How to begin? My hope is that this blog will not be a place for me to complain, but rather to process. It is a blog rather than a personal journal because I long to have a voice. I long to be understood. There is a Sadie that used to be. There is a Sadie that now is. I've accepted this new Sadie. This Sadie whose physical and mental health is fragile.
But a trigger brought to light that there is that old Sadie that is still me. This Sadie was ambitious when it came to being used by God for His global glory. This Sadie spent time in Harar, Ethiopia for 9 weeks. This Sadie believed that God was calling her to spend her future in Somaliland ministering to the Somali people, learning their language and sharing Christ with them. My heart connected with these Somali teenagers and the battle they were under as they struggled with the decision of whether to identify with the Christ and the gospel which they were being taught or to choose the religion of their family, Islam. My memories from those long ago days are coming back fresher. The people lined the dirt streets, instead of hiding away in their homes. Relationships are made faster there in Ethiopia. The culture was much more relational. My personality seemed to fit better there. A lady stopped me in the road, full of joy and delight as she asked me if I was also a Christian. You see there are few in Harar, the Muslim city. And a white person staying in the city (not just passing through) was extremely rare. Why would an American choose to live in one of the poorest countries in the world? And that's what I was doing, merely living there. There wasn't a whole lot there to keep us busy. We were immersed in the culture and daily life of the people.
The city of Harar was so vastly different than this Northern Virginia I live in now, I can barely grasp it. But I was there and I do now remember. Some of the people just laid on the sides of the road... I had to step around them. They weren't lounging in peace and tranquility, they were sick and hungry. Their "homes" were merely made out of sticks and dirty rags. Little shacks side by side with a few people in each, the rags shielding them from the sun. It was their rainy season when I was there and I doubt those rags protected them from becoming drenched. I remember standing outside by choice in the rain and I remember running in it, but the home I stayed in provided shelter for drying off, which others did not.
The home we stayed in was better than most around us. The toilet was a squatty potty though and the "showers" were from a bucket of cold water. But there was privacy, which others probably didn't have. There were children outside our fence that waited there for our leftover food. Some smelled badly and had flies around and on them. We struggled with those flies some too even if we had showered though. The living conditions, though not comfortable, were doable. I enjoyed hand washing some of my clothes, though they had a hired man who did the laundry for the house. Oh I got to watch them trap a chicken with a big bowl that they lifted several times to try to chop off his head. I was sick at the time, but wanted to see it, so I made myself get out of bed so that I could witness this commotion.
Speaking of being sick... yes, I was sick 4 of the 9 weeks. But I'm sick here in Northern Virginia too.
But a trigger brought to light that there is that old Sadie that is still me. This Sadie was ambitious when it came to being used by God for His global glory. This Sadie spent time in Harar, Ethiopia for 9 weeks. This Sadie believed that God was calling her to spend her future in Somaliland ministering to the Somali people, learning their language and sharing Christ with them. My heart connected with these Somali teenagers and the battle they were under as they struggled with the decision of whether to identify with the Christ and the gospel which they were being taught or to choose the religion of their family, Islam. My memories from those long ago days are coming back fresher. The people lined the dirt streets, instead of hiding away in their homes. Relationships are made faster there in Ethiopia. The culture was much more relational. My personality seemed to fit better there. A lady stopped me in the road, full of joy and delight as she asked me if I was also a Christian. You see there are few in Harar, the Muslim city. And a white person staying in the city (not just passing through) was extremely rare. Why would an American choose to live in one of the poorest countries in the world? And that's what I was doing, merely living there. There wasn't a whole lot there to keep us busy. We were immersed in the culture and daily life of the people.
The city of Harar was so vastly different than this Northern Virginia I live in now, I can barely grasp it. But I was there and I do now remember. Some of the people just laid on the sides of the road... I had to step around them. They weren't lounging in peace and tranquility, they were sick and hungry. Their "homes" were merely made out of sticks and dirty rags. Little shacks side by side with a few people in each, the rags shielding them from the sun. It was their rainy season when I was there and I doubt those rags protected them from becoming drenched. I remember standing outside by choice in the rain and I remember running in it, but the home I stayed in provided shelter for drying off, which others did not.
The home we stayed in was better than most around us. The toilet was a squatty potty though and the "showers" were from a bucket of cold water. But there was privacy, which others probably didn't have. There were children outside our fence that waited there for our leftover food. Some smelled badly and had flies around and on them. We struggled with those flies some too even if we had showered though. The living conditions, though not comfortable, were doable. I enjoyed hand washing some of my clothes, though they had a hired man who did the laundry for the house. Oh I got to watch them trap a chicken with a big bowl that they lifted several times to try to chop off his head. I was sick at the time, but wanted to see it, so I made myself get out of bed so that I could witness this commotion.
Speaking of being sick... yes, I was sick 4 of the 9 weeks. But I'm sick here in Northern Virginia too.
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