Syria Fundraising Update

Wow. I have been totally blown away.  My friends and family have been SO generous.

A few weeks ago I set a goal of raising $360 for refugees in Syria rather than receiving gifts.  I shared my heart for the need that Syrian refugees are in (read about it here) and I asked for others to come alongside this passion. 

You responded and gave! And I far exceeded my original goal thanks to your generosity! But my birthday hasn't come yet, and I'm still asking for more.  I raised my goal to $1200, which would be enough money to provide food and medicine for 60 children for a month. 

It's easy to just give money towards a cause and then forget about it later.  But I'm wishing and hoping that as you feel led to donate, that you are standing up and saying "ENOUGH." And I'm hoping that you know that this is investing in the lives of others around this world who need our help. 

Visit http://worldhelp.net/Syria to watch videos, read stories, and understand more about the crisis and what to do. Thank you for so generously giving your money, heart, and prayers. 

Pictures from http://blog.worldhelp.net/2013/08/syria-chemical-warfare-waged-on-the-innocent/

birthday month

Its my favorite holiday - my birthday!

If you've known me for the past couple of years, you know that my birthday is a more important holiday than Christmas. I start celebrating my birthday on the start of the month - September 1! As a kid, my mom would always give us a small present on our birthday month, and decorate our doors with streamers. I obsess over my birthday and want lots of presents!

But this year I knew that I wanted it to be different.  I've been doing a lot of things this year out of the convictions that God has placed on my heart, and knew that I wanted to use my birthday as a way to give to others rather than take for myself. I've been thinking a lot about how I can help others in need, and what better time to do that than during a month when I'm celebrating my life on earth?

This world is so much bigger than just me and my birthday month.  I can't sit back and continue ignoring the needs of the world when others are desperately waiting for us to act. 

"To whom much is given, much will be expected." -Luke 12:48

The crisis in Syria has been so heavy on my heart, especially since its been compared to the acts of genocide that happened in Rwanda not too long ago.  The United Nations Refugee Chief, Antonio Guterres said, "We have not seen a refugee outflow escalate at such a frightening rate since the Rwandan Genocide almost 20 years ago."  The Rwandan Genocide only lasted 100 days.  This Syrian Crisis has been going on for years, and really isn't ending any time soon.  During the Rwandan genocide, we failed to act and respond to the people in need. I don't want history to repeat itself, but it will if we don't do something about it. 

Here's what World Help said about the crisis in Syria.  They put it in better words than I could.

The nation of Syria is on the verge of complete collapse. The crisis began in March of 2011 in the wake of the Arab Spring and evolved into a bloody battle between the regime of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and various opposition forces.  Millions have fled to escape the slaughter that has already claimed the lives of more than 100,000 innocent civilians.  As the struggle for power continues, a humanitarian disaster of growing desperation threatens to swallow the entire region.

World Help, the organization that I went with to Rwanda, is heavily involved in providing aid for Syrian refugees. Vernon Brewer, the president and founder of the organization, visited the Syrian refugee camps multiple times and has been heavily involved in the crisis relief for the thousands of women and children that are in desperation. They are working on raising money to provide medicine, blankets, food, water, and shelter to those displaced in refugee camps. 

This is what I want for my birthday - to reach beyond my own borders and to do something that will last. 

Will you respond to those in need around the world?  Will you donate money to the refugees in need in honor of my birthday?

I'm trying to raise $360 by September 22. $360 is enough to provide food and medicine to twelve children for a month. Visit http://syria.worldhelp.net/kaylamaudsley to donate to this campaign, and visit worldhelp.net/syria to learn more about how World Help is involved in helping the Syrian Crisis.

the red dirt wears off

The red clay has worn off of my feet.  My farmer's tan has faded.  My body is clean, my fingernails painted, and my hair is blown dry and straightened.

I got back from Rwanda almost 6 months ago.  Why does it feel so far? Why has it been so easy to slip back into my normal American lifestyle?

We talked about not letting society creeping back into our lives.  We prayed for American culture of greediness and selfishness being rid in our lives.  We held each other accountable to the things we committed to. We swore not to let the memories not to fade.

But no matter how hard I tried, it doesn't mean as much as it did a few months ago.  I've let the memories fade and the emotions wear off.  I forget what I saw and heard in Rwanda - the faces of joy, hurt, love, and contentment. And I'm ashamed of that.

I've let the lessons I learned in Rwanda take the backseat to the culture that is in front of my eyes.  I forget to pray for my sponsor child.  I want lots of birthday presents.  I spend an exorbitant amount of money at Starbucks.  I don't cry when I hear those songs that we sang while we were there.  I waste food.  I hold grudges.  I want a big, fancy wedding.  I say that I need things, when I've seen what "need" truly is.

Don't get me wrong - I am deeply changed by what I experienced there.  I still think about it all the time.  I have a problem that the "normal" way of living here means excess. I forever have a discontentment about the poverty and need for resources around the world.  But sometimes it feels like I'm just looking at pictures, and forgetting that there are people and children there that I actually met.

Sometimes that change that occurred deep within me is suppressed by the ease of following what this American culture says is normal.  

That red clay has worn off, and all the time I wish it was still there. What do you do when the dirt is gone and you get used to "normal" American living again?

Until I figure it out, I will try to push out the deep desire to live differently because of what I've seen that I know is in me, and struggle to overcome the selfishness, forgetfulness, and pride that so naturally and easily surfaces.

reflections on the Widows' Village

There have only been a few moments in my life that have happened in seconds but have changed my life forever.

I'm ready to share about one of them. My time in the Widows Village in Rwanda is one of the most cherished moments of my life.

One of the main activities we did for ministry in Rwanda was show love to the orphans, children, and widows by spending time with them.  We showed them love through playing with them, talking with them, and simply holding them.  Our leaders told us that the attention that we were able to show the children would be something that they remember forever. It truly felt like being the physical hands and feet of Christ. 

The Widow's Village was a government-provided area during the genocide that widows could live to be protected.  Since the genocide ended, it has stuck with that purpose.  Now, widows live there with their children and have a community there. 

The first day we went to the Widow's Village was highly anticipated.  Our bus had faced many different difficulties making it up the long, steep hill, where the widow's village rested on the top.  The widows and children could see our bus trekking up to them, so they waited even more anxiously for our arrival.

The first thing that happened as we stepped off the bus was a flood of children rushing to our side, grabbing our hands and latching onto them.  We hopped over a small ditch in the road, where the widows were all lined up.  As each member of the team hopped over we were immediately embraced by one woman after another.  They greeted us by saying "Maraho," or "Hello," and kissed our cheeks graciously.

We were all emotional - we were all overwhelmed by the love being shown to each other and by the community we already felt, despite the lack of understanding in language. 

We could hear children singing as we drove up the hill, and sure enough - there were at least 20 children proudly wearing their school uniform, gathered together in the middle of the village.  They were showing off what they had learned in school and sang their songs that they learned in English.  Some of the lyrics were: "I'm a little butterfly, in the air I fly, up up on the tree, I fly fly."  Others were "Head, shoulders, knees, and toes," with respective dance moves for all.   I don't think I've ever been more in love with a group of children. All of these kids had been sponsored to go to school at the Star School, and their songs and dance were evidence of what they were learning. 

We spent the afternoon playing with the children: trying to pronounce their names, teaching them dances, and just picking them up and holding them in our arms. As we drove away after our first day, the kids chased our bus down the rode, and our hearts broke in having the leave them.  But we knew that we'd be back in a few days.

Sure enough, the next time we headed up the long road to the Widow's Village, the kids started screaming and running towards us.  They had been waiting for us to return to them. 

We continued our typical activities - running, chasing, playing, laughing, holding, and cuddling with the children.  We all had our few kids who recognized us and stayed by our side, and my team members would continually play and chase the kids, and then take a rest by cuddling and holding them.  The kids loved running all over playing games and settling into the arms of all of us "mzungus," what they call "white person." 

Photos taken by Jimmy Thomas

On the last day in the Widow's Village, I met a new boy, who was 12 years old.  He was on the older side, and for a boy he was especially cuddly and close with me.  He spoke a little English, so I learned that his name was Eric and he was 12 years old.  We wanted to take pictures with me and hold my hand as our leader shared the gospel.  I'm used to my younger brothers, but neither of them had acted as needy as Eric was for his age.  Usually the teenage boys kept to themselves and would crack jokes, but he was sweet, kind, and needy for attention.  

We sat together through the whole message from our leader, and he paid close attention to every word.  Then, another leader shared with the group that was huddled together on the small hill that our team loved them very much and wanted to show them that by giving them each their own new t-shirt.  When Eric heard that, he squeezed my hand, turned and looked me in the eyes, and said in his accented English, "Thank you, thank you very much."

I couldn't help but start to cry.  I hugged him, and he held tight to me, and as I got up to help pass out t-shirts, he waited patiently to receive one from me. Everyone put their shirts on right away in proud ownership.  

Then, Eric grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a group of women standing in a group on the side.  He pointed his hand as a woman in the middle and said "Mom." He took me to introduce me to his mother! We embraced one another and kissed each others cheeks.  We could barely communicate, so we just smiled.  She thanked me for the t-shirts, and I feel so helpless.  I wanted to do so much more for her to show her that I loved her, but didn't know what to do.  I gave her the nail polish that I brought to paint the kids' nails, and she laughed at my gift to her.

Eric stayed close by my side as I played with the younger kids, and when it came time for us to leave the Village, my heart felt like it was breaking into millions of pieces.  Each kid stole my heart with their smiles, their laughter, and their innocence.  It broke me to know that many of them didn't have parents, didn't have food to eat, and didn't have money to go to school. 

Eric's simple "thank you" made me realize all the wealth and excess that I have.  Its not fair that I have been given so much undeservingly, while all he has is a new t-shirt to make him satisfied.

What have I done to deserve all that I have? Nothing.

What has Eric done to deserve the simple life he lives? Nothing.

Yet here I am, with everything, and continually wanting more, and there Eric and all of the other children are, thousands of miles away in Rwanda, not realizing the more that there is. Spending time in the Widows Village changed me and my time with those children is something that I remember all of the time.

My trip leader, Cyrus, told our team before we left for Rwanda that our time with the children in the Widow's Village was precious.  He said that when he returns to Rwanda, the kids ask about the people who had previously been there.  They continually ask for us and remember our names.  The time that we spend loving on those kids is some of the only love that they get to feel, and they cherish it forever. 

I think that its more important to think about the love that we can give, rather than the things we can get for ourselves. 

 

one month later

It's been over a month since I got back from Rwanda.  I think I might be ready to write about it.

Many of you have heard me share my stories, so I thank you for coming back to this blog to read more about it after already listening. Talking about it helps me understand, but writing it down is totally different.  I don't want to mess it up.  I don't want to record someone's story in the wrong way. I don't know how to really express what I've seen and felt through typed words on a screen. I don't know what write, even though I had filled over half of a journal during my week in Rwanda. I know that this experience is something that I will remember for the rest of my life, and I'll always be learning from it. So how do I begin writing about something that has totally changed and wrecked my life?

I know I have to start somewhere.  Its been a month, and I may have stopped crying over my memories of Rwanda, but nothing about my longing for that country has faded away.  

Whenever I've been on a trip - whether its a family vacation or a missions trip - I always here people saying, "Can we just stay here forever?" It makes sense that people say that - they enjoy the new experience of being on a vacation or in an area that needs help, so they want to stay.  We don't want to go on living our normal lives, returning to the stress that is around us.  We joke around about missing our flight and how great it would be to stay, but we all know that the time will come for us leave our temporary trips and go back to our normal lives. 

But when I went to Rwanda, it was different.  The feelings I had were so much deeper than a fluffy desire to be in a vacation spot or the feeling of being needed in a desperate area.  I felt at home there.  The minute our plane landed, I felt peace, like it was where God had purposed me to be. And then the minute our plane took off to return to the US, I felt like my heart was being ripped out, like I was missing something, like I had left something behind.

Photo by Cyrus Mad-Bondo

During class one day, as I was thinking about the children and not the lecture that my professor was giving, I thought of Philippians 1:8, "For God is my witness, how I yearn for you with the affection of Christ Jesus."  This verse summarizes my feelings right now.  Its more than just missing the Rwandan people. Its more than not wanting to leave the country.  Its the knowledge that there are bigger things to be doing, and more important things to be thinking about.  Its a longing deep in my soul to be with them again. 

Photo by Jimmy Thomas

My reflections over the past few weeks have been of the children that I met there.  I played with dozens and dozens of orphans and children in the schools.  I want to make sure you know that my heart for those children goes much deeper than just having a nice picture with a cute kid.  I still hear their voices, I still feel their touch, and my arms feel too light not being able to hold them.  I think about them literally all the time - I go to bed thinking about them and praying for them and wake up in the morning doing the same.  When I see their faces, I remember that its not just a picture that I am looking at, or that seems nice in a frame.  They are real children, living real lives, thousands of miles away.  Each one has a story, a history. God created each one with unique passions and personalities.  When I see their faces, I think about that, so that they don't just become a memory that I had in college, but the first step in God working in my life to do something for them.  I believe that God has put it on my heart to be with them, to show them not only my love, but most importantly Christ's love as well.

I just don't know how yet.

So I continue to pray, to look at the pictures, and to miss them.  I know that I will see their faces again, and that brings me comfort and joy.