If You're Happy and You Know It . . .

If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.

A warm autumn sun overpowers the usual balmy breeze.
An excited smile. A quick wave. Then she turns and runs indoors.
They're here! They're here, I'm sure she says in Karen. I don't speak Karen.
But I know the language of excitement from waiting and anticipation, and it screams
They're here when my silver car parks in front of her apartment.

If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.

The others arrive in the First United Methodist Church bus.
Doors open, and they carry treasure boxes--plastic containers probably purchased at Wal-Mart. Thirty boxes of Crayola markers, a few pails of Crayola super chalk, bountiful supplies of beads of all colors and rolls of blue twine. A football. A soccer ball. Four hula hoops. A tall, slender pink jar filled with bubble juice and three lovely bubble blowing wands. These are the gifts they bring. Parumpapumpum.

If you're happy and you know it . . .

A boy with large almond eyes stands with his two sisters at the end of the sidewalk.
His eyebrows arch up as his face explodes with a smile. This is his question.
He does not speak Karen, either. And though his native Bengali tongue speaks enough English to ask me the question aloud, my heart is more than happy to join in this silent conversation my little friend from Bangladesh.
I reply, beckoning to him with my hand, nodding my head and returning a smile explosion his way.

then your face will surely show it.

He walks up to me carrying a long yellow freshly dipped bubble wand. The bubble juice trickles down the wand and slides unto his tiny latte colored fingers. Blow these bubbles for me, he politely asks silently. I oblige. He watches as I slowly blow a bubble. He follows it as it bids farewell to the circle on the wand and takes flight. His smile breaks abruptly as the bubble he watches suddenly disappears to nothingness and air and memory. I blow another bubble quickly, before he has a chance to mourn the other one for too long. He falls deeply in love with this one, too. He doesn't say this. But I know from the way his hand reaches up to it as it soars into the sky. And from the return of that darling smile.

If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands.

We circle up. It's time for us to leave. We stand there together--different churches, different religions, teenagers and adults and children, multiple languages, citizens of the U.S. and Bangladesh and Burma and Thailand and Iraq and maybe other children whose names I did not catch and whose home countries I did not ask. Communicating sometimes with words, mostly with smiles. All refugees really. None of us belong here ultimately. We circle up to sing our prayer each time we visit these children at Turtle Creek apartments: three verses of a childhood tune that gets us all clapping our hands, stomping our feet and saying hooray! And though I don't hear Jesus audibly speak to us in that moment, I feel his smile on all of us. I take a deep breath and inhale this Saturday morning memory.

The kingdom of God is near. Come, Lord Jesus. Amen.

**

"Everybody smiles in the same language. And for that, I am so thankful." Jena Lee, Executive Director of Blood:Water Mission

**Image by KatJo

People Like Me

What I love about hip hop--real, pure hip hop--is that it puts music to storytelling. One of my favorite storytellers these past few years has been the dusty foot philosopher K'naan from Somalia (though he spent a significant part of his life in Canada when his family had to flee his war-torn homeland).

So many songs have spoken to me on different days since I've been listening his latest CD Troubadour almost obsessively the past few weeks. Today, though, his song "People Like Me" spoke most to me. I felt like the stories in this song were having a dialogue with the stories of people on our Pray With Africa prayer community. Specifically, this morning I was most moved by a prayer on our site from a woman named Monica:

I pray that I may find serenity and strength to overcome an addiction that I have had for many years to doing harm to myself. I cannot do this alone--only by the grace of God and the blood of Jesus Christ who has given and sacrificed all that I require for this life and the eternal. Help me to love myself that I may better love and serve others. Amen.

All around the world, there are hurting people surviving on hope and a prayer, and I like that K'naan writes his own prayer, asking God to open the doors of heaven for hurting people like all of us . . .



Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

Is it fair to say that I am stressing out
I'm stationed in Iraq, and they won't let me out
My homeys said I was stupid for even joining
My counselor said that my decision was disappointing
How she had good for good state colleges
and with my good grades it wouldn't have been a problem
but they don't understand the power of significance
more than brilliance and certainly more than dividends
and if you ask me now would I repeat it
Would I fight in a war I don't believe in
Well the answer is if not me where the cancer is
they been doing this before Jesus of Nazareth
and after all this time it is still deadly hazardous
and bush isn't really being all that inaccurate
When he says we're winning the war cos its staggering
but that's 'cause we're killing everybody that we see
and most of us soldiers we can barely fall asleep
and time and time again I'm feeling incompetent
cos my women back home, we're constantly arguing
and i must be crazy cos all I'm obsessing with is
her Myspace and Facebook and who's commenting
I swear to God if she's cheatin' I'm doin' her ass in
I can tell with one look and it came to me sounding
like something from a song hook

Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

Meet Sarah, the proud mother of young Sebastian
suburban professional went to college in Ashland
In self pity she suddenly cried,
would my life be important if I suddenly died?
Neighbors saying what a nice women she was
keeping mostly to herself ever since the divorce
and with the company downsizin' and the fall and all
she really shouldn't take it that personal at all
It wasn't her boss who had his eyes on her thighs
and got a rise from her risin' off the desk though
and despite rememberin' sayin' no plenty of times
it was still a damn surprise being let go
and now stuck with a mortgage she cant afford
and too educated to blame the corporate world
She got on welfare and hated it case work a power trippin'
and generally being degraded if,
nothing else she was treated sick
and ineffective which is the worst thing
that she'd been left with
Damn, no magic from David Blane,
no painter to pain this pain,
No Morgan Freeman to narrate the shame
So she took refuge and prayer
kinda like findin' God in the phone book
and it came to her sounding something like a song hook

Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

I guess I told you about myself to a degree
just by telling you about people like me
but people like me they speak politely
they don't start no beef or piece of white meat
Everybody gotta eat but everybody doesn't
which is why i want to tell you about my favourite cousin
he and I grew up where the sun shines
and we both partook with the gun crimes
and we both liked American rap rhymes
even though we didn't understand one line
if you remember my line of notes in my last album
I talked about a close call with a grenade
I think we both must have been about 7th grade
But don't panic. We both survived without damage
But we developed a bond like we survived the Titanic
But when the country became frantic
my mother tried to get us out, planned it
to the last detail except the plan got derailed
'cause there wasn't enough money for the plane tickets
How bitter when my mother had to chose who to take with her
so my cousin got left in the war and that's just hard to recall
but now i take refuge in prayer,
kinda like finding God in the phone book
It came to me sounding kinda like something from a song hook.

Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

Heaven, is there a chance that you could come down
and open doors to hurtin' people like me
People like me (4x)

[ K'naan Lyrics are found on www.songlyrics.com ]

allister ann

Really dig my friend Allister's blog. Her photography is stellar, and so is her joie de vivre!

Consider digging her blog, too.

she whispers

i do not dare ask for her number
but i long for her to be near
making me move
lengthening these tiny steps
i tremble to take

Wisdom whispers

still my soul
let me linger
in every ethereal locution
spilling from her lips

Like Breath and Water: Praying With Africa

Well, someone reminded me this week that I have blogged a little about the book with great anticipation for its release, but I haven't said anything on here after it actually released. I have linked to the book on Facebook but nothing here.

So Like Breath and Water: Praying With Africa released Sept. 1, published by Upper Room Books. It was the featured book on their homepage for a couple of weeks. It's been picked up on Amazon where Jay Voorhees wrote a very beautiful review (along with a disclaimer for knowing me), and this is very exciting. It looks like Abingdon will pick up the book soon, as well, which means we'll get to be in their distribution at larger bookstores. We're going to possibly work on some book signings at Barnes & Noble in 2010. I'll keep you posted as this develops (I promise).

It's humbling to see this all come together--not just the book but also everything with Pray With Africa. Our film is complete and packaged, and our Tribes are on the road sharing it with the world. Our web site is up (with a few kinks still), and the prayer community is starting to get some prayer requests from the U.S. and Africa (and hopefully from people all over the world soon). People are starting to hear our Learn. Pray. Act. philosophy and are getting excited about living it out in all aspects of their lives and not just our approach to humanitarian aid.

So much of what Cary, Austin and I have been dreaming and shaping for the past year is now out into the world. I've given this huge piece of my heart and the hearts of my friends in Africa through writing Like Breath and Water. We've all done the same with the other pieces of Pray With Africa, as well. I hope that it speaks to people and that God is able to use it to bring us all closer to the Kingdom.

I'm so grateful for family and friends who continue to lift us in prayer and support Pray With Africa all the way . . .

So that's where we are now!

Mary Oliver. Delight.

As I washed my hands in my yoga instructor's bathroom Monday, I read a poem she had mounted next to the mirror on the wall. It's called "The Summer Day" by Mary Oliver. I've read it before, and it was nice to be reminded of the beauty of her simple poetic style and to appreciate the questions this poem asks.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I said to my happy yogi, "First of all, I love everything about your house" (I do. Every inch of her house is like stepping into a creative haven. Everything about it represents her and her hubby so well. From the old naked books on the shelves [I love dust jacket-free books!] to the flowers in the cozy kitchen nook to the watercolor haiku hanging on the other side of the mirror in her bathroom]. A fabulous house helps tell your story.) "Secondly, I love that you have a Mary Oliver poem hanging in your bathroom."

Well, I'm grateful I added my "secondly" because I received an email from my yogi yesterday saying that Mary Oliver was reading her work tonight at Belmont University and that I should check it out if I was free.

Delight.

It seemed nearly indulgent to hear Ms. Oliver read and speak these words I've read before and know that this is the intended voice for every word. And I smiled, rejoicing that this is her heart's delight, and she gets to delight her heart for a living. All of the time. Shape words into tiny snapshots of life and travel the world sharing her amazing gallery.

I would envy Mary O if envy were in my bones.

It was a lovely evening.

I'll close with one my favorites that she read tonight (oh, there were so many!):

Mysteries, Yes

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds
will never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
"Look!" and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

Spiritual Prompting: Gandhi

Each week my Covenant Discipleship group meets and discusses acts of compassion, devotion, justice and worship, and we also talk about any spiritual promptings we feel we need to obey or spiritual warnings we feel called to heed. I love this practice for so many reasons. I especially love recognizing spiritual promptings. I want to always be open to where God might be calling me.

This morning I recognized that I'm feeling a prompting towards Mahatma Gandhi. Oh, Gandhi . . . I've heard about him all my life, and I know he's an amazing man. I quote him every now and again. I listened in James Lawson's class as he talked about Gandhi and the nonviolence movement. I read about him at the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. Ok . . . so Gandhi's a pretty cool dude, eh?

But I've never studied him. I've never dived into some of his writings. I've never even seen the 3-hour film of his life. For some reason, I feel very drawn to study more about the life, vision and practices of Gandhi right now. I'm excited about this urge, and I pray that God reveals to me what I'm supposed to learn from this amazing man who always stood on the righteous side of the indelible line between justice and oppression. I can hardly wait to share as I learn more.