Imagine No Malaria

On Friday night, we partnered with a local church, St. Mark's UMC, to hold a benefit dinner for Imagine No Malaria. Imagine No Malaria is a project through which the United Methodist Church seeks to end deaths from malaria. By clicking the link in the first sentence, you can read more about the project and its goals.

The dinner was called, "An Evening in Africa" and featured African dishes, speakers, videos, and music. The food was absolutely delicious, and I was happy to be able to share a table with four Congolese youth, two asylum seekers (from Egypt and Burundi) and a man originally from England. After we got our food, the Congolese youth waited a little bit before they started eating. The girl sitting next to me explained that they don't use silverware at home. It felt awkward to them to use silverware to eat African food, but they also felt awkward not using silverware since everyone else was using it. Eventually they decided to use the silverware to eat.

The father of the Congolese youth shared a short message about malaria and his own experience with it. He is the pastor of a local African congregation called Bethesda (which means pool of mercy). The young man from Burundi played piano beautifully through the beginning of the program and then sang a song about malaria that he had composed for this event. He then shared about his own experience with malaria.

The whole evening was very meaningful and touching. I think it was valuable for this group of Americans to be able to understand the effect that malaria actually has and to hear stories of people who have experienced it firsthand. I think it helped everyone to realize what an important campaign this is.

Whenever we come together to share stories we are engaging in something incredibly valuable, because these events give us the chance to recognize that everyone's story is important. I think being asked to share our stories reminds us that we are worth something and that our lives are not meaningless.

I also thought this event was a wonderful example of how the UMC is a global church. I think it is important for us to be able to contribute to something greater than ourselves, and it is so neat to be able to come from Michigan and hear about churches planning Imagine No Malaria events there, and then be able to attend Imagine No Malaria events here in Tucson, as well.

If you would like to contribute to the effort to Imagine No Malaria, click here and then select the red "Give Now" icon on the right side of the screen.

Beyond Vinegar

“I tried date vinegar today,” I told my mom, who called from snowy Michigan to hear how things were in sunny Arizona.

“Date vinegar? I’ve never heard of such a thing! What did it taste like?”

I didn’t know how to describe it to her; I couldn’t think of words that fit. That got me thinking: Is this how refugees feel when they come to the US—like they don’t have the words to describe what they are experiencing, even in their native language?

So often we see refugees solely as people in need of aid. After all, they have come here for protection, and must learn a new language, a new culture, and a new way of life. English is often not a second language but a third, fourth or fifth. The culture is confusing, and navigating systems like healthcare and education can be overwhelming. Finding a job that can both feed the family and pay the rent is another stress-filled challenge. And all this is on top of dealing with the aftereffects of the trauma and persecution which caused them to leave their homes initially.

While all these struggles are real, we can forget to see beyond them to recognize that refugees have things to teach us, too. Date vinegar is just one example of this.

Under the instruction of Alaa and Faeza, two Iraqi refugees, we started the vinegar in December. After about 45 days, it had reached the point where it was ready for processing. An Egyptian refugee, a Sudanese refugee, and several other volunteers joined Alaa and Faeza to get started.

As we stood in the kitchen, I tried to soak in the steps while Arabic sentences floated over my head. I recognized that even if the refugees spoke in English, I still wouldn’t understand; I know nothing about the intricacies of making date vinegar. As Alaa showed Barbara a more effective way to squeeze the dates, I remembered the time he showed us all how to properly cut open pomegranates. The Sudanese refugee, who was a farmer in Darfur, was with me on my first orange harvest, where he showed me how to pick oranges properly. Manerva and Faeza have done cooking demonstrations at Tucson Meet Yourself, and they continue to share their food and their culture in other ways, as well.

At Iskashitaa we work with refugees because we care deeply. We want to see them become successful in America and we want to see them become part of the community. Yet we also work with refugees because we recognize that what they have to teach us is incredibly valuable. As I experience this more and more, I realize that these lessons change me in significant and meaningful ways. I begin to think that cross-cultural exchange is not just enriching, but vital.

As we finished up in the kitchen, Faeza said, “I want everyone in Tucson to taste date vinegar.” So do I—but I hope that date vinegar is only the beginning.

This is an article that I wrote for the Iskashitaa newsletter. click here if you would like to sign up to receive the Iskashitaa newsletter, which comes out by email once a month. 

the nature of Joy

After a difficult senior year at Michigan State, and a midst a tough transition to Tucson, I find myself contemplating the nature of joy. I find that many Christians (myself included) like to talk about joy: how we have joy in Christ, that the joy is ever present and never-ending, joy > happiness, etc. ish. But I wonder, what does it actually mean to have joy? Do we even understand what we are describing, or are we just throwing around memorized fragments of scripture haphazardly? What is the difference between joy and happiness? What does it mean to "Be joyful always"?

Sometimes I wonder if we think, subconsciously even, that having joy means feeling good all the time. I wonder if this is a barrier to sharing our struggles in Christian community. Do I worry that sharing my hardships might make others think that I'm not following Christ as well as I should be? Is the pain I feel a reflection of a weakness in my relationship with God?

Because if I have a healthy relationship with God, all my sorrows, worries, struggles, and pain should be taken care of, right? But it isn't that simple. More and more I find myself thinking that the place without pain is a bubble of ignorance I've created for myself. It just isn't real.

When I am at a conference seminar, learning about the methods of torture and how survivors are affected, is that honestly something I should experience without pain? What does "be joyful always" mean in that situation? I certainly cannot describe my feelings as happy, and sharing my feelings with God does not make them hurt less. It helps that they are known, but it does not end the pain. How could it when I know that the torture continues, and that even those who are now removed from that danger still suffer from the effects of their experience?

A couple weeks ago I read a blog posted by my friend Amy Beth, who is a YAV (Young Adult Volunteer) that I met through my coworker Heather (who is also a YAV.) It talked about her thoughts regarding an article she read about a study that found that meaning and happiness were not generally positively correlated in peoples' lives--that is, the people who were happier said their lives were less meaningful, and vice verses. She went on to talk about how that has been reflected in her own life as she works as a YAV in Tucson. This post spoke to my heart because I could relate to it so deeply.

I have frequently found myself thinking, I am not happy. While many factors play into this, one part of the equation is simply this: what I am doing is hard. And I knew it would be hard...but it is hard in ways I never could have anticipated.

It is hard because I search for meaning and I search for truth. The common phrase, "The truth hurts," never resonated with me much until I thought of it in terms of the realities of the world. Someone asked me recently, "Doesn't it weigh on you, hearing these stories of people who have been through such trauma? How do you deal with that? How do you balance it while dealing with the challenges in your own life?"

Of course it weighs on me. But I would not change what I am doing for anything. It weighs on me, but it is the truth. It is real. This is someone's story, and it is valuable and important and it has a right to be told. The story, the truth, should be known, and we should be willing to acknowledge it. I have more thoughts regarding this idea, but for now I will return to my reflections on joy.

I recently came across a journal entry recording a conversation I had with one of my dearest college friends, Joy. This happened during our sophomore year, near spring semester finals, while we were alone in the Shaw basement at 5am. (And yes, I realize how humorous it is that I am mentioning my friend Joy in my post about joy.)

• Me:I'm worried about my future.

• Joy:Oh my gosh, Stephanie, don't be worried about your future! You have a wonderful future! You're going to meet people and love them and have fun with them and lead people to God and do ministry and glorify God! (something to this effect, but longer and more Joy-ish)

• Me:Awwww...that's so beautiful. You're right.

• -pause-

• Me:Except I wasn't so much worried about the future future...it was more like the next 24 hours.

• Joy:Ohhhhh. Don't think about that. Think long-term. Jesus.

• Me:Jesus.

• Both: (nodding)Yeahhhh.

Maybe this is a picture of joy. It is not so much the immediate future, fraught with stresses, trials and pain--but the far off future, in which we know that we will be eternally with God and able to see the meaningful parts of our lives. I think joy is long term. It is like hope in that it is believing, even when you feel surrounded by darkness, that God is still good, and that your life has meaning. It is in feeling the pain of the world's realities and still praising God, in knowing that "every tear will be wiped from our eyes."

This is only one piece of my perspective on joy, and I know I could say so much more about the many things I've mentioned in this post. But for now, I will recognize that my feelings and emotions are valid whether or not they are "positive," and that I can find joy in my hope for the future, which is my hope in Christ.

East Coast Girl

This is a short and sweet list of some new differences I've noticed between Michigan/Tucson since my last post about this topic. Most of them relate to the fact that I am from a different climate and time zone. I realize that I am not "technically" from the East Coast, however I am from the EST, and I used that to justify my title.

• Wheel of Fortune is on at 6:30, and Jeopardy does not follow it. This was highly distressing for me. I spent a lot of time figuring out what time Jeopardy is on (3:30 - an inconvenient time for me). 

• Nationally broadcasted events end earlier here. I realize that this is obvious, but after the Superbowl ended yesterday, I was convinced that it was quite late, only to discover that it was actually 8:30. I assume this is an effect of spending the rest of my life watching from the Eastern Time Zone. 

• I have a different concept of cold than most Tucsonans. To many, 50 degrees is freezing. To me, it is mid-May. 

• Most buildings are one story. In theory I am aware of this fact. Still, whenever I visit a new building, particularly a residence, I expect a second floor. Frequently this is not the case, and it confuses me. I use stairs a lot less here than I did in Michigan. 

• Michigan - water, no mountains. Tucson - mountains, no water. A friend of mine was genuinely shocked when I casually mentioned that there are no mountains in Michigan. "None?! At all? But where do you hike?" Similarly, I am rather distraught by the lack of lakes here. 

•  Citrus is far more exciting to me than to people who grew up here. It is my dearest ambition to harvest a lemon tree, and one of my friends has a huge one at her house. When we were discussing fruit at one point, another friend mentioned that she wished they had an apple tree. I thought this was interesting because we have two apple trees at my house in Michigan, but I had never seen a citrus tree before I moved here. 

• Arizona doesn't believe in daylight savings time. This is nice since I don't have to confuse my body by changing the clock at arbitrary times throughout the year. Instead, everyone else is confused because the time difference changes. 

Abuse Happens: An Epidemic

Today I participated in a Church Women United event in Mesa, near Phoenix. Church Women United is an organization committed to seeking justice (particularly for women) and for doing so across denominations. Today at the event, we participated in several different workshops.

The first workshop focused on domestic violence. A long table was set up with various stations, labeled things like: Friends & Family, Hospital, Shelter, Forgive and Forget, Job, Funeral Home, Court, Religious Advice, Abuse Happens, and Return to Home. Each station had cards of different colors. At the beginning we would choose a color and follow that character through the various stations, sometimes returning places more than once and sometimes having choices. (For example, you could either go to the hospital or to a friend's house.) When we went to the Shelter, we had to flip a coin to see if we would be admitted, since often not enough space is available for everyone who seeks protection. Whenever we visited Abuse Happens, after reading our card we would put on a band-aid to represent that we had been abused.

I found this to be a very powerful exercise. I think it helped us to better identify with these stories. Instead of reading about something that happened to someone else, we read the cards as if this was something happening to ourselves. It also helped us realize how difficult the situation can be. For instance, some women were saying, "No matter what we did, no matter what we chose, we always ended up back at Abuse Happens." Others were saying, "We're being accused of violence by the courts, and that isn't what happened at all. We are innocent; we are the victim!"

My character was an immigrant, and every time I went somewhere I had to "wait 5 minutes for a translator." (Though in reality this wait would probably be longer, or I would not be given a translator at all, despite what the laws might be.)There was also the added fear that I would be deported or face some other kind of struggle since I was an immigrant. At the end of my story, I was living away from my abuser and I had two band-aids on my left hand. Some of the women were not so lucky; their stories ended in the Funeral Home.

After we finished the exercise, one of the women present confided in me that she had a daughter who had gone through this situation. Other women were not able to participate due to the emotional stress.

One of the most difficult things to think about was how common this issue is and yet how little it is talked about in the church. And, as our presenter said, our silence gives consent. When we say nothing, when we allow these things to continue happening, we encourage the violence to continue. This is especially troublesome when we consider the epidemic of misplaced blame: telling women that they deserve to be abused or that the abuse is somehow their fault. But there are no excuses for violence. It is a choice made by the abuser, and we cannot be silent. We cannot let women continue to believe that they are inferior or that this is their fault they are abused.

Our presenter provided some resources on how to address this issue. These were a few of the suggestions:

• preach sermons on the topic in Sunday service
• teach youth (and others in the church) what healthy relationships look like
• put  resource cards in bathroom stalls (where women can take them without anyone else seeing), called "Shoe Cards" because they can be kept in a shoe--so an abuser would not find it in the victim's purse
• learn how to support someone who is experiencing abuse 
• become educated domestic violence and what shelters/other forms of support are in your community

The statistics regarding the prevalence of domestic violence are heartbreaking. As the presenter said, "If domestic violence was the flu, we would be mobilizing."

Date Vinegar

On Friday, I tried date vinegar for the first time. Before I moved here, I did not know that such a thing existed. Thanks to the knowledge of Iraqi refugees, we are able to make date vinegar at the Iskashitaa office. (I have also learned that they make apple vinegar in Iraq, too.)

A little over a month ago they started the process with some immature dates. They washed the dates, removed the stems and vines (which were composted) and then filled large coolers with a mixture of dates, water, and yeast. This mixture is then left in a tightly closed container for at least 45 days. The coolers have been sitting outside the office ever since mid-December, and on Friday it was time for the first taste.

During the day on Friday, several Iraqi refugees came by the office to check on the date vinegar. Everyone who was there sampled it. I was surprised at the taste; I expected it to be bitter and/or unpleasant, but it wasn't at all. It was fizzy, and it had a flavor I don't know how to describe. (I will make an effort to think of a comparison the next time I try it.)

We have since replaced the bricks on top of the coolers, and as I understand it we will be leaving them out for a while longer until the vinegar is completely done.

Here are some pictures from the day the vinegar was started. All the photos are taken from the Iskashitaa facebook page. 

Dates on the vines. 

Five containers of dates have been fermenting since December. 

most likely to succeed

Last weekend I went to Flagstaff for a retreat with the Wesley Foundation. One of the devotions we did mentioned the idea of success. Our culture is obsessed with success. We go to school and to work so we can "be successful." We give up time, money, relationships, health, and more, all in the name of success. But what does it even mean to be successful? Does it mean having a lot of money and a comfortable lifestyle? Does it mean earning the highest degree from the most prestigious school? Does it mean finding the most marriage-able significant other or searching for fairy-tale endings? Is it still success if you have these things, but feel empty inside?

What are we willing to sacrifice to become successful? How do we know when we have "reached success?"

These ideas resonated with me, especially since as a high school senior I was voted "most likely to succeed." Who knows how collective these decisions really are, but that hasn't stopped it from putting pressure on me from time to time. Sometimes I would wonder to myself, but what if I'm not successful? What if I am a complete failure? I would feel like I had somehow thrown my life away, going from "most likely to succeed" to "utter failure."

I think this is why defining success is so important. If I don't take the time to think about the meaning of success, I will become swept up by the definition of success based on cultural and media ideas. I will subconsciously think that status symbols like money, fame, prestige, level of education, attractiveness, and so on are the marks of success.

In reality, I do not think attaining any number of these things brings true success. I have found that when I do not have a growing relationship with God (and if it isn't growing it's fading--there is no in-between), I feel inexplicably empty, regardless of how many marks of worldly success I have under my belt. And if I feel empty, even with the world saying, "Look how successful you are!", well, I think they're wrong.

I think success is feeling whole, and I think feeling whole comes from healthy relationships with God and with other people. I think success is being willing to struggle and strive to keep going, even when it seems like nothing matters. I think success is having faith in your darkest and most hopeless moments, the type of faith that is merely a belief that someday you will have hope again. And for this kind of success, for a relationship with God, I hope I am willing to give up everything.

I might not be most likely to become a CEO, a politician, a model, a famous scientist, or a movie star, but if I am defining success as being whole through God, as having a willingness to struggle, and keeping faith in the darkest times, then with God I am most likely to succeed.

Sidenote: know I have not posted yet this year; I have many things to share and hope to give these updates ASAP!