Chocolate Doesn’t Make ALL Things Better…

It’s Saturday. A morning of rest and then an afternoon of games and fun and discipleship and family worship to look forward to – Super Sleepover Saturday with our Freedom Boys; boys who, though still in process as they deal with the trauma of their war-filled pasts, are coming into their own more and more. They’re growing tall, they’re filling out, the nuances which make each of them unique are surfacing and we love it – a little sass, a little humour, the confidence to question and much laughter. I love to watch the excitement on each of their faces as we meet – their excitement to see each other, often for the first time in a few days…


This time last week, our team was dressed in all our traditional-Congolese- outfit-glory to attend the wedding of one of our pastor’s eldest sons. A family celebration of feasting and church and photographs and  gift presentation and feasting and 9 kids, 9 adults all in one vehicle and a good few goats, spanning three days and in which we were completely included, as family… The entire family on the groom’s side wears matching outfits. Different styles. Same fabric. So though our paler than average Congolese skin hinted at the truth, we were definitely ‘team groom’ (though we’ve fallen in love with his wife already J ) – such a privilege and such fun as we posed for just one more ‘snap’. Matching outfits also means that nobody gets lost right down to the tiniest in nappies (diapers), passed from person to person, but bound to end up in the right place.


As we the celebrated the union of two lives, we also celebrated new life as our other pastor’s wife gave birth to their first child. A son with a name which translates as ‘son of the Lord’  - a miracle baby who is perfect in every way… In Congo, even babies are celebrated with fervence; and another goat,  as we gathered, along with about 150 other people, at the home of our pastor to welcome his wife and son home from the hospital. As I type, I can hear the cringe of hundreds of mothers (and possibly fathers) at the thought of a full on dance party and feast at YOUR home as you arrive home with your new-born, complete with sound system fit for a stadium event. Nonetheless, we feasted and danced and sang and then hurried home before dark.


So, a week of celebration! But even as we celebrate, I cannot help, but lie in the still of the night and dream for the people of our bush village… Recent fighting and raids have left people feeling helpless and hopeless. As we sat, just over a week ago, and listened to stories of families fleeing into the bush with all they could carry and of men and their children being taken hostage and managing to escape, but being forced to ‘lay low’ in the raging river for 24 hours. As we saw how tired everybody is and how little everybody has. As we witnessed some of our children arriving late for school as fear had again driven them to sleep in the bush. Somewhere, under a tree, beside a rock. As we listened to countless people say how glad they are that we had come and how they just feel better when we’re there, I couldn’t quench the Hope that rises within me. And so… And so we invite Jesus to come… we gather the people together and teach on the power of blessing and we stand together with 30 mostly men of the village, up on the hill, and bless! We bless the village, we bless its men, women and children, we bless the fertility of the land, we bless the schools – working to offer these children of war an alternative, working to increase their opportunities. We bless and we bless and we bless. We bless and we worship and back in the dim light of ‘home’ we dream.


There has to be a way… I clearly remember the cover of one of my favourite childhood books, and one of the few that I was able to convince my brother to read also… The Chocolate Touch. As I lie in bed at night, safe and sound in the city having been able to make more than one cup of tea and have a bucket bath to better rid myself of the day’s dirt, I lie thinking about chocolate. Not the kind I’d choose to satisfy missionary cravings, but the chocolatey consequence of anything touched by the fingers anointed with this touch of sticky sweetness– a blessing and a curse – the book taught me. Immediately I conjure up plans to touch every gun and rocket launcher I see, to turn them to chocolate and watch them melt in the sun… There has to be a way to end war… There has to be a way to prevent young boys, children, from joining the armies out of a false sense of ‘obligation’ or a misconstrued idea of power… Soccer (or football depending where you’re from J)! And just like that, our Leadership League is birthed. Young boys, in full soccer kit, all being discipled and being equipped with leadership skills – different to the camo-gear-clad ‘leadership’ to which they’re accustomed. It’s perfect!  We’re excited! They’re excited!


 And it seems to be a far more feasible idea than hoping the weapons would simply melt into milk-chocolate puddles. As I now choose to forget about chocolate – dangerous thoughts to entertain when living in the land of ‘No Chocolate’, literally, I suppose I should maximise the current availability of internet and google… Football for Dummies, just so that I know…