The moment

Week one of Waiting for Water focuses on the theme of meeting Jesus. Throughout this journey, we are looking at Peter's own relationship with Jesus and what it can teach us about ourselves.

Ancient fishing boat discovered on the Sea of Galilee, courtesy of Christianity Today.

Luke 5 describes one of Peter's first encounters with Jesus. Jesus was talking to a crowd of people at the seashore, and they were a true crowd--crowding him to the very edge of the water. Jesus looked around, spied Peter's boat, and asked to borrow it. From the boat, Jesus could talk without being squashed, and his voice would carry nicely across the water.

Let's stop and think about this for a second. Peter had just finished work for the day; he was probably exhausted and hungry and in a hurry to get home. Perhaps he was ruminating over his poor catch or wondering what his wife had cooked for lunch. I doubt he was glad to be interrupted, detained by this odd man, and asked for the use of his boat.

So here is my question to myself, and to you: Do I recognize these moments when they come?

One late night many years ago, I flung open the side door of the restaurant where I waitressed, legs aching from a double shift, and headed straight for my car. But the light spilling out the door illuminated someone in my way: Gary. He was a dishwasher, a big middle-aged guy who always cracked jokes and said hello when I passed through the kitchen. Sitting in his old junker, Gary was cranking and cranking the ignition, but the car just coughed and fell silent.

He caught sight of me and waved me over to ask for a ride. "Sure," I squeaked out, regret and anxiety coursing through my veins. So Gary folded himself into my tiny car and began directing me to his house. We drove and drove, finally taking an unfamiliar exit into a poor neighborhood a good thirty minutes away.

Funny thing about that night: It was the first time I'd ever gotten off the freeway that sailed over Gary's neighborhood. It was the first time I'd ever driven through those streets and seen actual people's faces. Soon we pulled into an alley where I dropped him off. Gary thanked me and said he'd see me at work the next day before disappearing into a dark house.

As I drove back down the alley, something began squeezing my heart. For the first time, I knew--really knew--that poor people are real people with names, and that poverty is wrong, and that God cares about this.

Most of the time I miss my "Gary" moments. When confronted with Jesus' request, maybe Peter thought, "This is random, but I'll go with it." Maybe he had no faith at all, but nonetheless, he didn't miss his moment. The events that followed changed his life forever and reshaped history.

My hope is that you and I can also be alert and respond to those moments--the ones where God bends near and beckons us into his story--when they come. Because I think they happen all the time.

Get inspired for Waiting for Water

Tom Stephen is pastor at Monte Vista Presbyterian Church in Newbury Park, California. He is also one of the founding members of Waiting for Water, and his creative and enthusiastic style shines through in the resources and community we are creating. Tom shared some of the ways Monte Vista Pres is preparing for its own Waiting for Water journey, and he agreed to let us pass them on to you. 

Here are some of the things Monte Vista is doing; feel free to make these ideas your own and share other suggestions in the comments.

·         Recruiting and training Bible study leaders by meeting with them multiple times and helping them catch the vision for Waiting for Water.

·         Inviting people to participate in W4W Bible studies; already sixty people have committed.

·         Creating full-color binders with copies of all the weeks’ Bible studies and making them available for the cost of copies.

·         Inviting artists in the congregation to create pieces of original art for all ten weeks of Waiting for Water; Tom plans to reveal one per week and then display the quilts, photos, and paintings in the worship building.

·         Handing out water bottles with a W4W logo to remind people to give up something for Lent and put money saved into the bottles; so far they have handed out 140 bottles.

·         Showing the Waiting for Water video on Sundays.

·         Creating a W4W slide that will accompany the sermons each week.

·         Using some of Dan Stevens’ videos in sermons.

·         Reminding church members each week what Waiting for Water is about and where they are going as a church.

“People are excited,” says Tom. He adds, “I’m stoked that our little church is pretty invested in this effort.” We are too, Tom. Thanks for sharing.

I hope you like pancakes, because that’s what this post is all about

Lithuanian blynai courtesy of lthforum.com

So many pancakes. Every scrap of space on the cheap dorm-room table was covered with Lithuanian blynai: rolled around gooseberry jam, nestled with a type of cottage cheese called värske, or stuffed with meat. In the center of the table towered a crumb-covered rye meal cake, twenty or so layers of alternating sponge and crème. Bottles of juice and beer clinked merrily on a shelf, while my classmates, disguised in peasant skirts, scarves, and wild makeup, stomped and whirled to the music blaring from a CD player.

“Remind me what this is again,” I bawled into Inga’s ear. She smiled and articulated carefully through frosted pink lips: “Shrove Tuesday.”

Shrove Tuesday? There had to be something lost in translation here. It was a dark February night, and I had been settling in for homework and a mug of tea when Inga had burst in and dragged me down the hall for a party. A tall boy with curly blonde hair who a few hours earlier sat beside me listening to a European history lecture now wore blue eye shadow and smeared lipstick under a flowered scarf as he bobbed around the room, snapping up pancakes between dances. 

I didn’t know what sudden madness had caused all the hubbub, but I couldn’t contemplate it for long anyway; my roommate Nomeda pulled me up from my chair, scrawled some lipstick on my face, and flung me into the dance.

As I later learned (but you probably already knew), Shrove Tuesday, also known as Fat Tuesday, is just the traditional celebration which marks the beginning of Lent. This year Fat Tuesday falls on February 21^st. We’ll talk more about Ash Wednesday and Lent and Easter soon, but for now … Share with us about your experiences with Fat Tuesday. Then make some pancakes and put on a little dancing music!

Getting it

After she got up from her nap, my three year old daughter was thirsty. “Mommy, will you get me some water?” she asked, as we were headed out the door to pick up her brother from school. I filled a cup from the pitcher in the fridge, and she watched closely.

“Does our water never run out?”

“No, more comes from the tap.”

“Who gives it to us?”

“The people at the city water department. We pay them for it. But some people don’t have water to drink like we do.”

She walked along beside me in silence, holding her cup. “Why not?”

“Some of them don’t have money to pay for water, and others live in places where there isn’t much water to be found. So then, and this is very sad, they must drink whatever water they can find, sometimes very dirty water. It gives our tummies owies, and some children your age get sick or even die.

She looked down at her cup, clutched it tightly, and began to cry. Her voice wavering, she said, “But Mommy, I don’t want to die.”

“Oh honey, the water in your cup is clean and good. We give you good water; you don’t have to worry about it making you sick. But there are other children who do have to drink bad water. Did you know that one of the things Mommy does is help those children get safe water to drink?”

She stopped crying and considered as I unlocked the car door. Then she whispered something.

“What did you say?”

Still clutching her cup, she repeated, “I think you’re pretty great.”

“I think you’re pretty great, too,” I said as tears stung my eyes.

We drove to the elementary school in silence, until my daughter burst out, “I’m going to help those children.  I’m going to give them my money.”

“Do you mean the pennies from your ladybug bank?”

“Yes!” She nodded vigorously and then settled back with a sigh.

She got it.

Water from El Porvenir

Today's guest post is courtesy of Chris Berg. Enjoy this beautiful description of life in a Nicaraguan community.

A long but thin stretch of road winds along cornfields and cane.  Somewhere along its stretch one can find a small concrete bridge some 10 miles or so outside of Leon, Nicaragua.  The place is not marked, but with a closer look one can see that to either side of the bridge dirt ramps drop at a steep grade and connect to a one lane dirt road below.  Full-size busses slowly emerge from the ramps as though disgorged from the earth itself followed by plumes of black diesel exhaust.  This is not the edge of the world, but where it begins.

The road is soft and at times cuts through the earth with 20 feet up on either side.  Trees lounge along the road side and in places grow in a straight line where some farmer had used green wood for fencing.  Green wood sprouts roots in the black volcanic earth.  Nicaraguan’s have a “dicho” or saying that if you spit in the soil something will grow.

Forty-five minutes in, the road disappears down a three foot bank into a dry river bed.  In the distance young boys are leading cattle in the middle of the day.  No shirt, shorts and flip-flops.  Each carries a thin stick for poking and prodding.  They smile broadly and wave as the dust cloud forming behind the 4x4 engulfs them and the herd.

At some point, the flatness of the land stops in front of a volcano sitting like a lumbering giant.  The road passes through a gate welcoming visitors to El Porvenir.  Somewhere along the way several people were picked up and stand in the back of the truck--children, mothers, workers, bags of cement and coke bottles filled with gasoline.  The vehicles slow and lurch as they engage low four-wheel-drive and start whining their way up an impossible grade.

Near the top of the mountain vistas unfold.  The temperature drops.  Large trees shade the road and beds of shiny coffee plants.  In other places the crops turn to beans, corn and plàtano.  Almost fifty families live on this mountain together.  After the Sandinista revolution, ex-fighters from all sides brought their families here and mixed with locals to form a coffee farming cooperative.  It’s not perfect and at times disturbing; however, they live together eating from the land and sharing work.

In the middle of the main compound is a big house.  Terracotta tiles neatly form a gentle slope down to a network of canals that lead to a cistern.  When the rains come, there is water for all—plants, people, and livestock.  In the dry season, each family rations to 5 gallons a day.  Plastic containers make the pilgrimage easier, but everyone carries what they can handle.  Usually it’s the women and children making the water run.  Gathering at the cistern is a central part of the community.  Some of them say it’s what binds them together—telling stories, seeing faces and getting recent news.

Outsiders that stay more than a day, also make their way to the cistern for bathing.  A bucket is filled with deep cold water and scrubbing commences.  It may be brief, but most emerge refreshed, clean and changed.  It is said that bathing in the water from El Porvenir  binds you to the community in untold ways.   Once done, you will never forget them.

The Girl with the Drip and the Flu

Today we have a guest post from Graham Baird, lead pastor of Highlands Church in Paso Robles, California. Take the time to read it all the way through and pray with Graham for this little girl and the many others just like her throughout our world.

Very few images from my life will remain with me until the day I die.  The image of my wife standing in a field in Princeton, New Jersey, hearing my proposal of marriage, and with a tear in her eye saying, "Oh my God, yes," and then, "Holy Shit, I'm engaged," will stay with me.  The image of my daughter just being born, her brand new bluish colored body, being thrust into my arms will stick in my mind.  And this image will also remain; a three year old African girl, on school yard playground, in remote Mozambique, who had a bucket full of holes and a snot green bubble on the end of her nose.

It was about the fourth day of my Lifewater mission trip to Mozambique, Africa.  Already a kind of immunity and inuredness to all things poor and broken had begun to set in for me. There is only so much true pain a heart can take in before it raises the drawbridge on the proverbial doors of the castle and says, "No more visitors."  It was the last stop of the day, to visit a well that Lifewater had installed three years before in the playground of a remote village.

And then there was the girl.  I did not notice her at first, since there were literally hundreds of other kids who were cowering and clambering around her to get water.  And then, alone, with her single bucket in hand, I remember seeing this little girl, dressed only in a dirty white tee-shirt reach her bucket forward to have it filled.  There was only one problem.  Her bucket had about as many holes in it as a kitchen colander.  Every time she would fill her bucket, the bucket would leak.  Her bucket held no water.  But she kept trying, like it was some kind of childhood game.  Only it wasn't a game.  She needed water to survive.

I leaned down to put my arm around her, and to find another more suitable water bucket lying around the ground somewhere.     When I got to her level, I noticed that a lack of water was not her only problem.  She also had a massive green snot bubble on the end of her nose.  Without hesitating I took out hanky from my back pocket (mostly used over the past day to keep the dust out of my lungs) and I grabbed the snot bubble and squeezed it off.  Her face remained expressionless, even if a little bit happier.

But then this little girl's true problem presented itself.  It wasn't the water can, it wasn't her snot bubble flu; it was her aloneness.  This little girl seemed completely alone.  I cannot begin to describe the loneliness and the desperateness of this little human being.  She reminded me of the little girl from the movie, "Schindler's List" who was highlighted in light pink, amidst the terror's of Auschwitz concentration camp.  Only instead of having a pink hue, this little girl's dripping white jerry can and dirty white tee shirt stood in stark contrast to the brown African landscape.  "Where is this girl's parents?" I yelled.  "Who is taking care of this little girl?"  "Who has responsibility for her?"  There was no reply.  I tried it again, only this time louder, "Who does this girl belong to, she needs help?"

Then came the voice of one of our tour guides: "She belongs to no one.  She has no parents.  Her parents are both dead.  They have both died of AIDS.  Just leave her.  The village will try to care for her."  "But the village isn't taking care of her," I said.  "She is sick.  She has holes in her water bucket," I pointed out.  "It's just the way it is here, we must go, the sun is going down," said the guide.  A thousand thoughts about international adoption possibilities rushed through my head, until I remembered what my wife who is an international adoptions expert had told me before the trip - Mozambique is a closed country, there are no adoptions from there.  There were hundreds of little girls just like her with just as many holes and snot bubbles throughout the entire country.

"Come, we must go, it is not safe here," said the guide.  And with that I found myself stooping my head to get back into the van that had brought me to this place.  As I sat down, I felt a squishy, slimy feeling in my back pocket.  It was the green snot bubble still on my hanky.  And that snot green bubble will become a part of the colliapy of images that remain with me until I die.  A little, lost girl, in a remote place, with a drip in her bucket and a case of the flu, parentless, but also loved by God.

And so I pray for her.

All for Now,

Graham Baird

Lead Pastor - Highlands Church

Paso Robles, CA  

www.highlandsadventure.org

It's happening!

Already a core group of churches and individuals have taken the Waiting for Water pledge. They have access to the professionally-developed small group resources and sermon aids which will guide them through their Easter journeys and into changed lives for the rest of the year. However, we would like more people to join us for this incredible experience. That's why we are launching ... a sign-up contest! Here are the details:

Every few days between now and Ash Wednesday, February 21, we will do a random drawing for prizes from the pool of people who have signed up for Waiting for Water. The sooner you sign up, the more chances you have to win!

What are the fabulous prizes, you ask? Winners will receive a $50 donation to their choice of one of the NGO partners featured on the Waiting for Water website. But that's not all, folks! Each winner will also receive a copy of the book Zealous Love, donated by its authors, Mike and Danae Yankoski. Zealous Love is a social justice handbook packed with information and guidance on a whole range of social justice issues, including unsafe water, human trafficking, and creation degradation. It also features gorgeous, full-color photos taken by Jeremy Cowart. It is an incredible resource and a must-have for your bookshelf!

What do you have to do? If you have already taken the Waiting for Water pledge, please share about Waiting for Water with people in your network. Encourage them to sign up, and tell them about our sign-up contest.

If you haven't signed up for Waiting for Water yet, do it now! The next drawing will be Thursday, February 9th, so don't delay. We can't wait for you to join us.