The Sidewalk

We lived up a steep hill from the Congo-Cross roundabout. Our compound was at the top and had a beautiful but partially obstructed view of Freetown and the harbor. It was quite spectacular. Each day the way the sunlight hit the water      was unique creating new sparkling views.  In addition to the water and the palm trees we also overlooked hundreds corrugated metal roofs slowly rusting in the humid salty air. We had lived in this location for about a year but I still had not captured a clear view of tropical Freetown. So I decided to walk down the road where I knew I could get a clear shot. With my Cannon digital camera in hand, I started out for a short strip of sidewalk just down the road.  Reaching the area with the view and quite possibly only 200 feet of paved sidewalk in all of Sierra Leone, I started to plan my shot unaware at first of the man walking towards me.  Becoming aware, I realized it was Oscar, the guy with the mental illness who was regularly sifting through the rubbish bins. 

           I had a choice to share the narrow sidewalk with him or to quickly cross back over to the other side of the road and delay taking my picture until a more opportune time. This was risky because there was very little shoulder along the far side of the road. Nevertheless, I darted across the road to avoid a potential confrontation. As I looked back to see if Oscar had noticed my sudden change of route, he looked at me and then suddenly stopped to squat down and then proceeded  poop on the sidewalk in broad daylight! Once I realized what he was doing I thought “Oh man! Did you just do what I think you did? And was it really necessary to poop on the only decent piece of sidewalk in the whole freaking town?”  Apparently it was.   
             By now I had become numb to people urinating in public. They peed on the sides of buildings, in the gutters along the streets or anyplace that was convenient.  It was such a common problem that when you saw a cement wall it often had the phrase “Pis nor irr” painted along its length to discourage such behavior. Up until that moment I had never seen anyone “drop trou” mid stride and go #2 on the sidewalk with an audience.  This was totally alarming.

            Once Oscar had finished his business, he continued on his way and I, determined to get my shot crossed back over to the freshly decorated sidewalk and completed my mission. And quite a sight it was too, one I’ll never forget!

           

Oscar and Beelzebub

I frequently sighted him rummaging though the overflowing garbage from the shadily constructed dumpsites in our area.  Middle aged, strong and lean, with wild matted hair.  Always wearing the same tattered shorts, shirtless. The only thing he donned above the waist were, his dirty frayed necklaces made from odds and ends.  Each shred of cloth was strung with a piece of brightly colored debris, forming a think tangled collar around his neck.  I had seen similar amulets worn by other local people usually for protection form evil spirits or to deflect the bullets of a witch-gun. 

        Witchcraft or Juju as its know in Sierra Leone is prevalent. The fear of being cursed by a vindictive neighbor or a jealous friend causes great anxiety for a lot of people. In order to counteract the effects of the witch-gun aimed at them they go to another witch rumored to be more powerful and after paying a chunk of money, the witch will perform some incantations and provide them with a charm that will protect them from whatever they are afraid they might encounter. 

       From my western perspective Oscar, as I called him, looked as though he was suffering from mental illness that had been mistaken for demonic torment. Sadly, there are no doctors, medications or treatment centers available for the mentally ill in Sierra Leone. In their desperation, people resort to witchcraft or chaining the sick individual up.  I suspect whoever was providing Oscar with the necklaces was desperately hoping to cure him. 

         I couldn’t help but ruminate on why he was in the pitiable condition he was in.  Was he born this way? Had he been abused as a child? Maybe during the civil war he had experienced unspeakable traumas or had been forced to commit some grievous acts like so many others during that time. Whatever the reason, Oscar was in desperate need of treatment.                                                                                                                          

        While working as a missionary when encountering this type of individual my first inclination is to scan my memory of the Bible for comparable circumstances. My mind quickly retrieved the story of the demonic who had become a host for a legion of demons and was forced to live naked in a graveyard until he met Jesus.  I didn’t know where Oscar slept at night but by the looks of him it wasn’t in a house. He clearly spent most of his time outside and knee high in trash.  I also recalled from my theological studies that one of the descriptions given to Satan is Beelzebub which means lord of flies and I wondered if this was one of the reasons I always saw him in or near the garbage dumps; not that he was Satan, but that he was being tormented by demonic flies so to speak. Yet even if his issues weren’t spiritual in nature his demeanor, appearance and behavior stirred up in me these reflections.      

        Then my brain quickly swings the other way and wonders if he is always sifting through the refuse simply because he is hungry or looking for a new trinket to hang around his neck. Part of me wanted to buy him a hardboiled egg or banana from a street hawker so that he didn’t have to forage in the trash. I wondered what would happen if I did. Would he turn on me returning my kind concern with physical aggression? Would I be forced to confront his demons and have to attempt a public exorcism?   Conflicted and afraid I did the only thing I knew to do, I prayed for Oscar from a safe distance. I asked God to show him mercy. I prayed for his healing and for freedom from the ties that bound his soul and mind. I thanked God that I wasn’t in his situation. Now years later as I explore my thoughts and actions in that moment, I feel cowardly like I could have and should have done more. You know taken the risk. But in that moment years ago, all I could do was what I did.

A Recipe For Whirled Peas!

I had a surprising adventure in the kitchen this evening while making split pea soup.  How could that be an adventure you ask? Well let me explain how I turn soup into an adventure! 

After spending an hour cooking my concoction I decided to place half of it in a blender to smooth it out and then return it to the pot once again.  At least this was my plan. Let me first set the scene. while I was doing this "soup making" my mom and aunt were standing with me in the kitchen having an intense discussion about recent life events. My mom was on my left and my aunt was on my right. The blender and I were centrally located. 

After pouring half of the hot soup into the blender, I placed the lid on tightly while I kept my hand on the lid. I then proceeded to push the "grind" button. Much to my surprise the soup sprang in to life and forced the lid and my hand off the top of the blender allowing the soup to escape and spray all over me, my mom and the kitchen! 

Yikes!! Hot whirled peas everywhere! Everyone jumped back yelled and then started laughing! After recovering and wiping down the kitchen and ourselves. I again placed the lid on the blender extra tight and even held it down with extra effort.  I repositioned myself to the left of the blender this time ( as if that would make a difference).  

I said, "I am going to push the button again batten down the hatches!"  Jokingly of course. Again I pushed "grind" and low and behold the same thing happened! Pea soup everywhere the windows, in our faces, the floor, cabinets. Duh!! This time after recovering from the shock of being prayed by the hot green liquid we laughed so hard we cried! And proceeded to re-clean the kitchen. 

What is the moral of the story you ask? I don't know. "Whirled peas was easier to achieve than I expected?" Maybe. "Don't blend hot soup while having a serious discussion?" Perhaps. "Comic relief even when caused by flinging hot soup is delicious for the soul! " That's getting closer. If you would like to have me recreate the same moment in your kitchen, just ask. I would be happy to pea all over your kitchen.

The Hungry Mugger

The following is the fictional backstory to the real experience I had in Sierra Leone.

He awoke to the sound of thin tin pans being scattered across the crumbling cement slab outside his door. He could hear a man and woman shouting as a crowd of their neighbors gathered to watch. He sat up wiped the sweat off his neck and tried to shake off the heaviness of his slumber.

The fighting continued.

“Eh Bo! Get oat me ouse!” a female voice screeched.

“Ooman if you kick me oat , I de go.”  The male voice promised.

Sobbing she managed to say, “Go!”

Grabbing his dirty shirt the man strides off angry and bare chested.

“Good luck feeding those bastard Children.”  The man mumbled loudly enough so that the spectators heard his targeted insult.

Now fully awake he was acutely aware of his hunger. It had been a day since his last meal consisting of dried Cassava flakes, bright orange palm oil and Maggie seasoning, the food of security guards and domestic help.  Without the noise from the fight disturbing him he would have continued to sleep through his hunger. Unemployment rate of eighty percent meant that decent work was hard to find, especially for his generation that grew up during the civil war. He had been too young to fight in the war but due to the disruption that wars cause his education was sporadic and incomplete. The war left him behind like so many others who were left with no family, tribal connections and no hope of a better future. These were not the kinds of things a hungry man contemplated. The only thing on his mind was how he could temporarily satisfy his hungry belly.

           

Slipping on his jeans, T-shirt and flip-flops he stepped out of the dark dilapidated room he rented and into the yard; everything seemed back in order. There was no evidence of the ruckus that just occurred. Dogs resumed their sun bathing on the drying slab while chickens moved about pecking at shiny pieces of garbage.

           

Driven by hunger he decided to head to Lumley beach, maybe he would meet some fishermen as they brought in their last catch. He hoped he could convince them to spare him some of their unsellable leftovers.  He looked down at his gold colored watch, even though it stopped working some time ago. He kept it because it looked nice and made his younger brothers jealous.  Forced to estimate the time he glanced up at the horizon he guessed that there was about two hours of daylight left.  Again his stomach ached for something to fill it. If only he could turn the sand into rice. 

He scanned the shore for fishermen. There were none. He kept walking. It was too late; he had slept though the last catch of the day, missing yet another opportunity to eat. The only people who were still working the sand were hawkers draped in trinkets, amputees who squatted in the half built hotels along the shore and prostitutes waiting for their evening meal. They, like him, were desperate to live in spite of how hopeless life appeared. A small part of him was thankful that he wasn’t a woman. As a man he had it easier by comparison. Physically strong he could take, by force, what he needed.  Giving up on a meal, he turned and began the slow painful walk back down the beach.  

THE REAL EVENT.

It had been a ruff day nothing out of the ordinary had occurred yet everything seemed harder.  Perhaps it was combination of heat and isolation that was making me desperate to get outside of the walls of our compound. I decided to pack up my tuna sandwich and water and head down to the beach for a spontaneous picnic dinner.  I was hoping a change of location would be enough to help me change my mood.  My roommate agreed to join me and we left for Lumley hoping to catch the sunset and cool ocean breeze.

Lumley Beach is the closest beach to Freetown located on the Northern tip of the Freetown peninsula.  It’s a beautiful location with soft sand and breezes that match, providing some relief from the sweltering year round heat. Now that the war is over its become prime real-estate.  The northern shore has some older established business that survived the war like Family Kingdom, a “resort” hotel and restaurant.  As you drove south along beach road there is one half built building after another. Some are future guesthouses owned by famous local footballers and others; I suspect are being built by corrupt government officials investing the loot they have siphoned off foreign aid.

I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the ever-present prostitutes, hawkers and beggars, so in an attempt to avoid them we headed to the undeveloped southern end of the beach. Parking between the road and the sand we got out and walked toward our undesignated picnic spot. Still holding the car keys I decided to give them to my roommate. As I tried to put them in her purse for safekeeping she took them out of my hand and placed them in her pocket. I shrugged, thinking I guess her pockets are safer than mine and kept walking.

It was good to be out of the compound. The fresh salty air, and a chance to dip my toes in the ocean were just what I needed. Soon I realized that it was getting dark and so we decided to make our way back to the car before the sunset completely.  It was only six o’clock in the evening but when you live near the equator it means that the sun sets fast and early. We picked up the remains of our dinner and made our way to the car.

That was when I noticed a young man walking in our direction. He wasn’t a hawker, so I assumed he was just enjoying the sunset like we were.  As I watched he stopped and removed his flip-flops, but I thought noting of it. I turned and looked toward my roomie she was swinging her camera that was lassoed to her wrist on her way back to the vehicle.  I hurried to catch up. Suddenly I saw a figure moving out of the left corner of my eye. The figure lunged toward my roommates dangling camera.  It was that young man with the flip-flops I had noticed moments before. As he lunged I yelled, “Krisnee!”  Surprised by my yelp she yanked her arm and turned toward me.  Causing the man to miss the camera by a few inches.

Determined flip-flop man circled back again this time trying to grab Krisnee’s purse. She pulled her purse close to her chest in response and, began to back peddle and yell, “NO! NO!”  Without thinking I ran over to the man and began to wrestle with him. I’ve head people say that in emergency situations you never know how you’re going to react, and they are right.  It felt as if we were playing Capture the Flag at a youth camp. While tangled up with the thief, I yelled for my roommate to run, as if this would have helped.   Where was she going to go? And if she did manage to run away then I would have been left alone with our attacker.  But I wasn’t thinking I was reacting. As our wrestling match continued I tried reaching for the attackers face like I had learned in a self-defense class.  Unfortunately he was much stronger and taller and had longer arms than my 5’ 5” 160 pound frame could manage even with the help of adrenaline.

Again he came at us and managed to get ahold of my roommate’s purse. While my roomie held on for dear life I lunged and grabbed on to the purse stings too. The very strong man then proceeded to drag both my roommate and I though the sand on our stomachs. I was thinking, “let go you idiot!” I’m not sure if my thoughts were directed toward him or myself. Finally, the straps on the purse gave way.  And the man ended up with the purse and we ended up with the straps.

           

Lying in the sand we watched him run away with his new purse. I felt relieved and sick at the same time.  I saw the beach patrol headed our way they shouted to us from the road asking if we were ok. We shouted back, “Yes!” One of the patrolmen jumped out of the army green Range Rover and started chasing the thief.  We watched as he pursued the thief across the beachfront road and over a wall and into the mangrove swamp on the other side. We stood up trying to catch our breath.  After a few minutes the beach patrolman came back empty handed. It was no use.  He was too fast.  The thief and the purse were gone.

We were numb from the event.  The beach patrol proceeded to take down some of the details of our picnic ordeal. Including our contact information in case they caught the guy later. They then cautioned us and left.  We walked quickly back to our vehicle. At once I remembered the car keys I had tried to place in my roommates purse earlier. I asked her, “Do you still have the keys?” Unsure, she reached into her pocket and pulled them out.  We both smiled with relief.  In that moment we realized that God had been with us. While we lost the purse and money, we were safe and unharmed. We still had the keys to our vehicle, house and the thief’s original target, the camera.For the next few nights I think Krissnee and I both had nightmares about the mugging. 

This experience has affected me in ways I couldn’t have predicted. For instance, a few years ago while I was waiting for a friend on a busy street corner in my hometown of Portland, Oregon. Someone sunk up behind me and placed their chin on my shoulder. I jumped! It was my friend. She giggled, and as calmly as possible said, “Please! Don’t, EVER, do that again.”  She smiled sheepishly and said, “Sorry.” Now over five years later I still flinch when I sense someone is coming up behind me too quickly. As a precaution when I walk through a crowded public area, I often think about zipping up my purse and holding it tightly under my arm just in case. All things considered these are minor residual impressions.

Many people in Sierra Leone have experienced far worse than being mugged by an unarmed man.  Like those who survived ten years of civil war, they saw and experienced countless acts of brutality, which undoubtedly left deeper wounds than our mugging. We were lucky.  We weren’t injured or raped.  Yes we experienced a degree of trauma.  Yes it affected us in ways that are not pleasant. Yet, I can’t help but think about the young man who mugged us and what his life was like.  His situation must have been infinitely more complicated if he felt that he needed to steal.  I’ve never been that desperate. I’ve never had to steal or sell my body so that I could eat.  By comparison my life has been easy.

Zeal, Wisdom and The Role of Knowledge

I am neither zealous nor wise.  I’ve lost the youthful zeal of my teens and early 20’s.  It died a painful death.  At the age of 33 I am still to young to be regarded as wise.  I’m more zealous than some, yet others are more.  I’m wiser than some, and not yet wise to others.  Not fitting neatly into categories, perhaps standing on middle ground I will try to examine both sides.

Chances are an old man will tell you wisdom is better than zeal but a young man will quickly argue the opposite.  To often the young mistake knowledge for wisdom and suffer for it.  Yet the aged equate years with wisdom.  American culture loves everything new and the shiny except wine, while many other cultures value tradition, thinking the older the better.

What role does knowledge play in all of this?  To often I’m afraid the young confuse knowledge and access to information as wisdom. In the age of smart phones and digital technology, that moves information faster than a speeding bullet, everyone has the power of knowledge at their fingertips. Producing in us a false sense of wisdom. Let’s not forget that smart phones don’t make smart people and they won’t ever make us wise.

I remember a sign hanging on walls of my alma mater’ which read, “Knowledge comes from college but Wisdom comes from God.” I never forgot that simple sign. I believe God values both wisdom and zeal equally and the person that gains both is blessed.

The role of knowledge is significant and can enhance or erode our wisdom and zeal.  An excess of knowledge causes everything to appear grey; leading us to value man more than God and the result is that we begin to fear man more than God. This is a good definition for folly. But what does the Word say? For it contains more wisdom than a thousand scholars. 

The Bible says that knowledge puffs us up, making us think we are greater than we are. Knowledge is a tricky fellow even for the experienced.  It can also deceive the grey haired causing them to believe they are wise then pride creeps in. The Pharisees are perfect examples of the danger of desiring knowledge more than wisdom.  In their zeal to keep the law they missed the one who fulfilled the law. Knowledge is something we must master so that it enhances our wisdom and zeal so it doesn’t erode them.

What is Biblical Wisdom? In his book, “Knowing God” J.I. Packer defines wisdom as, “The power to see, and the inclination to choose, the best and highest goal, together with the surest means of attaining it. It’s the practical application of moral goodness… For us to be truly wise our intelligence and cleverness must be harnessed to a right end.” Wisdom helps us know how and when to apply knowledge as well as knowing when to withhold knowledge for the sake of others.

Solomon was a man that desired Wisdom more than anything else and God was so pleased with his desire that he gave it to him. Solomon became arrogant and disobeyed God and wasn’t willing to be corrected which lead him to ruin.  David on the other hand was also wise and when he disobeyed God and was corrected he repented thus God blessed him.

What is Biblical Zeal? Every revolution throughout history was motivated by zeal.  Some brought healthy change others were crushed. David wrote: “Zeal for your house consumes me.” The word used here in the original biblical language means a holy jealousy.  Moses killed an Egyptian for abusing a slave.  Moses’ zeal was human and therefore impure. A crime fueled by jealously in the bad sense. Peter’s zeal led him to make promises to Jesus that he couldn’t keep.  His zeal was the type of zeal defined in Romans 10:2-3 that is no based on godly knowledge.

I think our tendency is to think that we can have either wisdom or zeal but we can’t posses both.  I’m learning that we need both, and in fact they go together like Salt and Pepper.  Our zeal for God leads us to a deeper relationship with him, who gives wisdom freely.  And as our wisdom increases it increases our zeal for God. Wisdom increases zeal and zeal increases wisdom they feed each other.  A quick reminder, there are godly versions of wisdom and zeal but there are also human or counterfeit versions.  We want to pursue the former.

I once heard a wise old preacher talking about the church and he said, “We need the zeal of the youth to keep the fire burning BUT we also need the wisdom of the elders to keep the youth from burning the place down.”  His statement made me smile at the time and it’s true. So how do we keep the zealous from ignoring wisdom and how do we keep the wise from snuffing out zeal?  I don’t know except that humility and mutual submission seem like good places to start.  

Encountering Aliens

I recently found myself willingly taking a job that I normally wouldn’t have applied for.  With the economic dip I’m confident that I’m not the only one who is currently underemployed.  In fact, I realize that having any job at all is a reason to be thankful. And so I am. 

Before I had a job I was complaining about not having a job and not being able to access people.  Which was a hard transition for me having just moved home from Africa where I spent all of my time connecting with people.  The American way of life doesn’t allow much space or time for developing new relationships.  We are just to busy.  I realized that in order to access people I needed to break into the system and get a job. 

After two months of sending more than 40 applications and resumes into cyber space I finally received a call for an interview.  It wasn’t my first choice in jobs or my second or even my 10^th choice, but I was relieved to realize that my resume found it’s way to an actual human being, slightly boosting my confidence in technology.

You know your underemployed when the interviewer carefully reads your resume looks at you with a bewildered look on their face and asks, “Why do you want this job?”  In my head I was thinking, “That’s just it, I don’t want this job.” But I managed to eek out a more acceptable answer about how I liked to clean.  And in spite of being overqualified I was hired.

By this point in my job search I had surrendered to the idea that God is in control and that he would place me in the job that he wanted me to have.  Although in my heart I envisioned a totally different job than the one I was now needing to accept.  I decided I could respond in an arrogant and ungrateful way or I could humbly suck it up and get to work. I chose the latter and it’s made all the difference.  After all when God is in control life becomes a delightful adventure.

I’ve been working now for over a month and I have discovered a whole new world.  I believe that God has placed me in this job to encounter people I wouldn’t normally encounter. I rub shoulders with people from all walks of life and many different nations.  It’s exactly what I was looking for, an evangelistic playground or sorts.

I currently work with Indians from Fiji, Koreans, Chinese, people from Eastern Europe, African Americans, Mexicans, Ethiopians, Tibetans and Caucasians.  On my first day of work the lady training me looked at me and said, “I am an immigrant, I know how to work hard, very hard.”  I think she was implying that I didn’t look like a hard worker.  How do you respond to that?  This immediately sparked my competitive nature and I was determined not to confirm her assumptions.  Then she said something that went straight to my heart.  “Don’t despise this job, this job paid for my four children to go to college.”  Wait a minute, was God was speaking to me through my pagan co-worker? Yup!

As the day progressed my hard working immigrant friend proved to be a good trainer and I quickly caught on to my new assignment.  By the end of the day I think she became a bit more confident in my ability to work hard.  While we worked together I was determined to discover as much about her as possible.  I learned she is an Indian but came from Fiji, the descendant of slaves.  She is naturally intelligent but untrained.  She has been a wife for over 30 years and the mother of four successful children who have advanced college degrees. I learned she was a devout Hindu and fasts twice a week.  By the end of the week we were friends and she even shared her Chai tea recipe with me.  2 bags of Red Label tea per cup, boiled with grated ginger, clove and cinnamon to taste strain and pour in sweetened condensed milk to taste.  Amazing!

Another co-worker of mine is from Ethiopia.  She is married and has a daughter.  Her husband and her were high school sweethearts in Ethiopia. But both of their families left Africa due to war.  She moved to Italy and then Canada with her family where she reconnected with her childhood sweetheart and they were married.  Together they decided to move to the US.  Her husband now has a transport business and she works with me.  Some day she would like to go back Ethiopia to visit because she misses her friends.

 

Last week I met a new friend who is from Mexico.  She came to the United States to study English for a year and then she planned to go back home to graduate with a degree in chemical engineering.   While she was here she met an American guy who was fluent in Spanish and they got married and had a daughter.  Here family was furious because she was supposed to return to finish her degree and start working.  Now her husband and her are separated but she can’t go back to Mexico because they have a shared interest in their daughter.  So for over a year she has been a housekeeper even though she's six months away from graduating with a brilliant future in Mexico.  Things are not always as they appear.

I want to challenge you to walk into work tomorrow with a new goal, and a fresh perspective.   Why has God placed you in the position you are in?  You are a strategic part of His plan to revel himself to people who don’t yet to know him. Who are you there to pray for, influence and befriend?  Your job is not just about paying your bills.  Paying your bills is a bonus or bi-product of your job.

If you are unemployed hang in there, don’t get discouraged.  God has a plan, he is the ultimate headhunter and he has a strategic place for you too.  Don’t be surprised if it looks different than you envisioned.  Trust him he is our provider.

Everyday when I walk into work I enter the mission field.  I am encountering nations and generations of people I wouldn’t have encountered other wise.  The attitude and the way I work helps me earn peoples respect and friendship which allows me to influence them in a way that leads to LIFE.  Work can be a delightful adventure.  

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father, which is in Heaven. Matthew 5:16

(The Bible has a lot to say about foreigners, strangers, aliens, hired workers and temporary residents here are a few references to get you started: Leviticus 25:6, 23, Jer. 22:3, Ez. 22:29, 47:23, Zach 7:10, Mal. 3:5, Mat. 25:35, 38 and Luke 17:18.)