SheLoves Magazine

Bald Solidarity

“We think making a difference begins with making a statement. A bold one.”–Beth Roberts, Bald Solidarity

By Sarah E. Richardson | Twitter: @sarsrichardson

I was taking photos at a benefit concert the first time I heard Beth Roberts talk about shaving her head to fight injustice. She had long blonde hair and the most sincere smile I had ever seen.

Beth was sharing the vision for Bald Solidarity, a Seattle-based non-profit organization committed to ending injustice for women around the world through fundraising and social advocacy. She spoke of her time as a teacher in Bangladesh. She spoke of girls sold into slavery and given to marriages they never wanted. She told of widows left on the streets with nothing because they no longer had value. Then she talked about women in the Western world—so obsessed with beauty and appearance, so tortured by trivial decisions like haircuts and lipstick.

She said something that day that changed me:

“Hair is just a marker of our identity, and giving it up is our way of choosing to support women around the world who don’t have much choice at all. We think making a difference begins with making a statement. A bold one.”

I was hooked.

I stared at Beth, camera forgotten by my side, and wondered how I could ever shave my head willingly, yet also knowing that I was definitely going to do it.

Then it hit me—it came down to a simple choice: my hair or my voice. So I chose my voice.

Sure, shaving my head was terrifying, but I knew Beth was on to something. I could support the cause with my money and walk away unchanged, or I could support the cause with my hair and never be the same again.

The first time I shaved my head we raised more than $2,500 for a local organization fighting human trafficking. It was November and my head was freezing.

Inner Wonders

Everything changed that day. That was the day I realized the wonders inside of me were so much more important than what was on the outside. I’ve always known God had a better grasp on who I really was, because my heart mattered so much more to Him than my hair did (or my clothes, or my car, or my cell phone). But for the first time in my life I could see it too.

I felt beautiful and empowered—it no longer mattered that I was the single girl with the crooked teeth and love-handles who sang a little too loud in church, because now I was the bald girl—a little crazy in a good way.

I’ve shaved for Bald Solidarity twice and I know I am likely to do it again, because if I ever have a daughter I want to look her in the face and say, “Baby, we fight for what we believe in and we look out for others even when they live on the other side of the world.”

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About Sarah:

I’m more likely to answer to Sars than Sarah. That’s because years ago my brothers started calling me Sars and, as the name implies, it was infectious. I’m a visual journalism grad from Western Washington University and a self-proclaimed writer-photographer-Jesus-lover-painter-adventurer-foodie. I have a near obsession with ending injustice and I’m a sucker for a good cause.

I blog at sometimesscreaminghelps.com and tweet at @sarsrichardson

What I’ve Learned About Dignity Through My Camera Lens

“Like many things, I begin to understand dignity best when I notice it’s missing.”

By Stephanie Motz Skinner | Twitter: @stephmotz

Photography has taught me a lot about dignity. There is something powerful and manipulative about images–our lives are filled with them. When I first started photographing people, I began to understand that by composing the image and releasing the shutter, I was exerting control. I was defining a reality for whoever might see my picture. This realisation was both exciting and frightening.

When I moved to Uganda, I was confronted by so many harsh realities and I found them compelling and shocking at the same time. It’s easy to respond to a unique experience–I think we are wired that way–but I think the best photographs are the ones that bring out the best in people. I have discovered that there is a certain dignity that exists in the places where people must battle and endure, and this is what I strive to capture.

“So, like the camera strapped to my shoulder and the notepad tucked into my bag, I pin dignity to my heart so that I’m reminded to extend it to the people I photograph.”

Simply put, dignity is the state or quality of being worthy of honour or respect. I think it’s something we are all entitled to, because we have been created in God’s image. Like many things, I begin to understand dignity best, when I notice it’s missing.

Everything about my work demands that I live out respect, and so I become more intentional about treating others with dignity. When I think of dignity as an interaction and an attitude, I imagine a Living Hope woman striding confidently, her face glowing in the sun. She smiles shyly into the camera while we photograph her, and her face speaks to us of strength and kindness. We encourage her, so that she feels comfortable. Through the process we remark on her natural beauty. We listen to her story and we pay attention. We try to discover who she is and what she likes and we try to find ways in which we can connect and make her smile.

We work with people whose lives have been defined by the rejection, humiliation, and pain they have experienced, so we try to give them a different experience. We want them to feel worthy and beautiful. We understand the privilege of our work and so we try to honour them. This is one of the great joys of our work.

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. – Plato

When I get home after a long day of working “in the field,” I wash the sticky layer of dust and sweat from my face and I change out of my dirty clothes. Often, in that process, I put away my intentional approach of seeking dignity and I store it safely with the other tools of my profession. It’s in the most common interactions of my day-to-day life that I find myself forgetting to treat people as if they are worthy of honour and respect. Instead, I give into stress at work and explode when facing an obstacle, or I shake my fist in the air because of a negligent motorcycle taxi. I’ll sometimes stand in front of the mirror and subject myself to the indignity of self-loathing and harsh criticism.

I want to strive to live the credo of my work in every aspect of my life. It’s easy to treat people with dignity when I feel it’s required. But in reality, dignity is something we all need–no matter who we are–in order to flourish. It’s in the ordinary interactions of every day life that I have the chance to make someone feel noticed, appreciated and respected. I need to remember we all have our own mountain to climb and that every interaction has the potential to build a little courage or chip away at hope.

My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• What does dignity look like to you?
• What reminds you to treat others with dignity?
• Where do you struggle with extending dignity?

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About Stephanie:
I believe in the power of storytelling. I’m a photographer and writer for Fakeleft. Together with my husband, we love sharing stories of courage, of strength in the face of adversity, of triumph and hope. I truly believe that by partnering with others who want to bring change and justice to our world, we can actually make a difference.  I’m learning to walk in my nascent faith, but it’s not always easy. It’s an interesting journey.

I am currently living in Uganda, but my heart is everywhere. I’m a proud Latina from Choluteca, Honduras. I wish I had a Spanish accent. My favourite meal is dessert and my favourite sport is tanning. I blog at fakeleft.com/blog and tweet at @stephmotz

ShePonders: Restitution

“… I want to see this kind of salvation come to my house.”
By Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha

Audio: ShePonders: Restitution

Click on the link above for an audio experience of Kelley’s post.

My beloved South African friend, René, traveled in, bringing gifts of rooibos tea and Merlot from a local wine farm. She shared in our holiday tradition of turkey roasting, potato mashing and thanks giving, not that many months ago. She regaled us with tales from her homeland that left us all thoughtful and thankful, for post-Apartheid South Africa is a complex context. We spent the next morning cloistered in conversation while clutching coffee. We spoke of the theological voice of women, restitution, mutual friends, favorite spices and she offered her wickedly good impression of Desmond Tutu.

Yes, we spoke of “restitution.” (Doesn’t everybody?) She is part of The Restitution Foundation, a group of South Africans devoted to thinking and enacting restitution in their country. They offer this scenario as an example:

“Imagine a man’s bicycle is stolen. This now means he has no transport, and cannot get to work; thus he loses his job. Without a job, he cannot educate his children or support his family. Perhaps he used that bicycle to run errands for the homebound elderly woman next door; now she is affected by the loss as well. Jobless and frustrated, he becomes a drain on his community rather than a resource. What would restitution look like in this situation? Certainly it is not just returning the bicycle. He is not the only person who has been affected by the crime; his family, his neighbors and his community have also suffered.”

“Compensation” would dictate that the bike be replaced. “Charity” would suggest offering some food to his family or maybe school supplies for his children. Restitution demands more, but can also deliver something much more lasting and transformative.

As we sipped the dregs of our morning coffee, she shared about her baggage boondoggle. Our domestic carrier charged her twice as much as expected for her two checked bags. This really put a crimp in her already tight budget. So from then on, each time I picked up the check for lunch or paid for her sundries along with mine at the grocery store, I’d wave it off as making restitution to her on behalf of my country’s airline policy. We’d laugh and carry on. It was a joke–because I’d planned on spoiling her every chance I got whilst she was in town! But the joke had legs– ones that began pushing on me in terms of what restitution means in my own context.

Satisfied

After the final meal we shared, she handed me the receipt for her baggage fees and declared that restitution had been satisfied; rather tongue-in-cheek! All laughing aside, I knew a new word had entered my discipleship vocabulary.

Zaccheus

Walking through Jericho one day, Jesus looked beyond and above the crowds and saw a small man perched in a tree. All the locals knew it was Zacchaeus, a rich man due to his work as the chief tax collector.

Jesus called out, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” The little man moved down the tree and into the street quickly, eyes shining with excitement at the unexpected opportunity to host the Rabbi.

“Lord, half of my possessions I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” It was then, after this astonishing statement of restitution, that Jesus declared, “Today salvation has come to this house … ”

Giving half of his possessions to the poor was an extravagant act of charity–a great start. But the most revolutionary action was the decision to offer restitution to those he defrauded. He knew his riches were gained by exploiting the poor and his actions had impoverished an entire community. His offer of restitution demonstrated his awareness that they deserved more than “charity” (discretionary giving from his abundance) and more than “compensation” (dollar for dollar repayment). His offering made it clear that he was moving away from unjust gains and toward the costly practice of justice. I think this is why Jesus declared that salvation, or transformation, had come to his house.

Think about those who he would repay over the next set of days–what must that exchange have been like? They would come face to face with the chief tax collector but this time they would walk away with a heavier purse–radical! They would look him in the eye and he would do the same and maybe for the first time ever they saw each other as “neighbor.” Amazing! This would mark the beginning of a new relationship between them and a new way of engaging in community life together. I imagine Zacchaeus’ road of restitution was hard and had its share of pitfalls as he learned this new practice, but I am convinced it was a worthwhile journey toward the good that blessed the entire neighborhood.

So, here is the lingering question: How do we incorporate the practice of restitution into our daily discipleship? My Palestinian friend makes me laugh. Our kids play together in the park most days. I think of the policies of my country toward her people, her homeland and wonder how I can enact restitution in the context of our friendship. My state is infamous for poor attitudes and treatment of the immigrant community–is this yet another opportunity for me to find some way of living out justice by practicing restitution?

The Restitution Foundation in South Africa helps whites think about their status as beneficiaries of power and privilege, as well as creating opportunities for them to participate in restitution in townships and other communities affected by the injustice of Apartheid. Maybe we be could reflect on how we might be beneficiaries of our own systems and consider the power and privilege we possess. Then, let’s get creative and imagine how we could practice acts of restitution for individuals of these communities.

It will be costly, radical and deeply transformative. But I want to see this kind of salvation come to my house!

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My dear friends, I would love to hear your thoughts on this:

For example:

• Where have you been the beneficiary of power and/or privilege?
• How can you imagine incorporating the practice of Restitution into your daily discipleship?
• Any other thoughts?

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About Kelley:

Kelley Johnson Nikondeha is co-director of Amahoro Africa and international staff member of Community of Faith with her husband Claude. She’s a thinker, connector, advocate, avid reader and mother of two beautiful children. Kelley lives between Arizona and Burundi. She loves handwritten letters, homemade pesto and anything written by Walter Brueggemann.

Finding My Irreplaceable Thread in the Garment of Justice

“In the garment of justice, your love is an irreplaceable thread.”

By Stephanie Motz Skinner | Twitter: @stephmotz

The word “justice” scares me. It’s not difficult to observe the world and recognise the countless ways in which some people suffer. Simply being offended by cruelty and exploitation actually requires very little of me. Action is far more expensive.

I think recognising an injustice can be a confrontational experience; even intimidating. By its very nature, injustice cries out for a rectification or a remedy. But with the magnitude of the pain we observe, it’s easy to feel defeated.

I felt encouraged then when I heard of a group of SheLoves sisters will be roadtripping to the Justice Conference in Portland, Oregon next week. The Justice Conference? I have never heard of such a thing, but what a brilliant testament to the fact that there are numbers of people out there now who realize it’s simply unacceptable to stay paralyzed by feelings of insignificance when we are awakened to the suffering in our world.

When I checked out the website from my home here in Uganda, I saw the Justice Conference has a beautiful message to share … a refreshing way of helping me understand what justice looks like.

“Justice,” they say, “is a garment, a billion threads, interwoven, interlocked, knit together with strength and integrity. Pull one thread from the fabric and the garment begins to fray.”

Some of the issues the conference will tackle are exploitation, human trafficking, hunger, genocide, gender violence, gender equality, the environment and immigration. Just reading through that list can seem terrifying, but it made me realize how much is at stake here. These issues are so entrenched in our world that nobody can contend against them alone. Every simple and small contribution is needed if we want to overcome them.

The promotional video for the conference ends with this powerful statement: “In the garment of justice, your love is an irreplaceable thread.” And I would add that each one of our voices and individual talents are also necessary. Maybe you’ve heard that before, but it really motivated me this month and I often need to remind myself of it.

Confession

I know we are not meant to be competing against each other, but the truth is, at times, I can feel insecure. Sometimes I find myself looking at what other people are doing to fight injustice and I can begin to believe I have nothing to offer or I’m not doing enough.

But, I’m learning we can’t all be running the same race. It is necessary that we each have something different to contribute. It’s natural that we each align our hearts with a specific issue … a calling that resonates in us individually. As I think of this, and I imagine the garment of justice, I see colour and diversity–an intricate and beautiful pattern.

There is space for all of us.

 Different issues, Different talents

I’m thankful that SheLoves opens doors of opportunity for us to respond to injustice. Here, we support each other and learn from each other’s experiences. We are invited to be a part of so many different stories, but we are also encouraged in our individual journeys.

I’ve seen here, at She Loves, how many of our sisters are driven to action because they are passionate about finding solutions to a specific issue, and they use what is in their hands to respond.

Let’s take one issue–human trafficking–as an example. I admire how Tara Teng used her platform as Miss Canada to shed light on the issue. We need women like Tara to speak out. But, we also need the people who invest their lives working in the field to rehabilitate women and children who have been rescued from slavery. We need women like Danielle, who used her voice and art to raise funds for Abolition International. We need women like Katherine and Annette, who are creating a film to raise awareness.

I appreciate that, even though we can’t do it all–we can’t all travel, create films, fundraise or speak in public–we can still be a part of other people’s journeys and they can be a part of ours. Whether we are cheering others on, donating or praying, we all have the opportunity to help keep the garment of justice together and I’m thankful that each thread matters.

I’m reminded again: None of us can do it all, but we can all do something.

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My dear SheLoves friends, I wonder:

• What comes to mind when you hear the word “justice”?
• Are you going to the Justice Conference?
• What issues shake you and inspire you to act?

_______________________________________________

About Stephanie:
I believe in the power of storytelling. I’m a photographer and writer for Fakeleft. Together with my husband, we love sharing stories of courage, of strength in the face of adversity, of triumph and hope. I truly believe that by partnering with others who want to bring change and justice to our world, we can actually make a difference.  I’m learning to walk in my nascent faith, but it’s not always easy. It’s an interesting journey.

I am currently living in Uganda, but my heart is everywhere. I’m a proud Latina from Choluteca, Honduras. I wish I had a Spanish accent. My favourite meal is dessert and my favourite sport is tanning. I blog at fakeleft.com/blog and tweet at @stephmotz

Seeking the Face of Justice: Lessons from Two Former Child Soldiers

By Stephanie Motz Skinner | Twitter: @stephmotz

When we see how much injustice there is in the world, sometimes we forget that a simple act of reaching out and caring can make all the difference.

I can’t say I fully understand justice. Living in Uganda, however, as I hear firsthand the stories of people who have experienced great injustice–people who are now healing–I’m often reminded of what achieving justice looks like. I also learn that in seeking justice I don’t need to become overwhelmed.

God reminds me there’s nothing silent or static about justice. Wherever I search for the word “justice” in the Bible, I come across action. Justice is life-giving, loud and active. He also provides me with many examples on how to seek justice: speak out, reach out and give.

Seeking Justice

I learn that to seek is the desire or attempt to achieve something. I may have the desire, but if I don’t take the leap from desire to action, I’ll never “achieve” justice. Justice isn’t just the feeling in my heart. It’s the ways in which I will choose to respond to that feeling.

I’m reminded that seeking justice is a choice I continually have to make, because seeking justice, though it’s not impossible, isn’t easy. It can be uncomfortable.

It’s not easy

-Personally, I’m not very good at speaking out. I’m shy.
-Being generous is hard when I feel like I don’t have the finances.
-Reaching out requires meeting people and investing my time.

I have to be honest, sometimes I can get lazy, overwhelmed and scared. I can fail to take the leap from desire to action because it means I have to get out of my comfort zone. Therefore, I have to continue to choose to keep my heart and eyes open so I don’t fail to see injustice and take the opportunities to respond.

Lessons from Filder and Susan

Filder and Susan belong to a generation of children who were abducted by the LRA in northern Uganda and forced to live under the captivity of rebel soldiers. Many of them were forced to witness and commit unimaginable atrocities. They were robbed of their childhood and innocence. Boys were forced to become child soldiers and girls were often given away as trophy wives to rebel commanders.

Like many other abducted children, when Filder and Susan returned from captivity, their community rejected them completely. Now they are part of an initiative run by Watoto that trains and disciples this stolen generation and helps them reintegrate into their communities. They have been given the opportunity to regain control of their lives because somebody acted.

We sat at their new home on Suubi Hill, and when I asked them what was the most important thing I as an individual could do to seek justice, their answers were surprisingly simple. They said that if I care, I will stop and listen to those who are hurting around me. To Susan and Filder, former child soldiers, realizing justice begins with an interaction.

“Just talking with someone who has been through something very painful can help him or her,” Susan said. “Don’t pass and go, find out how they are doing. Talk to them, take your time to sit with them.”

Filder added: “Encourage and be faithful to one another, help them, build them up.”

I know justice is not one-dimensional. Choosing to stop, care and listen might not solve all of the world’s problems. But if it reminds one person of her worth–if one person rises up from her circumstances and starts to believe in herself again–then that simple action might just be the beginning of someone’s experience of real justice. It’s easy to think that our simple, individual acts of goodness, kindness, or love are insignificant when we see how much injustice there is in the world, but it’s exactly those simple, individual acts that, when added together, can begin to make real positive difference.

I notice that difference when I see Filder and Susan. These girls have experienced war, loss and rejection, but when you meet them, you see love, joy and a real sense of appreciation shining through them. They are healing, smiling and dreaming. They want to shine that light and share that face of justice with other women in their community. And that’s the other thing I’ve learnt about this face of justice: it doesn’t stop at that one person. It sets off a ripple.

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What are YOUR thoughts?

• What speaks to you in this post?
• When and where do you see the face of justice?
• How would you like to grow in this area?

_________________________________________________________________________________________

About Stephanie:
Stephanie is a humanitarian and portrait photographer for fakeleft.com where she shares stories of hope and dignity. She blogs at fakeleft.com/blog and tweets at @stephmotz

Threads of a Sister’s Story: Building Bridges of Hope

“I am inspired by women like Nikole, who recognize they are called to walk alongside others in the mutual goal of seeking justice in the world, not as a do-gooder, or a savior, but as a sister in Christ.”

By Enuma Okoro | Twitter: @TweetEnuma
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I was raised in four countries on three continents.

I am a cradle Catholic whose first memory of God is laced with multi-ethnic faces and visions of a holy Mary. I come from a family where women’s voices are loudly heard at home and in vocations around the globe. No matter how often the world and even the church may try to convince me otherwise, I cannot separate my understanding of God from my recognition of the strength and beauty of women.

It’s amazing really, the way one woman randomly encountering another woman can tell a small snippet of her story and lay a thread down, soft and silent, one more weave of rope for that hanging bridge of hope we all dangle on.

I met Nikole Lim at a speakers gathering last year. We were signed up to share a room at the conference center. Nikole is a young striking Chinese-American woman with a playful and edgy sense of style. I was not surprised to discover Nikole was a photographer and a humanitarian documentary filmmaker. As the days went on, I wasn’t even surprised to discover that she had started Freely in Hope, her own 501(c) faith-based nonprofit committed to addressing issues of poverty, sexual abuse and educational injustice for women in Kenya.

But I was surprised to find out she was only 23 years old.

And I was surprised to find out how open Nikole was to shifting her life steps in order to dance to the rhythm of God’s heartbeat, the rhythm she heard while listening to some snippet of another woman’s story.

Through a mutual friend, Nikole was introduced to Eunice, and learned about this particular Kenyan woman’s strength and resolution to overcome the violence of rape and poverty.  Humbled by Eunice’s story Nikole felt her own life forever altered and said yes to a daunting but convicting call to build a bridge between her world in California and Eunice’s world in Nairobi.

“Through Eunice’s story, I was liberated from my own selfishness,” says Nikole. “As God was challenging my heart, I felt called to start an organization to provide spiritual, educational and economic empowerment for girls worldwide. I thought that maybe, God was calling me to be a part of something greater—a part of stories that could change not only my life, but the lives of so many other women who are vulnerable to sexual abuse.”

I am inspired by women like Eunice, who in the face of horror, deep pain and mounting obstacles can courageously and gracefully hold onto the seed of knowledge that she, too, is a child of God with power and purpose.

Eunice believed in herself and in God before meeting Nikole.

I am inspired by women like Nikole, who recognize they are called to walk alongside others in the mutual goal of seeking justice in the world, not as a do-gooder, or a savior, but as a sister in Christ.

“I’ve been a witness to countless images that portray the “third world” as a place of despair,” says Nikole. “For too long, images have been used to capitalize on individuals, families and cultures. Worth has been shattered and dignity broken. My goal as a humanitarian photographer and filmmaker is to not exploit, but to leverage stories that empower, restore and transform.”

I am inspired by women who take time to listen to the still small voice of God, to discern how God would use their own unique hands and heart to foster healing in a broken world.

There are so many contexts and cultures that teach women to be passive and quiet recipients of injustice and varied forms of violence. And there are so many untold stories of women like Nikole and Eunice who do not shy away from challenge and conviction, because they believe that central to their life’s meaning and faith is the call to issue in God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. Wherever Jesus went about preaching the kingdom of God and calling onlookers to reconcile themselves to God’s love, he did so hand in hand with changing people’s circumstances to reflect the type of world God envisions for all. The kingdom of God is made manifest wherever creation moves one step closer to physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental healing.

“Our vision is for women worldwide to experience God’s transformative love by living freely in hope.” -Nikole Lim , Founder of  Freely in Hope.

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My dear SheLoves sisters, I’d love to hear:

• What soft threads of another’s sister’s story have been woven into your own story of hope and purpose?
• Is there a friend, a sister’s story, that comes to mind that has particularly shaped how you live your life now?
• Any other thoughts or comments?

_________________________________

About Enuma

Enuma was born in the United States and raised in Nigeria, Ivory Coast and England. She holds a Master of Divinity degree from Duke University Divinity School where she served as Director for the Center for Theological Writing. She is an author, speaker, spiritual director and continues to lead workshops and retreats on varied topics engaging the literary and visual arts, and spiritual disciplines.

Her spiritual memoir, Reluctant Pilgrim: A Moody Somewhat Self-Indulgent Introvert’s Search for Spiritual Community  (Fresh Air Books, 2010) was a winning finalist in the 2010 USA Best Books Award and received the 2011 National Indie Excellent Book Awards Winning Finalist in “Spirituality and African-American Non-Fiction.” She is co-author with Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove of Common Prayer: Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals

Enuma’s new forthcoming book, “Silence,” will be released in Summer/Fall 2012

She also writes an online column at Patheos called “Cornering God” about women’s ways of knowing and engaging the holy. You can find her online at  www.enumaokoro.com

Photo credit: All images of Eunice, by Nikole Lim

Seeds of Dreaming and Doing

On Ugandan gardens + Honduran dreams. 

By Stephanie Motz Skinner | Twitter: @stephmotz

December always seems to be a month of reflection for me. It’s a time infused with a steady air of change; of new beginnings. It’s always a time I appreciate the family I am surrounded with, and pine for the others who are far away and scattered, like the leaves of autumn, whose colours I can almost remember from my time in Montreal some years back. And, as the year turns, my thoughts inevitably shift inwards as I analyse my life over the last 12 months. It’s hard now, to imagine those bleak Canadian winterscapes, and as I draw them out from my memory there is almost a brief nostalgia, a distant and twisted kind of longing for that lifeless air that freezes you from the inside as you step outside and draw into your lungs that icy chill.

Uganda is instead a warm and living garden that never suffers frostbite. And my life, too, is like a garden. When I reflect on the journey that my life has taken, I can see a modest, but blossoming landscape. It seems that different areas of my life grow at their own pace. I notice I need to weed out some stubbornness and pride that seem to overgrow and stifle the development of my character. I see how my marriage is flourishing and the relationship with my family is strong like the Mvule tree, the guardian of Uganda’s forests. Some dreams seem stifled by a fear that cuts them back. And out in the distance I see a flowering field of love that is in bloom.

There’s always work to be done in a garden and mine is not yet lush or fully mature. There’s still a lot of pruning, clearing and shaping to do. And as the end of the year approaches, I can’t help but notice the empty spaces, the ones that belong to certain dreams I haven’t yet planted. Even though this year felt like a season of growth, I still hold in my hand many seeds that have been collected throughout my life and, for a moment, it seems as if I didn’t do enough to move forward in planting them.

These seeds of purpose come in all different shapes and sizes. Some of them are dreams I believe God has placed in my heart for me to plant, nurture and grow. Others are areas of my life I want to improve on, things I’m passionate about and personal goals I want to accomplish. As I sketch out the year, it can feel a bit overwhelming to realize how many of them remain unplanted. I begin to wonder about my excuses for not planting them – if I had any. Or I begin to ask myself if perhaps I allowed my fears to stop me. What were my reasons? Why wasn’t this the year? Self-doubt has a way of creeping in and planting its own poisonous seeds. What if my seeds never germinate, or if my plant produces toxic fruit? And then sometimes I just get too busy.

Honduras

One of my seeds–something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time–is to start a program for Honduran youth who are at social risk. I often dream of creating an organization that empowers teenagers who don’t have parents looking after them, or who make their daily living by begging on the streets. Often they are enticed into destructive lives, resorting to drugs and joining violent gangs in a desperate attempt to find a place to belong. I believe that the future of my country is in the hands of the youth and we need to offer them an alternative–a choice. I feel a sense of responsibility as a Honduran towards these teenagers and I want to be one of the people who helps them realize their potential.

This year I learned a few things about gardening by observing and helping my husband with his vegetable garden. I learned that before planting, we needed to first collect the seeds and then research the plant we wanted to grow. We had to learn what the best conditions for the seed were, when was the best time of year to plant it, and whether it grows in sun or shade.

We then had to plan the layout of our seedbed, create it and till the ground. It took us a while before we were ready to plant. We had to first prepare the ground where the seeds would grow and plough the soil where they would take root.
In the same way, I realize even though I haven’t yet planted many of the seeds in my hand, I have been preparing the soil for them.

Living  in Uganda, working alongside NGOs who are empowering people, has confirmed my desire to do something in my own country. I’m observing, absorbing and learning about the complexity of running any form of organization. I’ve also learned the value of humble beginnings and placing our faith in God.

Surrounding myself with others who share a passion for justice and listening to the stories of people who have overcome many adversities in their lives, has stretched my heart and broadened my mind.

This year my heart has been stirred by causes I’m passionate about, and awakened to the pain and injustice others face in this world. I’ve been challenged, strengthened, inspired and encouraged by my family and friends.

This community of sisters who are doers and dreamers has inflamed my passion for justice and strengthened my desire to not just applaud those who are at the frontline in the fight against injustice, but to join them.

Preparing the soil for my seeds meant doing a lot of thinking, praying, researching, planning, reading, writing, and even cheering others in their journeys. It might seem like a small step, but it’s an important step. In gardening it sets the stage for planting. It loosens the top layer of soil to facilitate the planting of the seed.

As I prepare myself for that next step, it reinforces my commitment to these dreams I hold close to my heart. It builds my capacity to fulfill them and develops the character I need to nurture them and help them grow. It strengthens my belief that they should be planted. And it increases the suspense and my excitement for these dreams, because I believe when the time comes to plant them, my heart will be prepared.

I wonder:

• When you reflect on the last year, what comes to mind?
• How do you feel about the seeds in your hand?

Dear SheLoves sisters I wish each and every one of you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Here’s to hoping the next year is full of ploughing, sowing, growing and harvesting for all of us.

With love,

Stephanie.

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About Stephanie:
Stephanie is a humanitarian and portrait photographer for fakeleft.com where she shares stories of hope and dignity. She blogs at fakeleft.com/blog and tweets at @stephmotz

World AIDS Day: Change begins with my Whisper

On vanilla Rooibos tea, making a (digital) quilt and waving my arms wildly. 

By Idelette McVicker | Twitter: @idelette

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It’s not enough for me to cry when I watch the trailer of the movie The Help. Just yesterday crocodile tears started rolling down my face again as I watched the trailer with the girls at LifeWomen. Kinda silly, I know, if you don’t know my story. But you see, the images of maids in uniforms remind me so vividly of the separate toilet in our home in Paarl, South Africa. I remember how my mom washed Flip, the gardener’s plate, spoon, fork and knife and carefully set it away under the sink for him to use again the next time he came around.

I have lived inside the pages of The Help; on a different continent, yes, and in a different time, but I know that story’s whites only pages.

Why do I keep going back to my “old story”?

Because my heart for justice was broken open in that place. I know what it’s like to be completely separated from a story happening right under my nose. I know how easy it is to live parallel to a great injustice and think I’m unaffected.

Now I know differently and this knowing colours my core.

So, there was a story to write today and I felt so tired and I’ve been silent for a while, but I knew I had to write this for this day.

World AIDS Day

That’s why I sat in my chair last night when my eyelids begged me to go to bed. I tried to freewrite my way to this story, but my pen felt like a rock in my hands and my head kept bobbing—so tired—wanting to nod off.

Finally, I made some vanilla rooibos tea and ate (another) Martha Stewart sugar cookie.

Truth is:
- It would have been easier to go to bed.

- It would have been way more comfortable to go to bed.

- It would have been fully justifiable to go to bed.

Problem was: I knew I would have to face my own heart all day today, knowing it’s December 1^st.

I also knew I would have to give account to my God for this day.

December 1st?

- Not because it’s the first day we will crack open the (fair trade—so excited!) Advent calendar.

- Not because it’s the day we might put up the tree.

- Not even because it’s one week before my eldest’s birthday, marking my own advent into motherhood.

No, it’s because on December 1^st, 1995—sixteen years ago—I parked my scooter and with notebook and helmet in hand, walked out onto the plaza at Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial in Taipei, Taiwan. 

(Imagine this picture, only on gray day with drizzling rain and hundreds of quilts covering that cemented area.)

On that wintery day in Taiwan, I came face-to-face with the AIDS Memorial Quilt. It was a project originally created by The Names Foundation in 1987 and displayed in Washington, D.C. and finally made its way to Taiwan. This quilt—with each panel about the size of a regular bedspread—was laid out on the public plaza. It was like a whole block of my neighbourhood covered in fabric squares with stories, memories and photographs of loved ones lost to AIDS.

Soft music played over the loudspeakers and I remember walking from one panel to the next, reading message after message.

That year, December 1st became permanently marked on the calendar of my heart.

That dreary day, I read every panel.

I talked to people.

I cried quietly.

I took pictures.

From that day on, I knew AIDS was a place where I had to go stand, sometimes waving madly, so others would take notice; other times just weeping softly because this thing is so big.

In the years since:

- I interviewed Hansen Wu, an AIDS advocate in Taiwan who himself was HIV+ and had lost a loved one to AIDS. We sat in a small tea shop in Taipei and talked T-cells, dignity, human rights and faith.

- I became a fan of Stephen Lewis.

- Then I became an even bigger fan of Stephen Lewis’ Grandmothers Campaign–or GoGo Grannies where grandmothers in North America partner with grandmothers in Africa to give strength and support, so these African granny-heroes may care for the AIDS orphans.

- At last year’s Amahoro conference, I met the beautiful Musa Njoko, a woman who lives with HIV and was literally the first woman in South Africa who shared her story publically. Now she lives her (sometimes very difficult) life to sing and be a testimony to God’s goodness.

- Also in Kenya, I visited an HIV test center run by City Harvest Church and drank sweet tea with women like Becky and Ebby who volunteer their lives to test every person who walks through the door, so others in their community may be safe. This is their heart for God and in their community, where persons with HIV are often shunned, it speaks loudly.

My most honest statement today, however, would be that I haven’t held AIDS close this year. I have been distracted by the many other big things out there.

Then, yesterday, Annie Lennox emailed me.

Ok, she emailed every ONE.org subscriber with an invitation to participate in the (2015) Quilt project.

Quilt? 

Of course I clicked. I read the email, then clicked on the link. Click-click-drag-click and boom! I created a panel for this digital quilt. I just did something. Added my voice. Wrote a pledge. It took about five minutes.

As I read around the site, I realized something: the new AIDS math is astounding me. In a good way!

Current status: 1,000 babies are born with HIV every day.

Prediction: By 2015, that number can be nearly zero.

HOW? By giving 1.4 million pregnant mothers access to treatment that costs 40 cents a day.

The strategy is brilliant: ONE.org is honing in on stopping AIDS where it gets transmitted from mothers to babies. By 2015.

Somehow the numbers didn’t seem eyes-glazing-over overwhelmingly big. Suddenly this HUGE mountain seems kind of movable, with every one of us doing our something. (*Waving arms wildly here.*)

So, today I lift up my ONE voice to this mountain.

Honestly, 16 years ago I couldn’t have imagined reading the words “AIDS” and “end” in the same sentence in my lifetime. But this World AIDS Day, I pledge to stand in that exact possibility—that one day we could live in a world without AIDS.

Here’s what we can do today–simple things that eventually will tip the scale if we all do it:

• Read the facts.
• Make a quilt.
• Write a pledge.
• Buy something (RED).
• And please, let’s stand in this possibility of a world without AIDS today. That’s the place where I’m lifting my prayers up from today onwards.

The possibility still blows my mind a little … #faith #faith #faith

But, I am all for the beginning of the end of this one.

“It can be done.” –ONE.org

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My dear SheLoves sisters, friends and partners-in-change, I’d love to hear:

• When did you first come face-to-face with the story of AIDS?
• How will you honour this day today?
• If you make a pledge or create a quilt, please share it with me. I’d LOVE to see it.

_____________________________________________________

About Idelette:
I like soggy cereal and I would like to go to every spot on the map of the earth to meet our world’s women.

I dream of a world where no women or girls are for sale. I dream of a world where women and men are partners in doing the work that brings down a new Heaven on earth.

My word for the year is “Roar,” but I have learned it’s not about my voice rising as much as it is about our collective voices rising in unison to bring down walls of injustice.

I have three children and this place–right here, called shelovesmagazine.com–is my fourth baby. I am African, although my skin colour doesn’t tell you that story. I am also a little bit Chinese, because my heart lives there amongst the tall skyscrapers of Taipei and the mountains of Chiufen. Give me sweet chai and I think I’m in heaven. I live in Vancouver, Canada and I pledged my heart to Scott 11 years ago.

I believe in kindness and calling out the song in each other’s hearts. I also believe that Love covers–my gaps, my mistakes and the distances between us. I blog at idelette.com and tweet@idelette.

What One Girl and Her Decals Can Do

“When I see numbers in the millions and billions, it’s so easy for my eyes to glaze over and think it’s too big.”

By Danielle Hardy | Twitter: @hardydanielle

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I have to admit, I feel like I’m putting myself “out there” by showing you my excuses internal dialogue:

I don’t like to admit I have excuses that stop me from helping people; and they certainly aren’t intentional. Am I the only one who has thought these things? I guess I look at the facts that 27 million people are presently being trafficked in a 32-billion dollar industry. Those are intimidating numbers. These numbers represent a whole lot of women and children who are trapped with no voice and no way out.

When I see numbers in the millions and billions, it’s so easy for my eyes to glaze over and think it’s too big. But the reality is, this is happening, this is real, these are vulnerable children’s lives and I know I need to do something.

I have to do something.

I have no excuses.

God is bigger.

End of Story.

I look at these statistics:

* Every two minutes a child is exploited in the sex industry

* 200,000 American children have been sold

* One in three runaways is approached by a trafficker within the first 48 hours of being on the street

* 1.2 million children are enslaved worldwide in the commercial sex industry

* Sex trafficking is estimated to be a $32-billion dollar industry; it’s the second largest illegal crime

* 1,000,000 people are trafficked across international borders each year (80% are women and children; 50% are minors)

(Statistics from CNN Freedom Projects and Abolition International)

Then I read what the Bible has to say:

This is the kind of fast day I’m after: to break the chains of injustice, get rid of exploitation in the workplace, free the oppressed, cancel debts. What I’m interested in seeing you do is: sharing your food with the hungry, inviting the homeless poor into your homes, putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad, being available to your own families. Do this and the lights will turn on, and your lives will turn around at once. Your righteousness will pave your way. The God of glory will secure your passage. Then when you pray, God will answer. You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, “Here I am.” –Isaiah 58:6-9 MSG

Here’s how I changed my perspective:

I figured I do have something in my hand … 

I have an etsy store called Urbanwalls where I sell wall decals.

Two-day Sale with ALL proceeds for Abolition International:

For two days next week–on November 29th and 30th–Urbanwalls will be donating 100% of the profits towards abolishing child trafficking. All of the proceeds will go to Abolition International, a non-profit organization committed to abolishing child trafficking. I would so appreciate your support in helping me make a difference in these kids’ lives.

Urbanwalls: To view all the wall decals, go here: www.etsy.com/shop/urbanwalls

I also realize not everyone may want or need a decal, so I would also be grateful if you could help me spread the word.

Please retweet to your followers on Twitter and share this with your friends on Facebook (Please copy from below).

Twitter: Purchase an Urbanwalls decal from @hardydanielle Nov 29+30. All profits go to @abolitionintl to stop child trafficking! http://etsy.me/exe0Hc

Facebook: Purchase an Urbanwalls decal on November 29 & 30 and 100% of proceeds are going to Abolition International to abolish child trafficking! etsy.com/shop/urbanwalls

I’m so very THANKFUL for this opportunity. So very THANKFUL that I DO have a voice and I CAN use it. So very thankful that God is on my side and so very thankful for amazing men and women who will come alongside to make CHANGE happen. Thank you!

About Danielle:

Danielle Hardy lives in Surrey, BC (we’ll refer to it as Cloverdale). She is a wife to Paul and mommy to two of the cutest “Hardy Boys” around. She is owner and creator of Urbanwalls, Etsy seller, Graphic Designer, aspiring blogger and thrives in awkward moments. She blogs a uwdecals.com and tweets at @hardydanielle

The Thing that Makes Me Angry Now

“If something makes you angry–an injustice, in particular–that is as good as an engraved invitation to do something about it.”–Sarah Bessey

By Stephanie Motz Skinner | Twitter: @stephmotz

“I don’t believe that we will make progress on HIV/AIDS without addressing maternal mortality. We will not make the progress we want on malaria without addressing maternal mortality. We will not make progress on getting more children to school without reducing maternal mortality. When a mother survives, a lot survives with her.” – Sarah Brown

There’s a chapter in Half the Sky, the best-selling book by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn that tells the tragic story of Prudence, a young woman from Cameroon.

When Prudence went into labor in her village, a traditional birth attendant assisted her, but after three difficult days she still had not given birth. In a desperate attempt to force the child out, the woman sat on Prudence’s stomach and began to jump up and down. Prudence’s uterus ruptured.

Only then was Prudence taken to the hospital where the doctor asked the family for $100 to perform a cesarean. Her family only had $20, so Prudence remained untreated for another three days, her dead baby decaying inside her.

Kristof tells of how he personally paid the remainder of the money needed for the operation but the doctor decided it could wait another day. By the time Prudence was rolled into the operating theatre, it was too late. Her abdomen was severely infected and she fell into a coma. Three days later she died.

“That’s what happens, somewhere in the world, once every minute,” the story concludes.

Close to home

Not long after that I read about a Ugandan schoolteacher who died along with her unborn child, while her husband desperately tried to find the money to pay for the operation she needed. He frantically rushed around town trying to sell the title deeds to his land while his wife lay bleeding and without any help in one of the country’s main hospitals. Instead of celebrating one of life’s greatest gifts, he mourned an incomprehensible and senseless loss.

I’ve never had a child and so my ideas about giving birth have been shaped by what other women have told me about their experiences. And yet, even with my hyperactive imagination, the kinds of things that happened to Prudence were not what I envisioned around childbirth.

Yes, the thought of giving birth makes me shudder and I think it’s one of the bravest things a woman will ever do, but even through the misty gaze of my fears, I still see childbirth as something profoundly beautiful–a celebration.

Maybe I have been blinded by the safety of my privilege. I imagine that when I bring my children into the world I’ll find myself in a safe environment attended to by a midwife or a nurse who will help me with competence and care. And I believe no woman should expect any less.

But recently I have been learning that, for many women, giving birth is deadly. Their experience is defined by the hefty price that childbirth claims when they don’t have access to adequate care.

According to the United Nations Population Fund (UNPFA) 350,000 women die every year from complications during childbirth. That’s almost the same number of people who live in cities like New Orleans, Florence or Surrey.

But what upsets me the most is that 90 percent of these deaths are preventable. Simple yet critical interventions can help reduce maternal mortality rates.

In developing countries, maternal mortality has been attributed to a series of delays. Women can be slow to seek medical care when they are not aware of the dangers of childbirth. Care is often difficult to access. When they finally arrive at hospitals or clinics, they often find medical attendants who are overworked, unmotivated or simply do not have the resources to do their jobs.

Credit: Tadej Znidarcic for The New York Times. Click on the image to view the whole slideshow: In Uganda, a Failure to Deliver..

In Uganda, as must be the case in much of the developing world, many health care centers don’t even have the most basic supplies, like gloves or surgical knives.

According to the news agency IRIN, Uganda’s largest state-owned hospital has only five health care workers in the maternity ward that attend to 60 births each day. The situation is much worse in rural areas where there are no health facilities.

As Kirstof and WuDunn emphasize in Half the Sky, neglect for maternal health is a human rights issue and in many countries a gender-based one. They note that there’s a strong correlation between countries where women are marginalized and those with high maternal mortality rates.

We are told that women are important for development. Many organizations are urging the world to keep girls in school. We often hear that women tend to invest more in their families. And yet, of all the Millennium Development Goals, efforts to reduce maternal mortality and achieve universal access to reproductive health have made the least progress.

The good news is that there are many people who are already providing solutions. Organizations like International Midwife Assistance (IMA) have recognized that one of the ways to reduce maternal mortality rates is to train more midwives.

IMA works in Soroti, a rural area in eastern Uganda, where they provide free transportation to pregnant women when they need to go to their local clinic. They also run a mobile outreach clinic for remote areas of the community where they teach mothers about childbirth and family planning as well as offer them prenatal care. And they train local practitioners to empower them to provide quality prenatal and birth services.

This solution alone will not reduce maternal mortality rates. Governments in developing countries need to commit to funding maternal heath projects. Access needs to be improved through infrastructure and transportation. And women need to know about the complications of childbirth so they don’t delay seeking care.

I know there’s so much more for me to learn, but I was inspired by Sarah, a.k.a. Emerging Mummy, last week when she wrote, “If something makes you angry–an injustice, in particular–that is as good as an engraved invitation to do something about it.”  So I decided I couldn’t hush this reality. Perhaps we all need to hear more about it. Ultimately reducing maternal mortality rates is about keeping mothers alive.

And I can’t imagine what my world would have been like without my mother.

My dear SheLoves sisters, will you join me in spreading the word? 

I wonder:

• Have you read Half the Sky? What were your thoughts after reading it, especially the story of Prudence?
• What makes you angry?

About Stephanie:
Stephanie is a humanitarian and portrait photographer for fakeleft.com where she shares stories of hope and dignity. She blogs at fakeleft.com/blog and tweets at @stephmotz