hey there,
Sorry it’s been so long since the last
time I’ve updated you guys on life over here. One week ago my team of
about 15 people arrived in Jeffreys Bay, South Africa. It was a 13 or
14 hour drive from Pretoria, where we had been living for most of the
last month. It was a good looking drive too.
The land between here and Pretoria looks something like
Wyoming on an acid trip. That’s a terrible way to describe it, but I
don’t know how to really. Rocky, ancient mountains springing up out of
flat, flat ground. You can see for miles, and cattle roam everywhere.
These mountains aren’t as inviting as the Appalachians or the Rockies.
There’s nothing lush — just dry things and dead things from the valley
on up to the top. It’s all build up with no climax or crescendo. All
mesas and plateaus after years of erosion. it’s random too – like
someone went around pinching up the earth in to mountains in strange
places, making a big, beautiful mess out of flatland and farm land.
The skies are beautiful here – no matter where you are.
There’s always a contrast between the landscape here and the poverty of
its people. Stare at a sunset and get caught up in its beauty, feel
romantic even (if you want), but if you zoom in on that hillside just
below the sun you’ll find people just as beautiful as sunsets in the
middle of poverty that is deeply ugly and wrong and far from the way
the world is supposed to be. My friend was telling me how it seemed
like the sky was one way that God reminds people he hasn’t left a place
and that his promise of not leaving or forsaking is still holding up
incredibly well. It makes sense. The stars reminded Abraham of his
promised seed, the rainbow a reminder that God will bring his Kingdom
rather than destruction, so the sunset may as well be a gentle reminder
of God’s presence.
It can be hard to believe though – God’s presence in a place.
About a week ago I went out into a nearby township called Sexwhale
(pronounced Sekwally, be careful) with a local woman named Matilda.
She spends her days visiting houses in the townships, bathing people on
the brink of death – or even just a little sick, cleaning house,
praying for them. She knows everyone, it’s actually almost
unbelievable how many people she knows. After a few visits we ended up
at a man named George’s house. George was a skeleton of a man laying
on a bed. As we walked away later Matilda said, “It’s a voice.”
u003cbr>"What?" I said.u003cbr>"He's only a voice." she said.u003cbr>I still didn't understand.u003cbr>"He's only a voice on that bed. There's no person."u003cbr>u003cbr>George was dying of AIDS and TB. After only a few weeks he was a skeleton gasping for breath. The worst part? When someone asked if he'd been given ARVs (the medication for AIDS that is available and actually FREE in these parts) he responded with a few yells, "I don't have AIDs." The shame and denial only add to the momentum of the disease and death. No one has AIDs if you ask them, but if you look at their faces you know and you weep. AIDs is warring their bodies to death.
u003cbr>u003cbr>Then there was the look on his wife's face — knowing her husband has AIDs and that she might have been infected as well, knowing at least that he had been unfaithful — terrible thoughts to have as you watch you husband shrivel and grow sick every day.
u003cbr>u003cbr>I hate AIDs, and I mean it a bit more than I did even a week ago. I see it making skeletons of grandmothers and fathers and husbands. ARV's in empty butterscotch candy buckets on the shelf. The stigmas: I do the dishes and a brother is looking over my shoulder to make sure that his spoon doesn't touch hers – so that he won't end up the same — melting to a bed with clear eyes and stomach pains. Shame throws its weight around everywhere, hiding everything that needs attention all for the sake of reputations and fears.
u003cbr>u003cbr>There are places where the light gets in. People stepping in to bring hope – carrying people to hospitals, I’ve seen people healed in ways that medicine isn’t capable of (and sat rubbing my eyes for most of the night wondering how it happened), on and on stories are starting to pile up my journals and in my brain. I sit and wonder where God is in the midst of chaos and pain – the same question that I’ve asked over and over in life, and he answers in whispers and small glimpses of miracles and reconciliation. That’s enough for now.
“,1]
);
//–>
“What?” I said.
“He’s only a voice.” she said.
I still didn’t understand.
“He’s only a voice on that bed. There’s no person.”
George
was dying of AIDS and TB. After only a few weeks he was a skeleton
gasping for breath. The worst part? When someone asked if he’d been
given ARVs (the medication for AIDS that is available and actually FREE
in these parts) he responded with a few yells, “I don’t have AIDs.”
The shame and denial only add to the momentum of the disease and
death. No one has AIDs if you ask them, but if you look at their faces
you know and you weep. AIDs is warring their bodies to death.
Then there was the look on his wife’s face — knowing her
husband has AIDs and that she might have been infected as well, knowing
at least that he had been unfaithful — terrible thoughts to have as
you watch you husband shrivel and grow sick every day.
I hate AIDs, and I mean it a bit more than I did even a week
ago. I see it making skeletons of grandmothers and fathers and
husbands. ARV’s in empty butterscotch candy buckets on the shelf. The
stigmas: I do the dishes and a brother is looking over my shoulder to
make sure that his spoon doesn’t touch hers – so that he won’t end up
the same — melting to a bed with clear eyes and stomach pains. Shame
throws its weight around everywhere, hiding everything that needs
attention all for the sake of reputations and fears.
There are places where the light gets in. People stepping in
to bring hope – carrying people to hospitals, I’ve seen people healed
in ways that medicine isn’t capable of (and sat rubbing my eyes for
most of the night wondering how it happened), on and on stories are
starting to pile up my journals and in my brain. I sit and wonder
where God is in the midst of chaos and pain – the same question that
I’ve asked over and over in life, and he answers in whispers and small
glimpses of miracles and reconciliation. That’s enough for now.
u003cbr>Sorry if this doesn't make sense. I'm trying to beat the buzzer on an internet timer and trying shove two weeks of stories and thoughts into a few paragraphs. More later on our house, my friends, leaders, the sweet coffeeshop on main street and one great perk… the ocean. But alas, the ticker is at 00:10. I think that's ten seconds.
u003cbr>u003cbr>write me back. i miss you. all of you. how are you? can you teach me Afrikaans?u003cbr>u003cbr>love,u003cbr>mattu003cbr>
“,0]
);
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,”Oct 24″,[“[email protected]”]
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,”Oct 24, 2007 5:56 PM”,”Delivery Status Notification (Failure)”,”This is an automatically generated Delivery Status Notification Delivery to t…”,[]
,0,,,”Wed Oct 24 2007_5:56 PM”,”On 10/24/07, Mail Delivery Subsystem [email protected]> wrote:”,”On 10/24/07, u003cb classu003dgmail_sendername>Mail Delivery Subsystemu003c/b> <[email protected]> wrote:”,,,,””,””,0,,”[email protected]>”,0,,0,”In reply to “Home Sweet Home – Jeffreys Bay, South Africa””,0]
);
//–>
Sorry
if this doesn’t make sense. I’m trying to beat the buzzer on an
internet timer and trying shove two weeks of stories and thoughts into
a few paragraphs. More later on our house, my friends, leaders, the
sweet coffeeshop on main street and one great perk… the ocean. But
alas, the ticker is at 00:10. I think that’s ten seconds.
write me back. i miss you. all of you. how are you? can you teach me Afrikaans?
love,
matt
