pepsi, pizza hut, and praise
The bus stop boasts the Pizza Hut ad "Join us for iftar, only 14 for the full meal!" You get the awesome pizza, garlic bread, salad, cola beverage, and the traditional soup, olives, and fresh dates from Mecca which are required to break the daily fast for Ramadan. Iftar is fascinating. All across this region, life screeches to a halt as dusk draws near. Every restaurant seat is booked, and people sit poised around tables, with their date in one hand, the olive in the other, waiting for the cannon to blow. First the imam wails the call to prayer from the mosque, which triggers the end of that day's fast. This allows the cannon to go off, and then, in unison, every one eats. From there they go to the mosque to hear the Koran read. Thus purified, they enjoy a night of partying. Many use this season to gather relatives or friends. Most women spend their day fixing meals for kids under 12 by day, and for everyone else all night. Restaurants use every advertising ploy to bring in cash. Pepsi is giving away cash every day. Little Caesar's, KFC, Burger King, McDs and every local chain view this season as their best money making time of year ... sorta like between Thanksgiving and New Years in the States.
Meanwhile, we walk down the cobble-stoned road and around the corner into the basement apartment which houses our African Safe House. Each of our homes is people group based, simply because a common language is crucial. The kids are bouncing up and down in the hall, eager to see our kids, who always bring fun finger and action games and stories to read out loud. Since the hall is about 5 x 5 it's a challenge to entertain 7 under 7, but it always seems to work out. In the living room Bibles are out and being studied. Out on the 2 x 5 balcony the beginner's Bible Study is gathered around the pastor. A visiting pastor from a rural outreach is in the one bedroom. His stay is accidental. He's paralysed from the waist down. His wheelchair gave up the ghost on this last trip. So he's been placed in the bedroom. Young students are gathered around him, not wasting the time and chance to learn at his crippled feet.
So the 14 women are relegated to the living room. No matter. Space bubbles are small and they are so thrilled to have a home, a family in God, and the dignity of wholesome work. Together we sit on a blanket on the floor. This keeps the beads from rolling as we make necklaces together. Chatter is in their local language, but several speak English, so we have no trouble communicating. They come from all levels of society back home, and from many tribes, but they have all been caught in the web of human trafficking, triggered by war, and the reality that since they are Christian, they must leave.
My western mind thinks of fringe issues, like sickness, death, birth, futures, education. They have never had the option to think beyond today. Like those who sat on the Mount and heard Christ speak, they can nod when he speaks of the foxes having holes, and the Son of Man having no where to lay His head. This Man speaks their language, He's walked in their shoes. Perhaps He even walked barefoot like some of them. One girl stands out. She just came in. Her hair is done up blond, with long braids down over her one eye. She hides behind this screen, looking out through her pain glazed eyes, only just rescued from what man can do when he is bestial. My mind's eye see Jesus look up from writing in the dust, compassion and holiness streaming out from him as He offers her Eternal Hope and escape.
One week later, her eyes are clear, her hair is pulled back. Two weeks later, the braids are gone and she is a different person, almost unrecognizably so. She is at peace and childlike, rescued and at home in the arms of the Good Shepherd. Four new women have also come. They are drawn by the love of One who Saves and makes Whole again.
Dusk falls and in the distance the mosque wails and the cannon booms. Restaurants and homes are filled with eating and the parties will go till the wee hours. In our small abode, this passes by unnoticed. Someone has started a song in Amharic. Lyrical, lilting, almost quiet, yet deeply passionate, they all sing worship to our Lord. Later the one bowl of noodles with a dab of tomato paste will be shared by all, on the floor, eaten with fingers. No Pepsi caps here for the chance to win cold cash. Lukewarm tap water is a welcome gift, which is received with thanks.
This is true praise. Praise that thanks for things others take for granted. Praise that over rides the religions of men. Praise with a direct line to the King of the Universe. Praise which needs no frills or holiday specials. Hallelujah!