:: ethiopia, for a week ::

Today pictures feel like a lazy way of telling the story. If you can see in their eyes what I saw, then I don't have to sort through those emotions again. I can show instead of tell, which is what a good story's supposed to do anyway, right?

Ethiopia was always smiling, pushing cows out of the hut to welcome you in. The chair is for you, always, and the floor is for them. The dirt floor. We all talk later about how it must be to live there, that they probably don't spend much time in their houses and don't entertain like we do so there's no need for a more comfortable space. Yet I sat in more homes in one week there than I do in two here. They welcome you in.
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Sunday. Worship in freedom -- where clapping in individual rhythm communicates unspeakable joy. Where dancing is not just acceptable but encouraged, by both the driving beat and by the moving feet all around the room. This is church. This is worship. In Ethiopia.
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The girls don't feel significant here, I'm told. They don't try in school or at home. They don't matter. She's telling me to say something inspirational to them and instead I sit silent. What can I say to communicate the unknown? How do I explain love and depth and value to those who haven't felt it before? I don't want to tell them to study -- I want to give a reason to. Hope.
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"Therefore by Him let us continually offer the sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to His name." Hebrews 13:15 That is the verse he gave me after leading our team for the week. I hope that was true of me.