Compassion Can {Beyond Measure}

Penny Perspective

2012-01-31T23:17:00.000-04:00

I had the opportunity and blessing of writing for the Compassion Canada Blog today...

"If we ignore pennies under the assumption that a penny is worthless and won't make a difference... how much more of a grave mistake is it to do the same to children? How often do we do this to the world's children? How often do we do this to our own?"

Will you join me there to hear about my Penny Perspective?

http://www.compassion.ca/advocatenetwork/blog.php?intid=836

Emancipation of Robert Sadler

2012-01-30T21:23:00.000-04:00

A year ago, I did not know what the word emancipation was. A year ago, I might have passed this book when it was offered for review. I would have missed out on one of the best books I have ever read.

The Emancipation Of Robert Sadler

The powerful true story of a twentieth century plantation slave

Although I had read many books on slavery and human trafficking, this true story of a child slave drew me in for three reasons.

1. It focused on child slavery in the U.S. after the Emancipation Proclamation of 1863. This was the first book of it's kind that I would have read to help me in my abolishment advocacy.
2. It was split into three definite sections -- Slavery, Freedom, Ministry. This implied that there would be much to learn as we followed Mr. Sadler's story from beginning to the eternal rest.
3. Richard and the millions of children like him, still awaiting freedom. I close my eyes, and I see him... I owe it to him to continue to equip myself with knowledge.

I must say, if it hadn't been for the flawless way this book was written, it would have been a story almost too hard to bear on the heels of our time in Ghana. There are times when I felt physically sick and I could feel my heart bruise deeply for the injustice and pain inflicted upon these innocent, precious lives not only in the south, but everywhere that slavery has tainted mankind.

The writing was exquisite and did the story full justice in as much as a book can.You could literally feel yourself living Robert Sadler's experiences alongside of him as he painted the brutally vivid picture of his journey through slavery from the age of 5, to freedom, and then ministry.

As much as it was important to me to read about his life as a child slave and the realities of what life was like for not only him, but all those who served with their lives alongside of him, it was his later years that touched me the most.

The way that God protected the purity of his heart and led him straight into a life of ministry worthy of his own book in the Holy Bible left me closing the book feeling a different kind of pain than that of being exposed to the horrors of slavery...

The pain of the loss this world suffered at the passing of one of the most exceptional examples of Christ who had ever walked on American soil, and the finest example of a human diamond, born of extreme pressure and trials turned into beautiful and shining glory for God.

Easily in my top 5 favorite non fiction books, ever.

I strongly believe that this book needs to be read by all -- and as such, I would like to donate my copy of this book to one of my blog reader. Simply leave a comment sharing how slavery has impacted your life, how you would benefit from this book, and how I can contact you if you are the winner.

Draw will be made Wednesday, February 8th at 11pm EST.

Disclaimer:
"Book has been provided courtesy of Baker Publishing Group and Graf-Martin Communications, Inc. Available at your favourite bookseller from Bethany House, a division of Baker Publishing Group".

Back-To-Africa: Cameroon 2012

2012-01-26T20:05:00.001-04:00

Back in early November, I learned that I had been awarded with a trip to Cameroon to join a team building four schools in remote valleys of Cameroon.

I had misunderstood the nature of the award -- it was a subsidy, not a sponsorship. The airfare is fully funded, the project is fully funded, but I must fundraiser to provide for my in-country expenses and travel visa document. Estimated cost for 2 weeks is $800, including travel visa document.

Since there are only 17 days left before I leave, there is little time to fundraise.

I have decided to do a Back-To-Africa Photography Sale/Fundraiser.

Check out the Facebook Album where the photographs (and one photo session) are available for sale. Limited quantities.

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151207803440224.806869.831985223&type=1

Your prayers and support are greatly appreciated!

One Word 2012

2012-01-14T03:16:00.000-04:00

It has been a while since New Year Resolutions changed meaning for me, growing cold, buried deeply right next to life's "Bucket List".

Oh it's not that I haven't given them a voice in the past, those handful of things that I had hoped for past years, or wanted to do in the eventual future... I just can't recall what they were, since they have completely lost their importance to me.

When I first heard of it, the idea appealed to me. Tossing aside the New Year Resolution and choosing instead one theme, one word to focus on throughout the year, either something we pray for more of, something we're weak at and want to focus on improving... or perhaps something chosen for entirely different reasons.

My word for 2011 was Outrun. It meant so many different things, on so many different levels, and I much enjoyed the process of not only choosing the word (and just ONE word), but of living it out.

The time came to decide whether or not I would choose a word for 2012. I found myself reflecting seriously on it as 2011 ended in a season of upheaval and 2012 was ushered in with continued determination to outrun the enemy's increased pursuit, and the one and only word that came to mind through all the reflections was a word that I believe may very well be my last "One Word" of the year.

It's a word that will never change or lose meaning, regardless of where my life leads or what the years ahead hold.

This year is... His.

Every year is His, since I am His. Always.

The plans for me are His.

It is His daily bread that is sufficient.

My life is in His hands.

It is through His death that I will live.

I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me -- my life is completely His.

For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone. If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord -- we are His.

The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in Him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with His hand -- those who are His.

When I am hard pressed on every side, but not crushed -- the strength that protects me is His
Perplexed, but not in despair -- my mind is focused on His word
Persecuted, but not abandoned -- I am His beloved
Struck down, but not destroyed -- I find shelter in His presence

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing -- because I am His.

Therefore, I will not lose heart... though outwardly I am wasting away, yet inwardly I am being renewed day by day. For my light and momentary troubles are achieving for me an eternal glory that far outweighs everything... so I fix my eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal... my days, my years, my heart, my life, my love, my everything... all and only His.

Christmas Gift -- A Letter

2011-12-19T22:30:00.000-04:00

{Letter given to my mother for Christmas of 2009... knowing there are many who have walked this journey, I share in the hope that you, too, will find healing and peace. Posted with her blessing.}

Maman,

Over two thousand years ago, as Mary waited upon the birth of her precious baby boy, the entire world awaited with her in unaware anticipation of the birth of their Savior. Each Christmas, I stop and try to imagine what must have gone through her mind as the impending birth approached… He was not only her son, but God’s Son in the literal sense, and even though He would have a difficult life, He would also bring her the gift of peace and hope.

His life would bring her peace and hope.

His birth brought to us the most precious, priceless gift. My personal gift to you this Christmas pales in comparison, but it is a gift from the heart; a gathering of my words. As your daughter, I want my gift to be a parallel of what Jesus brought His mother that first Christmas… peace, and hope.

     Just as I can not begin to comprehend how much Mary’s heart suffered in watching her precious boy grow up under persecution and evil, I can also not begin to comprehend how your heart suffered as you witnessed the destructive force of evil tear away at the fabric of your family.

     Mary is no more to blame for the sins of the world than you were to blame for the sins of your husband, my father. God knew Mary was a woman of honor, a woman of faith, a woman strong enough to trust with this most difficult situation… Mary was chosen by God for this, because He knew that in her difficult journey, she would bring honor and glory to Him. Out of every woman on earth at that time, He chose her. Imagine how difficult it would have been for us humans to choose someone for this task? God had no difficulty, He knew her heart.

Do you realize that even over two thousands years ago... yes, even then, even in Mary’s time on earth, God already knew He would choose you as the mother in our family? He knew you were an honorable woman of faith, a woman strong enough to trust with this most difficult situation… a woman who would bring honor and glory to Him even though the challenges would be heartbreaking.

     Paul’s journey with Mary’s own Son inspired these words from Romans 5:3-5 “Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” I can’t help but wonder if Mary ever had a chance to hear the words that Paul wrote, the words inspired by her Son. Those words have left a deep imprint on the hearts of Christians around the world almost 2000 years later. Those words have left a deep imprint on my heart.

     Mary’s Son inspired my life and my words… just as it is Mary’s Son Who inspired Paul’s life and Paul’s words…    We do not know if Paul’s words reached Mary, but today, it is my hope that my words will reach you, my mother. I see you the same way I see Mary… a woman chosen by God to fulfill His purpose, a woman He knew would honor Him. A Godly woman whose examples of strength and courage were woven into the tapestry of my life and helped me grow to be the woman I am today. A woman who counteracted evil with love, patience, faith, determination, forgiveness and compassion. A woman whose suffering brought perseverance, character, and hope. A woman whose daughter's suffering also gave life to perseverance, character and hope. A woman who deserves to rest in peace and hope, knowing that God is looking at her life right now and saying “Well done, my good and faithful child, well done.”

     Just as Jesus did not look back upon His life and suffering and put any responsibility for this on His mother and just as Jesus was grateful for the way that Mary, His mother, raised Him honorably… I do not look back upon my life and suffering and put any responsibility for the suffering on you.

I am grateful for the way that you, my mother, raised me. I am grateful that God chose you. Even when I was merely a few years old, I sensed that He knew the mother I needed and that He chose the very best. It is my love for you and for God that carried me through the most difficult years. It is my love for you and for God that helped me grab a hold of life and hang on. I have never, ever questioned His gift of YOU.   Again inspired by the words of Paul… “I thank My God upon every remembrance of you.” (Phil 1:3)

     Please know that I have no regrets, I harbor no resentment… I have peace, love, hope and a grateful heart.  My life is much like the life of a flower crushed by circumstances – rather than succumb to the pressures of suffering, the flower lives out the purpose created in her by God, by releasing the pure fragrance of beautiful faith. “What man meant for evil, God used for GOOD.” Gen 50:20

     This Christmas, and from this day forward… take this gift of peace and hope, and let it fill your heart to overflowing.  Underneath the glorious wrappings of this gift, you will find a hidden, priceless, life-changing treasure beyond measure… healing.

You are loved with a grateful heart,

Jolaine

The Gift Of Community

2011-12-15T19:43:00.001-04:00

Suddenly, it was no longer the Maker's Dozen.

Every few months, I would make a call to Compassion's headquarters and quietly inquire about Berling, the child from Nicaragua who captured my heart back in June. Time after time, I learned that the child whose photo I still had, unable to let her go until she found a sponsor, was still waiting for her answer to prayers.

Those prayers were answered this week when I learned that a sponsor had finally chosen her among the sea of faces waiting their turn to be chosen.

Strangely, I had been prepared to commit to her had I been told that she had not yet been chosen, but deep down, I knew she was not meant to be mine. I am not her sponsor.

Still, as I rejoiced in the news that Berling had been sponsored, I felt that all too familiar stirring, this time with a twist.

Reflecting upon the blessing of being supported by this community, as I have been so well loved and supported by the many friends God has brought to this blog... I thought of Kwagala, the child sponsored by Michelle's blogging community, and how beautiful it is to know that this young woman is surrounded by the love of an entire group of sponsors who love her and support her through her difficult situation. She had been chosen by many, and is loved by many.

It became clear last night, quite suddenly, that God had chosen a child specifically for this blogging community too. Although I had many child sponsorship packs in hand, I knew the one God had chosen wasn't among those. I began searching, eventually going through hundreds of profiles before I knew beyond measure that I had found the one.

Initially having no idea where this child would come from, thinking that perhaps God would have me sponsor a child from somewhere new to me, I was actually surprised to find that He had led me to a child from Ghana. I knew the moment I read her profile that she was the one, and then I looked at the country and grinned with disbelief. Really?

Yup.

Victoria is 14, and faces some special challenges. Crippled in both legs, visually impaired and in need of regular medical care, I knew that like Kwagala, this beautiful girl with such a peaceful, sweet face would benefit from knowing that she had a group of people lifting her up in prayer and support. She has five siblings and lives with both parents just north west of Accra, an area we're familiar with.

Involvement in this sponsorship is voluntary -- you will know if God is leading you to step forward and take part in this gift of community. Whether you would like to commit to $1 a month or $5, or whatever the amount, however often, you will be able to take part in sharing in this blessing. How it works is well described by Michelle, I will simply point her way. If you have any questions/concerns, simply let me know. A one time donation can also be made.

Contributions can be made through the Paypal button on the sidebar for Victoria's sponsorship.

Thank YOU for the support you've given me through the years... may it flow into Victoria's life and lift her up as she soars to her full potential.

Funding Freedom - Priceless Gift

2011-12-15T03:26:00.001-04:00

Half a world away, and yet right here in our hearts, Richard still awaits freedom.

It's now been 33 days since we met him face to face in Ghana, time still of the utmost essence for this young boy whose life is fast fading. His face and his plight has struck a chord in all of us, from the members of our team who met him face to face and desperately prayed through the negotiations, to the people we shared his story with. He has, for us all, become the face of child slavery, the constant reminder that the work is not over. He's not free, and he's not alone.

I sat in church last Sunday, watching with the rest of our congregation the video testimony of God's provision for our mission in Ghana. Although the words from my interview were familiar to me, I had not seen the final video and was not prepared for the acute impact of seeing Richard's photo flashed on the large screens as I explained in the narrative that we had not secured his freedom.

Sobs immediately shook me to the core.

It wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be the last.

As I attended the second service, I thought the impact would have been cushioned, having known what to expect and bracing myself for it.

Not so.

I am not alone, not in having been moved by Richard's face, that haunting look in his eyes and his desperate situation... nor am I alone in wanting to make a difference for him and the children still awaiting freedom.

It would be all too easy to feel completely overwhelmed and helpless in the face of such a serious situation, but that's simply the enemy's way of distracting us from what we CAN do. The same was true in the vision of building the school -- those who struggled to see it as possible were perhaps simply focused on the seemingly impossible. It's understandable.

What can we do?

Our first call to action has always been prayer, and it remains as such. I recently shared in an interview that while on the island, one could feel "absolute darkness mixed with absolute light". The primary battle when it comes to slavery is deeply spiritual, and to intercede with prayer on behalf of these children, even on behalf of the slave masters whose hearts need to be softened to the truth, is the most powerful weapon we can wield.

Our second call to action is prevention. Compassion isn't merely a child sponsorship organization. Their holistic child development approach impacts lives far beyond that of the sponsored child, and it ensures that these children and their families will be empowered against the dangers of slavery.

Our third course of action is to seed the fund that provides financial support and resources to those on the front-lines working toward the abolishment of slavery, negotiating and securing freedom, as well as supporting the rescued children through sponsorship until they reach adulthood.

It's not enough to simply rescue these children. The need does not end there. Once rescued, Touch A Life Foundation, a non-profit organization based in Texas, commits to providing for the children residing at the Village Of Life in Kete Krachi, as well as a second refuge close to Accra. This includes but is not limited to food, shelter, clothing, education and medical care.

Many of the children we met at the Village Of Life are not yet sponsored. Their needs are provided for through fundraising efforts and general donations made to Touch A Life. At $150/month, sponsorships are often done through "Find Your Mark" chapters/groups, based on the story of Touch A Life founder Pam Cope having been touched by the plight of one young child slave on Lake Volta named Mark, and providing for his rescue and care. Touch A Life foundation encourages everyone to also find their "Mark" and make an impact through sponsorship.

We found our Mark. His name is Richard.

For those who are unable to commit to sponsorship, a general donation can still be made to Touch A Life for the care of children like our beloved Samson*, one of the most delightful children I have ever met in my entire life. Samson* was one of 116 children rescued in May as part of a large anti-slavery crackdown on Lake Volta. At five years of age, he is currently the youngest child at the Village Of Life. The joy of freedom shines so bright through him.

This year, during the holidays, every donation made to Touch A Life until the end of December for the care of these children will be matched by a generous donor. This helps provide children like Innocence, Patrick, and all the others currently at the Village Of Life with all that they need to overcome their past and live their future to their full potential.

Remember the classroom space? The Village Of Life was at maximum capacity and without more classroom space, it hampered their ability to release more children. The same holds true for the financial support given to Touch A Life. The more financial resources Touch A Life has to care for the rescued children, the more rescued children they will be able to support.

We strongly encourage you to give to this amazing ministry before the end of December in order to make the most of the matching program, but we also encourage you to give to this organization at any time throughout the year.

Last but not least, each and everyone of us can continue to share and spread awareness on modern-day-slavery. If I had a dollar for every person that told me they did not know that slavery still existed today, let's just say a very large donation could have been made to Touch A Life foundation. Information leads to transformation.

As for Richard, although we're somewhat limited to prayer and financial support, there is great news: A sponsor has stepped forward for Richard, committing to sponsoring him in full should his freedom be granted. This is nothing short of an amazing answer to prayer, and such a beautiful, priceless gift.

I spoke to a member of PACODEP's team a few days ago, and was told that they are preparing to return shortly to the island where Richard is in order to continue the negotiations for his release.

As we prayerfully wait for an update, let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time, we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. (Gal 6:9)

Let's show the enemy that we are not giving up. The harvest belongs only to Him.

Missional Home

2011-12-10T11:24:00.001-04:00

Home is where the 'hard' is.

With each "You're back!! How was Africa?", my heart aches, permanently bruised by the experience, and yet longing to lean into that bruise, leaving no room for numbness. Who among them would understand that it was harder to come back than to be there? Who would understand that while some of us missed home, I struggled to miss it at all.

Coming back nearing Christmas has made what was already difficult even more so.

The contrast is what's hard. Going from extreme poverty that lays heavy on the world like an ashen blanket, to the excess of north american Christmas, skewed and stretched away from it's Holy meaning and origin all under the guise of "giving" being good. What is considered good in spending 450 billion dollars annually on Christmas in America when a mere 20 billion, just four percent, could provide clean water to everyone in the world, including the more than 20 thousand children who die each day from lack of access to clean water?

If poverty covers the developing world like an ashen blanket, with beauty rising from underneath it all... does spiritual poverty hides throughout the developed nations like thin air, a stealthy cover deceiving us all into thinking all is well?

Shaun Groves had warned us all -- coming back home from the geographical mission field is where the culture shock begins, when society would want to push you back into the middle ground, the balance, but where our heart cries out in protest, knowing instead that Christ calls on us to not live of the world, but live radically instead.

I wanted it long before I felt the rust tinted and parched soil of Ghana under my feet, my experiences there not quenching, but further creating a deeper thirsting for radical.

Posts like this simultaneously manage to strike a chord and hit a nerve, not because it convicts the already convicted even further, but because as much as I want what He wants, it doesn't take away the bittersweet of seeing what He has given someone else.

A husband who loves and lives like Christ.

Children who lead in matters of faith.

A radically right-side-up Christmas.

A child not born of them.

A full time mission in Africa.

I consider myself a citizen of heaven, away from Home, longing and living to be there. As such, it was hard for me to understand why going to Ghana felt like I was coming 'home' without ever having been there, and why coming back 'home' from Ghana was much harder than coming back from Honduras last year.

If Home for me is heaven, leaving me perpetually homesick, what is this new feeling of home on earth?

It was as I was leaving for Ghana that it all begin to make sense, but I couldn't yet put it into words.

This morning, I sat down to write, the original topic being clean water, and with each sentence, He was re-writing my words to lead to this. I know better than to force the words back to my own. His pen is so much stronger than mine.

I want nothing more than to live completely in the freedom of a radical lifestyle, a life that would seem upside down in this broken world, but would be right side up for His Kingdom.

To give Christmas away.

To follow in His footsteps through the human example of Katie.

To sell belongings and aim for a promotion at work, not because I want or need more money or some empty title, but because it would enable more children and families to be released from poverty or slavery, in His name.

To live against the grain of North American living.

To leave it all behind, yes, even family, pack nothing (or maybe just my camera and my words) and move to a developing nation to be His hands and feet there, living among the world's ~~poor~~ spiritually wealthiest, learning, growing, giving of Him, unable to sleep each night from the sheer joy of being there, where I most feel comfortable in the uncomfortable.

And yet, I've noticed more and more that it's not me holding me back from it all, but Him, and He isn't holding me back as much as He is pushing me forward. I want to leave it all for Him and sometimes His answer is no, teaching me that living radically is relative, personal, subjective and individual, and that He guides my steps, slowly, carefully. He's also showing me that right now, the radical for me is in the allowing Him to place me where He wants, and not where the world would expect or understand.

Who determines the balance, us, or Christ?

Eschewing the world more and more so that human voices and influence dim and fade, turning away when the world's voices only add confusion or division, I seek to know what the Word speaks to me, where He leads me in the daily walk of life, trusting in the intimate ways He knows my heart and dances with me in the delicate minefield of my life.

He has shown me that to many, I am already living radically in ways the world can not understand by intentionally choosing to remain in a difficult marriage to an unbeliever whose increasingly convicted heart makes him restless, reckless and cold from discomfort... an unbeliever for whom I pray for God's daily bread of love each morning as I awake and each night as I lay down. It's a spiritual battle that leaves me exhausted and in need of mercy and grace daily, with a generous helping of fruit. Being committed to him because of my commitment to Him is radical even though it shouldn't be, but if we simply only loved those who are easy to love, how radical would that be? What would set us apart from the rest of the world?

Sometimes, living against the grain is simply parenting radically by choosing not to aim to raise happy children, but focusing instead on leading children to find joy in being responsible, well adjusted, giving and selfless. Teaching them by example that there is treasure in doing the difficult.

Sometimes radical simply means letting go of the church tithing that would offend and enrage your spouse and make him less trusting of church and religion (if possible), and accepting instead that for us, tithing looks different than the traditional giving to the local body of Christ. God softened my husband's heart to child sponsorship, so rather than tithing to church, this is what God has given us as way to live in the balance. My tithe to church becomes instead serving weekly with my time and gifts.

It's letting go of the desire to give Christmas away completely, and accepting that He helps me find the balance between having gifts under the tree and choosing instead to give it all up in order to offer gifts of hope elsewhere in the world.

It's coming to terms with the grief of having come to my limits of living simply.

It's giving grace and mercy radically.

It's being radically patient and loving, yet knowing when to walk away.

It's not comparing ourselves to others, and others to ourselves, when God shaped us each with the work of His hands, no two alike, and when we don't see the heart, only He does.

I don't have it all figured out, I don't always live it well. Sometimes, I fail miserably, but in that failure and brokenness, He continues to grow and shape me.

God alone guides my balance at home between living my faith in ways that bring him to Christ, and living a faith that is also relational rather than divisional. I don't always get it right, in the eyes of the world or in the eyes of God. Yet, even when I get it right in the eyes of God, the world doesn't understand or see what He sees, doesn't know the heart, convicts -- God, Judge & Jury of the human form.

I used to think of the mission field as leaving my home to go somewhere uncomfortable and hard for a short time, before returning to the comforts of life, the daily living...

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Not only has here become the uncomfortable and the hard daily living, but I've also learned that the mission field isn't simply something that only changes the others whose presence God leads us to enter and remain in, but instead, it is where He places us in the hard corners of the world, where He shapes us by saying "stay here, in the uncomfortable, and learn... learn to seek only Me, through the people I have provided to you."

Going to Ghana felt like going home because I already knew that the uncomfortable there was comfort by contrast, where the greatest heartbreaks were within reach of hope, inconveniences were welcomed reminders, where redemption was palpable...

Ghana, where for a short while, the joy within could not be contained, bubbling to the surface and breaking into radiant smiles and laughter that originated from the toes and worked their way through the entire body, leaving it breathless...

Ghana, where thoughts of life back 'home' here on earth vanished, knowing all too well what I know too few would understand -- I'd never look back if He gave the call, either to stay there or go Home... I kept hoping He would...

... but the call never came, because His call to me was, for the time being, to return back to the missional home. The missional home -- the hard corner of the world where life is smoothed the hard way, by chisel and sandpaper, where brokenness is more complex, where there is growth through hard eucharisteo... where He doesn't hold me back, but shapes me to depend on Him daily, in the present, in His presence...

Where I am a full time missionary for His kingdom, painfully learning to bridge the gap between where He needs me to be, and where I want to be.

Overheard At The Zoo

2011-12-09T21:01:00.001-04:00

Our youngest could be described as a mix of eccentric, quirky, hilarious, colorful and intense... with an uncanny resemblance to Cindy Lauper. My mom keeps it simple and calls her delightful.

She's on the autism spectrum, and although she has overcome so much and is doing better each year, there are still so many ways that this impacts her life as well as ours.

I wouldn't change a thing. She truly is a delightful ten year old with her own unique Christmas tradition.

Years ago, when she was struggling with so many areas of language and auditory processing issues, asking her what she wanted for Christmas was an event in and of itself. Unable to process the question and communicate her answer, more often than not she'd simply answer with whatever was on her mind (or in her vision field) at that moment. I remember that first time she was able to answer this question, she was probably 4 or 5, and she was certain that she wanted carrot sticks and underwear. Most children that age would probably have asked for Barbie this, or Dora that... but not this kid. Her sensory issues made her request even more peculiar -- she couldn't tolerate wearing underwear. It was simply what was on her mind at the time, it's not what she really wanted.

We've seen so much progress in the years since, but the tradition remains. It usually starts with whatever is on her mind at the time the question is asked. You'd think she was a teenage boy with how often food is on her mind...

2008 -- Romaine lettuce hearts.

2009 -- Pomegranates -- 3, but if they were on sale, then she wanted 4. Seriously

2010 -- Cheese. The orange kind in the shape of a wheel, but just a small slice.

2011 -- Cheese. Mozarella. Or maybe marbled.

Cheese again?

She's such a sweet girl, doesn't ask for much, and appreciates what she is given. I tried to think of something I could give her aside from the usual (food & books) even though that will always be her favorite, and that's when I noticed that for the last few months, she has been using a pair of headphones that are held together with electrical tape. They're the kind that cover the whole ear and she prefers those as it helps her focus, but the sound isn't great at all.

Still, she doesn't complain. The way she figures, if no one likes them, no one will take them! She has siblings, can you tell?

That same day, I saw colorful pairs on sale at my favorite online retailer, and at half the price, I figured it would make a very useful gift for this musically talented young lady. I picked a pair of yellow ones, her favorite color, and had them shipped to my work address so that she wouldn't open the package as soon as she gets home from school.

It's so hard to surprise her, since she has an extremely keen sense of observation and intuition, I was excited to have her Christmas shopping figured out.

I received the headphones at work a few days ago, and later that afternoon I called home and spoke to my husband on the phone, telling him I had receive the headphones I ordered for Jillian for Christmas, and that I had tried them and loved them...

That's when he dropped the bombshell.

"Uhm, I'm on speakerphone... and Jillian's right here beside me."

OOPS.

She had been so quiet, and with my hearing issues, I hadn't realized that I was on speakerphone or that she'd been there all along. She sheepishly pipes up... "I sowwy!"

I had to laugh. And laugh... and laugh some more.

BUSTED.

Chances are, she'll forget by Christmas, and it will be a surprise all over again.

Such is the life on the spectrum -- full color spectrum, as I like to call it. Never a dull moment.

Crash Course In Customer Service -- Letter To United Airlines

2011-12-06T18:10:00.001-04:00

***** Update *****

Exactly 24 hours and 30 minutes after posting this and asking you all to share via every social media outlet available to you, a representative from United contacted me directly with a sincere apology and a good, productive conversation about what took place so that steps could be taken to find sustainable solutions for these issues. I shared that my intentions in writing this post weren't to be "out to get them", but simply to help them realize the potential losses they could face if these issues weren't addressed. Since our attempts to resolve this at through the proper channels created more problems, we simply had to resort to more effective means of getting their attention in order to solve the issue and help them take advantage of the opportunity to improve their business. They expressed a genuine appreciation for that, and not only immediately issued the refund to Tia's credit card, but they will also be calling me back tomorrow to continue working with us to see what can be done to ensure that these problems don't repeat themselves.

I thanked them and promised to hold back the 'bloodhounds'. I think I heard relief in her laughter. :o)

Last but not least, they read about our purpose for our travel to Ghana, commended us on our humanitarian work, and expressed their sincere regret on inadvertently making it so difficult for us to focus on the purpose of our mission.

We will see how the discussions continue tomorrow... I will keep you posted.

I can not thank you enough for your tremendous support -- my heart goes out to all of you who have emailed, commented and contacted me through various methods to share your horror stories. I hope you also were able to obtain results, and I hope that this is truly the beginning of the end in this nightmare, and that all this will soon be rectified in full.

JD

******************************************

I’ll be honest, I don’t have a business degree, and for what it’s worth, I’m not a rocket scientist either. In fact, I don’t consider myself to be of great intelligence, but I pray that I make up for that with common sense and wisdom.

That’s more than I can say for United Airlines in light of our recent experience with them. We were simply trying to do good -- traveling to Ghana to work on a child slavery rescue mission, where we successfully negotiated the rescue of two children from slavery and begun building the school we had raised funds for... so to thank us for our humanitarian efforts, United charged me twice for my flight and won't negotiate the release of the funds they owe me.

The experience left me wondering why it is that I seem to have more business sense than one of the largest airlines in the world.

Sometimes, I need to have things broken down to me in small, manageable chunks of information, so perhaps that approach will work for them as well. Let’s give it a try.

A company’s bottom line goal is to earn a profit.

Given that we have all heard of the financial crisis facing airlines, it’s peculiar to me that United’s approach to earning a profit is to choose to save money by encouraging their customers to use their website to purchase services, but then refuse to accept payment from a large percentage of those potential customers, simply based on geography. They can not accept a Canadian credit card on their website.

Strange, considering that the U.S. vendors I’ve shopped with in the past (from family owned businesses such as Lisa Leonard Designs, Goat Milk Stuff and Wild Olive Tees, up to large corporations such as Walmart) have never discriminated against me for being Canadian. My Mastercard number works just fine on their system. In fact, they welcome me giving them business. Imagine!

United’s approach forced me, the customer, to have someone else make the payment on my behalf.

For convenience’s sake, I chose to comply to their wish, and had my best friend and travel partner purchase the ticket on her American credit card.

The charge was never questioned by her credit card company, even though it was a large sum and for an airline ticket not in her name. Unlike United, her credit card company seems to trust her and value her business.

The charge appeared on her credit card statement, and she paid it with the money I had forwarded to her.

The assumption that inconveniencing a customer is great for business seems to be counter-intuitive and counter-productive, when so many other companies would gladly welcome having people give them thousands of dollars… but while this business model is inconvenient and unconventional at best, it could have been worse in the end.

That is, if the nightmare that had just begun had an end in sight.

A company should not assume their customers are criminals.

Unless, of course, they’re running a privately owned for-profit prison or something, by all means… but last I heard, prisons don’t fly. And neither does United’s accusation that the purchase of my ticket was fraudulent.

The credit card company never questioned or flagged the transaction.

United Airlines’ computer system, however, decided that since the name on the ticket and the cardholder name did not match, it was automatically fraud. Ironic, since it was their system that refused to let me use my credit card for my own ticket.

I guess it didn't occur to them that if I had really stolen her credit card, I wouldn't have booked the seat next to the cardholder for a 12 hour flight to Ghana. #awkwardmuch?

Since United seems to subscribe to the theory that two wrongs make a right, they corrected the problem by not calling us to alert us that there was an issue, and just to go the extra mile and aim for three wrongs to make a right, they didn’t contact the credit card company either, lest they find out they had made a critical error.

By this point, I am beginning to ask myself if they handle safety quite as competently.

A company advises their customers when they revoke a transaction.

If United is brazen enough to assume that we’re criminals, and they are bold enough to revoke my ticket… one would think they would have the courage to admit what they had done… you know, in case I might be interested in knowing that the airline ticket for travel I’ve been planning all year has been revoked. All the better if they do this before I drive 6 hours to the airport and arrive ready for my flight. Imagine the horror of the experience for my 13 year old son, who had visions of travelling to a developing country without his mother at his side.

United sends me notification after notification that flight times have been adjusted by one or two minutes, why not let me know that my ticket has been cancelled altogether? Again, I’m no rocket scientist, I just figure that since they have my email and information for the purpose of keeping me updated as promised, they’d actually use it to send me vital information.

Just sayin’...

A company’s mistake shouldn’t penalize the customers.

You know that Business Degree I don’t have? Yeah. I do have some education from the School Of Life, though, and I seem to recall the following topic being covered in Common Sense 101: When a mistake is made, the best apology is a sincere one that involves taking ownership and rectifying the situation as to not cause undue hardship and further inconvenience for your customer over a mistake your company has made.

DO THIS:

“When the mechanic forgets to tighten the nuts on the rims he just installed on your vehicle and the wheels fall off as you leave to drive home… apologize without placing blame on the customer or making up excuses, and take ownership of the problem by offering to rectify the situation at your cost.”

“When you overcharge me for an item and I brings it to your attention with proof, provide a prompt refund.”

NOT THIS:

“Mishandle the funds that have been paid to you, refuse to take ownership and rectify the situation, and force me to pay you $1400 again, with only the comfort of the standard “oh yeah, cheque’s in the mail” promise that a refund request was initiated a month earlier and would soon be sorted out.

“If your company’s system can make a problem that it can’t also rectify, do not continue to use that system.”

A company should not persist in making their customer’s experience miserable.

There is some degree of comfort in knowing that their safety checks didn’t use the same customer service ideals as their ticketing process. Although it was irritating at best that we would have been asked to board the plane and prepare for take-off only to be told that while we’d done a great job of preparing to fly, the plane couldn’t fly after all…

Mechanical failure happens. Twice in one day, even, as our 4th travelling partner, Debra, also experienced mechanical failure in her connector flight with United.

What shouldn’t happen is for United to then proceed to book us into overbooked hotels, leaving us waiting more than an hour outside in the cold in the middle of the night for shuttles to those overbooked hotels, and giving us meal vouchers that the hotels will not honor… only to wait 40 minutes in the hotel lobby for someone to say there is no room at the inn. Makes me grateful Mary and Joseph went by donkey and not by United. It was far better to ride around on a donkey for days while 9 months pregnant and in labor... without an epidural.

Where were we? Oh. After finally getting a room at 3am after the second attempt…

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, Back to The Airport We Go!!!

When we return to the airport the following day in order to spend two hours repeating the entire process all over again, do not continue to impress us with your incompetence by not drawing the two straight lines with a pen, as required by security on our boarding passes. I know you may have thought we enjoyed dragging all their carryon luggage back to the ticketing counter only to have to start the whole process again, but the only reason we did so was that we, once again, were being forced to accommodate for your mistakes.

Over, and over, and over again.

It is within a company’s best interest to not steal from their customers. A company’s reputation is important to attract business.

When you tell me that a request for the refund you owe me has been initiated on October 3^rd, and that we can expect a refund, don’t expect us to not be upset when you then proceed to tell us, once you’ve forced me to overpay you, that a refund won’t be forthcoming because you never received my money to begin with -- even though you did receive it, and you have proof. Of course you received my money, the credit card charge in the company’s name appeared on the credit card statement, and it was paid in full. How else did you ever issue the ticket you later chose to revoke months later?

Don’t continue to insist that you’re keeping the money you’re not entitled to, that you don’t know what happened to it, that you can’t issue a refund, and that this is not your problem.

Don’t tell us to call at a specific time when a supervisor is available, only to then advise us that we can not speak to a supervisor.

Don’t tell us to go to our credit card company when they did not cause any of this and you hold the power to correct it.

Don’t send us a “please accept our apology” certificate for the inconvenience of the flight delay that falsely claims that you take pride in being a reliable part of our travel plans, and that you regret the inconvenience we have experienced.

Don’t ask us on an online survey to assist you with making our experience with United better, when you have no intentions of responding to our concerns.

Don’t kill me with humor by offering me a $200 voucher for United or a 20% discount, as though I would EVER willingly choose to fly with United again. If I can raise $30,000 to build a school for rescued child slaves in Ghana, surely I can raise enough to pay the extra to fly on another airline.

A company understands that without customers, it can not survive. Do you understand, United, do you?

Do you honestly think anyone who hears about this ridiculous treatment by United will choose to trust your company or fly United?

How exactly do you plan to survive when you’ve managed to turn all your customers away?

If you object to how United handled this situation, or you've had similar experiences with United that you'd like to share, please let your voice be heard! Since dozens of attempts to rectify this through United directly did nothing to get these issues resolved, we would like to have a turn at seeing how quickly they'll respond once this post is made public, and preferably viral.

Please share liberally on Facebook, Twitter (@United, @CompassionCan), via Email, billboard, and any method you can think of. If anyone would like to purchase some space in their in-flight magazine to share this story, by all means, be my guest. I'll even pitch in a few bucks to defray the cost.

Yours truly...

JD Richardson

P.S. For your convenience, since I like to make life easy for MY blog readers -- I have created a TinyUrl for you to share this blog post with ease. I'm nice like that... :o) You're welcome.

http://tinyurl.com/UnitedProtest

P.P.S. United, I'll say hi to Dave Carroll for you... another fine and talented Canadian.

Just Down The Coast...

2011-12-05T00:11:00.001-04:00

Back in September, walking past a bulletin board at work, I saw the word Africa on a one page printout, and I stopped to read what it had to say. To this day, it still amazes me that God made that one word jump out at me, but He knew He needed to.

The poster was an announcement for a sponsorship opportunity. Each year, thousands of our employees from across the country are eligible to apply for this sponsorship, and if they are the one person chosen for that year, they are given a sponsorship for a 2 week mission trip to Africa to build wells, schools, or other vital infrastructure projects.

I saw the notice on September 9th, and noted that the deadline to apply was Sept 15th. The application simply instructed anyone interested to write an essay as to why you would like to take part in this opportunity.

Did you say essay? Oh, no, how would I ever manage that? :D

The best part was knowing that regardless of the outcome, there would be no one losing. If I was chosen, I would be blessed with the opportunity to return to Africa and contribute to a community in need. If someone else was chosen, they would be blessed with the opportunity to go to Africa, perhaps for the first time, and contribute to a community in need. What an incredible gift all around!

I asked my husband's blessing to apply, and having received it, sat down and wrote my essay. I thought it would be hard to limit it to 700 words, as instructed, but it was strangely easy to do.

I sent it off, and given the focus on our work in Ghana, it became the furthest thing from my mind.

A week before we left to go to Ghana, I received an email in my inbox at work, informing me that I had been chosen to receive the sponsorship for 2012. You may wonder why it took me so long to share here... well, honestly, there are two reasons. Our focus was Ghana and our work there, but beyond that, well, I was just struck speechless, really. Returning to Africa, in less than 3 months...?! Oh how He loves!

Destination? Cameroon... just a few countries down the coast from Ghana. Cameroon is officially English and French, much like the province in which I live, so my bilingualism may be an asset. It is said to be Africa in miniature, whereas it has a little bit of all of Africa compacted into one region.

When? February 2012.

What? Building 4 schools.

The work will be very physically challenging, much more labor intensive than Ghana was... so beginning this week, I will be hitting the gym on a rigorous fitness program to prepare for what will be required. We will be traveling there in what will be the hottest months of the year in Cameroon, so I anticipate it being very uncomfortable. I just cut 8 inches off my hair, and I may cut it down even more before then. Less hair, less heat! Less weight, less heat too, so pray I can succeed in losing 20-30 pounds. Much like my time in Honduras, I gained 15-20 pounds within days of landing in Ghana, which makes tolerating the heat difficult, but with heavy labor, it will be even more so.

All the travel costs are covered and the project is fully funded. I already have all the immunizations, the passport, and the malaria meds. Although I will have to cover the unpaid time off work (I used the last of my vacation time for Ghana), I'm not concerned, I know God will provide in His own ways.

I'm really excited about this opportunity, and grateful beyond measure that God would provide for this. One of the reasons I'm grateful that I will not have to focus on raising travel funds for this, is because it allows me to focus on fundraising for two other opportunities. One being what God would have us do in Ghana in 2012 (to be announced as soon as God gives me the green light!), the other being my sister-friend Michelle's Compassion travels to Ghana. Remember Precious' sponsor? That's the one!

When we're blessed, it's not for our benefit, but so that from the abundance of blessings, we can bless someone in return. That is what I would love to see... this blessing I've received, used to bless my friend Michelle.

To contribute to Michelle's Compassion Ghana fund, please visit her blog and bless her today -- no amount too small, God will multiply it all!

Dying Of Greed Vs. Giving Of Life

2011-12-04T13:33:00.001-04:00

In his book "Too Small To Ignore", Wess Stafford shared that every encounter with a child is a divine appointment, an opportunity to plant a seed for God's kingdom. I prayed over those seeds as I prepared to teach a class of 8-9 year old girls at our church this morning. It's not only their hearts that need those prayers, but mine, so that it can be prepared to sow those seeds and to learn from these children just the same.

Every month has a theme in our children's ministry, and this month, in light of Christmas, our theme is Generosity -- "Making Someone's Day... By Giving Something Away." As part of our lessons, we saw a video about the parables of the rich fool. The children got to see how the man had hoarded riches rather than sharing his abundance with others who had less. His greed had so moved God that God Himself came to speak to him, calling him a rich fool, and letting him know that on that very night, he would pass away, and then what of his riches that he had hoarded for himself?

As we walked back to our small group classroom, I asked the girls what their impressions were of what we had just seen.

She had been pensive as she pondered what she had just seen. The question that arose from her put the prayers of this morning to the test.

"So, if we're not generous, do we die too?", she asked.

There is only one lifeline available at times like these, and thankfully the Holy Spirit never gives us a busy signal. He provided the answer in real time.

"Jesus provides life to the fullest when we invite Him into our heart. He fills our heart, if we let him, and He fills it with life, eternal life... but when we choose greed, we choose to give a part of our heart to someone else than Jesus, we give that piece to the enemy, and that piece of our heart dies. So yes, there is a part of us that dies when we choose greed. Greed does rob us of life -- anything less than Jesus robs us of our life."

Then, as quickly as it came, the moment was gone. The conversation turned to giving away Christmas and the Advent Conspiracy. Giving chickens, goats, time, love, forgiveness, grace, mercy, compassion... and siblings, of course. :o)

We finished our time together with a game of Stick-It-To-Ya, where we chase each other with a handful of stickers, trying to stick them on everyone else because it's much more fun to give, you know? She who gives away all her stickers wins. I explained that we would call this the Tahameena Game, because Tahameena shares the stickers we send her with her brothers and friends who haven't received letters or stickers. Generosity, reinforced.

It was hard to get the stickers to stay stuck to us, they kept falling off of us, but no matter... It was a beautiful way to wrap up our morning, with a reminder that there are things that are meant to stick to us temporarily, and then, there are lessons we pray stick to our hearts for a lifetime.

Ghanaian Keyboard Cleaners

2011-12-04T07:10:00.001-04:00

Although I was equipped with a macro lens, theywere so tiny and the lighting in our room so minimal that I knew I wouldn’t beable to capture the moment in a photograph.

Ants.

The tiniest ants I had ever seen, living in the largest anthills I had ever seen!

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, crawling from the window of our room at the guesthouse, down the wall, and onto my laptop which I had set down on thefloor.

Fascinated, I watched as the ants crawled under themaze of keys on my keyboard, emerging carrying traces of crumbs to carry backto their colony.

Although dirt and dust covered us day in and dayout in Ghana, my keyboard has never been so clean.

Isn't it just like God to provide sustenance for life, out of our crumbs, our extras... life, out of the bits and pieces that when we really stop and think about it, we can do without?

Isn't it just like Him to include us into His provisions so that we can learn from Him?

The Weight Of Slavery -- A Letter To Richard

2011-12-02T03:50:00.001-04:00

My Precious Richard,

When dawn breaks gently from the east, it will have beentwenty full days since we met face to face on a desolate island of Lake Volta,where you are enslaved. Dawn is stillhours away, it is nearly 4am and sleep can’t reach me. My bones are aching, my soul is weary, andyet when I close my eyes, all I see is you, halfway across the world, paddlinga boat as the dawn breaks, bones aching, soul weary, and I ask myself, how doesrest reach you, and what do your eyes see?

They play like a broken reel on repeat in my mind, the brief memories ofstanding facing you, my heart trying so hard to grasp the overwhelming realityof what my eyes were seeing, my legs trying not to crumble under the weight ofyour world, my eyes searching yours for a spark of life...

Surrounded by a group of boys your age, the quietest of thegroup, you silently spoke volumes about the brutal effects of slavery on a boyof such tender years. Our attempts tobring a smile to the boys’ faces and convey that we were not a threat was met by curious smiles, laughs and relief by all except you.

It was as though you weren’t there, your spirit long ago having checked out in the face of such perpetual darkness.

Did their laughter feel painful to you as you continued to feel invisible? Did your surroundings cause you to further attempt to disappear into another dimension where nothing could reach you, not pain, joy, or the concept of hope? I knew all too well that in that situation, feeling nothing was an involuntary defence mechanism... numbness prolonged survival.

It was in those moments that I realized that we weren’t seeing you,Richard, we were only seeing the shell of the boy whose heart, mind, body and spiritcould no longer bear the weight of slavery. How much longer before the sins of this world crushed you, as theycrushed our precious Savior on the cross? How much longer would you have to endure the darkness man had pulled youunder?

From your seat on that wooden bench, what did you hear? How many times had someone come and attemptedto set you free, only to leave empty handed? How many times had someone come, expressing concern over you, perhapscausing you to grasp on to hope by the little strength you had left, only tolose that grip as the negotiations were thwarted once again by the enemy? Did hope even flicker this time around, orwas it too painful to contemplate that hope was even possible?

Peace only finds me when my mind takes me back to where youare, and this time, I do what I failed to do the first time we met... I take you in my arms, gently lift your faceuntil your eyes see mine, and I do everything in my power to pour Christ’s loveinto your spirit. There are so manythings I failed to share with you, precious boy... that you are loved and treasured far morethan the heart can ever imagine, and that the Lord made you not by the word ofHis mouth as He made the entire world, but by the work of His hands... you are Handmade, special, unique, and Hisbeloved, and not one of your tears has fallen outside of the Creator’s care andconcern.

Understanding all too well thatthese words would have stung and fallen empty on this side of freedom, I wouldhave gently told you never to lose hope, that our only hope is in Christ and Christ alone, that God knew of your suffering and that Hewould watch over you until the day of your rescue... knowing in my heart that your first taste offreedom could very well be your first breath of heaven. Having known the desperation of abuse, weboth would have understood all too well if this blessed mercy was all we hadthe strength left to pray for.

Beyond the eternal Living Water that I would have shared with you, it pains me to know that I had little to offer your immediate physical needs... to have quenched your thirst and satisfied your hunger would have helped me teach you of the One who sustains us all. Such things wouldn't have needed translation; feeding His sheep needs no familiar words as it is done through the universal language of love.

Richard, not having held you breaks my heart more than my mere wordscould ever express. As a mother of sonswho have never outgrown the joy, safety and comfort of a gentle snuggle, amother’s touch, I long to know that in this lifetime, you have known this kindof love at least once. Knowing that as a human, a mother and a Christfollower, I failed to share that love with you keeps me awake night, after night, after night. I can't help but wonder if you even know to dream of such things -- when was the last time you were held, Richard, and do you know a mother's love?

Where is your mother as you continue to languish here on this island, and does it tear her up to be apart from her son like it tears me up to have had to leave you behind?

While it's crushingly painful to see you and carry you with meeverywhere I go, I pray that pain never lessens, never heals, never becomesnumb by the world’s endless pressure to fit subtly in the deceptive trap ofthe middle ground.

I simply and ever-so-complexly can not choose to return to the lifeI once knew.

No, I beg the pain to remain, the pain that serves to remind me that Jesus calls on us to liveradically, to eschew the world’s dangerous blindness and to open our eyes towhat breaks His heart.

You are now mine, Richard, not having grown in my body, but having been indelibly engraved upon my heart... you, chosen for me, and I, for you.

You have become, to me and to many, the personal, heartbreaking face of slavery.

Even though my words may never reach you on this side of the veil, your voice has been heard, Richard, your voice has been heard around theworld, and it will not be extinguished until every man, woman and child yourepresent has been set free.

May God deal with me ever so severely if I should fail you again.

Love, beyond measure,

"It is the children the world almost breaks who grow up to save it." -- Wess Stafford, Compassion International

Wonderland Creek

2011-11-29T08:41:00.000-04:00

I remember curling up in the corner of the local librarywhen I was knee high to a grasshopper, buried under a pile of books, tornbetween flying through each book as fast as possible before it’d be time to go,or savouring each page, each image, each word, until they were fullycaptured... the latter always won.

Math class was difficult for the girl with the voraciousappetite for the written word – numbers seemed so overrated to this sixth grader when one could use words to paint a picture of life's experiences.

I would eventually fail Math, and it may or may not have had something to do with the fact that during each class, one could always find a book tucked between myself and my desk, with head bent low, pouring over the words shared by author after author, while classmates poured over numbers that made little sense to me.

The failing grade couldn't overshadow the joy at discovering my first favorite author. Nothing that took place anywhere near Math class could compete with the words she had penned onto the pagesthat were tucked discreetly in my lap, shielded from view of the ornery teacher whose icy stare I avoided at all cost. I knew I'd be reading this author's books again when I looked up from the last page of the book I'd been reading only to find myself surrounded by a near empty classroom, with only the teacher and I left staring at each other. All I could think of was getting my hands on another one of her books...

It was that good.

The simple joys of childhood -- reading in Math class, on the bus, in theevenings, ~~sometimes~~ often through the night, all weekends, all summer... have given way to the complexity of being a working mother. Reading time has become even moreprecious. The days of reading 5-7 books a week are long past, replaced by precioustime in the Word, and perhaps one or two books a month.

Although my reading time has diminished, my list of favouriteauthors has grown from one to five. Oneof those five is Lynn Austin, whose book Eve’s Daughters earned her the spot inmy favourites list.

A few weeks ago, I learned that her new release, WonderlandCreek, was being offered in exchange for blog review. I had planned on reading it as soon as we returned from Africa, so I glady accepted the offer.

Have you ever had a time when you trusted an author, aspeaker, a preacher, a friend, but when the message begins to unfold, you aren’ttoo sure where it’s going, or how enjoyable it’s going to be... except youlisten closely and continue so that nothing will be missed, simply because youknow that this person will deliver?

Wonderland Creek was that kind of experience in thebeginning paragraphs as I realized that the main character, Alice, was much like ayoung, awkward and perhaps obnoxious goat... she seemed tostruggle with depth and maturity, and Iwondered if having her as the focus of the book would irritate uncomfortablyafter the first few chapters... but Icouldn’t resist Lynn Austin’s delightfully humorous portrayal of this youngwoman’s life even in those first few pages, or the fact that her main flaw was so familiar to me... she was a bookworm. A flaw, you say? Well, not normally, but Allie took this to anextreme when she chose to sit at the back when attending a funeral... so thatshe could continue to read the novel she could barely put down.

Ouch.

And I thought reading in Math class was bad...

Caught in this unthinkable lapse of judgement and dumped by her boyfriend whose family runs the funeral home,and shortly thereafter laid off from her job at the local library, Allie isforced to experience real life outside of books when her newfound freedom givesher the opportunity to deliver some books to a library in rural Kentucky.

To share the misadventures with you now would be to stealthe joy of you discovering them for yourself, but let’s just say that it rivalsall the adventures that Allie had only experienced through the pages of novelsbefore she was dropped off in the middle-of-nowhere Kentucky.

Although the adventures Allie embarked upon led tounexpected plots and twists, the rude awakening of real life that Allie iscontinually faced with in Kentucky made for one of the most endearing,hilarious books I’ve read in years. Over and over again, I found myself gigglingout loud as I sympathized with Allie’s frustrations and flaws and found myself alsocheering her on as she grew through the unusual trials thrown her way and foundher way to experiencing real love, a deeper faith and a fuller life. Lynn Austin’s brilliantly developed characterswere so real that I found myself grateful for the ways they helped Allie grow, and at the same time wishing they were neighbours that I couldvisit with too.

Leave it to Lynn Austin to entertain so generously whilestill finding a way to weave life lessons, wisdom and scriptures in such amemorable way that they stay with you long after the last page has been read.

My only disappointment is that it will be many months before Lynn Austin releases a new novel... but thankfully, hers are worth reading again and again.

Well done once more, Ms. Austin, well done.

** Book has been provided courtesy of Baker Publishing Group and Graf-Martin Communications, Inc. Available at your favourite booksellers from Bethany House, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

Ghana: In Pursuit Of Joshua

2011-11-27T18:21:00.001-04:00

We were walking in Accra when a young man walked up alongside of Joshua and struck up a conversation.

"What's your name?"

"Joshua."

"Where are you from?"

"Canada."

We had heard this dozens of times, so it didn't really strike us as unusual.

Just as we were approaching the store we were heading into, he tried to sell Joshua a handmade bracelet, which Joshua politely turned down. There wasn't much else in the way of conversation, since we were walking into a shop at the time.

The young man walked away.

As we emerged from the shop nearly half an hour later, the young man approached Joshua again with a handmade bracelet bearing Joshua's name and the colors of Canada.

Joshua was stunned, wondering how the vendor made it that fast, and then the shock turned to feeling bad... Joshua didn't want to commit to paying for it, but being that it was personalized, he would feel bad if he didn't purchase it.

That was exactly the vendor's tactics, and it was working... sort of.

I had set aside a small amount of funds for Joshua to spend on himself (aka: the Ghana Coca Cola fund), and I had no objections to him buying the bracelet or any souvenir, but he was being very, very cautious with his funds, and did not wish to spend ten cedis on the bracelet, especially given how the vendor had made him feel.

The vendor tried his best to sell the bracelet to Joshua, even offering it to him for free, only to have someone else jump in and contradict the free offer and attempt to make Joshua pay. Joshua firmly told the vendor he didn't want anything to do with the bracelet, he simply wanted the entire experience over with, not appreciation the pressure that was put upon him by the vendor.

As we ducked into a restaurant, the sales tactics came to an end, only to come about again when we exited the restaurant an hour later.

As the taxi pulled away, we thought that would be the end of the Joshua Bracelet Dude.

Ten days later, we're standing at an ATM in the bustling city of Accra, having returned from our time in Kete Krachi, when we hear someone yell "JOSHUA!!!"

Unable to ignore someone calling his name, Joshua looked up to find... you guessed it:

The One And Only Joshua Bracelet Dude.

OK, so I'll give him this -- it's easy to spot Joshua, a 5'9" pale while teenager, no matter where we are in Ghana.... in the middle of the busiest street in Ghana, or in the middle of Kete Krachi. He just kind of stands out in crowds of Ghanaians, you know?

But seriously?

Giving me a desperate look, Joshua begged for me to give him ten cedis in order to "get this over with". I had to smile... such a soft heart, he didn't want to make anyone feel bad, including this vendor.

The guy no longer had a Joshua bracelet, so Joshua got to pick whatever he wanted for his new bracelet. He decided on the nickname his brother calls him all the time, "Gutenburg".

Curious to see how he made the bracelets so quickly, we were amazed as we watched him expertly make Joshua's new bracelet, this time with the Ghanaian colors.

I wonder if business and marketing university classes in North America offer field trips to Ghana? If not, it should definitely be given as an option.

Ghana: Day 13 -- Wares & Worship

2011-11-27T17:32:00.001-04:00

Our very first taste of vendors and artists selling their wares wasn't at the Africa Market, but somewhere unexpected... the beach.

One vendor had a number of beautiful oil paintings rolled up under his arms, and the moment we expressed curiosity about his artwork, he unrolled them all right then and there on the beach, one by one, in the sand.

I found several I liked, especially one of a tall, elegant African woman bent low, doing laundry in the cool blue water of a river. I knew as soon as I saw it that it was meant to belong to my mother, so we negotiated the price for that one, as well as three others.

Meanwhile, Tia brought out her guitar and started playing worship songs with Joseph, the worship leader who had accompanied the Jasmunds to the beach with us.

As we wrapped up our purchases, the vendors, who would normally only stay in order to pressure us into more sales, stayed behind to listen and join in on the impromptu worship session.

Yet another reason it would be so difficult to leave...

Ghana: Day 15 -- You Have Eyes Like Coconuts!

2011-11-27T17:04:00.001-04:00

Although it's always a risk in developing countries to try food from roadside vendors, I really wanted to try a fresh coconut while we were in Ghana. How different would it be from what we know back home?

I don't know about you, but when I think of coconut, my mind sees this:

In Ghana, the coconuts are fresh from the trees, locally grown and harvested. They come in a green outer shell, which is trimmed until the inner shell is revealed. It makes sense that they wouldn't ship coconuts to Canada like this... but it was neat to see.

The top is then sliced off so that you can drink the coconut milk.

Once you've finished the coconut milk, they chop up the inner shell, and scoop up the edible coconut meat with one flick of the knife.

Seriously, it's nothing like coconut in Canada, where you have to fight to separate the coconut meat from the shell... with fresh coconut in Ghana, it practically slides off. It's thinner, flexible, almost rubber like. Kind of like chewing on coconut silicone, except it tastes good!

The locals amused themselves watching us try it, but it's their quote that I found most amusing...

"Your eyes... your eyes are green, you have eyes like coconut!"

I don't normally let the camera approach close enough to see my eye color, but once in a while, it happens.

I thought I'd heard it all when it came to my green eyes, but that was one I didn't imagine. I nearly had coconut milk coming out my nose at that one! What's ironic is that they have eyes like coconut too -- golden brown, like the coconut we have back home :o)

Ghana: Perpetual Hope

2011-11-26T09:21:00.001-04:00

On Tuesday, November 8th, 2011, our group spent the afternoon in a small community about 50km north east of Cape Coast at a Compassion project that is near and dear to my heart.

This is the community where our twins, George and George, live, go to school, and reap the benefits of their sponsorship through the Compassion program.

The arrival of the Compassion program in this village has made a tremendous impact on the families of this community.

Given that this project only began in Dec of 2010, the progress this community has already seen is amazing. When the project registered its first 200 children, only 19 were going to school. Now, all 200 go. The children are healthier, stronger, and have their basic needs met through the Compassion program, including health care, nutritious meals, academic support, classes for parents, access to clean water, and much more.

The project is in need of a piece of land and a building for the children to gather on Saturdays, because their current meeting place is only sporadically available. I pray that upon my return to Ghana in 2012, I will be standing in the new building that God will provide them. As they say in Ghana, let it come to pass, Amen!

Our twins, George & George (Panyin & Kakra)

On the day we visited, 43 children were still awaiting sponsors. This is a very high number of unsponsored children for a Compassion project. It's more typical to see less than 10 children per project waiting for sponsors.

Since then, one of those children, Perpetual, has been chosen for sponsorship by a dear friend. Perpetual turns 10 in December, and I can't imagine a greater gift for her upcoming birthday than knowing she has been chosen after waiting nearly a year.

Compassion has provided me with a few of the children from GH880 waiting for sponsors -- their profiles are listed below.

God willing, I will be returning to Ghana in 2012. Is one of the following children calling your name? Will I be visiting one of these children on your behalf the next time I'm in Ghana?

Bright, March 11 2002

Portia, June 25 2003

Esther (Kukua), May 19 2004

Godfred (Kweku), May 18 2005

Robert (Kwame), March 11, 2005

Mavis (Ama), April 1 2006

Deborah, July 2 2007

As always, if you'd like more information or you have any questions, feel free to email me at Africa@beyondmeasure.me.

Ghana: Third World Definition -- Laundromat

2011-11-25T07:27:00.001-04:00

The night before we left for Ghana, my mom and I went out to do some last minute shopping together. Travel size laundry detergent was one of the items on the list.

When I think of laundry, I think of my childhood and following my mom out to the clothesline in the early mornings of summer, and inhaling her fleece scented pyjamas each time I hugged goodnight her in the evenings.

I think of our washing machine, which I'm so grateful for, having broken down for 3 months this summer.

Like many moms, I think of the world "endless", as it seems that laundry is endless some days.

When I travelled to Honduras with Compassion in 2010, we stayed in very upscale accommodations while we were in country. While I understand and appreciate Compassion's intent to keep us safe as well as to provide a place of rest in the evenings away from what we'd seen and experienced during our days at the Compassion projects, I found it took away from the experience in that it separated us from the living conditions of the people we were there to serve.

It's harder to relate and understand the challenges and reality of poverty when the degree of separation from it is too wide.

This trip to Ghana brought us a few steps closer.

Our accommodations in Kete Krachi were quite nice by local standards, but a world removed from the luxuries we're used to, such as running water.

Yes, running water is a luxury, clean running water even more so. We are amongst the world's richest.

I didn't mind the cool water bucket baths, especially at the end of a long, hot, and dusty day in which my body got covered in sweat and dirt, nor did I mind doing laundry by hand. That being said, I noticed that neither seemed effective in getting squeaky clean results.

Cleanliness may be a luxury as well.

A while back, Shaun Groves began to gather a collection of images from his travels with Compassion, in order to create a "Third World Dictionary". I saw many such images that would have fit well into his collection while we were in Ghana, one such image was of the local laundromat, but the only photo of it that I have is the one that is in my mind's eye... the woman bent low over the dark green watering hole near the Village Of Life, doing laundry and collecting water for various uses... my heart hurting at the thought of her family consuming that water or being washed in it. How could we possibly neglect to be grateful at all times? It seems to be no longer a blessing to be removed from poverty, but a danger of the heart and spirit.

On the way back to Accra from Kete Krachi, I saw a community of women doing laundry as a group at the end of the meager local river, only to carry the heavy, wet clothes on their heads all the way home in the extreme heat. I asked our driver to pause for a moment, and captured this photo to print and place in my laundry room. A clean laundry room, in my own home, with a state of the art washer and dryer, clean running water and electricity...

I pray I don't need the photo to be reminded. I pray the images of this trip will always be at the forefront of my mind.

Third World Definition: Laundromat.

Ghana: Day 14 -- This Obruni Went To The Market

2011-11-20T06:00:00.001-04:00

Nearing the end of our time in Ghana, we had the opportunityto venture out with the intention of picking up a few souvenirs for our lovedones back home, and for ourselves.

Having experienced the sales pressure from aggressivehawkers the entire time we’ve been in the Accra area, we wanted to be wellprepared not to lose our shirts by locals who gave “obrunis” the special priceof “twice the actual value”.

The Nichols family (Touch A Life Foundation, Ghana)graciously offered to take us to a place known locally as “The Africa Market”,which was in the Tetteh Quarshie area of Accra. Think outdoor stalls with vendors hawking their wares, all groupedtogether in a permanent flea market style roadside slum village. It turned out to be one of the nicest marketareas we had seen, but nice didn’t mean we wouldn’t be ganged up on.

The Nichols advised us to be careful not to commit toanything, and not to say “no”, as it is considered culturally impolite. If we say anything remotely close to “maybe”,“we’ll see”, “I’ll think about it”, we’ve pretty much either committed to thepurchase, or agreed to be harassed endlessly until we fall to our knees andeither cry uncle, or fork over a large sum of money just to get them to stop...only to have other hawkers witness the transaction and how easily you wereswindled, and then taking their turn saying “now you’ve bought from my brotherhere, you come to my shop next, I make you good deal”.

It has to be experienced to get the full effect of the fineart of shopping, Ghana style.

Our best approach, we were told, was to say “Tell me yourbest price, and when I’m done looking at all the other shops, I will decidethen whether or not to buy.”

That backfired within the first five minutes.

One of the items that Debra and I were looking for wereUnity Statues, and we wanted to pick up about 8 of them in total, so we decidedthat the best plan was to get a better rate for a “bulk purchase”. The guest house had large ones for 18gc, sowe knew the smaller ones would cost much less.

The first shop we went into had the small ones we liked, andthe bargaining began.

Their “best” price? 15gc.

We laughed and shook our heads, saying we’d continue toother stores, and if that was the best price we saw, we’d make our decision atthat time.

All according to plan, right?

Except they refused to let us leave, forcing us to give themour “best price” (the highest we’d pay).

We told them we’d pay 50gc for 8 unity statues.

They outright refused.

We shrugged and said “we’re leaving”.

They refused to let us leave without a counteroffer.

We calculated that the price we had given them meant payingonly 6.25gc each, which was unreasonable, so when they tried to tell us 12gceach, we counteroffered with 60gc forthe 8 statues, which worked out to be 7.5gc each.

That was our final offer, knowing we’d never find them thatlow anywhere else, but given how persistent and disrespectful they were, wewould rather have paid more elsewhere if the vendor was nicer to dealwith.

They weren’t happy at all, but given that we were back totelling them we’d simply let it go and come back if we were still in the moodto buy, they caved.

SCORE 1 for the Canada-U.S. team.

Meanwhile, Tia’s being pulled away (read: drawn and quartered) by a half dozen merchantswho all promise her that their shop is the one she should see, and that theyall will give her “special prices”. Onein particular even tried to whisper in her ear that he would give her “blackprice, not obruni price”, which made her nearly spit out in laughter.

What was really difficult is their intent to split us allup, rather than to allow us to browse as a group and enjoy this experiencetogether. I don’t know if this isbecause they could put more pressure on one individual when that person wasseparated from their group, or because they didn’t want us to be able to “calla lifeline” when needing a second opinion on a price... or something else entirely.

We were also told beforehand that if you’re looking forsomething specific, you can take a chance and keep looking, or you can playyour hand openly and ask if anyone knows where one such item can be found. The advantage to playing your hand is that ifit exists, they’ll bring it to you in droves... but then you will havebasically let them know how badly you want such an item, and they’ll follow youeverywhere, item in hand, saying “but you promised me you would look at these,I give you special price, how much you pay for this? It’s nice... take a look, come to my shop, there is more...”

I took a chance after seeing that the first few shops didn’thave any animal carvings other than giraffes, elephants, turtles and birds. I wanted to find my son Brandon a frog, and Iknew I’d need help.

I barely mentioned it, and the moment they understood what Iwas trying to say (frog, wooden, carving), several of them ran. Yes, ran. I kid you not.

Within moments, three frogs magically appeared. Well, two, if you consider that two of themwere identical. Two dark green ones, oneblack one, pretty basic and not all that attractive looking, as far as frogsgo... so I kind of hummed and hawed, andtold them I’d wait and see.

An hourlater, he was still following me, frogs in hand. Seriously. Doesn’t he have a store to run, or do they all like, cover for eachother’s absences? I’d love to studytheir practices and see what goes on in the background, and more specifically,what they say once we leave!

One shop had necklaces, and I wanted to see if they had anysea glass ones, since we weren’t able to find sea glass at the beach the daybefore. I found one that would have beenperfect for Tia’s birthday on Monday, with blue sea glass.

.

Immediately, I noticed something differentabout the seller. She wasn’t pushy, sheoffered me a reasonable price (8gc), and only offered to help as much as Ineeded, and let me do the rest without pressure. I made the decision right then and there tostep into her store and see what else she had.

Right around this time, Tia came back, looking completely overwhelmed atthe barrage of brazenness the vendors subjected us all to. Josh, Tia and I managed to look through thisone shop in peace, the other vendors seemed to respectfully wait just outsidethe store, rather than trying to bother us while we were browsing. It was SO nice to have the pressure off for awhile! Tia and I ended up pooling ourpurchasing power and get a better price for a pair of Oware games, rather thanpaying more for one each.

Then, Tia looked up, and saw the most beautiful Gye Nyame wallhanging we had seen the entire time we were in Ghana, and she excitedly pointedto it. She knew I’d love it, and sheknows me well... I added it to ourpurchase, which ended up giving me enough leverage to negotiate a better pricefor the necklace. Satisfied we had donegood on the deals, we made our purchase, and while we waited for her to countout some ebony seeds for our Oware games, the vendors outside were gettingrestless, seeing how much we had spent in one shop...

They clearly wanted a piece of the pie, and didn’t like itwhen we spent larger amounts in one shop.

As we stepped out, we were bombarded with the same lines andlies, except they seemed more persistent, since they’d been watching keenly andknew exactly how much we’d spent, and knew that we’d eventually reach ourfinancial limit and call it a day. Theywanted in on the action first, before that took place.

Another vendor was different from the wolf pack. He called us into a quiet alley that had various toys and sculpturesmade of scrap metal. This intrigued us,and we proceeded to follow him further into his shop, which was clean, orderly,well kept with a variety of items that were well displayed. It wasn’t the shop that impressed us so muchas his gentle disposition, his kind and sincere demeanor and his willingness tooffer his reasonable prices without playing games.

He told us he was at shop #96, and that he’d take care ofwhatever we needed. He demonstrated afew items for us, one of which was inexpensive and we enjoyed trying out, andwe promised to buy three of those, but that we’d come back once we were doneshopping to make a decision on the rest of the items we had liked. We pulled out a 10gc bill to pay for thethree items, and he gave it back to us, saying “keep it until you come back,but take the three items for now, pay me later when you’ll be back. I trust you.”

What a refreshing tactic.

I wasn’t born yesterday; I knewthat by doing this he was taking a small risk, but that he was also increasinghis chances that we’d be back. He gaveus his business card, and we smiled when we saw it. His name? Divine. Divine indeed. We thanked him for being so pleasant to dealwith, and said this is the type of merchant we like doing business with. We know what we want, and what we don’twant... and what we don’t want is pressure!

He laughed and said he understood, and that’s just how hedoes business. We talked a little moreas we walked away, and learned that he is a Christian. I can see that he applies Christianprinciples to his business as well, in how he treats people. We liked that.

I had wanted to find a nativity set, and had seen a few thatwere more than I was willing to pay, but meanwhile, I simply tried to find afew items for a few people back home. Asmore and more items got crossed off the list, I began to wonder if I’d everfind the nativity set I’d had in mind.

Meanwhile, Tia has found her own “Divine”, a gentleman namedMorgan who took great care of her and helped her find a purchase suitable forher mom. I joined her in his shop, andother greedy vendors piled up at the shop entrance like sharks waiting fortheir mid-morning snack. As soon as Ibegan to make my way around the tiny shop, I saw the groups of nativity sets,six in all, and zero’d in on one in particular that I really liked. I hesitated to ask... but I had to.

"How much?"

I expected to hear at least 85-95gc, since individual animal carvingssimilar to this ranged from 5-10gc each and this nativity set had the hut(barn), the three wise men, Mary & Joseph, a shepherd, a camel, an angel, 2sheep, a goat/cow/pig something, and of course, Baby Jesus... all carved, allindividual pieces.

He said “How much you pay?”

I told him that the gift shop at our hotel had one for 40,and should he be willing to let me have this one for 35, I would seal the dealright then and there.

When he accepted without a counteroffer, I was shocked. I proceeded to yellfor Josh, since he had our pouch with my money and his. Not the most convenient system when you’reshopping. While waiting for him, Tiafound the purchase for her mom, and I picked up one for myself as well.

In no time, Joshua showed up, led by another vendor whoplayed it smart by going to find Joshua, since he knew that the less time wewere held up in this one shop, the more time we’d have to visit his. Innovative, really!

Joshua had made a few small purchases of his own, all forreasonable prices. He handled theshopping brilliantly, I was so proud of him! Perhaps, though, he didn’t buy more because it was just too much of ahassle? :D

Tia and I tried to leave the shop, and were swarmed by whatreminded us of a nasty mosquito cloud of hungry vendors ready to suck yourblood like fiends until you swatted them away.

Somehow, we reconnected with Debra, who, after getting herkids’ gifts engraved, had also picked up the 8 unity statues from the firstvendor. She then took off in search offabric. We hoped to see her again. Somehow, in a place like this, it was hard totell...

In one shop, Tia found a bandana cloth with a blue paintingof an African village. She took off hersunglasses and her own bandana to make sure it would fit. It did. She purchased it, put her own bandana back on, and left.

Nearly done, we re-checked our list, did a bit more shoppingin what was beginning to feel like a chaotic blur, and ended up with just onemore item to get (a flag) while we waited for our last (?!) purchase to getengraved.

While we waited, we returnedto see Divine at shop #96 and ended up picking up what we had admired earlier,as well as paying him for the three items he had already provided us with. He threw in two African drum Christmasornaments, and gave us his business card. We didn’t realize then how important the business card would turn out tobe!

Debra resurfaced with some wild stories of her own. She was hoping to buy two dolls, but wouldn’tpay more than 20gc each. One vendoroffered her a pair of small dolls, but insisted on 50gc for the pair. As she continued to refuse, other vendorsrushed in with their pairs of dolls, and she finally said, out loud, “Whoever cansell me two dolls for 40gc total gets my purchase!” Another vendor shoved two large dolls in herdirection, which she immediately accepted, making the initial vendor quiteupset with her. Oh well :o)

We were quite a sight... Feeling more than ready to leave, but still waiting for my purchases tobe engraved, we made one more effort to find the Ghana flag. We resorted to asking the vendor, knowing itcould bring on another onslaught of “help” we weren’t prepared to fend off, butthe thought of walking back through all the stores to find a flag didn’t appealto us either.

God showed us great mercy – the very shop owner whose shopwe were in had flags, they were tucked in a tiny area and we hadn’t seen them.

The problem, though, was that he wanted 20gc each. The negotiating terms were simple... we held out the last of our smaller bills –24gc total between Tia and I, and said “we need two flags, but this is all wehave left”. The vendors who had beenshadowing us like vultures, realizing this was their last opportunity for asale, ran off in search of flags. Theycame back with 3’x5’ flags they offered us for 24gc a pair, but we wanted small flags, maybe 18” tall, and 2-3”wide, whatever the proper flag ratio is.

The vendor we’d been with had small flags, but they were made withsuperior fabric, hence the higher price.

He tried to counteroffer with a higher price, but we stated, over andover again, that this is all we had, we were done.

Finally, reluctantly, he agreed, but we could tell he was alittle disappointed. We felt bad aboutthat, but having made other purchases in his store, we knew that it would allbalance out. He still made a profit.

The other vendorsdidn’t give up. “Come here, you promisedyou’d visit my shop.” “You haven’t evenlooked at my store yet, let me show you what I have for you, I will give youspecial price.” Some were so pushy, and their lack of personal boundariesdidn’t help... it was, at times,sickening to deal with. I don’t knowwhat kind of buyer they were trying to attract, but it wasn’t impressing us onebit.

We explained we had no money left, they persisted.

As we were leaving, Frog Man held out the frogs, and I askedJoshua what his thoughts were. Headvised me to pick up one of them, but we knew if we pulled out more money,we’d have to scramble outta there before we were sucked back into the pressurecooker vortex once again.

Josh had some small bills in his pocket. Frog Man told us 6gc. We didn’t think the frog was exceptionalenough for that, we said 4gc. He refused. We said 5gc, right here, right now, finaloffer, let’s get this over with... and the frog became ours.

Don’t quite know what the final score was, but I knew we hadcome away with an unforgettable cultural experience, some groans and laughs toswap and share, and a handful of treasures for our loved ones back home.

As we left, we realized that we hadn’t had the presence ofmind to take one single photo. That wasone of only 2 disappointments during this entire trip... can’t complain, really!

Given that the poor Nichols had waited for usso patiently, we weren’t about to go back and rile up the vendors evenmore.

Then, as we drove through traffic in the mid-day sun, Tiarealized that when she had tried on the bandana, she had set down hersunglasses, which had been resting on her head, and had forgotten them at thatshop. They were a cheap pair, but itwould have been nice to have them for the rest of the trip.

Back at the hotel, we poured out our loot onto our beds andswapped more stories as we showed each other what we purchased. Excited about the nativity set, I laid it allout, checking out each piece one by one as I picked them up out of thebag.

Except, wait... wherewas Baby Jesus? No Baby Jesus?! What?

We couldn’t have a nativity set without Jesus. I mean, seriously. Seriously?

We wondered if it may have been in the back of the Nichols’vehicle, having perhaps fallen out of the bag.
We texted them to give them a heads up.

Another possibility was that the vendor hadn’t put it in thebag to begin with.

I knew from having looked through many items at the shopsthat they didn’t sell Baby Jesus individually. If I approached the vendor, would he simply think I was lying and hadlost Baby Jesus? How would we get backthere?

The next morning, after we visited with George Achibra andthe head of the anti-trafficking unit in Ghana, we decided to head back to themarket by taxi. George Sr. had been toldabout our predicament, and made us promise to call him “as soon as we foundJesus”. We joked, albeit seriously, thatit was against our religion to go anywhere without Jesus – so we simply had tofind him.

The problem was that the Nichols were gone, and we didn’treally know where this place was. Thevendors and markets were *everywhere* in Ghana. To ask the taxi to take us to “the Africa market” would have gotten usdropped off anywhere, and the risk of being dropped off anywhere in thevicinity of the Niagara Inn was enough to keep us looking for a solution.

Finally, it came to me... Divine’s business card. Mr. #96to the rescue!

I grabbed the bowl I had bought, put the incomplete nativityset into it, and stuffed it into my bag as everyone got ready to leave. The first taxi we hailed didn’t know wherethe market was, but the second one did. We negotiated the taxi price first, which we had been taught to do, andwe all took off for round #2 of our adventures at the Africa market.

The vendors were shocked to see us return so soon. Word spread so quickly, it was ratherstrange. Divine came out of hisalleyway, welcomed me back with a hug, and told me that he had found Tia’ssunglasses and had set them aside for her. Amazing. We told him we’d be atshop #62 where we had bought the nativity set – we explained why, and told himwe couldn’t leave Africa without Jesus – we couldn’t go anywhere without him,you know? He smiledunderstandingly.

Meanwhile, Tia had found Morgan, the vendor at shop #62, andas soon as she explained the issue, he asked her which set it was, sheidentified the type of wood it was made of, and he provided us with BabyJesus.

All was well again..

Somehow, Tia ended up going to a shop in the back alley, oneshe hadn’t been to the day before. Apparently, the guy had been “promised” that she’d visit his shop, andshe hadn’t... so she reluctantly agreed.

The nativity shop person asked if I needed anything else,but having already spent much in his shop, even though I was very grateful, Iwas reluctant to consider another purchase. As I was looking at his bowls again, though, an idea came to me, and Ijumped on it. While he was taking careof that for me, the vendors had already begun gathering outside his shop, readyto pounce.

Since Tia wasn’t back yet, I decided to ask if they had anyOware games that had the seventh hole for each player. They bolted, and boomerang’d back to me sofast it was almost cartoon like, each with their own Oware game to wow mewith. Some brought the versions withonly six holes, and tried to persuade me that this was what I wanted. I firmly told them I was not interested inthose. A few had brought some with the seventh hole, but they were verylarge and would have been too big to bring home, never mind too expensive.

I was ready to give up, but one more vendor arrived, and assoon as I saw what he had brought, I knew I was interested, but had a feelingthe price would be too high. He showedme the features, which included the seventh hole on each side, plus a place toput away all the seeds. I really likedit, and loved the wood it was made with, but wasn’t sure about paying the pricethey had given us.

I counteroffered, they didn’t budge.

I counteroffered again, no go.

Once more, a little higher... they still stuck to their original offer.

The vendor negotiating with me was the brother of Morgan atshop #62, from whom Tia and I had bought the nativity as well as other items. As I listened to the negotiations andconversations between him and his brother, the more I realized twothings... larger, more special/uniqueitems were harder to negotiate, because they weren’t a dime a dozen... the vendors knew that if you wanted one, youhad to do it through them, as no other shop had one like it. The other thing I realized was that given allthe business we had given his brother, and also because his brother had toldhim to, he had given us his “best price” from the beginning. The lowest possible price he could go.

Out of appreciation for having been given a Baby Jesus forour nativity without hassle, and the provision of the lowest price he’d go, wepaid the asking price and started to leave. Again.

Tia came around the corner and said “COME, quick, you *have*to see this...” That look on her face israre, I knew it had to have been something special. She had found a metal sculpture/statue of awoman lifting a tiny baby up over her head in celebration, praise, respect anddelight, and it had struck a chord with her unlike anything else she had seenat the market thus far. If they knew howbadly she wanted it, they could have doubled their price. Thankfully, they gave her a reasonable priceto begin with, and after minor negotiations, the statue was hers.

We were done.

Again.

Or so we thought.

Welcome to the Africa Market.

Joshua, who had found a Bob Marley t-shirt he liked, pulledme to the vendor’s shop.

The shirt vendor tried to tell me that the special price of65gc for the shirt was a special price for Joshua because he and Joshua werenow “best friends”. Uhm, 65gc is your“best friend” price?

I wasn’t about to sit there and draw this out forhours. I grabbed the shirt, stormed out andordered the vendor to come with me to the judge and jury. He had no choice but to follow Joshua and Ito where Debra and Tia were sitting at the stairs leading back to the mainroad, waiting for us.

I held up the shirt, reminded them that Joshua hadn’t gottenmuch for himself the day before and asked them what their thoughts were on the price. Joshua’s opinion was no more than 35gc. Debra and Tia said 25gc, max. We turned to the vendor and said 25gc. He didn’t like that at all, not one bit, andsaid 40gc... it is batik, it is special.

Debra was incredulous at his statement, and jumped all overit. “Just because you took a whitet-shirt and tie-dyed it doesn’t make it special. We can just as easily do that back home."

He insisted on 40gc.

Fuming, Debra firmly told him in her best no nonsense voice“You know all too well that 40gc is ridiculous.”

His response left us wondering what in the world she haddone to him... “Yes, 40gc is ridiculous, I know.”

She howled, and said “Fine, then, we agree. So, how about 25gc.”

Upset that he had slipped, he tried to haggle the price somemore, but just because of his outrageous tactics, we refused to give in much,in the end settling for 26gc. He was notamused.

There was only one more thing to find... an extra bag of ebony seeds for one of ourOware games. One of the vendors who hadbeen harassing us was still nearby, so we asked if he would sell us some. He lit up, ran to get a bag of 48 as Iquickly followed him. We had it in ourminds that it would cost 1-3gc at most.

Whenhe told me his price, I grabbed the bag and ran to the rest of the team, whowere still waiting on the steps.

I asked them to guess how much he wanted for the seeds.

Debra said 1gc.

Knowing the look on my face, Tia guessed 10gc.

I shook my head.

Joshua guessed 20gc.

I told them that the vendor must have thought we had gonecompletely mad if he thought for a moment we’d take his price seriously.

30gc.

For a bag of tree seeds they picked off the groundsomewhere.

Seriously.

Not.Going.To.Happen!

We all burst out laughing. He couldn’t possibly be seriously that desperate, to think that we’dfall for that.

We had paid 12.50gc forour Oware game yesterday that came with 48 seeds, PLUS an extra 10 in case somegot lost.

We told him this.

He insisted, his attitude worsening by the minute. He didn’t like to deal with obrunis who hadexperience at these games.

Debra told him she’d give him what they were worth. He asked what she thought her price mightbe...

She didn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t give you more than 1gc forthat bag of beans.”

We couldn’t believe our ears when he told us he was stayingat his price of 30gc.

I stood up and said “They didn’t cost you anything, the treegave them to you willingly. In fact,never mind – I’ll pick some up myself in the bush before I pay 30gc for these!”

He tried to insist that they did cost him something, so Isaid “I hate to tell you this, but your tree ripped you off, then. Here, keep your seeds, and I’m going to gofind them from someone else whose tree gave them a more reasonable deal.”

Debra and Tia said he was stunned and didn’t know how torespond from the shock of having been put back in his place.

I found the vendor where I had bought the necklace and Owaregames the day before, with only 3gc in my hand. I explained that I had made purchases there the day before, proved it,and asked how much for an extra set of seeds. They thought about it, and said “Would 3gc be OK?”

I grinned and said “It’s exactly what I have left.”

As we counted the seeds out, they asked what had brought usto Ghana, and I shared our story with them. They took down our information, hoping to be able to volunteer here inGhana as well.

I thanked them, and made my way back to where the rest ofthe crew was waiting, and we climbed the steps and hailed another taxi so thatwe could leave.

Perfect end to a perfect outing... or was it?

Unfortunately, we had once again forgotten to take photos.

While at lunch, I asked Debra what her thoughts were onreturning JUST for photos, and she understood my madness. We had to get a visual of this to placealongside the words... not just for ourselves, but for everyone else.

Even though we knew... we already knew... it would simplyNEVER do it justice.

As you can see, we went back. And the photos still don't tell the story... but maybe, maybe along with the words, it will offer a more complete visual.

We returned for the photos without any purses or wallets sothat we wouldn’t be harassed. Not surprisingly,their sense of observation is very acute, that’s how they survive in thishighly competitive field... No oneattempted to hawk anything to us. Notone vendor.

We quietly took our photos, and left.

______________________________________

Previous Updates:
Day 1 -- Ticket Revoked?
Night 1 -- Altitude 0m
Day 2 -- The Adventure Continues
Day 3 -- (Pre-Posted) Dear Ato Sam
Day 3 -- Enyan Abaasa (Meeting Ato Sam)
Day 4 -- Precious
Day 4 -- (Pre-Posted) Double The Joy
Day 4 -- George & George (Meeting the twins)
Day 5 -- Back To Accra
Day 5 -- I Like Tacos!
Day 6 -- "Bobble Boobs"
Day 7 -- Breaking Ground
Day 7 -- Life In Kete Krachi
Day 7 -- Beyond The Surface
Day 8 -- Face To Face With Slavery
Day 8 -- Rooster Boy
Day 10 -- Bittersweet Rescue
Day 10 -- Tasting The Joy Of Freedom

Ghana: Day 10 -- Tasting The Joy Of Freedom

2011-11-18T03:59:00.001-04:00

It had been hours, and we had not yet heard this young boy's voice. Unusual for us to see a child so quiet, especially surrounded by boisterous children his age.

We were still concerned about Innocence's fever, but knew that she'd be taken to a medical clinic the following day.

In time, though, he began to smile... the transformation was nothing short of magnificent, such an incredible gift for us to see, so soon after his rescue.

The best, though, was saved for last... just before we left, this was the scene we saw before us -- a boy being goofy and silly and learning to taste the joy of freedom.

Patrick, sitting silly in his seat, giant steps closer to being a typical, fun-loving boy.

When we came to say goodbye, he ran to us with the other kids, talking to them, translating things for them, and our hearts rejoiced in seeing him fit in so well, not having been able to tell that just yesterday, he had been a child slave, and today was the beginning of his freedom.

Please continue to pray for Innocence's health and adjustment period... and for the children still awaiting their turn.

________________________________

Previous Updates:
Day 1 -- Ticket Revoked?
Night 1 -- Altitude 0m
Day 2 -- The Adventure Continues
Day 3 -- (Pre-Posted) Dear Ato Sam
Day 3 -- Enyan Abaasa (Meeting Ato Sam)
Day 4 -- Precious
Day 4 -- (Pre-Posted) Double The Joy
Day 4 -- George & George (Meeting the twins)
Day 5 -- Back To Accra
Day 5 -- I Like Tacos!
Day 6 -- "Bobble Boobs"
Day 7 -- Breaking Ground
Day 7 -- Life In Kete Krachi
Day 7 -- Beyond The Surface
Day 8 -- Face To Face With Slavery
Day 8 -- Rooster Boy
Day 10 -- Bittersweet Rescue
Day 10 -- Tasting The Joy Of Freedom

Ghana: Day 10 -- Bittersweet Rescue

2011-11-17T06:19:00.001-04:00

As we came around the gentle bend of the island's shoreline, recognition hit me -- I knew where we were, even though we had only been there once before, just two days prior. Then again, how could we forget?

The last time, we had walked to the shore from within the island, but this time, we approached the shoreline by boat, praying that this would be the day that the slave masters would agree to release the child slaves whose freedom we had fought so hard for.

At first look, we didn't see them, just a few adults. Would they cause issues? Were they waiting for us? The woman kept looking to the trail behind her. Had the children hidden from us?

Then, a flash of turquoise moved from beyond the tall grass... it was him, it was Patrick*, one of the three child slaves we had negotiated for.

Two more children followed, along with their slave master. Who was the third child, a girl? We hadn't seen her when we were here on Saturday, why was she here this morning?

The three children waited quietly, staring at us while we continued the negotiations for the release of Patrick and Innocence*. Given that the other girl had come with a yellow bucket, we were surprised not to see her working as her slave master continued to talk with George Jr. and our team.

Looking into those children's faces broke my heart. The uncertainty, the mistrust, the inability to communicate with them and ask them what was going through their minds right in that moment... all we could do was comfort them without words, through kind eyes and a compassionate demeanor, until, God willing, they were released to us.

Still aboard our own boat, we were too far to reach out to them.

Without warning, the tides turned to our favor... we were asked to find paper and something to write with, as the slave master was agreeing to provide us with the children's information -- their full names, their ages, where they had been trafficked from, their parents' names.

Last but not least, we had to obtain the price that had originally been paid by the slave master to "purchase" them -- oh, how my heart wrings itself sick just speaking those words... one should not be able to purchase a child as though they were a dishwasher, a machine, a piece of property... Lord, what has humanity come to, that precious children should be bought and sold like commodities?

The price paid for these children by the slave masters?

150 Ghana cedis each, which is the rough equivalent of $100 USD per child.

My heart further broke... knowing that these children provided labor for these slave masters for at least three years... 14+ hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, no sick days, no time off, no rest, no love, no nurturing, no education... nothing received in return but pain and suffering... and the price placed on this was less than $33 a year each.

My head was swimming, my stomach was turning, and had it not been for the fact that things were happening so fast and I did not want to miss one moment, I would have leaned overboard and proceeded to throw up.

All of a sudden, a set of strong arms grabbed Innocence and swiftly lifted her into the boat. The sudden move took us by surprise, leaving us stepping back to make room so that she wouldn't be overwhelmed. Debra grabbed her and held on to her, and she began to cry, understandably afraid and overwhelmed. The relief of freedom is never immediate for children released from slavery. It is a process, a transformation, a healing.

We continued to watch to see if Patrick would be released to us as well.

It didn't take long for them to finish negotiating his release, and he, too, was freed onto us.

Tia, holding Patrick's hand. He seemed more at ease.

As we thanked the slave master and pulled away with both children on board, my heart couldn't help but think of the third child, a girl, having been left behind.

Her situation was just as desperate, yet, this was not the day she would be released. Would she now do the work of three?

Although I know that this is a long process that must be handled sensitively as to be sustainable and successful in breaking this cycle rather than simply putting a bandaid on a fatal wound, it still hurts to the core to leave a child behind, much less the estimated 7000 children still held in slavery on these islands.

Looking into her eyes then, and even now in this photograph, I can't help but ask questions I will never know the answer to on this side of heaven:

What is going through her mind, seeing two children granted freedom, while she isn't lifted "over the fence", as Shaun Groves so aptly put it...

Jesus, come quickly. These children... please come.

Our boat returned to where we had initially came ashore two days ago, the place where we had seen children scramble into the woods in terror.

Since we now had two rescued children on board, we volunteered to stay behind with them, as it was not wise to walk back onto the island with them, placing their rescue into jeopardy. Tia and the German lady opted to stay behind to continue to comfort the children and keep them safe.

We had come prepared to minister to even more children we made our way to where Richard* was being held. This precious little girl received one of our dresses, and while she was a little timid and perhaps afraid of us, she clutched her dress tightly, and we hoped that the cheerful design would brighten her days a little.

Since I remembered where Richard was being held, I hung back from the rest of the group until all children had received either new shorts/boxers or a pillowcase dress. The mothers made sure each child was tended to -- at least this way, we were able to leave no child behind... every child was made to feel special and receive something. Several older girls walked along with me as I left to rejoin the rest of the group, where the negotiations had already begun.

The team sat in the shade, surrounded by curious onlookers, as they sat across from the man in the pale striped shirt, Richard's slave master.

At first, I sat in and observed the negotiations going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...

Seeing that it would take longer than usual, I turned my attention to the children who had begun to surround our group. One particular baby, with her naked and dirty body and her big curious eyes, made me wish I had a bucket of clean water to gently wash her with -- I so would have, right then, right there.

I could have gotten lost into her beautiful dark eyes, so shiny, so alert, so attentive.

We had smaller dresses, so I handed her one, and she clutched it in her arms, never breaking her intense gaze.

As other children saw the dress being handed out, they quietly but persistently and curiously gathered closer to us in hopes of receiving one too.

We handed out candy to waiting hands, as well as dresses and shorts to children whose clothes were either threadbare, or missing altogether.

This little naked boy was so sweet and precious, he grabbed his shorts, showed them to all his friends, and rather than put them on excitedly as the other children had, he continued to walk around, baring it all.

So thankful that these children don't suffer from sunburns... :o)

The negotiations continued as the children continued to warm up to us, but it did not sound very promising. So many lies being told to us, so much deceit, so many tangled webs to untangle.

All the dresses and shorts having been handed out, I stood up in search of the little naked boy, so that I could help him put his new shorts on. It seemed too late, he was already wandering off with his friend -- still unclothed.

A few of the girls stood by, eating the candy we had given them. The girl on the left recognized me from Saturday, and followed me around everywhere. Her skin was flaky and dry, little spots covering her entire body. I wondered what would cause that, and whether or not it caused her any discomfort.

Nearby, in the shade of a home across from where the negotiations were taking place, a few mothers and a group of children had gathered to observe us. They talked excitedly among themselves while tending to their babies and young children. This girl wasn't too sure what to think of us "obruni".

This mother was so gentle spoken with her children, and spent most of her time breastfeeding her little girl while we interacted with her and the children.

This sweet baby did not take kindly to us being there, and proceed to burst into screams and tears each time we approached, which sadly made the mothers burst into laughter. It was bittersweet entertainment. I had hoped that in time, she would grow a little more comfortable with our presence, but short of coming toward me as I extended my water bottle to her, she kept her distance.

Meanwhile, her brother sat quietly nearby, watching everything calmly as it unfolded.

This baby was watching us too, but unlike the other babies, she was gazing at us without an ounce of fear. Dare I approach?

Much to my delight, the little girl reached back as I reached out to her. This time, the tears were mine. See her tiny, beautiful toes?

Her mother graciously allowed me to hold her. Ahhh, bliss... she melted into my arms like butter. Nothing quite like a tiny, precious baby content in our arms. The only thing missing was Tia, she would have loved to have a turn holding baby Leah. I wondered how she and the rescued children were doing back at the boat, waiting for us all this time in the heat.

The negotiations were still under way, but it looked more and more as though we wouldn't be taking Richard with us this time. Lord have mercy on these children...

After what seemed like an eternity and yet just the blink of an eye, the negotiations were over and it was confirmed that they would not yet release Richard to us this time, asking us to come back once more.

So frustrating.

We said our goodbyes to the children and mothers we had spent time with.

The little girls, now wearing their dresses, smiled for us as we began to leave.

The boys, no longer sceptical of us, began to pose for the classic silly photos all children love!

The girl we had seen cleaning fish when we had first arrived was still hard at work... such endless work for these children, both girls and boys... such a hard life all around, for everyone here.

This smiley boy was the sweetest, most gentle boy I came across on the island. He tenderly held my hand and smiled at me constantly with not only his smile, but with his eyes, as we walked back toward the boat. I gave him the longest hug.

I got to hold a few more babies as we walked across the last of the group of mud homes.

Back on the boat, Innocence was resting quietly in Tia's arms, while the boat operator waited for us.

Tia has such a comforting mother's touch, all children gravitate to her for comfort, calm, and playfulness too.

Nearby, Patrick watched us quietly, deep in thought.

We stopped by George Sr.'s home on the way to the Village Of Life to introduce the children to him and celebrate their freedom together.

Back at the Village Of Life, we offered the children lunch. Innocence quietly ate two bananas, but barely touched the rest of her food. She was warm to the touch and didn't seem to be feeling well. We suspected she had a fever, her tiny body fighting off something. She was lethargic and unresponsive.

Patrick ate a little more, seeming more and more to come out of his shell. We saw him smile once or twice... a hesitant grin, but one nonetheless.

Although the children were now in the arms of safety, they were not yet out of the woods. Healing would take months, even years. What they'd been through would have to come to the point of peace, and that process would be long and difficult.

Providing for the rescue was one thing, but providing for the children financially for the rest of their childhood was another entirely. Each rescue is a commitment and a responsibility to that child. Children at the Village Of Life are provided for through sponsorship, and all sponsorships are done through the Touch A Life Foundation in the U.S. at a cost of roughly $150 / month.

By the time we were ready to leave the Village of Life mid-afternoon, we felt as though our day had lasted a lifetime. We were emotionally spent, exhausted, but also overwhelmed with gratitude that these two had finally tasted freedom and would now have the opportunity to reach their full potential.

Still, our joy was bittersweet.

We couldn't forget this face.

The celebration, joy and peace won't be complete without his release and that of the other 7000 children like him on Lake Volta... not to mention the 37 million modern day slaves currently in captivity worldwide.

What can you do?

1. Pray.
2. Respond.

Prevent slavery by sponsoring a child through Compassion International -- simply click on the Sponsorship Photo in the header of this page.
Send a donation to Touch A Life Foundation in the U.S.
Support those ministering to the needs of these children.
Research the products you buy (chocolate, for example) ensuring that they do not perpetuate the issue of human trafficking. How many slaves are working for you? Find out more by taking the Slavery Footprint Survey today.
Spread the word. So many people do not realize that slavery is worse today than it's ever been.
Get involved. Knowing is not enough -- act on what you know. Be the hands and feet of Christ.

______________________________________

Other Updates:
Day 1 -- Ticket Revoked?
Night 1 -- Altitude 0m
Day 2 -- The Adventure Continues
Day 3 -- (Pre-Posted) Dear Ato Sam
Day 3 -- Enyan Abaasa (Meeting Ato Sam)
Day 4 -- Precious
Day 4 -- (Pre-Posted) Double The Joy
Day 4 -- George & George (Meeting the twins)
Day 5 -- Back To Accra
Day 5 -- I Like Tacos!
Day 6 -- "Bobble Boobs"
Day 7 -- Breaking Ground
Day 7 -- Life In Kete Krachi
Day 7 -- Beyond The Surface
Day 8 -- Face To Face With Slavery
Day 8 -- Rooster Boy
Day 10 -- Bittersweet Rescue
Day 10 -- Tasting The Joy Of Freedom

Ghana: Day 7 -- Life in Kete Krachi

2011-11-16T06:08:00.001-04:00

While in Kete Krachi, we stayed at the Credit Union guest house, a popular choice for out of town guests. While the guest house itself seemed modern at first sight, the accomodations were still somewhat primitive. There was no running water, and while there was an air conditioning unit in one of our rooms, it did not work.

I longed to scrub the bathroom such as I do back home (it's the mom in me, what can I say?), but without running water, cleaner and a scrub brush, it was nearly impossible.

Each evening, as we came home from our time with the children and our walks along the main road in Kete Krachi, we took one bucket of water from the hallway of the guest house, and took it into our room so that we could take turns taking bucket baths in the tiny bathroom stall at the guest house.

While the bucket baths with cool water were refreshing, the fresh feeling didn't last long in the musty, dusty, humid, and hot guest house room. Still, it felt like home, and thoughts of being back in North America were far, far away. It was important for me to stay in the moment and take in every morsel of time here while my feet were on this soil.

It's one thing to read about being here in Africa, but another entirely to breathe in the dirt and dust that layers everything in sight with a thin brown orange film. Poverty can almost be tasted everywhere you go, and the scents, the sights, the taste, burn into your heart forever as they become a part of your newfound perspective.

We enjoyed taking walks down to the main road in Kete Krachi, which was where the vendors sold their goods out in the open.

View facing the direction of the Village Of Life.

Below, the view in the direction of Lake Volta.

Around the corner from the hotel was a tiny little stand we walked to in order to treat ourselves to the occasional Coca Cola for 60 Ghana pesawas. The Muslim store owner, a Muslim woman who may have been in her late 30's or early 40's, began anticipating our visits after the first few days, sometimes asking where the rest of our group was when only one or two of us would show up. We had to drink our drinks at the store, since they send the bottles back for refilling. Joshua managed to convince her to let him buy one empty bottle to take back home as a souvenir.

We soon found another small stand that sold fresh baked bread, and one that sold fabric. We even found a stand that sold general items, including school notebooks with a picture of Obama on the front cover!

Behind our hotel was a slum where dozens of children gathered amidst garbage and livestock. While we were waiting to be picked up on Friday afternoon, I suggested to the team that we give one of our extra soccer balls to these children so that they could share and play with it together. The ball they had been playing with, likely given to them by a previous traveller, was very low on air, so we brought the pump and filled it up again, much to their delight.

Then, we entertained them, as they entertained us. They wanted their photos taken, and they wanted to see those photos on the back of our cameras... so for nearly half an hour, that's just what we did as we played with them, held babies, and loved on these children for those brief moments.

I got to hold this precious baby ever so briefly, until he began to realize that something was different... I was an obruni, and he didn't like that very much. I returned him to his sister who was caring for him.

Silly photos, it seems, are universal when photographing children anywhere in the world. I loved this, and from the cheers when they each took turns looking at the photo on the back of my camera, so did they!

This boy was carrying a heavy cooler on his head, and seemed proud of being asked to pose this photo.

Tia and Debra, buried in a sea of beautiful brown faces!

This little girl was SO beautiful, and so quiet!

She loved to have her photo taken, and kept posing in various places. So sweet!

All too soon, our time with these children came to an end as our drive arrived, but our time with them was carried in our hearts long after those moments ended. This was one of the many highlights of our time in Kete Krachi.

______________________________________

Previous Updates:
Day 1 -- Ticket Revoked?
Night 1 -- Altitude 0m
Day 2 -- The Adventure Continues
Day 3 -- (Pre-Posted) Dear Ato Sam
Day 3 -- Enyan Abaasa (Meeting Ato Sam)
Day 4 -- Precious
Day 4 -- (Pre-Posted) Double The Joy
Day 4 -- George & George (Meeting the twins)
Day 5 -- Back To Accra
Day 5 -- I Like Tacos!
Day 6 -- "Bobble Boobs"
Day 7 -- Breaking Ground
Day 7 -- Beyond The Surface
Day 8 -- Face To Face With Slavery

Ghana: Day 7 -- Breaking Ground

2011-11-16T05:11:00.001-04:00

Coming to Ghana has been much like giving birth...

In March of 2011, we had an expected due date for this miracle... November of 2011. The wait was long but filled with wonder and amazing experiences as we prepared for what was to come.

Perhaps our "labor" (sans epidural, alas) was the passage to Ghana via United Airlines. Or, more fittingly, stalled labor. United needed a massive dose of virtual pitocin, it seems, because the miles we walked through the airport didn't seem to be helping!!

Learning that we had reached our fundraising goal for the school was much like seeing our miracle on ultrasound and hearing the heartbeat for the first time... it made it all the more real.

Arriving in Ghana was like a beautiful birth, the receiving of the miracle. Our days spent with our Compassion children seemed like such a time of welcoming and celebration, fitting for the journey we were on.

Now, the hard work begins -- we raise this miracle to the full potential it was created for.

The bricks were awaiting, the sand piled and ready.

We held a ground breaking ceremony for the new school construction at the Village Of Life on November 11th, 2011, the day we aptly remember and appreciate not only our freedom, but the cost of that freedom and all those who have given their lives to secure it.

The older children came out to mark the occasion with songs and drumming. The sound of their rich voices blending together with the African drumming was glorious.

The smallest of children were invited to take a break from their class work and join in the celebration. They did not need a second invitation as they began to gather around us, breaking into joyful dance.

We have a video of one of their songs, but until we have a more stable internet connection, we will simply share the photos.

The priest of the local church, Father Joseph, blessed the site of the future construction with water -- water in Africa signifies life. Blocks were set with strings to outline where the building would be constructed.

We took turns breaking ground with a pick axe we had been provided. What a feeling it was to dig into the soil that would soon provide beyond measure for the children's futures.

While plunging the axe into the soil three times, I'm trying to imagine having to work with one of these axes in the blistering heat of the mid-day sun, as it covers the feet in the dirt and dust that it is kicking up. All with limited access to running water and showers. Sure puts my office job in perspective back home, in the comfort of cleanliness and air conditioning. These people work SO hard.

Soon, the ground we broke together will give way to a building much like this, where children fill the classrooms, laughter can be heard, learning is prized and attained and the cycle of poverty will continue to crumble under the weight of hope.

First set of classrooms originally built at the Village Of Life.

The inside of one of the classrooms.

Current lessons on the board.

Seeing all these children gathered in the classes was incredibly beautiful.

As much as we wanted to stay, we were too much of a distraction to them at that moment, so we left them in their teachers' hands so that classes could resume in peace.

Joshua, who enjoys Minecraft, a video game that includes the use of this tool (virtually, of course), begged for a turn with the axe when the ceremony was finished. George took pride in teaching him how to do this... he is such a great father figure in the lives of all the children he encounters, even mine.

"Hey, mom, this will make a great Facebook photo for my friends to see!" :o) -- Joshua, 13

____________________________________

Previous Updates:
Day 1 -- Ticket Revoked?
Night 1 -- Altitude 0m
Day 2 -- The Adventure Continues
Day 3 -- (Pre-Posted) Dear Ato Sam
Day 3 -- Enyan Abaasa (Meeting Ato Sam)
Day 4 -- Precious
Day 4 -- (Pre-Posted) Double The Joy
Day 4 -- George & George (Meeting the twins)
Day 5 -- Back To Accra
Day 5 -- I Like Tacos!
Day 6 -- "Bobble Boobs"
Day 7 -- Breaking Ground

Ghana: Day 8 -- Rooster Boy

2011-11-16T04:45:00.001-04:00

Even though our time on the islands of Lake Volta were difficult, God provided us with bits of humor to bring smiles to our faces.

As we were making our way through the island, Tia walked past a young boy carrying a rooster. The boy, surprised to see an "obruni", kept looking back at Tia as she walked away, not realizing that Joshua and I were about to cross paths with him as well.

As he turned and began to walk toward us again, he was chuckling and holding his rooster closely, still unaware that we were close by, watching.

Imagine this young boy's shock as he looked up and saw a nearly 6' tall 13 year old "obruni" standing there, towering over him. I have little doubt that had we videotaped his full response, the video would have gone completely viral on YouTube. This photo is a fraction of what we saw as he froze in suspended shock and nearly dropped his prized rooster.

Joshua and I were doubled over in boisterous laughter, barely able to catch our breath. It didn't take long for this boy to feel at ease and begin to laugh with us.

As he approached me and saw the camera, he turned into a total ham, holding up his rooster so that I could take this photograph.

There is an unanswered question, though, one that Debra brought up.

What in the world is he carrying in his underwear?? We may never know.

_______________________________

Previous Updates:

Day 1 -- Ticket Revoked?

Night 1 -- Altitude 0m

Day 2 -- The Adventure Continues

Day 3 -- (Pre-Posted) Dear Ato Sam

Day 3 -- Enyan Abaasa (Meeting Ato Sam)

Day 4 -- Precious

Day 4 -- (Pre-Posted) Double The Joy

Day 4 -- George & George (Meeting the twins)

Day 5 -- Back To Accra

Day 5 -- I Like Tacos!

Day 6 -- "Bobble Boobs"

Day 7 -- Breaking Ground

Day 7 -- Life In Kete Krachi

Day 7 -- Beyond The Surface

Day 8 -- Face To Face With Slavery

Ghana: Day 8 -- Face To Face With Slavery

2011-11-16T02:13:00.001-04:00

It wasn’t that our body clock hadn’t yet adjusted.

No – it was midnight in Atlantic Canada andmerely 4am here in Ghana, but either way, I should have been fast asleep. Instead, I found myself prayerfullyanticipating what was to come. In a fewhours, we’d be heading out to the Lake Volta islands to see first hand thehuman cost of desperate poverty and child trafficking.

Even though it is early morning, the shore is already bustling with activity. Mothers gathering to wash clothes or bathe their children, merchants setting up for the day's work, and boats loading up with people and goods.

Every morning, this woman and her child can be seen doing

laundry and bathingon the shore of Kete Krachi.

Our boat arriving to take us to the islands.

At the shore, we were joined by our PACODEP team, as well asa German woman and man who were posted in Ghana for the year as assistantteachers. We boarded the boat in theearly Saturday morning hours, the sun rising on our backs as the coastlinefaded behind us.

It is a difficult feeling to describe. We’re here to see this situation with our owneyes, a situation we know exists... buteven though we’re here to report the truth of what is happening, we wantnothing more than to find no evidence, nothing to see... We want to come out onto the water and see nomore boats with exploited children, no more haunted eyes staring back at us aswe speak with their slave masters, no more children suffering unspeakablehorrors. We want to hear no more news of dead childrenfloating in the waters of Lake Volta, unidentified, unclaimed, unspokenfor.

Seeing it won’t make it any more real than turning our eyesaway will make this problem disappear.

We’re here because we stand behind His command to seek justice,love mercy and walk humbly. We’re herebecause He loves, and this is how we express His love to these children.

The first boat sighting turned out well – a local pastorwith a group of people. We lovedwatching George Jr. Interact with ease, relationships having long beenestablished with many of the people regularly on the lake.

It wasn’t long before a second boat was sighted, and withoutwords, we knew.

These two children are trafficked into slavery.

There were two boys in the boat, one in his late teens, one much younger, along with a man we knew was the slave master of both these boys.

Both boys were trafficked children, forced into slavery on Lake Volta, but the oldest one had been forced to become a team leader, which meant that not only was he a slave, but he was also acting on behalf of the slave master and forcing this younger child into slavery as well. Psychological brutality at its worst. Should the boy not comply, he wouldn’t be beaten by the slave master, but instead by this team leader, a fellow child slave and friend. All under the humiliating watch of the official slave master.

George Jr. Eased intodiscussions with the slave master and team leader, but the younger boy wouldnot speak.

We reached to him alongsidetheir boat, holding his hand and looking into his despondent eyes. To know that this young boy, likely not olderthan 11 or 12, had spent several years in these conditions, was heartshattering. To know that he was one of thousands on LakeVolta, and millions worldwide – there are no words... No words.

We had known from our research that there are currently moreslaves in the world than there has ever been, a number reaching past astaggering 37 million, at least half of which are vulnerable children like thisboy. We’re not even talking about childlabor, which is another atrocity in and of itself, but actual slavery.

Slavery.

Here.

Today.

Now.

It’s one thing to see and hear cold and impersonalstatistics, but when you come face to face with a precious child who is one in37 million, it becomes excruciatingly painful. Especially when there is little we could do for these two boysbut gather information, explain that we were working on their behalf, andcontinue to build relationship so that as soon the opportunity came, one orboth could be rescued.

It’s not as simple as plucking them both out of their boatand bringing them to safety on the mainland – doing so would jeopardize thenegotiations and rescue of thousands more children on the island.

Patience and grace must reign.

One cannot be saved at the cost ofthousands.

The process of negotiating and releasing children intofreedom’s awaiting arms must be done in a holistic, systemic way thateffectively combats slavery and poverty permanently without putting thechildren in danger. The single mostcomprehensive process for this is what is currently being done by the Touch A Life & PACODEPteam. We trusted in their vision andsuccess of teaching and assisting the slave masters in order to build trust andcommunity, and helping the slave master communities to break their cycle ofpoverty so that in turn, they will not depend on the children for survival. Through these efforts, little by little, we have seen their hearts change against this barbaric practice, one by one.

If seeing those three boys wasn’t difficult enough, the nextboat proved harder still.

We were notable to obtain the name or age of this boy, but the terror on his face as wespoke to his slave master said it all.

It wasn't until the look passed that I felt comfortable raising the camera to photograph him. I wondered what he was thinking in this moment... Was he asking himself silently if we knew his reality? Was he asking himself why we were here and why there was such a contrast between our demeanour and what he had been told about us?

Many of these children have been lied to, saying thatPACODEP is going to take them away and not feed them, that they are going toarrest the children or worse, and that they shouldn’t be trusted. They have also been warned in no uncertainterms that cooperating with anyone with PACODEP will bring severe punishmentonto the children.

I saw myself in this child’s eyes, I knew the look on hisface all too intimately. The situationmay have been different, but the manipulation, the control, the psychologicalwarfare, the damage, the terror... all strikingly similar.

We gave the boy some candy and spoke softly to him, holdinghis hand, looking into his terrified eyes with love and compassion, praying thathe would sense enough of this love and compassion to be comforted and feel hopethat we would be his voice and advocate on his behalf. We prayed for his protection as our boatpulled away, leaving him behind as our hearts broke once again.

Even three was too many – and to think there are millionsmore?

Each boat encounter became harder... each a personal accountof unthinkable suffering.

The next boathad one trafficked child who was quickly told to throw clothes on as they sawus steer in the direction of their boat. This was done in an attempt to hide the child’s overdeveloped muscles,but nothing could hide the expression we had come to know so quickly.

The next boat, two more young boys. We were able to interact more with the slavemaster this time, perhaps the fruit of earlier relationship building. We learned the boys’ names and approximateages, and were able to spend a little more time with them.

It was difficult to see one of the boys withhis back to us in a despondent social response to our presence.

When we first gave him candy, he tossed itaside, but as we opened some for him and placed individual pieces in his hand,realization reached his face that this was something for him, and that he’d begiven brief permission to stop working as we spoke to his slave master.

Boat after boat... many fleeing away from us as theyrealized they’d been spotted, knowing all too well that child trafficking isillegal, and yet taking part in it so brazenly... it was hard to digest.

And yet, we continued toward the islands.

George Achibra, Jr.

Prince Achibra (left).

Joshua, my 13 year old son.

One boat in particular raced us to the shore of an island,and we watched, stunned, as children scampered from the boat and fled into thewoods to hide. They’d obviously beentold lies about us, and it was heart wrenching to know that our presenceelicited such fear in these young children.

We pulled up to the shore and disembarked where the childrenhad scattered moments earlier.

Slave masters worked nearby, out in the open. It was a reminder that although they are a part of the situation, they are people too and need help to break this inhumane treatment of children. It's possible that they, too, were trafficked children back in their youth, never having received an education, and therefore never having had the opportunities and abilities to rise above the extreme poverty. If we don't reach out to them with compassion, who will?

In many ways, the slave masters, too, are victims of poverty. It's not enough to rescue the children if we don't also take the time to minister to the needs of the slave masters. That's part of our team's successful approach. Without this holistic process, the cycle of slavery and poverty will continue.

More importantly, though, our Master, Jesus, taught us to love these people as He would have. It'd be harder not to love them than it would be to turn our hearts from them.

One little girl had been on shore when we arrived, andstayed even as we approached. She was onlywearing a pair of tattered underwear, so we looked through the bag ofpillowcase dresses we had been given by our friend Gina, and gave her a blueone of her own. Her face lit up and shestood a little straighter as she wore it. It put a smile to our face after the emotions of the past few hours.

We proceeded to follow the trail leading from the shore andinto the island villages.

The poverty is unlike anything we see in America, where eventhe poorest of the poor are amongst the world’s richest.

Words would not do it justice... and while perhaps these photos help, unfortunately the beauty of them distracts from the reality -- something that is hard for me to accept as a photographer given the opportunity to offer a view into the lives of these people... I don't know that I can give it justice, through words, or through photos.

Attached parenting at its best :o)

As George Jr. and his team negotiated and networked with the locals, we ministered to the needs of the children in each village, handing out shorts and dresses, speaking life into the children, and praying blessings over their lives.

This boy also received new shorts.

One boy in particular, a child slave, was dressed inthreadbare and dirty yellow shorts that had more holes than a slice of Swisscheese. I couldn't shake the sense that in giving hima pair of new shorts, I should ask him to provide me his old pair, so that wecould have tangible proof of what we’d seen for those back home who hadsupported our efforts to not only build the school, but to also provideclothing for these children. The slavemaster’s family laughed at the sight of us taking back an old pair of shorts,but we weren't laughing – we understood the impact this would have backhome. Knowing that the yellow shorts hadbeen his only clothing, I provided him with a second pair of new shorts so thathe would at least have a change of clothes.

More dresses were given, more needs met, more children lovedas we walked from one group of homes to another.

The boy with the yellow shorts.

We had given this little girl a pair of shorts as we did not have all of our dresses

with us on this outing, but she loved the shorts and proceeded to wear them

and stick her hands into them :o)

Had I not known the name of this island, I would havethought it to be “Land of a million dragonflies” – they were everywhere alongour paths, playfully greeting us as we walked.

We came to the group of homes where the children who had runfrom us lived, and we found one child in particular, Richard*, to be in roughshape. Compared to other traffickedchildren sitting with him, his eyes were downcast and vacant, his skin dry, hiscountenance unsettling. As we managed toget some of the nearby child slaves to interact and laugh with us, he satquietly, unresponsive.

Nearby, toddlers watched us quietly. We wondered if they’d suffer the same fate asthe older boys, and it was too much to bear.

Did Jesus not warn the world against bringing harm tochildren? Did He not express His passionand love for children and command us to follow His example?

What will it take to awaken us out of our slumber? Is it that we feel it’s already too late, orthat we are incapable of overcoming evil? Accepting such lies will onlyperpetuate the darkness.

Negotiations continued for Richard, but the harvest wouldnot be ours today. They advised for usto come back Monday, and that Monday, they would release him to us. We knew this was common, and that their wordcouldn’t be trusted. We would returnMonday, but there would be no guarantees that Richard would be released or evenstill be alive.

Our team reached an inlet where a boat was aground and two youngchildren worked to untangle nets in the scorching sun.

At first glance, it appeared to be two boys,but the youngest of the two turned out to be a young girl, much to oursurprise. We will name them Patrick* & Innocence*.

Patrick*

The work of their hands didnot pause, even as the negotiations distracted their slave master. These young children had been worked to thebone and had little other choice but to continue at the same relentless pace.

To our surprise, the slavemaster also reluctantly agreed to release these two children to us the followingMonday. Sceptical by experience, buthopeful just the same, we shook hands, thanked them for their time, and beganto trek our way back to the opposite side of the island where our boat wasawaiting us.

The young girl who had been working the nets walked in frontof us in the direction of her home, where we prayed she would be allowed torest for a few hours in the comfort of the shade.

It was unusual to see a girl working in the fishing industry, as they are typically strictly used as domestic slaves, forced to care for the slave masters' homes, and, as they get older, many are forced into sex slavery.

Innocence*, led away by her slave master.

As she paused by the front door of themasters’ house, I motioned to my camera, asking her permission to take her photo.

She neither nodded nor shook her head, withcomplete indifference showing in her eyes.

I took a photo, lowered the camera to show her, called her by name as Itook her hand and held it, speaking softly to her.

I touched the side of her face lovingly andasked God to protect her until we could return for her on Monday, andinterceded to God on her behalf, that her rescue would be made possible andthat her slave master’s heart would be softened to justice and mercy not onlyfor her sake, but for the sake of all children vulnerable to child trafficking.

All too soon, we found ourselves back at the boat, emptyhanded, but with steadfast hope that Monday’s return would bear fruit.

If there was ever an opportunity for patience andgentleness, diplomacy and respect, mercy and grace, kindness, love and compassion... suchopportunities in this delicate process are certainly beyond abundant.

*Names changed to protect the identity of trafficked children.

______________________________________

Other Updates:
Day 1 -- Ticket Revoked?
Night 1 -- Altitude 0m
Day 2 -- The Adventure Continues
Day 3 -- (Pre-Posted) Dear Ato Sam
Day 3 -- Enyan Abaasa (Meeting Ato Sam)
Day 4 -- Precious
Day 4 -- (Pre-Posted) Double The Joy
Day 4 -- George & George (Meeting the twins)
Day 5 -- Back To Accra
Day 5 -- I Like Tacos!
Day 6 -- "Bobble Boobs"
Day 7 -- Breaking Ground
Day 7 -- Life In Kete Krachi
Day 7 -- Beyond The Surface
Day 8 -- Face To Face With Slavery
Day 8 -- Rooster Boy
Day 10 -- Bittersweet Rescue
Day 10 -- Tasting The Joy Of Freedom

Ghana: Day 7 -- Beyond The Surface

2011-11-15T16:24:00.001-04:00

Today’s dateseems strangely fitting... It isNovember 11^th, a day we reflect upon our freedom and the cost ofsuch freedom... and here we are, gathered in the living area of Jantsen’s Housewith a handful of the older girls at the Village Of Life. Girls who have been rescued from theunspeakable... but we must speak it. Perhaps it is not speaking it that gives darkness permission to remain.

(Note: Nameswithheld to protect the identity of these trafficked children)

Our hopeswere to continue the connection we had already begun earlier today when we saton the steps of Jantsen’s House and sang and laughed together. A few of the girls brought out the clothingthey had made in their sewing skills classes, and I must say they are muchbetter than I am. Tiny shirt after tinyshirt sewn by hand, with collars, pleats and buttons, even zippers – greatskills to grow their future upon. One ofthe girls had learned to braid hair, so she showed us her skills using Debra asan example. Watching her fingersconfidently and swiftly braid thin strands of hair was nothing short ofamazing. Debra loved having her hairdone, I’m sure it was very relaxing.

The girlswere interested in learning how to use the camera, which was entertaining toteach, given the slight language barrier. All the girls speak English in varying degrees of ease, their voicesrich and warm. I handed my camera to oneof them, as she wanted to take a photo of Tia and I. The first obstacle was to remember to takethe lens cap off – that helps! Then, toteach her how to use the viewfinder, as she was waiting for something to appearon the screen at the back of the camera. Once that was done, we instructed her to press the shutter releasewhenever she saw what she wanted to take a photo of, but she kept giving usthis baffled look, which in turn confused us as well... why wasn’t she taking aphoto?

Joshua, whohad been standing nearby to coach her a little, realized that he had turned thecamera off. Oops – somehow, thatexplains it all!

Once thecamera was turned back on, she was able to take a handful of photos... she took some of us, and then some of doors,the room, the walls, everything and anything! It was good to see her having fun!

We took asmall break for lunch at Bryan’s House, the boys’ residence, where our teamgathered for meals each day. Atmealtime, we had been taking turns saying grace, but Joshua hadn’t yet taken aturn, so we encouraged him to pray on our behalf. It’s something he had done at home onoccasion, where he felt more at ease, but he hadn’t done publicly outside ofour home. He felt he wasn’t “good” atsaying grace, so we explained that it was simply an expression of gratitude, aconversation with God about our gratitude to Him. He accepted to try, and hearing his heartfeltwords was such a sweet gift – I could already see how much Africa had grown hisheart and his perspective. As a mom, Ican not control his heart, his mind, his decisions, his perspective – nor do Iwant to. All I can do is simply teach bybeing a living example and provide opportunities and experiences for him to useto widen his perspective. I quietlyprayed my gratitude to God for that moment, and all that He had provided for usthrough this journey, including this precious moment.

When wefinished our meal, we returned to the ladies’ residence with Joshua in tow, andas we sat around in a semi circle, Tia announced that she had a “game” for usto play. We would each take turnssitting in the empty chair, and as we sat in the chair, we would share a storyfrom our life.

Tia wentfirst and shared how she and Stephen met, how they spent their times togetherwhen he flew to Michigan, and how their relationship was strengthening.

Then, one ofthe girls sat, and she chose to talk about life “on the islands” (of LakeVolta), and what it was like to be in captivity. She shared her typical day on the islands –the endless work, the impossible conditions, the abuse, and the effect it hadon her. She then shared about the dayshe was rescued and was brought to the Village of Life, and how it transformedher life.

Encouragedby her testimony, Debra also shared about her childhood and her past, and howit grew in her a passion to help people facing similar situations.

Meanwhile,Joshua was quietly listening as I watched his reaction to be sure that he wastaking all of this information well, as it may have been difficult for him tohear such things for the first time, but he was attentive and respectful andseemed to be doing well.

Weproceeded.

Another girlcame, and offered her own story of life on the islands. Similar situations, different details. Heartbreaking. Year after year of slavery had taken a tollon this young woman, but here she was in our midst, strong, courageous,healing... and free.

We gaveJoshua a turn to break up the heaviness of what we had shared. We talked about his dreams, his aspirationsin life, his friends, embarrassing moments, and anything else that came tomind.

When he wasdone speaking, I gave Joshua the opportunity to be excused and play with theother children outside if he wished to take a break from the talking, but heexpressed his wish to stay and take part in what we were doing.

AfterJoshua, another girl stepped forward and shared more in depth detail of herdays as a child slave. Like the othergirls, she had been brought to the islands as a domestic servant, but had alsobeen involved in the fishing itself. Shespoke of the frustration of being given tasks she did not know how to do, orbeing made to re-do a task over for no reason. The slave masters’ family acerbated the problems by undoing her work so thatshe would be punished and beaten for not having complied to the master’sdemands.

My turn waslast, and given what they had shared, I felt led to share with them the abuse Ihad faced as a child. It was a situationthat Joshua had not yet been told, but I always knew that when the time came toshare it with him, I would have peace about it. It was time.

In havingshared, it is my hope that these women can see that they are not alone, andthat in many ways, God used my past to lead me to Ghana and make a differencein the lives of children that I understand their pain more than I should.

Perhaps, atthe same time, Joshua can gain an appreciation for what God used to shape meinto who I am today.

It was hard to sit across from these beautiful, humble,gracious young women and hear of the way they had been treated – starved,beaten, and enslaved.

Perhaps the mostdifficult part is the responsibility that comes with having heard their stories. In having heard these young women speak, Imust now carry their voices back home with me and share what they have beenthrough, and should I not be able to properly convey the severity and horror ofwhat they endured, I will feel as though I have failed them.

For anyone who has ever doubted the severity of what happensto these children and the reality of slavery – come... come to the Village ofLife. Meet these precious children, feeltheir scars, watch the pain as they speak the unspeakable, witness the joy intheir freedom and redemption.

If that’s not enough to convey the reality and thehorror... walk with us as we sharetomorrow’s account of our time with the child slaves on the islands of LakeVolta. Post to follow shortly.

Ghana: Day 6 -- "Bobble Boobs" (Driving To Kete Krachi)

2011-11-15T16:06:00.001-04:00

We had to beready, bags waiting, at 2am for the van that would take us from Accra to KeteKrachi. Joshua was sleeping, Debra andTia were attempting to sleep, but with few precious hours to share the storiesand photos from our Compassion visits at GH220, I knew that I would rather takethe time to blog even if it meant being tired later. I knew we wouldn’t have internet connectionuntil we returned to Accra, so I wanted to make the best of it while I had it. As I finished up the post and the photos, Iheard the van pull up to our guest house, so I shut down the laptop and headedupstairs to our room.

We had notime to waste, as we had to catch one of few ferries that cross to where weneeded to go. There is limited space onthe ferries, and there are always lines of vehicles waiting to cross. At exactly 2am, we were on the road.

Well, road beingthe operative word.

For anyonewho has ever, ever complained about bad road conditions and construction inAmerica, please, come, experience Ghana.

The first few hours of the 8 hour drive weren’t too bad, except for the speedbumps every mile or so... and when I say speed bump, I mean our driver,Kingsley, had to slow to a crawl so that we wouldn’t ricochet off the ceiling,even though we were all buckled into our seats.

Then, wereached the end of semi-paved roads and entered the wild side of Ghana, wherethe scenery is unlike any other I’ve ever seen; the roadside is dotted withtiny communities, livestock wanders freely, women and girls carry loads thesize of shopping carts on their heads with babies strapped to their backs.

This was before she let go her hands on that big bowl and strapped the baby to her back!

This one was carrying a sewing machine. One guy was carrying a motor on his head!

The roaditself wasn’t as fascinating, unless you’re a scout for the next world classmotocross madness track.

For whatseemed like an endless amount of hours, we were bounced around violently as weraced across the terrain in order to make the ferry. We tried hard to take photos of the beautifulcommunities we saw along the way, but the term “camera shake” had been taken tonew heights. We did somehow manage tocapture a precious few, such as these:

Anytime we saw kids, they were waving and going wild at the sight of us. Too funny!

We reachedthe ferry area bright and early, and already the lineup was long. As we waited to see if we’d have space, wewatched the lakeside community come to life in the early morning hours. Schoolchildren in uniform walking past uswith shouts of “obruni!”, curious stares from mothers and young toddlers asthey went about their busy day, and the shouts of merchants selling theirwares.

The morningcoolness all too soon came to an end as the sun began to reach us from abovethe roadside shacks; the heat, heavywith dust, dirt and the pungent smell of poverty, was stifling.

Within anhour, the vehicles began to load onto the waiting ferry. We quickly ran to purchase our tickets sothat our van could be loaded before we lost our opportunity. We boarded without a moment to spare. There was only one more space left after us, withdozens of vehicles still waiting to board. The vehicle that tried to claim the spot next to us was met withresistance from the other vehicles that tried to vie for that last place on theferry. A mob of men shouted angrily ateach other just outside our van while we watched, bewildered, from behind theprotection of the van’s windows. The last vehicle that had boarded had tounload, as it was too big. Anothervehicle took its place, and the fighting eventually subsided.

Debra gotout of the van once the ferry began to move and made conversation with otherpassengers, at one point defending a young woman from the unwelcomed advancesof a man who wanted to marry her.

A young man pokedhis head into the van to watch over Joshua’s shoulder as Joshua playedMinecraft (a computer game) on the laptop. Joshua hadn’t noticed, so I told him he had gained a bit of an audience,and, lighting up, he turned to me and asked if he could invite the young maninto the van to let him try. Tia and Iconsulted each other and gave him permission. Joshua’s new friend was probably about 16, and really seemed to enjoyhis time with Joshua.

Another young manleaned in to the open van door, watching. He asked where we were headed, so we shared that we were going to KeteKrachi to work with George Achibra. Hesmiled and said that George had been his teacher. Small world!

The ferryride was fairly short, but such a welcomed reprieve from the brutal roads. The thought of going back on the road andfacing another two hours of painful jostling around was tough, especially sincewe were also quite tired. Joshua laidout in the front row, Debra laid out in the middle row, and they attempted sleepwhile Tia and I sat up in the back row. Althoughthe other two managed to sleep, Tia and I didn’t fare so well. We could barely speak, much less sleep, fromthe wind being knocked out of us every few seconds. As I write this, I’m smiling, imagining youthinking that I didn’t mean that literally. I did. We had the wind knockedout of us over, and over, and over again. Have I mentioned the roads were quite an experience?

By the timewe approached Kete Krachi, we were nearly delirious with sleep deprivation and topass time, were trying to discuss how we could accurately convey thisexperience on the blog. Already short onoxygen and choking on the dust filled air, the staccato style conversation hadus all nearly passing out from laughter. All we could come up with was the blog post title: “Bobble Boobs”, with the message being apublic service announcement to all women who travel in developing countries topack sports bras in order to avoid bruised chins.

Thankfully, Joshua was spared such injuries,but perhaps we should be asking him if he would advise men to pack jockstraps.

One of thefirst sights as we entered the community of Kete Krachi was a handful of paleblue buildings on a large property off to our right... the Village Of Life. What a glorious sight for our tiredeyes!

As westopped, we glued our bones back together, and dragged our bruised andexhausted carcasses out of the van.

Seems likeonly yesterday we were reading about this place for the very first time...

Ghana: Day 5 -- Back to Accra

2011-11-15T16:03:00.001-04:00

We awoke onWednesday morning in Accra at the Niagara Inn. Lest you conjure up images of the idyllic Canadian/U.S. honeymoon destinationwith Jacuzzis in each suite, let me describe this experience to you. Our driver, Sylvanos, had not been familiarwith any of the three accommodations we had suggested, nor was he familiar withthe Baptist Guest House where Touch A Life had arranged a room for us.

He led us tothe only part of Accra he knew.

Think... uhm... Harlem.

The firstplace we tried did not have internet, and considering that we had no way toreach any of our contacts other than internet, having internet access wascrucial. The second place he took us to,the Niagara Inn, had internet, but charged ridiculous amounts for therooms. By this point, it was late, weneeded to reach our Touch A Life team in order to travel to Kete Krachi, andlet everyone back home know we were safe, so we agreed.

While wewere unloading luggage and arranging to pay the driver, Debra was accosted by aman in the lobby of the hotel. He triedto kiss her, which she didn’t appreciate. Joshua wanted to defend her, but at 13 years of age and 5’9”, he wouldhave been overpowered quickly by this man. The incident was enough to convince us to stay locked together in one ofthe rooms that evening until everyone else in the hotel had gone to bed.

The rules in the hotel added to theatmosphere, specifically the part about not “entertaining guests” in therooms. That, along with the dubiousstains on the bed, really added to the ambiance. Answering Joshua’s questions made for an evenmore entertaining evening adventure. Sexualeducation, developing world style. Nice.

We connectedwith Touch A Life in Texas and explained the best we could where we were, sothat they would let the Ghana team know where to find us in the morning.

Thatmorning, we met the Ghana team at Touch A Life when they came to our hotel tomeet with us and establish a plan to get us to Kete Krachi. Since it was already morning and we wouldhave had to leave at 2am or 5am to get to Kete Krachi, we decided it was bestto stay in Accra on this day, and to begin our travel to Kete Krachi thefollowing night from the Baptist Guest House.

George Achibra Sr’s daughter came to pick us up and bring us to the BaptistGuest House, and helped us purchase a cell phone and find a place to eat. Then, we were on our own until 2am, when wewould get picked up by our driver to take us to Kete Krachi.

Thatafternoon, we took the opportunity to arrange our luggage so that the donationsfor Kete Krachi would be in one suitcase, and the rest for our time back inAccra at the other children’s home could be left behind until we returned.

The rest ofthe day was spent showering, resting and getting in touch with family/friends,as well as blogging.

Yay for running water, indoor plumbing and showers!

Ghana: Day 4 -- George & George

2011-11-15T13:22:00.001-04:00

Afterspending the morning at Precious’ Compassion center, we drove a short distanceto the community where Tia and I sponsor George & George, a six year oldpair of adorable twins.

The boys' schoolyard.

The churchwas predominantly filled with women, with a few men scattered throughout thestanding room only sanctuary. There wasan air of excited anticipation as we entered, both from our group eager to meetthe people of this community, and from them eager to hear from us. Once again, as we walked down the aisle amongthese beautiful people, it was hard to accept the warm welcome fit for a king –but it helped to know that these people are simply generous in their warmth andhospitality; they would have done the same for a pauper and for a king.

The BiseasiCompassion project (GH220) we had visited earlier in the day was very differentfrom the one we had just been welcomed into in the community of Breman Essiam –Project GH880.

Compassionhad joined forces with the local church in Biseasi several years ago, and sincethen, has seen almost every child in the project sponsored. Approximately 7 children at GH220 are stillawaiting sponsors.

By contrast,GH880 is quite new, having only been established in December of 2010. Out of the 200 children registered at GH880,43 are still awaiting the commitment of a sponsor. (Seven of these are listed *here*.) This leaves the church struggling to meet thecommunity’s desperate needs.

What wasencouraging to read, though, was that although only 19 of the 200 childrenregistered at GH880 attended school in December of 2010, now, barely 11 monthslater, all 200 children attend school. This victory was greeted with a thunderous round of applause. This alone will make a difference in thefuture of the community. Since thebeginning of the Compassion program, more than 100 children have made thedecision to follow the Christian faith, and half a dozen caregivers have doneso as well.

Theirgreatest challenge, aside from the vital need for sponsors for the 43 childrenstill waiting, is a meeting place for their program on Saturdays. The school space they currently use is often neededby the community school, leaving them without a gathering place for the 200children they feed, teach and care for every Saturday. We can not stress how important it is forthis need to be filled – please join us in praying for this project and shouldanyone wish to contribute to this need, simply contact any Compassion office tofind out how this can be done.

We were thefirst group of sponsors ever to have visited this Compassion center. Given how closely located to Biseasi it is, Ican imagine Michelle visiting this center when she visits Precious in 2012.

TheCompassion Project Staff were introduced, and we also introducedourselves. They chose to convey howimportant sponsorship is to us, the sponsors, by sharing with the people whohad gathered how far we had travelled and how much it had cost to travel such adistance to visit with our sponsored children, their family and their community. It is my prayer that the people understoodthat this was not of our hands, but of God who had provided.

TheCompassion staff had given me the opportunity to speak to the people who hadgathered, and my message to them was that in sharing their children with us,the sponsors, through letters and prayers, we had built a relationship not onlywith the child, but with the child’s family – their family and ours had joinedas one. As family, we shared a sense ofcommunity, and as such, we were invested into the success of their community aswell as that of their country. I sharedthat it was through one of the four children we sponsor in Ghana that we werehere to help provide a school for children in Ghana, and that we hoped thiswould be a strong message of how much sponsorship not only helps the child, buteveryone touched by the sponsorship.

Looking into the eyes of the mothers and fathers who had gathered, Itold them of how important the Compassion program was, how successful it was,and how it was changing the face of the nations. I told them that each and every one of theirchildren had limitless potential through the power of Christ, and that theCompassion program would help them reach it.

Smiling, I told them about Margaret, the woman in Uganda who had grownup in the Compassion program and had been selected for Compassion’s LeadershipDevelopment Program... after which she had been recently elected to the UgandaSenate. Pointing to their children onceagain, I shared that these children are the faces of the future for Ghana, andthat it was an honor to come alongside these families, not as sponsors oranyone special, but as brothers and sisters, equals, praying for abundantblessings upon their lives. I thankedthem for the wonderful job they are doing raising their children, the childrenwe have come to love so much, and thanked them for their warm welcome intotheir community.

We werepresented with amazing, symbolic gifts of unity – a carving of three statuesinterwoven seamlessly into a circle was given to each Debra, Tia andJoshua.

Tia also received a carving ofthe country of Ghana, with all the regions shown. I was presented with a carving of a manleading a small child by the hand, with a woman behind him, hand on hisshoulder in a show of support. Cherishedgifts to we, who had so little to offer but our love for these people.

As childrenarrived from school, they gathered in the doorways to watch the “obruni” intheir church. It was as though thechurch was overflowing, the way these children gathered outside, crowdingaround the doors. For a precious andsweet moment, I imagined the joy Jesus must have felt when He looked upon thefaces of children who had gathered around to hear the good news.

The skiesopened and rain forcefully poured down, as abundant as the love and celebrationinside the church. The children, stillcurious and watching, simply kept standing in the rain, and as I watched them,I prayed for God to pour favour upon these children in ways that wouldoutnumber each drop that was falling from the sky onto them now.

Shortlyafter the rain stopped, the Compassion staff shared how I had cried as I pickedout Ato Sam out of the choir yesterday, and identified him as my son, wrappinghim in my arms with joy. The crowd ofmothers, perhaps in universal understanding of the love one has for a child ofher heart, applauded with laughter. Anannouncement was then made that they would bring a group of children and see ifwe could identify the boys, George & George, known by their nicknamesPanyin (Pen-YIEN) and Kakra.

A ladyushered a dozen children between our group and the crowd that had gathered, andthey asked us to step forward to identify the boys. Tia and I looked at each other, with tears inour eyes – we already knew... we each kneltdown in front of the boys we shared love for, the boys whose eyes melt ourhearts and whose little faces, carbon copies of each other, we would recognizeanywhere.

There was around of applause as we correctly identified the boys, and a round of laughterwhen we had to ask which was Panyin and which was Kakra.

As the individualboys were named, Tia and I each picked up ours into our arms, lifting theirfeatherweight bodies up into the gentlest of hugs.

I couldguess that there wasn’t a dry eye in the place, but it was hard to see throughmy own tears. These boys, both six yearsold, so tiny and seemingly fragile, melted into our arms. They seemed to be the size of tiny three yearolds.

I vaguelyremember a round of photos being taken, and us sitting back down with the boyson our laps as we interacted with the boys as the preacher spoke. I couldn’t tell you a word that was spoken,the rest of the world seemed to disappear as we each spent time with theseprecious boys.

Uhm, helllllo... have you seen this child's eyelashes?!??! Maybe it's Mabeline?

After sometime, they brought the boys’ parents to us, and we were finally able to givethem great big hugs and show our gratitude and love to them. The mom was so sweet, and the father soenthusiastic and welcoming – what a great pair of parents these boys have!

We all piledinto the van and made our way to their home, which turned out to be a tinycommunity of it’s own, with several homes encircling a common courtyard wherepeople gather and socialize.

We sat inthe shade and spoke with the family for some time, asking questions, answeringquestions, and meeting the other children in the family as well as thegrandchildren. We were eager to presentthem with the gifts that we had brought, beginning with the Thing 1 and Thing 2shirts my boss had purchased for them along with the Cat In The Hat Book. It would help us identify which twin was which,and let’s not forget the treasured photos! The father was so excited as he helped make sure the boys held the bookbut didn’t cover up the shirts – it was so sweet.

Tia had alsopurchased two stuffed Curious George monkeys and had sent them a photo of themonkeys, along with her letters that included fictional Curious George storiesthat were created specifically for the boys. We brought the stuffed monkeys to them, and showed them how to press thefoot to make them squeal, laugh and talk. The boys’ faces lit up like the morning sky – the first smile we’d everseen on them... priceless, absolutely priceless.

We presentedthe gifts we had brought to their parents and siblings, and handed out some ofJoshua’s Hot Wheels cars to the kids gathered around, as well as some SillyBands to the girls.

The lastgift we presented to them was a hardcover book that we had ordered fromSnapfish, including photos and information on Tia and her family, as well as meand my family. The last page was aletter we had written for the boys, encouraging them and praying overthem.

The familywas easily surrounded by 30-40 people from their tiny community, all wrappedaround them in love and support... it was so beautiful to see. Over and over again in Africa, this was whatwe witnessed and fell in love with.

All toosoon, it was time for family and group photos, and time for bittersweetgoodbyes... so sweet to have been blessed with precious time, but all toodifficult to say goodbye, especially now that the twins’ shock was wearing offand their personalities were beginning to shine through.

Our armsstill ache from having held them and having had to let them go. It was completely and utterly worth everyache, every mile, every airport nightmare, all the months of preparation... itwas worth it all.

Still, sograteful that in heaven, there won’t be goodbyes.

Ghana: Day 5 -- I like tacos!

2011-11-09T21:30:00.004-04:00

Since we arrived late the previous night and Touch A Life hadn't been able to connect with us since we didn't have a cell phone or internet access the first two days, our travel to the Lake Volta area was postponed until Thursday, Nov 10th.

We'll be leaving shortly, at 2am Ghana time.

The day today was spent re-organizing luggage, getting a cell phone, and getting ready to go.

Please pray for our travel today. We will be offline until the 16th.

Joshua is learning the art of avoiding pushy salespeople on the streets of Accra. He has taken to pretending he doesn't speak English. Not a problem, since he is fluently French. I've suggested he speak slang to make sure they don't understand him.

Today's responses (in French) to "please, sir, buy this":

"I like tacos."
"I have smelly pockets."
"My name is Gutenberg."
"Why did the chicken cross the road?"

He cracks us all up.