an outrage

Yes, it has been particularly silent from this space.  There is a great deal that has been happening, but often far too overwhelming to capture in mere words.  With time, the stories will emerge. 

 

But for today, there is an anger -  this is a prophetic rant.  So if that will put you off, stop reading now. 

 

My facebook feed this morning showed outrage from several influential American spiritual voices.  The racial violence involving police has become amazingly disturbing this past week.  There are many voices strongly against the turmoil. 

It is awful.  Alton Stirling. Philando Castille.  As of this writing, 5 police officers dead.  It is a tragedy and an outrage. 

 

I totally get that this is outrageous, and is an issue that needs to be resolved. 

Nobody does outrage quite like the Americans.

 

But I am looking for some outrage in this area of the world.  And I do not see it.  So I will stir it up. 

I just heard this week, that in the next town north from us, in the last short while, ELEVEN young people have taken their lives. 

STORUMAN is about 60km north from our town.  There  is a population of 2300 or so in this area.  and ELEVEN young people, between the ages of 16 and 24 have taken their lives in the last short while. 

THAT IS AN OUTRAGE.

But what strikes me as very strange is that around me I do not see the same level of emotional frustration as one sees in America.  Or in South Africa. 

I have been attending a Christian conference about 100km over from Storuman.  Granted, I have not been at every session, and I have not attended prayer sessions.  But I have not ONCE heard from the platform some from of righteous anger, or any voice at all, against this disaster. 

I had not heard about the devastation in this in my town from my circle of Christian friends.  Man, if this was among people from the other expat communities where I have lived, the lines would be buzzing. 

 

So I will express my outrage. 

I am outraged at an enemy that so lightly gets away with his lies, stealing and destroying of lives that are precious.  Each one of them. 

 

I am outraged that I have not prayed enough for the young people of Lappland, of our northern areas of Sweden. 

I am outraged that suicide is seen as the solution to take.  (This I express very empathetically because it is a challenge that I struggle with myself). 

I am outraged that so many precious young lives have been stolen without outright spiritual war being declared. 

I am outraged that young people from our town, from local places, have not already banded together and have spent time rallying people to go pray.  To make meals for families.  To join in the churches from that town, and pray, and weep, and mourn, and be the body of Christ that is called to bear one another’s burdens. 

I am outraged that it has taken so long for this news to get to me. Why are there not outraged facebook posts from people here?  It has taken seconds for the lines to spark in America.  But because it is suicide, because these issues are supposed to be more sensitive, it has taken weeks for the news to be heard.    If this had been spoken of earlier, there might well have been lives saved. 

So I speak now. 

I pray out, in Jesus’ mighty name, for an end to the spiritual forces raging in the town of Storuman, and I speak an end to every lie of the enemy.  I speak the TRUTH of hope, grace and mercy for every lie of death and hopelessness.  I speak out the grace, comfort and LOVE that there is in Jesus. 

May we be a voice for the voiceless, and make a way in the wilderness. 

Oh church of Sweden, please.  Take up the place that God has called you to, to be the BODY and the love that He longs to use to reach out to a world that is, literally, dying. 

freedom to look again

Perhaps it is just the slightest whisper of Spring in the air.

Thick layers of white snow are revealing multiple shades of colours below, and there are a few suggestions of green grass, if you bend down and really take a look. 

Sometimes I just need to remind myself to stop and take a new look. 

The winter is vicious. 

That is really what it feels like to one from the fiery heat of Africa. 

Long months of darkness, layers and layers of clothing that take a while to get into, and out of, then into again, and out of again, cold that stings one’s cheeks. 

But, sometimes, I remember to look at where we live and truly relish it all. 

It is a world where little children and big children can caper on water for several months a year.

A world where white takes on a multitude of hues, and is valued simply for it not being grey.

It is a world where being alone must gain new significance.  There is space to find a new depth, a new height and new value in silences and stillness.  

This is not a world for wimps.  Although one may feel weak, and it seems like there are uncountable others who are broken all around; just going on through the Winter is a worthy accomplishment. 

And what we consider brokenness is perhaps not broken at all.  

Winter is necessarily a time of rest. 

What if we all really need to enter winter with gratitude and expectation? 

This 2016 world is increasingly full of busy.  Winter provides the chance to sit with a blanket over the knees, hot tea in hand and mull.

It gives a chance to consider things in new ways.

 

And I have so appreciated a chance to look at this remarkable, almost-Polar world with new eyes. 

There are small details to relish. 

And the large vistas are just Oh, so magnificent. 

I must admit, while in the middle of the thick of winter and its darkness this way of thinking does not come easily. 

But when the melting has begun, when the gleams of sun are high enough to carry marginal heat; then thoughts begin to warm slightly too. 

And eyes lose the hard layers of ice of winter. 

It may be time to look with the eyes of Spring. 

Even if the Winter has been just about intolerable, it is necessary.  And the Light will yet come, with all its glory, and allow new ways of perceiving. 

abraded carvings

We took a drive today. 

 

Yes, this is worth noting.  It is not something we have done often up in these northern parts.  The crazy differences in driving conditions, environment, unfamiliarity with so much, adventure+risk fatigue… just meant that this was the first time we had ventured out so far towards the mountains not that far from our town.

It was glorious. 

The sun was shining, ice on the waters is beginning to melt and the mountains were boasting of God’s creativity. 

There was so much to take in as we drove, and I relished the little details as well as the big canvas of splendour around us. 

The thousands of  ice sculptures on the sides of the road particularly drew my attention on this drive.

At this time in the year, that snow piled up on the edges of roads is filthy.  It has been scraped, dumped with sand (they don’t use salt to keep roads clear up here),mixed and jumbled, driven over. 

While we were driving this reminded me of some crazy experiences I had in the ocean when I was young.  We loved sea holidays and swimming through the waves.  I never was a great swimmer, and struggled to judge the timing of waves.  And there is not one person who braved the seas  who was not caught up and sand-washed by the waves around the coast lines of South Africa.

There were a few occasions that I just got it all wrong.  I may or may not have had a chance to gulp some air (mixed with salty water) before being churned and turned, scraped along the gravelly bottom, twisted and seethed through writhing waters, only to be dumped in shallower waters with a costume full of  gravel-tailings and a nose dripping with sandy brine. 

Sometimes the waves would roll me around and around and around so that the sand rubbed hard and I did not know which way was up.

  

For only a short while of the year, and sometimes they exist for only hours, these abstractions line the roads. 

I was fascinated.  No two sculptures can be the same.  Some are larger and more stylish.  Some are small, mucky and really ugly. 

But on days like today there is something really enchanting about each one. 

Between all the muck, dirt and bits picked up along the way, these carvings shine. 

The multitude of little parts together glisten and sparkle. 

While looking for good words to describe the phenomenon that causes these carvings, the word “abrade” made such sense. 

Definition: 

scrape or wear away by friction or erosion.

"it was a landscape slowly abraded by a fine, stinging dust"

synonyms:
wear away/down, wear, erode, scrape away, corrode, eat away at, gnaw away at, bite into, scour, rasp, strip, flay

This has been our experience over the last several months.  The winter, with its long darkness, freezing snows, and gnawing endlessness really wears through the soul  (especially for those so used to African sunshine).  The relentless brokenness that we see all around us tears into me.

It has been especially difficult for Deon:  he has tried new wood techniques that have proved to be far more challenging to sell than imagined.  Each disappointment sent another whirl of eroding grains, tearing away at his sense of purpose and value. 

There have been many grey, sombre, miserable days. There were a few gleams of diamonds if the moon shone, but it was not like this kind of day.  

This kind of day, where it is difficult NOT to see the radiance all about.

Between all of the mess in the world, the uncertainty in South Africa, the challenges of not being able to travel because of documents held up in the process, the desperation to see spiritual captives set free in this place, the tests seem relentless.  Winds carrying a mass of scouring particles swirl about us. 

This should not ever be seen as a surprise for a believer.

 There is a purpose:  to gleam in the reflection of the Great Light of I Am.  To shine back at Him, and reflect His light to a world in need of encouragement. 

"But he knows where I am going. And when he tests me, I will come out as pure as gold.” (Job 23:10) 

january moments

Inspired by

January, by John Updike

The days are short,
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.

 

Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor.
Milk bottles burst
Outside the door.

The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees of lace.

The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.

 

sometimes I need to just remember to look

In the winter, when  I am at school, I don’t often get to see our home in the light. 

Today we went for a walk and I almost had to pinch myself. 

This is where we live!  We get  THIS beauty as a gift every day when the sun shines! 

 

so, that name thing again

Sometimes, the fact that I am a philosopher and thinker can keep my thoughts so busy.  There is a bit of a rant here, a dilemma I am dealing with.  If there are any answers from people, I would love them! 

A name is something that is so deeply PERSONal.  It is who we are.  I love thinking that while my being was developing inside my mother, Mommy and Daddy were talking about what my identity would be. 

I imagine some of the conversations with these discussions:  Maternal grandparents are Swedish, with particular ways of saying sounds.  So it must be something they are comfortable with.  We live in South Africa, with such a range of people, and there are strong divisions between English and Afrikaans, but still we want a name that makes sense to all of them.  Names have meaning.  Then, both teachers, rule out all the names of the crazy kids whose names bring to mind unpleasant memories…

Dad and Mom decided on Karen.  A name popular in the sixties, I read.  From Danish heritage.  I love that.  My name comes from Scandinavia, where God has brought us again.  Not quite the Swedish spelling, but said in the same way as in Sweden. 

It is a strong sounding name.  Not fancy.  There are no decent sounding shortened versions.  Simple.  We had several Karens and Karins in my classes at school growing up, all with the same Germanic- European way of saying the name – Karen.  I liked that I was not the only one, that I was like others, and that we sometimes made it fun by all answering at once when teachers called us. 

The meaning of my name is something I cherish deeply.  The name means “pure”.  Nothing fancier than that.  But there is SO MUCH to that meaning.  Pure in heart.  Pure in intention. No dirt mixed in.

So, this is me.  I have a face that is perfect for radio, a reason I do not often take selfies.    A little bit flustered, loving a chance to smile, pure me. 

   

A name is identity, and it is something that I have spent several hours thinking about, teaching about.      It is something that I have tried to learn as quickly as possible when working with a new group of people, because it is one of the surest ways to show real connection with a person. 

What I am dealing with right now, is that people here in Sweden so often call me British or American versions of my name, or other pronunciations that are not ME.  I have tried to correct the kids, and adults… and it goes back to ‘Keren’ or ‘Carryn’ very soon. 

It is great to come home to Deon, who calls me ‘my girl’, or Karen.  I especially love it when my Daddy speaks my name.  He has a particular pronunciation, with a bit of the emphasis on an e sound.  It is personal,  his special connection with me. 

This is a conundrum for me and has my mind playing. 

One area of thought is the bluntness with which God’s name is tossed around in the world these days.  The Bible is full of verses which speak of the value of each one’s name, but especially of the sanctity of the name of Jesus.  The holiness of God, Elohim and His name.  How many times a day do we here people tossing about these names, as if they do not carry the weight of all authority in the world?  

*Oh my god* still jolts at my heart, and I correct the children often:  is that MY God, or yours you so easily mention?  Does He mean something to you too? 

Then, another direction of thought is with identity.  I identify myself as an African, with Swedish heritage.  When my name is said as if I am American or British, does that change who I am?  There is so much that we have had to change coming to Sweden- the ways are just SO different.  having to give up my name, when it IS Swedish seems an odd thing to have to sacrifice. 

But then, so much of my meditation now is also given to Jesus.  Who gave up EVERYTHING He was, all that He had, to come live as a stranger and foreigner among people so that He could save them.  He gave up the name of Son, King and LORD.  To become ‘raving mad’ (John 10:20) ,Servant, and Son of Man.   Is a name that important to hold on to? 

And then,  the enemy loves to keep our minds busy with lesser things, so that we do not focus on the MAIN things we are called to.  He loves to keep us busy with self.  It is something that so burdens me, because when there is so much focus on self we cannot live with the real calling we all have, to go beyond self, to others.  To LOVE .  To SERVE.  To BE His, and not the self. 

 

It  thrills me to know that God has a new name waiting for me.  To know He calls me by name, as His word promises, is a deep blessing to my soul.   Or, as some other friends have done, should I change my name entirely for Sweden?  My Zulu name, Thandiwe, is even more difficult to pronounce in Sweden!  But the meaning of that name is so precious to me too – she who is loved. A Zulu name would really confuse people! 

What I have been trying to focus on is JESUS.  Songs about His name, the power of His name, the value of what His name offers us flow through me at various times of the day.  In the age of focus on rights, He has reminded me of this:  The Bible speaks of no rights we have at all.  We give up all our rights, if we are to be like Jesus (Phil 2:4-8) to receive the ONLY right mentioned in the Bible.  But what a right of identity THAT is!  John 1: 12 – I can be called God’s CHILD!  (It may be a bit confusing to use that name, along with all God’s other children around here though!) 

 

It would encourage me to hear any insights you have.  Or to share stories around names, what they mean, and how your name has been a tool to change a life, perhaps? 

what in all this mess?

 

We are struck with a sense of the complete brokenness of people here.  We went to the Second hand store and had cake and coffee, our treat once a week or so – going out to eat is luxury!    All over there are signs of buying and spending culture, but it does not bring joy. The shelves of the Second hand store are packed with objects  bought as  last year’s great Christmas designs, but they are out of fashion for this year. We hear of those who hate the loneliness of this season.

   We stood behind people in the supermarket where they were reeling under the effect of alcohol, which is the go-to escape of choice here.    There are so very many broken people but they do not see it.

Then I have been so amazed at the thought that our amazing Saviour was EVERYTHING.  The Creator of everything, King of all majesty.  He came into all this mess of humanity, as one of US. In the most helpless state of all (that helplessness appeals to me right now, I feel like I can get nothing right).

He came, not able to lift His own head.  Dependent on a young girl to clean His pee and poop.  He was not able to do a thing for himself as a person, for several years.  (Humans need to need each other!  We cannot be too independent that we repel the efforts of others). 

Jesus felt all the agonies we grow up with at all of our life stages. He *got* the frustrations of little ones forming identities.  He understands the frustrations of teenagers, caught somewhere between freedom and dependence.  This Saviour knows all the temptations we feel – He is not some cosmic being expecting obedience without knowing what that feels like.  And why He made it to work that way. 

 

 

He was willing to do it all… for us.  The amazement and awe of One willing to do that for us… that grabs at my thoughts right now.   Into the mess of all the dirty, struggle, travels from a safe home to an unwelcome stable full of manure … He came. 

All the crap of this world now cannot disturb Him! 

¹⁴ The Word became human and lived among us. We saw his glory. It was the glory that the Father shares with his only Son, a glory full of kindness and truth.  (John 1) 

We pray that in all the mess of your various questions right now, that you would SEE His glory.  The glory the Father shares with His Son.  A glory FULL of kindness and truth.  

We pray that your Christmas time would be a time when Jesus comes again, and again, and again into your messes.  May He bring His light and glory so that you would be convinced of His kindness to you, personally. 

some pretty amazing humans (episode 2. The Shining)

Every now and again I have to get something from rooms down in bottom parts of the school.  And the lights may be off. 

What a difference one little switch can make!  In the darkness, even things that are familiar to me seem so strange.  Every step, every turn in a corridor, feels like a frightening challenge.  But with the light on all is safe and un-formidable. 

November sees great darkness arriving over northern reaches.  Where in the summer months the sun never really sets, now we rejoice over every bit of pure sunshine we get.  And the absence of light is felt. 

It is possible to see similar differences when people are living in the light. 

 

We feel a sense of comradeship with people who arrived in Vilhelmina around the same time we did. 

One such family visited our church a few times about three months after we arrived.  But it was clear that there were several challenges facing them that we did not have.  This was a family fleeing war in their country.  Fleeing war in marriage.  And a challenge for survival. They did not want to be here, in this tiny town, in Norrland. 

It was not easy for Lee*.  Our town is small, and there are not any big churches.  There are not many churches to choose between, and definitely no Middle Eastern Orthodox churches that were far more familiar to Lee’s way of doing church.  But she kept coming. 

Lee had been longing for God to do something.  To be who He is.  But she had never had a chance to experience Him in a real way for herself. 

Life has been harsh all along for this lady.  She was born in Romania, and had gone to a middle Eastern country and got married  at eighteen years.  Lee had three children and never worked in her married life, but looked after her family. 

War forced them from their warm, sun-loving land.  And sent them to a freezing little town, almost 65 degrees north of the Equator.  And this other sun-loving-land person (me) had to see how she was doing. 

The shoulders weighed down with worry were noticeable.  The eyes darkened by concern had several of us praying. 

Lee needed an income.  We prayed.  And prayed.  Work is not easy to find in this town, where unemployment percentages are above the nation’s average. 

A job was found.  Two towns over.  This was a sacrificial job:  It took six hours of bus transport a day, but it was a job. 

We realised that the living situation was not good at all.  And a family in our church pulled in this Mamma and her three (teenage!) kids to live with them.

The first few months were rather hairy, I think…  Noise and yelling where the house had been quiet.  Languages twisted, turned and spun about in the learning of them.  Making sense of a very different education system, when the children were each set back two years from the classes they had been attending in their home land.  And stand-in parents when Mamma was traveling long hours to work.

But now?  Now there is not a bit of their lives that has not been changed by light. 

I just had to write about Lee, after seeing her again at church last week. 

Lee glows.  She could charge a cellphone, she radiates so much light. 

Miraculously, Lee and her children’s person numbers came through in a record time.  (This is absolutely vital for living in Sweden, and  remarkable!)  After much (more) prayer, she has got a part time job in our town, and is studying Swedish the remaining time. Two of her children are now in the school linked to our church, where I teach (which makes a difference to influences, friends and teaching). 

When one asks how Lee is doing, she lights up.  “I am so happy.  People ask why I so happy.  I don’t know?  I just am happy now!”  The first thing Lee recognises is God’s miraculous working in her life, after years of longing for Him to move.  Now she knows His reality in a big way. 

 

When I asked if I could write about her, Lee said, “And you must tell about this church.  This church!  Ah!  They helped me so much!” (over and over, Lee wanted to thank the Vilhelmina Fria Forsamlingen) . Then a list followed of how God’s body has helped this lady.  And that is what it is about, isn’t it? 

When we could sit and disagree on certain rituals or habits it is easy to see reasons not to help. 

But I am struggling to find verses that support a theology of fixing faults before showing acceptance.  The body should be recognised for love (John 13:35). 

Eternity is far more important than now, too. 

The family who have welcomed Lee and her children are enjoying a whole lot more falafels  and laughs in this life, which must count for something, but the eternal reward of a “Well done, good and faithful servant”  cannot be matched by anything on this earth. 

And now, a life lived in shining smiles is drawing new faces to our church.

 

This blog was sent to Lee for checking, and she wanted it to be clear: “And I thank God every day and I ask God and say to him that my life its in his hand so sometimes we dont know wich way we must to take! But God knows! “ (sic)

It is so fantastic to see when God swings a life around totally.  He has given hope, courage and joy where there was despair.  His Spirit is continuing to do a work that could affect generations. 

* Name changed… because that is what you are meant to do in these articles, right? 

time for some rearranging

So, Yes, this world has turned crazy. 

How many times have you thought, in the last few weeks, “I don’t want to live on this planet anymore”?    I have.  Several times. 

If we look at what we can see it seems hopeless. 

These are also precisely the things that deepen my depression, usually. 

BUT GOD…

He is so so amazing and faithful. 

And I believe that this is what He is saying to those who would listen at this time: 

We can no longer depend on our own abilities, our own successes and plans. 

We can no longer trust people to sort things out. 

The word “idol” was rolling around in my head and heart for weeks. 

It came up again and again in Bible reading. 

What is this “idol”?  Cell phones? Money?  There are certainly several things that people have placed as Very Important in their lives.

Today, I think I get what the idol is, though. 

THE SELF. 

This world has focused attention so on what YOUR rights are, what YOU deserve, what YOU NEED. 

My heart BURNS for a casting down and destruction of this idol. 

And it seems to me like God is using these times to shake the belief in self. 

We need to place Him where He belongs. 

The Bible makes only ONE reference to a RIGHT we have as people: 

But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. (John 1:12. NLT) 

What an amazing right that is!  We can be called CHILDREN of GOD!  

 

But we have no RIGHT to success, a roof over our heads, money in the bank, freedom, liberty and all the other things the world says we have a claim to seek. 

A lot of the teaching development one sees nowadays places children as the central focus.  Yes, we do want tot teach them in a meaningful way.  But right from the beginning of life, kids are being nicely instructed that THEY are the centre of the universe and deserve wonderful things. 

THIS IS A LIE. 

Just like an eclipse covers out the light of the sun with another sphere, so often we as humans come between the True Light and ourselves with lies of misplaced importance and what we deserve. 

People doubt GOD because He did not give them what they asked for.  People wonder if God is real because of what other people have done. 

God is not “un-Goded”  because of people.  In fact, His sovereignty is all the more dependable because it proves His unchanging, divine ways. 

We are looking at two completely different categories of being and we cannot try to understand God by comparing Him with what we as humans can fathom with our brains. 

My heart longs for people to turn from trusting in humanity to save us.  Humanity has never been able to save itself.  People cannot save other people. 

We need, and have, an unfathomable, immutable, massive, loving GOD for that. 

If the shaking in the world does anything, I pray that it would shake us loose from seeking hope from any human source.  Our selves, our governments, our friends, our investment policies:  These cannot be depended on in any way. 

The LORD has established His throne in the heavens;
            And His sovereignty rules over all.   (Psalm 103:19)

 

Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honour and glory for ever and ever. Amen.  (1 Timothy 1:7  NIV) 

some pretty amazing humans (episode 1)

Something interesting has been happening lately. 

We have had a chance to start listening to people’s stories.  And we are amazed at how people really just want to talk and be heard. 

We are getting details on some amazing stores, and I would love to share about some of these remarkable humans that live on this planet.

Last week, after one of the really busy youth conference meetings in Östersund, we went down for some fika (coffee and a sandwich or cake, with lots of chatting).  In a very crowded basement, with lots of discussing and communicating, my eyes were drawn to a young lady sitting crumpled into a chair.   Her beanie pulled low with a particular tilt reminded me of so many of my African sisters I have met in the past.  I just love greeting people from my birth-continent, and looking for points of similarity. 

Straight away we found one of those points: Afrikaans language!  Angie*  said she came from Namibia, which neighbours on South Africa and several people are fluent in Afrikaans.  Deon and I are the only Afrikaans speakers for hundreds of kilometres… this was going to be fun! 

What is so obvious, when you begin listening, is that not many people do seem to want to hear these stories.  There are treasures of bravery, persistence and tenacity just waiting to be heard. 

Angie is originally from DRC, the Democratic Republic of Congo.  War has ravaged her country since 1996, with an estimated 5,4 million people killed so far. 

She and her family escaped to refugee camps in northern Namibia, where they lived for fifteen years. (She last saw her father in early childhood in Namibia, and has no idea where he is).   Last year, the camps were closed down and the UNHCR allocated various refugees to various countries.  There was not much choice at all in which country they would go to, how long they had to prepare, and how well prepared they were for their new homes. 

So Angie and her family climbed off the ‘plane in the middle of November in Sweden, wearing T-shirts and flip flops.  They were assigned to a new home: in a little town in rural Sweden.  Incoming asylum seekers are given very basic supplies:  One blanket each, one plastic plate and set of cutlery each, one pot per family.   Angie’s family were caught up in a misunderstanding regarding getting furniture from a local Second Hand store:  They are still paying off a debt for furniture. 

These details were shared not to gain sympathy, but as an African sister who might understand how foreign different ways of thinking are, and how very strange it is to come into this world from an African camp. 

We laughed together at missing typical Southern African foods (biltong! boerewors!)  and spoke a little about school and her family situation. 

This amazing young lady really misses Netball.  She just missed qualifying for the national Namibian team (That takes remarkable skill:  Netball is a game of great speed and agility, and the girls from the tribes where she grew up are known for their extraordinary skill).  Now she would love to play football (soccer) more often, but because the town she lives in is so small, there is no real competition and opportunity for her to stretch those skills.  (I am guessing she would put a lot of good players to shame too!) 

At 16 years of age, being removed from familiar circles of friends and stability is regarded as incredibly stressful.  Instead of seeking ways to be sorry for herself, Angie is looking for ways to help others.  She is working with a lady in her church to begin a group teaching sewing and cookery skills to newly- arrived migrants. 

Angie switched easily from English to Afrikaans, and is making great progress in Swedish (I did not want to be put to further shame when she admitted to speaking Otshiwarongo.  I am sure she speaks a few other languages too!) .  Clearly, this young lady is very intelligent, and her brains would be beneficial anywhere! 

She suggested she might want to study to be a teacher one day (yeah!  good choice!) but would far prefer to teach in Africa than in Sweden:  in her words “Having kids call me by my first name? No! Uh uh!”.  

Fitting into places that just do not feel like home is not easy. 

Obviously more and more people are having to adjust to this kind of situation.  It does help to keep things in their real perspective,  the eternal one. 

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints, and are of God’s household, having been built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus Himself being the corner stone,… (Eph 2:19, 20)  

 

Angie has made a difference to me, just after one conversation.  Her past may not be fantastic, but she has a future just out of this world! 

 

*  Name changed in case there may be some rules of Asylum, Protection or other rights that I may have overstepped.  Want to keep my African sister and her family safe!