By Cornelia Seigneur

When I blogged about the experience I had at a local café in Portland where my daughter and I were having a quiet conversation with a Portland Police officer before we were interrupted by the café owner, who asked the police officer to leave, I never dreamed that the response would be so passionate or so numerous — to be honest, I don’t receive a lot of comments on my blog. I suppose I have not written about such an emotional issue before. I surely did not intend any controversy or to bash an establishment. I merely wanted to share my story. (I had actually gone to the Red and Black out of curiosity as I was working on a story for The Oregonian about Matt Mikalatos, the author of the book Imaginary Jesus,   http://imaginaryjesus.com/   whose story is set at the Red and Black.)

I just had to write about it.

I write because that is how I process life. I write because I have to put my heart on paper. I write because I like to share stories. I write to bring light to the world. I write to share good things people are doing. And, as a believer, I write for justice.

I write because I have to write. It is what I do. It is who I am.

As I read through the comments, I am amazed at the amount of support that the Police enjoys in this city. I am intrigued with the many articulate thought provoking comments people made about the good that the police do. I was moved by the comments from the families of Police, Fire or EMT who serve tirelessly without a lot of fanfare or recognition.

I think of the comments from supporters of the decision of the café to ask the police officer to leave its establishment. I was surprised at how volatile people were toward the Police in general, and not just Portland Police. One comment implied that I had not taken the time to find out what the café owner believed and why they felt “unsafe” with the officer there. I did speak at length with the café co-owner, and we just did not get very far as he spoke of this notion how, in the case of a robbery, he would call his friends rather than the police. What does that look like practically, I wondered?

One reader commented that I was simply a white, suburbanite who has no idea what it is like in North Portland. And I answer that the very point of what I was trying to talk to the police officer at the café about, was our Sudan refugee friends who lived in North Portland, one of whom – a 14 year old — the Police saved.

As I spoke with the café owner, I really never got a direct answer as to why he personally felt unsafe with a police officer in his establishment. 

Bottom line, I think especially of the policeman I met at the red and black, Officer James Crooker, a human being who should be treated with respect and honor, like all human beings. I think of how humiliating it must have been to be asked to leave a café for no other reason than your profession. It was pure and simple discrimination. Yet, he handled it with such class and dignity. I was sad for him. My point was not to start a dialogue of whether people felt Police was necessary in America, but instead to simply ask why was a police officer asked to leave a café?

I wanted the police officer to know that so many people support what they do to try to keep the rest of us safe. He kept talking about the importance of education. What the officer wants is to start a dialogue in this city, to talk reasonably about issues, to let them know he will always respond with kindness to people even if they are unkind. He is there to do his job.

What I did not want to happen in my original blog post was for it to become a place for meanness and finger pointing and name calling. I just wanted to share my story, to bring light to what happened. There were several blog comments that I just did not want to publish as they used profanity and speculation and labeling. From both sides of the issue.

My hope is the same as what the officer hopes for — open conversation, honest dialogue, without name calling. For justice on all sides.

Exactly the reason why I write.

http://www.corneliaseigneur.com/where%e2%80%99s-a-portland-police-officer-to-get-a-cup-of-coffee/

http://www.corneliaseigneur.com/blue-ribbon-campaign-police-deserve-a-cup-of-coffee-facebook-page/

http://www.koinlocal6.com/content/news/topstories/story/Cafe-Owners-Support-Anarchists-Deplore-Police/PxSFB2UbW0GzW-yLknbXWQ.cspx?rss=2442

By Cornelia Seigneur

My daughter and I were looking forward to a nice lunch at the Red and Black, a vegan cafe in southeast Portland, two days before she was to return to school in Germany. Having a vegetarian daughter makes for great eating adventures. I had heard about the southeast Portland establishment as it was the opening scene in the book Imaginary Jesus, written by Matt Mikalatos, whom I am writing a story about for the Oregonian newspaper ( http://www.oregonlive.com/O/index.ssf/2010/06/vancouver-based_christian_auth.html)

My daughter at the red and black with me May 18

We ordered, we got our food and spoke of life and love and God and how things are going and how interesting the interior of this place is. I so wanted one of our last outings together before she was to return to Germany to be memorable.

Then, I looked outside the window and saw a police officer and hoped I wasn’t illegally parked. I had recently seen cars being towed from the local outdoor food carts on 12th and Hawthorne. But, the police officer was not looking to give out tickets, but instead was looking for a cup of coffee while working the streets, so he thought he would try the Red and bback. 

When he walks in, I say to him that I am glad he did not give me a parking ticket, and he chuckled.

With all the recent disturbing stories regarding the police in Portland, I thought I would try to show my support of the police by just being friendly.

After he got his coffee and was on his way out, my daughter and I, who  were sitting near the door, addressed the police officer again, just to continue our dialogue. I opened the conversation by asking if he comes here a lot, and he said that he had never been there before.

Then I told him that I appreciate the work they do as Portland Police Officers, and I noted that it must be hard with the recent shootings and negative reaction of the public. He was humble, and said that indeed Portland is an interesting place to work; he said it is very hard and trying at times as he deals with murderers and gang members and drug addicts on  a regular basis. People hear about the unfortunate police shootings, but rarely do they hear about the day in and day out reality of Police putting their lives on the line and saving people.

As I was just starting to tell him how I agreed with him, and had a specific example – our friend who lived in North Portland, a 14 year old Sudan-refugee boy, who was shot at by gang members in North Portland and then called Portland Police  who saved him – one of the owners of the cafe came over to us; I figured he was just going to say hello, but instead, what came out of his mouth shocked me. 

He looked directly at the police officer, and said to him, “I don’t feel comfortable with you here, I would like you to leave.”

I am baffled. Here is this human being, who happens to be a police officer, who paid good money for a cup of coffee, talking to my daughter and me, who also paid good money for their (frankly, not very tasteful food), and we witness what is discrimination based upon what someone is wearing and the job he has. And the humiliation of an individual person. This in a place that states on its website that it is: ”safe and welcome” for all. 

As the policeman quietly left, I asked the co-owner what the problem is and he says that he does not feel safe around the Police and that they shoot people. I tell him I am confused by his response to a police officer who is merely trying to get a cup of coffee, and that I know that there have been some unfortunate situations recently involving the Police, but that overall they are here protecting our community day in and day out, and you have to look at all sides of culture. I wondered if he has visited countries where there is no legitimate police force and where there is indeed lawlessness running the town or country. He had no reaction to my question.

And then, I asked him whom he would call if someone came in to rob his establishment, and he said he would call his friends in a community — and that is when I knew we were getting nowhere. I told my daughter we needed to leave and she agreed. She also could not believe what was happening.

Later, I tracked down the police officer to give him my business card, and to tell him how I was sad to see what  happened to him,  and I asked him to call me. I wondered if he has been treated like this before by other establishments in Portland or elsewhere. I told him that I wanted to write about this and that it disturbed me that this could happen. I live in the suburbs where police are very much respected in the community. The police officer told me that they are used to this general attitude from some people in Portland; and he also said he will always be kind to people no matter what.

I thought, wow, here this police officer is trying to protect the very people that hate him. The police officer said to me that part of the problem is education, that the public just does not know what they do all day long, that they put their lives on the line every single day, but what gets on the news is when a police shooting occurs due to someone who fled the scene or did not listen to orders.

Later, when  I spoke with the policeman in greater detail, he said: “I don’t think the public is aware that that is how it is and all you can do is put the best foot forward and be professional and kind. This person (at the cafe) has his personal opinion. Look at his surroundings. He surrounds himself only with people who think the same way. That person will never be treated poorly by me. It is a cultural thing. We are failing ourselves. The public does not know what we deal with every day. Just two days in a row I have dealt with murderers. You also have to understand that the police are unable to combat the info about the public perception of police because what we are allowed to share is confidential information.”

The police officer also said that only so much information gets to the public and that the public needs to be educated that they are on their side. “Every day, police go out there and risk their lives. There is someone out there doing something wrong and we need to be there for the community. Let us get the bad guys here, but it is not as simple; there are  many more factors in what we weigh in whether we want to act here.”

Then, the clincher – he offered to take me in his car for a day or an hour or for whatever time I had, to show me what he does all day long as a Portland Police Officer, if I wanted to write about that experience. I would like to take him up on his offer, but to be honest, I am afraid of what these police officers have to face during regular business hours on the streets of Portland.

And, the public rewards him with asking him to leave a coffee shop.

So, where’s a Portland Police Officer to get a cup of coffee?

Not at a certain “anarchist” (which happens to be vegan) cafe in southeast Portland.

My daughter and I were so distraught by this negative experience, about the way the café treated the Police –when they should be treated with gratitude and respect and honor –  that we went the next day looking for a café with class and dignity for all people, no matter what they are wearing.

We found the Palios Dessert & Espresso Bar in Ladd’s Addition, http://www.palio-in-ladds.com/ and we mentioned the situation we encountered at the Red and Black, and the man behind the counter at Palios said they treat all people equally there.

Okay, we found a place for the police to get a cup of coffee.  And us.

http://www.corneliaseigneur.com/red-and-black-and-blue-in-need-of-dialogue-on-police-relations-guest-column-in-todays-oregonian/

 http://www.corneliaseigneur.com/blue-ribbon-campaign-police-deserve-a-cup-of-coffee-facebook-page/

http://www.corneliaseigneur.com/part-2-wheres-a-police-officer-to-get-a-cup-of-coffee-and-why-i-write/

http://www.corneliaseigneur.com/now-you-try-going-as-a-police-officer-to-the-red-and-black-as-the-story-continues/

I am a mom.

So many thoughts surround having a 15-year-old injured boy that is not my son live in our home for a while. Originally, we took him in to live with our family in order to keep him safe and to make sure he got healthy and to make  sure got his educational needs met. All those things happened. It is the other things that I realize are what differentiates me from state foster care.

I am here for more than just food and warm shelter and a safe place to stay. When we took in this boy, 15, into my home to live with our family, I pour out my heart and my soul and life to him. I nurture and love him in so many ways as I do my own children. I give of my emotions and time and emotional energy, and I care about his success and about his spiritual life and who his  friends are and what he is texting on his  cell phone and what he is eating and what he is watching and what his attitude is like and what he is doing online and how his walk with God is growing and whether his emotional needs are being met and I worry and pray and cry my heart out to God regarding them.

I have cried more in the past 7 plus weeks that we have had this boy living with us than I have in a long time. Having another boy live in our home for a while has been an adjustment. And each of us getting used to one another.

Having another child, a teenager, live with us that has lived in a different household his first 15 years was quite interesting and it made my husband and me evaluate what exactly is our parenting philosophy. We wanted to be more than just a “safe” place. We wanted to be a place of refuge, a family to this young man who almost lost his life in an accident.

The first few days and weeks I must say were hard on us all. Adjusting. Learning to live in a new house with rules, though we are not a big rules family. But, we realize we do have standards, some basic principles. What some might call parenting philosophy.

We want to provide an atmosphere of love and trust and security, a place to grow spiritually, a place of real life faith, a family with accountability, a place for camaraderie. Family life, with gatherings around the dinner table and reading the Bible together and praying together and going to church together. And, all of us pitching in to help around the house, showing that we all matter. And what we do beyond the living room matters.

And this boy that came to live with us went to school in our neighborhood and loved it so much that he came home from school his first day and said, “I want to stay here for four years.”

And I did not know what to say to this boy who I have known for three plus years. I just said we will have to see. I did not even know if his dad would let us or what he would think. I also was unsure about the safety factor. So much at stake here that I have not been able to blog about it.

Then we had some hard times and there were some expectations that at first seemed difficult for this boy to accept. He did not understand what we were doing and why we were asking certain things and I felt like I was always having to explain things and argue and my energy was so spent on him, and I cried and I prayed and so much time and emotions were going into him and worrying about him and I told God that I could not do this anymore.

Then God said, “You always wanted to be a missionary to Africa.”

Okay, Lord, here I am.  

And some friends of mine reached out to me, and asked me how I am doing with this new boy living in my home, taking him into our house to be a part of our family, a boy from a different family and from a different culture and a different land, and I cried when they asked me how I was doing. I guess I did not realize how emotional I was. And, it meant so much that someone asked and cared.

And they asked me how they could help me and one friend brought our family a meal and got a Bible in the native tongue for the mom of the boy we were helping and this friend brought me the book, Crazy Love, which I had given to Rachel so it was in Germany and I wept reading that book.

And things got better for a while, but new challenges arose and I cried some more and I felt we were not appreciated and I felt we were misunderstood and I felt that the boy we were helping looked at me as if I were the state, just a foster care worker. But I am not. I am a mom. And I care about a child that comes into my home.

And I cried out to God again and I said, “Lord, I do not want to do this anymore.”

And, the Lord brought to mind 1 Corinthians 13: “If I speak in the tongues^[a] of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”

And so I told God, Okay, Here I am Lord. I am yours.

And, I just realized that I wanted to reach out and love this “temporary new son” of mine, for as long as he was with us, and  I hugged him and I thought, that is what it meant by 1 Cor. 13. To show love so people can feel it. Kids need to feel love. Not just know that they are loved. And this boy that came to live with us grew on us and we grew on him and we adjusted to one another and he realized what we were doing was because we cared for him and we continued to try to show him love, in the context of order and accountability. We were more than just a safe place to be. We wanted to reach out to him and his family, yes, to be that safe place that he needed to stay for a while, but we wanted to be more, to make him feel loved and to give him an environment where he could blossom. And to make him know that we were more than just a foster home.

And other people from church came along to help and they asked how we were doing and I cried again and they asked what they could do to assist us and giving rides was a big one as I am juggling three other kids at home and one in college and friends gave the boy that came to live with us rides to church youth group and they gave him rides to see a counselor at church and they helped with clothes for him.

And we saw this boy that came to live with us grow and we saw him blossom and I cried more and I prayed more and I said, Lord whatever you would like. And over the course of the time this boy was with us, we had long talks at night and we discussed life and God and providence and the book Crazy Love and making a difference in the world for Christ and how his accident may have been a way to help him grow and we talked about school work and friends and church and he asked questions and he played with my kids and helped with chores and we had movie and pizza nights and a Super Bowl party.

Several people told the boy that came to live with us that he should watch the movie the Blind Side – about a homeless black boy who came to live with a family in the suburbs where he blossomed – which came out on DVD today (is that a God-thing?!) and so we rented it for our last night. Yes, the boy that came to live with us has to leave. We made a 6 week commitment and were willing for it to turn into more if it was God’s will but his dad wants him back and he says it is the safe thing to do. His dad says he needs to get out of here all together.

I am so torn and I know our “new son” is also. He says he loves his new life with us, that he is a changed person and he likes his new school and the friends he has made at school and church, yet he also loves his biological family. He says he is different now and he says it all happened for a reason. And, I say we are different as well. We love him and his family so much and I weep at the thought that they will be gone and we have to say goodbye. We have spent so many days together, sharing hearts and beach trips and church. 

And to hear the boy that came to live with us say he will go and make a difference in the lives of his siblings and that he will cling to God. He says he wants to go to his native country to make a difference there. He says he will try hard and I say, don’t just try, do. Tell yourself you will do well with God’s grace and mercy. Cling to God’s word.

And never, ever, ever give up hope.

And, I told him that he has a home here with us should he need a safe place again. A place that is more than a foster care home.

In the mean time, we will never be the same.

They are refugees, a family of 9, who live in north Portland apartments.

The mom, Tifiso, was so excited to get her tree into her home. She has called me three times over the past two weeks to ask when we were going to be bringing her Christmas tree. I think she wanted something bright in her life, something to bring light into her life. A recent 4-day stay in the hospital and diagnosis of an illness has been hard on this mom of 7 between the ages of 3 and 16. Tifiso asks for very little so for her to keep asking me when we were coming with her tree told me something.

With the recent cold spell, the tree was actually frozen in our creek and we had to wait for a thaw, which it finally did.

So, last night, our family and a couple of our children’s friends brought the Christmas tree                             and ornaments and lights to the Sudan refugee family. We told the family to all be home, that this is a time of celebration, tradition, we’ll make it a party.

My husband arrived a few minutes before we did (we had stopped at the Christmas ships beforehand) and he set up the tree on the stand we bought them. This is the third year we have gotten the family a Christmas tree and I love how this is becoming a tradition for our family and theirs.

Then, we broke out the ornaments. Our 6-year-old Augustin had picked out some ornaments for them, and he insisted on colorful ones. Bright, neon colorful ones, so we brought those along. My twins’ friend Daryl helped put a hanger on each of the ornaments. But first we got the lights on the tree.

Then, each of the kids began hanging ornaments on the tree and our Sudan friends had two of their friends over, and I asked those two kids if they have their tree up yet and they said no and I asked them if they are going to get at tree up and they said, “Probably not”. And those friends were helping us decorate the tree as well.

It made me realize the value of tradition and putting up a tree together and the importance of having a tree during the Christmas season. How Tifiso, mother of 7, wanted her tree up so badly.

I glanced at Tifiso 

watching her tree being decorated and she just stood there quietly and I thought of Mary in the Bible and how she silently sat watching when people were talking about her son Jesus. The verses are in Luke 2:18-19- “And  all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them, But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

As Mary, Tifiso looked so calm and reflective as if she was pondering. I wondered what she was thinking about. Her life has not been easy. She is a refugee from Sudan who is now in a country where she understands very little of the language and the culture and she has health issues and here she has 7 children and she told me in as much as I could understand with our language barrier, that she is overwhelmed with raising her kids.

The Christmas Tree was decorated pretty quickly and each of the children helped and the laughter and the chatter.  One said, “oh, those ornaments are too close together,” and another added, “don’t put the same colored ornaments so close together,” and it was just fun watching the children work on this project together. And the Sudan kids had painted some homemade ornaments at a craft fair and  they  added those  to the tree and they were trying to figure out what to do about a star and we took pictures in front of the tree, a before and after shot.

Then when all the ornaments were on, we turned off all of the lights in the apartment and the glow of the tree warmed the room.

There was something so beautiful about the moment. The simplicity of this Christmas tree inside this apartment. The simple joy that a Christmas tree brought to this family. There were no other Christmas decorations in the apartment and it stood out and was admired by all.

I thought of other homes with perfect Christmas decorations and matching orna ments and the house all tinseled and elegant and gorgeous. I have heard of families where the mom does all of the decorating while the kids are in school so that there is no mess, but perhaps something is missing.

When my 6-year-old wanted to buy the neon colored ornaments, I did not want to as it is not my style, but he likes bright colors, so I got them for him.

For this Sudan family gathered together with ours, it seemed like such a beautiful moment. Maybe the simplicity of it and especially knowing how much it meant to the family. Just to get their tree, the only decorations they would have this Christmas. 

And, how long Tifiso had waited for her tree.

And finally got it, then pondered over it. In her heart.

Riek on the left, his cousin, brother, sister, Breezy and a neighbor at Peninsula Park after a sports camp we hosted. Riek and his cousin just returned that day from a football game they were playing in.

Last weekend when we were taking him back to his North Portland home after youth group Fusion with my twins at Rolling Hills Sunday night, he kept talking about this meeting with his new school.

“My dad’s coming home to take me to this meeting,” he announced. “I have been really good and know I will do well in this new school. It is close to my house and I can walk.” 

“But what about my meeting Monday morning?” he wondered. We called his dad and he was not sure when he would be able to come home. 

“Can your mom take you to the meeting?” I asked.

Riek’s mom does not understand very much English. She barely speaks the language yet alone understands it. She tries so hard. Riek’s family members are refugees from Sudan. They escaped persecution for being Christians and are trying to establish a life here. It is not easy. The mom, with her very broken English, has gotten two jobs over the 3 years we have known them, but she was laid off of both of them. The dad has not worked since we have known them. He says he is taking classes and trying. He has been back to Africa several times. It is hard to feed and clothe a family of of 9 on a regular income yet alone one that requires government assistance. But they work so hard at it. They are such a lovely family. We feel so blessed to be connected with them.

When I called the school to see about bringing the mom in to the meeting for Riek, they asked who I am.

“I am an advocate for them.”

Riek is in the middle next to me on the left

No, I am not with the county or the state or with social services. I am just an advocate. I care about them. They are our friends and we have known them for three years and we connected due to our faith in the Lord Jesus and we wanted to be able to assist them, to help get them established, to help them physically and emotionally and spiritually and to support them. They have come over for Easter and Christmas and we have gone to the beach together and hiking. My kids are friends with their kids. We  care. We want to help give them a break. To get them working and supporting themselves, to help the children do well in school and to get connected in church. To keep their faith in God. To grow in that relationship.

The school said it was okay if I brought the mom in, and the father had also called the school to say that would be fine. The mom told them I have been there to help them for three years and that I can be officially involved. She signed for me to be an advocate.

At the meeting today, I met another advocate for Riek, Phil Gibbs, who helped Riek at his old school. When I mentioned to Phil the church we go to (Rolling Hills), that has also helped with Riek’s family, various members and groups within the church have been supportive, the church that we have brought Riek’s family to, Phil Gibbs said he has visited our church and that he attends another Christian church. It was so neat to connect on a faith level. Phil  Gibbs cares about Riek’s family. He said he is glad I am an advocate for Riek. And then Phil Gibbs also said something that stood out to me. He said:

“Riek’s an advocate for himself.”

I live in the community of West Linn where the parents are so involved in their children’s lives and where they take care of so much for their children and where the parents are the advocates, but that is not reality everywhere and for some people survival is the only reality, and Riek is learning the hard way to be an advocate for himself and for that I commend him. It is not easy. We all eventually learn to be advocates for ourselves and some just have to learn it much earlier rather than later.

And it is not a bad lesson to learn in general. In the end, we have to learn to be advocates for ourselves, to stick up for ourselves, to follow our dreams, to make those dreams a reality. And Riek’s dream right now is to get into this school.

I shared with Phil Gibbs and the others at the school meeting about Riek’s family situation, and we talked about what an amazing family they are and how hard it is with 7 children, but that they are trying so hard to do well in school. But when life at difficult and money is tight or non-existent and the car is not working and there is no money to fix it,  there is of course added stress on children, it is about survival and no frills. It is hard enough being a child and a student in school yet alone having to play house for real.

I am praying that they do not lose heart. I am praying that we can get a larger connection of a community going for them here in the Portland area. I am praying for the kids, to never ever ever give up. Or lose heart.

And to learn how to be an advocate for themselves. As Riek did.

. . . And his dream came true. He starts in his new school tomorrow.

an ethnic German who was born and raised in Romania. The Nobel committee honored  her, “who, with the concentration of poetry and the frankness of prose, depicts the landscape of the dispossessed”

http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/2009/index.html 

The focus of her work is on the trials of life under the Communist dictatorship of Nicolae Ceausescu, whose reign ended with his overthrow and execution 20 years ago.  

In offering thanks for the award, she noted that her fiction was shaped by living under the brutal Ceausescu regime.  

“It’s the topic of all my books,” said Müller, who immigrated to Germany in 1987. “I believe that literature always goes precisely there where the damage to a person has been done. . . . I didn’t choose this topic, it was thrust upon me.”

Müller worked as a translator in a Romanian factory,  but was fired for not cooperating with the secret police, and in the 1970’s she was a member of a group of dissident writers who opposed the Ceausescu regime.

Her first book, a collection of short stories depicting the difficulties of living in a small village like her own, was published in 1982, but was censored by Romanian authorities. An uncensored version was smuggled into Germany, finding critical acclaim.

After a second book, she was prohibited from publishing in Romania, leading to her immigration to Germany.

Mueller’s parents were members of the German-speaking minority in Romania and her father served in the Waffen SS during World War II. After the war ended, many German Romanians were deported to the Soviet Union in 1945, including her mother, who spent five years in a work camp in what is now Ukraine. Müller’s work speaks to being a refugee, being displaced, being without a home.

She is the author of 19 books, and only four – including The Land of the Green Plums, and, most recently “The Appointment” (written in 2001)– have been translated and published in the United States. After winning the Nobel Prize this year, you can bet that will change. Her most recent book, Atemschaukel,

was published in August of 2009, and depicts the exile of German Romanians. My mom called and wants to order it from German Amazon and have Rachel bring it home at Christmas.

Being German myself, and an immigrant, I am very interested in her books.  Just the topic of being dispossessed. Something I can relate to. And I think so many others think of themselves as not belonging. I think of biblical characters never finding a home and specifically Moses trying to get to the Promised Land.

I quickly went  to my library to check out books by Herta Muller. It took a while, but I found two of them – those listed above—and have them on hold. It looks like 9 other people were influenced by the Nobel award as there are 9 other holds so far.  There is only one copy of each of her work.

 I also checked on Amazon and there are the four English translations of her work then the German ones, which I can thanks to my mom and dad read.  http://www.amazon.com/Herta-M%C3%BCller/e/B001JOP1OQ

For more information see the following articles:

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB125499794241973045.html

http://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/0,1518,654210,00.html

 over the past years, the family whom we have had the amazing opportunity to reach out to for the past 3 years and I have a page called “Africa came to me” http://www.corneliaseigneur.com/sudan-refugees/ 

that highlights the brief history of that relationship with Jima’s family from Sudan — are on my heart so much these days.

So many friends of ours from church and from our community of friends have met Jima’s family. Jima has come to Bible study with our kids and the entire family of 9 has been over for Christmas and Easter and we have gone to the beach and the mountains together. And we have tried to help them find jobs. And we believed that they were seeking after the Lord and they were going to church.

But then we hear of a cultural situation that the family is in that is not Christian and I wonder and ponder and question.

The general question on my heart regarding people is how to get someone out of a certain situation for good. For the long haul. Beyond just the temporary.

You try to give people a chance. You try to help them. To provide for them. To assist them with the basics.

To give them fish, yes, but to also teach them how to fish.

You think God is using you and you think you are making a difference and you pray to God to show you how to continue to help you make a difference.

Then, there is a back slide. Or, is it a cultural situation, you ask yourself.

It is like they do not want to be helped anymore. It is the question of how to get people to move beyond. To believe beyond.

I am speaking in riddles as I cannot go into detail here right now.

You hear of Oprah and Francis Chan the pastor of Cornerstone Church and so  many others who have overcome amazing odds and made  a life on their own and you know it can be done, and you want to help others overcome and when you see progress you are happy . . . but, then when you see regression and sadness and hopelessness and people reverting. And you ask questions.  

But, I do not want to lose hope and this may be a time for networking and praying and continuing to get the word out to help the wonderful Sudan family that we befriended 3 years ago.

When I attended the Donald Miller talk a couple of weeks ago, I spoke to him about our Sudan friends and related it to the mentoring project he is starting, and I think it is good, yet the question of my heart related to the Sudan family is how do you get people, young men in particular, to get out of bad habits, to know they can be the change. They can be different than their fathers and uncles. And in the situation of our Sudan friends, than their culture.

I read an article in Christianity Today about this very issue of the church in certain parts of Africa, how they were reverting to pagan rituals. Burning children. It is not of God, yet they claim to be believers.

It is hard. And it is painful.

But, God can do anything.

We pray and persevere and ask God for wisdom.

And sometimes, we are just called to be their friends.