House For Sale

Yesterday the "For Sale" sign went up in the yard. The realtor put on her boots and wadded through the snow to pound in the bright red and yellow sign into the frozen ground. We have worked hard on getting this house ready to sell. My parents worked hard for three weeks while I was away doing many little projects that I didn't have the skill or even the heart to do.

While the realtor was here I felt good. I'm ready to take the next step, to move forward. But as the day wore on, the gravity of the "next step" began to set in. By night time I was in tears over the finality of leaving our home of 10 years.

I love this house, it reflects my personality and who we are as a family. Much has happened in our home over the years. The girls were little and into dressing up and parading down the street with the other little girls when we moved in. Now they lay on the floor with their friends pouring over magazines with music blaring. Our son was in first grade - now he's a young man in high school beginning to think of college and a career. We went through two deployments and saw our community of friends rally around us meeting our every need and carrying us through that time. The ladies at my husband's office became more like family to me rather than my husband's co-workers. My neighborhood grew to be a place of smiles and chats while outside working in the yard. My sister has lived here the same amount of time we have and while the cousins have become close friends, my sister and I have continued to grow closer as well. I can hardly imagine a day when we don't catch up for two minutes on the phone. Our church fed us, challenged us and helped us to grow closer to God.

It is not going to be easy to leave. It is a good place with good people and good memories. But the time is coming near for our family to leave and explore the new doors God has opened up for us. I look at that new door and I am filled with excitement at the adventure and apprehension at my ability to be all God wants me to be. In the next few months, the tears will come frequently, washing my soul and preparing me for the next chapter of my life.

The Sunday before I left on this trip, my Pastor handed out maps of the world with most countries listed on the back. He asked us to pray for 7 countries a day for the next 30 days. The kids and I looked over the map at lunch time and decided that we would rather focus our prayer on the counties we had connection with. Countries where we had friends - France, Kenya, Iraq. Countries we had lived in or spent time in - New Zealand, Togo. The country we would be living in - Colombia and the country Dad was living in now - Pakistan. To really pray for a country and the Christians there, it is helpful to understand what they need prayer for.
It is legal to be a Christian in Pakistan, but that does not mean it is easy. I did not realize it until traveling here, but Pakistan operates on an unspoken caste system. Christians are at the very bottom of the list, living in poverty and danger. It is difficult for even an educated Pakistani Christian to get a job. Job applications are reviewed by Muslim Pakistanis and are mysteriously eliminated from the pile of eligible applicants.
What are the living conditions like for a person in poverty in Pakistan? Poverty means one does not own a car. Houses are small and provide shelter, but little else. There is no heat other than a fire on the very cold nights. They do not have electricity. There is no running water. You do your laundry in the river that is littered with trash. Just as mosques have become sights for terrorist attacks, so have churches.

A recent situation in Pakistan has brought the plight of Christians to the attention of the world. On June 14, 2009 Asia Bibi, a 45-year-old mother of five, was working in a field with other women. An argument started when some of the women refused to drink water fetched by Asia because she was a Christian. A case under "blasphemy laws" was registered against her by the other women claiming that Asia had made derogatory remarks against the Holy Prophet. The court sentenced her to a fine and imprisonment. After being held in isolation for more than a year, she was sentenced to death by hanging. The case caught the attention of Human Rights groups and became world news. Mr. Taseer, a senior member of the Pakistan Peoples Party, appealed for the pardon of Asia Bibi. Asia is still in prison waiting for the date to be fixed for the examination of an appeal filed by her family against the decision that sentenced her to death for blasphemy.

On January 4, 2011, Mr. Taseer was assassinated in Islamabad. He was shot by a machine gun 26 times. One of his own Elite Force Guards, Mr. Malik, killed him. Mr. Malik says he did this because Mr. Taseer recently defended the proposed amendments to the blasphemy law. Mr. Taseer knew that his stand against the blasphemy laws could cost him his life. He wrote on Twitter on Dec. 31 "I was under huge pressure sure 2 cow down b4 rightist pressure on blasphemy. Refused. even if I'm the last man standing."

So although it is legal to be a Christian in Pakistan, it is risky business. Even if you are a Muslim who believes in the rights of others, including Christians, it is risky business. Pray for more Pakistanis like Mr. Taseer who are not afraid to stand up and defend the defenseless. Pray for the Christians in Pakistan as they pay for their Christianity daily.

Living within walls

I am in the unique situation of being a visitor here at the American Embassy in Pakistan. It gives me the opportunity to have a more objective viewpoint than those who are tourists or those who are diplomats. I have the option to step back and look at both opinions.

Governments operate on a basis of protection that is rooted in fear. The fear often comes from the minority who oppose a form of government or religion. The minority in a political group or religion rises up and threatens with physical harm. They control people with physical violence and threats and the people become subservient based on fear. It does not mean that the masses agree with the minority, but they do live in a state of tension - a fear of personal safety versus freedom to rise up against these forces.

When you live in a country where this type of tension is going on and you represent a foreign government that has become involved in one side of the tension, it puts the foreign employees at risk. It is the job of the home government to protect it's citizens who are there to promote good relations, peace, humanitarian aid and evolving government relations. It is understandable that walls are built, razor wire is hung, road blocks are in place and guards with guns are stationed on the walls. We are driven around in cars that are armored, have bullet proof glass and the drivers have had defensive drivers training. Permission must be granted to go outside of the city and in visiting certain areas within the city one must be escorted. I understand this. I appreciate the importance put on the protection and safety of the employees.

But, when I venture out I find myself walking in fear. My mind tells me that a car is going to blow up or that someone is hunting me down with a gun. I forget that it is the minority that has caused need for these protections. When I relax and begin looking around me at the people, I am surprised at the welcome I receive. I have not had one look that has made me feel unsafe. In the dress shop an old woman approached me. She took my hands in hers and patted them with a big smile. She could not speak English, but in her expression I felt welcomed in her country. A young woman struck up a conversation with me sharing some of her knowledge about America. As I was waiting in a Drs. office a woman began talking with me. She works for one of the t.v. stations here and invited me to visit for a tour of the station. We have been invited into homes for meals and women have been willing to take their time to show me around Islamabad. The majority here are warm and welcoming. They do not want tension, they want peace. They want to share their country with me, the foreigner - they welcome me with open arms.

When working with a NGO (non-government organization) protection is based on trust. As you build relationships with the people you are working with they protect you. If they hear rumor of an unsafe situation they warn you and help you get out. There is a risk in trust. You may end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. But there is also comfort in trust. You do not move about in fear built by walls and regulations.

We don't always have the freedom to choose which model we are going to live under, but if you must live without freedom, it is possible to remember that the majority is welcoming and embrace the opportunities for interaction when possible.

Girls Day Out

My husband arranged for me to spend the day with the wife of a colleague of his. Crossing the boarders of culture and age I had no idea how the day would go, but within the first few moments I realized I had found a friend.

For me the day began with taking the motor-pool to the Marriott Hotel where my husband had arranged a car and driver for us. The driver took me over to her office where I waited for her. When she came out and greeted me, her smile drew me in. Being a little clueless I left the day up to her. She broke the ice by taking me to a designer dress shop. The shalwar kameez (meaning "pants & shirt" - it is the style of clothing worn in Pakistan & India by both men and women) were exquisite. Many of the outfits in this store were what would be worn to a wedding. The colors and bead work were stunning. We had fun looking and trying a few things on. We hid in the dressing room taking pictures and laughing. Thus we began a fun day of shopping together. She took me to different markets doing all the bargaining for me. We had lunch at a great little restaurant where the mild entrees did not burn my mouth. (Later after talking to my husband I learned that this restaurant has a reputation for leaving their chicken sit out and many Americans have ended up sick after the experience.) The day gave me an opportunity to ask her questions. No more did I have to rely on hearsay. She was very comfortable and I felt I could be completely honest in my impressions. Through this time of chatting together, I began to understand some of the culture and customs of this country.

We ended our day together at her home looking through her wedding albums. Remembering both of our wedding days, no matter how different the ceremonies, clothing and celebrations were, we were able to share a common joy.

Freedom

In America, we have no idea what it would be like to live with a loss of freedom. We talk about being a "free country" but we don't understand the consequences of loosing that freedom and don't believe we ever will. Americans have even taken it a step further by opposing those leaders who take steps to push back the tide that is threatening our well being.
I have traveled all over the world - Europe, South America, Canada, New Zealand, Australia and Africa - but the majority of the areas I have been in enjoy the same freedom we do. For the first time I am in an area where freedom truly does not exist.
There are remnants of memory of oppression in America. A few survivors of the haulocaust are still alive and it wasn't that long ago that blacks were truly oppressed. But the generation of today has no memory of these things. We can read about them and be taught about them in class, but until we experience a loss of freedom, we have no concern.
What is it like to live within brick walls? Restriction on where you can eat, where you can walk, how you can be transported because it is not safe? Oppression because of race, religion or financial status. What about when you turn on your t.v. and hear phrases like "People don’t like them" (referring to US citizens) and "because we hate you..." This is life for the Westerner in Pakistan. Every day I wake up and realize anew that I am not in Kansas anymore.

Some people have a small vision of what a loss of freedom would be like on American soil. They think about the world their children and grandchildren could live in someday. And they choose to do something about it. Most of those people join the military and a small group of others choose other ways such as aid work. These people are making a difference to the world I live in. I don't want to live in a bubble believing nothing bad could ever happen to the freedom I have in America. I want to do all I can to support and encourage those who have chosen to fight for that freedom. Sadly, that is not the popular sentiment anymore. It is popular to speak against the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. I challenge you to not speak out unless you have truly experienced the loss of freedom that could happen were not these men and women out there fighting for you.

Market

I enjoy a stroll around the mall by my house. It seems I am always running in to pick-up soccer shoes for the kids or a new pair of jeans. I am so accustomed to the sights, sounds and smells that I don't even notice them anymore.

Here in Islamabad every one of my senses is on full alert as I wander around the market. The shops line up next to one another in small rows winding around corners, up stairs and spilling into parking lots. The windows call me with their displays of jewelry, rugs and pashiminas.

We go into a pashimina shop that my husband likes. Scarves are stacked on shelves from the floor to the ceiling. No two scarves are alike. My fingers run over silk and wool and cotton. Patterns are woven into the fabric. Embroidery and dyes catch my eye. Silk coats with bright flowers embroidered on them are only $30.00. The shop keeper keeps pulling more and more pashiminas out, draping them on the counter.

In the jewelry shop we discover boxes of raw gems just waiting to be set into a custom design. Heavy jewelry for weddings lays under the counter. Blue lapis stones from Afghanistan are a favorite here.

The call to prayer rings over the loudspeaker. The voice is tinny and the song is sad.

The wood shop has trunks and tv trays beautifully polished with brass inlaid in intricate designs. Small and large brass vases with delicate designs chiseled in are stacked everywhere.

Outside the shops are carts selling food. We stop to get some french fries from a young man. He is peeling the potatoes, cutting them into strips then tossing them into a vat of hot oil. He skims out a fresh batch for us and asks if we want seasoning. He hands me a paper bag made out of old newspaper. I pop a steaming french fry in my mouth. I smile at him and say "These are so much better than McDonald's!" He smiles big and starts shoveling more fries into my little pouch.

At the women's shop I try on several shalwar kemeez. An old woman comes comes over taking my hands in hers she smiles at me. She does not speak English and I do not speak Urdu yet she shows me that she is happy that I am wearing her style clothing. A young woman comes up and chats telling me about her country. I leave with two new outfits.

Before leaving we grab some dinner to go. The gentleman rolls out two pads of dough and throws them on the grill. He puts on some grilled, spicy (in my opinion) chicken and cheese. I decline the spicy sauce. He wraps it up burrito style and I munch on it as I get in the car.