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Please see my introductory post on adoption ethics here: Is International Adoption All It's Cracked Up To Be? A series on ethical adoption and a better way to help needy children overseas, as well as the other posts in this series.

Alternate Title: Liberia's Adoption Story

When I was growing up in the Ivory Coast, West Africa, my siblings and I had many wild animals for pets. Hunters in the forest looking for wild game to feed their families would occasionally stumble across a nest with babies, or slow moving but small animals like chameleons, and to supplement their income would sell these animals as pets. We enjoyed rescuing these animals and, if they survived, would release them back into the wild when they were grown.

When I was 12-years-old the locals from our village realized we would give money for small animals. The easiest to find and catch were chameleons. Before we knew it our chameleon collection was more than we could properly care for. We ended up releasing most of them back into the wild and told the villagers that we did not want them to catch animals to bring to us, but just to let us know if there was an orphaned or starving animal in need. It never occurred to us that the very act of rescuing the animals could inadvertently create a demand for them, one that the village children were happy to fulfill, especially since it meant walking away with enough money for a meal or two.

Despite growing up surrounded by poverty in the West African countries of Liberia and the Ivory Coast, adoption was not something I was regularly exposed to. I only remember two stories of adoptions growing up, and both were local. One being when I was 11 years old and my missionary parents took in a starving Ivorian orphaned baby for foster care. They connected this child with a loving Ivorian family for an informal, though typical to Africa, adoption. While it was not unusual for children to be orphaned, there were cultural systems in place that provided for Ivorian orphans through extended family care, foster care, or unofficial adoption.

In the summer of 2005 during my college internship in Liberia, West Africa, I became involved with international adoption for the first time. Liberia was just coming out of a brutal 14-year civil war and the number of orphaned children far surpassed the cultural provisions typically in place for their care. I was volunteering at an orphanage when I had the opportunity to connect a very sick special needs orphan with a foster family and eventually an adoption agency, where she was adopted to a loving home in Canada. Post college 2006 brought me back to Liberia where I worked for an adoption agency for three years (not consecutive) at varying capacities, from Orphanage Supervisor to Interim Country Director, until the summer of 2010.

Though I began my work in adoption with a significant amount of cultural information, I was completely inexperienced in the field of adoptions. I was learning everything for the first time and was not always aware of causes for concern. Because I had seen the desperate need in many orphanages during my earlier days in Liberia, I assumed all the children in the adoption process were only there because it was their last hope for a normal life.

In the beginning of the Liberian international adoption movement most of the adoptions were of war orphans and starving children from abject poverty. But eventually all of these children who were eligible were adopted and gradually the face of adoption changed. With a structure and system already in place for international adoption, the void was easily filled with children who did have living parents or relatives, many of whom probably could have been helped by other forms of assistance, if it had been available.

Don't misunderstand me, there were definitely children still being adopted who truly needed it. And I don't believe just because a child has a living birth parent means they don't qualify for adoption. But as Liberia recovered from the war the number of orphans decreased significantly, while the number of adoptions increased. Adoption became the answer for many struggling families as it was what was available in their time of need. Some organizations were not sensitive to the various dynamics in these situations and encouraged adoption when they probably shouldn't have. And as can happen in any large business or ministry, malpractice was not foreign to the adoption scene, even by well-meaning individuals. I don't know that any baby buying ever took place, it certainly wasn't happening in my agency, but I do know some organizations did not always do things above board. Liberia was not ignorant of this and the legality of the adoption scene was often in question, as well as the legitimacy of adoption as a way of helping children in need who did have living biological family.

The concept of international adoption is foreign to the Liberian culture, as is true in other African countries, as well as Haiti. Some birth parents understood what adoption meant and never doubted their decision. They rejoiced that their child's every need would be provided for, knowing they were unprepared to raise the child themselves. But many thought international adoption was a sophisticated sponsorship or exchange student type program in which the families would have regular contact and eventually the child would return to Liberia. Some deeply regretted their decision for adoption and told me, "If I had understood adoption the way you are explaining it to me now, I never would have given the kids up." The staff I worked with always tried to explain adoption accurately to those potentially interested, but unfortunately not all of them understood.

A moratorium was eventually placed on international adoption in Liberia when the government felt there were too many unethical and illegal practices taking place. After birth parents realized adoption probably wasn't going to happen, about half of the children in our orphanage were removed and brought home. Later I reunited another quarter with biological family. A handful of the remaining children were adopted internationally when the government made exception for those who had completed adoption decrees. My greatest joy during this time was placing one of our (very few) actual orphans in a Liberian home when I was Interim Country Director and could make this decision. During this process I had multiple Liberians express interest in adopting as well. As I looked around I realized if Americans weren't adopting all the infants and small children, the Liberians not only were willing, but they wanted to.

I once thought international adoption played a very important role in helping Liberia's needy children. But by the time I left Liberia in 2010 I realized Liberia had recovered enough from the war to take care of the majority of their orphans themselves. Additionally, if it were to reopen I think a lot of harm could be caused. Orphanages that have been shut down, or whose numbers have greatly diminished, would instantly be filled with children. What children? Not orphans - children with parents! Children who'd been living with parents or biological family up until that point. The simple act of having an orphanage can inadvertently create "orphans", and it would be so sad if this were to happen in Liberia. Like I saw in the Ivory Coast when I was a child, stable countries have ways of providing for their own orphans and children in need, without turning to orphanages and international adoption as their first resort.

I do believe there's a way for international adoption to work for a small portion of Liberia's true orphans, primarily the special needs children. But the adoption agencies, and even prospective adoptive parents, would really have to change their way of thinking.

But just because the true orphans in Liberia might be taken care of does not mean other children and their parents in great need no longer need assistance. I'll be addressing this in a later post, where I'll go over how I think needy children should really be helped in Liberia and any part of the world. Surprisingly, it's not something I've seen many others involved in the discussion on unethical adoption address.

Other Posts on the Topic:

My Take on Ugandan Adoptions (The Ugandan version of my story.) 

The Dark Side of China's "Aging Out Orphan" Program (Unethical Adoptions in China) 

Ethical Adoption Info for the DRC

What is an Orphan? Is there an "Orphan Crisis"? (A look at the real needs of orphans and needy children and an Ethiopian version of my story.) 

Don't miss my post on God's sovereignty in unethical adoption. Do you wonder if your adoption may have been unethical? How is one supposed to handle this knowledge or uncertainty when what's done is done and your child is home? If you're involved in the discussion on unethical adoptions, you won't want to miss it. 

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Africa assaults the senses.

The liquid breath of heavy rain-forest air and the endless scents inhaled non-stop. From the sharp smoke of a brush fire, to the sweet scent of frying plantain, to the musty smell of the house you live in. In Africa the nose never really gets a break. 

Skin constantly moist with humidity. Dust between the toes. The warm body of a stranger pressed against you in a taxi. Sweat rolling down your temples. Moist is a word that often comes to mind.

Color, so vivid and alive. Even the trash piles. But the trees, the blue and gray and even purple sky continuously laced with clouds, the blazing yellow sun, the rich red earth, the vivid tropical flowers - these sing with life even on the hardest days. 

Then there are the people, with dark, beautiful skin, and lively clothing in a rainbow of colors and designs. Little girls with bright hair-bows bobbing around as they walk and women wearing magnificent headdresses on Sunday mornings. Men brave enough to wear purple suits.

America soothes the senses.

In America there are times when I can't smell anything. Sometimes if I were to close my eyes and take a breath I could pretend there was nothing there. Uncut grass doesn't really smell. Asphalt on a cool day doesn't smell. Nobody is cooking outdoors. Mold typically doesn't grow all over houses. 

There are times when I forget about my comfort level because, well, I'm perfectly comfortable - not too hot, not too cold, not sticky - moist. 

In winter the landscape can be so boring I ache for the beauty of spring. Color comes from store fronts and fast-food signs. Housing developments are meticulously planned with cookie-cutter homes and green rugs for lawns. It's too perfect.

When you grow up or spend a significant number of years in a place other than where you are living, it's hard to really forget. Especially a place that is so markedly different.

People ask me, do I miss it?

Little me in the Ivory Coast.

How could I not? As content and happy as I am now, America will always be a bit boring to me. I became used to spontaneity, from the way a vibrant fuchsia bougainvillea vine would wrap aimlessly around the roof of a thatched hut, to the rains that would come with little or no warning. I miss yards that aren't perfect, people that don't need schedules, and the smell of frying food at any given time.

But there are traces of these memories here. Like when the freshly mowed grass takes me back to when I was six in the Ivory Coast and the yard was just cut by hand with a machete.

Or when I smell a campfire.

Or when the humidity is high and it's over 90 degrees and I'm all hot and sticky.

Even something as ordinary as a large flat open field with an old ranch-stye house can remind me of the little houses on the mission station where I spent my first years in Liberia. The architecture like the ancient missionary homes of a bygone era.

Fried plantain.

Inside of me there's a part that's been permanently imprinted with Africa. There's a piece of my heart that doesn't come alive unless I am there. Sometimes it's a heavy burden to bear.

But my memories are beautiful, even when I miss Africa so much it hurts. They're a daily reminder of a bigger world than my current location, a big God who's creative and loves diversity, a big future for me and my family when we go back.

 My years in Africa were spent in Liberia and the Ivory Coast. My memories reflect those countries.

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Her heart beats love for her little boy. 

It's etched across her face and emanates from her dark eyes.

"He loves it when I lay him across my chest," she shares. "Then I talk to him and he just smiles and laughs back."

She calls him Blessing, even though that's not his given name, and he is her treasure. He is about 18-months-old but only has the mobility of a 2-month-old - with rigid limbs. His body is his prison, but his mind alert. He's a healthy size and has a charming, perfectly round face. He smiles a lot.

Beatrice explains to me how at 8 months of age her baby son was stricken with menangitis. She stood by his side vigilantly for months in the hospital. The other moms with their infants told her to just leave him there. To abandon him. They said that babies are a dime a dozen and her's was now handicapped, so wouldn't amount to anything. It was a waste of her time to stay. Many other mothers have done the same. After all, abandonment is a culturally expectable way to handle the overwhelming situation of an unwanted child in Liberia. Abandonment in the hospital, at a police station, or even under a market table, is what loving mother's do. Some leave their broken babies in the rainforest to "let nature have it's way." Additionally, one needs to be careful as some of these children are handicapped because of demon posession. Thus is the mindset of many Liberians in regards to disabilities.

But she ignored them. She loved her baby too much. Peer pressure is a powerful thing in any society, but in Liberia it's almost crippling. Beatrice stood out as strong, different. She shamelessly displayed her love for her handicapped child despite the wagging heads of family and strangers alike.

It's been almost a year and Blessing never regained his former mobility and strength. The meningitis caused irreparable brain damage and the Liberian medical system knows nothing about physical therapy after serious injury.

She's here because she can't take care of her little boy while bringing in an income to care for herself and her two elementary aged girls. Blessing's father is out of the picture and Beatrice has done what she can to make an honorable living. Hand-washing clothing for people who have a little more money than she does. She can do this at home while keeping an eye on her kids. It's backbreaking, knuckle shredding work. 

But it's not enough. And she doesn't trust anyone to watch Blessing if she leaves for another job. Nobody loves him like she does, nobody will care for him like she will, and he'll likely be neglected or even abused if he is out of her sight. That's what happens to many handicapped children in Liberia.

So when Beatrice heard about the possibility of her Blessing being adopted to a loving family in the states, she decided this was the answer. The adoption agency I was working for was one of the few that tried to find adoptive homes for special needs children. One of the few that was able to care for them. So despite - no - because of her great love for her son, she placed him in our adoption program.

She trusts us, she trust me, and she's seen our foster home for special needs children and infants. She believes this is the best. With tears she kisses him good-bye, planning to come and visit periodically.

Blessing adjusts well to the foster home. His foster mom is very patient and loving. We can tell he's happy. We see a lot of sweet smiles. Word is sent that this little boy is in need of an adoptive family.

But one night he gets a fever. It's low-grade, and he has no other symptoms. I run a malaria test. It's negative. As was our normal protocol, I plan to take him to a clinic in the morning if he's still running a fever.

He died in the night.

With his extensive brain damage due to the meningitis, it was probably a brain bleed, though there's no way to confirm it.

And I am given the task of telling Beatrice about Blessing's death.

When I began working with the adoption agency and orphanages, I never once thought that this would be in my job description. 

The thought of what I have to do is bitterness in my mouth and I feel like throwing up when I call Beatrice to tell her to come in to the office. I evade her question as to Blessing's wellbeing. She knows something is wrong.

Should the office of an adoption agency have a designated place for breaking devastating news to birth family? I wish they did. I am given a store room with a large mattress on the floor.

We sit down on the mattress and I tell Beatrice what happened. She breaks into devastated, heaving, shrieking sobs. They echo through the whole office. I weep with her and alternate between holding her and letting her writhe on the mattress. It is one of the hardest things I have ever done. But not has hard as it is for Beatrice to hear the news of her baby's death. 

After the tears run dry she heads home. To all her broken dreams of her little boy. But to two sweet little girls.

Healing comes. We are friends and we visit. One day she comes to my house where I am living with my missionary parents and I am not home. My mom greats her. She's been aware and involved in the whole story. They talk about Blessing and cry. Mom shares scripture with her about the hope we have in Christ. How Blessing is healthy and happy in Heaven. Beatrice gives her life to Jesus. Beauty from ashes.

Beatrice and her two girls.

If I had not been involved with Blessing's life he still would have died. But I had the heartbreaking privelage of walking this road of suffering with his family through this experience. And through it Beatrice came to Christ. Though only Heaven will tell if the decision was sincere. Unfortunately I lost contact with Beatrice after I went back to the states. 

Blessing and Beatrice's story stands out in my mind as an example of the great need for a daycare center in Liberia for handicapped children. Currently the options are to take care of your baby and starve, work and have your child abused, or abandon your child for the sake of the other little ones you have at home. I simply cannot imagine being in such a position.

In my daydreams I envision a home where parents can drop off their disabled children and go to work during the day. The home would provide food, therapy, education, medical treatment, and loving interaction from caretakers. Right now there is an organization, His Safe Haven, establishing a center in Liberia for the already abandoned special needs children to live permanently. Some of these children are even available for adoption. But there are thousands of others that could use help. Many of whom are like Blessing, who's mothers don't want to see them go, but have no other choice.

It's a dream, but one of my many dreams for making a difference in Africa.

This story took place in the fall of 2006 and is part of my series of my journey with orphan ministries in Liberia.

(The photo at the top is of an abandoned special needs baby we cared for in our orphanage.)

On Making Jonah a Sheppard

As you know, I worked with adoptions in Liberia for about 3 years. During that time I helped my family as they cared for many foster babies. It was hard to see them go on to their respective adoptive families, yet we knew it was the right thing to do. Some babies we were closer to than others and it was even more difficult to say good-bye. I often prayed that God would let my family keep at least one of these babies. Well, my dream has come true! In what is truly a miracle, especially considering the current state of adoptions in Liberia, my family has welcomed a new child - Jonah - into their family.

Here is the story as written by my mom. (View the original post on her blog here.)

On Making Jonah a Sheppard

In 1986 I was pregnant with Nathan when Mark and I, along with toddlers John Mark and Melodie, left Minnesota's cold and snow for mission work in Liberia's never-ending summer. It turned out to be a life filled with more adventure and challenge than we could have possibly imagined. Despite many harrowing experiences in the years that followed - a civil war and its subsequent work among the refugees - by God's help we and our children (Heidi and Jared made five) not only survived, we learned to thrive.

(Sheppard Family in 2003)

After nearly twelve years in refugee work in the Ivory Coast, when the war ended and we returned to Liberia our focus was on the training of national leadership. All of these were adults, of course. However, God opened a door for us to touch lives through fostering. With the help of our children we took in numerous Liberian babies and toddlers who were later adopted into the homes of Americans. It was one of the most amazing ministries God ever gave us as missionaries. We had the opportunity to touch a child - in some cases to literally save a life - and then send that little one on to a loving Christian home. During this process, as we were out and about or when people came from the States to be united with their child, we were often asked if we planned to adopt a child ourselves. We always replied by saying that if God wanted us to adopt, He would have to make one child stand out.

At the end of 2008, after our one year home assignment in the States, we flew back to Liberia with Heidi, Jared and Melodie. Melodie, now a young adult, felt God was leading her back to Liberia to minister in her areas of greatest passion - the discipleship of women and the care of needy children.

(Melodie with neighborhood kids in December 2008)

After a busy Christmas and New Year 2008/2009 conference season in the interior of Liberia we returned to Monrovia, excited and primed to resume fostering. Melodie was already involved in the lives of a group of needy children from a local orphanage and within weeks we had three little boys sharing our home.

(Jonah at 12 months in January of 2009)

Boy #1, Jonah, was an extremely sad, 11-pound, one-year old. He had suffered several serious illnesses and was in desperate need of the love of a family. Boy #2, Titus, had a similar story. He, too, needed that same special attention as he waited to go to his "forever family." Boy #3, Levi, was a severely handicapped little guy and extremely close to death when he came to us. Our house and hands were full.

At the end of January 2009 an event occurred that would change the course of our lives forever. The Liberian government placed a moratorium on all international adoption. This sent our world, and that of many others, into a spin. I begged God for His mercy on the Liberian children with adoptions in process. I deeply feared for the future of the little boys in our home whom I loved so much.

(Titus and Heidi in 2009)

In the blackness of the African night I struggled with understanding the promise of Romans 8:28-29. "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren" (NKJV). While I was very familiar with those verses and had seen them played out in my life literally hundreds of times - that ultimate "good" of becoming more like Christ as a result of trial (vs. 29) - I could not imagine a scenario produced by the moratorium itself that was anything other than heartbreaking.

Time passed. After three months, Levi, who was now in great health but whose needs were more than we could handle permanently, went to live in a well-run special needs orphanage. Meanwhile Titus and Jonah learned to crawl, walk, and finally, run. We went through all the toddler stages with them. Finally, because his adoption decree had been signed before the moratorium, sixteen months after his arrival in our home Titus was allowed to go to his adoptive parents. We loved him tremendously, but rejoiced without reservation that the door had opened for him to go to the precious young couple that had prayed and waited so long for him to join their family.

                                                (Titus, Nancy, Jonah and Mark - June 2010)

Jonah had no such decree and the moratorium remained in place with no end in sight. One child. One special child to whom we were attached at the heart. It gradually dawned on us that God was doing just what we had said He would have to do for us to know that we were to adopt. One child was standing out.

The decision to adopt Jonah was a big one, but, nevertheless, it was much easier decided than done. After waiting and waiting and waiting, through what can only be called a miracle of God's grace, He placed our case and the case of one other missionary family on the heart of the person in the administration of the government of Liberia who could allow an exception. While the moratorium for international adoptions continued, our two families were allowed to proceed as residents to adopt our long-term fostered children. There was no explanation for the mercy being extended to us other than God touching hearts as a result of the thousands upon thousands of prayers that had gone up on behalf of these two little boys. The following weeks were a flurry of activity as we did all within our power to prepare the documents necessary to adopt. The home study was done, the case study prepared and personal documents secured. The relevant papers were submitted to a local attorney who prepared the adoption decree to present to the judge. And then more waiting. Several more weeks. But at last, on October 27, we received the signed decree.

                                                       (Jonah after a baptism - January 2011)

Two years and nine months after his arrival into our home, Jonah became a Sheppard. As we look at this precious little boy who has become such an integral part of our lives, we are awestruck at the cleverness of God. Only He could have arranged a situation so perfectly that we would know beyond any shadow of a doubt this child was meant to be ours.

Years ago, as I agonized over the implications of the moratorium, I could not see how anything good could ever come from it. Ever. But there is no denying it grew us spiritually. And, among other things, through it God allowed me to see a side of my husband I had never seen before as he fought for the hurting children of Liberia. The moratorium also revealed my weakness, an unpleasant but necessary "good." I, who thought I had grown beyond not trusting God in trying situations, learned that certainly was not the case. Over and over I had to give my fear for Jonah's future to God, knowing if I didn't I would be consumed by it. God has been more than faithful and He has taught me, once again, to rest in Him.

Mark and I are totally humbled by the grace God has poured out on our lives. Despite our fears and doubts, God has used the thing that initially filled our hearts with dread - the moratorium on adoption in Liberia - for good. It is the reason we have a new son. His name is Jonah. He is our miracle.

Love,

Mark and Nancy Sheppard

                                                     (Jonah James Sheppard, October 2011)

God has given me a special desire. My life's call is to reach Africa with the gospel. In that call is a heavy burden for women. Most of you know I am involved in orphan ministries. I care very deeply for underprivileged children. But I am equally passionate about ministering to hurting and needy women. But stepping into someone's life in such a way to really make a difference is not easy. You need to be prepared. You have to make sure you know the culture, and you also know your Bible. Thankfully God has blessed me with a great, Biblical college education, an upbringing here in Africa, and Biblical counseling training. I am at a place where I can start truly making a difference, but I still have so much more I need to learn. Sometimes I feel so inadequate. This kind of ministry is difficult. Not only do I need to be the hands and feet - the voice - of Christ as I minister to these women, but I also represent a small piece of the heart of God as he fills my heart with love and compassion for these women. The more I work with them, the closer I get to them, and the more their suffering hurts me too.

I am a counselor and a Bible study leader, but I am also a friend. I show people hope and healing as found in the word of God. I also guide them with practical suggestions of how to live as a Godly woman in Liberia. Sometimes I help them out with clothes, money to take their child to the hospital, or something else material. But I am not the one to meet their everyday needs. One day I will no longer be working with them and they need to see how God is able to provide, without the help of a white person, and how they can bring in an income and support themselves. Part of showing Christ's love is meeting physical needs, but their needs to be a balance.

One of the reasons I am burdened for African women is their very difficult lives combined with very few Biblical resources. While everyone has faced some kind of hurt or suffering in their lives, the level your average African woman faces would simply astound most of you who are reading this. But I have hope. I have the Bible, which means I have the truth. I have answers. And God has given me training and desire to work with these women, and the ability to learn and understand the difficult Liberian English (all my counseling is done in this form of English, and to be most effective I have to use my heaviest accent and all the odd words that come with the dialect).

And so I want you to meet Patience* today. I want you to learn what your average Liberian woman is like.

*(Name changed for privacy)

In the fall of 2006 as I worked for Acres of Hope, I met many people looking for help from this humanitarian and adoption agency. Many single parents, with no alternatives, brought their needy and sometimes dying children as their last resort. One of these mothers stood out to me in a special way. Patience was a 21-year-old single mother of two. Her second daughter was born with a medical condition that could not be corrected in Liberia but with many surgeries could be fixed in the states. Since her daughter was born Patience had searched all over the country for a doctor who could correct her daughters problem. After 18 months of searching, with no assistance from the child's father or his parents, and completely on her own as her own parents had passed away, Patience finally heard of Acres of Hope. I established a friendship with Patience when she would come to the AoH office for funds to help with the care of her daughter or when I would visit them where Patience sold snacks. (While her daughter was accepted into the adoption program almost immediately, she remained in her mother's care since no foster homes were available at the time and her mother was already doing such a great job with her care.)

Well, due to complications with the child's extended family, this little girl was not adopted while I was working for AoH. I returned to the states in the fall of 2007 hoping that things would change and the baby girl would finally be able to get the life saving care she needed. I prayed frequently for this little family, for Patience's spiritual condition, for their daily needs, and that the baby would one day be adopted, before it was too late. Right before I left Patience gave birth to a little boy, by the same father as her second daughter.

In 2008, as I made plans to return to Liberia, God laid Patience on my heart. I had just received training in Biblical (Nouthetic) counseling and was excited to invest in the life of this single mom. I had made a difference in the lives of many children, but now I had the chance to make a difference in a mother's life, to show her how to make wise choices so she would be able to make it as a single mom, and most importantly, to have the hope and joy that only Jesus Christ can bring.

I was shocked to learn, just one month before heading to Liberia, that Patience's little daughter had passed away due to complications of her condition. We all knew it could happen…I was just believing God would spare this little girl. That someday it would work out for her to be adopted, that my involvement in their lives would maybe guarantee eventually she would find the help she needed. But that was not how God chose to work in this situation. For some reason he knew he would get more glory through the girl's death than through her life. I do not understand why God allowed this to happen, but it was very clear that God was leading me to be involved in Patience's life upon my return to Liberia.

And so when I began meeting with Patience, after returning to Liberia, it was for grief counseling. I was not able to start counseling right away, but again, when I was able to begin the sessions, it was very clear the Lord had me in Patience's life for a reason. The day I went to meet with her to arrange what our schedule would be like (we meet twice a week for about an hour) her ex-boyfriend had just beaten her up. Then, as we were talking, he stomped back to Patience's house, pulled out a bunch of her clothes, dumped them in a wheelbarrow, poured kerosene on top, and lit them on fire! I grabbed Patience and her kids and took them to the nearby police station to file a report on this abusive and dangerous man. Thankfully they were able to arrest him later, threaten him severely, and things have been better. Unfortunately the ex is not completely out of her life, but he seems to have decided he is going to be good.

In addition to the grief counseling, I have been helping Patience work through various areas of her life she needs to change to make right with God. Obviously Patience has had a very rough life. She is only my same age and has gone through more grief than many people will see in a lifetime. From the beginning Patience was ready to experience hope and healing, no matter the cost. When we began meeting she thought she already knew Jesus as her Savior. I knew she didn't, based on the lack of fruit in her life (Matthew 7:16). As those first sessions wore on, Patience started expressing interest in accepting Jesus as her Savior. I was thrilled she was so interested, yet I know one big problem with evangelism in Liberia (it could happen anywhere, really) is the push for a prayer or going forward, or some outwards declaration of following Jesus, when the person has no idea what they are really doing and is not truly ready to follow Jesus with their life. Most Liberians have no clue what it really means to be a Christian, or the high cost of following Jesus (the prosperity Gospel is very popular here). So after three more weeks of meeting, of explaining what it truly means to be a Believer, of taking her through the Bible and explaining how wonderful, but how hard, it is going to be to follow Christ, Patience accepted Jesus as her personal Savior!

Counseling and discipleship have been going very well. Patience is practically a dream counselee as she is so receptive to the truth and anxious to apply it to her life. But just because Patience is now following Jesus does not mean her life will be easy. I wish it did…

Just the other day Patience's 10-year-old daughter was raped. Patience had gone to the market and had left the girl at the house, as usual. There are many other women around and it really isn't a bad idea to leave a 10-year-old at home without mom around. Well, sadly a man who had been staying in one of the rooms at their house took advantage of this opportunity. The girl was admitted to the hospital right afterwards and then was transferred to a rehab center for counseling and encouragement (she will be there for about 3 weeks).

When I first learned of the rape I thought "why her? Why Patience, after all she has already been through?" Then I realize something; she is no different than your average Liberian woman. Only in her case I am here…Most of them just have to buck up and get on with life. It tears me up to think of that. To think that so many women live like Patience has lived, but with no hope. Yet God has given me the indescribable privilege of being here for this family. Of offering them the hope of Jesus Christ. Patience has become like a sister to me. I never knew I would grow to care for her so much.

I wish more people would join me. There is such a need. As Jesus said in Matthew 9:37 "The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few."

When Patience's daughter comes home I will begin counseling her alongside her mother, half of the time. I don't know where to begin. I'm not ready for this. But God has placed me here for such a time as this (Esther 4:14) and how could I shy away from opportunity? After all, it's why I'm here.

Patience's two year old son.

-Africasmel

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As believers we are challenged to remember the "true meaning of Christmas": the birth of Jesus Christ. This is very important. Christmas without Christ is empty and meaningless. But there is more to Christmas than even this.


I'm 24 this year. Not too old in the eyes of most of you, but because of my mission work I have had the opportunity to see a very hard side of life. Everywhere around the world are hurting people, people living in extremely difficult circumstances, with pain and fear an everyday way of life. Much of America has had the privilege to avoid too much heartache. It surprises many Americans when they learn the shear number of orphans around the world (about 143 million), that almost half the world lives on less than $2.50 a day , that a 13 year old could be forced to hit the streets to bring in an income for her family. What should also be as shocking to Christians is how many people live without Christ. In America there are still many, many people who haven't found hope in Jesus. But there is the chance to find answers all over the place. Bible preaching churches are in most (all?) cities, Bibles tucked into end tables in hotels, information just a click away on the Internet, and there is little to no real persecution for following Christ.

But for most people around the world the gospel unavailable, hard to find, there is no Bible or Christian literature in their language and/or they will face harsh persecution for following Christ. Did you know that of the approximately 16,321 people groups around the world 6,675 of them are still considered unreached? That's a total of 40.9% of the world's population. English is the trade language of Liberia, but most people speak 1 to 3 other tribal languages. Some people don't speak English at all (especially in the villages). Some tribes right here in Liberia do not have a Bible in their language. My brother John-Mark has a burden for these people and will be starting linguistics training in a few weeks to come back to Liberia to bring the Gospel to some of these tribal groups.

As I look around Liberia I see many humanitarian organizations. But comparatively speaking there are way more groups bringing physical aid than those bringing theologically sound spiritual hope. Clean drinking water is good, and everyone deserves that, but without Christ people will simply be given the opportunity to live longer lives of fear and despair, then die and go to Hell. Teaching someone a trade theoretically will build the country up, but without moral groundings in Christ there is nothing to stop the person from selling their new tools for money instead of putting forth the effort to make a living. I am happy to see people caring about Africa. This is the land I love and I feel so strongly for Africa. God had given me a passion for Africa and it is my life goal to bring hope to her people. But when I look around I know that the people in a local community may have clean drinking water, but they are plagued with the fear of evil spirits. The women live like prostitutes to survive; the children are used and abused in the most horrible ways. They have a closed well to get their water from (though that doesn't automatically mean they will now wash their hands after they use the bathroom, won't share cups, etc.) Who is bringing Jesus Christ to these people? Sure, there is a church on every corner. But the leaders are not trained, poorly trained, or teach heresy.

When you truly understand the depravity of humankind, you realize we have no hope but in Jesus Christ. I've had conversations with American Christians who think there is some value to the "good" people in the world. They might not be saved, but "we have a lot to learn from them". An American friend of mine wondered of her religious Muslim friend might actually be on her way to Heaven because of her faithful devotion to Allah (though in reality the person did not practice what is required in Islam to reach paradise). But the Bible is very clear. Jesus said, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." (John 14:6). And " there is none righteous, no not one." (Romans 3:10) The truth is, any good anyone does, saved or unsaved, is all a reflection of God. There has never been a good dead done that was not a picture of the goodness of God. When you live in a society where being nice and good is pretty much the norm (a place founded on Christian principles), you can believe that being good is something that anyone can do, and doesn't have anything to do with God. But when you see more publicly the hopelessness of man, like I have seen here in Liberia, you are reminded that without Christ it is all impossible.

My favorite Christmas song this year is "I heard the Bells on Christmas Day" by Casting Crowns. Some of the lyrics are:

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet their songs repeat
Of peace on earth good will to men

And the bells are ringing
Like a choir they're singing
In my heart I hear them
Peace on earth, good will to men

And in despair I bowed my head
There is no peace on earth I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men

But the bells are ringing
Like a choir singing
Does anybody hear them?
Peace on earth, good will to men

Then rang the bells more loud and deep
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men

Do you hear the bells they're ringing?
The life the angels singing
Open up your heart and hear them
Peace on earth, good will to men

Peace on earth, Peace on earth
Peace on earth, Good will to men


You see, Jesus is the reason for the season. But as my friend posted, he is not just the reason for the season, he is the reason we live! The more I learn in life the more I am overwhelmed at how bad the world is. (I am not being dramatic here. I could tell you things that are normal in many places of the world that some of you wouldn't even believe.) In middle-class America it's easy to think that things really aren't that bad. But they are…It would be very easy for me to feel hopeless. Like the song says, "In despair I bowed my head. There is no peace on earth I said." But I am reminded this Christmas 2008 that there is hope. Jesus Christ came as a baby to the world to bring peace to a troubled world. Without Christ there is nothing good on earth, there are no answers to life, there is no hope…and this is just the earth part! When we die we will either go to Heaven or Hell. All of us are destined to Hell unless we accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. Jesus also brings us hope for eternity! I am moved to tears at this realization and am more thankful than words can convey to know these truths, to know personally Jesus Christ, and to have the chance to bring hope to lost souls here in Liberia.

I pray you too understand the true meaning of Christmas. Do you understand that Jesus came to earth as a baby, God made into man, to die as the sacrifice for our sins? That in believing in him we may have life? I hope so.

John 3:16
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

Jesus, our hope.

I pray you have a wonderful Christmas!