Neighbors

Leslie and Ofelia live in the apartment building beside ours, and they spend a great deal of time on their porch. Every time we come or go, they call to us with some new question or announcement.

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David prayed to become a Christian on Saturday. When we asked him on Tuesday what that meant, he seemed to have trouble remembering. I spend focused time with David at least one day a week. Without our regular presence, his prayer might quickly be forgotten.

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Eric and I sat on the porch with cups of ginger tea at about 9:00 PM, and Leslie called to us that she now had three rats.

"Rats?"

"Yes. A-a man gave them to me."

We hopped over the railing and walked over to the patio to get a closer look. Sure enough, she had three rats in a small cage. While Leslie handled a brown one, Ofelia asked Eric in Spanish where his shoes were.

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Axel wore gang colors to school the other day. Apparently, his brother has gotten in some trouble, and Axel might follow the same path. Every week, we put a guitar in Axel's hand and talk with him about his life, and what he can do with his talents.

On Saturday, he prayed with David to become a Christian. On Monday, he wouldn't really talk about it. It's going to take some long-term work to help Axel understand the current course of his life, and that he has other options.

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Our presence in the middle of this community is a necessary component to what we do. We partner with, and are thankful for, so many local churches willing to engage these kids.

Our job is to honor their investment. We are in the work of nurturing long-term, life-changing growth in the hearts of these children.

How Adorable

While Lesly tried to hack my brother's computer, I kept coming up with absurd passwords to type. After several failures, I suggested "chickenfeet."

She replied, "Chickenfeet? I may be a girl, but I'm not an idiot."

Ruthie and I are preparing our first newsletter. If you'd like to get a copy via post or e-mail, let me know. You can send your address to northpapers at gmail dot com.

Weekend Update

Well, my dear readers, it was a mad blitz of a weekend.

On Friday night, I ran from work over to a missions conference at Mount Calvary Baptist Church. We met an artist who might help my friend Aziz develop a graphic novel about his life story. My younger brother, Eric, and I were so pumped when this picture was taken:

We got up early on Saturday morning to meet the team from First Baptist Atlanta, who threw a top-notch block party for the kids at our apartment complex. While I schooled Eric and dazzled everyone with my soccer skills, the FBA team prayed with ten of the kids to receive Christ:

As soon as that block party ended, I ran over to Huntington Terraces to work with Foothills Baptist Church. They drove a long way to work with us, and the event was a grand slam (now that I'm a missionary, I feel bound to pepper my presentations with bad jokes. Hence the pun).

By the time it was over, I was dehydrated, severely sunburned, and totally exhausted. We went home and watched Blood Diamond, which is an okay movie, but was very moving to me considering its connection to what we do here.

Ruthie and I spent the day Sunday at Mount Zion Baptist Church. They are the first church to invite us to speak and the first church to support our work financially. I gave a presentation in the evening and they were extremely encouraging to us. We're looking forward to a long-term partnership with them.

This morning (Monday), I woke up before Ruthie and watched a movie called The Scar which consisted mostly of men in suits holding business meetings in Polish. I should have watched the special features to get a handle on what it was about, but I was too bored to take the time.

I spent a little time with our iguana, Rocket, before Ruthie and I went to take a walk around Stone Mountain. Thank God we have one day a week to rest. I needed it badly.

Conference

It was one of those days, man.  You know the type.  You get up all groggy and you have to run to work then you work all day and right after, you have to run to a missions conference.  So you get into your least comfortable shoes, get in the car, get stuck in traffic, show up 30 minutes late, and find out you're one of the first to arrive.  

So then you go back out to get a bite to eat.  Then after eating you shake hands with a few other missionaries, and head up for the service, which turns out to be incredible.

At this point somewhere after the opening prayer, although the rest of the day was a rush and you are still strung out on worries, God calms you down and speaks to you. Clearly.

Well, you know how the rest of the story goes.  You go back to your booth with a renewed sense of purpose, make all these great connections, and go home and eat an apple and update your blog.  Then you end it because you're so exhausted and have two churches coming to minister in your neighborhood tomorrow.

Lightning

Our camera cord is currently MIA, so we'll have to continue with the dry-as-a-bone textbook-style blog posts until we can re-introduce the multimedia element.

Right now, I have an enjoyable side job to help us eat while the ministry and support raising stuff gets in gear.  So as I prepared for this job, Ruthie headed out to an incredible day of hanging out with our fellow missionaries (trust me, it's way more fun than it sounds), eating frozen yogurt, and watercolor painting with the kids at our activities center.  

I arrived home from said job, frazzled and exhausted, to an apartment (slash activities center) full of kids. I had to kick a few of them out of my massage chair so I could properly recoup.  After a few minutes of joking around and watching them interact, I was cheered by their shenanigans and goings-on.  

We have such a great bunch at this complex.  I see the hellions that my partners have to deal with at other locations, and I thank God that he's made this part of our ministry so enjoyable.

After a hearty meal with Tim, Jesse, and Ashley Cummins, I spent a few hours on logistical, paperwork-type stuff.  My brother Eric and I retired to the patio to watch the lightning, and now here I am, back at my computer, trying to create some electricity of my own with this dynamic blog entry.

Evil White Men

Last night, we went out to dinner and then had tea at our apartment with some new friends, Torey and Tutti. The fellowship was stimulating, but the tea kept me awake until 8 AM this morning.

To pass the time, I read the bulk of Barbara Kingsolver's novel The Poisonwood Bible.  The book came highly recommended by my fellow mk and college friend Kacie Mann, whose media reviews, idea explorations, and regular blog posts are well worth checking out. 

The writing is pretty powerful, but Kingsolver really doesn't like white men.  All of her narrators are women, and they are nuanced and relatable, but the white men (except for one) who plague them are hideous grotesques of typical male behavior.  They are beyond the reach of hope.

It got me thinking about our work here with refugees.  On some level, most of the genocides in their countries (Bhutan being maybe the only exception) can be traced back to misguided activities of white men. So there's good reason to hate us as a general group.  However- praise be to God- they seem more than willing to engage and befriend us on an individual level.

"It's all about one on one relationships," my mentor, Tim Cummins, frequently reminds me.  In this intimate space, seismic social forces give way to real engagement and the new life of love. It's the incarnation of the command to love our neighbor as ourself.

Please pray for my friendships, that they may grow into living testaments of the resurrection of the Lord of Love.

NAMB (forever and ever, amen)

One of my favorite projects is interviewing and writing about one of our fellow missionaries, Bayo Otiti. He was raised in a very powerful Nigerian family, became one of the most influential Muslims in Africa, and studied fashion in New York. He's done it all.

The story of how he got from there to where he is now, working as an evangelist in Clarkston, is so literary that it seems contrived. Hymns he learned as a child stirred feelings which he did not understand until the gospel took root in his life. Dreams and prophecies of an Imam foreshadowed his relationship with Christ. The conviction that led to his redemption came from one of his most destructive friendships.

In short, it's stuff that I as a writer would like to be able to invent, but probably couldn't. I am honored to be able to transcribe it.

The big news of the day was that the North American Mission Board approved us as part of their Missions Service Corps. Several of our friends and co-workers and even one family member gathered over Mexican food for lunch. We celebrated Ruthie and my appointment to what we will abbreviate NAMB on this blog forever and ever amen.

After eating, we all went to our apartment for coffee and to work on several logistical concerns (speaking of which, does anyone have a cutting-edge mac laptop they want to donate to Refugee Arts? It would solve a ton of problems for our multimedia and marketing department [Ian].)

The kids from the complex gathered at 4:30, and we are always glad to see (most of) them. I taught Axel a few chords on the guitar, then the children gathered and demanded a concert, which was me playing three chords over and over until they lost interest. Apparently, I need to learn some Jonas Brothers and Taylor Swift songs.

- Ian