God’s Ghana Immersion Program

Have you ever gone to an intensive training program?  I have several times, starting with police academy and continuing on through multiple trainings associated with my career in that field—trainings that were both physically and mentally intense. Recently, I met a woman through painting a town (long story, but true) who has grown into a friend of mine.  Debbie is an RN and only just began a new job where she travels around a bit for a company reporting on medical things (okay, I don’t have a clue, but I know she’s good at it).  Before she began for realsie (can you believe spell check won’t accept that word? Real-sy?  Nope, no better…anyway…) she had to spend a week in North Carolina training and being tested on the computer software.  When I saw her the following week she was happily volunteering for Point Hope, spending five hours removing sheriff patches from the sleeves of the donated uniforms we are sending to Buduburam.  Deb said she was grateful she didn’t have to engage her brain to use a stitch remover as one week of this training had fried it!  We laughed, but I know what she’s saying—intense concentration for an extended period of time, not my idea of a fun date!  I have never been part of a language immersion program, but I have to imagine it’s very similar, only for a longer period of time. Not what I would envision as a relaxed, enjoyable, extended experience.

So, imagine my surprise to find myself sitting in the dark on a firm mattress (a piece of plywood might be as comfortable), unable to sleep because it is 9:45 p.m. at home even if it is 5:45 a.m. here in Ghana and I went to bed at 3 o’clock in the afternoon (or so my body clock is assuring me, even though my brain is trying rational arguments regarding what time zone I’m in).  I took part in a meeting earlier this Ghanaian evening where I received a crash course in all things refugee as it transpired in Buduburam.  Some of it I knew, much of it was new to me.  I sat processing the information, interjecting questions and evaluating how the new input affected, or should affect, the plans in place for Point Hope in Ghana among the Liberian refugees. 

In a few hours we will tour the camp, again.  Unlike the last time I was here, however, this time I am the Executive Director of Point Hope.  I will meet people whose names I would like to remember, I will see familiar faces from our last visit and greet them as people I have been praying for and I will be deeply in the middle of this month-long immersion program. This intensive program which asks the questions: How can Point Hope and its partners do the most good for the most people and how should we proceed to effect the blessings of change?

Dear God, I know You are here and have a purpose and plan.  I am still amazed You called me and Gerald (even though he was fighting it more than me!) to this place, to this time, to Your purpose.  Help us to see, to receive, to be able to visualize and verbalize Your plan.  Oh, and even though it is really hot here, can You please make sure my brain doesn’t get fried?

Here Comes the Rain, I Hear it Collecting

When last heard from I was wandering the corridors and concourses of Dallas-Ft. Worth.  It is with great pleasure I report the following:  I got a 10-20 (location) on the hotel,  found my flight to Nashville, secured a shuttle to the hotel, bummed various rides in the rains of Nashville, attended the art auction fund raiser for Point Hope, sold a couple of t-shirts and a few Buduburam Batik outfits, scored a Metro Police patch from J.R., the nice Nashville sergeant who stood out in the torrential downpour all evening into the night to keep the street closed for  the red-carpet event, had some delicious food (after we found a place that was open past 12:30 a.m.) in the same vicinity of the nightclub shooting that happened moments before we were left by the limo in the area, watched and cheered a crowd of approximately 20,000 wonderful people walk , hula-hoop, stroll, dance and otherwise ambulate in the breast cancer walk (note that I said watched, my feet were so swollen from standing for nine hours in heels that I haven’t worn for something close to 15 years that I was lucky to be standing at all—I will learn that it will take about 33 days, 7 hours and 11 minutes for my feet to return to normalcy, but who’s counting??), handed out Point Hope info cards at the walk, went to the Grand Ole Opry, sat in the pew on stage, talked to Diamond Rio about Point Hope and heard about Both Hands—one for the widows, one for the orphans (don’t want to spoon feed you, do the research—way cool!), watched Delilah have way too much fun as the guest announcer, sat on Porter Wagoner’s purple leather couch in his bedazzled green room, and caught a flight back home, limping all the way.  Oh yeah, one more thing—about the flight out of Nashville…

I was scheduled to leave at an hour I am certain no sane person would choose to wake for, so I made the rational decision to bump it out to later flight.  Of course, flying stand-by was the only option if I didn’t want to spend way more than I should for the pleasure of sleeping in, so I went for it!  The first flight was full, the second flight was full, but I went to the airport anyway, because the nice man on the phone assured me that there was one seat left on the third alternative leaving in the early afternoon.  The nice lady at the ticket counter assured me that the only hope I had for a seat was later in the evening, but once I mentioned the flight “phone man” had found, God blessed me by letting that be a flight she had overlooked and I had a ticket!  I boarded the flight and my seat was occupied.  I calmly mentioned (all those hours of praying between flight two and flight three paid off!) to the man sitting in my assigned spot that we seemed to have the same seat.  He handed me his boarding pass and explained that he and his wife had been given separated seating, so he wondered if I would be willing to take his seat.  Just as I started to say, “sure”, he told me he was assigned 4A…well, if he was going to force me to sit in First Class, who was I to argue?

Isn’t God funny?  His sense of humor sometimes catches me by surprise and yet delights me!!  I settled into seat 4A and accepted the water and glass (not plastic) receptacle filled with iced diet cola.  My feet were showing their appreciation to me for getting off of them by allowing the feeling to come back to my toes.  Life was good.  The man in 4B and I start talking and it turns out that he has been to Guatemala several times on mission serving trips.  I am supposed to be going there next year with my son and his Guatemalan wife, so I think, very cool.  What is it that he does there?  Oh, he helps build rainwater collection stations so the people he works with there can have safe, drinkable water.  So, to recap—on the way down to Nashville, God sits me next to a woman who partners in rainwater collection and on the way back to Seattle, God sits me next to a man who partners in rainwater collection.  Do you think He is trying to tell me something?  I love Him, I love being allowed to serve Him, I love that He loves me and I love that He would show His very organized plan in the midst of my unorganized life!!