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Archive for September, 2011

Sep 26

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What does Jesus taste like?

One of the many things I am learning (the hard way) is that Jesus so often speak in the places I didn’t expect it, and then he is remarkably silent in the places I thought he would say something. Today Jesus moved me to tears. By speaking through a Karen young woman and a couple I have just met.

Naw Doh stood in front of the Karen congregation in Arvada, Colorado and spoke into a mike. “Nobody has loved us like you have,” she said and looked at Kirsten and Paul who were sitting on two chairs in front of her. “Other people say they love us, but you are the ones who have sowed us love. You are the ones we can call, and wherever you are you will pick up the phone and talk to us. You will always come and help us with so many things.”

These people can love so it shows

Solemnly and beautifully the Karen elders, dressed in their finest costumes, stood up and walked over to Kirsten and Paul. They kneeled down in front of them and put a handmade garland around their necks. A symbol of honor and love. Then they gave them an envelope, a love offering from a group of people who love them. “We would like to go back to our country and help our people, but we cannot,” they said. “Therefore we want to give you this gift, to help you with the work you are going to do.”

I had to wipe my eyes. In front of me were two brave people, Kirsten and Paul, who in a few days will get on an airplane and move to Thailand to join Partners. Soon they will be living with the Shan people, sharing their lives with them, and helping them in many ways. I am pretty certain that Paul and Kirsten will do fine. The people in the room were the evidence of that. They have already been loving people in action here in their own hometown. They have helped deliver babies and fill in forms, they have had dozens over for dinner, and helped find jobs in a place where jobs are scarce.

“Other people have said they have loved us, but nobody has showed us love like you have.”

How easy it is to throw out a “love you,” and leave it at that. How easy to say things, but how hard to do them. Jesus’ love, I was reminded today, is the kind of love that you can see, smell, taste and touch. You can eat it, you can sleep on it, you can speak to it, you can hug it, you can call it, you can visit it. Jesus’ love is not a noun. It is a verb.

Not only did the Karen give a love offering to Kirsten and Paul, they gave one to Partners too. This is a gift from people who barely make ends meet, but who also know how to show love.

Sep 22

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Selective fundamentalists?

For the second time I am reading Shane Claiborne’s book, Irresistible revolution. Like last time I read it, it challenges me. It challenges me in a kind of uncomfortable way, like when I was a kid and had been asked to clean, but had swept the junk under the bed, and then was confronted with my cheating. Claiborne’s challenge to start living the life that Jesus called us to is hard to ignore. It’s hard to ignore because what he calls us to do is straight from the Bible, from the teachings of Jesus. We are selective fundamentalists, he says. We choose to be fundamentalists on some areas (such as gay rights and abortion), but not so much when it comes to the Sermon on the Mount for example.

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Some days ago I went to a Run for Relief here in Colorado. The goal of the event was to raise awareness and funds for the people running for their lives in Burma. It was a cool event, a beautiful, sunny day, nice people, and nice surroundings. But the coolest part about it was that there were a bunch of refugees there. They were people who had relocated from refugee camps in Thailand and who are now trying to make a life in the US.

Dressed the way they are dressed in the camps, with colorful sarongs, home-woven shoulder bags, babies on slings around their waists, they sat on the ground and ate their lunch. Then they sang for us, in Karen and Chin. Just like they do in the refugee camps. They smiled and spoke shyly when we spoke to them. ‘We thank our God for the health and all the good things he has given us,’ one of their pastors shared from the front. Again, a reminder of how far along they are compared to me.

Many of the refugees who praised God in front of me are living in the low-income areas of the city, sharing the neighborhood with gang members, people with criminal behaviors, and others who are looking for young girls that they can lure into prostitution. Many of the refugees work in places that most of us would say No, thank you to. Many of them have a huge debt hanging over their heads like a dark cloud threatening to erupt. They have to pay back hundreds and hundreds of dollars to the government for the airfare from Thailand to the US. Many of them dream of going back to help their people. The prospect of them being able to do that is less and less likely as they get more and more in debt.

I watched people at the race who have committed their lives and resources to helping these refugees. Here were people who gave generously to help the people of Burma who are living in Colorado get a good life. They help them by getting furniture for their homes, food to eat, warm clothes to wear. They also help them by assisting them when they have to fill out forms, go to public offices, enroll in schools, file their taxes. They help them get better jobs, get onto a church, learn English, and to learn about American traditions and culture. They help by driving to their places on a regular basis in order to give them rides, by taking them to the doctor’s office when they are sick, by playing with the children and making them laugh.

I thought to myself: These are a bunch of ordinary radicals that I have a lot to learn from. These are people who are taking Jesus’ word seriously, who don’t only speak about what is right, but who live it out. These are people that show the world who Jesus is.

Sep 20

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Brown cheese and carryon

Pretty? Maybe. But comfortable?

Today has been a day spent at airports and airplanes, flying the friendly skies with United and hundreds of others carrying their tons of carryon luggage.

Right now I am waiting for my flight while drinking a cup of coffee and observing the people walk past. And my first thought is this: Why do women wear the shoes they wear on airplanes? Do they like to torture themselves? Or is it their secret weapon? Some of those stiletto heels could, no doubt, be used to hurt somebody, to poke their eyes out, even to stub somebody through the heart. One lady who just walked past me looked like she was in so much pain that she would need help to get to her gate. Her heels were as tall as Mt. Rainer.

I am on my way to Michigan where I will spend two nights with some friends and supporters of Partners. After considering it for a while, I decided to bring some Norwegian brown cheese and some potato tortillas (in Norwegian we just call them lompe or potetlefse since that is what it actually is). I have it wrapped in my carryon. And as you may have expected, it gave the people in security somewhat of a scare. I knew it as soon as I sent my bag through.

A cross-cultural experience that will improve your life

‘Hey, look at this,’ said the man behind the scanner. ‘What the heck is this?’ His friend looked at it too, with creeks between his eyes. They searched the crowd and I boldly confessed that it was my bag.

‘Could you come over here a bit,’ said the man with a stern voice. ‘Are you making brownies or something?’

‘No, not at all,’ I said. ‘I am just bringing some cheese from Norway.’

That did not comfort him.

‘OK, lets have a look at this first,’ he said and unzipped my bag. ‘Why do you go all the way to Norway just to buy cheese?’

‘No, no, no, I am not going to Norway, I am going to Michigan,’ I told him. ‘I am going to visit my friends and I thought they may like to try some of this cheese. Do you know what cheese it is? It is made from the whey of the milk. You know that normal cheese is made with the curd, and it leaves the whey. This one is made just from the whey, so nothing goes to waste. You really ought to try it yourself. If you eat it with a piece of toast and a thin layer of jam for breakfast you will love it.’

The security man just looked at me, dumbfounded. He held the cheese, looked at it and said, as if he didn’t know what else to say: ‘OK then. I guess you should just take it with you and have a good trip.’

I smiled, said thank you and was off. I wonder if he will look up Norwegian brown cheese and decide to try it when he gets home tonight.

Sep 15

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The rocky trails in marriage and the cozy coffee breaks that follow

Some trails are hard to walk. But the fact that it is a trail means somebody has walked there before you

It may be a little cheesy, but I thought I would write something about this day. Steve and I have been married for 21 years and we decided to celebrate the day by going for a hike together. We would have preferred a warm and sunny day for this event. Instead it was rainy, windy, kind of cold and from time to time the sun came out and said hello, as if to tease us.

I carried a heavy backpack full of weights (!). I am training for a long hike I will have to do soon and take every opportunity to carry heavy burdens in order to get in shape. The trail we took was new for both of us. It was pretty overgrown and steep. The rain made it slippery on parts, and we both fell a few times.

Climbing up one of the hills Steve mentioned how we could have spent our anniversary had we not been living in the world’s most expensive country, and had we not worked for a poor aid agency that spends most its money on refugees, not on its staff. A spa, dinner at a fancy restaurant, a night at a nice hotel, maybe even a whole weekend away.

Instead we were climbing a steep and slippery hill with weights and homemade sandwiches in our backpacks. Then I had the thought: This hike is a bit like marriage.

It is hard, but it is also so good. It is fun, but it is also so tiring. It has it’s challenges, but also prizes to die for.

The 21 years I have been married to Steve have been great years. We have a marriage that people envy at times, and numerous times I have heard this: You and Steve were so lucky, you are so perfect for each other, have so much in common and seem to have such a great relationship.

This, of course, is true. But what I need to inform the observers of our marriage is this: It hasn’t come easy. It has been a lot of hard work. Look at us, we are as different as they get! He is American, I am Norwegian. We even celebrate Christmas on different days! He grew up in a family with values a lot different than mine. His interests were very much different than mine when we met. We liked the same music and some of the same books, we wanted similar things for the future, but mostly we were different. He likes to sleep in the mornings, I like to get up. I like to watch movies with happy endings, he likes action. He likes the windows open in the car, no matter what temperature. I like them closed. He likes a good cigar, I like bran muffins.

Some days our marriage has been a bit like walking up a steep and slippery trail in bad weather. Some days all I have seen has been the brush and the branches with thorns. And, I am sure that there have been days that Steve has wished that he had chosen an easier trail too. Perhaps he has wished he chose to spa and the five star hotel.

As we walked today I thought about this. I was struggling some places. I had to hold on to roots and stuff to not fall. Once, after getting up a particularly steep spot, my water bottle fell out and rolled all the way down the hill. I got to discouraged to go all the way down to get it, and begged Steve to be my hero. Which, of course he did.

Notice the beauty

Then I decided to look around me and noticed the beauty. I saw the crazy wildness of the nature surrounding me and marveled. I picked berries and observed colors that only fall can produce. I felt the cool wind in my face and the rain was refreshing on my hot cheeks. I saw water trickling down modest creeks and a grouse taking flight right in front of us. I saw quiet lakes and smelled the sweet smell of the bog. Had I not made the effort on the trail, those are blessings I would not have experienced.

So much like marriage. If we just take the time to look around and see the blessings that come with commitment and persistence, with devotion and love, then we will see it is worth it. Not only worth it, but incredibly fun, rewarding, beautiful, and meaningful. In the end you come to a lake, sit down and make a fire, eat a nice lunch, drink the strong coffee with some chocolate and think: Ah, this is why I said Yes.

Steve and I have been on many different trails that have been hard and challenging. But we have never thought of quitting, of turning around, of going back before we got to the end destination. We have fallen and helped each other back up. We have even pushed one another to fall (very seldom, but it has happened, and probably I was the one who pushed). But we have always gotten back up and continued on the trail.

There has been more laughter than tears, more music than nagging, more love than resentment and more forgiveness than bitterness. Doing the steep hills and the challenging climbs have not been easy, but we have made it. And, guess what, it has given us marriage muscles that we can be proud of, and a stamina that many wish they had. Not only that, but the trials have formed us and shaped us to become more like Jesus—a lot more likeable.

My advice today is: Don’t focus on the roots and the loose rocks on your trail, but focus on the beauty around you. Don’t think that turning around is an option, but rather think of the nice coffee break you will have together at the end of the difficult hike. It is totally worth it.

Totally worth it.

Sep 7

Making mayonnaise the Kachin way

Ji Ju Ga Ba Sai, I stuttered. Thank you in Kachin is a mouthful. Ring Du was sitting in the modern and clean apartment in the outskirts of London. He had black, wavy hair that almost went down to his shoulders and a smile that went all over his face.

Sarah and I were having brunch with a group of Kachin refugees who had moved to the UK some years ago. Their English was impressive; they did jobs that provided for them and their families. They wore trendy clothes and had a microwave oven in their kitchen.

I wanted to hear their stories. They all had one. Ring Du settled for his job story. “I work at a five star restaurant,” he smiled. I was impressed. “Were you a chef before you moved to the UK?” “No, not at all. I had never cooked before,” he said. “But I went to the restaurant and told them I had. And they gave me the job. For the first two weeks I had no idea what I was supposed to do, but luckily, another guy helped me out. My boss would say: ‘Make some mayonnaise.’ My friend would whisper the directions to me from behind the wall where he was standing. After two weeks of this I knew pretty much anything.”

His friends nodded in agreement. “He is the most amazing cook,” they said. “He can cook everything now. Next time you come we will have him cook for you.”

We had a good laugh and continued our talk about how to help the Kachin in Burma. “We want to help our people,” they said. “We are here and have a safe life and freedom. We can use it to help our people in Burma.”

There are thousands of Kachin in hiding, on the run from the Burma Army soldiers right now. They have done nothing wrong, but are being punished because their leaders said no to becoming border guards for the Burma Army. They did not want to be guards whose job it would be to suppress their own people. So now the whole nation is on the run, practically.

“We have always tried to make peace,” said Haeng Htu. “We don’t want to die.” “Everybody says we need to have a dialogue with the government, and we have tried that. But the result? The military attack us when we don’t do what they want us to do.”

As I was sitting on the nice sofa in the nice apartment, listening to and watching the men and women in front of me I was touched by their lives, their determination, their attitudes and courage.

Getting to where they were now had not come easily. Compared to their countrymen and women they were rich and free. Yet, they lived in the lower income part of the city, their view was a barbwire fence and a military base. Unlike me they had had to fight every step of the way, from a poor region of a poor and oppressed nation, to a refugee camp or as illegal immigrants at first. In India or Malaysia. Then they had come to the UK, a foreign and strange country with a language, culture, climate, food and customs so unlike their own. They did not tell us this, but it goes without saying that as immigrants they had been looked down upon, accused of crimes they had not committed, (they had not been accused f it personally, but immigrants are often put into one pot—the immigrant pot. If you come from Somalia or Burma doesn’t matter much if you are an immigrant. If one of you commit a crime, you are all guilty) discriminated and put down. They had had to learn to navigate in a huge city, on trains, on buses and even by driving on their own. They had had to figure out how to file their taxes, how to get medical assistance if needed, where to pay their electricity bill and how to get money out of an ATM machine.

But here they were sitting, smiling. Encouraging us to eat a lot. Telling us that they want to do something to help. “They have nothing. We need to help them,” they agreed again. They had not come to this country for themselves only. Theirs was the responsibility to feed the ones who right now are starving.

I left the meeting feeling challenged and happy. Again I had been encouraged by refugees.

PS. Did you like these two amazing pictures? They were taken by Steve who went to visit the Kachin in Burma. These children are on the run from the army too. Too sad to be true? I agree.

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