This is my last day in Africa. I began this online journal to both record and share my experiences here in South Africa. I hope I have provided a clear window into the lives of many persons living in the townships of South Africa. Although we were separated by several countries, long miles, and enormous seas I felt as though you were always with me. You not only read my journals, but you journeyed with me. You were my companion on our travels to Emmaus. You were with me when I entered homes, walked through the streets and mounted pulpits. Although our journey here has come to a close, there is always work to be done.

If by looking through this window you feel an urge to donate (clothing, books, school supplies, etc) to this church, I will more than willing to lead you in the right direction. Our gifts are not simply for self, but rather for giving. Simply send an email to my account (jcaldwellg@hotmail.com) and together we can create a plan of action. I am not using this last entry to beg for money, but rather to act as an advocate. If Jesus could feed a large crowd with a small lunch, imagine how Jesus could use your small gift (socks, pencils, notebooks, etc). We have the power to change someone's life, alter a world, and build God's Kingdom.

I pray that God will bless you with the zeal to serve, the understanding to accept those who are different, courage to embrace the excluded, the determination to work for change, and wisdom to know when to rest.

This journey has been a pleasure.
I'll see ya soon

This is my last weekend in Africa. I have been here a total of 12 weeks and its seems as though time has quickened its pace. I must now gather the sum of my conversations, observations, reflections, mistakes, accomplishments and place them in my suitcase along with the number of gifts I'm bringing home to the States. I'm sure I will be unpacking its contents for the remainder of my life. I have worked with former gangs members on character building, became a regular at the HIV support group, traveled with the church's performance group for two weeks, taught a bible study on Discipleship, helped build a home with students from Northern Ireland, visited orphanages, rehabilitation centers, and clinics, preached, counseled, performed several home visitations to persons living with HIV/AIDS, and assisted with the youth and young adults. There was never a dull moment.

One of my most memorable experiences occurred with the students from Northern Ireland. They were a group of approximately 30 students that had traveled to South Africa to build homes with Habitat for Humanity and wanted to visit JLZwane Church during their stay. My infamous colleague and I planned for the students to first tour the church and then visit the homes of 4 persons living with HIV/AIDS. We also asked the students to bring care packages into the homes that would consist of basic items such as bread, olive oil, blankets, socks, meat, oranges, milk, etc. When the day arrived, the students were split into four groups and we escorted the different groups into 4 separate homes. Although there was only 1 group assigned to each home, I was to lead each group into their respective home. We spent almost 30 minutes in each home asking questions and simply listening to the stories of persons living with HIV/AIDS. It was great to see the excitement and openess by these persons. With regards to the care packages, we were amazed at the impact of such small acts (or small lunches for those that have been regular readers). Although they were extremely grateful for the food, each woman showed a high appreciation for the socks and blankets. Each admitted that their condition often made them extremely cold and having thicker blankets and warm socks would make life a bit easier. Who would have thought? Socks and Blankets!

I wont go through an indept description of each visit, but I did want to share a comment made by one of the persons we visited. After several minutes of conversations and handing over "our lunches", she wrapped herself in her new blanket and left us with lasting closing remarks. Paraphrased: "I want to thank you students for coming to visit me today. Often when I think I'm alone and going through this by myself, I will always think of this day. I will think of the day that you thought of me and decided to sit with me. Your coming here today has reminded me that I am not alone. There are people who love and care for me. Even though you are going back to your homes, you have made a difference in my life today. So I thank you and I love you." I concluded with a prayer and she warmed each of us with a hug.

Those are the moments that have defined Africa for me. I have traveled and seen many beautiful sites. I have traveled to the top of Cape Town's famous mountains, spent time in museums, made my second home at the Water Front, visited the rural areas, lived in the midst of poverty, saw the prison that held Nelson Mandela and much more. But most importantly, I have seen God here. I have seen God not only in the church or represented by clerical collars, but in the streets, in homes, and in the dark faces of those persons living with HIV/AIDS. Im going to miss those faces.

I leave you with the scripture that has become a reminder of my calling as a Christian and my obligation as a human being.

34"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.35For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

37"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

40"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' (Matthew 25:34-40)


Can u possibly imagine the difference We could make if we committed ourselves to "the least of these?"
Until next time...Which shall be our last

I am aware that I promised two more journal entries and those will appear shortly. However, there are certain experiences that cause me to write. You have journeyed with me as I probed my African identity, my calling as a minister, my mistakes as a human, and my growth as a life-learner. I could not leave without discussing what will probably be my last discovery. Through a conversation that forced me to reflect on my experience these past 11 weeks, I was reminded of a chapter in James Baldwin's novel Nobody Knows My Name; "The Discovery of What it Means to be an American."

As an "African" American, this classification implies there is something uniquely African about my lived experience in the United States. I dont deny being an American, but it hints to the idea that "something" African is infused within my experience. However, even though my national identity is introduced by this African adjective, the latter equally expresses there is also something uniquely American about this same lived experience. To some, this label as an African American does indeed signify a unique experience. To others, it gives evidence that I am not and can never stand as the ideal American.

As a 24 year old African American, I have always tried to become knowledgeable and recognize the history and accomplishments of Blacks in America and internationally. I fail to believe that Black individuals are the savages and criminals in which we are often depicted. I have often wondered, "What does it mean to be an African-American?" I find myself in Dubois' state of "double consciousness" trying to reconcile to seemingly different identities. Even in my self-questioning, I have never truly accepted being connected with a country's history known for racism, imperialism, colonialism, arrogance, Bush, etc. After all, these were acts committed by White Americans. My classification as an American did not include these atrocities. If you've ever thought the same, travel internationally. In my travels abroad, I am often reminded of the international community's disapproval of Americanism. I am often told of our ability to exude arrogrance, display narrow minds, and exhibit self-centered behavior. Regardless of my supposedly unique experience and darkened skin tone, I was still American. I could not hide behind this African adjective. To others, I presented the same atrocities in which I criticized.

On Tues night, I found myself conversing with a group of individuals from other countries and became the lone American attempting to defend our country. I first wondered if America would do the same for me. Throughout my defense, I thought about the friends I have that would never come to my neighborhood. Even in their fear of the other, to befriend me was their escape from the guilt of racism. I thought about the number of times I've been asked at parties by white strangers to show them how Black people dance. I could be easily trusted to lead a dance lesson, but a rarely a study group. I thought about the number of times Ive been told Black people complain to much. I thought about the instances when others were more interested in the size of my genitalia than my intellectual capabilities. I thought about the ignorant individual in undergrad that reminded me to thank Affirmative Action for my acceptance into Kalamazoo College. My mind traveled to Seminary when a group of colleagues complained that learning about God's providence in racism was a waste of their time and money. I was suddenly standing at the gas station in Farmington Hills late at night and saw the faces of 3 white men hanging their heads out of their car window yelling, "Black HOE!" How could I forget my basketball teammate insisting that black men smelled different. My recent memory reminded me of the Chinese-American female who hours earlier admitted her difficulty in justifying her nationality in the United States. "I am tired of being mistaken for a tourist in my own country", she complained. Even in the midst of these unpleasant memories, I was now the defender of my country; a verbal soldier of the red, white, and blue. I wondered if America would do the same for me.

I have never felt more American. America's history was my history. America's mistakes and triumphs became my own. I journeyed to Africa to learn more about the first classification as an "African" American, and yet I was given a window to discover what it means to be an American. Admitted with a sense of irony, for the first time in 24 years it was in the lobby of this hostel in the center of Cape Town where I felt like a true American.

Until next time...

As I begin to approach the last days of my postings, I wanted to offer a tribute to “Women in the Ministry”. I am not only referring to the ministry exhibited within the structured sanctuary, but the ministry women have provided within the family, on the streets, across the seas, and especially against injustices.

Yesterday in South Africa, we celebrated National Women's Day. This is an annual public holiday in South Africa that commemorates the national march of women that occurred in 1956. 20,000 women from all parts of South Africa staged a second march on the Union Buildings to petition against legislation that required African persons to carry the "pass", special identification documents which curtailed the black African's freedom of movement during the apartheid era. One flyer expressed the following thoughts:"Passes mean prison; passes mean broken homes; passes mean suffering and misery for every African family in our country; passes are just another way in which the Government makes slaves of the Africans; passes mean hunger and unemployment; passed are an insult..." The Prime Minister Strijdom, who had been notified of the women`s mission, was not there to receive them. In lieu of a meeting, the women left bundles of petitions containing more than 100,000 signatures at the Prime Minister`s door. Outside the Government building they stood silently for 30 minutes with their hands raised in the congressional salute. The women concluded their demonstration by singing freedom songs, including a new one composed especially for the occasion:

Wathint` abafazi, Strijdom!
Wathint` imbokodo uzo kufa!
Now you have touched the women, Strijdom!
You have struck a rock (You have dislodged a boulder!)
You will be crushed!


I was encouraged and uplifted by this demonstration. The women were marching not only for themselves, but for the rights of their husbands, children and entire family. They were marching for the recognition of black humanity. It also reminded me of the many sacrifices that women, especially black women, have made over the years for their families and for their nations. I am reminded of the many black women in the United States that have been involved in the struggle for equality such as Josephine Baker, Harriet Jacobs, Ida B. Wells, Zora Neale Hurston, Phillis Wheatley, Sojorner Truth, Maya Angelou, Lena Horne, Angela Davis, Toni Morrison, Madam C.J. Walker, Mary Church Terrel, Mary McLeod Bethune, Ella Baker..only to name a few. Yet when asked to recall the names of influential women in the battle against injustice the only names we seem to remember are those of Rosa Parks or Harriet Tubman. Still there are countless grandmothers, mother, sisters and aunts whose name will never be recorded in history for the sacrifices they have made for others.

Women have been the cornerstone of our society and our church. Without women, many of us would have perished years ago. Women have given many of us words of encouragement to lessons of discipline. Even the most soft-spoken women will use her lunch break to schedule an appointment to confront a school teacher that has mistreated their child. They have birthed us, raised us, loved us, scolded us, encouraged us, sacrificed for us, lived for us, and some have even given their lives for us. Women have marched on the steps of Washington, to the streets in Selma, and even on the sidewalks of South Africa. Their footprints can be seen throughout history and we are all products of their ministry. Yet even today, we deny women the opportunity to step into the pulpit. If their ministry was effective on the nations capitol, adequate for the home, sufficient against the pass laws, surely their voices should be heard within the church. Some often say that women can’t lead churches, yet in this statement they have not only limited the gifts of another human being, but limits God's church to brick and mortar.


I write because I want to encourage. If women can march in Africa, be hosed in America and face countless atrocities against the injustices of society it would uncivil, unjust and even against what I see as the gospel for me to silence their voice, ESPECIALLY IN THE WALLS OF THE CHURCH. So today and everyday, we say thanks. Thanks to women for their sacrifice and unprecented dedication. We recognize your accomplishments and even if they are not written within the history books, we shall all be living testimonies of your contributions.

In the words of Mary McLeod Bethune, "I leave you faith, I leave you hope, I leave you love."'



Until next time...

First, I must say that it feels good to converse again. I missed you all!
Secondly, thanks Denise for the favour.
Thirdly, (but certainly not least) Congrats to the Mr. and Mrs. James and Katie Fields on their recent marriage).

There has been a few interesting occurrences that have taken place since our last meeting. However, although the sermon was a few weeks prior, I did want to provide an update on the experience. Many of you gave me very encouraging words before and after my sermon. For that I am grateful. As I stated before, it was a blessing to stand in a pulpit in Africa and deliver a sermon. I wish I could locate my speech teacher Ms. Barlow and tell her that the time we spent trying to sound out syllables and tongue twisters to minimize my stuttering wasn’t totally in vain.

I have already decided that I am not going to attempt to provide an objective opinion on the sermon itself. I am extremely critical when analyzing sermons, especially my own. Also, I am not going list any comments or compliments that I received afterwards. Rather I want to share that I believe that the message of giving over one’s lunch to God was understood and received.

The most interesting portion of the experience was not only the location of the sermon, but the persons present. Aside from the congregants (South Africans), there was a group of Americans from Minnesota and approximately 30 students from Northern Ireland. This was by far the most diverse congregation I’ve had the opportunity to address.

When I was a high school student I felt God calling me into the ministry. I had several doubts, but the main factors were my age and my fear of speaking in front of others. As I sat at my kitchen table, I begin to imagine myself in a religious fairy-tale. Who hasn’t wished that one could find an answer one has been desperately seeking by opening up the Bible and reading a scripture that spoke directly to one's situation. Jokingly and with little expectations, as a sat at this kitchen table I expressed to God my fears, opened, and read the following scripture in the book of Jeremiah.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nation.”

“Ah, Sovereign Lord,” I said, “I don’t know how to speak; I am only a child.”

But the Lord said to me, “Do not say, ‘I am only a child.’ You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you….’ ”

Some may say that this was a mere coincidence or mere luck. Others may claim it was God speaking. We could debate about this for hours. But regardless of why or how it has happened, I’ve been up and running every since (especially when he wants to send me Africa).

I leave Cape Town on the 29th of August. Therefore, this time we have spent sharing with each other will soon end. However, it has been a blessing to share these experiences with friends and family. I will write a few more entries to provide an update for the past few weeks,a tribute to women in the ministry, a summary highlighting various moments of this experience, a fund-raising opportunity, and questions for further theological study. I pray that this time of sharing has been as beneficial to you as it has been for me.

Until next time….

Hello everyone,

My name is Denise Fair and I am one of Jevon's friends. I just recently conversed with him on the telephone as of last night and he asked me to post this message to all of his readers because he is currently in an area where he does not have access to a computer. He knows that you all look forward to his posts and he did not want to worry you because of his recent inactivity.

Although this is not verbatim, here is a general summary of what he wanted me to tell you.

“The internet at my job has been down and I have recently located to another part of South Africa where it is extremely rural and where there are absolutely no computers, thus no way to stay in contact with my fellow readers.

Sorry I have not been able to let you know of my whereabouts and how things are going down here. But, all is well and I will return back to my job on August 5 and will continue my posts on August 8, so please check back soon.

Until next time…”

I must admit that sometimes when I take a second to reflect on where God has brought me in my life, I can only shake my head. I am not one of those persons that claims to have been in a burning building and God revealed Godself in the flames and told me to start preaching (havent you noticed a lot of preachers have stories like that). But Ive gone through my own struggles and trials throughout the years and when I think of where I've gone and the experiences I've had, I just shake my head sometimes. It has always been a dream for me to to plant my feet on African soil. As I stated in one of my first journals, this is indeed a dream coming true. However, I learned last week that I would have the opportunity to preach this upcoming weekend and actually conduct and plan the entire service one Sunday in August. I never had preaching in Africa as one of my aspirations, but I'll add that to my list of blessings when "my cup runneth over". Because we are thousands of miles apart, I thought i would post a brief outline of my sermon.

I am using the miracle of "The Feeding of the Five Thousand" found in the gospel of John (6:1-15). If you've read my previous journals, then youre aware of the context in which I will be preaching. As a result, to not respond to these issues would be abandoning my responsibilities as a minister. Preaching to me has become more than a time to share "general" information about the gospel. Its more than just a time to flex my intellectual muscles (and they are about as slender as my physical body). I can't prepare this sermon without thinking about what Ive seen and heard. As Im writing my sermon,the computer screen not only holds black letters on a white background, but the images of those children at Golden Girls or the persons in the AIDS support group. How can I ignore them? Preaching can be a bold act for a number of reasons, but especially because it can force one to to deal with issues others normally wouldnt discuss in public. Yet if the church doesnt address these issues, its silence speaks volumes. I chose to use this text to encourage the members of this church that they have a lot to offer each other and to the community, despite their situation.


Retelling of the story
Jesus has been preaching for some time and is being followed by large crowds. Jesus surveyed the crowd and realized there was a need among the people (hunger). However, they checked their resources and concluded that they didnt have enough to meet the needs of the large crowds (Where would they get enough food to feed these large crowds). Yet there was one young boy in the crowd that was willing to hand over his lunch to Jesus. Naturally this would never be enough to meet the needs of large crowds, but...

Brief summary of Sermon:
The general structure of my sermon will be to first indicate similar needs within the community. If Jesus were to survey the crowds today, what would he see? (e.g. HIV/AIDS, children heading households, poverty, etc). I will provide personal examples of my own experiences within South Africa and within the United States. After I have proven that there is a definite need among this community and others, I will then proceed to provide an inventory of our resources. This will not be terrible difficult considering the context. Thus arises the question, "What can our small portion of resources contribute to such problems. As Andrew asked regarding the two fish and five loaves, "What are they among so many?" Hence my goal is to encourage the members of the congregation that their lives can be used as a "lad's lunch". Naturally this would never be enough to meet the needs of large crowds, but...They can be used as good starting points for Jesus. Yet we must be willing to hand over our "lunches" whenever Jesus asks.

Through many conversations I have had with members of the church and community, there are several persons living with HIV, too many children without parents, death is a norm, children heading households, deferred dreams, and the list continues. Using the words of Langston Hughes "Life for them (and for many others) ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor- Bare". Many of them may feel as though they lack the resources to be used by God. This if often a common feeling by most persons of faith. The point is not to focus on our inadequacies, but to hand over our "lunch" whenver Jesus needs it. We may not be able to sing like angels, preach like Paul, carry the strength of Samson, or possess the riches of Solomon. On the surface our contribution may seem ordinary. Maybe all we have is 2 small fish and 5 loaves.

I will then provide practical ways members of the congregation can hand over their lunches. God is one that has proven that God can use our 2 small fish and five barley loaves as a blessing to others. (I am very keen on explaining religious language and providing practical examples). It may be just common words to help encourage someone living with HIV/AIDS. It may be just cooking extra for the family next door where a child of 8 years old has become the main care taker of the home. Regardless of our situation, we have a lot to offer to God and to others. The miracle that occurred that day was only Jesus' ability to feed thousand with only few fish and 5 loaves, but their was one person that was willing to hand over their "lunch" as a starting point.

I shall let you know how it goes.

Until we talk again.............
Dont forget to bring your lunch.

I wanted to again thank those who have read my journals and also those that have provided me with words and prayers of encouragement.

These past several days have caused me to reflect a lot. Lord knows these experiences would have been great material for this journal. However, I must admit that I actually did not want to relive some of these experiences. I didnt want read my journal 5 years from now and keep reading entries filled with such despair and hopelessness. But if Im honest with myself, life around here often resolves around these experiences. Since last Thurs I have encountered the following:

- I met a women 28 years old with 3 children living with HIV. She also has a sister that has been hospitalized for the past 4 months also suffering from HIV. Her challenge revolved around home-care. When she falls ill and needs to be hospitalized (sometimes for several weeks), her children (11, 8, and 4) are left at home unattended. As a result, they dont attend school and the oldest is left to become the man of the house (cooking, cleaning, etc).
- I had dinner with a friend on Friday night and I asked her a typical question, "What are your dreams?" "Dreams", she said with confusion. "I dont have time to dream anymore. I just want to make enough money so my family and I are comfortable. During this same conversation, this woman also explained to me how she lost her father when she was young and the gentlemen she was dating for 4 years was killed in a car accident. There is not ONE day that goes by when i dont hear someone talk about death or someone's funeral.
- I was at a youth meeting and we were participating in a self-reflective exercise. We were acting out a scenario in which we were on a boat that was sinking and the "safety-boat" could only hold a limited amount of people. As a result, we were to go around the room and tell the other members of the group why we should be chosen to get on the "safety-boat". I was in a group of approximately 12 and at least 4 individuals gave the reason that if they were left behind on the sinking ship, their would be no one left in their household to work or take care of the younger children. But again, this was a YOUTH meeting! Some of them were kids themselves.
- Just when i thought I had seen it all. I found myself sitting in a room with a young girl 17 years old admitting that she was being physically abused by her aunts. Because BOTH her parents have passed away, she had been living with her aunt for several years. She then handed my colleague a letter she had written lamenting about how she wanted to committ suicide.

I could go into great detail with each of these stories. But i think i need a break from that for a few days and I think you do too. As a result, I wanted to take this time to respond to a comment because there has been one individual that has twice posed the questions “How do I cope with these experiences" and “Who ministers to me”. I think these are very important questions for us all and very appropriate for me to share.

First, I will admit that although I don’t depend solely on the words of others, it is rewarding to know the work that one is doing is appreciated. Over the years I have been so blessed to receive random emails or small notes from people who just wanted to say thanks. Most times I wouldn’t even agree that I did anything, but it does provide a sense of encouragement. I am aware that we don’t live to please others, but who can honestly say that hearing you’re appreciated doesn’t make a difference? And not everyone will always let us know by their words or actions and I think thats ok and very understandable. But every once in a while I'll recieve a small "thanks" that goes a long way. Again I don’t necessarily count on this nor do I depend on others to provide a reason for me to continue, but encouragement from others goes a long way.

Also I think balance is extremely important. For example, I have already spent a weekend in Cape town and have planned to do the same this upcoming. I’ve learned that taking time for myself is just as important as making time for others. If I'm not healthy or rested, it makes being there for others extremely difficult. You can stay at the church all day everyday if YOU want to (Lord knows I wont stop you). But as for Me, I need breaks! I need to rest, travel, and pick up a hobby or two. Even Jesus had to rest sometime.

Also, I’ve learned that coping doesn’t mean that I forget. It’s hard to forget those moments that have left deep impressions on my life. I will always recognize the different smells on my assigned floors as a chaplain working in Robert Wood Johnson Hospital. There was a distinct smell between the floor that dealt with cardiac problems and the Intensive care units. With my eyes closed, I could tell when the elevator stopped at 4T (cardiac unit). And I will never forget the rhythmic beeping of the monitors in the intense care unit either. I will never forget the face of the first dead body I saw in the morgue. I will always remember the faces of several of the members in the HIV/AIDS support group. And the faces of those children in Golden Girls has been implanted in my memory. There are some things that you just dont forget.

However, I will never forget the elderly woman that was on her way to surgery, but didn’t appear to have a care in the world. This woman began telling me that the doctors had given her 6 months to live 6 years ago! I entered the room to encourage her before her surgery, but she suddenly became my chaplain. Every Tuesday here I attend sessions at another church that teaches former gang members about character building and how one changes a particular lifestyle. I will always remember the excitement on the faces of those young men as we discussed the Prodigal Son. Or the same persons that I visit in their homes living with HIV or extreme poverty are the same persons I see in church praising God's name is if life was in abundance. There are some things you dont forget. It is easy to see despair, but challenging myself to see God in all situations encourages me immensely.

Also, I don’t think I just have one person whom I depend on to “minister” to me. I honestly don’t have one person whom I turn to for everything. My “ministers” are often very situational. The people whom I know the best or known the longest are not always the best listeners or the most sympathetic. There are certain people I know that are gifted with compassion, some understanding, others with humor and the list continues. It just depends on what I need at the moment. And I often find these moments of ministry outside the church actually. I find myself being encouraged by the man at the bus station that was just released from prison, the Hindu patient at the hospital that was highly thankful someone came to visit him in the hospital, the elderly individuals that needs someone to listen to their life stories, the friend that identifies as agnostic but has a love for people that is unprecedented. God has used the most uncommon circumstances and unexpected people to minister to me.

Any difficult walk regardless of the distance or obstacles somehow seems shorter when there is someone walking beside us. The company doesnt have to be filled with conversation or a high level of entertainment, but just to know that someone has decided to journey with us can sometimes be enough to encourage us to continue walking. And i can not express with words how much i appreciate those that have walked with me. If you have time, take a few minutes just to think about those persons in your life that have walked with you. With that said, until we talk again........Blessings on your journey.

Upon reading the title, memories of a sitcom revolving around the lives of 4 elderly white women may have slipped into your mind. You may have thought about the grandmother who always had the best comebacks. Or maybe you thought about her daughter who seemed to be the only sane one out of the group. Or you may have thought about the one that seemed clueless even in her old age. And who could forget the one with the southern accent whose sex life seemed to increase with age.

Yesterday shattered my innocent notions of “Golden Girls”. What was previously a classic comedy show I only watched when nothing else was on was the name of an orphanage for underprivileged, mentally and physically challenged children.

As I walked unto the new “set” of Golden Girls, I was not greeted by any of the elderly women, but two children standing in the doorway attempting to make sounds as to say hello. (At least that’s what I was hoping.) I was then greeted by one of the directors of Golden Girls that offered to give myself and three others a tour around the set. Now let me see if I can take you across this new set. I shall do the best I can with a keyboard and letters, but taking a picture of something one does not wish to remember is pointless and even then you would just have to see it for yourselves.

As we walked into the main room I noticed on my immediate right a kid standing on the wall as though he had been waiting for someone for several hours. His face was void of expression. He just stood with his back pressed against the wall waiting. Then on the wall directly in front of me there was another kid whose face showed signs of mental and physical retardation. This young boy was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall rocking back and forth. And it seemed as though his legs were crossed twice. I know that’s not possible, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to stare. I forgot to mention that “twisted legs” had on one pink sock.

So as my eyes spanned the room, I felt someone trying to grab my hands. I looked down to see the face that belonged to these small hands, but my eyes stopped at the top of this child’s head. I am not a medical doctor, but the patches of green soars and matted flakes are not supposed to be on his head! I wanted to let go of the little kid's hands because I am afraid that whatever is on his head had settled on his small hands. But I’m supposed to be the minister in the room, so I don’t want to seem grossed out by this child. He/She (cant really tell at this point) takes me on its own little journey of our new set. We stopped several times so she (lets call her a girl for now) could eat whatever is on the floor. We only walked about 15 feet and she stopped about 4 times already. A worker on the “set” sees this young child tugging at my hands and freed me from my responsibility.

I began talking to the director of the set when another child grabbed my hand and wanted to show me something outside. She was not able to formulate her own words, but by the force of her pull, I knew I was being called to follow. We arrived outside and just stood for a second enjoying the view of the empty playground. My new friend then grabbed a black, plastic hose. Its only about 5 feet in length, but I’m no stranger to inventing games out of nothing. This is same man who as a young boy could make a star trek ship on the side of the house using nothing but a few sticks and rocks. Despite the scarcity in materials, we had warp speed, a teleporter, and a control room. This black hose would be piece of cake. My friend grabbed one end and experience told me I was supposed to grab the other. When she began to swing her arm, I already new what time it was! I’m not afraid to admit I’m still pretty good at jumping rope. So we began to swing and another adult that had accompanied us tried to jump in. No success. The rope and my partner were too short. Then one of her friends came to join us. He seemed afraid of the rope, so I lowered the rope and encouraged him to jump over. He jumped about an inch off the ground. His right foot cleared, but his left was tripped by our black hose. Then I dared my friend to try. At this point I had forgotten I was on the “set” of mentally and physically challenged children. She tried of course. Both feet were caught by the black hose. Her face almost hit the building. Game over. It was time to go back inside.

She grabbed my hand again and somehow, I felt like I needed a bath. Mom always told me to be nice and polite, but the smell was not right and no one around me looked like they had showered in months. And the same hand my friend invited me to hold was the same one she had in her mouth for several minutes. Good thing I had my hand sanitizer in my pocket.

I saw the director of the “set” and inquired about a few things. I was told there were usually 45 kids in the one area. Inner dialogue: “How can 45 kids fit here, when these 20 are crammed in this small space?” I was also told their schedule consisted of breakfast, a bath, “sitting around”, lunch, “sitting around”, supper, and “sitting around.” Inner dialogue again: "You have got to be kidding me. I know this isn’t NYSP camp, but they can’t call this “sitting around”. It’s not like they can chat or play spades by themselves. I stood in front of the right wall to get a clear picture of this “set”. I didn’t want to stand in the view of the boy who was still waiting on someone so I slightly moved to the side. (I would take those four old white ladies over this any day). So I looked across at another wall and there was another child “just sitting” in a wheel chair. I guess he’s taking full advantage of “sitting around” time. I then looked to the wall on my left and there were two more children in wheel chairs just “sitting around”.

Then I noticed two younger girls just “standing around”. Again I’m no medical doctor but the puss in and surrounding the sores on their faces were not normal. I’ve always wondered where those nasty pictures in the doctor’s office or random slide shows during science class come from; now I know.

I have studied these four walls very closely, but most of the action was in the center of the room. There were 15 kids “sitting around” on a small piece of green material. The first thing I noticed was that they all had huge permanent smiles on their faces. Experience again told me again that just because the corners of someone’s mouth are raised and their teeth show doesn’t mean it’s a smile. I had to remind myself, “This set is for the mentally challenged.” Two children sat on one edge of the green trying to chew on each other’s shirt. I hoped one of the 3 workers was going to stop them, but I guess I was expecting too much. (Maybe I was expecting the Golden Girls of old). Then I noticed one boy that was lying on his face. He had been in that position since I first came. He was either sleep, dead, or just “sitting around”. There were two wearing helmets, but I know I didn’t see any bikes outside. I know I’m a foreigner and I don’t speak any of the South African languages, but I had never heard this one before. They all seemed to be shouting at me in some broken language. (Some crazy church folk would probably say they were speaking in tongue).


My attention was turned away from the green square down to my feet. How cute. A little boy sitting on his bottom reaching for the sky (probably reaching for my hands, but Ill say whatever to convince myself not to touch any more hands). Did I have a sign on my forehead that said “Visitor"? I was not the only adult visitor present, but everyone seemed to want to hold on to My hands.


My attention was turned to the girl sitting on the other edge of the carpet. She too was sitting on her bottom, but her head must have weighed a ton or she must have been exhausted. She was just “sitting around” with her head hanging over her shoulders. I’ve done this several times during boring lectures, but she had it down packed. She was sitting up, but sound asleep. I watched in anticipation wondering if she was going to fall over, but nope..she had it down. (So I thought). As I looked at her sleeping position in amazement, green liquid shot out from her mouth onto her chest and into her lap. Inner thought, “What in the world is going on. Am I the only one in the room that just saw that?” But…her head still hadn’t moved from its position! Apparently I wasn’t the only one that saw this. One of the workers came to assist this young girl. She scooped her up from the floor, put the little girl into another room, and cleaned up the spot.

This place was not for me! I can handle a lot of stuff, but not this. I’ve seen persons as they have taken their last breath, but this was far worse. Disabled children just sitting around in this small area everyday with deplorable sanitary conditions, little supervision, and open sores was just too much. I could not watch this any longer. As I tried to force myself to stay, I had no idea what infections or disease had gone untreated. The two girls whose sores you will probably see in your next science class was enough proof. As I told the driver that I could not take another minute of this, he agreed. As we were leaving, the little boy that was previously at my feet, reaching for the sky was now at the front door sitting on his bottom again. He tried to move out of the way by scooting across the floor. Now I took a course on child development and am aware that some children do learn to scoot instead of crawling, but again this was not your average set of Golden Girls. The little boy didn’t have use of his legs, so scooting was his only method of reaching the guy that had “Visitor” written across his forehead. So we left the through the doors and I immediately dug through the pockets of my jacket to get my hand sanitizer.

We all left Golden Girls in complete silence. My thoughts of Golden Girls would no longer be filled images of Rose, Blanch, Dorothy, or even Sophia. Golden Girls was the name of the only place in 24 years I had entered, but could not bare to stay. It became the set where the days and episodes of the mentally and physically challenged children ran together. “Sitting around” was the same on Monday was it was on Saturday. I’m guessing for many there would be no happy endings. They could not just walk away from the set if they were unhappy. Their scripts were already written. Too me, this was an episode I would never forget. But to the director, the workers, and the many children this was probably just another day at Golden Girls.


"And Jesus wept" John 11:35

First, I must apologize for the number of grammatical errors I have made during these past months. I did however warn potential readers in my very first entry that I was terrible at proofreading. So in my apology there is a slight "But at least i gave you a pre-warning." With that said, there is not much that happened over the weekend. However, you may remember that during one of my entries last week I described an experience in which i visited a woman in her home living with HIV. If you recall, we went to the house to encourage her in her fight with HIV and to also attend the Support Group on Tues. Well guess who I saw on Sunday up and about? Yep, this same woman had enough strength to get out of bed and make it to service. It was a blessing to see! Even in the most desolate situations, God is still working.

This is a busy week coming up. I am scheduled to visit an orphanage, a prison, and a gang center. And I am also going to post my thoughts on how and why I think God is present during times of suffering. This theological theme has been difficult for me to understand and I dont claim to have a complete handle on it, but i thought it would be good to write these thoughts down.

I have been studying the gospels for the past few weeks and I came across a scripture that has continued to hold my attention. Its a common scripture that Im sure many of us have read.

Enjoy......
Jesus Anointed by a Sinful Woman
36Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. 37When a woman who had lived a SINFUL life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, 38and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.
39When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner."

40Jesus answered him, "Simon, I have something to tell you."
"Tell me, teacher," he said.

41"Two men owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii,[a] and the other fifty. 42Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?"

43Simon replied, "I suppose the one who had the bigger debt canceled."
"You have judged correctly," Jesus said.

44Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, "Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. 45You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. 46You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. 47Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little."

48Then Jesus said to her, "Your sins are forgiven."

49The other guests began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins?"

50Jesus said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace." (Luke 7:36-50)



Until we meet again.......