A Widow's Mite

Another Sunday morning. Another church visitation. Another opportunity to share the vision of ECWA Camp Youth Alive, make awareness for this years camp, and petition for financial support from both the church and individuals to help make the ministry more locally sustainable. And another morning spent on a less-than-erognomically shapped wooden pew, attempting to glean what I could from the Hausa sermon. Don't get me wrong, I fully believe in this aspect of the ministry...its just that I've been to a different church every Sunday since February, often sitting through two 2-hr long services...and my schpill has lost some of its vigor. Out of all the congregations we've spoken too, a very small percentage have come through in collecting an offering to help the ministry offset registration costs for camp. So sitting there Sunday morning, i suppose you could say my optimism wasn't spilling over the brim. After 1.5 hrs into the service, towards the end of the announcement time, my colleague and I were asked to come forward to give our brief awareness (during our pre-service meeting with the pastor, he emphasized how he'd give us just 2 minutes). I did my part in greeting the congregation and attempting to butter them up with my Hausa before my colleague did the dirty work. Mission accomplished, we settle into our seats for the rest of the service.
Much to my surprise, the associate pastor decided that he would add an offering for ECYA to the other ones (making a total of 5, I believe) to be collected that morning. In these churches, offering time is the liveliest part of the service with upbeat music being played and everyone filing out in rows, then dancing down the aisle to drop their money in the baskets, rubber tubs, wooden crates, or other large containers. As I stood clapping and rhythmically swaying side-to-side, I saw something I don't think I'll ever forget. Slowly, deliberately, this one old kaka made her way towards the offering basket. I had seen her come into the building about 45 mins after the service had begun. Completely bent-over with her torso parallel to the floor, hands clasping her walking stick, she had shuffled in. I had watched her take a full minute to maneuver the 1 step near her seat, and wondered how long it had taken her just to get showered and dressed that morning. Now, with steadfast resolve she struggled to cover the 10 yards to the offering basket. As she shuffled, my eyes filled with tears, my heart filled with gratitude, and my apathy got a swift kick to the curb by this humble picture. That 5 Naira note she dropped into our basket was out-valued only by the sacrifice of her journey to give it. Luke 21:1-4 took on flesh, bones, and an african wrapper.

When she finally returned to her seat, I saw relief sweep over her face, and I let out the breath, I didn't realize I had been holding, with my own sigh of relief. Slightly I thanked the Lord for this blessed woman and her sacrifice. When the service finished and the church secretary handed us the bundle of money from the offering I looked at one of the crumpled 5 naira notes and knew I was holding a treasure. It won't pay for a camper scholarship or even a cup of tea, but it payed for this missionary to be humbled.

Just then he looked up and saw the rich people dropping offerings in the collection plate. Then he saw a poor widow put in two pennies. He said, "The plain truth is that this widow has given by far the largest offering today. All these others made offerings that they'll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn't afford—she gave her all!" ~Luke 21:1-4, The Message

What I could have done without

Remember how I mentioned in my blog about the soccer game that I had a little list of must-do/see while in Africa? Well, one of the things on my hope-to-not-have-to-deal-with happened, and I felt obligated to share it with you. Motor accident. (I can her the gasp from my mother, G'pa Haile, and a handful of others. Don't worry, since I'm at a computer, I'm clearly ok:))
Right, so there I was, driving Claudia's (my boss) truck to a little village called Luwuna. Shammah was with me as we were going to pick up Keturah, his wife, and Reborn Marshall, his son (and my namesake, see blog). We also picked up Keturah's sister, Rose, and were happily cruising through the lush, green Nigerian countryside. At one point I slowed down and turned on my blinker to make a left-turn. In fact, I had come to a complete stop and saw no cars in sight. Just as I began to turn the car, BAAAAMMMM!! SCCCRRRAAAAAAPPPPPEEEE!! A van came flying out of nowhere trying to pass on my left (while I'm making a left-turn) and completely took off the front left corner of the truck!! Shards of metal littered the road, though my truck hadn't budged. Shocked but knowing this was going to require a bit of discussion, I pulled over to the right side of the road. Immediately I replayed the scene in my mind and deduced that I, without a doubt, did nothing wrong...except, of course, for the fact that my skin is pigmently challenged. The driver, an older man, gets out and starting walking towards me yelling about how I didn't look very well and I'm thinking, "Are you kidding me?!?!?!" YOU are the one who didn't see my blinker, didn't slow down, and tried to pass me while I was turning!!! You should be apologizing right now!!" Again, I was thinking these things. All I managed to get out was "I did nothing wrong." As the crowd gathered, I said to Shammah, "I am NOT at fault here and will NOT give him any money. At most, I'll agree to part ways taking responsibility to fix our own vehicles." Ha..silly white girl notions. Ensued 1.5 hours of debate on the side of the road as spectators swarmed in, not saying much, and probably not listening, just staring at me. Of course, there would have been a crowd for any accident, but THIS one had a baturiya driving! What a novelty!
A couple nice guys attempted to mediate, advising me to plead and beg with the baba to just accept a small token for an apology, so as to avoid hassle. I tried that, letting Shammah do the talking because (1) my Hausa wasn't flowing (2) my emotions were flowing and hence my tears threatened to break the dam and flood my face if I opened my mouth. The dude threw out a figure like N50,000 (=$300), COMPLETELY ridiculous, and i just laughed, responding that I have N1,500 (=$10) in my wallet. Naturally, they didn't believe me because white folks excrete money, right? When I got my wallet it and showed him the mangie 3 N500 notes, they smacked their lips and said, "Let's go to the police station." Conveniently this was only a stones throw away. I'm thinking I have nothing to fear, other than a loss of time, so why not? Now, the policeman was very nice but had never driven a vehicle before in his life and said that while baba should have stopped, I was supposed to "wait a full 5 minutes before making the turn."...WHAT??? The baba was pretty vocal, and aggressive and the growing crowd of ---- people no doubt intimidated the policeman. Negotiations migrated outside the station but I remained inside. At one point when everyone was outside except me and the policeman, the tears started streaming down my face. 4 main thoughts swirled inside my head: (1) this likely wouldn't be happening if I was black. (2)here's another example of the infuriating situation where I'm being exploited by Nigeria, the very place I came to give myself to (3) if that van had been a couple seconds later, the van would have nailed me...no more Rene. Ok, enough of those thoughts (4) So THIS is what it feels like to suffer at the hands of injustice.
OK...perhaps a little dramatic, but I have to be give it to you as it came.
Anyways, the policeman had pity on me upon seeing my waterworks and tried to encourage me...but at the end of the day, Rose, Shammah and I still had to empty our pockets, which only came to the sum of N4,500 (=$30). Not that I'm bitter, but essentially this guy broke traffic laws, hit me, damaged Claudia's truck, nearly killed me, and robbed us. I've had better Nigerian moments.

BUT, once I got to the village all the wahala of the previous few hours blew away with gentle breeze coming in over the maize farms. My little "son" is absolutely precious and remembered me! Most Nigerian babies will cry when they see a white person, especially when taken out of their mother's protective arms and placed on the bature's lap. Reborn is too culturally educated for that :) I "backed" him (see picture) and we took a walk all around the village greeting people and exercising my "deep Hausa." Grace upon grace, the day with my heart being filled with gratitude and contentment.

Palm Sandals for Sale

A fellow "missy" out here, Chuck Truxton, passed along this story of a camper from our ministry. Chuck yearly sponsors several youth to come to our camp and its just incredible what comes of that sometimes. I wanted to share this story with you, perhaps giving you a bigger perspective on why I do what I do.

We buried Mamman’s father (at the age of 36) when Mamman was just beginning Secondary School. As the oldest of the four children, and especially being the eldest son, his mother began to rely on him as the man of the house. New purchases were put in his name for his future security. Sometimes mother and son discussed family issues as she used to do with her husband. Mamman was now the man of the house.

Still, just coping with life in secondary school was enough of a challenge. Mamman was not at the top of his class academically. What contribution could he make to seeing that the family’s needs were met and the future secure for his siblings? His mother was able to get a job cleaning rooms and dressing beds at a nearby Bible conference centre. But Mamman wanted to do something to help.

Then came “long vacation” and ECYA (ECWA Camp - Youth Alive). ECWA is Evangelical Church of West Africa, daughter church to SIM which has ministered in Nigeria for more than 115 years.

Mamman was given the opportunity of attending the camp for one week due to a gift from friends in America. It looked like a great way to get away and have FUN! And it was. But something interesting happened that was more than just fun. For Mamman, the craft time at the camp was the highlight of each day.

At the craft room, there was a choice of activities. Mamman selected making palm sandals. This turned out to be the best part of the camp for sure. Not only did Mamman have fun learning how to make palm sandals but he also realized: “Hey, I am good at this. My finished product looks almost professional! “

Then it happened. An idea was born.

No one had ever characterized this secondary school student as a “visionary.” But Mamman saw himself sitting in a workshop back home in his village, crafting palm sandals to sell to people in the village. These sandals are something that everyone uses every day of the week. People trek to the market to buy them, but what is available in the market is not nearly as nice as what Mamman saw his own hands producing. This could work!

Just two months after camp, Mamman found himself sitting in small workshop in his village, crafting sandals. Through a gift from a friend of his late father, he was able to purchase the one expensive item needed: a grinding wheel for shaping the base of the sandals. People are buying his product and Mamman can see that his work is helping his mother and taking some of the burden from her shoulders.

Just one big problem remains now. Mamman is not able to make palm sandals fast enough to meet up with the demand in the village! God is at work.
And this is just one of many stories we get to hear about in ECWA Camp Youth Alive. Sometimes with all the printing, speaking, traveling, and planning, we lose sight of the far-reaching outcomes of the ministry. Lives are being changed!! We do not just know this from the evaluation form campers and staff fill out at the end of camp, but we hear and see it when we run into former campers in the market, or former staff walk across the seminary graduation stage. ECYA 2009 is just around the corner (Jos: August 4-10, Aug 11-17; Kaduna: Aug 22-29; Tangale: September 3-9). Please join us in praying for the Holy Spirit to continue working in ways on the Holy Spirit can—healing broken hearts, open blind eyes, unlocking deaf ears, setting captives free, giving hope and changing lives. And hey, if you are interested in sponsoring a camper, drop me an email.

Up Nigeria!!

On my list of "must-do-in-africa", right after wearing gargantuas head-ties and driving a motorbike through the countryside (both being crossed off, by the way), was seeing a professional soccer game. I mean, here soccer is thoroughly appreciated, if not worshipped, as the noble sport that it is. Every afternoon you can easily stumble upon any number of pick-up games being played on patches of dirt, gravel, pavement or stubbly grass. Every boy learns to play before he's even taller than the ball, and virtually each one has the dream of making it big and being drafted for Manchester United of Chelsea. SO, when I stumbled upon an opportunity to see Nigeria's national team, the Super Eagles, play against Kenya in a World Cup Qualifier match, you can bet I jumped all over it...and so did about 20 other friends.
We journeyed to Abuja where the Super Eagle Stadium sits just outside of the city, backdropped by a huge gorgeous rock (see pic below). I had heard that the stadium's capacity was something like 60,000, but for some reason, it rarely gets more than half-full, despite tickets selling for N300 (= $2.00). Well, not so for this match! Yes, the tickets were basically given away for that price, but they evidently sold WAY more tickets than they had seats.I'm not sure if you can see, but every seat was filled and people packed the stairs, aisles, and walkways. It's a good thing there wasn't a need for an emergency exit, because we couldn't budge!

The game was scheduled to start at 4, but even World Cup Qualifier games can't overpower the African clock...so it didn't start till close to 5. Some of our crew got there early to reserve seats, so if you happened to watch the game, you might have spotted a pocket of batures on the 2nd level at center-field. decked out in Nigeria jerseys and homemade facepaint. Glorious.

I have heard all sorts of stories about unruly fans here in Africa and so REALLY hoped Nigeria would win. Thankfully, Nigeria put the ball in the back of the net within the first 2 minutes and maintained a lead the whole match. Other than the typical fouls, injuries, and player theatrics, the game was fairly tame. I was surpised to see how the Nigerian fans expressed their strongest displeasure with the captain. Virtually every time he touched the ball and made a less-than-stellar play, up with the hand cursing him! I gather they aren't to pleased with his leadership. (And yes, I am ignorant of pretty much everyone's name on the team...quite the disappointment to my sports trivia guru of a fiance)

Though a few squirmishes amongst the fans broke out in front of me due to invade personal space (which i didn't think Nigerians really had), the most unruly actions were actually made in jubilation. Fans used their empty plastic drink bottles as confetti, chucking them onto the track. The small army of police and military were powerless to do anything about it expect dodge the projectiles being hurled about them. The announcer attempted to discourage this, but only succeeded in provoking fans to do it more. I was mildly amused, but started to take cover when my friend got pegged by an empy coke can.

We took our time exitting the stadium, flowed with the tide of people to our vehicles parked a couple kilometers away, and then somehow stuffed 21 people and a guitar into two small cars (VW Golf and an 80's model Toyota camry wagon). Nigerians were delighted to see us batures supporting their country, cheering "Up Nigeria!" and cramming into cars. Definitely ranks up there on memorable moments in Nigeria. Check out more pictures and stay tuned because Nigeria's still in the running for a World Cup bid!

Another Engagement

Spanning cultural, national, ethnic, and generational differences sits the celebration of marriage. Oh sure, it LOOKS very different, but the joining of two people and families is a big deal and I'm hard-pressed to think of a people group that doesn't give it special attention. I find the different customs absolutely fascinating. Just a couple weeks after my epic engagement, I was priviledged to be on the inside circle during two dear friends' "official" engagement. Now, Akim had proposed to Abigail the western way back in December, but nothing could be official unti he showed her family the money--the dowry. Of course, since its Nigeria, everything is done with pomp and pizazz. If you don't mind, allow me to share some of the highlights:
--Akim and his entourage arrived slightly tardy to Abigail's uncles house, so the Mamma emcee of the day demanded a "late fee" before they could enter. Seriously, everyone in the group had to drop bills into a bowl before they could pass through the gate.
--Contrary to what I thought for the majority of the ceremony, this mamma emcee was not a family relation, but makes her living by orchestrating these "engagement" parties. It is part of the Yoruba tradition
--Multiple times, Akim and his brother and uncles had to prostrate themselves down in front of Abigails side of the family, showing his devotion and desire towards them. At least three times for they did it "in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."
--Symbolizes how his family would support him in the marriage, Akim was hoisted up by his brother & uncles and carried around the area
--Abigail watched most of the formalities from a bedroom window before she was lead out, head completely covered. Finally, she was paraded in with dancing (yours truly included in the train), unveiled and Akim had to confirm (monetarily) that his was indeed "the one" he desired.
--One of my favorite moments, was when both sets (of extremely reserved) parents were asked to face each other, and then dance towards each other "joining" the two families. Awkward turtle anyone??
--With all the loot Akim had to bring (jericans of palm oil, wrappers, a goat, salt, drinks, etc), Abigail was told to pick one item. I personally really wanted her to go for the goat, who looked trepidly around the whole time, anticipating his fate as tomorrow's dinner. BUT, Abigail being the honorable and godly woman that she is, chose the Bible. Still not sure if she really had an option. Anyways, tied onto the ribbon around the Bible was her and Akim's engagement rings.
--Abigail then had a few tasks to complete: putting Akim's hat on him (the first of many times she will dress him once they are married...wierd), giving him a kiss on the cheek (exemplifying the affection she will give him), and flashing her new ring before the crowd, affirming her pride in Akim's gift to her.
--Dancing, praying, money "spraying" (showing appreciation and support for people by putting money on their foreheads)(makes having a sweaty forehead a plus for it will stick and you'll look really cool)('spraying' has actually been outlawed by the government because it damages the bills when they fall to the ground and get danced on), and eating (of course) took up the rest of the ceremony.

Now, while I had a blast sharing in this moment with my friends, I'm ok with Andrew and myself not being embarrased in this way for our engagement. Then again, it would be amusing to watch Andrew prostrate himself before my family with all his groomsmen...perhaps it can be incorporated into our ceremony... :)

In a couple of weeks Abigail and Akim will be getting hitched, so look out for the blog for that one. Until then check out more pictures here of the engagement ceremony

Ratatouille and Dippin' Dots

I bet Ratatouille and Dippin’ Dots aren’t the first foods you think of when you think of Africa. Me either. In fact, they are so random that you might not be aware that both ratatouille and dippin’ dots are food items. Well, if my life has been anything the past month (or however long it’s been since I blogged), it has been random.

This past Monday began about like any Monday: 5:45am wake up, run 5 miles, chomp down some granola and head off to work. Mid-morning when I came back to the house to give car keys to the mechanic, I noticed a foul smell in the house. Hmm...perhaps Max, our cat, has brought in a mouse/bird/lizard and left it half-eaten somewhere. I looked under chairs, bookshelves, and cupboards to no avail. Then, I go to put something away in my closet and am blasted by the odoriferous funk. Letting my eyes adjust to the dark, I peer into the back and discover...

AHHH!!!

Yes, after a slight yelp, I go outside and yell to the compound guard, “DANLADI!! KA ZO YANZU!! AKWAI BERA A CIKI GIDANA!!!!!!!!!” Danladi, come now! There is a rat in my house!

Danladi tries his best to stifle his laughter as he rids my living quarters of the pestilence.

Maybe you don’t remember, but I had a bit of a traumatic incident last year with rats and have been forever scarred. I would have preferred a dead snake to a rat. And besides, this was no small, cute furry, nearly micky-mouse like critter...it was massive!! And in my CLOSET!! (OK, calm down, René...at least it was dead).Since there has been no sign of rat anywhere in our house (and that thing would leave some serious poo), and we don’t have rat poison anywhere, I determined that Max must have killed it and brought it in as present/punishment for me Sunday when we left her alone all day. See the killer with her typical prey.
OR, God could have been getting His holy kicks with me because I actually had planned to make the dish ratatouille for some friends for dinner, and watch the movie. Funny, YHWH, reeeeaaallly funny. And NO, I did not supplement my dinner with my discovery.

Today, no rodents in the house to my knowledge. However, the afternoon rain came in with vengeance today, deafening me with fierce hail on my tin roof. While the aforementioned ferocious feline hid under my bed, I watched my yard get covered in hail. Except, my brain didn’t register it as hail, but as DIPPIN DOTS!!
Just before I dashed outside with my spoon, an intelligent nuron fired and I realized it was hail. Oh, but what I would do for a bowl of Dippin’ Dots right now. They are the “ice cream of the future” after all. Can anyone send me some???

Fianceed!!!

Attention world wide webers, I have been decisively plucked out of, never to reenter, the dating category and plunged into the engaged category. I figured posting the story on the blog was the best way to share it and pictures. Fortunately, my charming, well-spoken fiancee, Andrew Haile, has already chronicled the epic surprise visit and proposal so all I have to do is slip in my few comments and spruce it up with pictures. I think this partnership's going to work out just fine :)
Here's the full scoop (from Andrew's perspective), minus the spit-swapping and other TMI sorts of things:

THE BACKGROUND
So, as many of you may already know, I have been dating this girl, Rene Marshall, since the summer of 2005 when we met at camp and decided, after some awkward salsa dancing and capsized sailboats, that we liked each other. We have dated long distance throughout much of our relationship-- me in Paris, Rene in the States; Rene hiking the Appalachian Trail, me at Middlebury; Rene being in Nigeria, me being in Guinea. Despite the separation, however, we've continued to grow closer and closer over these past three years.
After rendezvousing with Rene in Northern Ireland last year, I felt a real peace about the idea of marriage in a way that I hadn't ever felt before. I began praying about proposing and felt God giving me the green light. Over Christmas, I asked her folks if it was cool, and they both said to "go get 'em slugger." Well, not in as many words, but they gave their blessing. So I decided to start planning a ridiculously cool, amazingly romantic, stunning surprise proposal trip to Nigeria, where Rene was and is working as a Youth Camp Coordinator for Serving in Mission (SIM).

THE PREPARATION
Rene's little sister, Kari, happens to be working in Nigeria as well. The same city and everything. How helpful! I had been thinking, for a long time, of surprising Rene with a proposal in a way that was creative, fun, and communicated to her just how special she was. Guitars, campfires, scandalously romantic poems came to mind. So, after I got back from my X-mas trip to the States, I emailed Kari and asked her if, indeed, it was possible to come to Nigeria without Rene knowing it and propose. She said, "go get 'em slugger." Well, not in as many words, but she said she could help make it work. So we got to work with the nitty-gritties: visas, plane tickets, dates, rides from airports, places to stay, etc. We worked it out so that Rene-- wonderful, oblivious Rene-- would think that I was coming to visit at the end of May, when, in reality, I was actually coming to visit on April 21st. And Kari-- my inside woman-- made it all happen on the Nigeria end, with help from other folks as well. I was to show up in Abuja early on the 21st, be taken to the camp where Rene was working, and propose, in stunningly unforgettable fashion.
So-- plane ticket bought, rides arranged, passport in hand, butterflies in stomach, I boarded the plane from Guinea to Nigeria and prayed for the best.

THE PROPOSAL
The flight from Conakry to Lagos was four hours late. Thus, I got into Lagos-- the second most dangerous city in the world for clueless white dudes, studies show-- at midnight. I was terrified. Kari had said that she had set up a person to meet me at the airport and put me up for the night, but of course, this was Africa-- why would anything go "according to plan?" Silly western notions. So if Plan A didn't come off, I was planning on holding up my wallet and passport, writing "ROB ME" on my forehead in permanent marker, skipping out the airport singing "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood" and hoping for the best. Yet, thanks to my wonderful planners, I got to stick to Plan A and was met by a Nigerian man named Stephen who held a sign saying "Kyle Rene." I figured, since I knew 50% of the people represented on that sign, it must apply to me, and so I approached the man, shook his hand vigorously, and asked him if he was indeed the person who was supposed to meet me here. He said yes. Woohoo! So, in typical wonderful African hospitality, I was taken from the airport, showered, fed, hosted, and generally well loved until the next morning, when I was taken back to the airport to get my flight to Abuja, and from there, a car ride to Rene's camp in a town called Gombe.
Unfortunately, I missed my flight to Abuja. Two things caused this: 1) me having my clock an hour behind (I gained a time zone coming to Nigeria) and 2) African punctuality (or lack thereof). Stephen, my main man, came into my room at what I thought was 5:30am, and told me to get ready to go to the airport for my 6:50am flight. No problem, right? Except that it was 6:30 and I had twenty minutes to catch my flight! So it wasn't until I was being driven out onto the tarmac, watching my plane's outside door being closed and sealed, that I glanced at the clock on the car I was in and realized I was indeed an hour behind. Grrrr.
So, trying to keep my breathing pattern normal, I hurried back into the airport and went to the airline desk.
"Uh, sir?" I accosted the disinterested airline official. "I just missed my flight and need to get to Abuja. What do I do?"
The man gestured at the ticket window. "Go buy a new ticket. Plenty of airlines have flights to Abuja today."
"I don't have any Naira. Is there any way you can just put me on a new flight?" I gave him my best pathetic-white-dude look and smiled beseechingly.
"Go talk to the people at the counter," he said.
I thanked him and walked over to the ticket counter. There were three large Nigerian women behind the glass.
"Good morning, ladies-- I just missed my flight to Abuja and I was wondering if there's any way I can get on a new flight this morning."
I tried to look cute. They all looked at each other.
"Bellview Airlines only has one flight a day. You can come back tomorrow morning and catch the early flight," one woman said.
"I need to get to Abuja today though-- are there any other flights?" I asked.
"Why do you need to get to Abuja today?" one asked.
"I'm proposing to my girlfriend." I smiled winningly and gave her bambi eyes. They all laughed and clapped.
"Well-- in that case, paying 14,000 Naira for a new ticket shouldn't be a problem, right? Anything for a proposal!" the woman said.
"But ma'am," I said, "I don't have any Naira! Do you guys take credit cards?"
They shook their heads.
"Is there any way you can help me?" I pleaded.
They all looked at each other, again. The one on the right typed a few things in her computer and printed off a receipt. "Here--" she said, "Take this money and go buy a ticket on the Afrijet flight at 8:15." She refunded my ticket and handed me the cash.
I wanted to kiss her.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, all of you!"
I dashed over to the Afrijet counter, got a new ticket, and went to the gate to board my new plane. Sweet, sweet, Bellview Airlines employees!
Arriving in Abuja, I was met by two Nigerian guys-- Victor and Shammah. They told me that they had been informed of the grand plan, and had been commissioned by Kari and co. to escort me out to Rene's camp in Gombe. Shammah even had a video camera, and told me he was going to take lots of film "to make the engagement even more special." Great idea. We all piled into Victor's van and drove the nine hours to Gombe.
We got there after dark due to the looooong drive, and had a quick team meeting. I had wanted a) to have some kind of campfire to invite Rene to and b) to have a chance to shower, change, and look presentable after 24 hrs of continuous travel. Neither seemed to be feasible, due to three hours of torrential rain and the location of Rene's camp being at a local school. So, I threw on a collared shirt, hastily applied some Old Spice in the back of the van, and told the guys I was ready.
Prepping the big surprise, we found a spare classroom that was a little ways away from the rest of camp and arrayed our flashlights around the room in order to provide a sufficient amount of light for the video camera. I grabbed my guitar, checked to be sure it was in tune, and positioned myself with my back to the door. One of the camp staff went and got Rene and told her to come because "a camper was crying and needed to talk to her." [it should be well noted that I was dead to the world asleep when I was retrieved. Thus the ensuing scene seemed more dreamlike and trippy than most of my dreams]
We waited a few minutes. I fiddled with my guitar. Agony.
I heard her feet, shuffling across the floor behind me, my heart leaped into my throat, and then:

"No freaking way."

I turned slightly, to see Rene: hair askew, eyes squinted, staring at me, smiling, shaking her head slowly back and forth.
"Are you kidding me?" she asked rhetorically, still staring. [all I could think was, "God, if this is a dream, I'm going to be very angry with you!]
I smiled back and told her to have a seat on the bench in front of me. She sat down slowly, still shaking her head. I took a deep breath and proceeded to play our favorite song, the song we were both singing when we first met: "In Christ Alone." I strummed and sang the first and last verses, and then pulled out a letter I had written to her and read it. I told her I loved her [we had purposely never said these words to each other throughout our relationship] and asked her to marry me.
And guess what? She said yes!

Duh-duh-daa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[who knows what my answer would have been had I not been in a sleepy stupor:)]
[though the setting lacked the traditional scenic view and delectible meal, it was all to appropriate seeing as we met at camp]

[Also, noteworthy...a few nights before I had a dream that Andrew came early to Nigeria to surprise me. Except, in the dream, despite everyone's expectations, he never got around to proposing, leaving me to wake up with all this angst about his visit. God and I had some words that morning. When I shared this with Andrew he said, "So my real self is cooler than my dream self!" Yes...and it was cool how the Lord calmed and prepared my heart for his visit.]

SO YEAH
So, turns out we're engaged! Rene and I had a wonderful week in Nigeria together--beginning with a celebration there in Gombe[see above picture], visiting with her friends, seeing the work that she's involved with, walking through the Jos market, eating meat pies, going on a safari (sans animals, phooey), playing ultimate frisbee with the horde of missionaries that live in the city. [I, Rene, had of course had a full itinerary already made out for May so frantically tried to refit it into these few days] [Included was a little engagement party where they honored us and showed some of the footage from the proposal. Definitely one of the most awkward moments of mine and Andrew's life thus far, but the thoughtfulness was appreciated.] It was a joyous week, if painfully short. It looks like we'll be having the wedding early next summer [early June], after we both get back from Africa [René in October 2009, Andrew February 2010].

Should be a blast, so go ahead and plan on coming!! And as always, see my web album for more pictures. Thanks for sharing in our joy!

May the wonders of our Lord never cease!

my new son

Last month, I spent a couple nights dashing to and from the hospital with Shammah and Ketuah, eagerly anticipating the arrival of their first child. You know in the movies when the pregnant woman gets that look on her face and everyone goes into panic mode rushing the lady to the hospital? Well, it was nothing like that. I received a very calm phone call from Shammah saying, “Yes, sister René, could you come to the house by 7? Ketuah is feeling some different movings and I think we need to visit the hospital...” (side note: Shammah and Ketuah, like many Nigerians, don’t own a car and live a bit of a hike off the main road. Plus, due to the 7pm curfew on motorbikes, their main mode of transportation, they didn’t have the freedom to move.) I cancel the game night about to be hosted at my house, jump into my car, and zip over to their place. Do I find a panic-stricken fat lady and her anxiety-ridden husband? No. They are just as calm as can be and Ketuah even refused to let me carry her bag to the car. As I squeeze my Toyota 4-runner (on loan from a fellow missionary) through the cinder block neighborhood and then past 4 military-controlled check-points (still in place 5 months after the crisis), I’m thinking, “How exciting to be on the front row for this momentous event in their lives!” I missed out on being present when my brother and his wife had their first child (though Ali’s picture-taking/sharing obsession ensures I know what my niece looks like nearly weekly), but perhaps I can be a part of my Nigerian brother, Shammah, and his wife’s first birth. What would have been REALLY cool was if I insert a picture here of Ketuah giving birth in my car...instead, for two nights in a row we made these trips to the hospital with nothing to show for it. S & K ended up sleeping in my bed (knowing that the military dudes might try to extract a bribe for letting me pass, albeit with a legitimate excuse, after the 9pm vehicle curfew, I opted to avoid that unpleasant situation). Each ensuing night I expected to get another call, but none came. Fast forward a couple weeks...

While I was off in Obudu, little baby Shammah decided to make his grand entrance into the world. Since I was out of town, Shammah looked at his wife at 2 am when she expressed the need to go the hospital and said, “Well, do you think you can manage to climb on the back of the bike?” I don’t know about you, but I can think of better times in life to ride a motorcycle than when I’m going into labor! Like I’ve said before, Africans are incredibly resilient and Ketuah said it would be no problem. In retelling the story Shammah said, “Sure, it was fun, somehow!”

Naturally, I was bummed I couldn’t be part of the actual delivery but heartedly congratulated Shammah when I returned and heard the news. “So what is his name!?” I asked. “Not yet.” Was Shammah’s reply. I thought that was a pretty funny name until I remembered that Nigerians typically wait for a naming ceremony before revealing the baby’s name. With a twinkle in his eye Shammah said, “We’re not going to have a ceremony, but we’ll announce it on Sunday.”
Meet Reborn Marshall Shammah.

Yes, that’s his name. Now, some of you may not be aware of what my name means. René = “reborn” in French (think renaissance) and Marshall = “leader” somewhere in its etymology. SOO...THEY NAMED THEIR FIRSTBORN AFTER ME!!!

I cannot tell you how honored I am for this gesture. They said they had decided they would name their first child after me sometime last year, secretly hoping it would be a girl (contrary to societal pressures to have a boy first) so they could name her René. Ketuah explained that being a leader means being a servant and they saw this exhibited most poignantly the night I gave up my room for them. Plus, now that they’ve met my sister, Kari, they felt like honoring my dad (who is late) by giving his name to their son. Tonight as I visited Shammah, Ketuah, and RebornMarshall, they told me that he is my son too, since he bears my name. Their prayer is that he’ll grow up fully embodying his name and following in the footsteps of his namesake. Even though I’ll only be around (definitely) for the first few months of his life, they plan to tell stories of his “Auntie René” and the impact she had here in Nigeria. My eyes were brimming with tears, my smile spreading all over my face, and my heart overwhelmed with joy in hearing this. No award I have ever received comes close to honoring me the way Shammah and Ketuah did tonight. So much more could be said, but I think you have a sense of the profundity of this moment for me.

“Ina da farin ciki da murna da tawali” = I’m joyful, happy, and humbled.”

ObUdU

Here's to another post documenting a stellar African vacation adventure. Whatever credibility my "travel agency" lost in the wahala-filled journey to Ghana, it has been redeemed with this latest journey to Obudu, Nigeria. Obudu is located 8 hrs from Jos, in the southwestern end of the country, within viewing distance of Cameroon. After hearing nothing negative, except the length of the drive (a mere blink in comparison with our 3-day road trek to Ghana), I made arrangements and gathered other cool, single folk to join the fun. For 5 days, 4 nights, our team of 12 stormed Obudu Cattle Ranch, waterpark, village and surrounding mountains. Check it out:

Incredible water park at the bottom of the mountain. Complete with high dive, low dive, short wave waterslide, long, winding waterslide, jets, olympic-sized lap lanes, and all to our rule-breaking selves!!

Another sweet African canopy walk. Not as extensive as Ghana, but had some really sweet jungle scenery, a baby chameleon, and a tree fort (ok, so they didn't call it a fort. I think it was actually a bird-watch tower, but that sounds too lame:) My favorite foliage was the "testicle tree." I kid you not.
Any quality vacation involves a physical challenge...at least in my book. So one day we asked our local friend "Godsgift", to lead us on a little hike to a sweet waterfall. This was not for the faint of heart, let me tell you. Someone needs to introduce switchbacks to Nigerians, but other than that, it was INCREDIBLE! I couldn't believe all this gorgeous scenery and creation was in Nigeria. Despite how disgusting and sore we were at the end, it was the highlight of the trip for me. (made me miss the AT a bit)
(have I mentioned how much I love sharing this special chapter of my life with my sister?)
As you can see, we had a blast. There are oodles more stories to tell about cable car rides, banana/yogurt over-dosing, and speed-uno games, but I'll let you peruse my web album for that.And hey, next time you're in Nigeria or Cameroon, check out ol' Obudu.
TEAM BANANA!
Back row: [An]Drew, Dana, Micah, me, Marc
Front Row: Joseph, Emmanuel, Emily, Niffer, Kari, Lisa

YHWH is not a hairdresser

[here's my latest article in to the magazine. if you think it's awful, let me know soon before it goes to the printers! oh, and I know the picture is bad...it's from my first hair-plaiting experience]Have you ever said a prayer like this: “Dear God, Oh I do not know what I need...but you must have some ideas...so just do something about it, would you? Amen.” These prayers remind me of how I speak to my tailor or hairdresser. Can you relate? I often walk into the salon, sit down in the chair and say exactly that or “Fix me up right.” In trying to get wrappers made with Nigerian fabric, I am clueless and end up relying on the expertise and experience of my tailor. Most of the time, things turn out all right. But I have a feeling it all would go a lot better if I had been a little more specific. Thankfully, my tailor and God both deal with my laziness graciously and continue to allow me to approach them in this manner. Lately, however, I have begun to think that prayers like that are weak and complacent. One can, respectfully, imagine God hearing that prayer, raising an eyebrow, and replying, “Call me again when you decide to get serious.”
In Matthew 6:8 Jesus tells His disciples that “Our Father knows what we need before we ask,” so I am not saying God needs us to tell him. Perhaps the more important question is—do we know what we need? Do we take the time and energy to really allow God to search our hearts, know our anxious thoughts, and show us the aspects of our lives that maybe hurtful, as David prayed in Psalm 139:23-24? As Elizabeth Gilbert says, “Casting yourself at God’s feet in helpless desperation is all well and good—heaven knows, I have done it myself plenty of times—but ultimately you are likely to get more out of the experience if you can take some action on your end.” Over and over in scripture we read how people of faith prayed boldly, deliberately, and specifically, while still being humble and reverent. Moses asked for God to reveal His glory to him, (Ex. 33:18) Elisha asked two bears to come and attack 42 youths (2 Kings 2:24), Jabez prayed to have his territory enlarged (1 Chronicles 4:10), Paul prayed that the Ephesians would know the full dimensions of God’s love (Eph. 3:18), and Jesus prayed to be glorified in the Father’s presence (John 17:1)! Those are some deliberate prayers AND are prayers that resulted in God’s action. I am challenged to take the privilege and discipline of prayer more seriously. Instead of treating God like my tailor or hairdresser and saying, “Take this and do what you do best” or like a genie that we give our selfish wishes to for Him to grant, what if we treated Him like a friend (John 15:15), a coworker (2 Cor. 6:1), a loving Father (2 Cor. 6:18), and the Lover of our souls (Song of Songs 6:3)? Perhaps then, we would be more personal and authentic in our conversations with Him. Also, we might just see the hand of God moving on our behalf. In the ministry of ECWA Camp Youth Alive, I have been privileged to see the Lord’s hand at work many times just in the past 1½ years. When we had a very small time frame to raise a very large amount of money for a critical piece of land at our campsite, prayer warriors were called upon and within a month, all the money had come in from unexpected sources. When registration was low for Jos ECYA camp 2009, we hit our knees and specifically asked for the Lord to make a way and bring youth to fill the spots at camp. The result? Our senior week of camp was 15 people over capacity! And despite the rugged and vulnerable environments where many of our camps take place, the Lord has answered our fervent by protecting ECYA so that we’ve never experienced snake bites or serious injuries. I’m also seeing answers to my prayers for growth through discipleship after camp. Many of the volunteer camp staff have caught the vision for discipleship and are following up with their campers throughout the year. This can have far-reaching effects on the spiritual lives, both of the campers and the staff. In view of this, I echo the prophet Habakkuk’s prayer,
“Lord, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, O Lord. Renew them in our day, In our time make them known;” (Hab. 3:2)
Having seeing God’s power in answering prayer, I’m encouraged to continue being purposeful, personal, Spirit-led, and specific in my prayers. For ECYA this means coming to my knees and asking the Lord to send 15 new volunteer staff who are passionate about Christ and making His love known among the youth. I am praying for churches, fellowship groups, and individuals to commit to being monthly supporters of ECYA. Specifically, we are trusting God for 100 supporters to start a commitment of at least N 1,000/month this year. I am also being honest with God and acknowledging my limited strength, and pleading for Him to sustain me and the rest of the office each Sunday as we visit churches raising awareness for camp 2009. Even as I write, I am praying and looking forward to seeing how the Lord will answer. This is part of “getting more out of the experience.” More importantly, I believe God is more glorified when we lay aside our complacency and stop treating him like our hairdresser or tailor. After all, our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer deserves WAY more than that.