On Saturday: by Leah, team member

"When we look at need in the world, when we see the statistics and see millions in need, it's easy to be overwhelmed. We can't stay in ignorance, we must know that it's millions-but we must see it as one: one homeless family off the streets, one orphan finding a home, one hungry mouth fed, one well in Africa dug, one victory at a time..."  from Barefoot Church by Brandon Hatmaker

Today we met our one.

Actually we met more, but here is one.  A one that is not forgotten. A one who matters to Jesus and now matters to us too. 

Britukan.  Her name means orange.  She welcomed us into her home. It was small-one room, but bigger than others we had been in.  She was expecting us and had out a tiny table with tiny cups, to share a coffee ceremony.  We talked and listened as she roasted raw coffee beans over a tiny coal oven.

Britukan raises 3 children.  Two are her niece and nephew. Their mother, her sister, tied 3 years ago of HIV/AIDS.  One is her biological son.  The girl is 9, and both boys are 8.  They are so happy to see us, and very happy to get the matchbox cars and baby dolls and coloring book with crayons.  Smiling, friendly kids.

Britukan roasts the beans and fans the smoke out of the windowless room and shares a little at a time, not starting at the beginning of her story but giving bits and pieces as we listen closely and try to understand.  She wishes she could bake injera (a traditional Ethiopian bread) to sell and help support her family, but she can't afford the equipment to bake it. She has been gathering the supplies little by little; she show us the big round bowls hanging on the wall behind the door.  Now she works as a day laborer instead.

She is a single mother.  Her husband did not want to keep her sister's children.  He wanted them sent to the orphanage.  She caught him trying to rape the girl.  She shows us the scar on her own forehead where he cut her.  And a few minutes later, she mentions that he had stabbed her in the side.  She has chronic pain there, and this limits her ability to do physical labor, thus her wish to make and sell injera.

The beans have turned from green to dark brown. The smell is wonderful.  She sends the beans outside to let our guide grind them with a mortar and pestle.  She has sent the children to buy bread to go with the coffee.  Four big white rolls sit ready on a platter.  She talks about the children and her desire that they get an education.  Especially Salam, the girl.  Britukan says she has good potential and does well in school, but she is afraid she will have to drop out and help support the family.

She tells us why the bed frame we are sitting on has no mattress.  Her husband took it and everything but the bed frame.  He has come twice and burned all the children's clothes was.  He did go to prison for 6 months for stabbing her, but he is out now, and she is still afraid of him. 

The ground coffee is placed in a traditional coffee pot and heated over the little oven.  We tell her that God has not forgotten her.  We tell her that he can make beauty out of ashes.  She puts sugar in the cups and pours coffee.  The coffee is wonderful, and it is shared with such kindness.  We are overcome.

There are hugs and tears as we say goodbye.  We have shared something almost sacred in that home.

And the God who has not forgotten Britukan gave her an oven to make injera today.