This morning at Ecclesia, we heard such a beautiful benediction that I wanted to re-print it here. (disclaimer: blogger won't recognize the formatting of this piece- I will try later to find a way to fix that.)
Benediction
The once carefully knotted bows are cast aside
the bright paper torn
the excitement dissipated
The gifts neatly stacked under the tree
one, perhaps, misplaced behind the couch
or awaiting that one missing battery
forgotten in the rush
Cookie crumbs swept up and thrown away
eggnog pushed to the back of the fridge
to be thrown away
later
Tomorrow the world returns to normal
at least until next November
or October
maybe September
But not for us
We who gather here have a different intention
we remain in the stable
lingering by the manger
Because for us
because of this child
the world never returns to normal
And so, may we be filled
with the wonder of Mary
with the obedience of Joseph
and the joy of the angels
Go in the peace of the Christ child
--Bradley Winkler
**
"Because for us/because of this child/the world never returns to normal"
That, my friends, is the good, good, good news. This piece caught me so off guard. It read my mail in a way that needed to happen. I needed to hear today, all of what Chris (and Bradley) had to say.
Today was for us; the day-after-Christmas-die hards. The ones who cannot get enough of this story. We are the ones who dive and grab for each tender morsel of Hope. We are the ones who come, early, eager, and stay late. We need this Christ in ways subtle and profound, in ways we have only just begun to taste.
Amen.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
The Wait
I think it's very cool how redemption applies to everything about me, not just the big ticket items.
When I was a kid I loved Fridays, for obvious reasons. Fridays, Fridays- sweet anticipation. All the mystery of the weekend was there for the taking, imagining, dreaming. And Thursdays were even better, sort of like Friday Eve. Saturdays, honestly were kind of just there. Spent many a Saturday wandering around the Upper West Side, searching flea markets, eating over priced brunch. Cool, but aimless. It's funny. The run up is always better than the actual day.
I love unopened presents. Christmas and otherwise. I am known for refusing to open a gift for days, just so I can drag out the joy of the wait.
So I've realized that this has always been a part of my personality. Before I was a Christian, I was eternally melancholy. Always pining, waiting, looking. The heart-ache was a state of being in which I was very comfortable. I discovered Jeff Buckley a few months before he died, and a few months before I graduated from college. An artist who surely mastered a poignant, soul stirring expression of anticipation in his music. I vowed to return to the city, find him and marry him. God had other plans. So I wrote a song about it.
As someone attempting to follow Christ, I still pine, wait and look, but my looking is different, it's hopeful. It's evolved, really. And it's become more organized. I was so inspired by the season of Advent, the 30 or so days leading up to the celebration of Christ's birth, that my husband and I (and friends) wrote a record about it.
I'm still inspired by the tension of Advent. As I write this Matt is playing O Come, O Come Emmanuel on the the acoustic guitar at our dining room table. The Olivette version. The dark, rhythmic chords express this emotion perfectly. The anticipation is chorded in minor; words and melody moving us toward the momentary resolution of "Rejoice"- where we remind ourselves, again, what we are waiting for.
2 Corinthians 4:17
"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all."
When we sing "Rejoice" we are tasting that eternal glory that outweighs the pain of waiting. What C.S Lewis called The Waiting Room, an idea that Sixpence None the Richer expressed beautifully here: The Waiting Room of the World
Rich blessings of Joy to you and Yours!
Merry Christmas.
When I was a kid I loved Fridays, for obvious reasons. Fridays, Fridays- sweet anticipation. All the mystery of the weekend was there for the taking, imagining, dreaming. And Thursdays were even better, sort of like Friday Eve. Saturdays, honestly were kind of just there. Spent many a Saturday wandering around the Upper West Side, searching flea markets, eating over priced brunch. Cool, but aimless. It's funny. The run up is always better than the actual day.
I love unopened presents. Christmas and otherwise. I am known for refusing to open a gift for days, just so I can drag out the joy of the wait.
So I've realized that this has always been a part of my personality. Before I was a Christian, I was eternally melancholy. Always pining, waiting, looking. The heart-ache was a state of being in which I was very comfortable. I discovered Jeff Buckley a few months before he died, and a few months before I graduated from college. An artist who surely mastered a poignant, soul stirring expression of anticipation in his music. I vowed to return to the city, find him and marry him. God had other plans. So I wrote a song about it.
As someone attempting to follow Christ, I still pine, wait and look, but my looking is different, it's hopeful. It's evolved, really. And it's become more organized. I was so inspired by the season of Advent, the 30 or so days leading up to the celebration of Christ's birth, that my husband and I (and friends) wrote a record about it.
I'm still inspired by the tension of Advent. As I write this Matt is playing O Come, O Come Emmanuel on the the acoustic guitar at our dining room table. The Olivette version. The dark, rhythmic chords express this emotion perfectly. The anticipation is chorded in minor; words and melody moving us toward the momentary resolution of "Rejoice"- where we remind ourselves, again, what we are waiting for.
2 Corinthians 4:17
"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all."
When we sing "Rejoice" we are tasting that eternal glory that outweighs the pain of waiting. What C.S Lewis called The Waiting Room, an idea that Sixpence None the Richer expressed beautifully here: The Waiting Room of the World
Rich blessings of Joy to you and Yours!
Merry Christmas.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Prayer Curator
Tonight Matt and I had the great privilege of leading worship for a healing service for our friend Sarah Chidgey Hughes.
There are so many things to say about tonight, about beautiful Sarah, and about our continued cries for her complete healing from cancer. But now I'd like to share a few thoughts that Matt and I had about our role in the church we are serving, Ecclesia.
We have been called into the most beautiful role, the role of disappearing in plain sight. The role of curating prayers.
When Matt chooses songs it is none other than the Holy Spirit choosing the songs. And often people ask if we have recordings of the songs, and usually the answer is regrettably "no". But here's why: because usually they are not our songs. They are songs (and sometimes pieces of songs) that are prayers, that are the cries of our hearts- cries that we didn't necessarily know we had in us.
Tonight was a great example of this. I realized something- we both did- the difference between being an artist and a worship leader. We are worship leaders though we are also artists. We are here to come to the church on a Monday night, or any other night to intercede with music, to pray with our songs.
We live for this. I live for this. I am utterly astounded at my good fortune. THANK you God that get to do what I love. That I am not chasing something from gig to gig. That I am landed, planted, and needed. And that I can disappear into the song/prayers that You've given us.
We will continue to plead, sing, cry, and yell for Sarah's total deliverance from cancer. We are singing for a miracle tomorrow- a clean PET scan.
Sing with us, you know the melody.
Amen.
There are so many things to say about tonight, about beautiful Sarah, and about our continued cries for her complete healing from cancer. But now I'd like to share a few thoughts that Matt and I had about our role in the church we are serving, Ecclesia.
We have been called into the most beautiful role, the role of disappearing in plain sight. The role of curating prayers.
When Matt chooses songs it is none other than the Holy Spirit choosing the songs. And often people ask if we have recordings of the songs, and usually the answer is regrettably "no". But here's why: because usually they are not our songs. They are songs (and sometimes pieces of songs) that are prayers, that are the cries of our hearts- cries that we didn't necessarily know we had in us.
Tonight was a great example of this. I realized something- we both did- the difference between being an artist and a worship leader. We are worship leaders though we are also artists. We are here to come to the church on a Monday night, or any other night to intercede with music, to pray with our songs.
We live for this. I live for this. I am utterly astounded at my good fortune. THANK you God that get to do what I love. That I am not chasing something from gig to gig. That I am landed, planted, and needed. And that I can disappear into the song/prayers that You've given us.
We will continue to plead, sing, cry, and yell for Sarah's total deliverance from cancer. We are singing for a miracle tomorrow- a clean PET scan.
Sing with us, you know the melody.
Amen.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Mary was a teenage mother
Something flipped in me, some switch flipped, when I got this truth: Mary was an (unwed) teenage mother.
Maybe it's because over the centuries the church in many ways has grown to look like the world, and with that, certain truths have been remade in a way that would be more palatable to the "world".
And the result is that the entire truth of Christianity is horrifically misunderstood. It's not about "being good" it's about "being available."
Right? Mary was available. She accepted. She said, "yes."
Was she extra, super pious? No. Extra super good? No. Extra super orthodox? No. She was willing, she was humble, and she was avaialble. She said "yes."
Scripture is FULL of ordinary, messed up people being used by God, in extraordinary ways, simply because they said "yes." Some even said "no", then eventually said "yes."
So why is this so? Why are all the characters in the bible not- so-good all time people? Because We are not so good all the time. We are ALL messed up. And if he can use them, and redeem their mess- make it into something beautiful- he can use me, and You.
That's all. Just wanted to get that down.
Merry Christmas. :)
Maybe it's because over the centuries the church in many ways has grown to look like the world, and with that, certain truths have been remade in a way that would be more palatable to the "world".
And the result is that the entire truth of Christianity is horrifically misunderstood. It's not about "being good" it's about "being available."
Right? Mary was available. She accepted. She said, "yes."
Was she extra, super pious? No. Extra super good? No. Extra super orthodox? No. She was willing, she was humble, and she was avaialble. She said "yes."
Scripture is FULL of ordinary, messed up people being used by God, in extraordinary ways, simply because they said "yes." Some even said "no", then eventually said "yes."
So why is this so? Why are all the characters in the bible not- so-good all time people? Because We are not so good all the time. We are ALL messed up. And if he can use them, and redeem their mess- make it into something beautiful- he can use me, and You.
That's all. Just wanted to get that down.
Merry Christmas. :)
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
the Ask
Christmas is a lousy time to begin to talk about fundraising. It proves our superhuman ability to procrastinate. A great time to talk about fundraising would have been back in the summer when we started at Ecclesia. Or before we went to Budapest in August, or before we went to Moldova and Budapest this month.
The last six months have felt like a whirlwind. Being on staff at Ecclesia is a dream come true for both of us, never have we both been able to use our gifts in just the right place and just the right time. When we started back in June we knew that the salary offered wouldn't meet our needs, so we planned to approach our role here as part staffer's,part local, urban missionaries. Sounds good, right?
Then life happened. Matt took recording client after client because it helped us to make ends meet. I spent August, September and October with Sydney. We pulled her out of the school she started because they were shaming her for not being able to write her name two days after her fourth birthday. Fundraising got shelved. And things got tighter and tighter.
Our funding for the Moldova trip came in the form of a recording client who, knowing we were trying to go to Eastern Europe paid him more than usual. This was the only way we could've raised the money is such a short time. It was a blessing! But it meant Matt worked 70 + hours a week for several weeks leading up to the trip. In fact he's worked 70+ hours a week since June.
This crazy pace is not working for our family. We are rarely together and when we are at least one of us is exhausted. We came home exhilarated from the mission field, to find we are broke, and it's Christmas.
Forgive me for being harsh, but this sucks. I blame myself- I should've come to you sooner. I know you've prayed for us, we've felt your prayers. I know that many have read these entries and responded with kindness and encouragement. Would you consider supporting our ongoing ministry in Houston, and in Eastern Europe financially? We can't do this without you.
Pray about it.
If so, you can give through Ecclesia and receive a tax deduction. We are going to work on finding some other creative ways your support can reach us.
For now, there's three ways:
#1- drop a check in the offering basket at Ecclesia (or mail it to the church at 2115 Taft Street, Houston, Texas 77006) made out to "Ecclesia", then add "Hammon's mission fund" to the memo.
#2- online go to: http://www.ecclesiahouston.org/v2/index.php then click "ONLINE GIVING" from the left hand menu.
Choose "ECCLESIA GENERAL FUND"
If you pay by "CREDIT CARD" just enter the amount and
credit card information. When you get to the screen to "Review Your
Information" there is an item "Special Instructions" - select "Note to
Seller" click on "ADD" and the giver should enter a note to specify the
designation to The Hammons.
If you give through your PAYPAL ACCOUNT, simply write "THE HAMMONS" in the MEMO area.
Or if you don't care about the tax deduction and just want to give, you can do so here:
It will come directly to us.
So, thank you thank you thank you for reading, praying, giving, believing and loving us. We feel it and we are so encouraged to keep moving forward to what we believe God is calling us to.
Merry Christmas!
PS. TONIGHT we are doing a FREE performance of Come + See, our mulitmedia Christmas concert @ Ecclesia. All sales of Cd's and t-shirts will go DIRECTLY to LIVING WATER in Haiti to provide new and repaired water wells and stop the spread of water borne illnesses.
See you there, 7pm!!!!!
The last six months have felt like a whirlwind. Being on staff at Ecclesia is a dream come true for both of us, never have we both been able to use our gifts in just the right place and just the right time. When we started back in June we knew that the salary offered wouldn't meet our needs, so we planned to approach our role here as part staffer's,part local, urban missionaries. Sounds good, right?
Then life happened. Matt took recording client after client because it helped us to make ends meet. I spent August, September and October with Sydney. We pulled her out of the school she started because they were shaming her for not being able to write her name two days after her fourth birthday. Fundraising got shelved. And things got tighter and tighter.
Our funding for the Moldova trip came in the form of a recording client who, knowing we were trying to go to Eastern Europe paid him more than usual. This was the only way we could've raised the money is such a short time. It was a blessing! But it meant Matt worked 70 + hours a week for several weeks leading up to the trip. In fact he's worked 70+ hours a week since June.
This crazy pace is not working for our family. We are rarely together and when we are at least one of us is exhausted. We came home exhilarated from the mission field, to find we are broke, and it's Christmas.
Forgive me for being harsh, but this sucks. I blame myself- I should've come to you sooner. I know you've prayed for us, we've felt your prayers. I know that many have read these entries and responded with kindness and encouragement. Would you consider supporting our ongoing ministry in Houston, and in Eastern Europe financially? We can't do this without you.
Pray about it.
If so, you can give through Ecclesia and receive a tax deduction. We are going to work on finding some other creative ways your support can reach us.
For now, there's three ways:
#1- drop a check in the offering basket at Ecclesia (or mail it to the church at 2115 Taft Street, Houston, Texas 77006) made out to "Ecclesia", then add "Hammon's mission fund" to the memo.
#2- online go to: http://www.ecclesiahouston.org/v2/index.php then click "ONLINE GIVING" from the left hand menu.
Choose "ECCLESIA GENERAL FUND"
If you pay by "CREDIT CARD" just enter the amount and
credit card information. When you get to the screen to "Review Your
Information" there is an item "Special Instructions" - select "Note to
Seller" click on "ADD" and the giver should enter a note to specify the
designation to The Hammons.
If you give through your PAYPAL ACCOUNT, simply write "THE HAMMONS" in the MEMO area.
Or if you don't care about the tax deduction and just want to give, you can do so here:
It will come directly to us.
So, thank you thank you thank you for reading, praying, giving, believing and loving us. We feel it and we are so encouraged to keep moving forward to what we believe God is calling us to.
Merry Christmas!
PS. TONIGHT we are doing a FREE performance of Come + See, our mulitmedia Christmas concert @ Ecclesia. All sales of Cd's and t-shirts will go DIRECTLY to LIVING WATER in Haiti to provide new and repaired water wells and stop the spread of water borne illnesses.
See you there, 7pm!!!!!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Good news
So, I apologize for leaving you in the lurch so to speak, not that you need to me to de-lurch you or any such thing. But of course I could write about the dire need we witnessed in Moldova for one very important reason: there is Hope.
What was so shocking really was how easy it would be for us, the church, to help. Our small group could sponsor an orphanage. Our church could sponsor a city. We can put together a team of silly people to go make orphans laugh for a week this summer. Oleg warned us "not to bring the mature ones. Just people who really like having fun with kids."
So there is all that. We are going to pick a date in January to host a gathering at Ecclesia where we can share from our trip, show pictures, and talk about how we can all get involved.
THANK YOU for reading, praying and supporting us. We LOVE you.
What was so shocking really was how easy it would be for us, the church, to help. Our small group could sponsor an orphanage. Our church could sponsor a city. We can put together a team of silly people to go make orphans laugh for a week this summer. Oleg warned us "not to bring the mature ones. Just people who really like having fun with kids."
So there is all that. We are going to pick a date in January to host a gathering at Ecclesia where we can share from our trip, show pictures, and talk about how we can all get involved.
THANK YOU for reading, praying and supporting us. We LOVE you.
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Things We Cannot Say
A few years ago a friend of ours did some fundraising for a trip to Africa. It was not a mission trip, per se, as she is not a Christian, per se, but it was a humanitarian trip nonetheless and we signed up to support her. My recurring thought on the matter was that God was going to change her in Africa, God would meet her. She would return a different person. I live for this sort of change, at least in theory. In theory I pursue these sorts of experiences for myself, thought I've recently begun to realize I pursue these experiences in bitesize quantities. My friend and I have known eachother a long time, and over the years we've grown pretty far apart. I thought that Africa could bring us closer.
When my friend returned from Africa she couldn't talk about it. In fact, all that she would say was that it was too painful to discuss and it would be some time before she could share photographs. I don't remember the precise nature of her work there, but memory suggests there was a maternity clinic, and some other medical relief efforts she may have been a part of.
Her refusal to speak or write about the trip was really disappointing to me. Though I've never been to Africa, I've been involved with a handful of "mission trips" and have been schooled in the evangelical principal of communicating in sometimes nauseating detail all that happens on such trips. In fact more often than not I've read "mission trip" accounts with such shocking cultural insensitivity that I'd secretly wished they hadn't bothered. The common wisdom suggests that in order to keep supporters interested in giving financially to the "mission" each gory detail must to be spoken.
I will be honest here, I judged my friend who couldn't talk about Africa. I assumed it was because she doesn't have a God context or framework, a vantage point from where human suffering is easier to comprehend. I had hoped she would have met that "God context" in Africa, and would somehow return beatific, Mother Theresa-esque.
How naive I was. As I said, I've never been to Africa. But what I have experienced in these last weeks has given me a new reading of my friend's experience. There are things we cannot say. There is human suffering so acute and so unnerving that it silences us. My friend is a poet and a writer. I have only just now come to understand that her silence speaks more than 1,000 pages ever could.
I believe that it is the job of the church to be the champion for the hurting, hungry and oppressed. This belief in me is stronger than ever. My "God context" does not help me to comprehend unspeakable suffering. In fact, I hurt far deeper for others than I ever did before I became a believer. The shock of incomprehensible suffering is uglier when you know how very opposite it is from the design for human life.
We are commanded to love and care for the widowed and the orphaned, to seek justice and love kindness. Sometimes the very best way we can do this is to stand alongside. To stand shoulder to shoulder with our suffering brothers and sisters where words run out.
I have learned a very valuable lesson this week. Even I can be silenced. And maybe, it's not such a bad thing after all.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Video Clips
Here are some video clips from Moldova: First clip is us singing "Sing it Out" and the kids clapping and getting into it. The second clip is of us giving out chocolate bars- 320 in all! they were a gift to the orphans from New Hope International. This was a moving and beautiful night.
Can you believe how incredible the iphone is? Wow. We got away with filming inside the orphanages. So cool.
More later!
Can you believe how incredible the iphone is? Wow. We got away with filming inside the orphanages. So cool.
More later!
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Church
Had an amazing morning leading worship at Danube International Church with Come and See. I have never before been so physically challenged during a worship set. I thought for sure I was going to pass out in the middle of the set, because I hadn't eaten breakfast, had not enough sleep and quickly drank a strong coffee. Because of my wacky blood sugar stuff- hypoglycemia- this is a recipe for disaster. Towards the end of the set, I told Matt I thought we should cut a song, and he wouldn't let me! I'm glad he didn't. When I finally gave up trying to physically get through it God gave me supernatural strength. And then Matt gave me a candy bar when we were finished:) The jetlag, the crazy hours and the travel make it quite different from playing music at home. It's always interesting to see how when I am at my rope's end, God gets me through. In the future, I will try to remember to eat breakfast.
It was a beautiful morning. Saw Serena Hollowell and some other Budapest friends. Got to have lunch with the Slaughters and the Johnsons, and take a moment to pause and thank God for how he's brought us all together again in Budapest. We've been sharing our experience in Moldova with as many people here as we can and already I think some are interested in getting involved with the ministry there. I am really encouraged. Budapest is so close, and there is so much that the missionary community here could do to encourage and love the orphans of Moldova. We are talking about putting a team together to do a camp for orphans in the summer and we are hoping some of our friends here, in Budapest, will be a part of it.
Last night after and amazing concert in an art gallery (more on that later) we had dinner with our friends Ali and John Jordan from Ecclesia Clear Lake. They've been in Budapest 10 months and are doing GREAT with the language and with engaging Hungarians. They live in the center of the city (most missionaries are out in the suburbs) and are really making an impact. I am PROUD of them. It's hard to do this work, and they are flourishing.
Anyway, gonna try to nap before tonight's final concert. Then tomorrow we have a day off! Yeah!
We are TOTALLY out of cd's. We've given them all away :) We will need to make some more when we get back home. Not sure where that money will come from but will be praying about it.
Wednesday of next week -- 7pm--we are doing Come + See at Ecclesia and all cd sales (if we have cd's to sell) will go to Living Water Haiti!
More later.
xo.
It was a beautiful morning. Saw Serena Hollowell and some other Budapest friends. Got to have lunch with the Slaughters and the Johnsons, and take a moment to pause and thank God for how he's brought us all together again in Budapest. We've been sharing our experience in Moldova with as many people here as we can and already I think some are interested in getting involved with the ministry there. I am really encouraged. Budapest is so close, and there is so much that the missionary community here could do to encourage and love the orphans of Moldova. We are talking about putting a team together to do a camp for orphans in the summer and we are hoping some of our friends here, in Budapest, will be a part of it.
Last night after and amazing concert in an art gallery (more on that later) we had dinner with our friends Ali and John Jordan from Ecclesia Clear Lake. They've been in Budapest 10 months and are doing GREAT with the language and with engaging Hungarians. They live in the center of the city (most missionaries are out in the suburbs) and are really making an impact. I am PROUD of them. It's hard to do this work, and they are flourishing.
Anyway, gonna try to nap before tonight's final concert. Then tomorrow we have a day off! Yeah!
We are TOTALLY out of cd's. We've given them all away :) We will need to make some more when we get back home. Not sure where that money will come from but will be praying about it.
Wednesday of next week -- 7pm--we are doing Come + See at Ecclesia and all cd sales (if we have cd's to sell) will go to Living Water Haiti!
More later.
xo.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Home, or, er Budapest
I can hardly believe I am awake and alert enough to write but I have too! Matt booked us into and amazing hotel he found on Hotwire. But really this is a gift from God. I am embaressed to admit neither one of showered for two days. We had no time, we collapsed into bed both nights and were woken up by Oleg, ready for ministry at our door each morning.
Last night was kind of crazy. We drove the van (Oleg drove and his friend, the best sound engineer on earth- Valerio came as well) to the southern most point in Moldova. A poor, Turkish province, autonomously governed- steps from the Romanian and Ukranian border. It was meant to be a 3 hour drive, but with the icey roads it took 7hours. "Ice" was somehow lost in translation between Oleg and Olga and she failed to warn him of the conditions before we set out. About 5 hours into the journey as night began to fall and the apparently famous winter fog fell, we all got nervous. The road was almost impassable and at several points I considered raising a stink and insisting we turn back. At one point he said "If I had known the conditions I would not have taken this road." I told him that didn't make me feel better. Oleg is amazing. His energy is without fail. He hardly eats or sleeps. He is passionate and committed to seeing his country bettered, it's children saved and he knows that God is the only one who can inspire, equip and deliver such a miracle. He is someone who could move to America and become a CEO, a self made millionaire- if his aim was money. But his aim is to love his own people with the only Love that does not fail. Us soft Americans were hardly ready for the whirlwind he took us on, but we would've had it no other way.
We finally arrived at the Cahul orphanage. As we loaded our instruments and equipment in the smell was the first thing that hit me, again, but this time, it was the smell of chlorine bleach. A faint mixture of a cleaning solution and boiled onions. The walls were lined with the water color paintings of the children and painted a cheerful, though faded aqua blue. It felt like a public school in a poor neighborhood. It reminded me of something Oleg had said earlier, that in Moldova, poor does not mean dirty. People are poor, but they are clean. The orphanage was meticulously clean and the children obviously took pride in it. In the room where we sang, the concrete floor was laid over with hand woven, brightly colored rugs. When one of the speakers wrinkled up one of the rugs, a little girl repeatedly came over to straighten it out. They wanted us to see their best.
As we sang I couldn't help but notice a tall, beautiful 15 year old girl sitting in the front row with one of the smaller boys on her lap. Beside her was another pretty girl of about 15, with one of the smaller girls on her lap. As the little girl cried, I guessed from someones teasing, the teenager held her and comforted her like a mother. The older kids "adopt" some of the younger orphans, and they form a kind of family-society in the orphanage. Though we would love to adopt any of these children,and I am sure that you, reader also would, we also realize that taking them away from their "family" would also be devastating for them. More on that later.
One of the young ladies, Tatiana, is super model beautiful. In each orphanage there is at least one supermodel beautiful girl. And Matt and I just looked at eachother and cringed. We know these girls will be easy targets for traffickers, who prey on these motherless girls when they "graduate" from the orphanage at 16 and are basically turned out onto the street. A "Boyfriend" will appear and convince Tatiana or Svetlana or Olga to move to Europe or Turkey with him for "work." She will agree because in Moldova there is 65% unemployment, she has no family, no money and no where else to go. She will agree and before her seventeenth birthday she will become a sex slave- moved first through Istanbul, then onto Greece, and possibly even to America. She will be without hope, without an identity. Once she is trafficked she is "owned" by the most brutal mafia on earth. There is almost no hope for escape from it.
The most hope for Tatiana is that she is never trafficked to begin with. Prevention. This is really the only way to stop this. Moldovan Christians (of which there are thousands apparently) must come alongside these children and offer them a better opportuntity that the traffickers do.
I am exhausted. I have to sleep. But more tomorrow. PRAISE GOD this hotel ROCKS!
Night.
Last night was kind of crazy. We drove the van (Oleg drove and his friend, the best sound engineer on earth- Valerio came as well) to the southern most point in Moldova. A poor, Turkish province, autonomously governed- steps from the Romanian and Ukranian border. It was meant to be a 3 hour drive, but with the icey roads it took 7hours. "Ice" was somehow lost in translation between Oleg and Olga and she failed to warn him of the conditions before we set out. About 5 hours into the journey as night began to fall and the apparently famous winter fog fell, we all got nervous. The road was almost impassable and at several points I considered raising a stink and insisting we turn back. At one point he said "If I had known the conditions I would not have taken this road." I told him that didn't make me feel better. Oleg is amazing. His energy is without fail. He hardly eats or sleeps. He is passionate and committed to seeing his country bettered, it's children saved and he knows that God is the only one who can inspire, equip and deliver such a miracle. He is someone who could move to America and become a CEO, a self made millionaire- if his aim was money. But his aim is to love his own people with the only Love that does not fail. Us soft Americans were hardly ready for the whirlwind he took us on, but we would've had it no other way.
We finally arrived at the Cahul orphanage. As we loaded our instruments and equipment in the smell was the first thing that hit me, again, but this time, it was the smell of chlorine bleach. A faint mixture of a cleaning solution and boiled onions. The walls were lined with the water color paintings of the children and painted a cheerful, though faded aqua blue. It felt like a public school in a poor neighborhood. It reminded me of something Oleg had said earlier, that in Moldova, poor does not mean dirty. People are poor, but they are clean. The orphanage was meticulously clean and the children obviously took pride in it. In the room where we sang, the concrete floor was laid over with hand woven, brightly colored rugs. When one of the speakers wrinkled up one of the rugs, a little girl repeatedly came over to straighten it out. They wanted us to see their best.
As we sang I couldn't help but notice a tall, beautiful 15 year old girl sitting in the front row with one of the smaller boys on her lap. Beside her was another pretty girl of about 15, with one of the smaller girls on her lap. As the little girl cried, I guessed from someones teasing, the teenager held her and comforted her like a mother. The older kids "adopt" some of the younger orphans, and they form a kind of family-society in the orphanage. Though we would love to adopt any of these children,and I am sure that you, reader also would, we also realize that taking them away from their "family" would also be devastating for them. More on that later.
One of the young ladies, Tatiana, is super model beautiful. In each orphanage there is at least one supermodel beautiful girl. And Matt and I just looked at eachother and cringed. We know these girls will be easy targets for traffickers, who prey on these motherless girls when they "graduate" from the orphanage at 16 and are basically turned out onto the street. A "Boyfriend" will appear and convince Tatiana or Svetlana or Olga to move to Europe or Turkey with him for "work." She will agree because in Moldova there is 65% unemployment, she has no family, no money and no where else to go. She will agree and before her seventeenth birthday she will become a sex slave- moved first through Istanbul, then onto Greece, and possibly even to America. She will be without hope, without an identity. Once she is trafficked she is "owned" by the most brutal mafia on earth. There is almost no hope for escape from it.
The most hope for Tatiana is that she is never trafficked to begin with. Prevention. This is really the only way to stop this. Moldovan Christians (of which there are thousands apparently) must come alongside these children and offer them a better opportuntity that the traffickers do.
I am exhausted. I have to sleep. But more tomorrow. PRAISE GOD this hotel ROCKS!
Night.
The End of The World
Warning: Some of this may be hard to read**
As we dismembarked from the propeller plane that took us and about 15 others over the Carpathian mountains and into Moldova, my first sight was that of a government officer in a soviet era fur hat and military jacket. He looked as though he’d just come from central casting.. From what I could tell, Moldova is grey and brown. The airport seemed deserted when we arrived, the conveyer belts bringing luggage were dark and silent. The officer who welcomed us into the front door of the terminal from the tarmac, quickly ran around us and slipped into the customs agent boot, thereby readying himself to take our passports.
We passed through without incident just behind a group of Southern men on their third trip to Moldova. They could only be missionaries or traffickers, here to buy a child bride or share the gospel. Judging by the crosses they all wore I assume they are here for much the same reason we are.
We waited about 20 minutes Oleg who picked us up in his ministry van, along with two women who head the orphan and social care programs of their agency – New Hope International. I quickly gathered that Russian was being spoken, alongside Romanian and made out a few words here and there. We were introduced to Olga who would be with us on our first outreach- to an orphanage of about 350 children.
Night fell fast and by the time we arrived at the orphanage it was pitch black and snowing hard. A dozen or so children were playing tag in the driveway as we entered, and eager to see who we were peered through the van windows as we grinded to a halt.
As we began unloading the soundsystem, our gear and boxes of chocolate bars (a surprise for the children) word got out that we’d had arrived and soon there were bunches of kids all greeted us and our guides with Buonosera, which I imagine could only mean “good evening” Romanian is a romance language, of Latin origin and so sounds a lot like Italian. Italian by way of Moscow. Russian words like “Da” for hello, are also Romanian words. Language is the first place you notice the blend of East (Russia or Slavic) and West (Europe) cultures.
Immediately I asked for the rest room, a decision I won’t soon forget. A little boy of about 9 or 10 led me out of the main school building down a long, dark outdoor sidewalk. The stopped, and gesturing sent me in the direction of an outhouse. I opened the door and was overwhelmed by the smell. A couple of young girls began chastising the boy and led me back to the school building, to what they considered the “better” bathroom. Again as I entered the room, the bathroom, I was nearly toppled over by the smell and turning away to avoid gagging, I made my way back out to the snowy driveway. Sanitation and hygiene is as much an issue here in Moldova as it is in areas of South America. I wasn’t expecting that.
The children are all beautiful, many are fair, blonde and blue eyes, some have the characteristic Romanian features- quite Italian looking. They are also friendly and excited, not unlike most children –everywhere. They are all dressed in normal Eastern European clothes, just like the west with perhaps a bit more acid wash. They have shoes, and hair – I am relieved. I have heard stories of orphanages where the children have neither- no shoes because there is no money for shoes- and no hair because their heads are shaved to avoid a lice epidemic. I am not ready to see that yet, and honestly, I hope we don’t. I am not ready for that.
The “concert” was fine. 320 children and a handful of adults packed into a tiny auditorium, a sweat box by the end of the hour, as snow fell copiously outside.
There were at least 5 little girls sitting in the front that could easily be Sydney’s sister. Same eyes, same hair, same skin type. Some of the older kids in the back of the room were less interested in the Christmas music being sung by these strange Americans, but many of them were riveted. The littler ones. As I sang and locked eyes with a little girl, the word lullaby popped into my head. I’d been sweating, and belting. The wavering sound system did little to help my nerves. At that moment I sat down on the steps of the stage and sang something quieter. They leaned in.
Lullaby. Children who don’t have parents simply want to hear a lullaby.
After the event we had a pizza dinner with Oleg, our guide and ministry contact. He explained some of the history of Moldova, starting with the Roman empire. Apparently, Moldovans were formerly known as Scythians, and make an appearance in the book of Colossians. He told us that when Rome spread out over what is now Eastern Europe, and finally made it over the Carpathian Mountains to Moldova, they decided they must have found the end of the world. The end of the world.
Today, Moldova is the poorest nation in Europe, wedged between Ukraine and Romania geographically, but in many areas as desperately poor as Haiti. The top industry in Moldova is humans – for the sex trade, for forced labor and for organs. At least 450,000 people have been trafficked from here in the last 20 years- that’s 10% of the population. Oleg told us stories that are not making it into the Western media. Stories of institutionalized rape and the sale of the offspring of these crimes to organ harvesters. Yes, children murdered for organs that are then sold on the black market. Not only children who are born for this, but orphans in state run orphanages like the one we visited tonight. Little girls, like the ones who look like my daughter, are in danger of being sold for parts.
I feel the sort of horror that many of us white Westerners feel about the Holocaust. How could this have happened we say? Right under our noses? In EUROPE of all places?
The extermination of 6 million Jews and Catholics and Gypsy’s happened in Europe, and it’s happening again, but instead of being gassed, these European children are being bought, sold and slaughtered like animals.
And it’s happening because we, the church, are letting it happen. We are letting the forgotten remain that way. It is hard to hear this, and it is hard to say it. But the church is the only hope for these, and millions of other forgotten children.
I have no idea what we can do but pray. And be available. And open our homes, if at all possible to these children. More tomorrow.
As we dismembarked from the propeller plane that took us and about 15 others over the Carpathian mountains and into Moldova, my first sight was that of a government officer in a soviet era fur hat and military jacket. He looked as though he’d just come from central casting.. From what I could tell, Moldova is grey and brown. The airport seemed deserted when we arrived, the conveyer belts bringing luggage were dark and silent. The officer who welcomed us into the front door of the terminal from the tarmac, quickly ran around us and slipped into the customs agent boot, thereby readying himself to take our passports.
We passed through without incident just behind a group of Southern men on their third trip to Moldova. They could only be missionaries or traffickers, here to buy a child bride or share the gospel. Judging by the crosses they all wore I assume they are here for much the same reason we are.
We waited about 20 minutes Oleg who picked us up in his ministry van, along with two women who head the orphan and social care programs of their agency – New Hope International. I quickly gathered that Russian was being spoken, alongside Romanian and made out a few words here and there. We were introduced to Olga who would be with us on our first outreach- to an orphanage of about 350 children.
Night fell fast and by the time we arrived at the orphanage it was pitch black and snowing hard. A dozen or so children were playing tag in the driveway as we entered, and eager to see who we were peered through the van windows as we grinded to a halt.
As we began unloading the soundsystem, our gear and boxes of chocolate bars (a surprise for the children) word got out that we’d had arrived and soon there were bunches of kids all greeted us and our guides with Buonosera, which I imagine could only mean “good evening” Romanian is a romance language, of Latin origin and so sounds a lot like Italian. Italian by way of Moscow. Russian words like “Da” for hello, are also Romanian words. Language is the first place you notice the blend of East (Russia or Slavic) and West (Europe) cultures.
Immediately I asked for the rest room, a decision I won’t soon forget. A little boy of about 9 or 10 led me out of the main school building down a long, dark outdoor sidewalk. The stopped, and gesturing sent me in the direction of an outhouse. I opened the door and was overwhelmed by the smell. A couple of young girls began chastising the boy and led me back to the school building, to what they considered the “better” bathroom. Again as I entered the room, the bathroom, I was nearly toppled over by the smell and turning away to avoid gagging, I made my way back out to the snowy driveway. Sanitation and hygiene is as much an issue here in Moldova as it is in areas of South America. I wasn’t expecting that.
The children are all beautiful, many are fair, blonde and blue eyes, some have the characteristic Romanian features- quite Italian looking. They are also friendly and excited, not unlike most children –everywhere. They are all dressed in normal Eastern European clothes, just like the west with perhaps a bit more acid wash. They have shoes, and hair – I am relieved. I have heard stories of orphanages where the children have neither- no shoes because there is no money for shoes- and no hair because their heads are shaved to avoid a lice epidemic. I am not ready to see that yet, and honestly, I hope we don’t. I am not ready for that.
The “concert” was fine. 320 children and a handful of adults packed into a tiny auditorium, a sweat box by the end of the hour, as snow fell copiously outside.
There were at least 5 little girls sitting in the front that could easily be Sydney’s sister. Same eyes, same hair, same skin type. Some of the older kids in the back of the room were less interested in the Christmas music being sung by these strange Americans, but many of them were riveted. The littler ones. As I sang and locked eyes with a little girl, the word lullaby popped into my head. I’d been sweating, and belting. The wavering sound system did little to help my nerves. At that moment I sat down on the steps of the stage and sang something quieter. They leaned in.
Lullaby. Children who don’t have parents simply want to hear a lullaby.
After the event we had a pizza dinner with Oleg, our guide and ministry contact. He explained some of the history of Moldova, starting with the Roman empire. Apparently, Moldovans were formerly known as Scythians, and make an appearance in the book of Colossians. He told us that when Rome spread out over what is now Eastern Europe, and finally made it over the Carpathian Mountains to Moldova, they decided they must have found the end of the world. The end of the world.
Today, Moldova is the poorest nation in Europe, wedged between Ukraine and Romania geographically, but in many areas as desperately poor as Haiti. The top industry in Moldova is humans – for the sex trade, for forced labor and for organs. At least 450,000 people have been trafficked from here in the last 20 years- that’s 10% of the population. Oleg told us stories that are not making it into the Western media. Stories of institutionalized rape and the sale of the offspring of these crimes to organ harvesters. Yes, children murdered for organs that are then sold on the black market. Not only children who are born for this, but orphans in state run orphanages like the one we visited tonight. Little girls, like the ones who look like my daughter, are in danger of being sold for parts.
I feel the sort of horror that many of us white Westerners feel about the Holocaust. How could this have happened we say? Right under our noses? In EUROPE of all places?
The extermination of 6 million Jews and Catholics and Gypsy’s happened in Europe, and it’s happening again, but instead of being gassed, these European children are being bought, sold and slaughtered like animals.
And it’s happening because we, the church, are letting it happen. We are letting the forgotten remain that way. It is hard to hear this, and it is hard to say it. But the church is the only hope for these, and millions of other forgotten children.
I have no idea what we can do but pray. And be available. And open our homes, if at all possible to these children. More tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)