ordinarybeautiful?

Champions

2008-06-27T09:18:00.000+02:00

adorn

2008-05-28T15:09:00.000+02:00

Security

2008-05-27T20:10:00.001+02:00

Pilgrims...

2008-05-27T10:31:00.002+02:00

Life

2008-05-27T10:28:00.001+02:00

Foreigners? Countrymen.

2008-05-27T10:04:00.002+02:00

Pace | Progress?

2008-05-27T08:38:00.001+02:00

Intimacy

2008-05-27T08:34:00.001+02:00

Reverie

2008-05-24T16:27:00.001+02:00

Home-carers

Mount Mukuru; Zambia

Significant

2008-03-13T16:19:00.004+02:00

Why should I feel discouraged?

Why should the shadows come?
Why should my heart be lonely,
and long for heav’n and home,

When Jesus is my portion?
My constant Friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow,
and I know He watches me

Civilla D. Martin, 1905

Insight

2008-02-26T12:09:00.003+02:00

Over the last five years, one recurring question has filled me with singular distress: "so, what is it exactly that you do?". It would be so much easier to select from any number of other options - teacher, accountant, bricklayer. Certainly the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker had all their bases covered. But, how to describe the role of a facilitation team? How to simply articulate the process of community counselling that stimulates, supports and transfers local community response?

In my search of an effective definition , I have been humbled by the simple wisdom of ordinary people whose intuition so perfectly captures our process with an economy that transcends words.

"It's a little difficult to explain, Lunga". I am talking with 11-year old Lunga at a camp for children affected by HIV outside of Cape Town, South Africa. Lunga's still gaze is a study in too-early maturity, and when he next speaks it is with the quiet confidence of an old soul. "It's not that difficult", he replies. "I think I understand. You are the people who come to visit our mothers where they are working hard in the townships. When they are feeling tired, you tell them they are doing a good job, and not to give up. And it gives them strength to go on."

Zachary is my 6-year old son who was learning about Careers at school. In the midst of friends whose parents were dentists, jewellery-sellers, art-teachers, Zachary explained that his Daddy travelled a lot. "He travels to visit people who are sad because the people they love got sick and died. And he listens to them and helps them feel better."

In the urban township of Crossroads in South Africa, we were invited into a home by Andrew, a 40-year old widower who lived alone in a corrugated-iron shack. In the sweltering heat of the single-roomed dwelling, he asked us what we were bringing to give to the community. We clarified that we had been invited by some other community members - to visit; to learn. To learn about life, their lives, his life in this place. An hour later, as we exchanged goodbyes in the manner of long-time friends, Andrew called me away from the group and whispered, in a tone almost conspiratorial: "I thought you people were like all the others who come here with their promises and their solutions. No one ever comes here to ask us what we think. But you people are like door-keepers - you only help us open the door so the real light can shine inside".

Ties

2008-02-25T10:06:00.004+02:00

"There is a tide in the affairs of men which,

Taken at the flood

Leads on to fortune

On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures."

- Julius Caesar, Shakespeare

No special affinity for subtlety is needed these days - no sophisticated sense for nuance or special gift for discernment - to recognise that we're in flux. What to some may feel like conflict, may actually be necessary to reveal Movement and stimulate response.

Amidst all the tides presently pulling and pushing people and organisations -within and without - there's a burgeoning sense of intimacy and fellowship and camaraderie, a fresh current - threatening to some - that brings rich, full Life..a pathway to unrestrained Freedom and Fullness, and community. Together.

The awakening of slumbering vision. The (re)Birth of Movement. The whisper of private challenge, over corporate responsibility. The promise of inspired adventure and bold endeavour.

Is it too much to hope - too premaure, too idealistic - that a transformative Movement is being reanimated, not through the redemption of its structures, but through the renewal of its people?

Oh, for more than a small taste of that conviction that moved Booth to a life less ordinary in those first days of The Salvation Army. That intense - almost obsessive - restlessness; the discontent that compels; the confidence that Grace can transform us, and our part of the world, if only we would take that Tide at the flood.

"On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures."

Anticipation

2008-02-18T21:01:00.003+02:00

The Soccer World Cup comes to the Mother City in 2010. Fever-pitch anticipation electrifies the air. Everyone's in the game!

Valentine

2008-02-14T14:01:00.002+02:00

To LOVE and to COMFORT

To HONOUR and to KEEP

To CHERISH

In SICKNESS and in HEALTH

For RICHER or POORER

For BETTER or WORSE

In SADNESS and JOY

Forsaking all others

Only ever to each other

Until death.

Humour

2008-02-13T00:00:00.000+02:00

Boys. What's with that?

Laundry

2008-02-12T23:27:00.001+02:00

Veil

2008-02-12T23:27:00.000+02:00

Revolution?

2008-02-12T19:49:00.004+02:00

From the lips of children.....

All in favour?

Homestead

2008-02-12T19:49:00.003+02:00

Versatile

2008-02-12T19:49:00.002+02:00

The many faces of Madame Pauline Mavitu-Massamba, a heroine of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

A champion of community. A role-model par excellence.

Pauline is proof-positive that one person can become all things to all people - so adaptable, and responsive, and sensitive so as to be a human chameleon. Comfortable with young or old, prostitute or politician, downcast or dignitary, she is the picture of grace and elegance.

Got a favourite?

Orange

2008-02-12T19:49:00.001+02:00

Blue

2008-02-12T19:49:00.000+02:00

Conflict?

2007-12-31T03:04:00.000+02:00

Peace

2007-12-29T20:57:00.001+02:00

May it be so.

Brothers

2007-12-10T01:48:00.000+02:00

Shadow

2007-12-06T05:20:00.001+02:00

Generations

2007-12-06T05:20:00.000+02:00

We stand ever on the shoulders of those who have gone before.

Their sacrifice, our privelege.
That legacy, our responsibility.

For there are those who must soon stand on our shoulders.

May they find us steadfast.

Motivation

2007-12-06T03:40:00.000+02:00

Women of the Truth

2007-08-28T11:42:00.002+02:00

Harare, Zimbabwe 2005

There are moments in time that are defining. When a single action marks a turning point in the normal course of events. When well-established rules of social convention must, of necessity, bow to answer greater need. During such moments, critical times solicit extraordinary action...often from unexpected sources. The image captures one such moment - poignant and dramatic, its authenticity born of heartrending desperation and concern.

In a gathering of 800 in a public stadium - mostly women, all Churched - a slight-framed young woman stands. With visible strain, and words forced through tears, she makes a bold and unprecedented declaration. She is HIV+. She is filled with regret, and remorse over the past. More so fearful and burdened about the future - will she die in pain? will her family reject her? what will happen with her children? The effort drains her, and she slumps despairingly to her seat, her confession charged with risk.

The crowd stirs restlessly. This is more than anyone expected at an 'information-session'. What was there to be said? What was there to be done? To judge? Condemn? Condone? Denounce? Comfort? Counsel? But with what? What words could bring relief? These were not things that men discussed with women, or women discussed with each other in front of men. Death and sex were at best awkward - especially with the Church. A stalemate had been reached.

Into the swirling confusion, a small elderly lady rises slowly to her feet. 'This AIDS', she says 'is a killer. We must thank our young sister for bringing this to our attention. We are all worried. It is killing our young women and our young men. It is killing our grandchildren. It is taking our husbands. It is time we start talking about it, really talking about it, so we can know for sure what it is, and how to stop it. The pastors must preach about it. The churches must help us talk about it. We, women, must know how to protect ourselves and how to teach our daughters. We must educate our sons, not in their schools, but in our homes, so they will know how to treat their wives, and their families. '

A pivotal moment. Light scatters shadow woven of secrecy, denial and propriety. Words spoken in truth rouse those who slumber. Change has come.

Connection

2007-08-28T11:42:00.001+02:00

streetboy.

2007-08-28T11:42:00.000+02:00

Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil

He is one of many. One too many.

Too young. Too vulnerable. Too innocent. Too pure. Too trusting. Too attractive. Too dependent. Too exposed. Not suspicious enough. Not experienced enough. Not sheltered enough. Not protected enough.

100, 000 children are trafficked - traded - across Brazil every year. By force. By consent.

'Does this offend you?'

Heroes (1)

2007-08-27T13:32:00.000+02:00

Zimbabwe is a story of tragic crisis. Once hailed as Africa's breadbasket, the rapid and steady decline into ravage and ruin has to be seen - felt - to be believed; and then only with great sadness. So much has been lost. And a threadbare hope is frail. But the Zimbabweans are a strong people - humble, incredibly gracious, often intolerably patient - whose capacity for joy runs deep. Steady and consistent, many have a timelessness about them, like ancient stone over the Matopos.

Ben Bofu - a friend, a colleague, a teammate - is cut from this cloth. Few people can lay claim to having met him and not being taken with him. An unaffected humility, a quiet confidence, a deep faith...and a mischievous smile offering sharp contrast to understated, profound wisdom. Ben is a champion, a hero in faith and in work, a mentor to many.

Ben captures the essence of humility with an uncomplicated simplicity that belies his insight and experience. Some recall him as the village headman in Salvation Army uniform who argues persuasively for the value of ordinary things - seeds and cows, bees and goats - in HIV/AIDS prevention. Others' memories are bright with his service to rebuild Rwanda immediately following the horror of a brutal genocide.

An ordinary man. And, perhaps, even more special because of that ordinariness. Passionate about people, committed to family, always seeing the good, a leader in Africa.

Poise

2007-08-21T11:00:00.000+02:00

Akai, Nigeria
West Africa

Sentinel

2007-08-10T15:16:00.000+02:00

Cristo Redentor
Rio de Janeiro

There's something altogether imposing about a 40-metre image of Christ, it's 700-ton bulk towering into swirling cloud. Imposing, yet breathtaking. And humbling. Eyes fixed over the city, hands open and arms outstretched to welcome...whosoever?

People crowd at his feet, a mix of experience and intent. Awe. Ambivalence. Reverence. Reflection. Distraction. Irreverence. Conviction. His sentinel-presence offers hope and solid reminder. This city, like so many others in the world could use some redemption; to be bought back, restored.

Whose watching over you?

'amigos do coração'

2007-08-01T01:30:00.000+02:00

Hobbison & 'Biggie-Nielson'

Bangu, Rio de Janeiro

Their eyes are virtually incandescent, the perfect mix of innocence and mischief that is the sole preserve of children. No older than seven or eight, they are playing with a small group of others when our team comes upon them in a dusty alley. But there is something about these two that sets them apart: a closeness, a special bond, an intimacy.

'And you guys', we ask as introductions are exchanged. 'You must be brothers'. We are crouched alongside their group, protected from the rising heat of the day by the morning-shade of the favella.
Their brows furrow in tandem. 'Not brothers', Nielson replies, almost indignant. 'We are "amigos do coração"'.

Friends of the heart. Somehow, here, that seems more meaningful than brotherhood by blood alone.

As the morning crawls lazily towards afternoon, others will claim this same space - streetcorners and alleyways - and mark it as their territory. Adolescent drug-dealers equipped with attitude and two-way radios, armed with handguns and automatic rifles and self-effacing disregard for life find their place in this world. Hours later, armoured police-vehicles barrel through the crowded streets, haphazardly firing into the air - into the crowd? - indiscriminately dispensing justice that reeks of carnage and chaos. Life is fragile here. And transient.

But the beautifully rendered relationship of two small boys - so matter-of-factly delivered - cries against the darkness: that virtue still exists to counter vice. That care exists to counter corruption. Amigos do coração remain - a flickering ember of hope against the steel-eyed cold of ruin - and a future may yet be secured.

Comeraderie

2007-06-22T00:44:00.001+02:00

Noordhoek,
Cape Town

(beat.)

2007-06-22T00:44:00.000+02:00

A moment, captured in time. A blur resolved, revealing perfection in the smallest detail. Minutiae crafted with exquisite care and attention. Form and function, engineered and sculpted.

Childlike simplicity interprets complex construction and signature design:

Each little flower that opens
Each little bird that sings
He made their glowing colours
He made their tiny wings...

Mystery. Meaning?

2007-06-22T00:23:00.000+02:00

chance encounter

- roadside, Rwanda

Tribute

2007-06-21T22:30:00.000+02:00

Injustice is a blight to plumb the depths of sorrow. It rakes against our virtue. It rails against our humanity. It afflicts us, unsettles us, at our very core. It is a thing not right, out of synch, with the glory of life. Its cold shadow is a pall of frustrated resignation that suffocates our freedom and stifles our joy.

We tolerate it at our peril.

Today, I pay tribute to friends....many more than are shown here....whose resilience, fortitude and character in the face of gross injustice and abuse humbles and inspires me. They have been bruised, beaten down, insulted, disparaged, disregarded, disrespected and invalidated. They have been humiliated, patronised, oppressed, suppressed, restricted, constrained, betrayed, and dominated. They have been undermined, misrepresented, subverted, misdirected. They have been discouraged, disheartened, disillusioned, disenfranchised. Their capacity has been trampled on. Their history, their heritage devalued. Their legacy, their life's work, dismantled.

But, they have persevered. And they have held true. And they have found their ways along lesser paths to reach their goal. And they have emerged, damaged perhaps, but not destroyed.

And they have made their voices heard.

And Truth can still set free!

Matriarch (2)

2007-05-27T15:51:00.000+02:00

She speaks no English. And perhaps that's a small mercy. Words would be painfully inadequate, language too crude, to convey the depths of grief. But her eyes fill out the nuance to accompany the loosely translated conversation. They swim with misty memory, and loss.

Leathery hands twist and wring with anxiety. Already a widow, she has buried every one of her five children - grown adults, their lives tragically cut short in their prime. The agony of longevity, a blessing become a curse: to outlive ones children.

But she cannot surrender to grief. There are five grandchildren still in her care. And every day she works at the roadside that winds by the muddy clay wall of their collective home, selling small parcels of fried banana to earn barely enough to feed them. She bears her suffering with every bit of strength she can muster.

And she does not forget. There is loss and pain and grief. But she will not forget. She treasures her memories in her heart. She will speak of them to all who might listen. When so many around her grow too tired from the weight of mourning to remember what once was - who once was - she is an exception. Memory sustains.

We cannot forget her.

Matriarch (1)

2007-05-26T15:58:00.000+02:00

Roadside

Lira, Northern Uganda

Rebuilding

2007-05-26T15:57:00.001+02:00

They have lived like this for over 20 years. Whole families - four, seven, perhaps eleven in a household - crammed together in one of these single-room mud dwellings with thatched roofs, their diameter not much more than the length of an adult man. Summer heat and oil-lamp fires are a constant threat here. Space is at a premium, privacy an imagined luxury.

Today we have visited Aromo, a still-functioning camp for internally displaced people in Northern Uganda. It is one of many - slowly emptying - a vivid reminder of the brutal conflict that marked this part of the country for decades.

The scene is almost pastoral today. Amidst the lush green vegetation, it is tempting to believe the setting idyllic. But 40 000 people inhabited this place not too long before, forced here by a bloody rebel insurgence that made these now-verdant pastures more suited to a requiem. And there are many camps like this one.

But hope grows unseen amidst the ashes of despair, like so much grass amidst the crumbled clay of abandoned huts, and a fragile peace offers the promise of return. Still fearful, still woefully insecure, people are making their way back to their villages. They're going home.

And what is home to those too young to remember anything but the artifice of camp? What is resettling when the instinct for survival is so strong it renders any attempt to overcome anxiety futile? What if the peace breaks? What if the rebels return? What if our hopes for restoring the past are dashed to ruin by a wave of renewed violence?

And still, they return. For to venture in faith is better than to wallow in fear. Cautiously, tenuously, they plough their fields. They tend their land and sow their seeds for the rain. They plan to harvest. They walk their children to school. They rebuild their ancestral homes with mud and brick and clay and thatch...and sweat. And perhaps, tears.

What is home? Home is family.

Those from among you
Shall build the old waste places
You shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
And you shall be called Repairer of the Breach
The Restorer of Streets to Dwell in
(Isaiah 58)

Altruism

2007-05-26T15:57:00.000+02:00

Altruism. There could be no better word to describe her. The unselfish concern for the welfare and well-being of others. But this definition applied to human relationships is insufficient. That contexted in animal behaviour is more potent, and comes closest: behaviour that is often to its detriment, but favours the survival of another above itself.

Self-sacrifice.

Dorcus is a young Ugandan raised in the country whose history recently garnered an Academy Award. A teammate whose radiant joy, deep devotion, and uncompromising conviction are an inspiration each time we meet. And this week, as we walk through the slums of Kampala or trek across the incredible displacement camps for people who have been made refugees in their own country, has been no different.

Her story is heart-wrenching, but this is not a woman who indulges in self-pity, nor expects it, though she should readily be extended that courtesy. Abandoned as a baby, discarded in a rubbish dump, her testimony is literally that of being lifted up out of the pit. And from those dark beginnings, she lives her life in the light of the knowledge of Purpose. It was not for nothing she survived.

Now she spends her life in the service of God and man. She is not a Salvationist, but that shining spirit runs through her like quartz vein through bedrock. She works with The Salvation Army in Uganda, in slums and villages across the country, encouraging people to Hope. There is Love to lift them too. She accepts no employment, electing to serve out of love and live by faith. In much demand by many agencies she has refused employment on principle since she could not subscribe to ways of working that did not value capacity or dignity in all people. Unmarried, she single-handedly raises 15 foster-children, orphaned by AIDS or abandoned on the streets of Kampala.

An ordinary woman - no credentials, no special titles, nothing to distinguish her - and certainly fallible, but extraordinarily beautiful beyond measure.

A hero - a champion - whose story deserves to be told with much better words than these.

Chiaroscuro

2007-05-20T06:53:00.000+02:00

Sunset over Lake Victoria. Wispy white blooms against brilliant blue before the heavens blaze like liquid fire. The sky is painted with deft strokes of gold and ochre and, for a fleeting moment, the world goes glorious sepia.

The sight is arresting. How anything this routine can be anything other than mundane is ironic. But this spectacle has captured our imaginations for millennia. And this evening I'm reminded why, and moved to contemplate the intelligence and imagination behind the design of the world. Such beauty cannot possibly be incidental. There is intent here.

Watts' classic hymn hammers home with shattering force and humbling accuracy. 'Were this whole realm of nature mine...that were an offering far too small.'

Home?

2007-05-10T15:37:00.000+02:00

Kibera, Kenya

Future

2007-05-10T14:09:00.000+02:00

13-year old Eric lives in Kibera, Kenya, with his mother and father. Kibera is reputedly the largest urban slum in Africa with over a million inhabitants densely packed in self-made homes of clay, sticks, tin and corrugated iron. Here there is no water, no electricity, no sanitation.

It's been raining, and the trecherous pathways between the dwellings are turning to mud under our feet. The air is thick with the smell of waste and decay - a slush-spattered emulsion of plastic and garbage and litter and effluent. It's an offense that anyone should have to live here, a miracle that so many endure.

And yet they do. Eric does. And millions like him. And when the rain comes - hard and unrelenting - it will overrun the sill of the doorway to his family shack; it will make movement around the township impossible. He will stay home, and miss school. There will be many days like this.

But Eric - like so many millions like him - will not give way to despair. That despair is an option is not even a consideration. There is victory yet in hoping, in dreaming, in believing for a future that is different - better - than the one he is living now. He hopes to be an engineer one day, and that Kibera would become a good place to live.

'What's the secret to success, Eric?' we ask. 'How do you get there one day?'. His shy smile belies an innocent wisdom.

'Respect', he says. 'Respect my parents. And work hard at school.'

Even from such humble beginnings as these, Kenya's future looks bright.

Vision

2007-05-09T19:25:00.000+02:00

Eric Mampouya, 24
all-Africa Youth Associate
Congo

Freedom Day!

2007-04-27T13:40:00.001+02:00

Yesterday - 27 April - marked South Africa's 13th Freedom Day!

It's the commemoration of our country's first democratic election, and the last phase in the dismantling of a decades-old evil system of separation, suppression and dehumanisation that saw 15 000 people exiled and 27 000 people tortured. Apartheid's architect sets the scene, chillingly: "Natives must be taught from an early age that equality with Europeans is not for them."

But, we're created for freedom. And freedom's a beautiful thing. It's the celebration of the human spirit that longs to overcome, that yearns - with protests within and protests without - to be free. Hard-won through years of struggle and perseverance, and hope; bought with such a high price, it is precious beyond measure, and I'm so grateful for it.

I'm grateful that Zachary - and his generation - is the first in our family in living memory to be born free. I'm grateful that Lisa and I can enjoy each other's companionship in a country where our mixed-race marriage is no longer considered illegal or - perversely - immoral.

A friend from out-of-country sent a message yesterday wishing us a 'Happy Independence Day'. It got me thinking: who wants to settle for simple independence when freedom's up for grabs? A transaction's taken place - freedom for bondage; liberty for license - let's walk in that today.

Deep within the heart has always known that there is freedom
Somehow breathed into the very soul of life
The prisoner, the powerless, the slave have always known it
There's just something that keeps reaching for the sky.

And even life begins because a baby fights for freedom
And somgs we love to sing have freedom's theme
Some have walked through fire and flood to find a place of freedom
And some faced hell itself for freedom's dream.

Let Freedom ring wherever minds know what it means to be in chains
Let Freedom ring wherever hearts know pain
Let Freedom echo through the lonely streets where prisons have no key
We can be free and we can sing
Let Freedom ring.

- Larnelle Harris

Paradox

2007-04-15T17:03:00.002+02:00

Human beings are innately powerful, and capable. And that not of our own design - we're created to reflect our Source, Who Himself is infinitely powerful. This capacity is often hidden in adults, surpressed, worn down by the struggle of life - and needs to be stimulated, stirred, unveiled.

But not so with children. In their untainted ebullience is revealed the capacity for joy, and wonder, and hope - and play - that so perfectly mirrors their Creator. Despite their difficult circumstances; perhaps because of those circumstances as if, set against that dark background their light shines all the brighter.

I love this picture, taken at a camp for vulnerable children just outside Cape Town. Some of the children in the picture are HIV+. Some have AIDS and are on treatment. Others have traumatic experience of physical, psychological and sexual abuse. Others live in places of safety. Some are simply poor.

But in this single moment, who could tell? They are children. And they shine.

Shared suffering. Shared joy. An unsure present. The promise of future.

Paradox.

Fear and Friendship

2007-04-15T17:03:00.001+02:00

It's an awesome experience to listen to Zachary pray. Like all of us, he needs to learn how to pray and its been wonderful to hear him - at five years old - growing in confidence before God, and in familiarity with the language of prayer. This evening, in very simple ways, he gave thanks to Jesus - not only for his own healing - but for His capacity to make people better when they're sick; he acknowledged that there were many people without food, but that God could provide for them. Lisa and I are privileged to sit in on these formative moments of intimacy, born out of a fledgling faith.

But, I'm challenged again - and burdened - for the millions of children we hold in our hearts as the motivation for much of what we do in community. So many of them suffering loss upon loss. So many of them coping with deep trauma. And our best efforts across a continent to ensure that they are supported socially through their interactions in relationship with others, and psychologically and, to some degree, spiritually.

As they find their way through life, who will stand alongside these children and teach them to pray? Who will nurture them securely into the fear and friendship of the Lord Who, Himself, is the Father of the fatherless?

These are the commands, decrees and laws the LORD your God
directed me to teach you... so that you, your children and their children after
them may fear the LORD your God as long as you live... Impress them on your
children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road,
when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and
bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses
and on your gates. - Deuteronomy 6

and Hope does not disappoint...

2007-04-15T17:03:00.000+02:00

...we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us. (Romans 5)

She is the picture of resilience. Time-tested. Weathered. And we are in awe of her.

Mavis is seventy years old. A professional nurse retired to a rural village in Northern Kwazulu-Natal, her homestead - a small collective of huts - the only structure visible for kilometres in a vast expanse of open land, rolling hills and big sky. Her thin frame is bent, wracked with arthritis, her feet and hands knobbed; she walks slowly, carefully, almost painfully. Yet this infirmity only just manages to mask what once was: a long-limbed elegance, gracious and poised.

Lisa, Zachary and I are sitting on the floor of a clay hut when she walks in. Outside, a small herd of oxen drift by the doorway where, minutes before a chicken made a hasty escape to make room for us. The single-room dwelling is compact and simple, spartan. A single bench. A table. Some mats on the floor for sitting. And a Salvation Army bass drum, covered in hide. This 'otherness' is difficult for Zachary. I watch him make the awkward efforts to adjust, but he is visibly unsettled, uncomfortable. This is so unlike his normal life, so plain and empty and devoid of 'stuff'. So free? I pray in that moment that this is an important life-lesson for him.

This may be one of the simplest Salvation Army meetings I've ever attended. About ten children wander in and it's all underway, complete with songbooks and timbrels and testimony...largely to providence and protection. Mavis' testimony is one of deep burden, a concern for these children who will have to make it through life when she is gone - many are orphans, some heading households - and a yearning for Revival.

As our group prepare to leave, her invitation is full of resolve and conviction: 'It has meant so so much to have you here with us. It has encouraged us. Please come back to us. We must do something with the children.' It is a familiar, always humbling, farewell. They have in fact meant revival for us.

Mavis carries the evidence of a life not easily lived. Her home, her neighbourhood, require labour and toil - no water, no power, no vehicles. No luxury. But suffering and hardship have completed their work. The fruit of perseverance and long-suffering have been character and integrity. She endures.

And a glimmer of something else. Hope.

And hope does not disappoint.

Life is a highway

2007-04-12T10:47:00.000+02:00

Like Tom Cochrane, I love a road-trip. It's epic. I love the anticipation of arrival. The promise of adventure. The potential for surprise and discovery. But, it's the journey itself that captures the imagination. The vivid, near-cinematic cast of characters encountered along the way. The shifting landscape rushing by. The stops en route to rest and stretch and swap places. The range of emotions - excitement, pleasure, wonder, amusement, embarassment, boredom.

Lisa, Zachary and I set off on one of these today. It marks the start of an interesting week for us as we work alongside The Salvation Army in a part of South Africa crippled by the scope and scale of AIDS. In a way, we've arrived. In another, we're still on the journey. I feel that familiar anticipation: who might we meet along the way? What incredible story, what arresting beauty might compel us to stay the course, to go the distance?

My favourite road-side photo from today's drive. I wonder who they might be, and what they might be speaking about. How they're connected. Where they're headed. Where they come from. Jason Upton's haunting melody breaks in:

...the two fools on the road to Emmaus...well, they might
as well be you and me

We're all on the road together. Good to know we don't journey alone.

Anybody got a 'yes'? Anybody?

2007-04-12T09:46:00.000+02:00

Perhaps it's years of conditioning to 'just say no', but - is it just me? - is it becoming increasingly difficult to hear a confident 'yes' from those people vested with authority to make significant decisions in the world? Decisions about policy. Decisions about financing. Decisions about positive programming.

Is it age that requires us to be more conservative and cautious? Is it reputation and respectability that demands a certain reserve? Or is it something a little more sinister, more ominous? Does fear constrain us from discerned acting on conviction about what really matters? Does protective procedure release us from the burden of conscience? What terrible cost might resting on our dignity, relaxing in our protocols, surrendering to our structures require?

It's ironic as I've listened to so many local communities around the world that their collective voice is anything but dependence. It's anything but rationalised reticence. Not 'if only' or 'but we need...' or 'perhaps in time'. Their voice - time and time again - almost predictably now, is 'yes'.

God, grant our generation people who say 'yes'. People who say 'just do it' and 'go for it' and 'we're with you' and 'let's get going!'. People with vision. People with ambition. People with faith. People who risk. People who commit. People who invest. People who enable. People who release.

May we be those people.

We're running out of time.

Reflections: the other side of the story

2007-04-11T14:53:00.000+02:00

I have a personal 'soapbox' about the way Africa is popularly represented in domestic and international media, especially through imagery and stories linked to the experience of HIV/AIDS. Isn't it time the world heard the 'other story', saw the 'other picture' that acknowledges the ravages and tragedy of AIDS without reducing people to pathetic victims without hope or agency in their own lives?

Isn't it time to tell the story that individuals, families and neighbourhoods are - and have been - capable of so much more? They're not hanging around, depressed, waiting to expire. They're responding! They're making decisions for health and wholeness! Have we grown so cynical and jaded that we're more compelled by the story of human deficiency and weakness than we are by the tale of human strength and capacity and ingenuity - of people motivated by concern, and sustained by a deep resource beyond themselves?

Thanks to Heather Saunders - a good friend in Australia - for a brilliant quote from Ivan Illich :

Neither revolution nor reformation can ultimately change a society, rather you
must tell a new powerful tale, one so persuasive that it sweeps away the old
myths and becomes the preferred story, one so inclusive that it gathers all the
bits of our past and our present into a coherent whole, one that even shines
some light into the future so that we can take the next step forward.

There's lots of room on this ol' soapbox. Care to stand with me?

Simple. Profound.

2007-04-11T08:46:00.000+02:00

That we live in an extraordinarily beautiful world is by no means an original thought. But, that the heights of beauty are often only attained by the so-called 'ordinary' things of the world is often missed.

India Arie sings of strength, courage and wisdom. This is the stuff of beauty, lived out by ordinary people in the 'tough' of life. Resilience. Joy. Vision. Perseverance. Hope.

Ordinary? Beautiful.