Monday, August 12, 2013

Freedom

      Our last morning in Burundi we were rushing around trying to get in all the last minute sights and gifts before flying out that afternoon.  It was down to a few hours before I headed home and I had no idea what I would bring for the kids.  We had not gotten the chance to really think about it before then.  It was not like we could swing by the Batwa Gift Shop.  We had one more place to stop though.  Jeunesse Sans Frontieres.

     It was breathtaking.  The shop was behind a gated wall.  As we walked in the door we saw several women sewing in the front room.   There was something about the women there and I was most likely the only person who noticed.

      Back up with me for a little side story.  The first full day we were in Burundi we were getting the history, do's and don'ts etc.  When you shake hands do it like this.  Don't give the people anything.  Use hand sanitizer, but be very discrete about it.  Don't forget to take toilet paper with you.  Never leave your things unattended.  Do not to wear too much jewelry.  After the meeting, I asked our host, Simeon, what he thought about my nose ring.  He said, "well, I really like it but it may be best to take it out."  Ok.  No big deal.  Before I had a chance to take it out, I struck up a conversation with Simeon's wife Lizzie.  I mentioned that I had to go take this nose ring out.  She said, "Thanks for doing that.  We don't want people to think you're a prostitute!"  Ha Ha!  No we sure do not!  Simeon could have been a little more clear.

       Fast forward to the the last day at that little shop.  I noticed most of the women in the room had nose rings.  It made me smile because I knew what that meant.   I am sure some were trafficked in, some chose it out of desperation, some as a result of suffering tremendous pain from the genocide, and others grandfathered in.  Regardless of why, reasons you and I may never really understand, these women found themselves living a life of prostitution.  But, (doesn't God do amazing things after that word!) I was in a room full of women who were changing their stories.

     Jeunesse Sans Frontieres means Youth Without Borders.  It is a vocational school created to help young people in Burundi like demobilized child soldiers and young prostitutes.  They train them in mechanics or sewing for 4-6 months.  Then they are placed in various garages or tailoring workshops in the city of Bujumbura.  They not only give them a way to make a living but they also introduce them to Christ and begin to heal their wounded hearts.  http://www.cathedral.ca/outreach/cathedral-burundi-mission/

       We weaved our way through the rows of machines to find the merchandise in the back room.  It was amazing how many different things were made from those machines.  Big bags, little bags, padded bags, headbands, stuffed animals, book covers, (did I mention bags?) aprons, pants, and I swear I even saw an IPad cover.  (Can you image that conversation?  "What am I making?"  "What is going in this?")

      We were all scurrying about, often hoping the person beside us would set down the bag they had chosen so we could snatch it up.  I am not joking.  While I was walking around, the exact kind of bag I was looking for was right next to me.  Sadly, it was on the arm of Mike.  The fact that I was about to spend 30 hours on a plane with him kept me civil.  I shed a tear and moved on.  A few minutes later, from across the room, I noticed he was no longer hoarding it!  I walked as quickly as I could without drawing attention to myself to where I last saw him with it.  It was not there.  I dug around and suddenly as if a spotlight from Heaven had shone down (insert angelic voices singing) I saw it.  Yes, it is now in my home :)

     My shopping was complete.  I had gotten my sweet bag and a couple things for my girls.  As with most of my time in Africa I found myself living like a native,  as if it were normal for me to be shopping for bags at a store filled with ex-prostitutes.   So while the others finished up I was able to step outside of myself to observe the incredible beauty and magnitude of this place.  I wish you could have seen the smiles on the faces of these beautiful women who had know so much of life that I have never seen.  The joy of grace.  The hope of the future.


     It was then that I saw him.


       One of the ladies sewing had with her a baby who must have been about 9 months old.  I watched him and wondered what his story was in just the short time he had been alive.  Was he born as the result of a mom who 18 months earlier was stuck in prostitution?  Was he born to a mom who had found a new life with an honest man?  I have no idea.   What I did know was that I was looking in the eyes of a child that was planned and created by a God of grace.  It no longer mattered what circumstances he was born into.  His life was radically altered for eternity because his mom found Jesus and said yes.  Freedom.  Grace at its finest.

         Why God would extend His grace to any of us is a mystery.  I guess one day we will understand but for now I will be content in my confusion and be thankful for the life that I do not deserve.

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