Papa Bread

yesterday i went to a big international christian church in khartoum with some of the older boys. i basically judged the entire service. it was mostly white, mostly english, and completely structured. we sang from a book and stood and sat when we were told. we listened to a keyboardist, sat in nice chairs, and ate snacks afterwards. the boys loved it; i hated it. just 6 hours before, on sunday morning, we had our usual church service on the center under our rakuba (bamboo-roof structure). just me and 12 boys or so, jumping around, laughing and dancing, praising Jesus and listening to each other share and pray. one of our little guys, tong, stood up on a bench and lead us in a couple songs while other boys banged on the dented iron table and plastic crates. as i sat in my chair in khartoum 6 hours later, i wondered which one was church. i also wondered why. why do so many of us westerners come here, to this demolished people, packing our cocoa puffs and play stations, picking out the nicest houses in our budget, and then raise our families together to recreate the same environment we have just left? who are we reaching out to? when is reaching out more than just leaving the comfort of your home country but leaving the comfort of your life? i am really not here to say that this person is doing good and that person isn't. there are too many things i don't know, including how God's love is working in the lives of people i've never met. i can't even say that everyone's supposed to drop what they're doing and live in a mud hut. but something happened in my spirit when i looked around at this thing called church-i do know some things. i know we are supposed to be a living, breathing, moving being, a bride that hurts for each of its members and that equally cares for them. i want to know the pains of living as a refugee in my own country with 300,000 others, to feel hopeless and jobless and tired. but where's the line? giving up you're own culture and identity is lying to yourself...and shouldn't be done to prove a point...but there is simply one truth: if you follow Christ, your identity and culture IS Christ, and to be more like Him is to be less like yourself, to value less those things which you value more, to sacrifice your loves for His Love.

you know, when i was praying the other morning, i think God gave me a new name for Him. first in arabic-"baba esh". in english, this means "papa bread". that's His name-Papa Bread. He is the bread of life, the first and final feeding for His creation. we drink of His cup, eat of His life. we are His church, and we've got a lot of people to feed. this reminded me that living with the poor and being like the destitute should exist for only one reason-to demonstrate who Papa Bread is. to demonstrate, like Christ did for the woman at the well, that no matter how many donkeys pulling water into your IDP camp, how much rice from UN aid, you will never be quenched, you will never be satisfied, until you receive from Papa Bread. that's church. when we can learn to live in such a way, to get down and hurt with people who are hurting in such a way that they wonder who or what makes us chose this life of pain to live along side them. that as we do, we are amidst a beauty, a Papa, that motivates us to leave our gods Familiarity and Comfort, that we might be humbled to share His everlasting gift of life with others.

international driver's license, what?

me and the truck have had a falling out.

let me give you a little background about this great blue wonder, which you can view in the picture below: it's got 270,000 miles-a sudanese mile includes thick, dusty roads with average potholes around 2 ft. deep and 5 ft. across. sometimes you have to drive between two 6ft piles of red clay while half a dozen people wander freely in and out of the alley way that the truck is barely fitting in. it has no rear-view mirror, no passenger side mirror, and no horn. oh, and first gear doesn't work anymore.

and let me just say that driving in khartoum is one of my top 10 most stressful situations: take 3 million drivers, 5 million people, donkey carts, and several herds of sheep, then tell them to all go in different directions as fast as they can on the worst city roads i've ever seen with no particular order.

then to add to this chaos, on my way home from some friends in bah'ri, about a 20 minute drive to the center (over one huge bridge and two interstates), the brakes went out. completely. i needed to make it back to the center to unlock the room with the boys' breakfast. so i did what any normal person would do, and i continued driving this giant missle of death with my sweaty hand on the e-brake and my panicked face out the window so i could yell at as many people as i could that this beast was not stopping. 250 bucks later, the truck is still the laughing stock of the neighborhood.

this is how i know God is real: i'm alive.

small updates.

i may or may not have copied this from my recent email to a friend, but i added some nuggets so all can enjoy:

malaria is out-booya grandma! but i do have a cold that won't go away and kleenex is a rare commodity. farmer's blows are my new best friend. at christmas time we slaughtered a sheep that slept right outside my door and with whom i tried to avoid any relationship prior to its depressing destiny. jim almost got arrested for taking pictures in the IDP camp's market (one of which is featured above). the boys love to watch "big mama"-and they get a kick when my lanky little body dances like her character. my american pals (jim and nathan) have left me all alone. but i'm having lots of new fun with everyone. i'm living in the local IDP camp some of the time. a few nights ago my 6 foot denka friend priscilla slept in my bed with me-still not sure why. two UN workers (including one american) were shot and killed while driving in khartoum. another random lady was shot while cooking in Mayo, the IDP camp, just blocks away from where i was having a conversation with one of the teachers who lives there. old and new directors are crazy, the truck broke down, the headmaster's stealing money from the center, and our pets' heads are falling OFF!

but honestly, people, i've felt more peace now than ever. i'm having so much fun-isn't that wierd? i've been reading, playing futbol, dancing, and singing 50 cent. i recently attended a hybrid wedding that was full of ugly 80s american decor crossed with traditional african choruses and one very awkward kiss. i'll be going to another one tomorrow.

long story short, Jesus' peace remains steady in my heart and i couldn't be happier to be here. it's funny how He takes us on a trip where we don't know directions or what we've packed or really, why we're going at all but the point is He's driving and you just don't care. i'm not talking about some corny "Jesus take the wheel" song, more like the beach boys "this is the worst trip i've every been on", but either way the reality is that i'm on a very strange trip by being a part of life in general, especially the life that God makes for me. i guess i'm trying to say that being a follower of Christ is confusing, yet there is this richness that doesn't match up with anything i've ever experienced and i can't help but feel myself uninterested in sorting out the confusion, but simply continuing to marvel at the beautiful Guide...

thank you

ok, you can stop giving now! good news-we have recieved above what we asked for, and we won't be asking you for anymore money (at least not in this scenario). seriously, thank you, to anyone and everyone who gave to a cause that you probably didn't really understand and that was undeniably shady, at least from your perspective. just know that your donations may have spared one to three imprisonments, certainly banned visas, and most importantly 35+ boys from being forced back into poor family situations or no home at all. you have helped us to respect the culture we're in and to demonstrate Love in a most unusual way. so thanks for that. it's not easy to be asked for money from a phone call or a computer screen for a situation you may feel very detached from. but thank you for giving anyway, along side our own personal donations, and for letting me feel bound in the support of those who love me and/or those who love the Father i serve. i really believe He did the giving for us.

thanks again. and happy new year!