Posted in (9) Cambodia by Marissa Dale on 5/13/2012
I will never understand fully, but I can at least give it a good run…again.
Who He is astounds my mind just about every single moment. My eyes become close to pouring whenever I begin to fathom how He can be my closest confidant, yet also embody the fullness of true love, grace, justice, and righteousness. It all makes sense somehow and it’s all so true, these things I know. The more that I encounter Yaweh, the more that I long to be with Him. His holiness is ineffable and somehow, He invites “me” to take part in this divine relationship. The God of old who revealed Himself to Moses as “I am.” The One who was, is, and is to come…” The One who canceled the debt of the murderer. The One who embraced accusation, resulting in death. I can never fully comprehend, and “that” is why I belong to my Master. More so, “that” is why I “must” live to proclaim who He is wherever I find myself.
I find myself by the ocean yet again and I consider it such a great gift. The girls and I decided to take advantage of our four-day weekend and cheap Asian busses. In short, it would have been “interesting” to sit around in our scorching tents for four straight days with nothing to do in our little village. So, we are currently on the coast of Cambodia, overlooking the Gulf of Thailand. No doubt, it’s beautiful, but these days aren’t fully including my anticipated relaxation.
Photo by Stephanie May
In short, this place is touristy. But how can I only say the least? Since we didn’t have Internet at our ministry site, we planned this trip solely from a Lonely Planet book. The beach in which we are staying is essentially a “spring break” party scene right along with a popular sex tourism destination. Hundreds of young Westerners flood the bars for cheap beer irresistible beats, and beach fire shows. Hundreds of slightly older Western men linger the same bars with their young Cambodian girlfriends. Street kids selling bracelets and inexpensive sunglasses flock these said white folks.
I met a lady boy on the day we arrived. His (or her?) name is “Beyonce.” In his flamboyant voice and demeanor, the nineteen-year-old asked, “You buy bracelet from me?!” “Oh my God, you need eyebrows done.” I’ve seen him many times since. We have a friendly conversation, he tries to sell me something, I decline, and I tell him that I will see him around. I’ve had conversations with about seven bracelet girls now. They are persistent in their sales, but if you continue to divert the conversation, they actually enjoy talking about other things such as their lives and families. When I ask about their job, they give rehearsed answers and express how much they love it. In reality, they work for some big whig and aren’t able to attend school. I see even younger street kids. They come up behind you and poke you…some sort of scare tactic? Some hit you on the butt when you don’t buy their product. I adore talking with these children and crave more opportunities to do so. They truly need real Love, to know they are worth more than haughty smirks from foreigners.
Photo by Stephanie May
Take heart.
Like I mentioned, this place is filled to the brim with Westerners. Not only do they come to party, but they also come to work. The bars hire them to promote to fellow white folks. It makes perfect sense! Numerous charming Aussie girls and attractive guys with nice accents who offer coupons for free beer for their particular venues have approached me. They make it all sound so appealing. On our way back to our room last night, a blond girl in a mini-skirt offered a few friends and myself free shots. We consecutively said, “no thank you.” She was taken aback. Man, Jesus loves her. He loves her so incredibly much. I sure hope she saw Him...not because we resisted the liquor, but because we embody who He is.
Take heart.
Yes, there are many older men here. And when I say older, I mean “older.” I could write forever about these guys. I used to become so incredibly furious. “How in the world can these perverted dogs buy a woman as if she is a doll for sale?” In actuality, these thoughts consumed me before I arrived to Southeast Asia. When I began bar ministry in Thailand, these thoughts were practically nonexistent. Yes, it’s truly disgusting. But when I see these guys, my heart breaks. I know that it must be Jesus in me, for my own selfish ambition could not fathom this grace. But there is grace. Somehow, He is full of justice and love. He longs to bring freedom to these men just the same as to their short-term loves in the chains of sex slavery.
Take heart.
And so, I see all of this.
And He tells me time and again to “take heart.”
He says, "My light is shining in these dark places."
Really? How? I don't freaking see it!
"It's you."
I know. I know it.
Help me to KNOW it.
The very mouth of the Savior spoke, "In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world." - John 16:33
Time and again, the Old Testament speaks of the LORD's righteousness and His justice. Psalm 89:14 says, "Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne; steadfast love and faithfulness go before you." His righteousness is displayed as His justice prevails." Since He never changes, we must believe that these things still stand.
In one of the very last leg of my trip, my passion for missions is re-ignited yet again. Light shining in the darkness, it's so beautiful. And He somehow decided that He would use us to embody this Light. I see it. I see the possibilities because He is so mighty.
He is so good, my friends.
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Posted in (8) Thailand by Marissa Dale on 4/28/2012
I feel the need to preface this blog. You should know that you will probably be a bit scatter-brained if you read on, because this is my current state. There will be much hopping about and absolutely no outlying theme. I don't know exactly how this will go (if I'm honest, I never know), but I have the urge to spill my thoughts and revelations as I eat strawberry Pop-Tarts in my sandy bunk at 1AM. It's the night before I leave Thailand and all of my things are strewn about...from freshly cleaned laundry to laptop and iPod cords to all of my magazines.
I have a slight obsession with magazines, particularly anything involving nature or the world. Surf magazines are incredible. I admit that I snag the mags from the seat pockets on planes. Qatar Airways has had some pretty great editions these past few months. Of course, National Geographic has always been my favorite read. I was thrilled to find that May's issue highlights Civil War battlefields...but that is in itself another story. When I get a new magazine, I do my very best to preserve the pages as long as humanly possible. I read it backward and forward, absorbing all I want to know. Eventually though, I crack and begin to tear it apart. I cut out the stunning photos and tape them into my journal, stick other snippets in my Bible, and give pictures to friends. It's like real-life Pinterest. This obscure passion is one of my favorite pastimes that has amplified on this trip. It's entertaining to discover wonders I would like to see with my own eyes and even more amusing to actually realize that I've now been to many of the featured magazine sights. While riding in the back of a pick-up today, I found myself ingrained in my new magazine. Suddenly I thought to myself, "Why am I not looking at the setting sun behind the palm leaves and the Thai people on motor scooters?" "Be here Marissa, be here..."
I spent most of this afternoon at Nai Han Beach in Phuket. I spent some time in the ocean, and I must say that I felt pretty accomplished. The waves in that remarkably sapphire water were the largest that I ever recall swimming in. It was frighteningly thrilling.
I love the idea of frighteningly thrilling. The waves never ceased. They kept coming. It never got old. It was like God on a smaller scale. He is constant, yet never ceases to capture my amazement. I dove under “big kahunas” and swam past where the waves were breaking to find some serenity. I took my eyes off the shore and turned around to face the West, looking out into the sea. I floated out there like a buoy for quite a while, just gazing. I walked back up onto the sand more astounded at the ocean, more overwhelmed by the Creator than when I first waded out into the breakers. I can’t fathom that only a mere one percent of Thai people are Christian. Jesus alters my thinking with His creation. I can only hope that the same will happen for the Thai people and Western tourists surrounding.
I also sat on a massive boulder yesterday. In Colorado, I used to drive to Garden of the Gods Park at least a few times per week just to sit on my favorite rock and read, sleep, and bask in His greatness. The trail guides in their jeans and cowboy hats, leading an assembly line of tourists began to recognize me. I miss that rock, perfectly shaded with such a spectacular view of the Rocky Mountain foothills. Today’s rock was better.
Camped out on the rocks to the left
I spotted a guy with his two young daughters out in the surf. He had one of his little girls linked onto each arm. They clung to him as they ducked under each coming wave. My dad used to take me out when I was a kid too. I thought he was invincible. In my mind, no wave or shark could harm me.
There was a dark, skinny islander wearing board shorts, probably old enough to be my grandfather chilling a few boulders over. He was the only one up there with me. He was carving something and smoking something else (not anything I recognized. I wondered if he was a sea gypsy.
It was peaceful up there and I soaked in the moments. I intended to journal, but my pen stopped working. That must have been a gift from the Lord because it was more rewarding to simply stare into the distance, Phil Wickham’s Canons resounding in my ears.
I reflected upon the weeks here in Phuket. It's been easy to gravitate toward thoughts of wasted time. The ministry has been intense and has seemed fruitless most times. The images of all the bar girls I've met flash through my memory. But I must trust that I've done what I've been called here to do. In His time, the harvest will be reaped. It's a tough concept, but it's the only conclusion that I can fathom.
I've recently heard today's slave trade paralleled to the 19th century slave trade. They are similar in many aspects. However, today's is much larger and is growing at an increasingly rapid rate. Roundabout 1800, the Presbyterian Church in America passed a resolution declaring, "...it is manifestly the duty of all Christians who enjoy the light of the present day,...to correct the errors of former times, and as speedily as possible to efface this blot on our holy religion, and to obtain the complete abolition of slavery, throughout Christendom, and if possible throughout the world." I want to hold to that statement, "throughout the world." And I don't want to dwell on the phrase, "if possible." I believe that more can happen than we deem possible.Now I must pray vigorously for the red light district here. I hope to return one day. When I return, I hope to find Patong's bar poles vanished and it's hope restored. Maybe one day when I'm old in my rocker, I will read about the abolition of the sex trade in Thailand in National Geographic.
On a lighter note, I love this country. The Thai people are some of the most genuinely friendly folks I've come across on this journey. I am going to miss the laid back atmosphere and crystal blue waters here in Phuket.
Credit: Kaitlyn Allen
Tomorrow---> Phuket to Bangkok. Monday---> Bangkok to Siem Reap.
Ecstatic to see another wonder of the world!
What else is there to say? God is good. "All glory, honor, and power are His forever. Amen."
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Posted in (8) Thailand by Marissa Dale on 4/27/2012
She had been in Phuket for just nine days. She came from Northern Thailand to earn money for her family like the thousands of other girls on poles who seduce white foreigners. It was evident that she wasn’t broken in…yet. Her pink, floral print dress that fully covered her cleavage gave away her innocence. She hadn’t yet fallen for the booty shorts and transparent lace tops. She disclosed to me that she was looking for a new bar because her manager wanted her to “do this” with customers. She clamped her hands together to imply sexual actions. Sweet girl…24 just like me. I met her last night and retrieved her number. Success.
Well, here I am…in one of the places I originally intended to come, doing the ministry I initially set out to do. Whenever I soak in this grand fact for even a few seconds, I am in awe at His faithfulness all over again. I’m in Thailand at a popular sex tourism destination. Known as having some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, Phuket displays a glimpse of the essence of God’s majesty. These two actualities collide: the beauty and wickedness. Is the Light bright enough? I was so greatly anticipating this work, and it came like what has seemed to be alll too quickly. Am I really ready? Am I ready to fight against some of the greatest darkness that exists in this world? I’m definitely not, but He is. He understands how to fight for justice better than my mind could ever intend to comprehend. I just put myself out there and make myself available.
Every other night, I get dolled up and hit the bar strip with my friends Emily and Krystle. We pull out the cutest possible clothes we can salvage from our packs and actually apply a little makeup, attempting to look like the other white tourist girls from places like Australia and Spain. This is quite the mixup from the previous three months of long skirts and greasy hair in Africa. At 8PM, worship begins in the great room on the second floor. I, along with 30 others sweat profusely, singing and interceding for the night to come. We board a fantastic, air-conditioned taxi van at 9PM. Arriving at the central square, we pray again by the Starbucks as passerby's stare and snicker. We're off...
We're off to neon signs, souvenirs, live bands, and tourists with crispy, red skin. Soon, we turn the corner onto Bangla Road and sights begin to change. What reminds me of the boardwalk back home quickly transforms into the most disgusting place I've ever encountered. Men galore, whose arms link with near-naked Thai girls. The men range from fraternity boys in their board shorts to the guy in his Sperry's with his balding grey head and wedding ring. Locals shove laminated sheets in my face that read, "Ping Pong Show." The shows take place in closed bars and are undoubtedly explicit. Blaring music intersects from all directions. Lady boys make their expected mark and parade body parts for all to see. It's not difficult to spot a few families here and there, sometimes with strollers, which always boggles my mind. A large glass box stands on the second story at a place called "Moulin Rouge" about halfway to the beach. The cube contains a pole in the center with a beautiful, blond-haired girl twirling and twirling, her eyes glazed over. The place blatantly advertises, "Russian Girls!" Every single time I step foot onto Bangla, I am saddened all over again.
Stephanie May
Or work begins as we stroll up and down the side streets of Bangla, following inklings and leadings from the Lord. Our mission is to meet and build relationships with the bar girls. Though no night is like another, we have a protocol. We typically look for bars that aren't too packed with customers so that we aren't scolded for "keeping the girls." We sit down and order Coke, Red Bull, or orange juice. The bartenders find this peculiar. Already, we are in the spotlight. One of the girls usually breaks the ice by brining out a Connect Four game. If she doesn't, we ask..."do you have a game?" After she beats all three of us over small talk, we begin to ask her questions about herself, eventually leading into questions about her job. It's fascinating how honest most of them are. Just last night, Krystle asked a girl if she liked her job. The girl shook her head and told us about her family of nine in Northern Thailand. All four of us begin to tear up. I slip a small piece of paper in her hand that contains information about hotel training and English classes. I know deep down that she doesn't want to make less money. But just maybe one day, she will realize that she is worth more than foreign men who only love her body. Maybe one day she will break.
And so we love her and part ways by giving her a hug. If things have gone well, we ask for her phone number to set up a time to get pad thai or ice cream if she agrees. I can't imagine what she is thinking, but I can only hope that it is good. I hope that she sees true Love in us. I must believe that she does, for 2 Corinthians 2:14 says, But thanks be to God who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere." We tell her that Jesus loves her more than anyone. After 20-30 minutes, we depart, scouting out a new bar and another girl.
"I wonder what it must feel like to be a girl in the bars. Having an occupation in which you must lure in men...men you will never love. Maybe you are providing for your family. They're well off because of your sacrifice. You're honoring them. Is it worth it? Are "you" worth it? Is it even okay to think for a second about abandoning your family and culture...maybe even your faith for your own dignity and self worth? Sister, it is! Run toward it! May your fears be stripped! Do you know that you are dearly loved? He loves you. I pray that you will see a glimpse of the freedom that is readily waiting just for you. No shame, no guilt, no looking back. He takes you as you are." -April 16th journal entry
This has been a difficult month. Though I should lack excuse, it does have much to do with why I haven't written any blogs. We have seen a girl come home with us, only to decide that she wanted to return to the bars. We have set up multiple dates in which the girls didn't show. We know they were probably with their customers from the previous night. It has been discouraging in many regards, but I have seen little breakthroughs that somehow bring hope. I can't lean on what I see, but on the things that are unseen. My team has been clinging to this verse in 2 Corinthians 2:18. An enormous part of this month has been intercession. While half of us are ministering, the other half are at home worshipping and praying. Every day, we walk the streets, praying for the evening ministry. Now with tonight being my last night on Bangla, I plan on visiting many of the girls I've become friends with to say goodbye. This may be one of the most difficult things I will have to do.
“I see a mountain, you see a miracle. I see a wasteland, you see a garden. I see a dry bone, you see an army. I see impossible, you see everything.” - Jonathan David Helser
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Posted in (8) Thailand by Marissa Dale on 4/19/2012
My dad purchased tickets to an August Phils/Braves game. The yearly family vacation to Massanutten, Virginia is set. Then, I found out the "big news" a few days ago. My flight back to the states has been booked. On July 27th at 2:45 pm, I should be stepping down onto American soil. That's 100 days from this day. Of course, I'll have to make it through customs before I can leave the Los Angeles airport. I've been wondering if they'll easily let me through once they've discovered that I've been touching livestock, have contracted malaria, and walked through murky, parasitic waters.
The family last weekend!
Goodness, I'm really going home.
My mind begins to wander and expound upon everything. I recall memories, possibilities. While journaling this afternoon, I couldn't help but write about it all. I wrote about the long evening walks I'll take with my mom down back roads with farmland in every direction. I wrote about tenting with my sister in the backyard. I can't wait to go grocery shopping and bask in the wonder of whole grain bread, pepper jack cheese, cherries, and Old Bay potato chips. I can hardly imagine what it will be like to drive. I wonder if I remember? Oh my, I'll have to drive stick, and do so on the "right" side of the road. I also jotted down how I simply can't wait to swim, chuck corn, make coffee, and wear jeans (I ditched mine after India). I can't wait to spend time at my Grandparent's house in Slower Lower. Waking up to pancakes and sausage, crabbing on the bay, setting off fireworks from the end of the pier...
It all sounds so lovely, so familiar. All of a sudden, sharing a room with ten other young ladies and living out of a backpack falls lower than my very own bed with clean sheets and enough space to organize my 10 shirts. Eating street food and finding cockroaches in the house pales in comparison to my mom's lasagna in a kitchen that has seen cleaning products in at least the past month. Speaking normal English and being able to attend a church service where I actually comprehend the meaning of the sermon sounds pretty nice.
But then my mind makes a drastic shift.
I'm really going home...
I can't contain how much I adore my family and the places I come from. I suppose it's pretty evident. Even with all of this said, I'm actually pretty scared to return.
I know that the newness will surely rub off. After a short while, I'll leave home and begin "real" life again, wherever that may be. Life will presumably become normal. I will wake up each day, go for a run, make a banana smoothie, go to work, fulfill daily tasks, and maybe hit up a small group. I will live for the weekends when I can only hope to hike, ski, or meet up with a friend at Panera. It is in the midst of all this that I will once again proceed with the task of figuring out the "next step." Right now, I crave this normalcy. But it scares me to think that I crave normalcy. There is nothing wrong with normal, right? And of course, I don't doubt that my life will always be an adventure. Under God, my family, and a few other important things, I live for adventure. I like to look at life as an adventure no matter where I am. And ultimately, life with the Holy Spirit consists of thrill, risk, and uncertainty all the while having great certainty in Him. He isn't normal, but He's "my" normal.
I don't want to lack adventure.
Stephanie May
I never went to a "real" 4-year university. Because of this, I have never lived in excessively close community. Heck, I've never even had a roommate. I can say that this trip has made up for my lack of past roommates. During these past eight months, I've never had my own room and I've only had my own bed 50 percent of the time. I haven't gone anywhere alone since I was in America. When I run down the street to grab a coke, there is someone with me. When I go to find the restroom in the mall, someone trails along. I haven't had a solo dinner in all these months, which is quite the change from my Colorado life. I remember sitting on a high bar stool, eating leftovers from my shift at CPK at 10:30 pm. I have learned the value of close community. These people are with me not only while I'm stuffing my face, but also when I cut my foot on a rock in the ocean or need to spill my guts about the suppressed thoughts in my brain. We eat together, pray together, worship together. We go to the bathroom together, whether that is in the mall, in the woods, or over a second-story balcony in Nepal.
I don't want to be lonely.
Stephanie May
Traveling, experiencing culture, living in community, and seeing the real issues of this world face-to-face have indeed grown me. I have grown in knowledge, communication, boldness, prayer, and in seeking His heart. Of course I know that I know that there is always space to grow. That is part of the beauty of grace and seeing His perfection being made known in our weaknesses. This journey of growth, it brings us closer to Him and makes His name great. I never want it to cease. It seems almost impossible to me that I will be able to grow at this rate while living in America. It's true that being in this element brings out things that I never would have expected to come to Light. But ultimately, it's up to me. Circumstances can't determine my relationship with the King. I must continue to seek Him in the secret place and dig deep into the Word. I have got to find a mountain top (or back deck) to shout praises to Him. I long to keep in constant communion with the Spirit.
I don't want to stop growing.
There you have it. All my fears (the main ones, anyway) are written out for all to read. I really don't want to go back...not yet, anyway...
It's turned to early morning. 99 more days out here...
Then, maybe I will be ready...
...ready to carry all of this over into my western life. Maybe then I will be ready to make the most of every opportunity in the U.S., find/create meaningful community, and live the adventure that is journeying with Him. I can't wait (in 99 days)! A few more, and I'll be spotting Hamels strike a playa out.
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Posted in (8) Thailand by Marissa Dale on 4/12/2012
Pull up the stakes and go! I’m talking to you. Something extraordinary is bound to happen.
The nations are calling. You must go.
“God shall bless us; let all the ends of the earth fear him!” –Psalm 67:7. I once heard it said that this is the Great Commission of the Old Testament. And we know the Great Commission of Jesus in the New Testament. “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…” –Matthew 28:19
I want to begin by saying that you can go. As products of our given societies, specific inhibitions weigh on us. I’ve placed inhibitions on myself and on my Christian faith throughout my 24 years. We have a tendency to morph things, including Biblical truths. We have an inclination to make exceptions. Most times, the exceptions sound reasonable. This often happens within the realm of foreignmissions. It is valid that one can support missionaries through prayer and finances, and I believe that everyone is called to do this in some capacity. Some are exceptionally blessed to give of their resources in order to enable and mobilize individuals that burn to bring Light into dark places. I am thankful for these folks, for if it were not for these people, I would not be in Phuket, Thailand at this moment. I also believe that people are called to reach out to those in their communities stateside, or wherever they may be. Without this call on a life, Light would be lacking in Middletown, Delaware and Grand Rapids, Michigan. But I believe that the people who can identify themselves in these categories (myself included) are called to something greater.
Are you willing to go away? Even for a short bit? One month? How about just ten days?
It’s true that not everyone needs to abandon his or her home and move to the Amazon, living amongst villagers in stilt-raised huts. On the contrary, all of us have an even greater call, which is to abandon everything. Jesus tells his disciples in Matthew 16:24-25, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” There we have it. The call of Jesus is to forsake more than our homes and families. More so, it is to forsake our very selves.
As sons and daughters of the King, we are gifted with the honor of being part of this legendary redemption story. This includes our own stories and the stories of others. It’s a beautiful thing. In Let The Nations Be Glad, John Piper emphasizes, “Missions exists because worship doesn’t.” Dear sisters and brothers, there are still lots of lost people in this world who need Love. I’ve seen them, met them, and watched many of them turn to Christ upon hearing. A young man in Uganda, a little girl in Moldova, an old woman in Nepal, and hundreds of others. These people might not have seen the Way to eternal Love and Life if it weren’t for my teammates and I. And I will dare to say that there are people out there for you to share this news with.
The Father also captures your heart in the process. Something extraordinary happens when you get out of your element and shift your focus. It’s indescribable. Serving porridge to barefooted orphans in tattered uniforms. Walking hours in the hot Nepal sun with an empty stomach to tell those few families about the great possibility of salvation. Handing out winter coats at a shelter in Philly. Through serving others and loving the forgotten, you are the hands and feet of Christ. You actually begin to believe that you are the aroma of Christ. It puts life…this life of following Jesus into perspective. If you don’t think you’re ready, you are. Believe it.
So, pull up the stakes and go. Let the inhibitions melt away. Go to Chicago, to Mexico City, to Papua New Guinea, or come to Phuket and visit me…
so that all can say that He is beautiful and find delight in worshipping Him, knowing that they have a place with Him forever.
“The harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few…” – Matthew 9:37
P.S. Don't worry about the money. That is the LEAST of your worries. Happy travels!
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Posted in (7) Uganda by Marissa Dale on 4/1/2012
“The afternoon sun beats down on the fields and upon thousands of tiny silver roofs surrounding Nairobi. Massive rivers are scattered throughout. The foothills of small mountains stand in the distance. Africa…it begins.”
-jotted on my itouch while flying in on Jan. 3rd
Africa has surpassed my presupposed adventure in every way attainable.
Contracting malaria in Iringa Town, white water rafting on the Nile, spotting a pride of lions in Ruaha National Park, preaching to gigantic congregations, visiting mass genocide graves in Rwanda, buzzing through Kigali on a motorcycle, biking on the island of Zanzibar, running down roads lined with palm trees, sunrises that surpassed all sunrises and the list goes on and on and on…
In addition to all of the thrills that Africa offers, I’ve seen the Holy Spirit move more than ever. If there was ever a time I wanted to live my life for Him, it is now. The things I’ve seen and experienced these past three months are etched in my mind.
Most of the circumstances have been difficult. And these difficult things have shown me true beauty. It is truly indisputable that light PIERCES through darkness. Sometimes I have doubted, but He has always proved Himself faithful.
"And I am here - - where it seemed most impossible to come. Praise be to God that He would choose me to come on this great adventure."
-journal entry, Jan. 3rd
And now I’m departing this thrilling continent…sad to go, but ready… I’m anxious for the next chapter. Leaving for Bangkok in three days.
HERE is a wonderful Uganda re-cap by Stephanie. Enjoy!
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Posted in (7) Uganda by Marissa Dale on 3/31/2012
I never thought that this is in fact what I would be doing in Africa. Awesomely, I have had the opportunity to visit several schools here in the Luwero District of Uganda. I’ve taught a baby class how to draw a triangle, I’ve explained to level three primary classes the difference between antonyms and synonyms, and I’ve even taught high school students. I am not qualified to teach in any classroom setting, so the teenage level is a bit intimidating. Besides, 85% of the kids are larger than my 5’2 ¾” self. However, since I am white, that counts for something. To Africans, I have something special to impart about being successful and making money. Thankfully, I haven’t been enlightening the pupils on statistics or how to make bank. Instead, I have been speaking to the students about sex…
I remember when my mom first talked to me about upcoming bodily changes and that three-letter-word. I think it was probably about 1997. I was nine years old and my largest concern was my weekend soccer game or going on neighborhood adventures with my dog, Jack. And after the first “talk,” they just kept coming. My mother was and still remains to be a firm believer in openness. I used to hide, only succeeding to escape the embarrassment a few times. Eventually she would start have them in the car where there was no means of getaway. My mother is a genius, I tell you. Altogether, she had interesting, yet very effective parenting tactics. When my sister and I fought, we would have to go to the front yard to hug for X amount of minutes or until we worked out our differences. If we persisted to refrain from appropriate manners at the dinner table, we had to take our plates to the garage. I now adore the way Cynthia Dale raised us kids. Back then I thought that my mom was a tiny bit insane, but she assured me that one day I would be grateful for all the frankness. She was definitely right. I have absolutely appreciated it throughout the years, and now in Uganda I have come to an even greater appreciation.
When asked to conduct a high school assembly during our second week in Wobulenzi, my team asked our contact about what we should speak. Rather than success or even the love of Jesus, Pastor Moses told us, “sex issues and aids prevention.” This was the first time any of us had done anything like this. So, the six of us all spoke. We each gave a 5-10 minute testimony, talking about our experiences and touching on things they could learn from. I ended the assembly with my testimony and decision to abstain from sex until I’m married. I struggled with giving this testimony, for fear of amplifying my reputation as a “good girl.” Stupid, really. I knew I had to do it, and God used it for His glory. Most of the kids were taken aback that a 24-year-old girl had never “been with someone.” At the end, we had an alter call, where a few hundred students committed to staying pure until marriage. The results of this assembly were truly shocking.
From that point forward, we were asked to speak at many other high schools, each containing a few hundred 12-20 year olds. We tweaked the program and sometimes even had a Q&A session. The wide range of questions from these youngsters was heartbreaking. “Can my boyfriend and I still have love even if we don’t play sex?” “How can I abstain from sex?” “How do you remove a condom when it gets stuck?” “If a person gets pregnant as a result of rape and their mother sends them away, what can they do?” The list goes on and on. There were multiple questions that were difficult to answer. We simply had to do our best according to our knowledge and the resources available in East Africa, which are very slim. The misconceptions and lack of knowledge here are repulsive, so much so that I have found myself becoming angry at the world.
Many believe that if one has sex with a virgin, they will be cured of STD’s. There is a myth flying around that drugs will prevent STD’s. Girls will submit to their male peers who pressure them to have sex. Those guys simply do not care. So many men here have more than one wife. Aids is running ramped. I have met multiple orphans of aids victims. Some of these orphans themselves have the disease and are on the brink of destruction. It all disgusts me. Medicine to suppress the disease is slim. There is nowhere that pregnant girls can go for help. The U.S. supplies them with condoms and birth control galore, so the kids were confused as to why we were encouraging them to abstain from sex. There is so much more I could say. Africa needs help. God designed sex for one man and one woman upon matrimony. I can’t deny that protected sex is of course encouraged above unprotected, but I believe that there is a higher way for these young Africans. If individuals would only be aware of the consequences to their actions and realize that there is a perfect plan for sex, so much horror could be dismissed in this place and throughout the world. It's true that everyone has his or her own choice to make, but many don't realize the better option or their rights as an individual. Therefore, increased awareness is fundamental.
I have been honored to able to speak to these few kids of the next generation in East Africa. I am blessed to possess knowledge about this thing called waiting for sex. It is something that I have never previously counted so great.
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Posted in (7) Uganda by Marissa Dale on 3/16/2012
I should have a few Uganda posts up by now... I have started a few blogs, but they're still in the works because my perfectionism has taken over. Since I've been slacking, here's an impromtu post with a few pictures . . .
Our hosts this month are wonderful. Our host mom, Mama Lucinda is teaching us how to cook on
International Women's Day. Crushing peanuts down at the end for a sauce.
Got to raft the Nile at the beginning of the month!
Hunks of meat on market day.
Naked children cover the streets.
Our house. It's the nicest one in a very large radius...even has a garage!
View from my top bunk.
What I've been doing...
Door-to-door evangelism. It's been interesting. Good, but difficult at times. Wobulenzi is not much different than most of the places I've been in that there is a large Muslim population. The second largest religion is Adventist. There have been a many conversations that have turned argumentative where we simply have to depart. Even still, God has proved Himself faithful, for we have seen salvations and healings during these times. Please pray for open hearts here!
School visits. We do a few of these each week. One day last week I graded midterm exams for 5th graders and another day, I had to teach a "Baby Class" that consisted of 3-7-year-olds. It always varies. Many times, we do an assembly...teach the kids songs and do an impromptu Bible skit.
Preaching. Yup, still preaching. I gave a sermon at both Sunday services yesterday in front of a 400-member congregation. Although it can be intimidating, the Spirit always shows up.
Hospital Visits. They are frustrating and beautiful all at the same time. The facilities are horrific and the patients are often misdiagnosed. Still, God shows up. I have a blog about this coming soon...
I like Uganda A LOT and am blessed to spend time here. Our host family is wonderful and gives us a lot of pineapple. They blow me away with their generosity. They house four orphans and are involved in the community to an unfathomable extent. It's super hot and the dusty roads always coat me in a thick layer that sticks to my sweat after cars whiz by, but it's all worth it...always... There are these super weird birds here that are about four feet tall, if I had to guess...I see them when I run and always wish I had my camera. That's all for now, folks!
Two more weeks in Africa!
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Posted in (6) Rwanda by Marissa Dale on 2/20/2012
Being a female on the mission field can be a bit trippy, especially here in Africa. Today consisted of three interrogating instances that made for an overall interesting day…
Mondays are our “rest” days. Naturally, I slept in…until 9:18 am to be exact. I went on my morning outhouse run to liberate myself of last night’s tea. The family was up and moving, for they had probably been awake since before 6:00. There was a tall, lanky man outside talking to Pastor Emmanuel from a distance. On my way back into the house, he approached me. Most Africans are anxious for a handshake with a mzungu (white person). He extended his arm with his hand in a fist, so I instinctively pounded it like a G. I found that’s not what he intended. The dude wrapped his long arms around me, but it wasn’t any ordinary hug. It was more of an uncomfortably inappropriate embrace. I tried to play it off as “just a hug,” but then he went for the kill. He kissed me somewhere on my upper cheek, practically on my eye. I tried to break away as the pastor repeated, “Sorry, sorry, Mareesha!” I had to slap/push the smiling, scattered toothed guy to free myself. Yup, I was kissed this morning by a drunk man in my backyard.
Later on, the girls and I were in the process of one of our daily moto negotiations. There must have been at least 20 bikes surrounding us on the side of the street. Once they begin to congregate, the congregating does anything but die down. It’s always a scene. Picture six white girls. Now envision tons of black guys on bikes aspiring to be the lucky ones to drive them around. It’s no longer a shock to hear an “I love you” or “I want to marry you” thrown around by these contesting individuals. I finally hopped on a bike whose driver said he knew where the restaurant was located. Then, I felt a firm tap on my back. Another driver motioned for me to get on his bike. I told him I was I good. Then, there was another firm tap that was more like a smack. I abruptly yelled at him not to hit me. He was taken aback and I didn’t feel at all bad about it. Another slapped one of my teammates, and she pounded him. This feistiness is justified in my book.
I do believe that tonight’s incident was the most awful. I was headed out to the outhouse again this evening. We had just returned home from dinner and everyone was in the living room having tea. I grabbed my headlamp and slipped out to do my business…no big deal. There are what I would call “ventilation windows” at about the level of my head of the mud structure. They’re nice, I suppose. Anyway, I stood up from squatting to pull up my pants when I stared into a pair of dark eyes. He surely had been watching me the entire time. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “What the heck are you doing? Get outta here!” My throat still hurts from the eruption. Frightened that he would trap me in the outhouse, I bolted toward the back door as fast as my little legs would carry me. It was probably a punk kid from the college dormitory next door. Apparently, they hop their gigantic fence to hang out in the field of banana trees behind our backyard.
Lesson learned from today? I will only take the 30-foot trip to the outhouse with a buddy. Maybe I will also invest in some mace.
As for the moto dudes, I will just have to continue to use verbal and possibly physical force.
Things do get a little dicey out here. You’ve just got to keep going.
After all, there is work to do.
Sorry for the recent ramblings about little difficulties. I promise that I have so much more to write about. I had the opportunity to visit the genocide memorial today and have rolling thoughts and emotions about this. So much history, so much terror, so much needed justice. The other day, I was able to go to a soccer game and was “accidentally” ushered into the press conference. That was exciting. There is also some crazy stuff going on with the church here in Rwanda.
I hope to write more soon, but now I must rest for tomorrow. Plan to visit the Peace Corps and World Vision headquarters.
Can’t take credit for the word, dicey.
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