New in the Middle of Old

I’ve woken up to a crisp, sunny day filled with chirping birds and vivid flowers.  It’s New Years Day here—welcome to the year 2000, Ethiopia!  Yes, I’m getting the chance to celebrate the Millennium twice!  Strange, I know, but hey, I’ll get to tell my grandkids that I survived Y2K twice (and then they will be certain that granny Sara is senile!!).  Last night I was safely in the house when the clock chimed, but I could hear the roaring cheers of crowds ¼ mile away.  There’s been a lot of build-up to this long-anticipated day, and many people have hoped for major changes in the country.  The city has been festooned in a merry, random smattering of green, yellow and red (the national colors)—flags, lights, banners, and bows that add bright spots of color everywhere you look.
Yet as soon as I step out the door this morning, I will be confronted with all that is not new and fresh and fair and right in our world.  People will yell “feringe!!” (foreigner) at me; the rusty, jagged roofs of thousands of dilapidated tin shacks will stretch out as far I will be able to see; beggars wrapped in tattered dark green blankets will hold out their hands to me and say, “Sister, money, money!”. Most of the huge events that were planned to celebrate the Millennium have been cancelled.  Cost of living has been sharply driven up over the past few months, so in reality this day that is supposed to be greater than all other New Years Days will be less because few people can now afford to celebrate.  I will think about our two project beneficiaries who are losing the struggle to live, and again I will feel that the problems of our world can never be repaired.
Twice this week I’ve been asked how I handle living here, how I deal with the poverty and disease and need that we face specifically in the project, and how I can keep doing this work.  My answer is usually two-fold: simply put, many times I can’t deal with this.  I want to fix all that is messed up, and I can’t—every day I’m confronted with the depth of my inadequacy.  So sometimes I crumple and want to get on the next plane out of here, I want to go back to a world of comfort and I want to forget all I have seen and smelt and heard and touched.  But the second, overarching answer is simply that it is not ME who does this work: it is the astounding, abiding, persevering work of Jesus, the One I believe can bring redemption to this world.  I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but my hope is that one day, someday there will be justice and joy—He has promised that, and if I didn’t believe it, there is no way I could do this work.  Jesus is the newness, the life, in my old, dead body—and He is the hope of newness and life for this place.
So today we will press on.  A few coworkers and I are taking the orphans in our main project site out for lunch.  Like most places all over the world, holidays are meant to be shared with family.  These kids, though, no longer have family—we are a poor substitute, but we hope to show them that the project cares for them and we long for their lives to be rich and full.  We won’t have anyone bilingual staying for lunch, so it promises to be a fun time of “What? Huh?  You want to drink what??”  We are looking forward to it and hope the kids are too☺
Maybe this, too, will be a new start of outreach to these often-forgotten ones—may the newness of life crush the oldness of death!