impending

“impending”

This is not an “Africa Journal”. This is a mindstream taken directly from my journal, recorded just about an hour ago as I watched a massive, ferocious storm light up the sky. It is simply my thoughts, feelings and memories as they came to me. This is effectively unedited. Please excuse the use of both past and present phrases. listen, do not fear.

I watched the storm approach. A tempest was already raging deep inside of me. I thought of Ronan’s timeless, inked words, “These are not words. They’re only feelings. There are no sounds that you can hear. There are no forms that you can touch. I tell myself, I keep repeating, that your ways are bringing you to me.” Yes, I thought to myself. I watched the storm approach the same way you watch the approaching moment your best friend marries the love of his life. It is that particular mix of joy and longing that steeled my soul in that moment. As the stars disappeared it felt like a warm embrace from a lover long since removed. I reveled in the moment and in impending fury.

The whole day I’ve spent considering the narrative of my life and the struggles and pain that seem to grow stronger every day. The flashbacks are more constant now as a dozen spent pens can attest to. There was this moment that came amidst the thousandth page of other’s pain that I was reading in which I started to feel myself. The loss and anger broke through the numbness and deadness that are my constant jailors, enslaving and yet protecting me from this overwhelming urge to stand in the lightening storm just to test my life, to prove that I’m still alive. It’s not safe to feel like this and people will ask, “What is wrong?” as if the catacomb of silence is an almost necessary state to experience the truth of my experience. How can I describe what it means to be an iceberg with the danger laying mostly beneath the surface? And yet that old friend, violence, having breached my prison bars embraced me. Now with the storm enveloping me I took the time to embrace back. It had been too long.

I thought of the stories that I’ve heard, both the hundreds and the few that have truly, utterly broken my heart. I remember the stories of others that have cost me more than my life. I consider that embrace, that rage, that impeccable desire for both wrath and shalom, that violence that courses through my veins. I can hear it pumping in the ringing silence of my ears. The storm is still too far away to be heard, but I know it draws nearer. The tears run stream down my face picking up the ashes that are imbued in my sackcloth soul in some ceremonial gray mud of remembrance. I stifle a scream, a scream to protest with God. “Why?!” is not a sufficient question. “You.” That is the accusation I level at the nameless, faceless person who embodies that which took everything and took it in the name of God. I would take your life. I would rip the page from the book and burn it alive.

Violence, I know. The streaks across the perilous sky remind me of counter-battery fire and the death that each audible report attests to. I think of the charred bodies, the blood stained glass, and the open graves. This, after all, is war. I think of the exchanges of hatred and fire and how such violence is the manifestation of that rage, that fury that is both boundless and patient. “You”, I whisper in to the now windy emptiness. It is black as sin out here despite the magnificent flashes and the irony is not lost on me.

“I hate you with the justice of a thousand nights that I’ve longed for, prayed for healing.” Yet I know that my own anger is second only to another’s. And by what right do I have to take their pain and make it my own? But it is now my own. I do not know where theirs ends and mine begins. “Someday”, I think. I stare intently at the flashes ignoring every close sound in hopes of hearing the distant sounds of fury. I want to hear it, but more than that I want to taste it. I want to know it. I want to remember that I was not there at the foundations of this earth and yet I will brace like a man for the impending gale. My heart and head collide as I hear the chorus of breakdown ring in my ears as I scream inwards, “Make him beg for his life!!!!” With the intensity only learnt through years of waiting for the opportunity.

But then the prose of feeling drops dead from my lips and as it hits the ground I stomp on its lifeless existence a couple of times just to make sure. The blood is again pumping in my ears and I think of the knife and the cold intimacy it represents. In the end only one of us walks away.

The wind is harder now. I wonder if it will carry me home.

And to think, I am standing here because of love.

Photos with the street kids

"How was Africa?"

I have come to believe that “I have returned to the US” is a relative term for the sojourner who makes his 2nd, if not, 1st home in a place far from where he spent most of his life.

I am, as most of you know, currently in the United States, back in school at ASU and Phoenix College, pursuing my degree and the rest of my life… and what a pursuit it has become, and it often feels a pursuit of time while a pursuit of truth and direction. I don’t speak this way to confuse, but to enlighten about the odd sense one has when he leaves much undone and much yet to understand. That sense of tearing away came unexpectedly for me this time. I had an odd sense that I desired to return to the US, to pursue school, and to move on with my passions, knowing I would return… But as I said goodbye to Lutaaya, Bosa, and Musa at the airport in Entebbe, it was too hard, harder than ever before. For the 1st time Uganda felt right, it felt like I understood something, that living there had the potential to be what it needed to be for me to actually consider such a radical change. Being easy, it would not be. The romance has worn off, but the reality is so much sweeter, no more pipe dream, just the people and the beauty of it all…

I spent just under one month in Uganda after I returned there from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Congo was phenomenal, and the place where I saw God moving in miraculous ways, and the plight of the people broke my heart. But Congo (and Malawi, where I spent last summer), isn’t where I sense the most peace, despite the passion I have for that kind of ministry, and my desire to return to both whenever I can. I just love Uganda. Confused yet? Me too… but spend a month in Uganda with me, and somehow it all makes sense.

It makes sense because one night at African Hearts I went to my bed downstairs where all the boys sleep, and I found my usually messy bed perfectly made. Bosa, one of the boys who lives at the house, made my bed just to show that he loves me.

It makes sense because Laurence (who we lovingly call Mzungu) wants to be a freedom fighter, and his beautiful heart for the street kids, those who have been through so much like he has, grows every day, and we can get lost in the complexities of this life and what God desires of us….

It makes sense because Lutaaya, when told of an injustice in his country, concerning the people of the Congo who were refugees in Kampala, had his heart broken for how some people can just be used and abused… and he knew in that moment he had to do something about it.

It makes sense because I walked through the slums of Kisenyi with two amazing boys holding my hands, and all that they wanted in life was to be given a chance, to not live the life they lived, surviving on the streets, seemingly forgotten by God, huffing petrol to forget they are hungry… they just want to go to school, be loved, and to understand that a dream could come true… but more than that, that God hadn’t forgotten them and moreover loved them more than anyone else ever could…

It makes sense because I know a man Jumah who has devoted his life to his people in every facet and way and is strategic and passionate to see change in his land, and the world. He doesn’t have to brag, his life speaks volumes about the change that Christ can bring through a man. He trusts God with every step of his life, and it shows… and he, to me, is Uganda, and represents the hope I feel about that beautiful land.

It makes sense because a boda boda driver told me about a great church, because the guys who make my favorite kikomando get a kick out of my attempts to speak Luganda, because I’ve met men and women whose hearts break for the realities that exist, because you can just be yourself and know that life is good as you walk through small villages out at Ssenge.

Uganda, a place I would only claim to slightly understand, is a place I fully love. That’s why it makes sense that I feel sad when detached from it. That’s why I laughed as I talked to Bennon, Musa Musoke, and Musa Aworhi today on skype. That’s why I had a sense of longing when I spoke about those boys and the boys who I don’t even know that well living on the streets, cold, alone, and almost forgotten today at the Bead Museum where we sell most of our beads for African Hearts.

You know, people lately have asked me “How was Africa?” and depending on the day I’ve given different answers. There are not run-of-the-mill explanations or answers to encapsulate the things I, and those who I was with, experienced. I am thankful that everyone who speaks with me knows that, and is patient with me, as I search for the words. Sometimes I think of a story, I think of a moment, holding that boy at CEPIMA in Beni, Congo, and crying more than I’ve cried in a long while. I think of Jumah’s laughter, or Laurence’s shy face, or Sandra’s smile, or Serge’s broken heart, or that boy who held my hand for a couple of hours as we walked over the city. To answer that question would be to simply say “as it should have been”. Some of the darkest nights of my soul have come since landing here in Phoenix a couple of weeks ago, hearing of the injustice and tears that continued in Kampala as I left. It’s not so much that I ask “Where is God?” but I seek to know what to ask, what to do. I, however, am left with something more than that, a longing much greater, much deeper…

So, “How was Africa?”. It was as it should be… but the thing most on my mind, the thing that was seemingly the most unexpected, was how the kids on the streets affected me. I didn’t spend an incredible amount of time with kids on the street, but much more than I ever have before…. But something in me, this time, caused a stir… it was akin to that draw I feel towards the homeless here, it was akin to the pain I feel to see a disabled person treated with contempt as if they chose that life and situation. In Kampala, one day, I was walking alone and I saw a young boy sitting on the street, begging for money… this is not your average street kid actually, as the real street kids are usually boys who you won’t ever really see, and live on the margins of society… but this child could barely speak, having seen terrible things throughout his life no doubt. At a hamburger joint, one of the few in Kampala, I picked up some chips (fries) and gave them to this young boy… he just looked at me, accepted, sat there and ate. I walked some distance away and just watched him eat, and watched the people see this downtrodden human being eat, and watched their response… where before he had been invisible, now he was visible, and people seemed taken aback by this young boy who didn’t speak, just eating slowly and deliberately, with not much of an expression. Some laughed, some walked a wider circle, some stared, some looked with fascination, and such is the life of the victims of society. But what is an average Ugandan, barely getting by in the face of rising food prices, to do? Can they be affected after they've seen so much? Before he had eaten no one even looked, some had actually stepped over his legs, but somehow this boy eating caused society to face the reality. Somehow it made it harder to see. Maybe eating made him human again, and it is harder to ignore the plight of one you see so much of yourself in. And sometimes your joy of helping can be ripped away by the numbers and desperation of the situation. Today I came across Matthew 18:10-14, where Jesus speaks of going after the one sheep while leaving the 99, and the great joy of helping that one. Sometimes that’s what you have to remember… When we were in Kisenyi among these smiling, very high, beloved children, there were “99”, and over Kampala probably 99,999+, and their numbers and stories as you listen to each one, overwhelm you. You become overwhelmed by these sweet kids that you know have seen hell up close and personal, and you have to remember the one… that each is precious and loved and worth it.

Today that one came to us at African Hearts. Tomorrow there will be 3 more, and in the future, more. Today an 8-year-old boy, Wasswa, was taken off the streets and brought to Ssenge, African Hearts’ project on the outskirts of Kampala (for the bigger story go here). I nearly wept at what this means. There he will be loved, safe, taught about the Lord, fed, and given a chance. He is but one of “99”, but wholly special, unique, and loved… He’s been on the streets for two years, alone, cold, hot, neglected, despised, most likely beaten, and worse yet, forgotten. He is that lost sheep… and praise God for Lutaaya, Tony, Junior, & Roscoe’s vision to change the lives of a few, doing their part to restore the sons and daughters of the King by seeing in their faith and love that the Kingdom of Heaven is as much for now as it is for later. This isn’t abstract theology, but the very heart of God… to set the captives free (Luke 4:18/Isaiah 61), it's an act of worship to do so. Today, my faith has been stirred, affirmed, and challenged…. I am not a major player in this saga, but God did whisper in my ear, above the roar of lies that satan screams at me, “I love you”. I’ve been blessed to have but a taste of this ministry, to assist in a supporting way here in the US and there in Uganda, helping those with a healthy dose of vision get their plans and dreams into action. I feel comfortable in that position, where my desire to serve can be used effectively… but also ultimately looking to continue in the revelation about how my particular talents and passions can be used to glorify God through setting these captives free...

So that is how Africa was, and is. It’s amazing, it’s beautiful, and it’s real. This boy, even if it were only him, and it won’t be, would make it all worth it. I don’t even know if he was one of the ones I had the pleasure of meeting while I was there, I just know that I love him. I love what Jesus says in Luke 18: 16 & 17 “Jesus called the children to him and said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it’.” The kingdom of God belongs to this young boy, Wasswa. It belongs to all of us who call Him Father.

Thank you all for your support, for reading these updates, for checking my blog, for being the amazing people that you are! It is my desire that God has spoken to you through what He allowed me to experience in Africa this summer. I hope that my breaking heart for the women of Congo and the street kids of Kampala, breaks your heart. It is a blessing and a privilege to be affected by what we see and experience. Please stay in touch, I’d love to talk to you more, and thank you personally for your emails/comments, monetary support, and most of all, prayers. I know many of your went to your knees for Africa, the Congo team, African Hearts, and me during the past few months, and God heard your petition, and He responded. God Bless you all.

Until next time, Dan

Dan Hoffman
Phoenix, AZ
www.glocaldan.blogspot.com
www.afrihco.org


ps. Email me if you would like to know more about how to help African Hearts, we have so many ways for people to get involved, and everyday we're getting better at connecting people to Africa, so they too can be a part of what God's doing!

Post 2: Congo & Hope

Friends:

Never have I been on the cutting edge of ministry as I am now. God is moving mightily. The Democratic Republic of Congo is simply different than anything else I’ve ever experienced. As the bush plane we took to the Congo descended into Beni over the lush rainforest of Ituri, I had to take a gasp at the immense beauty, never imagining the destruction and utter hopelessness that seemed to be all that I’d ever heard concerning this country to be true. But the people are lovely… and exploited and lied to and in bondage like I’ve never experienced before. Mending the Soul is here in Beni (now that Goma has fell back into violence) with the Congo Initiative to minister to the broken people of Congo. The rubber meets the road here. This is where the modern west and traditional Africa collide. This is where the bible meets myth. This is where colonization’s legacy is played out in ways that I could only dream of prior to experiencing it myself. The culture here is as far from mine, yet somehow so alike, as I can imagine. Africa has always posed a conundrum with me, and Congo has only further complicated that paradigm.

I don’t want to give too many details now until I’ve processed the complex situations that I’ve experienced since being involved with this, but the youth track of our complex has been one of the most eye-opening experiences of my life. Healthy-sexuality has everything to do with everything in Africa. It is one of the most key aspects of every major issue in this amazing continent. One might not gather that when thinking of poverty, war, famine, and other issues commonly attributed to “the dark continent”, but the patriarchy, war, rape, family dysfunction, poverty, AIDS, corruption, and many other issues are intrinsically linked with sexuality. I’ve seen its destruction in America. Here it has defined life and death. There is hope with the youth though…. I have hope for them, we all do, and we know God is faithful to complete what He has started, for God is able to do ALL things, no matter the difficulty we perceive. Moment by moment we are all reminded just how much God has to be at the center of all of this. He is the ONLY hope for the Congo, no amount of “free love” and NGO aid will fix the issues of the DRC, and the greatest leaders of the Congo echo these sentiments. Only Christ can heal this land. Period. I won’t attempt to explain all the dynamics at this time, but I will tell you this: after copious amounts of facing the reality of abuse-acceptance, victim-blaming, traumatizing-rape stories, clergy-denial, and a profound misunderstanding of sexuality, there is hope. The people here have a respect for scripture that is allowing for repentance on a large scale and normal people going to great lengths to care for the abused and to change their country back for Christ.

I want to share with you a story. A story that could change your life. I’ve only just begun to understand what it means in my life. Read. Absorb. Be changed.

Last year when the MTS team was here in Beni with the Congo Initiative they traveled to the nearby city of Butembo and went to the local mental hospital. There they faced the reality and aftermath of war: raped women who were so traumatized they could no longer function. Rape is always evil, but the rape in Congo is of a caliber that it is hard to express the profound destruction that is given to women who experience this rape. Steve and Celestia Tracy, the founders of Mending the Soul Ministries (MTS), were there to minister to the people there, and met a woman who was so traumatized she no longer could do anything for herself. PTSD doesn’t even describe the reality this woman lived in, her eyes were hollow and blank. She had been brutally raped by the rebels while she lived in her village, and had gotten pregnant from that tragedy, and in turn resented the child, and to top it off her village had rejected her, leaving her socially ostracized. Hell was her life on earth. And it is in this dire existence lies the most amazing story of redemption ever told, a story that could change the world… Celestia took a photo of this woman, Nama, was here name. The photo captures Nama’s empty eyes, her empty soul. That photo came back to the United States, became a painting that was eventually put into an MTS healing workbook. It haunted the Tracy’s thoughts and prayers for a year. The debilitating trauma of rape in the eyes of those who have experienced it will do that to someone. They never forgot her. God answers prayers. This year as we were here in Beni, at the conference, the ladies who worked at that mental hospital were here reporting on their work with rape survivors. After they spoke, Celestia and Steve went and talked to the ladies and brought along that book with the photo of the woman in it. They asked the ladies “Do you know this woman?” and the ladies said, “Yes, we know this woman!” and Steve and Celestia said “We have been praying for her for a year now, how is she?!” and then the best story told in decades was unfolded from women whose eyes wept with the ramifications of epic.
“Her name is Nama, which means ‘Grace’ in Swahili”, they said. “She was one of the most traumatized women we’ve had, but God did a work through us to her. Over the past year she has healed from her abuse completely. She can function as a normal person, loves her child, has moved back to her village and again can work in the fields. She has experienced amazing healing and her love for Christ is real. God has done an incredible work in her! But there is more. The man who raped her, and left her with child, has left his evil life in the bush and has given his life to Christ. He repented from his sinful and destructive life and has sought to turn completely around. He is actually from the same village as Nama is from and now has fallen in love with Nama and they are to be married! He is submitting himself to the leadership and discipleship of the church for two years to ensure that he has thoroughly changed from his past and that he is the man he must be to marry this woman he nearly destroyed. He doesn’t do this because he feels he musts, or because of some cultural reason, but because he has turned away and experienced Christ!”

This story of redemption has the power to destroy our fragile framework about what is possible, and build up in that void the truth; God can do all things, and he can redeem fully all things.

John 10:10 “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”

Please pray earnestly for healing in this land. Thank You, Dan

Ps. I miss the comments at www.glocaldan.blogspot.com ! Hook a brutha up!