Lisa Borden

Christmas in Review: The God Who Gives a Damn

Lisa Borden — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 01:28:52 -0800

So much brokeness all around.

Can I begin to understand the new air raids between Israel and Palestine?

I can't.

My Tanzanian colleague, Philemon, lost his dad this morning. He was about 58 and riding his bicycle when an out-of-control taxi van hit and killed him.

If it hurts me to think about their loss, how do they feel?

Last week, a depressed guy in LA dressed up as Santa and took a handgun to a party at his ex-in-laws and killed 9 people.Shootings become "common" and that only compounds our sorrow.

The current economic disaster reveals a broken system and a habitual effort to satiate our souls with more.

Money and stuff. They don't actually heal our hearts.

The people of Zimbabwe are starving slowly. They are dying of cholera in the face of a leader who says there is nothing wrong.

We wait and wonder how long it can go on.

Creation is sick.. so sick. God made systems that heal themselves and honestly, she IS trying. The coral reef is showing healthy signs of life after the damage of the big tsunami. But, God bless her, she can't heal herself when we injure her continually and deeply.

Wars drag on. Rape is a weapon. It's not even rare anymore.

I feel like throwing up.

But, in this welling pain, I remember a stable. I remember a baby.

A friend of mine is a hospital chaplain. He recently stood with parents who had just lost their 25 year old daughter to a massive stroke. In the face of the loss, the mom wondered why she felt so torn up inside when it was a simple matter of the universe taking back her daughter. There was oneness. Why should it hurt?

She answered her own question. "Frankly," she said, "I don't think the universe gives a damn."

A baby was born to bridge the divide. To reach out through our pain and lead us home.

This Christmas, I am aware of much pain.

This Christmas, I am thankful for a baby who came to let me know that there is a way through it.

I'm thankful, this Christmas, for Hope. I'm thankful for Joy. I'm thankful for a redeeming, restoring, renewing, celebrating God.

These things are living gifts that comes quietly from The God Who Gives a Damn.

Giving Thanks in Africa

Lisa Borden — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 14:45:25 -0800

“Give thanks to the Lord for he is good. His love endures forever.”
Psalm 136:1

In the countries where I have lived over the last 20 years, Thanksgiving rolls around unnoticed. There are no cartoon turkeys on decorations in the shops and no children wearing pilgrim hats as they re-enact the feast from long ago.

Yet, unlike a list of other North American holidays, Thanksgiving is one of only a few special days that we have transported with us into our lives outside of our passport country.

Why is this? I believe we’ve chosen to remember Thanksgiving because giving thanks is a celebratory and realigning spiritual activity that brings us back to the basics. Thanksgiving encourages us to shed some stress and take time to reflect on the goodness of God.

I sometimes wonder if Thanksgiving might be the only relatively modern holiday that is actually mandated in Scripture. Of course the Scriptures haven’t actually asked us to commemorate the hard-won survival that those pilgrims achieved through that first year on America’s rough shores. The Bible does, however, command us over and over and over again to “give thanks.”

As we know, the Thanksgiving holiday is not just about assessing our material circumstances and being grateful for bounty. Thanksgiving is about the pause to process what we have been through and where we are now. The pilgrims were, obviously, thankful for the bounty of food they could prepare. But they were thankful for it precisely because they had been through so much. A bitter winter with ravenous disease and a severe lack of food and good shelter had taken a harsh toll on their small community. Greatly reduced in number, they had come through these and learned how to survive in their new environment. Though it had been extraordinarily tough, they recognized God’s care for them.

In my own life, I certainly see God’s care most clearly when I look back. I see how he took us to Africa with one organization that immediately went belly-up but allowed us enough time in Nairobi to build relationships that led into a very positive two-year internship. This internship was deeply significant in our lives and we could not actually have signed up for it from the States.

I see how the fact that we couldn’t conceive our third child for an entire year was a major blessing because, unbeknownst to me, we were about to experience a total house-fire that would reduce our home to a shallow pile of ashes. The months after the fire were filled with hard work in very simple circumstances and I was thankful to not be pregnant or caring for a newborn. When the new house was completed, I conceived and another wonderful boy joined our family.

My husband likes to say that when he looks back over seasons of life in which he felt that he was just bumbling along, he can see how clearly the Lord was leading him. In retrospect, he sees God’s hand on the back of his head like a parent who guides his toddler wordlessly through the grocery store with a gentle touch.

But we don’t tend to naturally take time to look back. We need the pause to see things. We need the reminder to recall.

The Children of Israel would gather and intentionally recall the Lord’s faithfulness to them. I love the way Psalm 136 calls out examples of His care, punctuated by the group response, “His love endures forever!”

God actually instructed them to do this. Old Testament passages ask them to remember his work on their behalf and tell of it to their children’s children.

Looking back allows us to look ahead with confidence even into unknown terrain. At 44 years old, I could move to my 6th country of residence with a firm expectation of God’s care because I could see his provision and attention to detail in the 5 different nations I have lived in before.

Lamentations 3 says:

“Yet this will I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is his faithfulness!”

Currently, our area is in desperate need of good rain. I lean into prayer for Tanzania holding onto the memory of dancing in the rain with African friends when other droughts were broken. I look ahead with expectation and the assurance that God cares about weather patterns.

This week our family will gather with a small handful of friends and eat baked chickens with homemade stuffing and mashed potatoes. We will make pumpkin pies out of whole pumpkins bought from the veggie ladies who sell their produce along the road and we will hopefully find some fresh whipping cream in our tiny little local shop. We will definitely enjoy our feasting.

But what we will enjoy more will be the recollections of God’s faithfulness in our lives. Those stories, told around our table on a warm evening in Africa, will continue to give us the hope and confidence that we need to walk into the years ahead.

Of Fire and Loss and People Far Away

Lisa Borden — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 04:34:13 -0800

It's never good to wake up to several emails saying things like, "Just want you to know that your boys are O.K." or "The fire is approaching campus but they are all in the gym."

Don't get me wrong. I am tremendously thankful for a handful of people, (most notably Tanya, Jenelle and Kjaere) who went into over-drive to give me frequent news of Jesse and Trevor's safety, mood and whereabouts.

But I am ahead of myself.

On Thursday, November 13th, at about 6pm California time, a wild fire broke out in the hills above Westmont College in Santa Barbara, (Montecito, to be exact.) The cause of the blaze is unknown at this time. What is known is that the 70 mile per hour winds took the fire and whipped it into a fast and furious inferno that engulfed the college and destroyed 14 faculty homes as well as a significant portion of one of the residence halls and several smaller buildings.

Within moments of smelling smoke and then spotting flames, the student body and everyone else on campus, was in the fire- proof gym where they ended up spending the night. The blaze ripped through campus and then up into the Riviera area of Santa Barbara and has (so far) taken at least 70 homes down in its 2,000 acre path.

Westmont students are off campus now, scattered here and there. They are waiting to hear if classes might resume by next Wednesday.

Those are some of the sparse details.

It has been 16 years since we lost our home in Loita to a fire.

I remember the surreal feeling of knowing that the house was gone. I remember the oddly pleasant feeling of lightness when I pondered the fact that I really didn't HAVE anything. (Painful but strangely good at the same time.)

Of course, I had everything that truly mattered. I had Byron, Jesse and Trevor and the 4 of us together made a wealth that nothing else could touch.

But all the little things were gone... The ring my mom gave me when I turned 11... The letters from my grandfather who lived in West Africa for 40 years... The baby blankets my grandmother had made for the boys... The note Byron wrote me on the night Jesse was born... The stuff of life, no more.

The loss of place is a more elusive feeling to deal with. There is a sacred nature to the shelters we call home. This is where we live and breathe and laugh and kiss and have our arguments and welcome our friends and make our tea and lay our tired selves down in the cool of night. This is where we grow and where we find the safety to dream tomorrow into being.

This space called home is nothing less than a holy place.

Today, I am thankful that no lives were lost. I am thankful for a well-planned emergency response and a dedicated crew of courageous fire-fighters. There is just so much I am thankful for.

But I am also sober and mindful of tender things. I don't know who all lost home Thursday night. I do know that my friends, Russell and Allison, lost theirs.

I know how much loss they have already experienced in the last few years. I know that cancer took their lovely teenage daughter and then raged in Allison's body as well. I know that they have been rebuilding life as a three-some with their son, Travis.

And now home is gone. The place where they tended gently to their dying daughter and escorted her as far as they could go as she slipped away from them has "gone with the water" as the Maasai would say.

My Maasai friends came to sit with me when my house burned down. Over the next couple of weeks, my friends would arrive with a bag of sugar or a bowl and spoon or some other gift, and sit quietly with me. If I was busy with the work of living in camping mode, I would pause to receive their companionship.

Jesse and Trevor said they saw Russell working hard all night to help the evacuated students. When they passed him on their way out the next morning, they asked after his house. It hit them hard to realize that he was serving others while his own home was burning down.

I guess I wish I could sit with Russell and Allison today.

No need for words. "What good are words now?"

Just the unglamorous gift of presence.

The World was Watching as the U.S. was Voting

Lisa Borden — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 00:21:06 -0800

Tanzania is pretty far away from the United States.

Still, Tanzania was holding her breath last week as the U.S. went into elections.

I was by myself in our bedroom when the electoral count on the BBC website jumped from 207 to 297. I was pulling my jeans on and calling out to my empty house, "Hey! Doesn't that mean he won? Doesn't that mean he won?"

Yes, that meant that Barack Obama had won. So I jumped into the car and drove through our early morning traffic to a gathering point in town where I could hear his acceptance speech live. (And I would have jumped into my car to hear McCain's speech as well, lest you wonder.)

There were over 100 expats in the restaurant and we were certainly not all Americans. There were Dutch and English and French and Australian and Greeks and Canadians with Tanzanians and I don't know who all.

I'm sure I've mentioned that I have lived basically my entire adult life outside of the United States. Can I tell you that I have never experienced a scene where so many non-Americans were genuinely excited for and happy about the U.S. ?

I know that many people inside the States say, "We don't care what the rest of the world thinks. This is not about them."

Yes, some Americans do truly believe that this is not anyone else's concern.

I'm not saying that we have to agree with the conclusion the rest of the world came to early on in these elections about who they would like to see in the White House. But to think that what happens in our politics doesn't concern them is, frankly, naive.

As a citizen who loves her nation-- the most powerful nation on the planet, the less than 5% of the world's population that controls 20% of the world's wealth and consumes 25% of her resources, the country that wields power and influence on every continent--all I can say to those who want to hold to the line that this is only about the U.S. is... "I beg to differ."

May we use our influence and resources well.

Questions as We Approach Elections

Lisa Borden — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 12:01:06 -0700

Is it ok to kill babies if they aren't wanted?

I don't really think so.

But that's not the only question I have as I consider the up-coming elections.

I don’t know but... Do you that think that slashing forests and mutilating mountains and killing oceans is ok with the one who carefully created them?

I sometimes wonder if unilateral decisions to go to war might possibly feel to the Prince of Peace a little like rebellion?

And when we keep our neighbors in inner cities trapped in cycles of under privilege and lack of hope, does this feel to the Father of the Fatherless like an overt ignoring of Biblical mandates, not to mention a brazenly revealing flash of hearts of stone?

Personally, I’m against abortion. I’m particularly appalled by partial birth abortion, which is just a tidy term for “Kill the baby as she comes out but before we look into her face.”

Yet to say I will kill other people’s mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and other people’s babies with the bombs I drop, or to agree to knowingly ravage Creation to support my lifestyle, or to leave my neighbors in drastic want-- this doesn’t actually strike me as a more righteous stand.

To pillage the earth, ignore the poor and willingly go into war are issues that, along with the killing of unborn babies, I have to take very, very seriously. I just cannot pretend that this is a one issue election.

Maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe these issues don't all need equally careful consideration. I don’t pretend to have a brilliant mind.

I would, however, aspire to have a brilliant heart.

Our Stuff Has a Story

Lisa Borden — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 07:39:47 -0700

I have a lot of stuff! All this stuff has a story; a history of where it came from and where it's going once I'm done with it.

It's an important story. It's one that we all need to know because our stuff impacts the globe. It impacts people, their economies and our environment.

Here's a great (as in creative, clever, educational, challenging, helpful) little video that explains the story of all this stuff we gather and use. It's 20 minutes long but well worth your time.

Please take a break to ponder how you might love your Creator by taking better care for his gift to us: the earth and her people.

Make a cup of something you like and pull up a seat!

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

The World is Watching...(Get Ready to Vote)

Lisa Borden — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 02:55:57 -0700

It wasn’t until I moved to Kenya when I was 22 that I began to understand how truly global the audience is that watches what happens in U.S. politics. The event (indeed, the process itself) of the U.S. changing political parties, handing power from one to the other, or just replacing the incumbent president with a newly chosen one from within the standing party, is something that captures the imagination of people all over the world.

This fascination with what is happening in Washington is not necessarily due to the popularity of the U.S. Yes, her ability to hold free elections that are not marked by massive campaigns of intimidation and violence is greatly admired and envied by many. (I remember local elections in Kenya not so many years ago when voters had to line up behind the designated spot for their candidate. That wasn’t exactly what the people were hoping for in a “free and fair” election.) But that's not the entirety of it.

While our process IS a fascination and an inspiration, it is our power that causes all the world to look on as we choose the person who will sit in the Oval Office. As the single most powerful nation on the planet, our choice of Commander in Chief is a decision that impacts billions of people who will never step inside our borders. Our economy and foreign policy will literally have a felt impact all across this precious blue and green orb.

I live in an East African city that is largely built on the safari business. Over 200 tour companies operate out of this town near the foot of Kilimanjaro and a few hours drive from some of the greatest game viewing in the world. When the economy in the United States shakes and threatens to collapse, those who normally have means for an exotic vacation cancel their plans. Thousands of local people in my city alone will be negatively impacted by a fall in tourism. When I say, “negatively impacted,” I don’t mean they will have to forgo luxuries. School fees will not be paid, meaning children will be pulled from their classes. Groceries will be extremely limited and hunger will raise it’s head. Just as unprecedented numbers of U.S. citizens are losing their homes and moving into their vehicles, people in far away lands are dramatically impacted by the health of our economy.

Moreover, these same global citizens are impacted by the foreign policy of the United States. How the U.S. perceives herself in the sphere of international relations is of vital interest outside of her borders. How we choose to participate in the needs of the planet, how we understand our place in the family of nations makes a big difference to the rest of the world.

All of this is to say that our elections are important. This may seem obvious and elementary to you. But let me say this: a shocking percentage of Americans will not vote in the coming elections. Another shocking percentage will vote with very little thought put into their choice.

As an American who is proud of our free and non-violent elections, as one who knows Africans who are better informed about the politics of my passport country than I sometimes am and who certainly have a healthier respect than many of my countrymen for the sober responsibility we have to cast our vote, may I just urge you to participate in this globally important event?

If you feel uninformed, do some home work. My English sister-in-law, who has naturalized to become a citizen, says she has done a lot of independent study and a lot of praying and soul searching in these months leading up to the elections. She has put in the effort to prepare herself and she’s ready now to mark her ballot.

We have been given a gift in the form of our right to vote. The world is watching to see how we steward that gift.

The Contours of a Calling

Lisa Borden — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 08:37:18 -0700

Calling... it's a concept that I've not been able to define very clearly. Even after choosing to live cross culturally for 24 years, I feel sort of vague about what the word means.

I think this is because "calling" can come in such a beautiful array of shapes and shades. I know people who can confidently say, "I was called to (some specific spot or people group) when I was 10 years old." Others say, "I received the call during my first year in college," or "...at Urbana," or whatever.

But that's not really how it was for me.

I was raised by parents who were in full-time ministry. For 8 of my growing up years we lived in Europe, splitting time, 4 years and 4 years, between Sweden and England. It was great. I loved each place.

When I was just shy of 12 we moved to Southern California and I settled in for the bumpy ride of a 7th grader finding her way in a city that didn't feel anything like London. I skipped a grade upon re-entry to the United States (because I had been in the English educational system) so I was young for my grade. My new friends wore a little make-up and some even had boyfriends. Yikes! This is re-entry shock for a 12 year old :-)

Ten years later I was on a plane for East Africa with my husband. I was fresh out of college and all ready for the adventure ahead. But when in those 10 years between re-entry and exit again did I receive a calling to Africa? I had never been to Africa? I had been a big city girl my whole life. Stockholm, London, LA--those were the places I knew.

You know what? I can't mark a date or place for that grand event. What I can tell you is that I willingly walked a trail that led me here.

First of all, I knew by virtue of my personality and gifts that I was called to a life of service. I thought maybe nursing was a good option as it could take me anywhere. But my high school science grades told me I was probably wrong about that. My calling had little shape at this point. I would serve others... somewhere, some how.

I met a boy in college (always dangerous) who was raised a missionary kid in East Africa. I found him to be attractive beyond belief. He was sincere, loved conversation, was wild about God, passionate about knowing Him, and pretty darn set on getting himself back to Africa some day. He was also cute and a good kisser.

So I was hooked! What can I say?

In all seriousness, though, we found an easy friendship and great joy together. As we came to the conclusion that we wanted to be together F-O-R-E-V-E-R, we made no assumptions about where we would live when. We spent our first 2 years in Santa Barbara while I was finishing my degree. We looked carefully ahead at what we might do after I graduated and, after a few false starts in a few directions, we settled on a 2 year commitment in Kenya. We asked God specifically to speak to us during those 2 years about a long term commitment to cross cultural ministry.

He spoke. We stayed. We've loved it.

But my point is this: my calling looks more like a pathway that I have traveled and found life-giving. Because it has been life-giving, challenging and fulfilling, I've stayed upon it. Should I say that I am called to Africa? I don't know. I know that since first meeting my husband I've always wanted to be wherever he is.

And here's something amazing: we left Africa in 2000 for a 7 year stint of service in Europe. Did Europe feel like home to him? Not even a little bit. One of the main reasons that we left Africa at that point was because my husband longed to see gifts that were not being used in me come into a season of growth. He saw things in me that needed room to flourish and he knew that a remote range of hills in a corner of Kenya was not going to bring those things out. I guess I just include that to say that this life together has not been about Byron. It never has been.

God has nudged us forward into new places of challenge and grace over these last 24 years. All along the way, He has cared for, blessed and given us joy. I believe that He could have used me in other ways in other places. I believe that He has spoken to others much more specifically about where they are supposed to be. And I believe that there is much grace for every journey and that some callings come in little steps.

I'm thankful I didn't have to know my path as I flew out of LA and toward Africa all those years ago. And I still find that I often understand my path most clearly when I'm looking back over it.

For more ramblings on my calling, see my personal blog here .

The Sometimes Painful Path Called Cross-Cultural Living

Lisa Borden — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 04:05:49 -0700

Warning: I have a feeling I might sound cynical in the post.

Disclaimer: I don't mean to be. I just don't want to beat around the bush.

OK, maybe it's just because every Christian young person I know right now in the States wants to come to Africa "for the children" that I'm feeling a stirring to rant a little about cross-cultural living. Here it comes...

Making the choice to leave what is familiar and go take up residency where it is not familiar is not a game we play because we got high at Christian camp. (Ouch. That was harsh.)

This is not a vacation/adventure that is designed to ease my guilt about the fact that a vast majority of the world lives on less than $2 a day or that millions of people die every year without ever knowing the freedom and fullness of Christ.

As much as I resist talking about "calling" I have to say that cross-cultural living is, in fact, a calling.

Why is it a calling? Well, for starters, it's not for everyone. I don't believe that God is asking everyone to pack up and go somewhere else.

I believe that God has wired some of us for this set of challenges. Others he has wired for the challenge of 9-5 or 8-6 or 7-7 or whatever it is in L.A.

Disclaimer #2 You may not opt out of cross-cultural living based on the above observation. You're going to need to seriously consider whether or not you are called out before you settle into life where you already are.

Let me go straight to the point. Living cross-culturally is hard. Hard as in difficult. Difficult as in painful. Painful as in traumatizing.

Some times I think that the bottom line is this: opting to move out of the culture where you are most at home and to willingly place yourself in a culture other than the one that considers you an insider, is to knowingly choose to live a life in which you will always feel dumb and never totally at home.

Dumb because I will never pick up all the cultural clues. Dumb because I will never know all the traditions and norms. Dumb because I will never master every nuance of the language. Never totally at home because I am not an insider in my new place and I have become an outsider in my old place.

But honestly, I didn't set out to focus on the negative in this post.

What I want to say is this:

This is a serious, difficult and amazing business.

I think of it this way...

A couple of days ago our family spent about 8 hours hiking together. It was just the 6 of us traversing ground that we didn't really know. Initially, we headed up the wrong hill and ended up hanging onto a cliff with all of East Africa seeming to fall away below us. You need to understand here that I am sorely afraid of heights. I'm the kind who gets sweaty palms when her kids walk along a well-railed balcony.

I don't mind admitting to you that when we were huddled on that cliff wondering if it was possible to get all of us, including me (Mom, 45) and Heather (youngest child, 9) back down and over to the right path, I cried.

But I got over that section and we made our way successfully to the correct path. We saw things that were too beautiful to describe, really. We were hiking up a river in the desert, coming out of heat and sand and into gorges and canyons with hanging palm trees and gushing springs thundering down the cliffs.

But there was more to frighten me on the way. There were sections where we had to rock climb. Not terribly high sections, but the rushing river on the side of cliffs we were climbing, reminded me that danger was close at hand. Fast moving water or hard rocks to land on--take your pick.

At the top, the source of the river was a bowl of very high cliffs, the likes of which I have never seen. We were there together below them, lying on our backs in the warm sand and eating lunch and enjoying the moments deeply.

But we still had to get back out. I swear to you, the final 40 minutes just about killed me. By now I was tired, of course, though exultant at the wonderful day. Still, I hadn't seemed to notice on the way in (probably so relieved to be off that first cliff) that the slippery gravel path at the start of the hike was actually on a high ridge above a very rocky fall to a very swift river. It was all I could do to keep my eyes firmly fixed on the feet of my 21 year old son ahead of me and just place my feet where his had been. My husband was right behind me, speaking soothing words of strength to me.

And here's the thing. I climbed into our little tent that night 100% happy that I had done that hike. I had cried and been terrified, but I had seen things so preciously beautiful that my heart was fuller and better for having seen them. And I had bonded with a small crew of family to experience it all. We accomplished it together.

It occurred to me that this is exactly like my long life of cross-cultural living. It has had moments of terrible pain, awkwardness, fear and despair. But it has carried with it a beauty and richness of experience that I cannot even begin to tell.

At the end of the day, I have found that God gives grace for what he calls us to.

(And I'm still so glad I'm called to this.)

Zimbabwe (or How Do I Respond When Evil Prevails?)

Lisa Borden — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 10:49:36 -0700

On Sunday, June 29, Mr. Mugabe was sworn into his 6th term as the leader of Zimbabwe.

Though I have lived a good number of years in Africa, I confess to not being totally up on the sad history of this ravished country that has been pulled into despair over the 28 years that Mr. Mugabe has been in power.

This is what I DO know--

The people of Zimbabwe voted in March and their clear desire was that the ruling party exit immediately. The standing parliament and the president himself were shown to NOT BE the people's choice for their future. The people spoke up and said it was time for something new.

In the calm of the days after the election, the nation dared to believe that things were going well and that change was on its way. But the calm was short-lived.

First there were the delayed announcements that denied the opposition the right to celebrate their victory. Issues were raised in court, accusations of irregularities and rigged counts were proclaimed in the local press, and Mugabe's initial compliant posture crumbled. He became defiant.

Then the violence began. As one eye witness has said, to repeat the atrocities is too graphic for most readers. Know that rape, torture and murder have been regularly employed to convince people that they were in the wrong to vote for the opposition. And in order to ensure that you voted "correctly" in the run-off elections (that took place on Friday) the same weapons were wielded.

Mugabe ran un-opposed (the opposition boycotted) and he has now been declared the landslide winner. I suppose that's true, given that he was the only candidate.

In many ways, there will be some relief for the people of Zimbabwe now. No, their economy is not likely to improve and their difficult lives are not likely to become less grueling. They will now return to the relative calm of living under a dictator who does not appear to care at all about the people of "his" country. Maybe this will feel like a welcome end to the horrors of the last few months. Maybe this is a light, however dim, at the end of a harrowing tunnel.

But I am left confused. From my vantage point on African soil, I am broken-hearted and confused that this cycle of abusive leadership is allowed to carry on. I know that God is on the side of the poor and the oppressed and I just can't fathom how broken his heart must be for his Zimbabwean children, or why he doesn't rush in and end their suffering.

I want to be angry. I want to shake my fist at heaven and ask God what he is so busy doing that he cannot bring justice to this place where the inflation rate is reportedly approaching 3 billion percent. Could he not hear the cries of not just one or two, but an entire nation?

And I'm not even a resident of Zim. I wonder at the depth of confusion and anger amid the community of believers there who have prayed and fasted and prayed and fasted and prayed and fasted for relief, justice and change.

But this regime is being allowed to go on. The situation is so dire that even the usually peaceful Desmond Tutu recently called on the international community to intervene "by force" if necessary.

So what are my choices? I can close my eyes and ignore the painful reality of what I know the situation to be. I can open my eyes and be overcome by despair or anger or a loss of faith. But I don't really like either of these options.

I want to learn to pray for the world. Revelation promises that there is a tree growing in heaven along the banks of the River of God that sprouts leaves that are "for the healing of the nations."

It's a beautiful image...but what does it mean?

I don't know! I don't know how leaves in heaven will heal nations but I do recognize that their presence means God is fully aware of the broken state of the world. He is, after all, El Roi, the God Who Sees.

And so I call upon El Roi and remind him of his name. I ask him to be true to his nature, his promises, his heart for his creation. I accept that God's wisdom very rarely looks like what I think it should look like and I relinquish my need to understand how or why he acts and what he does and does not allow to happen on this earth.

My prayer is simple, really. "Have mercy, Son of David."

I choose to trust that he will.