Naked Storms

The first great moment that I remember was when I was three years old– a storm – I tore my clothes and ran out in it – and I have been doing that in storms ever since”….Kahlil Gibran

I wonder things. I wonder a lot of things. I tend to wonder more things when it's raining. It's like the rain somehow causes me to feel protected enough to think deeper. To feel deeper. Like yesterday. I watched it. The rain. And I wondered......

Why do we run from it? To be protected from the knocking of it's raindrops. Sheltered from it's wind. Covered from it's wetness. Are we afraid? Just to stand out in it and let it soak us to the core. Not to hide from it or run from it. Not to find protection from it under a newspaper, an umbrella, or a roof. What if we just didn't. What if we just let it do it's thing and cover us? What if we walked in it proudly? Standing tall and uncowardedly? As if we weren't smaller than it or fearful of it's outcome. We would be uncomfortable and wet and yucky. And then, if we surrendered to it, we would just be part of it in a way. Letting it wash over us.

Not so unlike life and suffering and the scars that living brings. I find myself called into dark and broken places. Sometimes that can be in a country torn apart by war. Sometimes that can be holding the hand of child whose mother took her life. Sometimes it's on my own knees on my own floor putting my own pieces back together. But I have learned not to fight it. I looked at people rushing away from it today. The rain. Into cars. Into buildings. Covering their heads as if they would melt if they let it touch them. And I wondered.

What if we were bold enough to stand out in it and just be drenched. Surrendering to the drops and letting it's warmth wash over us?

So I did.

Why not? What are we so afraid of ? We happily get in the shower each day and think of it as uplifting. But when we don't choose to get wet. When life happens and it chooses us. When the water comes down over us at times when we don't turn on the facet or we don't get to choose the temperature.... then it's an inconvenience and we run.

And we hide.

I got angry today. I rarely get angry. It wasn't a pretty angry or sheltered. It wasn't covered or hidden. It was me sitting and kneeling at the foot of a 60 foot white cross. My head was down on the wet stone steps leading up to it. Feeling the feelings that many would run away from because they are uncomfortable. Remembering the drama the former child soldiers acted out of their abduction and being force to kill. And I thought.....

The question is not why there is suffering. It is not why life happens the way that it happens or why we ask and do not receive. The question is "What, Lord, will you teach me from my suffering? How can you use this uncomfortable, unplanned, storm of life to help me to love more like you and trust you more?"

And I look up. How?

Maybe the question is not, "God what will you do FOR me? Maybe the question is what will you do WITH me?"

There was a car to my right and another coming around the bend and I didn't care. I did not run and I did not hide. The raindrops fell over me.....

I don't think I have ever felt more free in my life.

Life has taught me much. God has taught me more. I have learned..... to cry when I need to cry. To laugh when I need to laugh. To dance when I need to dance. To kneel when I need to kneel. In the rain. Out of the rain.

Sitting there. Kneeling there. It rained down and I took it all. Every drop. Soaking it in as if it were a covering all around me. Washing over me like a welcomed showered blanket of Fearlessness from the Heavens.

I had this thought....

These places I am called to. They are not pretty. These scars. They are not neat. These tears. They are not tidy or clean or sheltered. They flow. Freely sometimes.

But I am so happy. So full of joy. I have been made for this. Not for suffering, but for Hope. To make sense out of the senseless and to see the good in pure evil.

To scream into the storms,

"There is a tomorrow." There is a tomorrow. And the night will fall and the day will dawn. And there will be light. There WILL be light.

I get back in the car, soaking wet, and hear this song..... And I smile. Take a listen.

From Children of War to Children of Peace and Out of eXile

There is something about finding someone who shares your passion. Something about the non stop talking. The completing each others sentences. The "getting it" not because of hearing their words, but because you feel their spirit. I find that rare. I found that in Africa. In Jane.

Her face comes alive when she talks about the dreams of rehabilitation for the children tortured and wounded by the LRA in Northern Uganda, Congo, CAR, Sudan. True Rehabilitation. Not just emotionally, but physically and spiritually. With skills training, education, reintegration, and advocacy work. As we talked (for hours) we realized that our hearts saw through the same eyes in what these children needed. We realized we had similar stories. We realized that God had brought us together.

Amazing doesn't begin to describe her. She has given her all in all for the calling God has placed in her soul. She knows how to teach survival because she has survived. And continues to. And will... continue to.

As the eXile team sat around the table a few days later with the board of Children of Peace.... born out of the film Children of War (2010 Winner of the Cinema for Peace Justice Award in Berlin), we were honored. Who knew such collaboration would be born out of a connection this time last year? If you haven't seen this film. You can now purchase it at http://www.childrenofwarfilm.com/ . Watch the trailer.

The history of bringing us all together goes something like this:

~ Miss Lisa Dougan from Resolve: "Bethany, you have to see this film. It tells the story of rehabilitation of former child soldiers in Uganda" Lisa connects me with Mr. Bryan Single who lives in Los Angeles.

~ Finally getting to talk on my way home from a road trip, I pull over. Bryan and I talk for about an hour.

~ "We would love to screen your film in Nashville and we'd love for you to come"

~ Finding out Bryan's parents, oddly, live right outside of Nashville, we make plans.

~ He comes. We screen the film. Heart connection. The UN has the World Premiere of the film in NY. I go. I meet Jane - trauma counselor of a well known Rehabilitation Center in Lira, Uganda. She leads the viewer through the story of the children's healing in the film. She speaks after the UN screening in NY of her dreams of holistic rehabilitation for the children. Addressing their physical, emotional, educational, spiritual, and relational needs - all lead by local leaders. I knew we had the same dream.

Jane and I begin corresponding by email. Bryan and I start dreaming of how we can all work together.

Fast forward 8 months, and I am in the middle of Jane's home in Lira, Uganda. We are holding sick babies together, finding food for orphanages, and talking about blogs, logos, and how God can use our hearts and visions to collaborate a 10 year plan to develop a program to change the face of a nation. Or two. Or three.

The team sits around the table with some amazing leaders. Sharing the same hearts. Praying the same prayer. The prayer of leading them back to life again. To give them back what was stolen from them in war. So they can become Children of Peace rather than Children of War.

It will be a long journey and lots of support funds to be raised and prayers to be spoken. But we will get there.

"We can all do more together" said the President of the Board of Children of Peace.

Yes we can. And we will.

Check out the website http://www.childrenofwarfilm.com/ Watch the Trailer

Listen to Jane speak at the International Criminal Court screening here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWP-FjUqem4

The new blog for Children of Peace will be live soon AND if you are interested in helping develop a website for this amazing organization please email bethany@exileinternational.org. Let's do this together.....

Where do I begin....

Where do I begin? So much in my heart and only a few minutes to blog....

Do I begin with the baby orphanage? When asked their greatest need and mentioned clothes, Sister Francis laughed.

"You know - it is the belly. The babies do not care if they are naked. They

care if they have nothing to put into their stomachs. What do I do if they

are crying and have nothing to give them?"

Do I begin with the child mothers - those who have been abducted at young ages and given to rebel leaders as sex slaves. They come out of the bush with babies. The youngest one we have met so far was 12 when she gave birth. I see shame in their eyes, and I want so desperately to tell them how beautiful they are. Each and everyone one. I want even more desperately for them to believe it

Do I start with the former child solders and children we met yesterday. Spending a lot time rained in with them. Trying to talk over the sound of beating rain on the tin roof. Time of laughing, sharing, playing soccer in the rain, hearing stories of survival. Looking at their scars as they danced in the dirt, as they played their drums. Watching them look down at the ground when we told them that God was with them in their deepest pain. Who am I to tell them that? Who am I? I have no clue what they have gone through - at 5 at 10 and 12.

Stories are just stories until they become your reality.

Like the reality of a young boy who was forced to kill a leader in his village - in unspeakable ways that I will spare you details from. He went through years of seeing him. The man he killed. He saw him when he slept and when he woke up.

"I see blood as running water"

He was five. When forced to kill. He was five years old.

Maybe I should begin with Innocent. Amazing young man of 15.

"I want to be white like you. I want to be like you. Life would be good then. Life is hard here.

Me "You are beautiful. we see more true life and joy here than we see in all of America some time."

He was orphaned by the war when his parents were killed and captured by the rebels. He was abducted. He is a survivor.... but he will not just survive. He will be a great leader one day. You can see it in his eyes. He wants to be a doctor, but he fears he won't succeed

Jessica "You will succeed. We believe in you."

Jessie "We will pray for you and never stop praying for you. We will carry your story in our hearts" Looking deep into his eyes. "We will not forget you. We promise"

Big promise. That will be kept.

When we left he started whispering in my ear, but I couldn't make out what he said. Soft voice. He took my hand... and I listened. And I heard.

I heard a 15 year old former child slave, possibly forced to kill, who was praying for three women getting ready to depart on their journey to another part of his country. Yes - HE was praying for US. And, NO - we will not forget him. Committing to make sure this boy is sponsored and empowered and loved. He has no parents, but he is such an amazing child of God.

Father - bless this week. As we go into Village of Hope and see these precious children that I have talked about to senators, representatives, staffers in Washington DC. I have not seen them in over a year. Gloria. Norbert. Norman. Barbara. My heart leaps and my spirit fills with excitement.

Make us your instrument, Lord We are

Yours,

b

Never Old Hat - Back in Uganda....

It's becoming old hat. I wonder where that phrase came from. I don't know, but I hope it never applies to me. Driving down this Ugandan road to Gulu from Lira coming from Kampala after Entebee... and Amsterdam....and Detroit.... from Nashville. In three days. I have started coming up by myself a few days before or staying a few days after the team to meet with potential partners, finding needs and understanding culture (team gets in today!). I love it so much. I find the time richer and deeper. But I am tried. But not really. What I actually am is Full. Filled to overflowing with stories. Of numbers. Of sights and sounds and smells and lives lost that are floating around me in this green and beautiful bush I am riding through. Bosco drives. He loves listening to the Grease Lightening sound track and laughs at me so much when I belt out every word. "I love this so much!" He says "Have you seen the movie?" I ask "The movie? No? There is a movie?!" I smile and look out the window again.

I often ask my nieces what they are thinking about when I catch them drifting off (I miss them so much more when I'm away). I love hearing their response. For me? Now?

I'm thinking of John who told me about his wonderful program in Lira that teaches those who are not able to feed their families how to farm. He is driven and articulate and intelligent. I watch him tell me of his dreams for his people. He is missing his right ear. I know how he lost it. I don't have to ask - nor would I. The LRA is known for chopping off the ears and lips of its victims. But he lives on. He lives in color. He lives in hope.

I am thinking of Justin. The driver of our car who took us to Kampala. The minute we were alone in the car he started sharing. "I am from Gulu, you know?" I only have to ask a few questions and he begins, "Even I am war-affected. You know, they would come into the schools and they would take you. They would chop the children and force the others to kill their teachers. Even they would make you eat her flesh"

"I am so sorry. So sorry, Justin."

He points to his hand. He is missing the top of a finger. "Even I was abducted for 2 days" Showing me his finger. "It was a bomb. It took my finger"

"How old were you"

"I was 13"

Riding along. Bosco asks me if I am hungry. No. No - I am not hungry. I am sad. I am hopeful. I am full. I look out the window again imaging when the LRA was raiding this land and the 60,000 children in Uganda alone that I heard yesterday were either killed or abducted. I think of Congo were Kony is now. I think of Kinshasha, DRC where I was told yesterday that there were 10,000 street children abandoned by their parents who wrongly have accused them of being witches and sorcerers. They blame them for their poverty and they have abandoned them to the streets. I think of the 5000 child soldiers who are apparently going to be released to their villages in the next year in Sudan. What is there for these children to begin their healing? They will be rejected by their villagers and will be forced to be street children. But there is an answer.

I remember the three year old boy yesterday I saw on Jane's computer. He was born in the bush by a young girl forced to be a sex slave to Joseph Kony himself. There are thousands of them - these children born in the bush after abduction of the girls. They only know life in the bush. They are called "the choppers" because they are the offspring of a rebel commander. They range in age of around 3 - 10 years old. This little boy in particular?

This boy resembles his father - Joseph Kony - in an obvious way.

"They say that all of Kony's children resemble him. They say none of them that resemble the mother"

"How many are there?" How many children does Kony have?"

"He has had around 70 girls as wives. Many of them have had 2 - 3 children. They say he has 150 children. You know, if we do not teach the children differently. If we do not help their hearts heal. What will happen? We will have thousands more Konys"

I have fallen asleep. Deep needed sleep. Dreaming of many things. I open my eyes and the sunset is amazing. It captures my heart and I smile. I think.....

"Your love is as faithful as the sunrise and as soothing as the sunset. I will not fear. I will hope. I will believe."

Father, if I love these children as deeply as I do, I can only imagine how much you love them. Use these next few weeks not only to change me, but to use me. To use our team. Use our words. Use our hands. I don't want this to be old hat. I never want my heart to stop breaking. I never want to be hardened. I was at one point. Hardened. Thinking I would never thaw out. I praise you for breaking me. I praise you for unthawing me. I praise you for never giving up on me.

I will, my God and my Father, never ever give up on you. I am

Yours, b