Noor

I’m crossposting this blog from one I recently posted for Shevet. My personal blog has been a little dry on Iraqis lately and I put a lot of the minutia which into this which I hope gives a true sense of the relationships and emotions. This is a little boy named Noor, “light” in Arabic, who had open-heart surgery through Shevet Achim about two weeks ago. Follow his entire story from start to finish here: http://www.shevet.org/nooriraq/

Noor was looking very good today when we visited him at Wolfson Medical Center. He was very excited to see the Shevet family and wanted to play right away. Noor is still pretty weak and needs to take it easy, so I thought a nice wheelchair ride around the hospital was in order. We stopped to enjoy the photos on the walls in the halls, and we waved “bye bye” to Noor’s mother as I wheeled him outside around the hospital grounds. We enjoyed the scenery and talked to each other the whole way, though we could scarcely understand a word the other spoke. Noor giggled the whole time and especially enjoyed the wheelchair being leaned back when we went up and down the curbs, and meowing at a cat we spotted resting under a car. We stopped by the play room on the way back and did some coloring and played on the piano.

When we arrived back at his hospital room a nurse told me some surprising news: Noor was to be released back to Jerusalem today! A doctor soon came in to do some checks and confirmed he would be allowed home today; Noor’s mother was very happy to hear this news. After the good news we enjoyed a hospital lunch together on Noor’s bed, and as usual Noor made sure I ate everything he ate. While we were waiting on a couple other things Noor decided he wanted to try out pushing the wheel chair, so I hopped in and Noor had a blast wheeling me around the room and crashing into things (and occasionally people). After about 15 minutes of this we made him stop so he wouldn’t exhaust himself, which he wasn’t happy about, but we were soon on our way home. Noor waved and said “bye bye hospital” in Kurdish as we pulled away.


On the day of Noor’s surgery, while it was taking place, I was able to get someone to snap a photo of the unique situation the Iraqi mothers and I found ourselves in. The photo below depicts all the mothers with hospitalized children in one place. The child of the mother on the far right had at this point unconscious post-surgery for more than a week, and struggling to survive. The child of the mother next to her was in the intensive care unit as well recovering from open-heart surgery. The mother in the middle is the mother of Bilal, the child in the stroller, who was enjoying his first opportunity to be outside since his surgery. The woman on the top left is Noor’s mother. Perhaps it isn’t very obvious without knowing these mothers personally, but the solidarity and even happiness these mothers exhibited during the time this photo was taken, in the midst of these terrifying times as a parent, is quite incredible. It would surely not be possible were but for their confidence in the ability of these doctors, their trust and friendship with us as we stand by them, and the supportive relationships they have built with one another.

The house is filled with boys!

All of the children in the top picture of the last blog are healed and home. In their place we picked up 5 new ones, all of them boys from Sulaimaniya in northern Iraq, who I first met in Amman during the Jordan screening. Its been a long time since we’ve had boys this age running around the house, and so many! From left to right Mohammed (little), Mohammed (big), Ikram, Noor, and Bilal. It’s no secret that i find myself compelled by the 7-year-old boy inside me to do half of what I enjoy, so it’s great to have some boys my own mental age to play with. Finally children who understand that when presented with a doll and a toy car, you don’t put the doll in the car and drive around, you explore all the ways to run over the doll with the car.

We've spent the last week getting them Jerusalem, then to the hospital for all their tests in preparation for surgery. Hopefully we can get them all on the schedule for surgery by months end.

Back Home Safe from the Jordan Screening

All the families made it across into Jordan; I had faith that they would, but it would have been quite a feat by earthly standards. 60 people without visas, crossing a militarized border, it's just unheard of. Not only was everyone allowed to cross, but the border guard brought our Jordan coordinator a gourmet coffee while he waited,..wow.

To recap, the screening in Jordan is done once a year for the potential Iraqi patients. Jordan is more or less a neutral ground. We coordinate the entire trip and get them to Amman to be screened by an Israeli cardiologist who determines if and when a surgery is necessary or possible for each child.

Read all about the screening here: http://shevet.org/screening/

As for my personal involvement, I drove to the border from Jerusalem with the rest of the staff in tow at around 6:30 Monday morning, made good time to the border, and even better getting through (not having a bunch of Iraqi's with you helps). We made it to Amman in time to drop our stuff off where we would be sleeping and get to the screening site in a very nice modern church. We spent the evening briefing the families on what would be happening, sharing some encouraging words, meeting them, eating a meal together with them all, and prepping the facility for the screening in the morning.

We made it back to the place we were staying around 11pm and went straight to bed for the big day which would begin at 5:45am for me. I couldn't get to sleep because of the combination of heat and tormenting mosquitoes; my options were to sleep uncovered and be eaten alive, or cover my whole body and sweat out the night. I chose the latter, and found myself finally dozing around 2:30am when the air finally cooled. Needless to say it was a rough start getting going on the big day.

My duties involved doing all the photo documentation for each child so we would have something better than a lineup photo to present to potential sponsors, as well as pacifying/entertaining the families while they waited (usually hours) to be seen. This was no easy task given the number of children with separate handicaps, including violent behavioral issues and mental retardation. Despite this I managed to create some meaningful bonds with many of the children.

We finished the screening at around 1am on Wednesday, about 19 hours of consecutive work later. I've worked exceedingly long days before, but the amount of energy required for this, in addition to the lack of sleep, countless nagging bug bites (I'd estimate around 30), and a spontaneous fit of allergies that had me blowing my nose every 10 minutes for 15 hours, made it pretty grueling. It was all worth it in the end. 21 children were invited to surgery in Israel, as well as another 3 that are possibly savable, 4 children who need no surgery, and 3 were found to have no medical hope for treatment. We should have 5 with us in Israel within a couple weeks.

Wednesday was nearly as long as the Tuesday screening. Wednesday we collected all the families at their hotel, informed them of when they would be coming to Israel, and got them all packed and off to the airport once again. I spent a few precious hours playing with the children, and praying for the terminal ones, before seeing them off. After finishing the remaining work, and packing everything up, we left for home and made it back to Jerusalem around 1am Thursday.

Since I was the photographer, I have all the pictures of the children at the screening cataloged and named here for you. Just click below, and please keep them in your prayers.

Jordan Screening 2009

Crossing Jordan

I spend a lot of time waiting in this work; anxiously is an adjective that can typically accompany it. Now is not a particularly anxious waiting, I am sitting at the Beit Shean border crossing waiting for our Iraq coordinator to come across with his wife and her family. I anticipate them being held up perhaps not for having an Iraqi with them but for Americans to be living in and/or traveling from Iraq. But, I am sitting at the other end of the border and can say with a sigh of relief that for once this isn’t my problem. So I'm sitting here, and too under the weather to study, so I will write.

I haven’t had time to blog or send a newsletter out (working on it) due in large part because my responsibilities have been amped up, due both to necessity as well as to, at least what I'm told, is a confidence in my abilities. A few, couple,… time flies, it’s hard to remember, weeks ago was a test of this, when, on my own, I escorted two of our Iraqi patients Rasan and Bruska, and their mothers across this same border and delivered them safely to our Shevet house in Kerak, Jordan. The ordeal began about 7am and ended at 7…8…9 at night when we arrived at the Kerak house and got everything unloaded.

“Bureaucratic nightmare” is a term that continually comes to mind when talking about getting across these borders. There are perhaps a dozen windows to deal with to get into the Israel border itself, then the Israel border, then at the Jordan side, then getting out of the Jordan border. Vehicle wise, after a two hour drive from Jerusalem to Beit Shean one must get permission to bring their vehicle into the border to unload luggage (a particularly obscene amount in this case because Sheilan, mother of Rasan, had been in Israel for nearly a full year), then must park their vehicle outside the border after again securing permission to take the vehicle out of the border into Israel.

From there we go through Israel customs, get the usual confused looks as to why a young American man is taking two Iraqi women and their children into Jordan. All our paperwork is in order though so they haven’t stopped us yet…even though some of the Iraqis visas are months overdue by the time they leave. Saying something to the effect of “they were in the hospital having open-heart surgery they couldn’t make it to the visas office” has sufficed so far.

Then all the luggage and people must be loaded onto a bus which travels perhaps 200 yards across the Jordan River and into the Jordan border. Everything must then be unloaded from the bus where the Jordan border customs nightmare begins; every bag x-rayed, opened, every passport examined, visas issues, etc. Once all that is finished one must take a taxi from the Jordan border about a quarter mile to where the Jordan ends. We had to take 3 taxis to fit all the luggage. From there we all piled into another taxi which then drives to Kerak. I haven’t even gotten to going the other way from Jordan back into Israel. An American with 4 Iraqis leaving Israel isn’t so bad, but coming in security is much tighter, and in my experience, involves some kind of interrogation, intimidation, even with all the paper work in order.

The scenery on the ride to Kerak was beautiful, passing through the rolling hills east of the Jordan which would have belonged to the tribe of Gad, then hugging the Dead Sea for its length, then climbing up through a parched gorge of sedimentary salt rock and potash which finally reached Kerak in what would have been Moabite country. Our taxi driver was an interesting character, a believer, very friendly and kind, made the ride very pleasant and interesting. On the long drive we listened to a sermon (English being translated into Arabic), he helped me work on my Arabic, and when we arrived at the Shevet house in Kerak he stayed for dinner. There is a pretty impressive Crusader castle in Kerak, but unfortunately I was too busy to go to it, maybe next time. I noticed driving on the way to Kerak and in the markets in Amman there is a communal atmosphere there that is worthy of envy. At dinner time, all the roads are lined with people picnicking, perhaps more so given that it was a Friday but this is the cultural norm.

The stay in Jordan from Friday until Monday was nearly nonstop work. After getting through the border Friday, Saturday was another four hour drive from Kerak to Amman to get Rasan, Bruska and their moms on a plane for Iraq. The details aren’t especially interesting. This was one of the more difficult goodbyes, Sheilan had been with us so long she was nearly promoted to staff, she was here when I first arrived and everyone has watched Rasan both be healed through his multiple surgeries and also grow and develop like the joy a father must have watching a son learn to recognize them, learn their first words, learn how to clap and hold your hand. Bruska was also a difficult goodbye. She was an emergency case that probably would have died if we waited even a day longer to bring her. She had surgery immediately and was put into a medically induced coma afterward. From the time she was released from the hospital until she got on the plane home to Iraq I was largely responsible for getting her to all her appointments and I spent a great deal of time playing with her and getting her to do her exercises to combat the cerebral palsy from which she now suffers likely due to the lack of oxygen to her brain because of her heart condition. We made all of her exercises into games and she would often begin doing them spontaneously whenever I came around because she enjoyed doing them with me so much. After doing the exercises for a few minutes she would be laughing hysterically and could keep going long after I was exhausted. I made sure to do them with her on Friday night one last time before she left. There was so much about her that tugged on my heart, it was difficult to see her go.

The rest of the weekend was spent running errands like buying live chickens in the market where I observed that every man selling his wares who saw a child walking past would pat them on the head and say hello, the communal love for children was pleasantly conspicuous. More errands, carrying and chasing our Jordan coordinators children around (easily the most exhausting), and dropping off a baby crib to a mother in one of the Amman slums; but there were a couple moments that were at least somewhat recuperative. I ate some delicious American style pizza, which you essentially cannot get in Israel because of kosher rules and a lack of American brands. Also, in the midst of running back and forth across Amman I was able to stop in one of their large Western malls for about 15 minutes to go to Starbucks. There are no Starbucks’ in Israel, so I got the largest coffee I could buy and relaxed just long enough to enjoy it.



At any rate, I successfully managed the entire process. Got them there and on their way to Iraq, and brought two new Iraqi children, Mohammed and Hamza, now in Jerusalem, here for heart surgeries.

Ala'a's Progress

Ala’a was a little girl I brought across from Israel to Jordan on her way home during the first week I was in Israel. We had to take her to the border by ambulance, and I wheeled her weak little body through the border in a wheelchair, all the while hooked up to an oxygen tank I had jury-rigged to her chair. I remember especially carrying the 75lb oxygen generator machine through the border which she would need in Iraq, and having it inspected by every supervisor and their supervisor to make sure it wasn’t a bomb. Special arrangements had to be made with the airline for the plane from Jordan to Iraq because they feared liability if she died on the flight. I avoided asking the other staff much about her because from the look of her she was a failed case. One of the children on whom the surgery hadn’t been successful and who would now have to be connected to a machine for the rest of their life. I felt too sorry for her at the border to take a picture of her directly; she was so frail and weak, but so sweet and happy in spite of it all. As we were crossing the Jordan river on the border bus, a great flock of cranes took flight from the bridge out over the river, just behind Ala’a.

A couple weeks ago some of our staff visited her and her family in their home in Iraq. They took this footage of her. She is up and walking around, and was strong enough to serve them tea and chocolate. The family has sold the wheelchair and she now only needs to be on oxygen at night when she sleeps. I could hardly believe my eyes, every time I look at this video of her I can barely believe what I'm watching. Seeing the video myself helped me imagine what it would be like to be one of the characters in John 9 who struggle to make sense of the blind man’s healing. Praise the Lord for the life of Ala’a.

Dancing with the "Enemy"

Mohammed celebrated his 9th birthday today with us in Jerusalem. After a pleasant dinner with all the Shevet Achim staff and Hamza and family we decided to walk down the street to the local gelato ice cream shop. As we approached he shouted in English, “ice cream!” Once inside his face was nearly pressed against the glass trying to see all the flavors; he decided on a chocolate cone. By the time everyone was collected to sing Happy Birthday he had nearly consumed his entire ice cream. Mohammed climbed a stool as tall as he was, and all the Shevet staff and our Iraqi guests sang Happy Birthday to him.

While we were eating we heard some music playing across the street and noticed several people dancing, so we all decided to go over to see what the commotion was about. It turned out to be a number of Orthodox Jewish men dancing to some Hebrew music, a sight the Iraqis had certainly not seen before. After a few minutes of watching and some encouragement, Mohammed, defying any appearances of any heart difficulty, ran in and began to dance with them. In a few moments time he took the hands of one of the Jewish men and they began dancing together. It is not every day you hear about Israeli Orthodox Jews and Iraqi Muslims dancing together in the streets, but this child, when spinning in circles with this man was not weighed down with any of the thoughts that perhaps enter our minds. Instead, Mohammed took flight in the arms of a supposed enemy and thought to do nothing but smile and laugh.



Mohammed's father was told that his son's heart condition was inoperable, and it will kill Mohammed at any moment. He went to both Turkey and Iran, and the hospital that was supposed to take him here in Israel all said the surgery was too dangerous. However, through our connections, we were able to have a doctor at another hospital here perform an exploratory surgery today to see if they think he is operable. When the surgeons immerged they said, "...we can do it." this will be a high risk surgery, if it fails at any level, it will be fatal, if he does not get the surgery, it will be fatal. Please pray for Mohammed.

The Journey to Akram's Surgery

We brought Akram to Wolfson Medical Center in Tel Aviv today to be admitted for his first surgery which is scheduled for Tuesday morning. Before we left Jerusalem Akram had a host of visitors and staff pray over him which was fitting after the spiritual journey Akram has undertaken the past few days along with the arduous physical journey that is well underway.

Akram will be kept in the hospital for at least 2 weeks and up to 1 month after this surgery, so yesterday, rather than spending his last day of freedom cooped up inside I took him and his mother out for a little day trip. We stopped at a vista that looked out over the village of En Kerem, a small town bordering Jerusalem. Akram’s mother enjoyed the view and the flowers, Akram preferred a more fitting teenager activity: appropriating an unattended garden hose and spraying the countryside (and his mom and I just a little).
We then entered En Kerem, where we visited a church on the site of St. John the Baptist’s birth. Akram and his mother enjoyed the church very much, taking time to reflect and pray, as well as appreciating the architecture, stained glass, renaissance paintings, marble work, and iconography found about the sanctuary. After hearing of Akram’s journey thus far the Franciscan monk caretaker offered to have Akram blessed by the deacon. Akram was excited to receive a blessing, but I was disappointed that Akram wouldn’t be able to understand a blessing done in English. To my surprise, after sharing my concern with the deacon, he switched to speaking Arabic without missing a beat and blessed Akram and prayed over him for his surgeries.

Akram had requested visiting The Garden Tomb, an alternative resurrection site for Jesus which is in a beautiful garden; so this morning after saying goodbye to everyone at the Shevet house we stopped by The Garden Tomb on the way to the hospital. Akram and his mother enjoyed wandering the garden, the calmness of which markedly contrasted the impending surgery. After asking Donna about a stone pulpit at the site, and grasping what it was, Akram requested I deliver an impromptu sermon, to which I insisted we read the Scriptures provided in the pamphlet together; he happily obliged. All around there was life springing up, flowers even sprouting out of split rocks. I found this to be not only a beautiful metaphor for the resurrection of Jesus, but for Akram as well, his incredible journey so far and the tremendous pain and difficulty he must undergo for what we believe will be new life when all is said and done.
They even bear similar wounds, Akram having a terrible gash in his side where he has had previous lung operations, which tomorrow morning will be reopened once again.

After arriving at the hospital we got Akram and his mother situated in their room, and took Akram to be X-rayed, to have blood work done and lines put in his arm. I have stayed nearby Akram for moral support throughout the last few days and I wanted to be there for him especially when he was suffering the pain of the needles. Akram showed more courage in this than I did, returning to a state of calm immediately after the painful parts were over. While I have seen many grizzly things in my time at Shevet, it was an especially humid today in Tel Aviv, and watching Akram get stuck with needles in addition to the humidity proved a bit too much for me and I had to remove myself for a couple minutes out of fear I would faint (it was from the humidity, I swear). But everything on Akram’s end was handled smoothly, when all was said and done, Akram and his mother were comfortable in their room, Akram doing some drawing, one of his many talents, his mother, encouraging him to eat more, one of hers. Donna and I prayed over Akram and his mother, exchanged hugs and kisses and promised to see them again the next morning for the surgery.

• • •

Yesterday at the John the Baptist site Akram was perusing the various crucifixes and considered buying one, but after I told him the price in sheqels he was deterred. Because of all his previous medical treatment Akram and his family are one of the poorer ones we have had. So, after checking him in last night, I ran down to the Old City with a good Arab Christian friend where I got him a crucifix small enough to hold in his hand, made of olive wood, and covered in mother of pearl. When I arrived to visit him before his surgery this morning I surprised him with it and he was pleased to receive it. Many of the Muslims who we minister to have something called worry beads, which looks something like a catholic rosary; basically something to occupy your hands during stressful times. Akram handled this crucifix much in the same way, feeling its texture in his hand, memorizing the outline of the cross and the figure of Christ pressed upon it.

Akram underwent surgery at 11am this morning on his collapsed right lung, one of the lasting effects of his grueling bout with tuberculosis. In order to accomplish this repair the doctor made an incision between his ribs and removed necrotic tissue and scar tissue which inhibit his lung from functioning. After a four and a half hour surgery Akram emerged from the ER and was transferred to the ICU where we received good news. All reports are that the operation was a success, his lung is now free of the offending tissue and the hope is that now his lung will begin to inflate, a process which is expected to take several days. The one complication I became aware of in the ICU was that Akram’s blood pressure post surgery was unusually low, but the ICU doctor said that he had become slightly over-sedated and that it was not a serious problem. Akram has a long recovery ahead of him as this special surgery will require him to remain in the hospital up to a month, much of which he will spend with tubes inserted in his chest, as shown in the X-ray, for drainage.


Prior to the surgery Akram appeared very calm and he and his mother were encouraged by our visit. After he was taken to surgery Donna, Kirsten, and I sat with Um Akram for the duration; she was visibly anxious but remained collected the entire time. When we left, the doctors and nurses running around him in the ICU had thinned, and Um Akram was sitting by her son’s bedside holding his hand while he slept.

On my end this marks working about 30 of the last 40 hours. In addition to praying for Akram please pray that I will not need to be admitted myself.

Akram

Akram, one of our patients, has an incredible story of survival. Last year he came to our Iraqi clinic on the verge of death because of Tuberculosis; he weighed 66 pounds. The senior cardiologist said, "do we want him to die here, or should we send him back to Iraq to die?" The doctors were certain his Tuberculosis. Here is a picture of him about 1 year ago, and one of him last week, weighing at least twice as much. Completely clear of TB, strong enough to walk around the zoo.

He is here in Jerusalem now waiting for at least two surgeries. The first will be an attempt to reinflate one of his lungs which collapsed as a result of his TB and the questionable medical efforts done by some doctors in Iraq which removed a substantial portion of his lung. The original prognosis was that his lung was a lost cause, but just like last year, the doctors were surprised again to find that his long would be operable and there was a good chance of success. After the surgery he will need to be hospitalized for a month to recover. If the lung surgery is successful he will be stronger and better able to withstand the strain of the open-heart surgery which is to follow. Akram has faced a long road already, and he has quite a way to go, but he is leaning on new friends and a new faith.






He's been drawing a lot lately, here are a few of his works. Akram has been excited to read the Bible as much as any Christian teenager I've seen and one of our coworkers who speaks Arabic has been able to read along with him. I personally, have been engaging in as much discipleship with him as possible with the time I have and my little Arabic and Kurdish. Akram is the only male living in the house over the age of 3 apart from myself, so I have had the privilege of connecting with him in ways no one else has been able to. Akram is a normal teenager, apart from all the medical complications at least, so I have been able to utilized my gifts and experience in youth ministry to minister to him in the best ways i know how. Akram and I have spent a lot of time together, playing games, on outings, generally goofing off, and being there with him in hospitals as well. Last night during our Shabbat meal, Akram took communion with the rest of the staff after the meaning was explained to him. Everyone feels the Lord working powerfully in this young man's life, spiritually and physically, pray for his health and his spiritual growth.

Akram's blog on the Shevet site contains a detailed account of his journey thus far through word, picture, and video and is worth a read http://www.shevet.org/akram/

Not What I Want, or What I Need Yet, but a Merciful Portion

After a long day of hospital visits and driving I was tired, frustrated, and discouraged. After reaching home, when everyone else had already gone inside and just as I finished the checklist of things to do before getting out of the van myself, I heard someone say “Justin” me from outside. The tone of voice seemed warm and whoever it was sounded excited to see me, and while I only heard it faintly I assumed it was quiet because I was still in the van. I looked up from my checklist with a spike of energy and anticipation, but saw no one there. I looked in either direction, moved in my seat in the hopes of seeing someone obstructed by a pillar, no one. Then, almost desperately, I moved again the other way in case when I moved to see around the pillar the first time they had come into view from the other perspective. There was no one. I realized then there is no one here that is excited to see me, who would call out my name in that tone. I sank back into my worn and beaten seat, defeated. The unsatisfied anticipation and spike of energy coupled with this realization only created more momentum to drain me even further. I understand the conscious sometimes supplies what the subconscious really wants in times of extreme stress; it must have been a random memory firing or my senses failing because of how tired I was. Just the same, I would rather have had nothing than to have this.

I realized that while someone calling my name was common back home it hadn’t happened since I've been here in Israel; it’s another one of those things I didn’t realize I missed until I noticed it was gone. Having someone be excited to see me is something that is easy to distinguish between genuine and rehearsed or forced, probably for this reason it’s one of few things that can penetrate what I admit can be a cynical defensiveness. Feeling valued by others and in this sense feeling pure love is something I have missed dearly in person.

I spent the next few hours alone in my room (as alone as I can be in a bedroom that doubles as a hallway), confronting the truth of this realization. Digging out the root of its past influence and anticipating its future discomfort I concluded there was little hope for a remedy.

I went upstairs, probably frustrated at myself for feeling self pity, exchanging one defeat for another, when I walked through the upstairs dining room. Halo (nine years old), one of our Iraqi children came into the room and, upon seeing me, smiled and called out, “Justin!” At this Alaa (six years old) trotted in and Omed (twelve years old) as well, excited to see me and eager to be involved with whatever I had come up there to do. We spent the next half an hour playing with a balloon, so easy to impress, they marveled at my strength as I knocked the balloon all the way to the ceiling. While children are perhaps not who I had in mind when I was so sunken over this, the Lord knows what I need, and he has supplied all my needs, perhaps in this circumstance better than what my own heart wills.

The Power of the Good News

Saturday I brought 6 of our Iraqis to church: Arazoo (17) who comes regularly now, Halo (9), Alaa (6) and Um Alaa, and Omed (12) and Um Omed (Halo, Alaa, and Omed are our three latest arrivals for heart surgery from Iraq). The families are each given a Kurdish or Arabic New Testament when they come to stay with us, and they had not seen a Christian worship service before. Outside it was the most extreme weather I’d seen in Israel yet, freezing cold, gusty winds, hail, and claps of thunder that made me wonder what kind of idolatry could provoke God to such a fury. It was perhaps more actually blessing in disguise as Israel has really needed the rain, and each thunder clap made the prayer, the worship, the preaching poignantly emphatic.

Because the nature of Jerusalem Christian churches involve a lot of people coming and going the pastor asks who is here for the first time and they are acknowledged by the congregation. Our visitors received a lot of attention as you can imagine, both because they’re not Christians, but also because of the situation they come out of, the fact that this congregation prays for Shevet Achim and its patients regularly, and because Arazoo who they had prayed for previously had since had her surgery and was doing much better. They were made to feel very at home by one of speakers leading a liturgy who addressed them in Kurdish with “choney boshey” which loosely translates to something like “how are you, good?” to which both mothers jumped up, seemingly very pleased to hear these words, raised their hand and said “choney boshey” in return. They seemed to enjoy the worship though they could not understand it, Halo and Omed enjoyed clapping along to the songs (however out of sync they were), and had a good time participating. They all also participated in all the prayers that were said. Whether it was coincidence, Divine will, or sensitivity towards the Iraqi’s, the guest preacher gave the sermon in Arabic which was then translated to English for the rest of the congregation. Kurdish and Arabic are only related to the same extent that, say, English is to say Spanish, but Um Alaa is fluent in Arabic, and Um Omed like most Kurdish speakers in Iraq can understand some basic Arabic. The speaker talked about a prison ministry that he runs in Israel, talked about how we are all molded uniquely like clay in the hands of a potter and gave some other theological references and general edifications toward an individual’s humanity regardless of circumstance and the need for redemption.

I was very grateful that the mothers were able to understand the sermon but something very unexpected happened following the closing prayer and the small horde that approached the mothers and children to bless them and pray over them. Um Alaa began to weep. I wasn’t sure what had happened, if the stress had overtaken her or what exactly, but the other volunteer with me, Donna, told me shortly following that she was weeping because she had been so touched by the message. At this I was kind of surprised…I didn’t think it was that powerful of a message…sure it was good to hear about the success of this ministry and to hear again how God has made each individual special, etc… I thought maybe Donna was being a little too optimistic that it wasn’t something else, but then I noticed the other mother, while not weeping, was also visibly shaken…

This reminded me of, and strengthened my conscience concerning something I’ve felt over the last few weeks being here and in the course of settling in. The work my coworkers and I are doing by any outsider's standards would be seen as tremendous, incredible, awe inspiring, praiseworthy, etc; but the longer and more feverishly I do it, the harder it is for me to see this. I’ve heard analogies such as "you can't see the forest from the trees", or "you can't grasp the immensity of a sky scraper from inside the ground floor," and I think this fits both with my work at Shevet and my spiritual life to a certain extent. I may be driving kids in and out of Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, making believers out of Muslims, ministering to the least, being a peacemaker between arch enemies, living humbly so that I can save others, etc. but unless I repeat that to myself, stop and step back and realize that is what I’m doing, I don’t see it when I’m actually in the process of doing it.

In the same way the radical nature of the Gospel is something that I need to be reminded of and refreshed by; not only that, but be truly impressed by the things being accomplished in Jesus name. The speaker was talking about a wonderfully successful prison ministry, to which my response was, “that’s great, another effective prison ministry built on the love of Christ,” but I lacked the enthusiasm of how glorious such an accomplishment is. I know that there are such ministries around the world and perhaps I am jaded by their number rather than overwhelmed by the joy of the enduring and vibrant work of Christ and his Church. I am used to the wonder of God, like the Israelites, like so many Great Revivals, my eyes have adjusted to the brilliant light; I know it's not the right place to be. Witnessing the response of these mothers, I think certainly more appropriate than my own by Kingdom standards, is a welcome reminder to pray for a new, fresh faith that can appreciate all these things, that will in turn encourage and strengthen me as I go about doing the work the Lord has graciously set before me to do in his name. Perhaps when you pray you can petition God to do this for me, so that I can feel newly inspired again and again, by all that he does, and for yourself if you find you are in this same place.

After the service ended the kids ran around the sanctuary taking pictures, smelling the flowers, enjoying being kids. Each of them, and the mothers, received copious blessings and prayers during this time. While I was not there with them, it’s my understanding that some of them, maybe more, went to church again that evening. Please continue to pray for the work God is doing in the lives of these families, physically and spiritually, today especially as I will be taking Halo, Alaa, and Omed in for their open-heart surgeries within the next 48 hours.

A Fond Farewell at the Jordan

The third day of non-stop driving was to the Jordan border to sent off Azhin, Vanya, Donya and their mothers. This was my first real experience saying goodbye to kids and moms that I had gotten to know very well. Everyday, Azhin would call out my name incessantly, “Justiiiiin, Justiiiiin,” wanting to play. Um Donya (“Um” means “mother of”) had taught Donya (the baby) how to blow a kiss during her stay here, and all the Kurdish moms would laugh and joke with me because Donya would often blow kisses on command to no one but me. Azhin, Vanya, Donya, and I had many opportunities to bond through playing games and giving them attention in general, going with them to their doctor’s appointments, eating meals with them, and simply experiencing family life together. While I am sad to see them go, I am overjoyed knowing with full confidence that they will live normal happy lives and have been changed forever in many ways because of their stay here and that I personally had a part in it. I will cherish these memories of them, and will certainly ponder from time to time how they are getting on, and what they will be like when they grow up perhaps 10 or 15 years from today. When we loaded them on the bus to the other side of the border the mothers were crying but the last I saw of them they and their children were waving with smiles as the bus pulled away, certainly one of the most rewarding things I have seen so far.

Can you conceive of something more random?

Eating kosher ice cream on the border of the Gaza Strip with 3 children from Iraq who just had open heart surgery and their mothers... That's 4 or 5 levels of randomness on one occasion, and yet this seems to have become typical of my daily experience working with Shevet! I think it partly explains the decrease in my frequency of blogging in the last week or so. What 3 weeks ago would have been a tremendous parting from the customary has become normal in my routine; to such a degree that it did not occur to me until hours later that I am probably the only person in history that could truthfully utter such a phrase. I can't post for a while about a couple things I've been doing though I'd really like to.

Arazoo went in for her surgery yesterday and should be on the road to recovery (more on Arazoo later). I'm going to the hospital tomorrow morning to take 3 of our children in for their final echocardiograms. If they show everything normal they will be on their way home to Iraq in a week or two. It's interesting to see how excited they were, for many, going to Iraq would be a nightmare.

At last weeks echocardiogram for Azhin (the one in the red jacket covered in icecream) for example after just a short time in the doctor's office, Azhin and her mother emerged with big smiles. Azhin's mother doesn't speak English but she understands when the doctor says, "Very good!" Azhin's mother repeated to me "Very good!" and was visibly excited as she used hand motions to explain to me they could go back to Iraq soon. She motioned to her wrist and said "Monday" (when the final echocardiogram is scheduled) and then made her hands like an airplane taking off and said "shooom! to Iraq!" with a huge smile. Azhin and her mom called back home to tell their family the good news.

Bombs over Bet She'an – A Trip to Jordan

Went to Jordan last night, it’s not much to write home about. We were getting 3 kids across the border to go home into Iraq, altogether the journey was an exhausting 13 hours. It was quite an ordeal, lots of red tape and a bureaucratic nightmare. One of our beautiful baby girls going across, Alaa, is required to be on oxygen almost all the time, and we (I) had to lug an 80 pound oxygen machine through the border. We had quite the time explaining what it was to the border guards, but you would be amazed frankly at the compassion and grace the guards on both the Israeli and Jordanian side had on us because of the children. It’s not every day they let a massive machine through the border, let alone tax free. We were worried about getting Alaa across in time as she is reliant on her oxygen supply, we brought two tanks worth that had to last her whole journey into Amman. To not pass in time was quite literally a matter of life and death.

The ride there across Israel was beautiful as we parted the kibbutzim of northern Israel through the Sumerian hills, a flock of large birds flew off the railing as we crossed over the Jordan river on a border bus. What was on the radio on the Jordanian bus you ask? Johnny Cash of course.

Standing outside getting luggage together for the mothers while Dorothy (another volunteer) handled the visa negotiations inside I realized some deep pops I was hearing were not fireworks. Most of the attention on the war going on now is on Gaza but there have been rocket attacks coming from Lebanon as well and I can't imagine what else but mortar and rocket fire could produce these noises. The border was probably the safest place to be as any ordinance would fly overhead to the respective sides rather than in the middle. During the hour or so I was alone packing luggage on the Jordanian side I was serenaded by the sound of hounds baying at every thump in the distance.