What about The Snowdrop ministry?

Sojourning in a Different Land

Earlier this year my sister wrote me that my friend Joni Eareckson Tada had spoken in chapel at Westmont College, the liberal arts college I graduated from way back when. I got on line and was able to view her talk from my kitchen table in Ankara, Turkey. As she finished with a challenge to students to be salt and light and servants among those who are impacted by life-changing disabilities, I kept crying out “Yes, LORD. Yes, LORD!” I began to pray for the ones who were hearing from the Holy Spirit about their futures and for the ones who had yet to hear the call but would one day.

Thirty-one years ago God spoke to my husband and me to be his witnesses to a world where the revelation of Jesus as LORD, His mission, His love were, for the vast majority of people, unknown. At that time and much to my surprise, I had to have my heart broken for those who were the descendants of the murderers of my great grandparents. God replaced a heart of stone with “a heart of flesh”; faith took the place of fear. Love found its way in; we moved to Ankara in 1987 to serve in a local fellowship of believers in the Messiah who came from both Muslim as well as minority Christian backgrounds.

But sixteen years ago I experienced an even greater test of my faith. On a fact-finding visit to an orphanage, I discovered over 400 children between the ages of 1 and 21 years of age being warehoused like concentration camp victims. Their crime? They had some form of disability. Some were physically disabled; others mentally impaired. Most had been abandoned by their families to the “care” of the state.. All were in desperate need: cleaning, feeding, medicine, therapy but most of all–love. Many could not speak; some were tied into cribs 24/7 and slowly starving to death. The stench of unwashed, filth-encrusted bodies overwhelmed me. But as I made my way home and threw myself on the living room floor to sob my shock out to my Heavenly Father, all I could hear were the keening sounds, the moaning, the cries of the children who never had known a moment of loving touch. (Even as I write this, I can’t keep the tears from re-surfacing)

Two weeks later, the Holy Spirit touched me again and the Snowdrop Ministry was born, (The word we use is the one in the local language for the snowdrop flower: a small bulb plant which is buried under the snow in winter only to respond to the sunlight as the stem pierces through and flowers beautifully–the first flower of spring). I’ve written more detail about this call and the vision I had in the posting, “Palace of the Poor”.

I had entered another foreign country: one where those with disabilities are considered “The Cursed of Allah” or have been fated by “Chance” (folk Islamic version of Karma) to be born handicapped, or where their only value is to test those, also Cursed–parents or care-givers– in the hope that some day God would look on the mother or father and give her extra points which might mean an entrance pass to Paradise. My team of national followers of the Messiah also entered this new “land” but their Spirit-empowered hearts and minds has meant an equipping to do the miraculous in a very inhuman setting. Coming out of poverty, poor education, rejecting environments and even disability themselves, they join with me today in standing as pillars of Light, treasures in earthen vessels, living epistles giving testimony that God so loved Every Single Person that He gave His Son—that in the Incarnation He became one of the weak ones—that whoever LEANS on Him will know eternal life and what it’s like to be among the honored guests at the King’s table.

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RICE RELIGION

“Norita, I want to bring Jeren and her two sons to the basketball game on Saturday,” skipping the small pleasantries of conversation, Nina got right to the point. “But we’ve got a problem. Both boys have muscular dystrophy and have significantly deteriorated this past year. You remember Jeren and her boys, Ahmet and Mehmet, right?”

I wracked my brain to place them. Kardelen’s “Family” has grown so much these past three years that I now have a hard time remembering each and every one of these precious ones.

“Remember, they were evicted from the hovel they were living in, and I helped them find another place to rent? Her husband left her and their two sons and ran off with someone else? They are big guys. You talked to Jeren at the zoo outing last year?”

Jeren’s face came into my mind’s eye and I nodded.

“They have gotten so big and so helpless that all Jeren can do is take care of their food and bathing. They now wear adult pampers. They never go out cuz she can’t get them into their manual chairs, and they can’t push themselves anymore anyway.

“What they really need are motorized chairs now; or at least one motorized chair. She could push Ahmet and Mehmet could work the toggles of the other one and they could get out of their tiny apartment at least—maybe to a park or to the store.

“Couldn’t you get someone to donate a chair to them? I could arrange for all of them to come to the game then,” she pleaded.

I told her that I didn’t think we could buy that chair any time soon, but that I would certainly love to go visit them with her the next time she went there.

“Jeren told me that the local political party has made contact with her and promised to buy her a motorized chair on the condition that she cover her head with traditional Islamic garb and become a member of their women’s Koranic Study group. She told me that she just couldn’t do it; that she’d lose all self-respect if she capitulated to their demands.” Nina began to explain to me the current policies of the ruling party in relation to the disabled.

“Isn’t she a Muslim?” I asked. “What’s the problem for her to wear the ‘uniform’? Several of the moms are covered. Isn’t our worker in H____ also covered?”

“Yes,” Nina nodded. “She’s Muslim, but not THAT kind of Muslim. It’s just a fact these particular people go running around acting so religious, but they are often really just arrogant know-it-alls who have no heart or humility. They have vigorously pursued people with physical handicaps for votes. People like me, you know, are a big constituency here. So many of my friends have been given cars, homes, government jobs. All they had to do was sign up to the Party, cover their heads, get their families to sign up and BAM they’re in jobs and places of power you only dream of here when you’ve been rejected all your life.

“Last month I was out with a bunch of my wheelchair-bound friends at a park. One of the other women there began mocking me because she said that I had become a Christian and now owned no home, nor car—how ironic, when you think that ten years ago when I did have a flat of my own, I was ridiculed with words to the effect that I had become a Christian in order to get the Big Goods. Anyway, she goes on to say I’m in sin and should repent and come back to Islam and I’ll be able to get a house and car like her.” She was shaking her head in chagrin.

I reminded her of the anti-Christian propaganda which had made headlines ten years ago claiming that missionaries were bribing people to come to church and change their religion by placing $100 bills in copies of the New Testament. That rumor still is alive; just last week, I watched a man who had brought his child to Streams of Mercy for a wheelchair assessment snooping around in the book cupboard where copies of the Injil we study as a team are stored. After leafing through the books, he had shrugged his shoulder and tried to force open the other cupboards where we lock our crafts materials.

“What hypocrites these people are,” Nina sighed. “As far as they are concerned we are going to be kept from blessing because we changed our religion on our identity card, but then if we do get something materially good, we have obviously sold our souls to the missionaries. Crazy.”

Upon reflection I have come to the conclusion that “Rice religiosity” is to be found everywhere, even in the so-called secular world. This world-view whether found in the USA, China or Turkey, church, temple, mosque, or workplace, is essentially materialistic. If you’ve got stuff then surely God is on your side. Actually, God is in your pocket. You are considered blessed (for the post-Christian world read successful or famous) and worthy to be “followed”. Our societies, whether free market, socialist, or oligarchic promote “faith” where personal gain is the highest good. The outcome is great spiritual poverty. Sacrifice of time (let alone money), integrity, humility, and real life-giving inter-dependence– all results of the position of “kneeling” before the Creator—are difficult to find.

In the nineteenth century western missionaries went to India. People there joined the church and were rewarded by having food and clothing and sometimes an education given them. Today we denigrate them by calling them “Rice Christians.” They came for the food and stuff, made a public profession of orthodox faith and before you knew it the church representing the Empire was filled with brown faces.

Western Christians today who work in lands where there is obvious poverty have to come to terms with their own materialism and world views in order NOT to sidetrack what God is doing by throwing material goods in the way of the Spirit. Recently several critiques have been written which call to task culture-destroying charity. “When Helping Hurts,” is just one of these. I read another article last week on someone’s blog about how short-term mission teams from the USA looking for activities to introduce their young people to which is good have been unfortunately involved in perpetrating a culture of fraud among some of the peoples they’ve gone to help. Singing choirs fill church buildings used only when the tourist teams come in order to make sure a steady flow of funds doesn’t stop.

“Rice Christianity” is not dead, by any means.

When we were working five days a week in the orphanage here among the severely mentally and physically disabled, we were accused of proselytizing by the anti-Christian propagandists. Given what they understand about “Faith” and “material well being” it made absolutely no sense to the secularist/nominal Muslims that we would go in day after day, bring clothing, wheelchairs, medicines, toys, unless our ultimate motive was some sort of material gain. We must have been trying to encourage these children to change their religion. It must be that we are paid back I the States for every person we baptize. Isn’t that the job of a missionary, after all? And so the rumors spread, making their way into books, TV talk shows, and magazine articles.

The propagandists never came to where we were, never worked alongside us, never saw what we saw, never laughed or cried with us. What is the most upsetting to me about this is that the condition of the children, the suffering that was being relieved, the long-term subtle changes in individuals which were resulting were completely ignored; instead, care for the weak was belittled.

It still hurts to remember the numerous times powerful people accused us of using the poor for our own gain. These confrontations would take place in a conference room situated 50 yards away from a room filled with severely abused disabled kids—our “kids”—and not a single one of our accusers ever stepped into the wards where we worked. We invited them to come, but, in response, got this reply,

“Oh you Christians, if we come, will we get paid big bucks like you? Actually sign us up on your roster of converts; we’re willing to play that game too.”

One of my life verses from the Bible is found in Romans Chapter 14 verse 16. “The Kingdom of God is not eating and drinking but righteousness, joy and peace in the Holy Spirit.” Walking with Jesus is not going to make you filthy rich. He asks us this question: “What does it gain a person if she gains the whole world but loses her soul?”

You might end up losing your house, your land, even your life, but you gain richness of soul beyond any other wealth; joy which lasts for eternity and a peace that covers and confirms God’s deep love for you—something that is priceless.

When the rice was finished, the Rice Christians were faced with the choice to walk with Jesus where he walked—he told his followers “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head”—or to leave like the rich young ruler, sad and hopeless.

“Rice Muslims” will be faced with the same dilemma. In fact, some of the handicapped people we know who covered up, joined the religious groups, became party members, have already shown signs of discontentment. They’ve taken off the headscarves and quit going to the meetings. For one reason or another the “Stuff” didn’t have enough power to keep them in the fold of the faithful.

Their deepest needs are still righteousness, joy and peace in the Holy Spirit.

Jesus, The Message from Matthew Ch.6:

“What I am trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so that you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and how he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how He works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.”

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Besh Kurush (The Nickel)

Besh Kurush (The Nickel)

Sometimes,
Most of the time,
Ninety-nine percent of the time
I walk to work lost in thought.
Eyes open
Not seeing
On my way to somewhere else
On the way to production
Hurried,
Worried
Shut away
Crowded city streets
Distracting,
Disillusioning,
Tunnels to traverse
Travail and Suffocation
Blind and deaf

“Who is so blind as My Servant?”

Behold–A besh kurush piece!
Of no consequence this
Of little value there
Tarnished
Crusty
Caught

Captured in the half shadow
Of cracked
Of broken
Of grays and brown
Pavement
Sidewalk
The remains of today
Angoran Wonder tomorrow.

“Hah! I see you, little one.”
I whisper to the ground.
But walk past.
No time,
A Distraction.

But Something ….
I stop,
Turn,
Retrace steps to

Stoop,
And pick it up.

Feeling its weight
In the palm of my hand,

Rubbing off the dirt

Peering,
Examining,
Smiling with pleasure
Immune, if for a moment,
From the mocker perched on my shoulder.
“What a find!”

“And so you are,”
Stillness speaks.
“A veritable treasure,
In the palm of My hand.
I gave everything for you
And would do it again in a heartbeat.
One worth dying for,
One worth walking with,
One worth building My future with.

I see you and you are Mine
Forever.”

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A Lenten Cry

The Battleground

So here I am again, Father
Shattered anew
By the shouting
Impaled by the false accusations
Struck back by the complaint,
The blame.

So here I am again, Father,
Angry and self-defending,
Overwhelmed by this hopeless emotion,
Fist clenched at the bitterness
The belittling.

I don’t have that gift of tongues,
Not the tongue that brings enlightenment,
I don’t have that gift of tongues
Not the word that brings Your healing
No, what erupts is coarse complaint,
Projectile cursing,
Imperious judgment.
Acid condemnation,
The defensive cry, contemptuous and cruel,
The dissonant note which skewers heart and soul.

Father, I aimed to win
And lost more ground than I could fathom.
And in the fray,
I lost my way, my joy, my goodness.

(Spoken in a loud whisper)
After all these years nothing has changed,

(We rise and speak to those sitting next to us)
You belong to the Father
You are safe within His heart
You belong to Jesus who has purchased this right
You are carrying a treasure
The Holy Spirit, his Light
There is no condemnation to those in Christ Jesus.
Stand up and fight!

(Shout together.)
Deliver us. Deliver us. Deliver us from Evil.

That I may turn and in the turning, find love.
Turning, turning, turning toward You,
Leaning, leaning, leaning on You
Listening, listening, hearing Your voice
Standing up again,
Finding power in that choice.

Letting go of all anger,
Letting bitterness die,
Hearing no condemnation,
In Your words are no lies.

Resting, resting, resting in Your embrace
Looking up, looking in, gazing into Your face
Standing on our Holy Ground, my inheritance true
Finding grace
In this place
Of contentment with You.

(Spoken together as we stand before the Cross)
Your blessing makes a way in the wilderness of self-preservation.

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I love you, Lord.

One of my various responsibilities is to write reports to organizations and individuals who have joined us in partnership to serve the least of the least here. The years have taught us how to quantify the work we do and the results and challenges we face.

Today I finished writing the fourth quarter narrative report for the Kardelen Ministries in Turkey. As I re-read what I’d written and looked at the photos we sent, my heart overflowed with a song of gratefulness. Our Father in the heavenlies is so good and His faithfulness to the heart which cries out is everlasting and secure.

Kardelen- “The Snowdrop”

Quarterly Report for Period: _Quarter 4

This quarter our three community outreach teams in the Ankara region have been able to:
a. Personally visit 33 families where the children or parent or both were affected by sickness and disabilities.
b. Phone 35 individuals living in institutions or villages more than 100 miles away from Ankara.
c. Rescue one abandoned mother of a severely disabled boy from death and arrange hospital care while she awaits surgery for cancer and failing kidneys. (see posting “Don’t give up Fatosh”)

d. Arrange doctor visits for one mother who started experiencing paralysis in hands and feet and after being taken to the hospital is now waiting for state-funded physical therapy sessions and an MRI.

e. Provide assistive care for one Snowdrop/Kardelen worker who was hospitalized due to a flare up of Hepatitis C.

f. Provide moral and physical support for one abandoned mother and daughter who were evicted from their affordable apartment to make space for the owner’s relative. Our Snowdrop/Kardelen co-worker N. has spent countless hours driving them around looking for another place for them to live to no avail at the moment. She brought them into her home for a few days then found another compassionate friend who has taken them in temporarily.

d. Provide supplemental stipends for seven individuals in order to buy special medicines which allow them to live a healthier life.
e. See 15 bona fide wheelchair recipients identified.
f. See five Snowdrop/Kardelen staff work twice a week with three mothers and their severely disabled children at Streams of Mercy where they were brought, fed, trained in sewing and in special education therapies.
g. Pray together weekly, worship at Streams of Mercy Center (average group of 10).
h. Host one volunteer team (6 people) from Webster Gardens Lutheran Church, St Louis Missouri who facilitated a birthday party complete with special games for the four children honored and two home visits with the Community Outreach Team.
i. See volunteers Dr. Richard Z. and Y. S. from the USA come and participate in our program at least once a week throughout the quarter.
j. See 22 children in the Oncology Hospital receive special attention from our Kardelen Hospital worker where she serves four days a week. She was able to have meaningful chats with both the children as well as with their family care-giver. The book “Heaven is for Real” is now available in bookstores in the major cities of this country and in the local language. We highly recommend it.

k. Personally see at least two desperate-for-love mothers receive and participate in life-affirming prayer times. There were many others who also “tasted” the goodness of God this past quarter through our visits and phone calls.

l. Help facilitate 6 radio programs on local radio which focused on issues dealing with disability and rejection and emotional, psychological health. “Hope has No limits” has now been airing on Radio Shema for more than a year.

m. Sponsor two full-rime care-givers at a long-term residential facility where nearly 25 young adults are housed and support good care for those who are often neglected in the institutions. I will be posting a new article when I hear the outcome of a critical “whistle-blowing” issue by one of our care givers. Food for major prayer at the moment. Please join us in asking for truth and justice to prevail in this place which I cannot name here for security reasons.

“Lord, we love and worship You who hold all creation together in the Messiah. You have held us together and continue to make a way for us when it seems impossible and too great a task. May your Will be done and Your love be known everywhere and in every place in this land.”

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The Number One Emotional Problem both outside and inside the Church.

Reblogged from Mario Murillo Ministries:

Click to visit the original post

What is the greatest emotional healing that we need?

                                                                          

 The Orphan Heart

“I've been around, you know? There was a time I could see. And I have seen, boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there is nothin' like the sight of an amputated spirit, there is no prosthetic for that.” -Colonel Frank Slade in 

Read more… 1,815 more words

Read this today and thought about the numbers of young people and adults who want to do something significant for God but who are carrying around "an orphan spirit." While I might not agree with everything Mario says, I think the truths he reminds us of are essential for much-needed inner healing.

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Don’t Give Up, Fatosh! (follow up from ‘Home for the Holiday’)

It’s been one week since I returned from my working trip to the USA. As I wrote in my last posting, “Home for the Holiday” I had found myself carrying the prayer burden of several families we work with in Ankara, their lives fraught with a kind of suffering I do not personally know but with whom we have chosen to share our lives.

It was with a bit of trepidation that I met up with the KARDELEN staff to discuss the various projects which we were working on. I had delegated the management to several of the co-workers. I was so pleased and relieved to see that they had done a great job of running things. More than that, the heart of loving service had been hugely evident through their various activities. I was particularly moved by what had happened out in K. with Fatosh. Moved and reminded how strange and wonderful our “Forever Family” connections are.

When I got the email telling me that Fatosh was dying from major organ failure in the hospital, I brought this need to the attention of a group of people who had gathered to pray for Turkey in Austin, Texas. That night, thousands of miles away from this desperate woman and her handicapped son, men and women who deeply cared about this my adopted country, gathered in groups of three or four to pray for the workers at Kardelen as well as to specifically pray for Fatosh. I had shared her story of grief and loss turned to hope after having a vision of Jesus and her older son Ali and how four years before she had moved away from depression right into a willingness to care for her other son who had cerebral palsy, Ali.

That evening in Austin, a man spoke out a prayer which we all immediately agreed with, “Lord, You have told Fatosh to care for her son. Spare her life that she might be able to do just that. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”

I heard nothing about her after that until I went in to the Streams of Mercy Center to talk to our co-worker, Nina:

Norita, believe me; I had no hope for Fatosh. When I got the phone call from Soraya, the woman we’ve hired to care for her and her son out in the village of Kasha, I phoned a friend of mine who offered to pick me up and bring me the 100 or so miles out to where she was. I was out of gas and out of money and had no way to get to them otherwise. Vittal is one good friend who often comes to my aid when things are tense. God bless him.

Anyway, we arrived in the village only to learn that someone had sent for an ambulance and brought a very sick and apparently dying Fatosh back to the little hospital where she’d had surgery the week before. I didn’t even get out of the car (you know my wheelchair is light but still it’s a hassle sometimes) and off we drove to the hospital. That’s about 45 minutes away.

When we got there, Soraya met us in the lobby. “Nina, please pray. Fatosh almost died today before getting here. She’s in intensive care right now, but it looks really bad.” I knew that Fatosh was not well. After all, we’ve been buying medication for her for tuberculosis treatments for years. But what I learned about her general health was so upsetting then I could hardly take it in.
Fatosh has developed diabetes which has gone untreated for so long that she had major damage to the vessels to her heart and kidneys. The week before she had gone into hospital where they had evidently opened her up and managed to clear away some of the occlusions to her heart but were waiting to do more work on her kidneys. After a couple of days in the hospital she’d been sent home to Kasha to rest up and recuperate before the next treatment.

That morning she’d complained of feeling worse than normal. Soraya had helped her to the door to get to the toilet when Fatosh had passed out on the floor. Lying there, her stomach had appeared to be growing larger. Soraya had phoned Nina to ask for her to come out and help, phoned an ambulance from the city to come out, then went to the neighbors for more aid. Several came out and suggested that they put Fatosh in the back of their car and bring her to town; there was no time to waste. One look at the woman on the ground and they knew that her ashen, gray face was not a good sign.

“’No, let’s wait,’ Soraya continued telling the story. “Something inside of me told me that we should wait for the ambulance. When they finally arrived, however, Fatosh was really gray. They took one look at her and her belly and said that she was having internal bleeding. The doctors just told me that the med students who had had the job to sew her up last week botched the job and the stitches supposedly didn’t remain stitched!!

“Anyway, no sooner do they put her into the ambulance that they see that her heart has stopped. They use one of those electric machines and apply shock to her. Nothing happens. I am screaming at her to hold on, not to let go. They apply the shocks again and her heart starts beating again and off we drive. She should have died, but came back at least for now.”

When I asked about Ulash and where he was and how he was going to get cared for since he couldn’t walk, talk or feed himself, Soraya told me something that brought so much peace to my heart.

“Nina, our village has completely decided to care for them whenever I can’t be doing all the jobs. Why this year we petitioned as a village for the Governor’s Office of the province to come out and fix her terribly leaking roof. After this was agreed upon, they chipped in and painted her two rooms. One of the neighbors paid the ambulance fee and all of them have set up a schedule for bringing Ulash to their homes, feeding, changing and caring for him while his mother is in the hospital. Everyone loves them.”

I gave God glory then again for this woman and for the entire village. I thought about how I had been fearful about Fatosh and Ulash being there in the past, thinking that people were so superstitious and nationalistic. Now I knew that God had brought my friends to exactly the right place.

For the next two nights it was touch and go for Fatosh. I got a room at a hotel so that I could be close by and went to look in on her every day. I also wanted to support Soraya who was her practical nurse.

The third day when I rolled into the lobby, Soraya was waiting. “She’s been taken out of Intensive Care. I just spoke to the doctor who says that Fatosh is a living miracle. She still has major issues with her kidneys but is up and talking and eating.”

I had to see her for myself. I guess all the tension and fear of the past few days got the better of me, because no sooner had I come into the room and set eyes on her emaciated body that I started crying.

“Nina, please, don’t cry,” she called out. “Look, I’m alive but you need to know that I am not afraid of dying. Actually the thought of going to heaven to be with Jesus and Ali is a wonderful one.

“When I was lying there on the ground, my soul left my body. I could see everyone down below crying and wringing their hands. I saw the ambulance come and the men putting the machine on me. I didn’t feel anything, just peace. But then I heard Soraya crying ‘Don’t leave us. Ulash needs you. Your son needs you.’ And I knew that I still needed to remain for him. Jesus had told me, hadn’t he? ‘Fatosh, your son needs you. Look after him.’ So I came back. The doctors say that I am getting better somehow and will be ready to return to the village soon. Please don’t cry. I’m not afraid at all.”

Norita, she is physically speaking so sick, so full of problems and things which don’t work right in her body. But she is ALIVE and ready to look after her son. I can’t figure it out other that to say. God’s ways are NOT ours. You need to write all the people who were praying for her and tell them just what prayer does. It’s a mystery but it sure makes a difference.
———————————————————————————————————————————–
I sat back in my chair so aware again of the invisible spiritual network I am a part of. From Ankara to Austin to the farthest corners of the world where people know that the Kingdom of Heaven is the one “place” that has no physical or spiritual limitations!! Don’t give up; hold on. Whatever the Father has told you to do; whatever your call He is able and willing to martial the angels and the brothers and sisters for His Glory.

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