Thursday, March 15, 2012
No Comment
Comments to my blog really boost my ego. I hope that doesn't make you not want to comment. It makes me want to write more. I also write blogs on the Courage Homes blog. Just recently we had a new website created (because the old one was LAME) and for some reason we were now getting lots of comments. The only thing is that they were a bit odd. They said nice things in a weird way. And didn't actually comment on the blog, just very generic. But it felt really good to see all those comments. Until today when I deleted them all because they are spam. Each and every one of the comments was spam (I think). I even had to delete one of the blog postings that seemed to be attracting all the spam. So now my ego boost was boosted in the opposite direction. What do you call that? Ego slam!
Monday, March 12, 2012
Stressed Out!
When I am under stress I get mean. My responses to people are not loving. Just ask Steve. Well for a couple of weeks now I have been stressed out. I mean totally. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. I can't sleep. And I have even cried (which is not like me). So finally I decided I would like to be prayed for. A friend does inner healing prayer or theophostic prayer so I asked her to pray with me.
It is always interesting to see where these prayer times go. We ask God to show me where there is a lie that I believe in my life concerning the feelings I have. Then we ask God to tell me the truth or speak to me in some way. God reminded me of a time when I was young and feeling out of control in a situation. I just felt the need to do something. I can't just sit around and ignore a problem. I must do something. And that is exactly how I am feeling now. So as I prayed about this and asked God to speak, I felt God say to me, "It is good. That is how I created you to be." This was very comforting to me because I feel like many people think I should just "relax" and that there is "nothing I can do" or "I don't need to be involved". So to hear God say that I am alright is reassuring to me. Not that I will do anything in my current situation, but to know that the feelings I have are normal for me.
I still have stress. I feel like eating a cheese burger at the Hard Rock will help (or at least escape for a bit). But I don't feel like I am the crazy one. And that is good!
It is always interesting to see where these prayer times go. We ask God to show me where there is a lie that I believe in my life concerning the feelings I have. Then we ask God to tell me the truth or speak to me in some way. God reminded me of a time when I was young and feeling out of control in a situation. I just felt the need to do something. I can't just sit around and ignore a problem. I must do something. And that is exactly how I am feeling now. So as I prayed about this and asked God to speak, I felt God say to me, "It is good. That is how I created you to be." This was very comforting to me because I feel like many people think I should just "relax" and that there is "nothing I can do" or "I don't need to be involved". So to hear God say that I am alright is reassuring to me. Not that I will do anything in my current situation, but to know that the feelings I have are normal for me.
I still have stress. I feel like eating a cheese burger at the Hard Rock will help (or at least escape for a bit). But I don't feel like I am the crazy one. And that is good!
Monday, March 5, 2012
You Owe Me
Sometimes girls coming from a brothel situation think that they want to go back. It is hard to imagine for us who have read up on trafficking and the lies that are told to a girl to keep her trapped. A girl truly thinks that she is making good money. When asked where her money is, the answer is that the brothel owner is keeping it for her until she goes back to her village. We know that there is little or no money being kept for her. It may be entered into a registry for her to see, but what she doesn't see is the payments that she will be expected to pay. She will be charged for room and board, medical, clothing, or anything else the owner can think of. Not until a girl tries to leave does she realize how much she still owes.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Bedia Tribe
Did you know that there is a tribe or community of people in India that believe the women and girls should prostitute themselves as a way to support the family? This is a horrible tradition that continues generation after generation. A young girl, when she enters puberty, will be "sold" for several hundred dollars. After that, a girl can not marry, so she must remain a prostitute.
In this tribe, men are non-contributors to the financial stability of the family. They are against changing this tradition.
What is wrong with the world?
In this tribe, men are non-contributors to the financial stability of the family. They are against changing this tradition.
What is wrong with the world?
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Street Dogs
I think that the Indian street dogs are the toughest around. They seem to be able to survive the strangest ailments.
A few years ago there was a dog that snuck into our house while I was picking Micah up from the bus in front of our house. He saw it go in thankfully. The silly dog went into the bathroom and laid down. I couldn't get him to move. I tried pizza and yelling at him to leave, but he just wouldn't. So I went to the neighbor's house and told them that I had a dog that wouldn't leave. They stopped a guy on the street to have this guy help get the dog out. There was a door from the bathroom outside, so it really wasn't a hard walk for the dog, but he just didn't want to go out. So this man had to beat the dog with a stick. There was blood in my bathroom from the dog. I know the dog already had a bloody ear when he came in, but I imagine he got more wounds from the beating.
Well a couple of days later, this same dog came walking down the street. His head wound had gotten worse. It was now a gaping hole in his head. I think I could even see some brain. And as the dog walked by, there was a horrible smell. How could a dog walk around with a serious head injury? I would think it would just go die somewhere (and not in my bathroom).
On our street now, there is a street dog that is missing a leg. Not sure if it was born that way or not. It kind of looks like he lost it some how. But I wonder how a street dog can survive losing a leg. No one takes them to a vet when they get sick. But he is fine and gets along without any problems.
And there are now a bunch of puppies down the street from us. There were 8 to begin with, but I think there are less now. Some looked so weak when I first saw them that I don't doubt that they died. I saw people feeding them. I even brought yogurt to them one day. The ones I see around now are looking pretty healthy. I hope someone adopts them. But if not, they will most likely survive and join the rest of the street dogs.
A few years ago there was a dog that snuck into our house while I was picking Micah up from the bus in front of our house. He saw it go in thankfully. The silly dog went into the bathroom and laid down. I couldn't get him to move. I tried pizza and yelling at him to leave, but he just wouldn't. So I went to the neighbor's house and told them that I had a dog that wouldn't leave. They stopped a guy on the street to have this guy help get the dog out. There was a door from the bathroom outside, so it really wasn't a hard walk for the dog, but he just didn't want to go out. So this man had to beat the dog with a stick. There was blood in my bathroom from the dog. I know the dog already had a bloody ear when he came in, but I imagine he got more wounds from the beating.
Well a couple of days later, this same dog came walking down the street. His head wound had gotten worse. It was now a gaping hole in his head. I think I could even see some brain. And as the dog walked by, there was a horrible smell. How could a dog walk around with a serious head injury? I would think it would just go die somewhere (and not in my bathroom).
On our street now, there is a street dog that is missing a leg. Not sure if it was born that way or not. It kind of looks like he lost it some how. But I wonder how a street dog can survive losing a leg. No one takes them to a vet when they get sick. But he is fine and gets along without any problems.
And there are now a bunch of puppies down the street from us. There were 8 to begin with, but I think there are less now. Some looked so weak when I first saw them that I don't doubt that they died. I saw people feeding them. I even brought yogurt to them one day. The ones I see around now are looking pretty healthy. I hope someone adopts them. But if not, they will most likely survive and join the rest of the street dogs.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Poem by Linzie Joerres
"In A City With No Hope"
by Linzie Joerres
"There's a girl who's all alone
in a city with no hope
All around her, girls are dying,
she sees it and she's crying
'cause it all started with their trying
to find a better world than the ones they'd always known.
She sits alone on the damp floor in the looming dark.
Her face has gotten hard and dull and painfully stark.
Her heart is growing cold here
as she fights the fear of growing old here,
forever trapped here in these walls, in this cage.
She fights the rage.
She was lied to and deceived
by the hope of something more.
She was tricked into believing
that there was something worth fighting for.
The woman and man,
they opened up their hands to her,
promised life to her dreams,
made her think that these things
were obtainable, reachable,
but as she reached, the shackles came down on her hands,
and all of her plans
went up in smoke as they forced her to smoke
to get her addicted.
Her life thus far has been depicted as
Pain.
All of her life's gains
are now worthless, pointless.
There's no point to her life,
in her darkness there's no light,
but in spite of the disappointment and pain,
stepping out of doubt's rain,
one flame of hope is sparked
inside her heart
and her mind starts spinning.
Maybe there's a chance of winning
the freedom she's been longing for, striving for, dying for, grasping,
Now she's clasping the hands of a man who's faceless, nameless, 9th man today,
meaningless in this seemingly endless display of insanity.
She's trying to keep her sanity as he's screaming profanities at her
because she doesn't please him.
She doesn't want to appease him
'cause she's frightened
that it will bite her, too,
this bug that's killing the others,
but it doesn't bother
or concern the man who's plan is just satisfaction
from her actions.
He doesn't have to use protection,
there's no protection for this girl in a city
where no one's going to pity her, save her.
She's got no saviour,
just accusers who want to use her
as an object for their pleasure.
She doesn't know that she's really a treasure
that should be guarded, secured, protected.
There's no protection for this girl in a city with no hope.
Her body
is racked with pain
from thousands of beatings
Scars eating
away at her soul and her back
reminders of the lashes received
When she fought back
rolling and thrashing
around on the floor.
Now weak
She can’t fight this war anymore
She’s trying to think rationally, to think clearly,
But clearly, she’s become
A casualty
There's a knock at the door,
she gets up from the floor,
bracing herself for more.
She wishes it were over and done,
man number 12, the day's barely begun.
But this man doesn't have the same look in his eyes
as all the men who had come before,
all who shared a similar guise, before.
This man stretched out his hand
not to condemn her or harm her,
but to disarm her doubt.
He told her he wasn't there about that.
He was there to save her,
to be her Saviour,
to show her a hope she had never known before.
She falls to the ground in shock and disbelief,
so afraid that once again she's being deceived.
He picks her up off the floor
where she fell down,
then walks out the door,
his voice in her ear
drowns out
all her fears and insecurities.
She finally has security and protection
because this bold man took action.
For her sake, he put his life at stake,
and for once in her life of trying and striving,
she's now thriving,
experiencing freedom and a life of HOPE."
by Linzie Joerres
"There's a girl who's all alone
in a city with no hope
All around her, girls are dying,
she sees it and she's crying
'cause it all started with their trying
to find a better world than the ones they'd always known.
She sits alone on the damp floor in the looming dark.
Her face has gotten hard and dull and painfully stark.
Her heart is growing cold here
as she fights the fear of growing old here,
forever trapped here in these walls, in this cage.
She fights the rage.
She was lied to and deceived
by the hope of something more.
She was tricked into believing
that there was something worth fighting for.
The woman and man,
they opened up their hands to her,
promised life to her dreams,
made her think that these things
were obtainable, reachable,
but as she reached, the shackles came down on her hands,
and all of her plans
went up in smoke as they forced her to smoke
to get her addicted.
Her life thus far has been depicted as
Pain.
All of her life's gains
are now worthless, pointless.
There's no point to her life,
in her darkness there's no light,
but in spite of the disappointment and pain,
stepping out of doubt's rain,
one flame of hope is sparked
inside her heart
and her mind starts spinning.
Maybe there's a chance of winning
the freedom she's been longing for, striving for, dying for, grasping,
Now she's clasping the hands of a man who's faceless, nameless, 9th man today,
meaningless in this seemingly endless display of insanity.
She's trying to keep her sanity as he's screaming profanities at her
because she doesn't please him.
She doesn't want to appease him
'cause she's frightened
that it will bite her, too,
this bug that's killing the others,
but it doesn't bother
or concern the man who's plan is just satisfaction
from her actions.
He doesn't have to use protection,
there's no protection for this girl in a city
where no one's going to pity her, save her.
She's got no saviour,
just accusers who want to use her
as an object for their pleasure.
She doesn't know that she's really a treasure
that should be guarded, secured, protected.
There's no protection for this girl in a city with no hope.
Her body
is racked with pain
from thousands of beatings
Scars eating
away at her soul and her back
reminders of the lashes received
When she fought back
rolling and thrashing
around on the floor.
Now weak
She can’t fight this war anymore
She’s trying to think rationally, to think clearly,
But clearly, she’s become
A casualty
There's a knock at the door,
she gets up from the floor,
bracing herself for more.
She wishes it were over and done,
man number 12, the day's barely begun.
But this man doesn't have the same look in his eyes
as all the men who had come before,
all who shared a similar guise, before.
This man stretched out his hand
not to condemn her or harm her,
but to disarm her doubt.
He told her he wasn't there about that.
He was there to save her,
to be her Saviour,
to show her a hope she had never known before.
She falls to the ground in shock and disbelief,
so afraid that once again she's being deceived.
He picks her up off the floor
where she fell down,
then walks out the door,
his voice in her ear
drowns out
all her fears and insecurities.
She finally has security and protection
because this bold man took action.
For her sake, he put his life at stake,
and for once in her life of trying and striving,
she's now thriving,
experiencing freedom and a life of HOPE."
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Blind Man
Last week was my turn to teach Sunday School to the 3-5 years olds. I seem to walk away from these classes feeling like a huge failure of a teacher. I doubt I can bring myself to volunteer for the next season.
Our story was the blind man that Jesus healed. The lesson was about Jesus caring for us. I asked the kids if they knew how Jesus healed the man. I gave them a hint that it was something gross. The first kid said, "Did he touch his head?" I told him that it isn't gross to touch someone's head. So the next kid said, "Did he lick his head?" I love the answers they give. I explained how Jesus spit in the dirt and then put the dirt on the man's eyes.
Then we played a game. I put a blindfold on a kid and handed them a toy or something. They guessed what it was and I would ask, "Can a blind person play with this car?" or "Can a blind person read this book?" They would respond, "NO!" Even when the thing was a comb, and I asked if a blind person could come their hair, they still said, "NO!"
Review time is always good. I asked them what they will tell their parents when their parents ask them what they learned today. One kid answered, "God!" Always the right answer.
Church was going extra long on that Sunday, which I had told the pastor before hand that I didn't want him to go long because I was teaching the kids, but he apparently forgot. So I asked the kids if they wanted to play outside in the courtyard. I made them promise me that they wouldn't run away. Of course they promised. So we went out and played Duck, Duck, Goose. They sat in a group (not a circle) and one kid went around saying "duck". When I told him to say "goose" he did and all the kids got up and ran in all different directions, no one knowing what to do. So of course they ran into each other. We did it again and the one who was goose started crying and went to his dad who was my helper. Then a parent came to pick up her kid. That is when three other kids ran down the hall, escaping. So my helper had his hands full with his crying goose and I was holding back a few others who thought they should all just run to the church to find their parents. I got them ushered back into the classroom and asked the helper to see if he could find the escapees, because the parent that picked up her kid said that the service wasn't over yet, she just had to leave.
Well we never did find those kids. I guess they went back to their parents. They can't run away since there is a guard out front, so I wasn't too worried. And no parents came looking for their kids later so I assume they found them. But I felt like a dufus for not being able to control my class. My only hope is that they somehow learned that Jesus cares for them.
Our story was the blind man that Jesus healed. The lesson was about Jesus caring for us. I asked the kids if they knew how Jesus healed the man. I gave them a hint that it was something gross. The first kid said, "Did he touch his head?" I told him that it isn't gross to touch someone's head. So the next kid said, "Did he lick his head?" I love the answers they give. I explained how Jesus spit in the dirt and then put the dirt on the man's eyes.
Then we played a game. I put a blindfold on a kid and handed them a toy or something. They guessed what it was and I would ask, "Can a blind person play with this car?" or "Can a blind person read this book?" They would respond, "NO!" Even when the thing was a comb, and I asked if a blind person could come their hair, they still said, "NO!"
Review time is always good. I asked them what they will tell their parents when their parents ask them what they learned today. One kid answered, "God!" Always the right answer.
Church was going extra long on that Sunday, which I had told the pastor before hand that I didn't want him to go long because I was teaching the kids, but he apparently forgot. So I asked the kids if they wanted to play outside in the courtyard. I made them promise me that they wouldn't run away. Of course they promised. So we went out and played Duck, Duck, Goose. They sat in a group (not a circle) and one kid went around saying "duck". When I told him to say "goose" he did and all the kids got up and ran in all different directions, no one knowing what to do. So of course they ran into each other. We did it again and the one who was goose started crying and went to his dad who was my helper. Then a parent came to pick up her kid. That is when three other kids ran down the hall, escaping. So my helper had his hands full with his crying goose and I was holding back a few others who thought they should all just run to the church to find their parents. I got them ushered back into the classroom and asked the helper to see if he could find the escapees, because the parent that picked up her kid said that the service wasn't over yet, she just had to leave.
Well we never did find those kids. I guess they went back to their parents. They can't run away since there is a guard out front, so I wasn't too worried. And no parents came looking for their kids later so I assume they found them. But I felt like a dufus for not being able to control my class. My only hope is that they somehow learned that Jesus cares for them.
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