The End

This blog took quite a change in context from beginning to end.  Check out my new blog to get more of the story: thestoriesofjoy.blogspot.com

8:42pm

"Checkmate." That word out of my mouth ended an exhilarating game of chess with my 11-year old nephew.  This is not something I'm necessarily proud of. Yes, he is just a kid. No, I was not going to take it easy on him. Truthfully, being that he went to state in two chess competitions, I was a little nervous. I would never live it down if he did beat me. At the end, I merely told him that it was a good game. I put the pieces away, and he went off to watch TV with his siblings. 

I think they were watching iCarly, or some other Disney Channel show. Have you ever seen this show? It's nothing to write home about, but I think it's pretty popular with the pre-teen crowd. It is a show about a girl (Carly) and her friends who make video webcasts of their lives. This show in particular was about their 50th webcast, and they wanted to film it from detention. Well, I don't have to tell you how engaging this episode was. I guess this program option was better than the one prior: The Dumbest World Records. To give you an idea of the show, the first record I caught a glimpse of was a man who could squirt milk out of his eye, which he previously snorted through his nose. Nine feet! Not bad at all. His family was there, standing next to him proudly... or just hoping none of their friends were watching; I couldn't really tell. 

After the chess game, the kids positioned themselves about six inches from the television so as to not miss a single minute of the show, which I'm convinced was making them dumber with every one of those minutes. I stayed at the table with my two uncles, aunt, and brother-in-law's father doing what my family does best: eating.  Each night, someone would bring us food. These people were only a small sample of the love that surrounded us over the past months. Chicken enchiladas, chicken pot pie, BLT sandwiches, orange chicken and rice, green bean casserole, oven potatoes, salads, fruit, sodas, snacks, brownies, ice cream, and the list continues. This night was pasta with herbed parmesan focaccia bread. I had my first helping during the chess match. I now moved on to the bread, dipping it in the remaining marinara sauce. 

Meanwhile, there was a group of family and friends in my mom's room, enjoying what could be their last minutes with her. Chairs were brought in from the sanctuary for additional seating. Although, my mom would come in and out of sleep and was practically unresponsive, she could still hear what was going on around her. I know she appreciated the activity that flowed in and out of her room, even though the nurses did not. Earlier that morning, one of the nurses kindly suggested that we limit the number of people coming to see her. She said it wasn't good for my mom. Seriously?! She obviously didn't grasp the kind of person my mom is. Nothing would have made her more happy than to have a party happen right beside her. I don't think that facility sees so many people that often visiting one person. I really don't know what the problem was. It's not like we had kids and puppies running up and down the hallways, had food taking up every inch of the "shared" refrigerator in the Great Room, were stealing chairs from sacred areas, were using practically every blanket they had to offer and taking more when they stopped offering, were using the ice machine in the "Staff Only" kitchen, were creating our own parking spaces since we had filled all the others, and were getting all around too comfortable in an otherwise public facility. I'm sure they are rewriting the policy on visitors right now. 

Back in the Great Room, we all just sat there around the same table eating, talking, joking, laughing.  At this point I don't really remember what the conversation was about. I do know my uncle made an observation at some point about the idiocracy of us watching idiots on TV (referring now to the record breakers, although iCarly is not the most educationally stimulating show either). Family and friends would come and go as they felt led. There seemed to be a slight influx now of those coming. They just joined right in with the conversation, adding their two cents where appropriate and, more likely, where inappropriate. Nothing was out of sync though. Everything was carrying on the same as it had always been. Except now, instead of a holiday or family reunion bringing us together, it was the terribly unique event of one of our own dying and a part of everyone else dying right along with her. 

With my back to the entrance of the Great Room at the hospice house, in which all of this was happening, I remember being comfortable, even happy. In the context of heartache and pending loss, there would be these moments on occasion. In fact, in a structure built to ease the process of death, there was life being lived to the fullest. New friends were meeting old ones. Family members were reacquainting themselves. Broken relationships were finding new hope. As I sat there appreciating the pleasant familiarity, I heard the anxious steps of my hurried niece. "She's gone." That was all she said as she looked straight into my eyes, red-faced and teary-eyed. My sister followed closely behind and repeated the words of the heart-broken eight-year old. Silence. Like the delay of thunder after a bolt of lighting pierces the sky. Then you hear it. All hearts breaking at once as the crack of thunder in the storm. We all get up and walk straight to the room. The heaviness of death becoming more weighty with every nearing step. She lie there after her last breath at 8:42pm on September 15th, 2011. 

From there, people grieved as only they knew how. Phone calls were made to those who weren't there and needed to be. The reality was setting in each of our hearts one by one. My mom was dead. All hope of God creating another miracle was lost. The finality of her life was heavy to bear. Although God chose not to bring a miracle to room 102, there was a greater miracle happening beyond what we could comprehend. My mom is now dancing on streets of gold with her Savior. She is floating down the river of Living Water and basking in the glory of Christ. Amidst the heartache here on Earth, there is a party that only God could create - a celebration that only He could provoke. Oh, what would the nurses say then?

My mom

The Last Days

This “Year in Africa” has now become merely a Year in Life.  Rather, and more impacting, it has become a Year before Death.


My mom is now on her last days.  Days.  Not months.  Not weeks.  Days.  One visit with her and you won’t need a doctor to tell you that.  She is fragile, weak, helpless, and many times voiceless. The last days... 

People talk of the “last days” often and in many contexts.  I have watched countless movies on humans fighting against their last days due to plague or invasion.  Bucket lists have been made with goals to accomplish before the last days.  Just recently, a man claimed to know the last days of mankind and of this world.  However, all of this is fantasy.  When reality sets in of one’s last days, whether yours or another’s, those fantasies are now valid - each of those depictions, regardless of how dramatized, become eerily familiar.  They can be frightening, provoking of painful memories, ridiculously comedic, or even offensive.  What do you think about when you consider the last days?  If you have had an all too real encounter with the last days, how has your thinking changed?

For her, this could not come soon enough.

My mom is now on her last days.  There is no alien invasion.  There is no viral outbreak.  There is no arrogant prediction.  There is simply a bleak hospital-like room filled with the humming of an air conditioning unit, the rustling of a sleeping ten-year old in a leather recliner, and the occasional gasp for air from a dying child of God.  A survey of the room returns with signs of a life well lived and well loved.  Flowers abound from her own garden and the gardens of others.  Pillows and blankets set out for the family members who just can not bear to leave her.  A basket of snacks from close friends to feed the steady flow of visitors that is heeded only by the limited number of sleeping options in the room.  Empty chairs, too few to match the number of family and friends that day, leave little space for walking.  A DVD in the player from the night before because any night is a good night for a “movie night.”  Random tissues throughout, still damp from the many tears shed.  An iPod docked and on continuous play of her favorite worship songs. Cell phone chargers.  Half-full beverages.  Kids’ homework and backpacks.  Gifts.  Memories.  Prayers.  Love.  The only fantasies here are her dreams.  Dreams of floating down a river with a good book in hand.  Dreams of standing under a cooling, never ending waterfall.  Dreams of dancing.  Dreams of singing.  Dreams of life in the arms of her Father.  However, unlike what is shown in theaters or talked about in social circles, these fantasies, for her, will soon become a reality.

An Early Return

My stay in Rwanda came to a screeching halt when I received word of my mother's health.  Within two weeks from a phone call with my sister, I was on a plane back to Washington.  In fact, I write this post from my hometown of Vancouver.


My mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer back in January.  Prior to leaving, I had a conversation with her about this opportunity to work for IJM in Rwanda.  Knowing her condition, she said, "Stay the course."  Without those words, I would not have taken such a journey.  But now here I am, back home, indefinitely.


This raises a lot of questions.  These questions, similar to as before I left, will remain unanswered... for now.  I'm not sure how long I will be home.  I'm not sure if I will go back.  I'm not sure what I will do next.  Today, though, I am in Vancouver, trying to help out where I can and spending time with my mom.


There is a question of finances as well.  Rightly so.  Money is continuing to be raised.  Whatever financial support is raised while I'm in the States, it will be used to reimburse expenses used in preparation of my leaving.  After all expenses have been reimbursed, which still stands a far way off, then the funds will be held until I return.


Although this Year in Africa was cut short, I do not question the time I spent there.  Although I do not understand God's will, it does not devalue it.  He is still sovereign.  He is still good.  He is still frustrating to me - a frustration rooted in ignorance, but it is a necessary ignorance for without my ignorance in His will, He would fail to be God.


Thank you for reading.

The road home

If You Want Something Done Right...

As you probably know, I have an affinity for baked goods. Actually, it's more of an addiction. That's okay. I can admit it. That's the first step anyways, right? "Hi, my name is Anthony Angelo, and I'm a dessert-aholic."

Let me give you a little background. When I was working for the LAPD, I would normally work the night shift. This night shift would often carry my work "day" into the hours of 4, 5, and even 6am. Most guys would talk about getting off work and grabbing a drink on their way home. One, I don't like beer, and two, I don't like other drinks enough to pay ridiculous prices for them. However, where ever it comes from, I still had that longing to seek out something comfortable with which I can forget about the detriment of man from the night just ended. As with most avenues of escape, mine was not exactly healthy. Sure, I wasn't getting drunk in some bar, shooting the newest mix of narcotics, or seeking out loose women for a good time, but being alone, at home, and with no accountability I turned to what I knew to be the ideal escape: fresh baked cookies. There I was at five in the morning, while the rest of the city slept, making chocolate chips cookies from scratch, accompanied by none other than my Kitchenaid and the soft tunes of Pandora. Baking a healthy three-quarters dozen for my personal consumption before bed, I stored the rest for another night.

Situations like this are not rare in my life. Unfortunately, like the realities of second-hand smoke, my eating habits tend to more drastically affect those around me. On more than one occasion, I have been told that people gain weight while being around me. Although I do not accredit the extremity of such an anomaly to my presence, the rest of the community does not share this same perspective. I guess it does not help to be quoted as saying, "Every good meal deserves a good dessert." In fact, I would go as far as to say that every good meal decreases in goodness if not followed by a good dessert.

Although my awareness of my addiction is far too keen, I did not stop to consider the possibility of Rwanda not being able to propel my cravings.  I thought of course Rwanda would have dessert! Sure, it's a developing country, but at least they would have a decent milkshake. This is not so.

Reader, do not fret. I am surviving. Barely, but I am holding on. In the beginning, I would accept meals without a meaningful ending, telling myself, "Self, just not here, not this menu, not this restaurant." But meals turned into days, days turned into weeks, and I was losing hope. As my hope decreased, my addiction increased. Not even with the strength of a hundred Goliaths could I win this battle. I needed to do something...



If only Mama Rwanda was around to help



On occasion, my boss invites all the interns and fellows to his house for a BBQ. It's a great time had by all. This most recent invitation was my second. The first time, I was unaware of the potluck nature of the gathering, and in the last hour I offered to bring drinks. This second time, with my craving for something sweet and delicious in full force, I quickly chose dessert as my contribution. All week I brainstormed, seeking the balance between my creativity and budget with Rwanda's resources. Then it was decided: apple crisp - easy, delicious, affordable. As I sought out the ingredients in the local grocery store, I came across a couple hiccoughs. First, there were no walnuts. So, the crumble topping will be a little less crumbly. That's okay. I can live with that. Second, their "brown sugar" is not exactly brown sugar. They actually mean brown sugar, as in sugar that is colored brown, as in raw sugar crystals. If I had wanted brown sugar as I am used to calling it, I needed to look for "sugar with added molasses." Unfortunately, I did not become aware of this difference until I was in the thralls of baking. Determined to adapt and overcome, I pressed on. Peeling, coring, slicing, mixing, stirring, melting, kneading... baking. The final product was now only 45 minutes away. Taking it out of the oven, it smelled and looked as expected. I plucked a small cluster off the top: a little sweet. Hopefully, that would be offset by the apples. Now for transport. The cheapest and most efficient way to get around Kigali if you do not own your own vehicle is by moto taxi. This is nothing more than a guy on a motorcycle with an extra helmet. One hand holding on to the crisp, the other one holding on to the bike, and we were off. Everything was going fine until we got to the dirt road and the driver's speed did not change. I just kept thinking, "Whatever happens, save the crisp." By the grace of God I made safely to my destination with the crisp in tact.

The night's food was enjoyable as was the company. My boss' wife brought out the dessert, and everyone dug right in. People were surprised and pleased. I was satisfied. Mission accomplished. Although my first baking experience in Africa was less than ideal, it satisfied my craving... at least a while. However, that satisfaction sparked a lingering craving, which has ran much deeper and for much longer. Only God knows if that craving will ever be satisfied.

Fight or Flight

It was a night like any other night. The dog was asleep, my housemates were busying themselves on their computers, I was turning in for the night in preparation for the next work day. I'm a bit systematic when it comes to bed time in Africa. First, I prepare the room - pack my bag for work, make sure what I'm wearing is ironed and polished, set aside the necessitates (i.e. money, passport, sunglasses, lip balm, key, cell phone), and make the bed. Now, making the bed seems a little counterproductive if I'm getting ready to sleep in it. However, this involves meticulously draping the bed with a mosquito net so as to not be visited by flying foes while one slumbers. Little did I know, as I was making the bed that night, I was preparing for war.



The calm before the storm



I then leave the room to tend to other aspects of my process, such as shaving, brushing my teeth, going to the bathroom, and downing a full glass of water... in that order. Returning to my seemingly peaceful abode, I change into my sleepwear and head to bed. I plan my maneuver, tactfully placing myself away from the entry point. Turning off the light, I lift up the net, ducking under with remarkable haste and agility, and letting it fall to the ground. The hope is that I was followed by none. The hope is for a peaceful night's sleep. The hope that faded away this night as the setting sun fades behind the hills of Kigali.

All is well as I slump down into my mattress, my head gracefully finding its all too familiar spot on the pillow, pulling back the covers, and being thankful for the rest that is now only moments away. With my eyes closed and the gentle breeze entering through the screen clad window, I drift off, signifying the day's end. Then, my eyes fling open, my heart races, blood pumping vigorously through my veins... just as easily as I fell asleep, I'm on high alert. It was THAT sound. The sound that strikes terror into every foreigner in a strange land. The sound that just by hearing it implies it is too late. The buzzing sound of a mosquito.

But how? Why?! I didn't understand. I was careful. I took the necessary precautions. My mind races, thinking of the possibilities. I flung away the sheets, dove under the net, and hit the lights. Nothing. No sign. No sound. Just as quickly as I heard the noise, it disappeared. Was I dreaming? Impossible. I had only lied down for a second. Leaving the lights on, I reentered my violated sanctuary. I lied down again. Eyes open, searching, scanning ever corner, every crevice, looking for any movement at all. At last, the enemy was spotted. No bug was going to keep me from my sleep. Just as surely as I knew he was, I was out for blood. There is no political banter in a war like this. It's a raw, man versus beast battle to the end. One will stand victorious. One will succumb to the strength of the other. As God as my witness, it was not going to be I who failed.

Carefully I tracked the predator that has now become the prey. With great patience and foresight, I waited for an opportunity. Then, it presented itself. SMACK!  My hand came hurling down on top of the bug, leaving only remnants of a life once flown. Peace came once again to my room. Retracing my steps, I laid back down to sleep. But there it was again! Another? How?! Lights on, eyes wide open, I inspected my net of protection. As I inspected every inch, I found a hole. Two words: duct tape. Again, I searched, and again I found a hole. Another, and another. They had been planning this for years! This was no sanctuary. This was an ambush! After the inspection and confident of my newly secured barrier, I entered for another duel. On the corner post, conveniently located near where my head rests, he sits waiting for his opportunity as I have found mine. This one not as easy as the last. Camouflaged by the color of the wooden post, first strike misses. Another, and another. Cornered, I strike yet again, and the beast falls dead. I sit. An eerie silence fills the room. How many more will come? How many more must die before they admit defeat?  A third approaches, this time on the attack. The horrifying buzz comes precariously close to my ears. He lands on my neck, attempting for the jugular no doubt. I swat him away in a moment of panic. My life flashing before my eyes. All of my strength telling me to stay in the fight. I regain my composure and go on the offense. He sits at the bottom of the net. He's sluggish, though. Even… full. It was true, I had been wounded. But I kept fighting. As I swung my hand down with great force, I catch the net, allowing the enemy to escape, and escape he did.

Hours later, the battle was over. I cannot claim that I remained unscathed. I have my share of battle wounds, but they are not in vain. I stood my ground that African summer night. I stood my ground and won. People will talk about this night. Children will aspire to such courage as was shown on this battlefield.  I fear that this night will not be unique in my time here.  Nevertheless, I will be ready.

God’s Love Gives Reason to Celebrate

Today we celebrated!  Two occasions gave rise to such an event.  One of which was the successful conviction of a man who raped a young girl, impregnated her, and then stole her baby.  With IJM’s help, the man was arrested, convicted, and the baby was returned to her new mother.  This case has been in process for quite some time now, long before I came to Rwanda.  Today we celebrated with a pizza lunch and cake.



1 of 1068 plant species in Nyungwe National Forest

I’m not usually the type to celebrate seemingly small occasions amidst the big picture, especially in the work place.  I would rather move on to the next item on the task list, but that is flawed thinking.  We should celebrate.  We must celebrate!  Since God had His hand in it, however small the event, then there is ample reason to celebrate.  Psalms is littered with praises to God in many different ways and for many reasons.  So why not praise Him now?  This is a reason to praise Him, but we also need to be mindful of why we are praising the God of Justice.  Our options are these:  a bad guy in jail, a work completed by IJM, justice rendered by a maturing justice system, revenge satisfied, a step in the process of healing for the victim, or God’s undying love.  Each one is applicable.  Each one is understandable, even encouraged.  In fact, prior to 12:30 this afternoon, my heart lies in whatever reason puts the bad guy in jail.  Why is that reason so close to my heart?  It’s the human thirst for revenge.  Revenge is only motivated by hate.  Hate gives way to evil.  Evil promotes injustice.  How can I fight for justice when my heart fights against it?  My thinking needed to switch drastically and quickly.  So I thought more about why we are celebrating.  A bad guy is in jail, and that’s a good thing because he is not able to do more bad things to other people.  A young girl sees justice take place, but she is still a 14-year old mother in a developing nation having to continue the inner healing process while walking several kilometers with a child strapped to her back to fetch water for the day when she should be in school.  But God is still good, and we should celebrate.  We celebrate not for the exacting of revenge, for who are we to even demand revenge let alone celebrate when it has been exacted?  Nor do we celebrate justice while easily forgetting the continued need for justice to come to the afflicted.  We celebrate because God, in His sovereignty and divine wisdom, chose to administer His love through justice.  Yes, the bad guy is in jail, but only because God decided that that was the best thing for His loved child with the hope of redemption and reconciliation.  Yes, the victim witnesses justice done, but only because God decided that that was the best thing for His loved child with the hope of healing and forgiveness.  God’s undying, perfect, love.  We should celebrate.  We must celebrate!

The other event was the excellent report from third-party auditors from Kenya, brought in to take a look at how IJM-Rwanda was doing with their finances.

I’m proud to be a part of an organization that celebrates God’s love and is responsible about the resources God has given them.  That was my Monday lunch hour.

A Week in the Life of an Umuzungu



My desk... yes, I have a chair too.

Monday: walk to work, work from 8am to 12:30pm, eat lunch at a nearby buffet of traditional African cuisine, work from 1:30 to 5pm, walk home from work, rest until 7:15, Quiz Night at a local pizzeria, read, and go to bed.

Tuesday: walk to work, work from 8am to 12:30pm, eat lunch at the same cheap and convenient buffet, work from 1:30 to 5pm, walk home from work, rest until sundown, workout, eat dinner, read, and go to bed.

Wednesday: early morning men's Bible study, get a ride to work from my boss, work until lunch, ask around to see if anybody is getting lunch somewhere other than the buffet, work until 5pm, walk home, play volleyball with some locals, eat dinner, read, and go to bed.

The buffet you hate to love

Thursday: walk to work, work until lunch, pray for anything else other than the buffet, work until I have to walk home, work out, eat dinner, rest, happy hour at the Milles Collines Hotel, keep hanging out with people from the happy hour, back home to sleep.




Friday: take the walk, work, hoping I can catch the buffet next door just to make sure I'm sick of it, keep working, play volleyball with the same locals as on Wednesday, shower (apparently the first one all week), eat dinner, watch a movie, and go to bed.


Saturday: eat my standard three donuts at the local bagel shop, go for a run to work off said donuts, wait around until something crazy comes up


Sunday: walk to a local coffee shop for journaling/devotions while sipping on an iced mocha (don't worry, I'm still not a coffee drinker), catch up on emails, write a blog entry, brunch buffet and swimming at the Milles Collines OR ultimate frisbee with the Brits OR volleyball with the Germans, shower, watch a movie, and do it all over again.


I should mention that my weekend plans are only by default in case an opportunity for an adventure does not present itself; however, it's got to be a darn good adventure to make me miss out on donuts.

Battles Won in God's Army

Another busy week behind.  Another busy week ahead.  I'm still only scratching the surface.

The day's end as viewed from my bedroom window



Although my work has yet to produce much fruit, and it may not while I'm here, it has been a very fruitful week for IJM-Rwanda.  Two cases were brought to trial, both of which the defendant plead guilty. The two girls, currently young mothers as a result of the rapes, can now make great strides in the healing and rehabilitation process.  In the face of such evil, there is Justice.  Amidst such despair, there is Hope. Despite overwhelming callousness, there is Love. There is a God, one God, who fights for the poor and oppressed, and He uses us as His warriors. Praise God for such a tangible victory!

Another miracle witnessed this last week was the signing of a Memorandum of Understanding between IJM and the NPPA (National Public Prosecution Authority).  I claim such an event as a miracle because of the odds that stood against IJM in this process.  Although I can not go into details, know that God truly revealed His power in this signing process.  This MOU gives IJM official credibility bestowed by the government, it will allow IJM to work more efficiently in investigating cases of child sexual abuse, and there will be a stronger partnership with the government now than in years past.  Praise God for such a tangible victory!

Amidst the excitement, I remain busy behind my humble desk.  I'm currently working on two projects while offering my advice in a third and juggling daily meetings. My first project is a report writing training for all staff who are involved in report writing.  As I brought up the suggestion for a training as a result of my observance of some areas of improvement, I was tasked with the organization, presentation, and implementation of such training.  Although daunting, I'm excited to have a positive impact on something as important, but often overlooked, as the investigative reports.  My second project is a high profile case involving child sexual abuse.  Unfortunately, that is all I am able to disclose due to the nature of the case and that it is still under investigation.  Please pray for guidance, wisdom, and humility as I pursue both of these projects.

Other than that, and a cameo on the Rwandan National News channel, all is quiet on the African front.  Yes, that's right: I was on TV in Rwanda.  As I was sitting in a crowded court room, waiting for IJM's case to be heard, another high profile case was taking place.  I happen to be in the audience as the news camera swept the room.  I'm not sure what was said, but they must have thought I was there representing the Italian businessmen the case was against... a large amount of money being withheld from a large amount of people.  Typical Italians.  On the positive side, my celebrity status doesn't leave much room for competition since I was the only white person there.

Solitude and Silence

Getting out of LA was the goal.  I often tell of how there's too much concrete, too much traffic, not enough trees, and no easy escapes to the outdoors.  That's all true, but there's more.  There's more to why I know I needed to leave.  I was comfortable and stuck.  I knew that I had built up so many comfortable distractions that I could not draw close to God.  I was good at my job.  I had a steady paycheck.  I had my own apartment.  I had a nice motorcycle and a goofy car.  I had a big TV, a blue-ray player, and a Wii.  I had money to save.  I had money to spend.  No challenges.  No commitments.  I had surrounded myself with innocent, even good, things.  However, they filled my life leaving no room, rather, no desire to make room, for God or His work.  I was fully aware of the world I created.  I was even fully aware of the eventual destruction.  Radical life change was not the only answer, but I believe it was the best answer.


As I searched for opportunities, God provided the best one:  total abandonment of what I had created.  I kept praying, "Here I am Lord, send me,"  and He did, to a world unlike my own, to a continent I have never desired to go to (in fact, avoided), to a life dependent on Him.  I quit my job.  I left my apartment. I spent my savings.  I even gave up, although temporarily, that nice motorcycle and goofy car.  I tell you this not to give you reason to sign up for the Anthony Angelo Fan Club, but to provide context of the journey I needed, even longed for.  The journey that I am now realizing has much more in store for me than I ever imagined.


Lesson of the Week:  solitude and silence.  The first full week of work has been quite challenging and fruitful.  Every day, it is IJM's SOP (standard operating procedure) to provide the first thirty minutes of the work day in "stillness" - a time set apart to quite our hearts, and let God takes the reigns.  No talking.  No journaling.  No reading.  Not even praying.  A time to listen to the whispers of the Almighty.  A time to recognize Who is at work.  A time to understand the necessity of letting go.  How challenging this has been!  Although I am a relatively quite individual, I've never been the one to sit still very long.  But I'm here, and this is part of why I'm here, so buckle-up.  Sitting still is one challenge, clearing my mind is another, lasting the whole thirty minuets without looking at a clock is yet another.  I still have plenty of room for improvement in all of these areas, but just one week of beginning each day with solitude and silence has increased my desire for God and decreased my desire for myself.  

Villagers take the long, tiring, daily journey to get water

There is a long journey ahead of me, both in seeking justice for the poor and oppressed in Rwanda and reclaiming my heart to God.  It's not an easy road.  It's not a short road.  But it's a necessary road...  a road full of fear, challenges, and tears... a road that leads to life and life abundantly.

First Week

Coming to the end of my first week, it has been a whirlwind to say the least.  It’s like I was thrown into the deep end of the pool, expecting to know how to swim.  Okay, it’s not that bad; I can at least touch the bottom while standing on my tip-toes.

It definitely feels worse than it is.  This is my first experience living overseas, and there’s a huge difference between this and just touring/visiting on a short-term bases.  I feel as if I’ve moved here permanently, leaving everything I know and love behind.

The view over the valley while ascending Mount Kabuye

My first week: finding (still looking) a house to live in, figuring out how to navigate through a city with no street signs or names, budgeting my money in a foreign currency, eating local cuisine, eating non-local cuisine done in a local way, meeting Rwandans, meeting Americans, meeting Germans, hiking Mount Kabuye, being followed by a group of little kids who kept asking for money while hiking Mount Kabuye, talking with my boss about what my role is, talking with my boss’ son about legos, blowing the fuse in my converter, frying my surge protector... figuring out new life in a strange land.

It is a lot harder than I thought it would be.  Reflecting on this past week, I’ve been shown more areas in my life where God is at work.  It’s as if He is telling me, “This is not just another one of your adventures.  It will be hard.  This is not a vacation.  I have you here for a divine reason.  I am using you to help accomplish My goals.  There are real, evil powers at work against you so that you don’t accomplish the work I have for you.  You will feel as if there is no hope.  You will feel as if it will never end.  But, do not fear, your hope is in Me.”

A wise woman told me a quote by John A. Shedd: “A ship is safer in the harbor, but that’s not what ships are built for.”  God’s work is dangerous.  It’s a danger I never truly respected, and, therefore, for which I never truly prepared.  Yet, here I am, in the midst of not necessarily physical danger, well, not any more than the streets of Los Angeles, but of spiritual danger.  A danger that is just as real, just as pervasive, but vastly more crippling.  Here I am, a ship without a harbor in sight.

Enroute to God Knows What

In a matter of days I'll be leaving for Rwanda.  Hopefully, as my days increase there, I'll be able to finally answer all those pertinent questions (if you've had any conversation with me about what I'm doing, you understand).

Where will you live?

Who will you be working with?

How will you get around?

Will you have internet?

Is it safe?

What will you be doing?

Are you going to raise enough money?

Are you going to be eaten by a gorilla?
Why is the sky blue?

When can I come and visit you?

It's almost comical as I attempt to answer questions, often repeating the phrase, "I don't know."  Yet, as I have prepared for this journey, I've settled on the idea, rather fact, that I am on a need-to-know basis with God.  It is true that I do not know a lot of what is considered common knowledge before any trip.  However, here is what I do know:  I know where I am going,  I know Who is sending me, and I know I am not alone.


Do not let this create some kind of image of me that involves unshakeable faith and immovable courage. As my departure date draws close, I am growing more and more nervous.  However, it's not the unanswered questions that give root to my anxiety.  Rather, it is the answered ones.  I am going on a mission set out by a God I do not see, to a land I do not know, with money I do not have.


There is ample room for fear and doubt.  The temptation to fill the void with common reactions to the unknown is strong, and I do not think anyone would blink an eye if those temptations gave way to action, but that same amount of room is also available to faith and surrender.  There is opportunity before me to not only help bring justice to Rwanda, but also to allow God to strengthen my faith - faith that He will provide.  This is not an easy lesson learned, at least not by me, as God has been teaching me this lesson since I have been aware of His existence.  So here I am again: me, the worried student and Christ, the perfect teacher.

What is a Life Worth?

Imagine a 4-year old girl playing outside when a neighbor grabs her, kidnaps her, and rapes her.  Devastating.  Now imagine an arrest is made, but some of the rapist's allies threaten to kill the girl's father if the charges are not dropped.  They even pressure the police to release the rapist, resulting in freedom for a dangerous man who committed a heinous crime.  Imagine the despair - a despair that is paralyzing.

This is exactly what I'll be up against in Rwanda.  There's a need for someone to answer to the cries of help of countless little girls who are experiencing injustice, and I have the opportunity to meet it.  In fact, you have the opportunity to meet it.  IJM and I need your help, and we need your help in two critical ways:

Prayer - God hates injustice, and God's people is His plan to stop it.  Without Him, there is 

              no hope.

Donations - There are victims to rescue, I am willing to go and have the skill set to be 

                    successful, but I need the finances to get there.

What do you think she was crying out for when she was being raped?  Food?  Shelter?  What about when she later saw the rapist walking the streets as a free man while her father's life rests in the perp's hands?  Did she want clothes or clean water?  Not likely.  She wanted someone to rescue her, someone to stop the violence and pain, someone to bring justice and freedom.  If you're not safe, nothing else matters.

What is it worth to you save this girl's life?  What about any other girl, or what about the 4-year old that you know?  What is it worth to you to save THAT girl?

1 minute of prayer or 1 hour of prayer?

1 day of your life or 1 year of your life?

$100 donation or $1,000 donation?

This past week in DC for training has only increased my passion and excitement to help bring justice to the poor and oppressed in Rwanda.  There are a lot of fears and anxieties that come with this endeavor.  However, I know God is going with me, and you can be apart of it.  Please prayerfully consider your involvement.  Then act.  That's it.  Just do something.  That is all God wants from you.  There's no minimum limit of what you have to do.  Just doing something, one simple act against injustice, is an act that helps eliminate injustice.  Check out IJM's website or post to this blog to learn more.

God's Wrecking Ball

First phase of my journey: moving out of LA.

I took a road-trip over a thousand miles and four days in a Uhaul, pulling a trailer, with my girlfriend riding shotgun as a sort of "commencement ceremony" to this next year of life.  Besides being costly and time-consuming, it could not have been better.  Making several stops to visit dear friends along the way, we finally made it to the Couve.  Over the next several weeks, I'll be visiting family and friends and doing a little bit of traveling in between.  Although hectic, I look forward to what each new week will bring.

God has not wasted time in preparing me for this next year.  Already, He is at work with His wrecking ball.  Five years in LA meant five years of financial security, five years of every insurance you could think of, five years of a fully stocked cereal shelf, and five years of building up walls of comfort.  I greatly underestimated the affect that not having these comforts would have on me.  To be completely honest, it has taken up a lot of mental real estate, and it shouldn't.


I've been talking the talk of "discomfort" for a while.  I know God does not call me, nor anyone, to a life of comfort.  It's not something for which we should strive.  It's not something for which we should pray. Rather, we should strive for the mission.  We should pray for the mission.  We are all called to a mission, and whether we accept it or not is the difference between warriors and peasants.  It could be a mission of evangelism.  It could be a mission of pastoring.  It could be a mission of parenting.  It could be a mission of learning.  It could be a mission of laboring.  Either way, it's a mission, with a call, waiting for an answer.


My mission this next year is one of justice: to pursue it, deliver it, and promote it.  It's one of leaving my family and friends.  It's one of abandoning a lifestyle.  It's one of entering a world unknown to me.  It's one of discomfort.


It's also one not to be taken alone.  Not one mission is meant as a solo endeavor.  Although there's only one seat being filled on that airplane at the end of June, there's an army of warriors staying on the ground praying, supporting, donating.  That's exactly your role.  That's exactly what I need.  Please join me in this mission through prayer, support, and donations.

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You may have noticed something new on my blog -->   Now, with one click, you can help battle injustice in Rwanda.  Show your support and join the fight.

First things first...

Dear Friends and Family,

As you may or may not have known, I’ve been praying for my next direction in life.  Over recent years, I have realized that I have become too comfortable in Southern California.  Comfort has never been something I’ve strived for, yet here I am, finding myself trapped by the allure.  Although my heart wanted to leave Los Angeles, I know I needed to wait for God’s leading.  Was He going to keep me in LA, or was He going to provide another opportunity?  As doors have closed, I continued to wait on Him.  He has now opened a door of great adventure and opportunity.

Starting at the end of June, I will be leaving the United States and working for International Justice Mission (IJM) as an Investigations Fellow in Rwanda.  IJM is a human rights agency based in Washington, DC that secures justice for victims of slavery, sexual exploitation, and other forms of violent oppression internationally. IJM lawyers, investigators, and aftercare professionals work with local officials to ensure immediate victim rescue and aftercare, to prosecute perpetrators, and to promote functioning public justice systems.  My role as an Investigations Fellow includes leading cases of illegal property seizure and sexual violence, conducting training for the local police, and working alongside other investigators and the local police to apprehend perpetrators.

My move to Rwanda will be for one year and is a volunteer position.  I will receive no pay, and I am responsible for the finances associated with this new journey.  That being said, I need your help, and I need your help in two crucial ways:

1. Prayer.  God is leading me down this path.  It is for Him that I follow.  It is through Him that I will succeed.  However, He does not intend for me to do it alone.  If you do anything at all, please pray - for Rwanda, for IJM, for me.  I will be setting up a Prayer Support Team, and if you will commit to regularly praying for me, I will put you on that list.  In return, I will commit to regularly updating you on how God is working in Rwanda through IJM and me.
2. Financial support.  Below, I’ve listed a projected budget for the year.  You can give in two ways. First, you can give to IJM.  Further information is listed in the attached “How to Provide Financial Support.”  IJM reimburses me through the support that I’ve raised, and your donation is tax-deductible.  Second, you can give directly to me.  There are several costs that aren’t reimbursed by IJM, and that direct donation will be extremely helpful.

Qualified Reimbursements:
Training Week Airfare/Transportation						$400
Training Week Per Diem						$195
Airfare to/from Field Office						$2,500
Visa Runs/Fees/Postage						$400
Support Raising Costs (postage, materials, etc.)						$200
Immunizations						$700
International insurance	$170	/month	X	12	months =	$2,040
Total Estimated Costs:						$6,435
Per Diem:	$35	/day	X	365	days =	$12,775
		Total Suggested Budget:				$19,210
Housing Per Diem:	$20.30	/day	X	365	days =	$7,409.50
		Total Maximum Budget:				$26,619.50

“All that is required for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.” - Edmund Burke

Thank you in advance for doing something.  It is with great honor that I partner with you and IJM to battle injustice for Christ in a land that thirsts for it.  If you want to know more about IJM and the work that they do visit www.ijm.org or email me at ams.angelo@gmail.com.  

Thank you and may God bless you greatly,

Anthony Angelo

PS

Also, please forward this blog to, or put me in touch with others who you think would be interested in walking alongside me this next year as well.