bethany’s Blossom Sweatshirt
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Jesse’s version of Pablo Picasso’s The Old Guitarist (Maybe my fav)
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The Trekkie

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Pandas in Bamboo

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Pandas in Bamboo close

He’s so good he makes me a little sick. I love them all and I love him.

Update: Ben has started selling these. If you are interested, leave a comment and I’ll get you his e-mail. Each design is unique, hand made and takes a good deal of time. But since he is just getting started he is looking at $35 for the design and then extra for the sweatshirt. It has to be of a certain quality to take the bleach, but you can get it to him or he can get them for $35. Makes a great gift!! Get them before he gets famous!! (I have no problem pushing my brother.)

The delegates have been counted, the marathon Democratic nomination process is coming to a close, the first African American to win the backing from a major party is ready for the next phase.  He has asked us to believe, he has told us that we can, and now he has shown us the way… with a fist bump.  Not high five, not a chest bump, but it was a gentle and authentic pounding of fists between husband and wife that ushered in a new era of politics. (Plus a little pat on the butt)

A fist bump seems so innocuous, but it symbolizes a new way of thinking, a new way of moving forward.  It is graceful, humble and of the everyman.  It is hip and now, it is silly and playful.  It is short and sweet, it is alternative and inclusive.  It is youthful and transcendent, it is familiar and fun.  It is a great alternative to Al and Tipper Gore’s way-too-long nationally televised liplock or Bill and Hillary Clinton, in swimsuits, cavorting on a Virgin Islands beach.  It is Barack Obama and now Barack is ours.

My hope from the beginning was an Obama/Edwards ticket, I just thought Obama would be vice.  I don’t know if Edwards would take the offer with his wife’s health, but here’s hoping.

The next few months will be a wild sprint to the finish.  We are seeing history unfold in new and exciting ways.  Walls are being torn down and rules are being changed.  No matter what happens, it will be fun to watch.  I think we will look back on this bumping of fists and know that with one simple act an entire system was turned on its head and the world we have come to accept has been changed forever.

German Scientists Design More Environmentally Friendly Bombs

At least we’ll be able to breath better air while we are killing each other. Evidently we can’t figure out a way to stop destroying each other so we just need to focus on not destroying the earth in the midst of destroying each other.

Good plan.

I just found this link to my site from some Italian blog.

There is a picture of one of my nerd headshots with this caption beside it. Thanks to a handy-dandy on-line translator, I was able to have the English version: “Trevor Mortis was given over mainly to three activities in its life: masturbazione and tornei, the finance online tetris. But only one of these it yielded easy moneies.” Oddly enough, “masturbazione” didn’t translate in the on-line translator. I wonder what it could mean? Hmmm…

In doing a little research I found that if you type in “funny nerd” in a Google image search, my picture is the first one to come up.

This weekend I had the opportunity to teach 4th and 5th graders at church. I’ve been helping out with the children’s ministry for the past year and a half and have grown to love it, but this was my first time doing anything besides small groups, a fun video or air hockey.

Saturday night service began as usual. The kids trickled in and we helped them participate in various activities during free time. The air hockey table was humming, the smell of glue wafted from the craft area, and the tipping of Dominoes sent wild screams of joy and fright echoing off the portable classroom walls. Everything was going perfect.

We went up to worship, followed that up with time on the playground, came back into class, all without losing a single kid. After listening intently during sharing time to the little cherubs tell about movies they saw and places they swam I settled in to impart words of wisdom to my young Padawans.

“How many of you know how your parents met?” Hands dashed up madly all around the room.

One little girl responded, “My parents met at a divorce party.”
Another chimed in, “My grandma invited my dad over for ice cream.”
A fair haired boy said, “I think my parents just always knew each other.”

As I had each kid expand on their story, out of the corner of my eye I caught Andrew taking off his shoes to my left. (Your right.) This was not too abnormal. Andrew is one of our “special needs” kids. It was incredibly hot on Saturday and Andrew had been playing tag on the playground. Why wouldn’t he take off his shoes?

Nothing to see there. “What if they had never chosen to go to that party or go over for ice cream?”
A few of the girls around him moved away, but it wasn’t causing too much of a distraction, so I kept going with my lesson. “How many of you have ever heard of a theory called the ‘butterfly effect?’” I asked, trying to block out the fact that Andrew was now taking off his socks.

Hoping that another adult would kindly go sit with Andrew I continued on. “Yes, Mindy, it was a movie with Ashton Kucher, but don’t go see it.” Every moment is teachable. “It’s a scientific theory that explains how one teensy, tiny change can possibly affect the rest of the world.”

By now, Andrew was playing with a blister on his foot but, I had the rest of them in the palm of my hand so I continued. “For example, a little butterfly in South America can flap its wings and cause a tiny change in the atmosphere…but that tiny change can alter the atmosphere just enough so that over time a tornado might develop in North America. A tornado that might not have happened if the butterfly hadn’t flapped its wings at that exact moment.”

I barely got the last word out before I watched in horror as Andrew stuck his foot up to his mouth and bit off his blister and then ate it. ATE IT!! Luckily, at that very moment Alfonso on my right (your left) said, “Stupid butterflies” and everyone turned toward him and had a good laugh while I struggled to keep down my lunch.

Andrew evidently got a taste for his feet because now he was just chewing on them and licking his toes. At this point, Kirby, one of our faithful shepherds, moved into position and tried to keep Andrew from making us all puke. “Isn’t it odd how one little choice that we make can impact everything?” I said trying to inch my way right (Stage right) to keep eyes away from the wrestling match that had commenced between Andrew and Kirby. All the perfect planning and brilliant illustrations in the world could not have kept the attention away from the right side of the room (my left) as Kirby picked Andrew up and walked him outside.

I got a little louder and a little more animated, smiling and doing a little dance to try to distract. Through it all, we kept going and worked to learn what it meant to make good decisions even when we think it is not impacting others.

Next time I see Andrew I’m sure he will run up to me, pat me on the back and say, “How ya doing buddy, it’s been a long time.” Just like he always does. I’ll smile and give him a hug like I always do, even if I will never get that image out of my mind. I’ll keep working to teach him when to appropriately flap his butterfly wings and he’ll keep causing tornadoes at inopportune times. I won’t ever be able to fully control or be prepared for another blister eating moment, but I hope that if it ever comes again, that I will choose to smile, dance and just keep going.

Since returning I’ve had the pleasure of continuing to tell the story of my trip to good friends over coffee and Pinkberry. As I tell the various stories I am struck by just how much of a privilege it was to not only go, but participate in a small way in the work of changing lives. I have also been struck by how many people have mentioned they read my blog. Thank you for joining me in this journey and for all the comments.

My friend Rebecca was asking me the other day what she could do to be a part of the work, what are the immediate needs. In that conversation I was reminded of something I learned while reading “Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger.” (A must read, BTW.) Ronald Sider says that as we go and see the plight of the poor that we must return and share what we learn by helping to educate others. However, education must always be followed by an opportunity to respond. Education without a possibility of response can lead to guilt and paralysis. With the education and response must always be a component of prayer. We must understand that our help makes a difference, but this is systemic and much bigger than us. We need God to intervene.

In that heart I would like to share some specific needs that require some type of response. I am not a fundraiser and I hate asking people for money. That is not what this is. This is a chance for those who have been educated, those who have been moved, to join the dance already happening.

Post Election Feeding Program:
Violence tore apart the country following the Kenyan elections. Many were left without homes and businesses and even more left without work. Twelve churches in Kibera, the slum hardest hit, are now feeding 80 children two meals a day. As I said in one of my blogs, in one of the programs they have 350 coming and can only feed 80. It costs $50 a week to feed 80 children two meals a day.

Peer Houses:
A group of four “hardcore” street kids are rescued off the street and placed together in a home. They receive food, housing, vocational training, housing necessities, school fees, discipleship, and counseling. They are in the program for three years and by the end are able to support themselves. This program is amazing. One kid is sponsored for $25 a month. A house sponsorship is $100 a month.

OVC Care:
Many children are on the streets or in orphanages not because they don’t have family members still alive, but because their family can’t afford to keep them. The Orphans and Vulnerable Children (OVC) program works to support families who are at risk of having to put their children on the streets or families who are willing to take in orphans. The goal of this program is to keep children in the community, cared for by family members, instead of adopting them out. They receive a food stipend, school fees, and are given training in conjunction with micro-loans. To support a family monthly costs $25 or $300 for a year.

CHE Churches:
CHE stands for Community Health Evangelism. These churches are the ones who are doing amazing programs in the communities. We train and support them and they do all the work. Each church surveys their own community and decides what are the greatest needs. They then run programs that can range from dental clinics to micro-loan finance, starting to schools to taking care of the elderly. Each church is supported financially for three years with the understanding that we will all work towards sustaining the programs after the financial support ends. This comes through capital projects or people in the church catch the vision and begin supporting it themselves. This is incredible to see. An entire church can be sponsored for $500 a month.

LIA is not what you typically think of as a “missions” agency.  We do not send people to Africa as missionaries.  It was started by an African doctor, run by African doctors, and implemented by African churches.  Justin and are are the only Americans on staff.  LIA teaches churches to care for their communities.  We give them financial help to get things off the ground and then work to train them to help sustain the work after the initial funding is gone.  Year one is ramping up, year two is running at full steam, and year three is phasing out with training for sustaining.  I am blown away at how great it all works.

If you feel led to support the work you can make a one-time or on-going donation by going to www.liaint.org/donate.  (We are getting a new website soon.)  Donations are taken through PayPal or by sending it in to the US office.

I will not shy away from the need because it is real, but I’m also aware that almost everyone I know is already supporting work all over the world. I would be honored to partner with you in this work, but please do not feel pressure. Either way, please keep LIA and the work that continues in your prayers.

Turns out my dancing can bring joy on two different continents on the same day. Yesterday I was standing in six inches of mud, helping to unstick our vehicle which had been slipping off the side of the hill for the last two hours and decided to do a little dance of joy when we were able to pick up the van and move it on to more solid ground. A group of kids who watched the whole adventure laughed at the “wazungu” busting a move. Then today, I was able to get on the internet and had e-mails waiting for me from friends who saw me on Ellen’s 800th show where she highlighted her favorite dancers from past shows. I made the cut. Two dances, two continents, same day, one international entertainer. I get to dance all over the world. I don’t understand my life, but I am sure enjoying the ride.

I’m sitting in my aunt an uncle’s house on my last day in Africa. Words cannot describe my experience. I can’t wait for technology to develop enough to post smell-o-blogs because mere words could never do justice to the odors that might help convey my time. From open sewage running through the streets to exhaust emitted from diesel trucks we followed for miles on bumpy roads, from burning trash lining the streets to fresh cups of chai in the morning, it is the smells that will bring me back to this place. The smells will always bring me back.

More powerful than the pungent aromas that spark the memories are the memories themselves. The stories of these brave and inspiring people will forever bring tears to my eyes. A phrase we heard over and over again as we left each of our new friends was “Do not forget us.”

A pastor who is working towards tribal reconciliation after the Kenya elections found a man who was about to commit suicide because during the riots his wife had been raped and became pregnant. He went to his house and found the poison the man was going to use to not only kill himself, but the baby inside his wife. After praying together and sharing the love of God, the man turned from his desperation and has begun living his life of hope. I will never forget.

A woman told us a story of contracting AIDS from her husband who then beat her, kicked her out and took away her children. She joined a co-op of women who make mats to support their families. She is so sick that she may not have long to live so she is going back to her village to be with her family, but her smile pierced my soul. I will never forget.

A woman who is already caring for 11 children was willing to take in 2 more. A church who’s members live in the largest slum in Africa, the poorest of the poor, collects clothes and small amounts of money to help those who have even less. A food coordinator having to decide which 80 of the 350 kids in school he will be able to feed on any given day. Lay dentists praying with patients before extracting rotten teeth. The joy in the midst of the pain. The hope in the midst of squaller. The calm in the midst of the storm. The life in the midst of death. It may take a while to process all I have seen and even longer to figure out my participation in the work, but without a doubt, these stories I will never forget.

Our desire in coming here was to give a face and a story to the work going on in Africa with LIA and the churches who have chosen to serve the communities in which they reside. It was not to focus on the pain, but the joy. It was not to focus on the death, but the life. In the midst of overwhelming heartache and suffering, these beloved chose to not only have hope, but create it for others. That is why the pictures we took show the pride, bravery, power and joy that is found right smack dab in the middle on the poverty and injustice. They do not ignore the pain, but they choose to overcome. They have done more with less than could ever be imagined. They take away any excuse the rest of us have to sit on the sidelines as idle spectators. While the food and smells and sites will stick with me, it is the faces and the stories that I will never forget. My eyes have been opened, my ears have heard, my heart has be broken. Now I have to decide if I will take them up on the opportunity to join in the struggle to bring hope, or sit in knowledge that God’s kingdom is advancing and I am content to sit on the sidelines and watch. My hope is that even in the in light of the pain, in the presence of death, in the mire of the mud, I will always choose to dance. No matter what, I will never forget.

After another astounding day my mind and eyes are tired and my heart and bowels are full. Too many Cliff bars do not do a body good. I swear they are all ganging up against me, conspiring to never again see the light of day. I did however join forces with a ham and cottage cheese calzone that the only thing fully cooked inside was the eight inch hair I found just on the edge of the frigid center. I also pressed my luck with some caramel ice cream that contained some sort of gelatinous substance on the bottom. I am praying to all that is holy that it was flan, but somehow I doubt that the Mexican delicacy made it’s way across the ocean and into an authentic Ethiopian restaurant. Either way, I hope both of these foods gang up on the Cliff bars and help me win my own personal battle of the bulge, if you will. Too much information? Ah well, I’ll just blame it on the malaria meds.

It is hard to sum up everything I am experiencing and all the stories I am hearing. I teared up numerous times today. Children at a school created by a church for the poorest of the poor sang for us at the top of their lungs. A woman shared how the only support she found came from the church after was beaten by her husband for giving her life to Jesus. She was able to then get on her feet and now gives back to support other women. An eighty-year-old blind man with no one to care for him has been living solely on the generosity of the church told us his heart was full of peace now that we stopped to hear his story and pray for him. The stories never end.

Our purpose in coming here was to collect stories of triumph and hope, in such a way that we can invite others to participate in their ongoing story. Our goal is to help people see that our ‘neighbors’ are not limited to our geographic proximity and that our new friends here matter. They deeply matter to God and they must matter to us.

The rest of the post is just pictures taken by Brian of people that matter. Everyone of these people lives in deep poverty and the Church in Ethiopia is working to do something about it. They need partners to join in that work because all of these individuals… They Matter.

A woman with AIDS.

A recovering street kid

A child who’s family helps take care of an older man

A mother and a son getting water

Two brothers who used to live on the street, but now have jobs and a home.

Our team: Yonas, Justin, me, Justin, and Brian is behind the camera

Other updates of our trip can be seen at Justin’s blog or Brian’s blog. Tomorrow we head to Kenya and will begin a new adventure all over again.

I’d forgotten what it is like to wake up to singing prayers called out over loud speakers since my last roommate moved out. Those Orthodox-ers sure love their early mornings. I’d like to say it was a refreshing wake up at 5:00am, but I would be lying. However, it was nice to wake up to electricity and running water since both were out for much of last night. We hopped in the van at 6:30 and headed out for a 3½ hour adventure over roads that will haunt me in my sleep.

Our first stop was a support group for people with HIV/AIDS. Each person not only shared their story, but repeatedly mentioned how they would not be alive today without the support from LIA programs. One woman talked about how some of the LIA staff came over while she was bed ridden and not only cleaned her house, but cleaned her as well. One man spoke about his hopelessness before joining the group and his attempted hanging. We stopped at the end to bless them and they began talking over each other trying to bless us, thank us, wish us long life, and tell us again that they wouldn’t be here without this amazing work.

I did mix up soda bottles at one point and drank from the bottle of a women infected with AIDS. It was interesting to see the tricks my mind began to play. I consider myself fairly learned, open and accepting. I was perfectly fine shaking hands, hugging and being around all these infected men and woman. But when I drank from the bottle, I had a little bit of a panic. I can’t imagine the stigma these people go through every day. I told them that I was honored to be in their presence because anyone can choose to die, but it takes heroic courage and strength to choose life.

We spent the rest of the day meeting with various people and groups in the projects in Debrebirhan. We met two families involved in our project to help malnourished children under five. We bought scarves from a woman who was part of the micro-finance program. She lost her husband to AIDS, who had infected her as well. LIA is involved in a program that helps HIV positive mothers give birth to HIV negative babies through various medicine, vitamins, and education. Amazing. Lastly, we went to the Choose Life program that is reaching 20,000 young people in three years with a curriculum that teaches abstinence, communication skills, and empowerment. They had some pretty cool signs.

The worship pastor at my church recently wrote a song that speaks in a prophetic voice about the hope for the future of the Church. The end of the chorus says, “In these days that we’re living now, let your kingdom come, let your will be done.” The verses it goes on to say what that might be look like.

“I see the lost, nameless ones remembered.
I see the widows shouting out your praise.
I see the friendless loved and celebrated,
Orphans fulfilling Lord your calling on their lives.
I see the brokenness of families brought to wholeness.
I see the prodigals running home to you.
I see your church rising up in power,
Laying down their lives in unity and love.”

As I walked around our compound this morning listening to my own songs of prayer before we left, my eyes began to fill with tears. I am witnessing all of these things happening here and now. I am seeing the church be the Church in ways I have only prayed would happen sometime in the future. I get to be a part of the mysterious power of God moving in and through His people, not just in spite of their pain, weakness, and sin, but in light of it all. I am seeing this all this done “In these days that we are living now.” God’s kingdom is here. That is why I am here.