Practicing stamping patterns for the first time. We're working towards printing our own fabrics for all of the sewing projects.
Life Sounds Like Laughter
Life sounds like laughter. At least that’s what I’ve decided after spending the last two days with the girls of Peace House. They laugh constantly- while they’re making jewelry, during their Bible study, and at lunch. It rarely seems to cease. And while I’m not sure what they’re saying 90% of the time, the constant laughter and smiling faces let me know that these girls have found new life. Don’t get me wrong, several times throughout both days, girls have shared stories that have broken my heart, but even still, somewhere in there, they speak of hope and change. Then the smiles return and the laughter continues.
So far, I’ve spent my time at Peace House working alongside the girls, getting to know them and gaining an understanding of their current jewelry-making process. They begin the day at 9am with Bible study, followed by 5 or so hours of jewelry-making. I’ve discovered that I have very little stamina compared to these girls! By hour 3 of stringing beads on my first day, I was starting to doze off and was taking fake bathroom breaks just to be able to stretch my legs. Today was bead-making day, which consisted of rolling strips of magazine paper into small beads. Because Josiane kept watching me and laughing, I asked how many beads she’d made so far. Every time she completed a set of 10, she’d write it down and hold up the paper to show me across the table. And then, of course, she’d also make me count up mine. My answer always sent her into a fit of laughter. It turns out that Josiane’s BPH (Beads Per Hour) rate is 50, while my BPH was only 20!
- Things I’ve eaten: cooked bananas, which have the texture of potatoes. Who knew?
- Things I’ve seen: a local woman carrying a bag ( both wider and taller than she was) on her head without using her hands. Gives a whole new perspective to the phrase “look, ma, no hands”
- People I’ve met: Josiane, who has an incredible story of moving from death to life. Read it here!
Ready?
"Are you ready?” It’s the question everyone asks.
“Yes,” was my answer until a few days ago. Barring a few work-related tasks and a dreaded visit to the doctor for some malaria meds, I was ahead of schedule in the “ready” department. With 2 weeks still left before my departure date, I even had my bag mostly packed, which itself is a miracle. I cannot remember a time in my life when I’ve packed luggage earlier than 2 hours before a trip. I was ready!
Until this past Sunday night...
“Are you ready?” It’s the question everyone asks.
“Yes,” was my answer until a few days ago. Barring a few work-related tasks and a dreaded visit to the doctor for some malaria meds, I was ahead of schedule in the “ready” department. With 2 weeks still left before my departure date, I even had my bag mostly packed, which itself is a miracle. I cannot remember a time in my life when I’ve packed luggage earlier than 2 hours before a trip. I was ready!
Until this past Sunday night at Portico Church when we sang “All the Poor and Powerless.” Suddenly, I realized how unready I really was. I’ve probably listened to and sang the song hundreds of times in the past year without any problem, but I found myself unable to sing at all Sunday night.
All the poor and powerless / And all the lost and lonely / All the thieves will come confess / And know that You are holy / And know that You are holy
And all will sing out Hallelujah / And we will cry out Hallelujah
All the hearts who are content / And all who feel unworthy / And all who hurt with nothing left / Will know that You are holy
Yes, I’ve personally felt much of what the song speaks about. But if I’m honest, being “poor and powerless” or “hurting with nothing left” have, for the most part, been analogies used to describe my emotions or something happening in my spiritual life. Never once have those terms described my physical reality. I’ve not been so poor and powerless that I had sleep in cardboard on the streets or steal food to survive. I’ve not been deemed unworthy because I sell my body to support my family. I’ve hurt, but I’ve still had plenty left.
I couldn’t make it through the song this time because I was thinking about the young women in Rwanda I’ll be meeting soon. If they were to ever sing this song, they’d sing words literally describing what they have lived through. That idea sat heavily with me, and for the first time I felt the weight of my next few months. I found myself overwhelmed with the task of helping the Peace House girls begin to sing “Hallelujah” with their lives. And I felt very un-ready about it.
I’m now claiming “unready” as my new answer to the question. When I get to Rwanda, I want to look into the eyes of a girl, get to know her character, listen to her story, and be startled by how God works in our lives together. No matter how ready I may think I am for something, God tends to do better than I could ask or imagine. He does things that don’t make sense on paper, like tying together a sheltered graphic designer from Louisiana and a prostitute from Rwanda. Who’s prepared for that? Certainly not me. God is ready though, and He’s who I’m banking on.