father b

as i’ve written, last year we began to worship in a new church.  we are unitarian-universalist and the new church is episcopal, but we needed close to home, and the congregation does lovely things in the community so we tried it out and we stayed.  it’s not a perfect fit.  a little bit too dogma-ish for me.  i worry sometimes if the way the message is stated becomes more important than the message itself, but all in all it’s a warm, welcoming and thought provoking place.  i do sometimes look back in wonder at my spiritual path.  as i sit in the pews and listen to the bible readings (all bible all the time) i think about the how and why of it all.

and then there comes a small sign, like a feint light, a star obscured by a cloudy night sky.

several months ago i was speaking to our minister, who i had told about our adoption plans a couple weeks before that, and he said that he had a friend, from highschool and seminary that had lived in ethiopia for several years.  he was back again living there.  would it be helpful father f said, if you could speak with him, he has e-mail.

yesterday, we met father b at our church and then went to a cafe to talk about ethiopia.  he was back in the states trying to get a work visa.  he’s nearing retirement age and the country seems to have age restrictions for work visas.  he hopes to be going back in the beginning of october.  it was an unextraordinary meeting,  i am sure for all of those who would have glanced at us over their sandwiches and coffee.  four adults and one child, and then three adults and child and finally two adults one roman catholic priest (in street clothes) and one middle aged somewhat bedraggled looking mom

(why on the busiest week of work i’ve had since january did we end up being the ‘coffee hour hosts’ and more importantly why did we choose to make homemade muffins and even  more importantly, why am i saying ‘we’)

it was however, for us an extraordinary moment on our journey

who led us to that church?

who sat us down next to this man who has been working in the countryside of ethiopia for years?

i will write more about this lunch but for now as overwhelmed by it all as i am i just needed to mark it, the meeting itself, the moment in time

i wanted to write to the universe that i noticed it

that i understand the hand of the divine

it’s rare that – i suppose – seeing it not in retrospect but as it happens

a few notes about what father b spoke about

the first thing he wanted us to know was that we may meet ethiopians who are deeply opposed to international adoption, he had ethiopian friends who are extremely critical of it.

father b i should say is white and roman catholic, i think it’s important to note those things, he’s also perhaps in his sixties or near enough to it he wouldn’t be offended if i said so.  he has spent his adult life in service all over the world.  he speaks several languages, including arabic and swahili.  he said he felt it takes three years in-country to begin, just begin to understand a country.  he said the reason was those first years, you cannot know about the country because the country is teaching you about yourself.  once you know more about yourself, the specific lessons that country has to teach you, then you can begin to learn about the country.  he said he understood his friends feelings about watching children leave ethiopia but while he didn’t say if he agreed or didn’t agree in so many words he said when the children leave the orphanage, when they age out, they are completely on their own and for the most part without skills or a support network.  he also said living in an institution, no matter how good the institution leaves you ill equiped to handling the world on your own.

he’s currently living in addis at the moment while he learns amharic.  when he lived in the south he learned the southern language he needed to know (i’ve forgotten which one) by speaking english and arabic and then learning the et language.  but now he’ll be living in the north.  a ten hour drive from addis.  no one will be able to speak english or arabic.   a few people will be able to speak amharic.  so, he’s learning amharic so that he can then get up north and learn the local language.  service.  it’s something to witness.  he’s says  he’s getting too old for this.  and there were moments were i could see his tiredness.  but then there was still more.  still some fire, some energy, when he spoke of individual children.  it’s his habit to sit in a cafe in addis on sunday afternoon (was it morning?) and having a meal.  while he sits a shoe shine boy asks to shine his shoes, he agrees and then pays the boy but also asks if the boy is hungry, would he like to eat something?  this becomes a weekly ritual and grows from one little boy to several.  two boys get one shoe each and everybody eats.  they are small, and trying to survive.  they have so much potential, so many possibilities if they had a chance, he says.  he speaks of another boy, twelve years old he thinks, he tells a long story of the boy on his own, has a grandmother but no father or mother, needs medical care for a small thing, father b gives him money and directions.  leaves the area and then returns.  asks the nuns about the boy, did he come.  yes, they say, he came took the medicine, but never came back.  he needed to come back.  father b sees the boy again.  why didn’t you go back?  i couldn’t the boy says, i had no transportation, i couldnt’ get there.  and then the boy says he also has tb.  at this point father b looks tired, the telling of it is tiring.  he gives the boy more money.  go, get the medicine, and here’s money just for you to eat, buy meat, liver, you need liver.  eat well every day for a month while you are taking the medicine.  father b looks at me, and with great sadness, and the strength to carry it, he says ‘he’s sixteen, this boy, not twelve like i thought.  sixteen.’

we are silent for a moment.

‘i’ll keep an eye on him while i’m there.  but i’ll be there only a couple of years.  he’s a child on his own.’

who led me here to this table?