A good friend asked me today a simple question: “Kristen, why are you here?” As I started to give my standard answer about how I knew a friend in college who told me about Mercy Ships and about my desire to go on a medical mission in my year before med school, he stopped me. “No, but I mean now, why are you here?” And his question was really this: after experiencing Africa and Mercy Ships and living in this environment for three months, what has God made clear to me as my purpose? My friend challenged me to think about the life lessons I will take home, how I’ll be changed and better after four and a half months of existence aboard a ship waiting at the end of a long cement pier for the patients and the waves to come gliding and crashing in to it.
And I think that’s how the lessons have come to me, gliding and crashing in. Before I came to Mercy Ships, I lacked the faith to believe that God hears every prayer and He answers every time. I had this fear holding me back from praying. If I were to talk to God and then fail to discern any sort of response or acknowledgement or presence, what would that say about the source in which I have chosen to invest my soul for the past three years? I realize now that half hearted prayers, those laced with timidity or reluctance, were the reason I often struggled to hear God. When you pray, you have to do it boldly. You have to throw your whole being into the truth and promises of the Lord. And you have to be prepared to accept the answer God returns.
Prayer requires an extra layer of faith. Today, I did a back flip off the diving board at a hotel’s swimming pool in town. Back flipping is a motion you can figure out intuitively, but one that you can never practice. Ultimately, you get brave enough to just fling your arms forward and kick your legs over your head, and the first time, you’re not sure it will work. But then you fly through the air spinning in a tight circle and hit the water and begin to trust in the forces of nature. The second time, you stand atop the diving board, and the same uncertainty in the new motion fills you. Somehow, you doubt that the laws of physics will apply this time, and perhaps you’ll end up back flopping or landing on your face. Again, you fling yourself backwards and you spin-land into the water. The more you do it, the more confidence you gain in the process. Prayer has been like this for me. It has taken several strong and obvious answers from God before I trust that they will always come, several good feet-first landings in the pool before I can flip without anxiety. Perhaps the most meaningful influence on my prayer life has been the assurance and unquestioning confidence that Christians on the ship seem to have in the power and certainty of prayer. It is like my friend Sarah, my back flipping coach who first showed me how it was done, drowning the thoughts of impossibility in my mind with her splash.
I think my second major purpose here has been to learn better about relationships and what it means to truly be a friend. I have been incredibly blessed with a number of close friendships in my time here through which I have learned how to explore under the surface of a personality, how to really get to know another person in a place where many have heavy defenses. Next week, my closest friend, Olivia, and I are going to share at morning hospital devotions what God has been teaching us about friendship. When we were discussing what to speak on, she immediately turned to the story of David and Jonathan, one of the most beautiful, touching relationships in the Bible. I had never heard the story of these two men before, but as Olivia read it to me, I immediately understood why it was her favorite. The ways that Jonathan supports David are so selfless, so genuine, and so much in the spirit of Jesus. The amazing part is that he could conceptualize of and achieve this love before the example of Jesus showed the way. At the center of their relationship is a selfless giving so essential to a good friendship, but also a rare, often unnatural quality among us.
For my part of the devotions, I found myself drawn to Ecclesiastes 4:9-12. “Two are better than one because they have a good return for their work: if one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” From this passage, I understand friendships to be essential, irreplaceable by anything self-provided. Our souls have such a craving to be loved, and we can understand so much more about ourselves when we are living in friendship and community with others. We cannot live for long without the strength, accountability, love, and insight we both give and receive through our friends.
I can trace my walk with Christ by the events of these past few years. I remember the times when each new essential understanding came to me as it is linked to major life events. When I think back to my time with Mercy Ships years into the future, I will remember prayer and friendship, God’s faithfulness in listening and answering in giving us in others exactly what we need to live.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
God is good all the time
I did not expect to see thriving life as I passed the green suited guards standing in front of the prison’s outer walls-- barred cells, maybe, misery and suffering, definitely. But the first thing I heard in the bright sunlight was music, the first sight was families lined up to visit loved ones, the first smell, cooking food and smoke. As we filed past the entrance and gave our names to security on a slip of paper, us seven girls guided by our translator, Ruth, we stepped into a city, a community. We first entered the men’s section, where voices were loud and the number of people crowded in the large courtyard, all looking in our direction, was simply overwhelming. I kept my eyes forward, staying close to my friend in front of me and following Ruth as she easily navigated between rows of shacks and squatting people towards our destination.
We were here with a burden on our hearts, to visit the imprisoned women and to share with them the goodness of Jesus and the freedom in His forgiveness, a mission that is still quite bold for me. The challenge of accomplishing this without any conversational ability in French did not escape me, but prison ministry is something I have wanted to do since I learned that the first groups had gone during my first few weeks aboard the ship. I know what is most appealing, what drew me to the prison last week. It is the chance this trip offered to help these women, people who likely have had all their dignity and self worth stripped away by their circumstances, feel valued and loved again. I wanted them to know that they are worth my time, and however small, that is something.
Once we entered the women’s section, the mood completely changed. From the loud, raucous atmosphere of the men’s community, the women’s was infinitely more inviting, relaxed, and comfortable. The stares of the men were replaced with warm greetings and hands reaching up to us as we passed, all wanting to hold ours as faces smiled and said their “bonjour’s.” Large curtains of cloth hung down from the shaded area, each a claimed territory, marking out a sleeping space and a place for privacy that all respected and left undisturbed. Further in, there was a small dormitory filled with sagging old bunk beds, in each a nest of fabric with clear body imprints and a few possessions. Some ladies had fans, while others had extra blankets or old bags or a few extra pieces of clothing.
After spending a few minutes greeting the women inside, Ruth announced it was time for worship to start. Already, a group of about fifteen ladies were gathered, sitting on empty dented jugs lining the walls. The women were beautiful, each wearing her distinct tribal markings on her face, her hair braided in intricate patterns and her toe nails painted in bright. Two traded a pudgy infant between their laps, bouncing him so his little head rocked. I remember thinking that these women did not look like prisoners. They were clean and healthy, some actually quite large. There was nothing distinguishingly rough about them, nothing to mark them out as different than the women lining the market streets and tending their stalls.
Ruth began the service with singing, her loud and slightly harsh voice common to most African worship leaders raised, and the ladies quickly joined in, keeping beat with a complex clapping pattern that I couldn’t hope to stay with, let alone while I was singing. Several songs later, as we danced mostly moving our shoulders in the African style, I was still missing beats, but smiling to see so many women praising God. I am always blown away by the apparent joy of the people here despite their circumstances.
We next moved on to prayer requests, and each woman had a chance to share with us her pain and desires. Almost every one asked for prayer for release, whether in the form of acquiring enough money for bail, getting a trial date, or just serving a sentence to the end. Justice in Benin, although better than most of West Africa, is still close to corruption, and only one in ten prisoners will ever have a trial. We prayed for each woman individually, each of us in our own language passionately talking to God and dripping sweat from the hot sun. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good. This is a popular call and response in African churches and I thought about it then as I prayed for my sisters in captivity.
In our last half an hour, one of the women in our group shared a short, but captivating story centered on keeping counsel with good instead of the wicked. No sooner had she finished than one of the ladies who had left us during the message came running into the middle of the circle, jumping up and down in exhilaration. The plastic slap of her flip flops on the concrete matched her tone of voice as she shared the good news: she was due to be released next week. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good. It was time for us to leave and we filed past the lines of reaching arms, once more shaking each hand to a chorus of smiling “ourevoir,s.” West African prison, I thought to myself, and God is still here.
We were here with a burden on our hearts, to visit the imprisoned women and to share with them the goodness of Jesus and the freedom in His forgiveness, a mission that is still quite bold for me. The challenge of accomplishing this without any conversational ability in French did not escape me, but prison ministry is something I have wanted to do since I learned that the first groups had gone during my first few weeks aboard the ship. I know what is most appealing, what drew me to the prison last week. It is the chance this trip offered to help these women, people who likely have had all their dignity and self worth stripped away by their circumstances, feel valued and loved again. I wanted them to know that they are worth my time, and however small, that is something.
Once we entered the women’s section, the mood completely changed. From the loud, raucous atmosphere of the men’s community, the women’s was infinitely more inviting, relaxed, and comfortable. The stares of the men were replaced with warm greetings and hands reaching up to us as we passed, all wanting to hold ours as faces smiled and said their “bonjour’s.” Large curtains of cloth hung down from the shaded area, each a claimed territory, marking out a sleeping space and a place for privacy that all respected and left undisturbed. Further in, there was a small dormitory filled with sagging old bunk beds, in each a nest of fabric with clear body imprints and a few possessions. Some ladies had fans, while others had extra blankets or old bags or a few extra pieces of clothing.
After spending a few minutes greeting the women inside, Ruth announced it was time for worship to start. Already, a group of about fifteen ladies were gathered, sitting on empty dented jugs lining the walls. The women were beautiful, each wearing her distinct tribal markings on her face, her hair braided in intricate patterns and her toe nails painted in bright. Two traded a pudgy infant between their laps, bouncing him so his little head rocked. I remember thinking that these women did not look like prisoners. They were clean and healthy, some actually quite large. There was nothing distinguishingly rough about them, nothing to mark them out as different than the women lining the market streets and tending their stalls.
Ruth began the service with singing, her loud and slightly harsh voice common to most African worship leaders raised, and the ladies quickly joined in, keeping beat with a complex clapping pattern that I couldn’t hope to stay with, let alone while I was singing. Several songs later, as we danced mostly moving our shoulders in the African style, I was still missing beats, but smiling to see so many women praising God. I am always blown away by the apparent joy of the people here despite their circumstances.
We next moved on to prayer requests, and each woman had a chance to share with us her pain and desires. Almost every one asked for prayer for release, whether in the form of acquiring enough money for bail, getting a trial date, or just serving a sentence to the end. Justice in Benin, although better than most of West Africa, is still close to corruption, and only one in ten prisoners will ever have a trial. We prayed for each woman individually, each of us in our own language passionately talking to God and dripping sweat from the hot sun. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good. This is a popular call and response in African churches and I thought about it then as I prayed for my sisters in captivity.
In our last half an hour, one of the women in our group shared a short, but captivating story centered on keeping counsel with good instead of the wicked. No sooner had she finished than one of the ladies who had left us during the message came running into the middle of the circle, jumping up and down in exhilaration. The plastic slap of her flip flops on the concrete matched her tone of voice as she shared the good news: she was due to be released next week. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good. It was time for us to leave and we filed past the lines of reaching arms, once more shaking each hand to a chorus of smiling “ourevoir,s.” West African prison, I thought to myself, and God is still here.
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