The Fear of Returning Home

Many of you have heard, some of you probably have not… but a month from now Nick and I will be leaving South Sudan. It’s a decision that required two months of waiting, two weeks of mentally preparing to stay until February, and one long train ride spent weighing options before making the final call. Honestly, this decision was much harder to make than we thought it would be.

When we first started looking at our options, staying here felt wise: we had reliable jobs, we could save money, we could take advantage of this time in life to travel, and we could help out our teams here with the disaster response. Not to mention, the guilt we could avoid with leaving our work for purely selfish personal reasons. However, the longer we evaluated our motives and drive for staying, the more we realized the depth to which we were relying on financial/job security to get us through.

When I first came to South Sudan, I was nervous – scared, even, if I’m being honest. I feel a bit embarrassed to admit that now. But, the fear others had for me along with my own fears of a new place, a new job, and new people culminated into a big heap of Reasons Not To Go To South Sudan. Yet, I decided still. In my mind, I knew being afraid was never a good enough reason not to do something.

When I first started talking to Nick, I was nervous. The remaining scars of past relationships and the uncertainty in my own abilities to love someone well left me in a state of panic with each new stage. Yet, I could hear the silent impression left on my mind from before, and knew that fear was not a good enough reason to not do something. 1 John 4:18 says that the “perfect love” of Christ “casts out fear”.  Though Nick cannot provide this same love, I see glimpses of it in the ways he cares for me and laugh at everything I was afraid of before.

Now, we are facing decisions together. When our true intent for staying surfaced, it became obvious we needed to return home. I worry because we don’t have jobs, we don’t know what is next for us, and I fear my ability to re-connect with people. I’m reminded once more of my anthem – fear is not a good enough reason to not do something. After talking it through, we quickly realized the benefits of going home to build the support of friends, family, and a church before walking into the challenges of marriage.

July 3^rd, we will be returning home with the intention of laying the foundations for a marriage rooted in knowing each other deeply, growing the depths of our faith, and learning to love friends and family better as a team.  It is not going to be that easy.

So, here is where I need your support. I’ve learned that sometimes you have to show people how to love you better. Often times the moments our friends need us most are the very same moments we struggle to relate - times of loss, heartbreak, illness, depression. And when we can’t relate we often stifle our care behind clichés and silence. I know it is difficult for some people to relate to me right now, and I want to help break that barrier before I get back: 

1)      Listen – more than anything I feel loved when I know people hear and understand where I am at.

2)      Be flexible and understanding – I will have a lot of people to catch up with when I return, and my plans are likely to change hundreds of times. Please know that I WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU. But I also have a years-worth of catching up to do with all of my family/friends and a lifetime of introductions to do with Nick’s family/friends. I know, logistically, that there will not be enough time for hour-long coffee dates with everyone. Please be flexible and try to be understanding of how much I already bear a lot of guilt for not being able to be there for people this past year. That being said, do not hesitate to ask for time or assume I am too busy – I cannot reiterate enough my desire to spend time with everyone back home. Please just be flexible if it doesn’t work out, plans change, or it’s not enough time.

3)      Be intentional – I know the environment I left is not the one I am coming back to. You have new hobbies, new friends, new commitments that I am no longer aware of or a part of. Help me get to know those things again. Introduce me to new friends; introduce me to your new hobby. It will take effort from both of us to learn how to relate again. And as Nick and I make our way through the states this summer, there is a good chance we could be driving near your home. We would love to meet up! Be willing to meet us halfway, it would help us out a lot in the long run with making the trip possible.

4)      Be supportive – Nick and I are in no way ready to be married. No, we haven’t dated a full year yet, we haven’t met each other’s extended families, and we have not spent time together in the states yet. I have had a lot of people express concern to me about these things. So first off, thank you. I honestly appreciate your boldness and willingness to pull me aside in a loving way to make sure we are making a wise decision. But I also want you to know that we have thought this through. I wasn’t ready when I left for college. I wasn’t ready when I left for South Sudan. I’m not going to be ready for marriage either, but I know it is still the right next step. No, we haven’t dated a full year yet, but over the course of the year we have grown to know each other deeply. We haven’t had our friends or family around; we have just had each other. I think there is a sweet intimacy there that matches any measurement of growth based solely on time. And while we know getting to see another side of each other in the states may be challenging, it is also not a matter that influences our commitment to each other. Marriage should in no way be based on the context you are in. I do not love Nick in the context of South Sudan, and when we are 40 I will not love him in the context of who he was at 25. We will be challenged in these coming months, and we will grow in these coming months. I plead for your encouragement and support during that time and that you will leave the convictions and concerns to our immediate family and closest friends.

5)       Be forgiving – I’m going to screw up when I get home. Maybe I won’t have enough patience, or I will take something too sensitively. You extending grace on me in these moments will go a long way. And in the same way, I know you will not be able to perfectly follow this list. Please know that I will be doing my best to return this same grace to you!

Thanks for taking the time to read this. Thanks for loving on me throughout this year. I can’t wait to come home and see everyone in person!!

Love,

Breanna

Figuring it out

They told me months 4-6 were the hardest and that by that final stretch you would finally have it figured out. Well, at least, until the dawn of eventual bliss of reverse culture shock in the land of 30 cereal options is ready to call you back home. But other than that, I basically knew the You Will Get Culture Shock Theory backwards and forwards—graphs, research, and all. And though I think those predicted ‘hard’ months were difficult, the two months past that have felt far from ‘figured out’ (yeah that’s right, if you just did the math I am indeed on month 8).

The ‘hard’ months were painful. There’s no denying that. There are the normal pains that will continue to plague me all my life as the inevitable result of my sin nature: I screw up at work, I say too much, I give a wrong impression, I let down a friend, or I compare myself to others. And then there are the pains unique to the situation here in South Sudan: feelings of frustration with blatant gender inequality, constantly telling friends goodbye due to the quick turnover of positions in the field, or holding a friend as she cries over the loss of her husband stabbed the week before. And in those months I felt the weight of both pains. Perhaps it’s half the reason I gave up blogging at all during that time (or perhaps my sluggish side stole the best of my spare hours). And yet, there’s something appealing about painful moments. It’s always the part of any great story where the protagonist grows, learns, and transforms into a hero, the very height of the character arc. It’s the part of life we distinctly look back on, amazed we made it through.

It’s the moments of every-day-routine-life that make us apathetic…

Welcome to Month Eight.

Beneficiaries waiting in line - UN News Centre - Jacob Zocherman/IRIN

 The notion of ‘having it all figured out’ begins to read a lot more like ‘routine’ when it’s stripped of its manicured optimism.  And in my routines here, I feel far from the end of my archetypal journey. In some ways, the end of one stage often looks like the beginning to another and the journey never really feels resolved. We strive towards college to strive towards work to strive towards retirement, and the moments of intense joy and accomplishment begin to stream into a pool of lifelong ups and downs.

This reflection feels very representative of my current spiritual standing. I don’t know how often I really speak of my how my faith started or how it’s wavered up and down throughout the years; there reaches a point in life where I feel few Christians truly do. As your faith becomes part of who you are, those moments stream together the same way all others do, and the cyclical ups and downs find their own routines, same as my journey here. And in a way, I think this is how it should be: a lifetime of moments and growth.

Team effort carrying jerrycans of clean water - Instagram @samaritanspurse

My faith started when I accepted Christ at age 11, but He has been working in my life since day one. He pursued me before I could even acknowledge that I needed Him. You see, I had asked God to intervene in my life the summer I lost my sister. Not necessarily in the way I say it now, but in the way an 11 year old asks for help: awkwardly and with a little too much emotion. Still, God knew my heart and He heard my prayer. Saying He came to my rescue is an understatement, so much of who I am today is rooted in the convictions and love He has shown me.

That being said, my faith is also far from ‘figured out’.  I have wrestled with doubts since I became a believer, whether through a heart-based doubt of apathy towards God’s presence, a personal doubt of God’s goodness compared to the backdrop of this fallen world, or a head-based doubt of scripture’s validity and truth from an intellectual perspective. And in the recent months, I have felt the latter category weighing heavily on my understanding of who God is and the faith I have spent so long claiming.

Unfortunately, at the moment, I don’t have a happy ending for this one. I don’t have a break-through revelation to share about conquering doubt and faith restored. Instead, I have a lot of questions. I have a lot to learn and a lot I still don’t understand.

Refugee camp in Yida - Pete Muller Photography

Ironically enough, I think we all are in the same boat on this one. It’s rare to see someone 100% confident in what they believe, and when we do run across such a person we excuse their behavior as arrogance and close-mindedness. We justify their assurance on the premise of personality because their behavior is outside the norm. There are days when theists doubt God and when atheists doubt the inexistence of God; to know with certainty every day would eliminate the need for faith.

One thing I do know is that the questions will lead somewhere new. There’s a reason the theory of reverse culture shock exists...once you have taken a step into the unknown, you cannot simply return to the known as it was and as you were before.  So for now, I keep moving forward, and am eager to discover what’s ahead.

Yida's jungle gym and jungle boy - B.Dargel

"Around here, however, we don't look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things, because we're curious...and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."

- Walt Disney -

You First Read This!

Boda-Boda “Jalaby,” Sudan Tribune

Today I am featuring a co-worker’s take on life here in South Sudan. Please welcome my good friend, writing about his experience interacting with nationals here and living abroad:

" "You don’t drive on dogs!"
I was startled and confused by my friend shouting at a boda-boda driver who had come a little too close to one of the many street dogs.

“People just don’t have any respect for animals here,” my friend continued.

While most of us in the car agreed with him on that point, we were too baffled at the lack of grammatical structure in his sentence to reply.  As we repeated what we had just heard amid bouts of laughter, it occurred to me how much my speech and syntax had changed since moving to South Sudan.

It happens slowly over time as you spend many hours working with South Sudanese, Kenyans, Ugandans, and any number of other nationalities.  With numerous interactions daily with people for whom English is not their first language, you begin to pick up phrases that will help you to be more easily understood and to also understand others.  Sure, you pick up a couple of Arabic phrases here and there to make yourself feel like you fit in and are not like “those other expats” who don’t take the time to learn the local language.  The harsh reality is that, despite our best efforts, for the most part all of our communication is in English.  Choppy, halting, broken English.

This is fine for the time that you are working in this environment, where phrases such as: “You first wait” (please wait a minute), “I see you are just on bed” (it appears that you are sleeping in), “how do you see this place?” (how do you like it here?) are acceptable sentences to communicate with other human beings.  The issue comes when you return to your home country and walk up to the immigration officer at JFK and reply, “I was just enjoying,” when asked what you were doing overseas for so long. 

Even your accent begins to change when you speak to someone who you know is not from an English speaking country.  This usually happens subconsciously as we begin to emulate those around us and the people that we interact with, and easily turns into a habit that can be switched on when we are around locals.  It isn't necessarily a bad thing, despite making you look a bit over-eager, or a little thick in the head, but it can be problematic if you attend a meeting with other NGO workers and speak to them in the local tongue.

I say all of this to ask you to bear with us NGO workers as we return to life in our home countries.  The effects aren't usually permanent, but can take some time to wear off after leaving the field.  If anything, it will be a point of amusement for those around us as correct grammatical rules are slowly re-learned and our vocabularies are purged of the slang and lingo that comes with working internationally.  For now though, we are just enjoying and see this place very well."   

His observations are 100% accurate. At any given moment I find myself changing the way I speak to communicate more effectively with nationals, asking them to "come pick me" (can you pick me up at....), or starting a sentence in a meeting with "for me..." (I think...), or answering a greeting with "I am somehow" (I don't feel very well). And while this adaptation provides a bit of humor in everyday interactions, I think it also reflects a deeper truth. I think he put it best as we reflected on it one afternoon, claiming that it brought new meaning to the idea of meeting people at their level. 

When I first arrived in South Sudan, I silently criticized my peers around me for altering the way they spoke just to interact with the locals. I thought it was degrading. Yet the more I interacted with locals, the more necessary I found it. One of my South Sudanese friends even confided in me that she struggled to understand people who were new to the country until the individual learned to speak 'Juba English'. After I heard her thoughts, I realized it didn't matter what I thought was 'proper' English, I needed to humble myself and communicate in a way that would be understood, in a way that showed I desired to interact with the people around me in their comfort zone.

I think (or, "for me") this concept was largely represented in the way Jesus interacted with those around him, and in the way God interacts with people today…and that looks so different across the globe.

The traditional, overly-emotional, alter call experience I’ve always seen is beginning to look a lot less like becoming a Christian the more I study the person of Jesus and what he has asked of us. Now, I don’t want to strip anyone of the authenticity of their conversion through “saying the prayer” or “surrendering at the feet of the cross” in front of the church—in fact I’m right there with them. Heck, I prayed the prayer and hugged friends in tears after their own alter-call-epiphanies. But perhaps the reason we all struggled so much with the affirmation of our salvation in the years that followed was because we believed it was rooted in that ‘feeling’ we had then: in the hype, in the dimmed candlelight, in the light guitar-strumming.

How much more could we meet people where they are at if we simply admitted that we don’t have it all figured out, that perhaps the ‘proper’ way of doing Christianity hasn’t really effectively communicated the right message after all. There are people in this world that will die without knowing the written name of Jesus. There are indigenous people without a bible in their language, without any experience in studying theology. Despite all mission work, despite all the printed copies of scripture available, we are not capable of communicating the message of God’s love in a way that is understood to every person. It’s simply reality…but I have to believe that the God I believe in is bigger than our evangelical capacity, our literacy, or the location/culture we are born into. So though I believe Jesus is the only way, I also believe that the God of perfect justice and mercy will extend grace to those who believe in Him with all their heart, mind, and soul—as limited as their circumstances on earth may force that to be. The rocks and earth scream His glory, and even without knowing who God is doctrinally, every individual is accountable for their decision to recognize God personally. Would this be possible without Jesus? No. But I do believe it is possible for someone to decide to follow Christ, to follow God, without really understanding the ins and outs of Christianity. The man who died next to Jesus on a cross that last day was promised a spot in the kingdom. Did he bow his head to say a prayer, read his not-yet-written-bible every day, or fully understand the idea of the not-yet-completed-resurrection? I doubt it. But did he recognize his own sin, unworthiness, and a desire to follow something so much more powerful than himself? Absolutely. That’s the whole concept of ‘Christ following’: denying ourselves, picking up our cross, and following him.

I think theologically, “becoming a Christian” is still something I’m trying to figure out. There are a lot of opinions on it and denominational traditions that muddle the simplicity of faith, but I think practically, faith is actually all it takes. I believe we are all held to different standards of accountability—that there is still grace for the one who can’t physically speak despite the fact that he can’t “confess with his mouth,” for the one who died too young to understand, for the one too illiterate to read the bible, for the one who’s mental handicap keeps them from comprehending the notion of grace. God is good and just; I trust in that. Today, I am so thankful for a God who meets us where we’re at—on our level.

FAQ

I haven’t written in a while, so this is just an update on the situation here and what life has been looking like. Welcome to my frequently asked questions:

-How was Egypt?

The trip was…interesting. I am so thankful for the opportunities to travel at this age and see things I never thought I would. However, that doesn’t mean I am living the perfect traveler’s life. Traveling is often rough! The diving was great, the drowning was not; the food was great, the digesting was not; the pyramids were great, the police were not. All that to say: fb doesn’t always show the whole picture, I just thought I would spare you all a photo of me hurling in the desert! ;)

-Where are you going next?

The current plan is to find a safari near Ngorongoro Crater and Kilimanjaro then fly over to Zanzibar, a small island off the coast of Tanzania.  Tentative leave date is October 25^th followed by attending a conference in Eldoret, Kenya starting on the 10^th of November.

-How is Juba? Work?

Work has still had its challenges, but I have been given a lot more responsibilities lately and feel like I am more adjusted into my role. I still work long hours and feel uncertain about where I see myself working/ what I see myself studying in a year, but I have yet to meet anyone besides my grandfather who had life figured out at 21 (congratulations Dr. Hans Peterson for the impossible bar you have set for the rest of us). Still, I see a lot of growth here in this role and love the challenges that come with relief work.

-What is the security situation like?

Juba specifically has remained relatively peaceful. The violence here is usually associated with crime and the victims are often left unharmed. This involves a lot of armed robberies and armed carjackings of NGO compounds and vehicles. Violence has continued to escalate in the northern parts of the country, however, and one of our bases was evacuated not long ago. The staff have since returned and everything has settled down for now, but a lot of troop movement and minor incidences still yield to rumors of future attacks. With the food situation already so dire in these locations, any additional security threat has the potential to turn what is now scarcity into a famine.  

-What are you doing now?

For the next two weeks I will be based in Yida, one of our refugee camps in Northern Unity State, South Sudan. I am leading computer training courses for a group of about 30 national staff. This involves sleeping in a tent and a reliable lunch menu of rice and beans every day. I still have internet and the base is rather peaceful, so the change from the commotion of Juba is nice.

-How is CCC?

Anabelle and Faith - CCC Facebook Page

After being featured on Humans of New York, CCC raised over 11,000 Facebook likes and has received an overwhelming amount of support/emails, enough that they hardly have the capacity to handle it all. Still, the girls have no idea what celebrities they are and there is nothing better than sharing a plate of dinner with them every Wednesday night like nothing has changed.  

I started attending church with the girls Sundays at 8:00 am. Since we work on Saturdays, this is my only day to sleep in, so I do not attend very religiously. However, the girls typically guilt-trip me into going and within the past month their main Sunday school teacher left town; he asked me to take over. Before, the girls often read from a children’s bible, rolling their eyes and blatantly talking over the lesson. Now, I won’t excuse their poor behavior and attitudes…but many of these girls are pre-teens who want to be treated like they’re thirty. It’s no wonder they hate church when they are treated like they’re five. I asked the girls if they wanted to keep reading from the children’s bible to which I received a resounding no, and immediately promised them we’d ditch the baby book (thank you camp ministry for forcing me to spend a summer trying to understand pre-teen girls). That Sunday, you could hear a pin drop while Sarah prayed the closing prayer. These girls quoted scripture to me, listened to me share my testimony, and then proceeded to share their stories. Later, when I asked them if they shared these stories with each other, they shook their heads slowly and avoided eye contact with one another.  It amazes me that every Wednesday I will see someone from the media trying to pull these stories out of the girls to utilize for fundraising, forcing the girls to recount painful memories over and over. And yet – they have no one, even amongst each other, to simply listen to their stories for the sake of listening. How sweet it is to play a minor role in the background, to simply spend time with these girls because they are my sisters and not because it is my job or because I have some ulterior motive for hearing about their pasts. At the core they have the same desires I do, to be known and loved simply for the person they are and not the things they can offer. I walked out of the classroom so thankful for little breakthroughs.

And then Anabelle ran away.

I watched the woman in charge run to the front of the church gate frantically, but Annabelle, pictured with baby Faith above) was already too far. She was gone for eight days. This wasn’t like when Julie ran away, no, this was much different. Julie is a scrappy little thing, she knows her way around Juba. Though she may get herself into trouble, she can get herself out of it. Anabelle doesn’t speak a lick of English, is easily provoked, and doesn’t understand social cues in her own culture. Though her deafness is not the cause, her inability to communicate is, and her life is made a daily struggle by this frustration. When they finally found her she had lost a lot of weight and had no idea where she was, bouncing from one camp to another.

When I returned to CCC the following week, I spent a lot of time with Anabelle. We had worked on some sign language before she left and I wanted to pick back up immediately. Though I am by no means qualified to be her teacher, the options here in South Sudan are very limited for her, and I’m doing the best I can with what little time I have. We walked around the kitchen pointing at different items and learning the signs. Before, when I would sign a conceptual sign such as “what?” she would sign it back to me and smile, demonstrating a clear lack of understanding. But this time, as I would sign “what?” and point to an object, she would return the appropriate object sign, a huge step from the previous weeks. Not to mention, I noticed one of the staff members using the sign name I gave her to get her attention, she must have taught them her new name.

The communication skills I can provide her are minimal. And without other signers to interpret her signing, the effort seems futile. However, the joy I see on Anabelle’s face as she finally grasps a concept and that look of curiosity she gives me, dragging me across the compound pointing to different objects in search of a name, makes it worth every second.We spend some time tossing a ball and laying on the trampoline before I leave for the evening, so thankful she is finally safe again. 

For the remainder of the week I start thinking about all the possibilities Anabelle could have if she could just attend school. I start dreaming up intricate plans of how I could help get her to a school in Uganda or Kenya, picturing her graduating and one day being able to actually read the letters she carries around every day, and researching the amount of funds my schemes would require. After a week of waiting to discuss these options with the CCC staff, Wednesday finally arrives. Rather than immediately going to hold baby Brian, per the usual Wednesday routine, I detour to the administration office and ask if anyone would be willing to discuss options for Anabelle’s future…silence. Someone clears their throat and stumbles out the words: Anabelle will be going back to Bor.

Bor!? I read those security updates, I know what happens in Bor! They can’t send her there? She could be killed. CCC is her family now, who will she return to? And how will she make a life for herself, everyone knows she is deaf. Even if she could get married, her dowry would be practically nothing…Anabelle. Going back to Bor.

I know that even in relief work, you can’t expect to save everyone. I know that suffering is the nature of the world we live in. But I also know that nothing will change for Anabelle if we don’t try...

That’s all of the updates I have for now. Please be in prayer for my travels, the work of SP, and the girls at CCC. If you would ever like one specific girl to pray for I would love to give you her name and tell you a little about her and her specific needs, so feel free to message me for details on that! Thanks for reading - Breanna

Brian -CCC Facebook Page

Yida Refugee Camp - S.Morson

Afternoon S.Sudanese Ginger Coffee Break in Yida - S.Morson

A Closer Look in the Mirror

Hiking Mt. Jebel with the children from CCC - Twitter R. Musser

Beauty, Self-worth, Identity—Concepts I have heard so often preached in routine motivational speeches that I could recite them in my sleep. Throw in a solid reference to being “fearfully and wonderfully made” and a body-to-temple comparison and you have a pre-teen girls best-seller in the making.

It is no surprise to me that our fiercely independent and identity driven culture sparks a desire in each of us to see who we are clearly, but perhaps I still got confused along the way. Perhaps I wasn’t looking closely enough in the mirror…

Boys, I’m warning you now: you are about to witness the emotional state of a girl after getting a haircut (while she simultaneously attempts to grow out bangs). Which I have since determined is entirely normal. Ladies, back me up here.

We all make our fair share of mistakes in life. One of mine just so happens to be attempting to cut my own hair in a third world country with no access to a hair stylist.  I know your curiosity is beginning to creep in at this point, so rather than stalking my Facebook, just go ahead and scroll down for a picture—I’ll wait. After staring in frustration at my bangs for nearly a half hour attempting to force their growth with my mind (I’ve discussed ‘the force’ with my youngest brother one too many times), and developing unrealistic expectations by looking up demonstrations on Pinterest, I grabbed my scissors. After all, it’s just hair…Four hours later I stood next to the sink in tears.

I am so embarrassed to admit that. Honestly. Hair is such a petty thing to cry over. I convince myself it must be a biological reaction rather than admit this newly discovered weakness in my character. Surely, there is a scientific link between hair and tears that requires both to be shed at the same time.

Regrettably, there is not.

How can I see suffering around me every day and then cry about this? Am I really that shallow? Or is there something deeper going on in my heart?

I recently finished a book by Donald Miller called, Blue like Jazz. In the very last chapter he admits how uncomfortable he has always felt with the idea of receiving love, or even loving himself. I find myself struggling with the same thing. I always blamed my distaste of any “God wants you to love yourself” sermon on phony, feel-good theology. It feels wrong to love myself; it goes against humility, allows me to believe I have the ability to assign myself worth, and refuses to acknowledge all my flaws.  Miller reconciles this discomfort with a fresh perspective on the golden rule: we are to love our neighbors as ourselves. When I search the mirror in the morning, scoffing at all my flaws internally and externally, what kind of bar am I setting for how I will love those around me? The truth is…I would never treat another human being the way I treat myself. I would never put them under the same scrutiny and shame that I put myself through. Though I still firmly believe I am not capable of assigning myself worth, that only God can, I need to see that this means I cannot assign myself value good or bad. I spend so much time asking God to help me see the world as he sees it, to love people as he does, and yet I can never seem to open my eyes enough to see myself through His eyes.

I stood there that night crying over my hair with a sea of other self-degrading thoughts. More often than not, us girls are one bad haircut away from admitting how little beauty we see in ourselves. And though this message mainly tailors towards women, I have no doubt guys struggle with self-confidence in their own ways.  

Sometimes as believers we tend to over-emphasize one half of the gospel. My discomfort in allowing others to love on me, I’m realizing, is closely tied to this. I don’t view myself as having worth because I truly believe I am unworthy and undeserving of grace, as many references in scripture would support. Yet, I am missing the other half of the story.

Despite the fact that I am unworthy, the Lord gives me worth anyways.

Despite the fact that I am a sinner, the Lord makes me clean.

Despite the ways I see myself, the Lord claims me as His beautiful masterpiece.

So, all that being said, please take some time to check out these pictures below of some ways I see beauty in South Sudan. I realize this post was not much of an update on the situation here, and with a few things unraveling here I anticipate posting another brief update in the near future for prayer needs. I will be traveling to Egypt on Friday for some time off after working for 10 weeks (perks of being a relief worker), and I hope to take lots of pictures then, too! In the meantime, I will be taking suggestions on the best place to donate an extra pair of scissors I just happen to have lying around ;) ma'a salama.

Jokes on you! It's staying in a bun 24/7. But for real it's not that bad. You can creep my FB if you really want to see.

Colorful Umbrellas in Konyo Konyo

Brian at CCC learning to stand - CCC Facebook Page

Our amazing SP staff here in South Sudan

Next stop: Dahab, Egypt.

True Joy

Operation Christmas Child Distribution - B. Dargel

I am nearly a month in now, and time has flown by. My days have become numbered by routine: another Tuesday pizza night down, another Wednesday at the children's home (CCC), another Thursday game of Ultimate, another Friday end-of-the-week report uploaded in the accounting system - you get the point. But every now and then, a moment occurs that stands apart from the rest and keeps the notion of a typical work week in suspension.

Within the past two weeks, the recurring themes of happiness and joy intertwined with stories of suffering - a combination that often goes hand in hand here. Despite the countless number of lessons and observations that have also left an impression on me from my time here, I think this idea sticks out the most.

The Operation Christmas Child Distribution certainly falls under the topic of happiness. The entire room was filled with pure joy as we watched a remarkably small stack of boxes somehow multiply into the hands of each child in the room. Granted, you still see the unfortunate kid who ended up with the practical gift let out a half-hearted smile of appreciation, or the mom who swears her kid only got one box shove two under her chair, but the overwhelming sea of laughter quickly drowned out these minute faults. Overall, the event was perfect.  

Reading at CCC - Confident Children out of Conflict FB Page

This week, my co-worker and I decided to try something different with the girls at CCC. The girls really wanted us to bring nail polish with us to paint their nails, so we came up with an even better idea. After returning week after week for a month now without really being able to explain to the girls why we come to see them, the idea of finding a way to serve them seemed a good opportunity to build deeper relationships. We decided to prepare a small bible study to tell the story of when Jesus washed the disciples feet and then do the same for them. These are girls who have been taken off the streets with testimonies that leave them scarred, literally. Their feet are covered in dirt and blistered. Yet, I am so thankful for every second of it. In that moment we were able to spend time with each girl individually, serve her, listen to her, and pray for her; the walls were coming down. There's something just awkward and personal enough about washing someone's feet that forces some vulnerability :) After we washed their feet we painted their toenails and then ran around outside barefoot to play for a while, ensuring the proper layer of dirt had returned before finishing the night playing on the drums.  Despite everything they have been through, these girls were HAPPY. 

Now, I'm not usually the optimist. In fact, I'm often far from it...but I can't think of a better song of praise than one that comes from a heart of brokenness. 

A few days ago I met a man named Bashir who sums up this thought perfectly.  He has been unemployed, beaten, imprisoned, and tortured for his faith living in Sudan and other Islamic cultures - and yet he still returns to his home there because he loves the people. He told countless stories of converted Muslims who lost everything for choosing to follow Christ. Their decision process looks so different than it does for many of us - they knowingly give up the customer loyalty that keeps their businesses operating, they give up friends, they give up their culture and traditions, some even give up their family. And yet when we lose a family member our faith shatters. Hear me out - this is not a comparison of loss; I don't believe that is something that can be compared. However, I believe it is noteworthy that our faith and joy amidst these circumstances looks drastically different. 

Simply because we didn't bargain away our jobs, friends, or family to be a believer does not insinuate we ever had control over them in the first place. Rather, despite the lack of control we hold, we have a God who remains constant and stable. That is what allows us to believe despite circumstances. That is where we find joy.