Showing posts with label congo. Show all posts

Our Real Masisi Story

Masisi Territory

I remember typing the words “Democratic Republic of Congo” and “North Kivu” into my computer for the first time. I was 18-years-old, sitting in the living room with Jean Ngirwe and his wife Eva. They were Congolese refugees who had gotten a visa to immigrate to the U.S. with their family.

An image of vast rolling green hills popped up on the computer screen.

“Masisi Centre,” it read.

The former Congolese refugees, now a U.S. citizens and also board members for Rally International NCE gasped.

“We know that place with our feet!” They exclaimed—a funny way to say that they remember walking in the same place where the picture was taken.

My then future-husband, Andrew Roth talked to them while I continued reading about the place where the picture was taken. It spoke about rebels, land conflicts, war crimes and political instability.

The description of Masisi seemed so contrary to picture that I was looking at. The picture told a story of peace, tranquility and magnificent beauty. But the words told a story of a hopelessness that seemingly had no end to it.

I decided in my heart from that moment on, I would go there. I would work in the same place that Google image showed me.

But the Cost
Masisi taught Andrew and I more lessons then anyone could ever know.

It taught us that world was beautiful, but not kind.
It taught us that the best intentions are not enough.
It taught us that it takes a lot of faith to fear.

It also built our skills and capacity to a level that makes our resumes particularly attractive. We’ve gotten job offers all over the world in places where other people don’t know what to do. It is humbling. It is also sobering.

We bought a piece of land that we thought could be a refuge for children and youth around the community who were constantly under the threat army recruitment or being taken as child brides. We also supported the education of nearly 100 young people trying to recover from recruitment into the war. But the more we worked, the more we saw that it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough. Not prayer. Not training. Not jobs. Not education. And definitely not the best that we had to give. It was a vicious cycle of giving, never receiving and finding that whatever we gave never even touched the root issues that existed in the hearts of these youth.

Education is powerful, but it doesn’t heal.
Programs can be effective to a certain extent. But they don’t fill voids.

These children had huge voids. And the longer we worked there, so did we.

They needed to belong somewhere.
We needed to belong somewhere.

The same belonging (or lack thereof) that led the people we worked with to destroy each other was the same yearning for belonging that lead Andrew and I to nearly destroy each other and ourselves.

There is a war inside of us all that makes us adore our conquerors and despise ourselves. When we live in an environment where the conquerors' voice speaks louder than the voice inside of us, we end up becoming the conqueror.

Letting Go
We stopped working in Masisi almost four years ago in an effort to become a part of a local church where our spiritual and mental health could be nursed and nurtured. On the outside, people could say that the church needed us—but the truth is we probably needed them a lot more than they needed us.

Our marriage was crumbling.
Our finances were underwater.
And our mental and health and stability was almost gone.

Honestly, I just wanted to go home and lick my wounds. Or escape...

Traveling in Convoy to Masisi in 2013.
We didn't know that we were bringing
people who one day help us return today.
I considered killing myself.
I also had a period where I thought about Andrew dying. I thought if he died, I could just make a generous donation to the Congolese (in his name) and then move to Spain, get a new identity, new life and no one would ever know I tried to pursue the ministry.

Don’t get me wrong, there were parts of it that we loved. We loved living on the frontlines, we loved being stuck in the mud and recovering vehicles. We loved the chaos of it. We also made some our most valuable friends and relationships through it all.
But it took a toll that I don’t think either of us can really explain. And we took a toll on each other that I don’t think either of us can explain either.

A piece of me died when we decided that we weren’t going to continue projects in Masisi. We needed to invest in the church we were joining in Goma. And though we may not have admitted just then, we needed them to invest us. I felt like that was the end. We would never get back to Masisi—other things would take the priority and ten years later, Masisi would be like a passing dream.

That’s really what I thought. And I was so angry about it. I felt like we failed.

“I came here because of Masisi, and I’m stuck doing what I didn’t even want to do… a building at the bottom of a volcano—literally.” I would tell God.

Life has an interesting way of turning things around
We are going back now. This is after three years hardly ever visiting there.

This time with a peace that we never had before.

We belong somewhere.

A picture when we were in missionary burnout
recovery period. We participated in a marriage
conference, which was planned by Andrew's
team at Samaritan's Purse. Our guest speakers
included Euclide and Lilian Mugisho. (2014)
Andrew is not a missionary in the same sense that he was before. He holds a high position within Samaritan’s Purse and is internationally recognized as a logistical expert within disaster situations. People who I never dreamed of knowing, now know who I am-- just because of my husband's position. The rich and the powerful; the ones with residuals.

In some ways, he owes so much of that to Masisi. His work in Masisi was his Bootcamp that prepared him for what he is doing today.

Rally International NCE has a beautiful team of foreign workers who are incredibly committed to the Congolese people and to the church. They are also incredibly equipped with unique skills and strengths that neither I nor Andrew has.

We have the church, while not perfect (what community is?), it is a safe place where neither of us feels like we have to perform. We can visit with whoever we want to, have lunch at anyone’s house, go to prayer and sit on the ground, walk around or lay prostrate, doing whatever it is we want to do. We can go to Sunday Service and come-as-we-are. If we want to raise our hands, that’s fine—if we don’t that’s fine too. I can even wear pants to church and I’m not afraid of being judged for it.

Every individual needs an environment where they don’t feel pressure to perform, especially leaders. It is invaluable.

Finally, we have Pastor Euclide and his family, our most precious partners. Congo is a place of little assurance. A person can do everything right and still end up on the bottom. But there is a sense of peace to know whatever we get into, we are not alone. If we feel screwed over, at least we feel it together. If we’ve one a victory, we feel it together. That’s the best reassurance in an unassured world.

Masisi Centre also has something that it didn’t have before. It is more stable than it was before. The war still rages in Congo, but it has moved farther from the small village where we bought the land, Mukohwa, giving its people a chance to breath; a chance to start thinking beyond dodging bullets. Aid agencies have also reduced the amount of aid to the area, leaving the people forced to start thinking about rebuilding rather than living hand-to-mouth on foreign help.

Returning to Mukohwa was not met without hardship.
The old chief died during our time away. His son (who we didn’t have a relationship) inherited the throne. We had to start a new relationship with him.

We were also met by land conflicts. A large part of the war in Congo is over land conflicts—we can’t expect this not to also affect us.

But after settling those issues, we are now building a little wooden building on our 4,000 square meter property by the river. Its not much. In fact, by now we thought that we would have a big cement building on our property. None of that worked out the way we had planned.

This wooden building is even more exciting than the big one we planned. It symbolizes a new beginning— not alone, but together. The people in the village still know us. They are genuinely happy to see us back.

They thought we were gone forever.

So did I.

But God works in his mysterious ways.

"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 14:12 

An old but sweet memory from 2012. We were visting caretakers from our children's education program.

Our most valuable memories together were those on roads like this. This was actually our favorite part about Masisi: getting there!
Africa

Rachel's Story

Rachel is in the second grade and the oldest child in her family. She’s intelligent, bright and has an ear-to-ear smile that can melt anyone’s heart.

But something tragic happen in Rachel’s family recently. Her Dad was digging latrine, which required him to dig 10 or more feet deep into the ground. We live next to a volcano, which means there are patches of deadly gas in the ground. Rachel’s dad was unfortunate and hit some toxic gas just a few feet short of completing.

He called for his co-worker to help pull him out of the 10-foot-deep hole, but when his co-worker tried to help, he too fell in the hole. The two men probably yelled and screamed, but nobody heard them. They were found dead later that evening.

Left behind was Rachel, a younger brother and sister and her pregnant mother. Rachel’s mother, like many other women in our community, has never been to school and has no skill that can generate income for the family. She knows only basic farming techniques, but the family doesn’t own any land to farm on. She was taught to cook, clean, farm, be a wife and be a mom.



But what happens when a husband dies?
The results are more tragic than you think. The custom in Congo (DRC) is for the wife to return to live with her parents when her husband dies. This is because wives usually aren't financially stable enough to support the family.

Rachel’s family fled from a warzone to have a better life near town. Her father's death will send them back to the warzone. This time more vulnerable then ever. Rachel’s position as the first child in the family leaves her to carry the weight of caring for her brothers and sisters.

“We will get Rachel’s report card and bring it to the schools in Kichanga (the village where her mom is originally from) She will return to school when we get there.” Rachel's mother said with strain in her voice. She smiled hopefully as she wiped the sweat from her face. She was so pregnant that even walking a few steps made her sweat at this point.

The principal of our school ended classes a few minutes early so that the students with their teachers could walk to Rachel’s house and give their condolences: some money they had collected, a bag of clothes and prayer.

The school principal and I looked at each other sadly. We knew the reality. Rachel is a statistic that was being made right before our eyes.

Rachel is goes to school for no cost, because our church believes that education is a human right. Children shouldn’t be denied an education based on their financial status. Education is their best shot at a better future.

The place that Rachel is going will not have a school that allows its children to study for free. She is going to an area highly affected by war and sex-trafficking. She is going to live with her widowed grandmother who does not have means to support or protect her in that area. If a miracle doesn’t happen in her life, Rachel will become the sole provider for her family. She will raise her younger brothers and sisters and (if she’s clever) maybe give them a chance to go to school. But it is unlikely that Rachel will ever step foot in a classroom again.

Rachel sat next to me. She had a blissful confidence in her eyes.

She has no idea what is ahead of her. 
I told her the story of Esther.

“Whatever you do, don’t stop studying. Even if you have to sell peanuts by the side of the road. Don’t stop studying. When you feel that there is no one who can help you, pray to God. He can do miracles for you and he can hear your prayers.” I told her. “And if you ever get lost and can’t find your way. You can always remember that there’s a church in Mugunga that will always accept you.”

We all prayed together and the children from our school sang a few songs to the family. And we left.

Rachel never picked up her report card from school.
She never came back to church.
Today, I passed by her house again and found it empty.
They were gone.

Another statistic, right before my eyes. Another girl who will be denied her right to education, because of a situation she didn’t choose to live in. Another girl who will probably get pregnant early and be in the same situation her mom is in now: entirely dependent on other people to survive.

This is a sad story, I know. But it also helps me to remember why we do what we do.

Our primary school is putting girls (and also boys) into school that would not have been able to go any other way. The Esther Project teaches women (that could find themselves in the same situation as Rachel’s mom one day) a working skill that can support a family. We teach them sewing skills that generate income so that they don’t have to be completely dependent on other people. They won't have to take their children out of school.

Our work is to stop cycles of injustice. The worst injustice is to watch statistics happen before your eyes day-by-day and say that you’ve done some thing because you told them about Jesus.

I believe that it is possible to tell someone about Jesus and yet not bring the Gospel. 
The Gospel is the Good News, it is something that lifts people up from where they are and returns their value. It puts a spoke in the cycles of injustice and sets the captives free: captives of poverty, captives of loneliness, captives of shame, captives of oppression, captives of sin. It sets the captives free.

That is why we believe that pencils and books are more powerful than guns and missiles.
That is why a sewing machine has more power than an rocket propelled grenade.
Those things have the power to destroy. Our arsenal has the power to rebuild.

Rachel might have been one statistic we saw pass us by. But how many statistics are we preventing by building this community? How many children could suffer her same fate if it weren’t for our school? How many Mama’s are becoming more financially-independent? And how many families are being transformed through the counseling and member care offered by the church?

"Is this not the fast that I have chosen:
To loose the bonds of wickedness,
To undo the heavy burdens,
To let the oppressed go free,
And that you break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
And that you bring to your house the poor who are cast out;
When you see the naked, that you cover him,
And not hide yourself from your own flesh?" 
--Isaiah 58


children

A Letter To My Old Boss




Dear Phil,

It has been almost twelve years since I joined Overland Missions. I was 17-years-old when I started to work for OM. I worked there for three formative years in my missions career. I did a lot of small things like taking out the trash to coordinating trips to Indonesia or fetching food for the staff. I lived in my car for a couple of weeks. I sold cell phones and stood up all night studying for my university degree. When I was in Zambia I spent days and days just carrying rocks to make paths around the Rapid 14 Base. I peeled garlic, arranged laundry-washing schedules for missionaries on the base, washed tables and sat in the back of AMT classes to try and listen in as much as I could.

My old boss, I may not have left you with the best taste in your mouth about me. I was really unpolished… I didn’t know how to be quiet. I had so much more to learn. Still do actually. 

But maybe I should have left you with this report instead. OM inspired me more than you know. From age 13-19, OM was my only connection to the hope that I could possibly become what I wanted to be: a missionary.

I’m not sure if OM's missionary recruiters will ever know how much hope it gave me when they called me just to follow up or to invite me to the mission conferences. I’m not sure if Dave P------ or Dan H---- will ever know that if it weren’t for them, I’m not sure that I would be who I am today. There was point in life where almost every girl I knew wanted to marry Dave Philips. I never wanted to marry him. I wanted to be him. 

I went to the 2004 OM Conference at age 14. Pastor Vaughn Jarrold was speaking about marriage… and it was there that the Lord spoke to me that I would meet my husband through OM and that I would be launched from there into our destiny. Little did I know that only 4 years later, I would have my wedding in the same church where God spoke that word to me… and I would have one just the same way Pastor Vaughn described.

 I don’t know if I ever told you that.

I didn’t know than how much it means to a founder to hear what kind of impact their work has made on someone else’s life. I didn’t know that these stories of how the Gospel became real through the work they are doing can be like a petrol in the engine of a visionary.

I didn’t understand.

I now understand how hard it is to start something from nothing; to gain people and to lose them; to see a vehicle break and it feel like its your insides that broke down with it. I now understand what it feels like to have so many people tell you how they think you should do things; and to see young, passionate people come fresh into the ministry and feel like they can run everything having not walked on the road that you walked on and not having one ounce of understanding of some the realities that can only be understood through life experience.

I didn't fight in the Angolan Bush Wars like you did. But eastern Congo (DRC) shows me more about life and death than most. And honestly, I don't like to talk about the things we've seen either.

There are so many ways I saw you behave: so many things you said. I never understood it, really. But today …I do. I now have an appreciation for it.

You have been through so much. I know that you lean on God and you are a person of Hope, so you’ll always have more stories of God’s goodness than the pain. But it was your decision to work through the tough stuff that made you what you are today.

I remember when you got the news about Maverick flipping over.
When Peter H----n lost the tools in the sand.
I even remember when you and Sharon weren’t ready to have kids. I remember you talking about it. You are way passed that stage in your life. But I understand how you felt now. I feel that way now.
And I remember when your spiritual son left you… I wasn’t in the details. I don’t know the details. Maybe its not even my right to say who left who. All I know, is that the separation had to have hurt so much. 

My hindsight is clearer to me. And seeing your pain has made you a hero to me.

Thank you.

Andrew and I have been working in Congo for almost nine years now. I have been in ministry for 11 years. You used to say that I should talk to you when I get to twenty years into ministry, because hardly anyone makes it to twenty years in ministry. But I wish I could talk to you before than. I want to make the right decisions, but as the ministry grows I see that I sometimes lack the life experience to answer some of the questions I'm facing. Degrees are one thing, but when I look around and try to find someone else who has done what we we are trying to do (or at least some version of it), the crowd is pretty thin. I don't have many people in my life who've founded great ministries or built big bases. So, when I have questions about the practical mechanics of it, I struggle to find someone who can speak from a place of authority on some issues.  

Andrew has been my most trusted advisor—and I him too.
I have a partner and a father here in Congo who is an invaluable relationship in my life. He’s mentored us in life, marriage and ministry.
I’ve got some great pastors (back in U.S.) who have been in my corner since my beginning. Their advice is so right on.

But there are some organizational things that I really wish I could to talk to someone about. Someone that has done it before.

I once read that poverty is ultimately a result of broken relationships. People often have ceilings because their relational capital is limited to the circles they grew up with and it is difficult to break out of those circles and enter into new circles.

I would not like for the people who work with me to be victims of my own relationship poverty. I have to seek God, seek out good counsel for how to make decisions that won’t just benefit us for today, but for a better tomorrow for this nation and this house that God has given us the grace to build…

But it means anything to you. I'm sorry that I didn't understand and may God forgive me for any judgements that I may have passed on you in my heart.

All the best,
Amethyst A. Roth


My first trip to Zambia in 2006. Overland Missions
uses ex-military vehicles to reach some of the most
neglected places on the earth.
congo

Accused. Guilty.


I live in a country that has long history of being oppressed (DRC). I come from a country that has a long history of being an oppressor. But within the U.S., I’ve always defined myself as one who has experienced oppression. I never had enough power to oppress anyone.

Sociological imagination enables us to grasp history and biography and the relations between the two within society. Its an essential element for taking people out victimization and into a place of liberation and eventually activism.

When my Congolese friends practice social imagination, it comes with grief and anger—both essential for a person's healing and liberation. It comes with recognizing the pain of their missed opportunities, their subhuman existence that the world forces them to live in and the unfairly stacked odds against them. You see, its easier to live a life not knowing what you missed, living ignorant enough to the world around you to never consider what your passport, skin color or religious denomination has cost you. And that’s how many people live. But the contemporary leader cannot live that way. In order for the Congolese to transform the world, they need to reconcile what the world is and the reality of where they are in it, no matter how painful it is.

The agonizing part is with that recognition comes a clear understanding that I, Amethyst Roth, their friend, their daughter, their co-worker: I represent one of the two parts of the society—and its not the part they represent.

I represent the oppressor. I am the oppressor.

I’ve never represented the oppressor before. I used to be the girl in school that got paper balls thrown at me for praying in the courtyard. I used to be the girl with the not-so-ideal body image. I used to be the one with no family connections that could promise me a better future. I used to be the girl that got ‘lesbian’ written about her all over the bathroom wall (back before being a lesbian was cool).

I thought I was Puerto Rican.
I thought I was on the ‘oppressed’ side of social imagination.
But I’m not. I’m the oppressor. I’m the white privilege. I’m the one who they are fighting for justice against.

Everyday, I walk the shaky tightrope of my own insecurity of being left alone, abandoned or isolated and their insecurity of being controlled, being taken for less than what they are, being colonized.

Both insecurities equally valid according to our histories and personal experiences, but both equally destructive to wholesome trusting relationships. Maybe there is something that is wrong with me and I have a deeply oppressive and dominating nature, which stems from my own past oppression. Paulo Friere said that “...the oppressed, instead of striving for liberation, tend themselves to become oppressors.” Maybe I’m not without guilt.

I constantly feel accused of being something that I’m aware I represent and I try so hard not to be.
An oppressor.
A controller.
Another hypocritical missionary that says she cares about justice but is really the antithesis of it.

But if I defend myself, I run the risk of being a colonizer. If I don’t, I run the risk of facing my own greatest insecurity—isolation. Its a deep, deep battle that I face everyday. A battle that I can’t win with my words. I don’t even know if I can win it with my actions. Will I always be the person that the people I love most must protect themselves from?

I’ve heard it said that the best way to love someone is to serve their best interests, even at your own expense. What do I have to lose? Being alone? Being abandoned? Being accused and misunderstood? Or even being guilty? Its nothing that I haven’t been through before and God vindicated me then. I have to believe that even if I hate it; even if I don’t want that to happen, God is the one who will be there to hold me even if I get the bad end of the stick. They've certainly felt the sting of vulnerability. Why not me?

 I have to believe that. And I have to accept it. Nonetheless, some cups are never easy to drink—even if they are given to us by our fathers.
Amethyst Roth

My Congo Christmas Story



Christmas Eve this year in Congo (DRC) started with me almost losing my most cherished gift from Andrew, a mini Martin guitar (the Ed Shereen edition!) that was returned to me by a stranger who made no more than probably five dollars per day. It continued with walking and singing for a couple of miles with our family to baptize 14 new believers and setting up the Jesus film for families in our community while we all peeled potatoes and prepared food for our celebration the next day, then driving home on a motorcycle with my husband at 8:30 p.m. and just barely escaping an armed robbery by FARDC soldiers next to a dark, empty field while the rest of our friends spent the night in the church. 

When Andrew and I came home, we held eachother and shared memories about what Christmas was like when we were young. We dreamt about what it will be like for our future family. We chose to make this country our home almost seven years ago, but it took just under seven years to finally feel like this was our home. That night, as I helped cook food for 300 people over coals with ladies from our community while talking about the birth story of Jesus, I couldn't help but conclude that though the world may be tilted toward the rich and powerful, God is tilted toward the underdog, a quote by Yancey.

Home is where the heart is and for awhile, my heart felt very displaced. Andrew used to say 'Home is where we are together, and it grows as we grow as a family,' I didn't understand it then. But now I do. 

My three days of Christmas celebrations were some of the best ones yet. We woke up very early to a heartwarming Christmas service that was lead by children in the church. We gave simple gifts like crayons and coloring books to the more than 100 children in the service. It was the first time for some of them to get their own set of crayons and coloring book. We ate beans, potatoes, cabbage and beef for Christmas dinner. Nothing special. But yet so incredibly special. 

The day after Christmas I felt like the luckiest lady in the world as I sat in between my husband, Andrew and my spiritual father, Pastor Euclide. They both hugged me and told me how much they loved me. Our familes opened presents together and laughed. 

I didn't have a Christmas tree this year. 
I didn't have Christmas lights. 
In fact, I didn't even hear many Christmas songs. 

But I had one of the best Christmas's I've ever had. 
Christmas

How the Congo is Healing Me


I witnessed a drunken man flailing around a stick of dynamite in his hand a few days ago on the beach and a thief attempting to snatch my purse and run with it (I kept holding on until he attracted too much attention to himself) today. Just a few weeks ago, I woke up to the earth shaking to a 5.7 magnitude earthquake and the sound of gunfire literally all over the city, including just down my street.

There are things that would be news in one person’s household for years, ‘Remember that time when...’ We have fond memories that are told over and over again that happen here but remain unshared with our followers because there’s just so many things that happen. And so many things have happened.

I walk with friends that I have known for years and suddenly a memory comes to mind. “Once there was an old man that said,” in reference to a saying I heard about sleep. “He said that the time to sleep will be when we are dead.” My friend went on to explain that the rebels came and chopped him up with a machete leaving him for dead. “When night came and the cold air woke him up, he crawled to the village where people could treat him.” My friend's point was that that old man wasn’t ready to sleep yet.

But the gruesome details!

I shared a Coke at a small restaurant with another friend once. “My family’s bones are buried under this restaurant,” she said in a matter-of-fact way. She told me about how cholera killed more than 10 members of her family in less than a month.

“They threw them in a mass grave, which is where this restaurant sits today.”

Congo has been referred to as the heart of darkness in the past.
I have seen news articles describe Goma as an apocalyptic city.
Foreigners are discouraged to come here and instead visit Congo’s neighboring countries and mission organizations close their doors to young missionaries who want to move here.
Aid organizations share the stories of mass rape, traumatic fistulas (when the wall between the anus and vagina breaks) caused from soldiers raping women with objects like the barrel of a gun, ransoms and other strange injustices.

But somehow… this country is healing me. And I can’t imagine not being here.

Matthew 25:31-46 "For 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; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me."

I came to Congo thinking that I would feed the hungry, but instead they took me in and gave me their food: goat belly, curdled milk and yucca leaves.

I thought that I would give living water to the thirsty, but instead I’ve found wells of joy and springs of life to quench a thirst for family, brotherhood, son/daughtership that I’ve had my whole life.

I was the foreigner, unable to know the difference between a liar and person telling the truth—ignorant and helpless who could easily be taken advantage of—and they took me in, protected me from thieves and con-artists—taught me how to live and be a part of them.

I was naked before everyone… in my pride and inexperience. A typical young adult fresh out of college with so many ideas and full of words that were well thought out, but idol nonetheless. The Congolese taught me to clothe myself in humility and the wisdom not always to speak, but instead let the group come to viable conclusions.

I was in prison.

In the prison of my own loneliness and sick with isolation. They rescued me. They gave me a family—they father and mother me. They teach me about living in community everyday. They are healing me.

I can’t say that I haven’t brought anything to Congo—because I have. But Congo has turned Matthew 25 upside-down for me. Sometimes you have to be humbled enough to be on the receiving end before you can have the privilege of being on the giving end.

Christ loved us first. Though I loved the Congolese before I came here, I didn’t know what it was like to be loved by them. I didn’t know what it was like to be healed by their love, or shielded by their protection.

Today, I do.

 And that only deepens this river of life that I’ve been swimming in.
congo

To Love at all is to be Vulnerable


I used to think that there are favorites—one's inner-circle. People you let “in” with careful concern. They are few. They are family. They are constant.

Real love doesn’t work that way.

“Who can listen to a story of loneliness and despair without taking the risk of experiencing similar pains in his own heart and even losing his precious peace of mind? In short: “Who can take away suffering without entering it?” (Nouwen, The Wounded Healer)

Real love doesn't stand just far enough away to stretch its hand down to its constituents. It flows horizontally and not vertically. And when one pours his or her heart into people; when one sacrifices for people and when one's time is spent on a certain group of people, it is almost impossible not to be vulnerable to them.

Attachments form.
Memories are made (good, bad and ugly).
You become a part of each other. The most unlikely relationships can be produced out of just living together with people.

This means that hiding myself behind a computer screen, a degree, a face full of makeup, a podium, a passport or an office desk will never replace transformative power of vulnerability over my life and the lives of others.

The richness of life is an outflow of giving everything that we have to give for the time that we have with the people who God gives us. The obstacle is not to fear what costs that come with this kind of giving.

In my short-lived life, I’ve left so many people behind and likewise, so many people have left me. Faces. Faces. So many faces.

Faces of people that I thought I would change the world with.
Faces of people who I thought would change the world.
Faces that melted my heart. Faces that gave me courage and bravery to go on.

And although I've prayed for those faces; I've even wrote songs for those faces; the faces come and they go.

The greatest miracle of God is not that he loved me in my sin. It is that he loves us all and continues to love even when we come and go. Always loving with the same passion, the same fervor—for generations, though there is nothing new under the sun that we as humans can do. He still chooses to make himself vulnerable to the freewill if humanity.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the people I’ve left behind over the years and also the people who have left me. I loved those people. I really loved those people. And sometimes when I go to bed (or when I wake up in the morning), I can just lay my head in my pillow and cry. I cry because I miss them. I cry because they walked away with pieces of my heart. I cry because I wonder if nothing will be left after X amount years in the ministry. I cry because I thought that life wouldn’t look this way. Why can’t families stay together? Why do the systems of this world and the hearts of people force people to choose sides? Did I know that living such a transient life would require my heart being poured out and carried away over and over again?

It will only be in the day when the streets are paved with gold and when the lion lays with the lamb that we'll finally be in one place, one 'house' working together. Until that day, I'll have to embrace the invisible-- believing that we are together even though we are far from each other.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” (Lewis, The Four Loves)

I'm convinced that when we are willing to live with the costs of interdependence and vulnerability, it brings a little more of His kingdom down to this earth.
Amethyst Roth

Love and Anger



I’m not sure where the line between when anger ends and rage begins, but I know that I’ve found myself dancing on that line more often than not as an adult.

I would even say that my anger has been more frequent and more intense as I have matured in love.

I love my husband.
I love my country.
I love the Church.
I love my pastor.
I love the underdogs and the misfits in this world.
I love equity and justice.
I love deep, real and raw talks.
I love words.

But yet these are all things that I have gotten particularly angry with or about, even to the point of rage. There is an interesting paradox to being a person who works to end violence in a region (that has been plagued with violence for more than 20 years) and yet has a temper that can easily (if left unchecked) erupt into violence.

I have prayed, confessed and have even been angry with myself for being angry at times. Praying away my anger has never helped. Hiding my anger has never helped.

“In your anger, do not sin. ” Ephesians 4:26 

I’ve come to the conclusion that anger is often an outflow of love that most people (even myself) have struggled to control.

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." Galatians 5:22

It’s okay to be angry about the young mother who died early because the hospital didn’t have the proper materials to deliver the baby.
It’s okay to be angry about when the Church makes rock stars out of people, while leaving others who really need love and attention sitting in the back row.
It’s okay to be angry about the fact that something can be inhibiting my ability to understand (or be understood by) the people I love most in this world.
It’s okay to be angry enough to want to show that bully what it feels like to be in another person’s shoes.

Anger is not a sin. Anger is instead like gasoline. It can be used to fuel an engine or it can be used to destroy an entire building. Anger and love are two sides to the same coin. It is an emotion that occurs when true love is being inhibited. …by injustice …by miscommunication …by mistrust ...by anything.

There are days that I get so angry that as they say in Congo, I can “burn the whole house down.” The worst part about it? Sometimes it’s hard for me to even process where the anger is coming from.
But I’m learning that the root of anger is love. Some of the angriest people that I know are the most passionate people who feel deeply, think deeply and love deeply.

This is a gift and not a curse. It is necessary that we know how to use this gift though—to channel this anger into positive action and rather than violence and coercion.

Yesterday, I was angry because I want to understand the people I work with and I want to be understood by them. But that doesn’t happen overnight. Instead of hurting them with harsh words (Proverbs 15:1)--I must channel that anger into taming my tongue, thinking from other perspectives and continuing to try no matter how misunderstood I can feel—or how much I can misunderstand others.

Anger is a tool. And when used correctly, one of the most powerful tools that I have. Because the same rage that fuels riots and terrorism is also the same rage that moves people to peaceful protest, to stand up for the oppressed and end injustice.
advice

Fires and Planes Shot



I woke up today to this photo and an iMessage from Pastor Euclide.
“Can you believe what is going on here? Fire, fire fire!”




It brought back the memories of 2010 when his house was burnt down along with the church. It was devastating to their family and to the church.

My immediate thought after thinking about everyone’s safety was the church: the instruments, the projector and other equipment that we all have saved to purchase. It would be devastating to start from zero again.

I splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth, threw on some clothes, hopped on my dirt bike and drove to Birere, the little slum in Goma town. Fires occur regularly in Birere for numerous reasons: a stove is left on, poorly installed electrical lines and other preventable reasons. One fire can easily leave more than one hundred already struggling families back at zero.

This is life in slums without building codes, where people live day to day, without running water, overcrowded and unprotected by their government. Yet, in Birere—the Goma slum— it is often safer than living on the outskirts of town where people are more vulnerable to war and violence.

I met men and women standing outside of pastor’s small compound when I arrived. They stood watching things that were moved out of the house in the midst of the chaos. I entered the compound, and to my relief (and of course everyone else's too) pastor's house was fine. But stuff was scattered everywhere… the fire came all the way to his neighbor’s house and burnt everything to the ground. But people from the community came with jerry cans of water and machetes to cut the electrical chords and put out the fire.





If it weren’t for the community, his house would have been completely burnt, just like his neighbor's. 

It was God’s grace working through people in the community—some members of the church and some not.

Just as I began helping to put things back together in his house, Andrew called me with bad news. He was supposed to travel home to Goma from Bunia that morning, but when shooting happened at the airport this week—the plane that he was supposed to fly in was shot! Therefore, his flights were cancelled and he was unable to leave!

Just yesterday, I thought that Lilian (Pastor Euclide’s wife was coming over to bake bread with me), I thought that we would prepare for a gathering that was going on at the church to announce some of the new developments in the New Hope Community: land, Esther Project and other important items to communicate with people. We were planning on having a reception afterward where we can welcome Andrew back from his journey. Then … fires, shooting, canceled flights.

I wish I could say that things like this are abnormal. But they are not.

There’s a dynamic that is often difficult to measure when one studies the life of the ‘poor’ or the ‘forgotten’ within our world. But when one walks with them, it’s easy to see. Life is harder when you are in situations like this—where hard work and faith doesn’t usually measure up.

George Monbiot put it this way, “If wealth was the inevitable result of hard work and enterprise, every woman in Africa would be a millionaire.”

People who live in Birere (and in places like this, no matter where in the world) face higher degrees of uncertainty and higher risks.

It can take 6 hours to get a couple hundred dollars out of the bank.
You can slowly build your life and it burns down in one day.
One can make plans and work to inform the community and then a catastrophe hits.

My friend who also works with another organization recently told me this, referencing the book Walking with the Poor.

“The community already has a survival strategy. The community has well-established patterns for making sense out of its world and staying alive in it. How often do we think of the poor as experts in their own circumstances? As well-adapted and wise, considering the resources they have to work with? Wouldn't that radically redefine our perspective?”

The governments, the non-government organizations, the powers that be, did not save Pastor Euclide’s house. It was God working through the hands of ordinary people in the community.

I make plans all the time in Congo that are interrupted by crazy things—people dying, bombs, bullets, fires and other things that would be catastrophic for other communities, but are relatively ‘normal’ here. It’s a part of life that has taught me so much and the Congolese continually help me learn to be patient and trust God in the midst of such uncertainty.

This week, the elders of the church visited Pastor’s house and my house to pray God’s protection for us. They believed that some trials would come our way and wanted to dedicate our families and homes to the Lord.

The elders were right. And I wonder… what if they didn’t hear? What if they didn’t pray?

Euclides house did not burn down.
Andrew was fianlly able to find another flight and was home by lunch-time.
Lilian came to my house (after fixing her house) and we baked bread together.

 …because Hope wins …and Hope won again today.
birere

Stark Contrasts: Hope and Violence

We bought a beautiful 80x80 meter plot of land on the outskirts of Goma today. It was just after church members experienced a night filled with heavy gunfire around the church. People were killed, but none of them were members from our church.

I received a text message from Andrew just as we signed the documents for the land.

“Don’t go by the airport today. Lots of shooting and panic.”

I told my Congolese teammates about his message. They said that the shooting and panic already happened. They were there for all of it. But I told them Andrew’s message made it seem like it was ongoing.

When we arrived in Birere, a bustling slum area in Goma where the church is located, the streets were empty. More people were killed. I was even told a story about one of the local prostitutes who was working during the night of the shooting. She was with the soldiers in their camp. When other soldiers came to infiltrate the camp, they took the prostitute and cut her up into pieces.


I can’t help but think that that prostitute did not deserve such a death. She deserved to live, to learn and to love. It makes me more passionate about the Esther Project—a ministry for intergenerational women to learn about their identity in Christ while also learning practical skills training, so that they don’t have to go into a life of prostitution.

Indeed, this was another day of stark contrasts: a day of joy and also a day of sadness. But that’s what hope looks like. It looks like great accomplishment in the midst of suffering. It looks like rejoicing in the midst of mourning. It looks like envisioning an alive and vibrant community in the future, despite that people are sawing off parts of the other peoples bodies presently.

We can’t live ignorant to what is going on here. People are dying and it doesn’t make the news. That prostitute won’t be talked about on CNN, even though she was also a beautiful young woman who was created in the image of God.

But she’ll make it on this blog. She’ll be remembered here. And the thousands of other women who have suffered similar deaths, but never once had it written about. She was someone’s daughter: Someone’s niece: Someone’s friend. Most importantly, she was God’s beloved—and we lost her.

But in the midst of this loss, there is a gain. If we can reach young ladies like her with this land, even before they are forced into such a lifestyle… it will help end a cycle where ladies are so vulnerable that they have to go to work for sex and then end up chopped up like animals.

Hope sees an end. And we see an end to this. This is why, despite the atrocities that surround us… we can go to bed at night with a sigh and say, “I thank God for today.” #TheNewHopeCommunity
congo

My Heart is Gripped with Fear


I have learned that when you run with strong leaders, it is incredibly easy to hide behind their strength.

But that was not God's plan for me.

I was married at age 20 and I guess I thought that marriage was God’s reward to me for finding my identity in Him, for standing firm in the vision that He gave me. I felt like it was some kind of reward for passing an exam.

Marriage was a tool. It was another tool that God gave me to put in my tool-belt as I continued to work for Him, but it didn’t mean that I passed any test. Even if I did, it didn’t mean that the battle for my trust in Him was finished.

In actuality, my choice to surround myself with strong people of God would force me into new levels of faith. It would also force me to reconcile parts of myself that I would prefer to avoid.

Insecurity. Pride. Fear.

I just want to be raw and real about the fact that taking on Rally International has put a new level of the fear of the Lord on me.

- When I open my inbox and look at the emails from missionaries, both short-term and long term, who are raising thousands of dollars to dedicate their life to transforming some of the most volatile communities on the earth.

- When I watch Pastor Euclide take the stage at a church or small group meeting and begin to literally rock the walls with his passion and anointing.

- When I roll over in bed and hear the soft utterances of my husband seeking God, asking for wisdom and pleading for people groups around the world.

- When I look at my cell phone and see the list of text messages and phone calls from pastors and spiritual leaders from around the United States. People I never thought that I would have the privilege to rub shoulders with.

- When I open my Facebook and see streams of messages from people in the Congo that I have learned to love with my whole heart asking ‘how is the work?’ ‘we miss you,’ ‘we love you,’ ‘we are praying for you.’

My heart is gripped with fear.
Fear of stepping outside of the shadow of His wings. Fear of leaving the cleft of His rock. Fear of leaning on my own understanding and abilities.

I thought that I learned this lesson years ago, but again, I’m learning that the strength of any ministry that I do is that which comes from my wounds.

I truly am a wounded healer. My leadership is only as real as my desperation is.



We shared at a church in southern California
this week. We arrived in the area just in time to pray
while watching the sun set on the Pacific Ocean. 
advise

Backstory: A God Ordained Relationship

We met Pastor Euclide and his wife, Lilian for the first time in 2009, six years ago when we first came to Goma, DRC. Euclide was a newlywed like us (married only a year before us), who was fresh out of Harvest School of Missions in Mozambique. He had just finished being trained under the Bakers' ministry and believed that he was meant to go back to his home country, where he had originally fled from the war. But God told him to go specifically to the city of Goma, a city that he had never been before.

At the time, Andrew and I were working for Overland Missions, our former organization.

I would say that all of us were excited and starry-eyed about answering God’s call on our lives and truly saw beyond all of the political, ministry-related things. We all truly wanted to see a change in Congo and we all felt specifically that Goma was the place to start out.


Andrew walking through Birere with Euclide and members
of the church ministering to children and families in 2009.
Euclide had a church with an awesome children’s ministry in Birere, the slum area of Goma. He invited us to come to a prayer meeting and after that, the children’s ministry.

This was a prayer meeting that I could never forget (and I’ve been to a lot of good prayer meetings). Children and adults were falling on the ground with words and prophecies; there was literally a WAVE that hit the church. Andrew and I just went along for the ride thinking that this was a normal prayer meeting that the church usually had.

The prayer meeting lasted for 5-6 hours! It was originally meant to last only two. We later found out that this was no ordinary prayer meeting for the church—although their prayer meetings are usually pretty intense. It just happened that the day we shared at the church, there was this massive outbreak of the Holy Spirit.

What a good way to start a relationship with this church and pastor!

Euclide and Lilian continued to be good friends to us throughout the years. We would go to conferences together, pray and worship together, preach at various locations together, even travel to surrounding countries in Africa.

I still remember in 2010, when all that Andrew and I could afford was a cheap SENKE motorbike. Euclide and Andrew went out on the motorbike together to do ministry in a pygmy village for the day. Andrew came back with the sickest stomach that I can ever remember him having. Apparently, he ate fish that had gone bad with Euclide at the pygmy village. Andrew prayed to the porcelain god (the toilet) for the entire night that night.

 In the morning Andrew called Euclide on the phone:
“Hey, how did you sleep?”
“I slept very well, Andrew and how about you?”
“How did your stomach feel?”
“My stomach is just fine.”

Andrew got off the phone and shook his head.

“One day, I’ll have a stomach like his.” He said.


Pygmies, like the ones that Euclide and Andrew went to see on that day live
among these beautiful mountains in Masisi Territory. That day, they took
Andrew's new Indian-made motorcycle on a journey that Andrew's stomach
will never forget. 




















(For full story: http://the-roths.weebly.com/2/post/2010/07/ministering-to-the-pygmies.html)

Euclide and Lilian sympathized with us when we left Overland Missions. I can remember that Euclide was the only Congolese friend that we had who actually understood what we gave up in order to pursue our vision in the Congo. He thanked us. He was the only Congolese who thanked us for that decision.

Andrew and I were there the day after Euclide’s church burnt down in Birere. We watched him and the children from the kid’s ministry look around for any pieces that they could salvage. I’ll never forget that the children were picking up stones from the ground to try and build on what was once where their church stood.

They insisted that that they should all gather for their weekly kids meeting. Euclide, in extreme stress replied… “Where? Where can we gather? There’s nowhere to gather anymore.”

We raised a large chunk of money to rebuild the church out of metal sheets and wood. We later initiated a micro-finance initiative that helped get additional funding for the church, but that was back before we really understood micro-finance… I think we helped a bit, but maybe not as much as we hoped to.

(Full story 1 http://the-roths.weebly.com/2/post/2010/07/sowing-seeds-of-sustainability.html)
(Full story 2 http://the-roths.weebly.com/2/post/2010/10/cultivating-seeds-of-sustainability.html)


Amethyst learning how to work with children in Euclides
church. It was not something she was used to. At all.
On a happier note… I also remember the time when Andrew, myself, and a guy named Sam (who is one of our monthly supporters) bought bread and juice for the kid’s ministry. We expected to feed 50 children, but almost 150 showed up. That day, God performed the same miracle like in Matthew 14 and John 6, when Jesus fed the 5,000. We gave and gave and gave… we ended up with two leftover boxes of bread and juice!

Life got complicated for us when Euclide and Lilian felt led by the Holy Spirit to join us and work together as one ministry. Euclide sent us an email that he’ll probably never forget. He told us that he’s ready to be with us exclusively.

We (Andrew and I) never responded.

I can’t really give you a specific reason why we left Euclide hanging more than three years ago like that. Maybe it was because we didn’t even really understand what we were doing… maybe it was because it felt like every pastor we would meet was asking for a partnership… maybe it was because we had so many people grasping at any chance of a relationship because of our potential to bring money into their ministry… More than anything… I feel that we didn’t answer because we didn’t know that this was God. We were (and still are) young and didn’t know how to differentiate exactly who to put our trust in.

Euclide and Lilian went through some tough times of not being able to have a child, being kicked off of the land where his church was, his house burning down, random mzungus (foreigners) coming and making promises that were never kept and even a few death threats from other jealous Congolese pastors, because of his relationship with numerous foreign missionaries.

It was around the same time that Andrew and I had really acquired the full vision for our work in Congo that Euclide signed a contract with another organization.

Somewhere around that time, I remember getting a word of advice from Shannon and Steve (board members of Global Outreach Foundation) saying that Euclide might be that partnership that sparks the wildfire (in a good way) that we have been praying for. After giving it a large amount of prayer, we felt certain that this was the partnership that God wanted us to make and were excited for the possibilities. When Andrew and I met with Euclide about a possible partnership—he told us that we left him hanging more than a year ago with no other choice than to move on to other opportunities that he was presented. He was disappointed in us, but suggested that we talk to his organization to see if they would release him to help us during times when he was not fulfilling other obligations.

We were met with heartbreak.

It was probably one of our more profound ‘balloon-popping’ moments in realizing that not all is, as it seems for ministries. We were told that it wasn't okay to work with Euclide. The fact that we even asked even caused undue tension for him and others.

Even more heartbreaking was the fact that we felt so strongly that this is what we were meant to do. Did we not hear from God? We thought that we did. But we figured since it was stirring up strife in the body of Christ… maybe we heard wrong. Still, it shook us, because we thought… if we are wrong about this, than what else could we be wrong about?

We intentionally avoided Euclide from that point (it was around 2012) onward… to be honest, seeing him was a bit painful. I can’t explain why, except to say that—in an awkward way, I felt a lot like one of those romance stories where two people are meant for each other, but life has arranged it in such a way that they could never be together… so they would just rather ignore each other, just to forget about the fact that they care too much. Oddly, Andrew also agrees… we really felt that way about Euclide and Lilian.

 “This is not about money, this is not about position, it’s not even about what we want. This is about faithfulness,” Euclide told us when we expressed to him that we wished that we’d chosen to be together from the beginning. He told us that he and Lilian also wished this too. But it wasn’t so and he had to be faithful to his word to this other ministry that he chose to be with.

During that yearlong period of silence, Andrew and I kept our communication open, but tried so hard to not seem like we were trying to ‘steal’ someone from another ministry that Euclide felt kind of like we had reneged on our friendship.

It was during 2013-2014 when ministry started getting very taxing on us. Our understanding of our own limitations grew bigger and bigger—and so was this undeniable sense of deep loneliness. We believed that God would give us a local partnership, a covenant relationship so-to-speak. But it seemed like it never came. And here we were starting programs and projects based on the vision that God gave us… but feeling very isolated in the process.

Andrew and I agreed in early 2014 that it was unsustainable to continue working in Congo alone. We needed to find partners to share the responsibility with, otherwise we would start working on an exit plan from Congo. We talked about it during our time in the US earlier this year and kept it to ourselves for the most part. We had decided that we needed a co-laboring couple to be with and that we would put the olive branch out to Euclide one last time. If we got nowhere, we were near ready to give in and find a different way to work—maybe returning to the US more frequently or something along those lines. 

When Andrew called Euclide this year, Euclide’s first words were: “Andrew, you’ve left me behind.”
Andrew’s response:
“You’ve left me too.”

Andrew and Euclide started to meet again, and this time… Euclide decided he wanted to pray about whether or not he should forge a partnership with us. He expressed how we had disappointed him before and how he had experienced many broken promises from people that he trusted. He reiterated his heart for the Church and his calling to plant churches and preach the Gospel. He explained how he felt like he couldn’t wait any longer for other people. He had to go forward with what God told him to do lest he be disobedient and get stuck doing projects for other organizations and not do what God called him to Congo for: to build the Church.

We prayed weekly as two couples throughout the summer for Euclide’s decision. Some days we went to Euclide and Lilian’s house, while other days they came to ours. They made it clear that they weren’t sure about what direction to go. We told them that whether they chose to be with us or not, that we would support that decision.

At the end of last year, both of our families felt God leading us to form a Jonathan and David relationship with each other.

Andrew and I finally grew up enough to know what we really wanted. It was relationship: deep, transparent, vulnerable, sold-out, covenant relationship and fellowship with another couple that was going in the same direction as us.


Lilian teaching Amethyst how Congolese cook
on charcoal in 2009. 
Somewhere along the lines this summer, Andrew and I really let go of our programs and agendas for Congo. Not to say that we don’t want to be here. I guess we just realized more than ever what was important. This country doesn’t need another plan or strategy for change—and that’s all we had. We were so sick of being development workers who happened to be Christians. We wanted to be Christians who develop and change the world. And we could not do this alone anymore.

I think that I can speak for all (Euclide and Lilian as well as Andrew and me) of us when I say this. 

We have been beaten around, bruised, disappointed, doubted by others, shipwrecked (vision-wise) and challenged in our family in many ways. I think that that was all necessary for this. It’s time to stop trying to walk with only one leg. Let’s put two legs together and learn to run… for the vision that God originally called us to do here.
Amethyst Roth
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