I Stepped Into A Corner of the Kingdom of God for a Week

 

 If you've been on Facebook, you know that I arrived in Ethiopia, spent a week in Addis Ababa, and then went to Gambella to spend a week. 

I was greeted very warmly in Addis by several people I've known for a long time and whose love for Michael spilled out and washed over me. It is good to eat fresh injera. And you just can't beat coffee made fresh - roasted, ground, and brewed each morning. 

I also got in a few visits in various parts of town with other missionary friends who are still here - fewer and fewer of those around. I think age has something to do with that. 

Then I went to Gambella where I spent the better part of two decades building relationships and working with the leadership to develop programs of community health and trauma healing.

Most of the time I was in Gambella, Michael was running between Ethiopia, Sudan, and South Sudan doing the connecting work that PCUSA Regional Liaisons were assigned to do. Michael was building relationships at church management levels while I was working with people who were teaching and encouraging their own people. It always seemed to me that both parts were important.

What I didn't understand clearly was that the relationship-building work that both of us did was also important to the people of Gambella. I didn't understand it's depth.

I got off the plane in Gambella and took a taxi, arranged by the church leaders, to the West Gambella Bethel Synod compound. (The fuel shortage prevented them coming to meet me at the airport in the church vehicle.) I jabbered along with the taxi driver in Oromo language, keeping up good conversation until we turned to cross the bridge into Newland, where the Nuer people I was going to see live. I started getting quiet. By the time we were driving along the synod compound fence, I was taking deep breaths. We entered the gate.

Simultaneously the group of people sitting under the shade of the Neem trees rose and walked toward the taxi. As I reached out my hand to greet them each one gave me the traditional Nuer greeting - a firm hand on my shoulder. "Welcome, welcome," with big toothy smiles. And them Mary stepped up. Mary was the Women's Coordinator when I was there before. We had done many things together. Her hand landed firmly on my shoulder. Then she pulled me toward her in a prolonged embrace. As we released we both wiped our eyes.

And then I was directed to the church. There I saw the welcome line to the door of the church. I didn't realize they were waiting for me. Just before I stepped into the building, according to Nuer welcome culture, my face and hands were washed with cool, clean water. (They would have washed my feet - but I had socks and shoes on.)

My visit in Gambella started with a welcome that was so much warmer than the temperature on my phone said it was. And it didn't stop there.

All week people along the road said, "Rachel Willer" (yes, willer, it seems easier to pronounce than weller). Nuers greet each other by saying the person's name. Some of them knew me; some of them heard I was coming at the announcement on Sunday at worship. My days were filled with meeting and talking to people and, at night, there were more visitors. I was really overwhelmed. 

I was invited to stay in the home of Rev. Moses Hoth. I could have stayed in a hotel or in the house Michael and lived in before, but I would have been alone. Everyone agreed I should not be alone.  

Moses' plastic bottle house

I'm not sure how I captured this picture without anyone in it. Moses lives with his wife and three children, his mother, four boys whose father died asking him to care for them, a sister-in-law and her daughter, and several other people randomly showing up. He has a water tank that has a steady stream of people coming by to purchase clean water. During the day there were people tearing down or re-roofing some of his old traditional houses making room for a local-style stick and mud house for the four boys and others and for a goat house as well.

Grandma keeping the grandkids occupied

The house has four rooms: three bedrooms (one of which Moses has designated his library/office/quiet room, and which he gave to me for the week) and a "living room" - which is a misnomer because most living happens outdoors; it's at night when the rain is pounding down that everyone sleeping on the wide veranda moves their blankets or mats into that room. And it's where the tv is.

That's how many people are inside watching tv.

Saturday afternoon hair braiding - the first session

Grandma organizing the old roofing into sheeves to be used again.

The water gathering.

I was well cared for. Nuer don't usually drink coffee, but Moses organized for a "Highlander" neighbor to come in the mornings and brew me a couple cups of that wonderful Ethiopian coffee. I ate what they ate - a lot of starchy bases with mostly meat sauces. Every now and then some dark green leafy cabbage. I ate more than I usually do. I was certainly satisfied.

For me, this is the essence of mission. It is a world where relationships between people are built. Where people struggle to communicate in each other's languages, where people stumble over cultural misunderstandings, where people know and understand the pain of people whose ways and opportunities are so different from their own. This does not happen by ecumenical relationships. This only happens when people live with people and learn what it is that makes them different and see that so much more makes them the same. 

What a blessed week I had. Truly, it was an experience understanding a little bit more of God's Kingdom.

By supporting my engagement in Ethiopia you join me in Kingdom work. If you want to, 

here is the link.

Moving Through the Fog with Hope

 

That's the view from my front door last week. It stayed foggy for a lot of the morning, but the cloudy sky felt pretty close to these mountains I live in all day. I have lived the past several years in a fog. The person I have been for the past 40 years changed in a flash. If I had a picture of a kite or balloon floating untethered and aimlessly in the sky, I would have added that and labeled it "Me". 

My camping treks last summer kept me occupied, so I didn't have to sit at home and wonder why the house was so quiet. It gave me something to do, something to learn, and something to enjoy (mostly). But I didn't figure out anything regarding who I am now and how I should occupy my time. 

So now I'm heading out to see if I can figure that out. In a couple weeks I'll be in Ethiopia visiting friends, talking with church leaders, and trying to learn if God has anything for me to do in connection with the church in Ethiopia. I'm planning on staying for six weeks before taking a bit of a vacation in Germany and Scotland. 

I am planning to have conversations with the church leadership in Ethiopia about good ways to strengthen our partnership and relationship work as Kingdom Builders. I hope you will join me in praying for minds open to God's Spirit and open to understanding what we might not clearly understand about each other even after all these years of working together. 

Here's a link to support this work financially:
Rachel Weller, Bridge Leader

By the end of May I hope to be able to share with you some clear missional goals and needs. For now, your donations help fund my travels to and in Ethiopia. 

I'll try to post more frequent pictures on Facebook. I am "Rachel Vandevort Weller" on that platform; if you want to follow me there, send me a private message explaining who you are; I don't "friend" people I don't know - except in person!

Thanks for all the support and love you all continue to express. 

Rachel

 Some days it seems like it was just yesterday. And some days feel like it was two days ago. There have been times in my life that a year was such a long time. Last year just doesn't go away. 

I was hoping all my tears would dry up in a year. I can hardly see the page I'm typing for the fog between it and me. My cheeks still burn with dried salt sometimes. And there's that emptiness that just won't go away. 

I haven't deleted my "sadness" playlist as I thought I would have by now. I don't listen to it every day like I did last year. I just don't listen to anything now. 

When will the sadness go away? When will I be able to go back to where I live and know that I'm home? 

On the weekend that marked the year of Michael's absence, the weekend that includes World Communion Sunday - the day he died, I rented a big house in the Poconos in eastern PA and invited my kids and their families. I didn't want to be in Wise. And I didn't want to be alone. We shared time and space together. We enjoyed walking in the park, riding bikes around the neighborhood, and sitting by the fire in the evenings. We watched the grandkids do kid stuff.

In 2002 and 2003, Michael lived for long stints of time with the Majangir people outside of Dembi Dollo while I stayed in Addis Ababa with our kids who were in school there. He and his Oromo colleague, Mitiku, were working with the Majangir community to set up a school and a church and to improve their agricultural process. It was probably where his favorite memories of our 26 years in Ethiopia were. He lived in a tent and cooked on an open fire, eating whatever was available and whatever he and Mitiku could make in one pot. He participated in the community. They taught him to dance. (Well - to dance their way. He already had some pretty good 1970s moves!) 

And he brought in a professional potter to show the women how to use a potter's wheel to improve their pottery work that was/is their livelihood. And since that time, we have had amongst the decorations of our houses, a bunch of interesting clay pots decorated with chickens or wild pigs or other animals. I took some of those with me to our gathering and presented one to each of our kids and their families explaining how they are symbolic of their dad. 

Michael was creative. He always had some creation going on in his head - whether it was a story about a kid named Sam that made its way into our bedtime routine, or a plan for a back yard garden that never happened, or a dream to build a ship in a bottle (he started that by collecting bourbon bottles). During some of the endless meetings he sat in, he doodled on the Paint app on his old computer. He carved square blocks of wood into four headed gnomes. He crafted every sermon he ever preached using just the right words. 

Michael saw the potential in others. And he created ways to create unusual gatherings.  Michael instigated the fellowship between the Pittsburgh Presbytery, who already had a partnership with the church in Malawi, and the South Sudan Presbyterian Evangelical Church, bringing Africans together who wouldn't normally have that opportunity. The professional potter who went to the Majangir village was a woman from Addis Ababa who had never been outside the city. She had the best time of her life and was thankful to have been invited. 

And Michael was an adventurer. When I was a young woman thinking about dedicating my life to mission, I found him in Egypt where he had gone in search of a good God in a suffering world. He spent his days off from teaching at Ramses College for Girls in Cairo  out in the desert visiting monasteries or in mosques nearby. His time with the Majangir was an adventure of learning the ways of people he had only recently encountered. It's where he saw lions on the path as he drove out to their remote home. It's where he learned about hunting at night with flashlights and spears. And frankly, (but he never told me this) he thrilled at surviving an interrogation in Khartoum by the secret police. (Of course he did!)

The clay creations of the Majangir women of Ulaa Waataa are a good representation of Michael Weller and who he was. Made from the gold-speckled clay from the ground of the hills above Gambella and just below Dembi Dollo, they remind me of his creativity, his adventure, and his interest in other people, other peoples. I will keep a couple with me as I keep on moving into what I am called to do and where I am called to go for the remainder of my life. 

I'm back in Wise now, still living in the church manse because of the generosity of the people here. With the help of a camping man in the congregation, I got my little camper winterized. She'll sit in the church parking lot till I have a place to go again. I hope I'll be able to get out again sometime next year and continue my wanderings. I am beginning to think of how to use the next years of my life. I hope that will include a trip to Ethiopia sometime in the beginning of the year. I'd like to pursue the work of trauma healing with Africans who have immigrated to the US. There's a lot to do right here in southwest Virginia, where one of the poorest counties in the US is. 

I keep a picture of Michael in my camper. He's wearing the red pullover rain jacket that he bought in Marion, VA before we went to Ethiopia in 1994 and now hangs in our coat closet, He is sitting perched on one rock with his feet on one in front of him. The mountains of the western Wollega escarpment beyond him, his hat in his hands, and a backpack on his back. He is deep in thought. It's a perfect picture of him in the place where he had such a good time and such a good influence - somewhere near the Majangir village where the women worked the clay and Michael built friendships and showed God's unfettered love. It's that kind of memory I wish for my kids to hold of their dad and for others to know about him. 

I miss him every day.

But also ... Pittsburgh

 Before I move on, I've gotta tell you about driving through Pittsburgh on my way home.

I had made an appointment with a mechanic to get some of the electric issues sorted. It was at the only other RV place in the US that sells this brand camper and it happened to be just south of Pittsburgh. So I called, Kay Day, a friend and former PCUSA mission co-worker, and spent the weekend at her house. 
Oh - but where to park? Kay's house is on a no-parking street and I'm not backing my camper either up or down her short driveway. Fortunately for me, Kay is friendly. She talked to her neighbor on the corner and asked him to help her save two spaces with his car and hers. It was perfect - the first spots after turning left onto another one-way street (most streets in Pgh are). His car was gone by the time I got there and Kay had taken up two spaces, so as I pulled up, Kay pulled her car out. 

And that's where Blue and Red camped while Gabi and I had a regular bed in a regular house back around the corner and up the street a bit.

And then Monday came. The GPS wanted me to make the first (very tight) right hand turn onto a cobble-stone road. I knew GPS lady could figure out a better route, so I kept straight. And she did. But it's still Pittsburgh - narrow one-way streets, left-hand turns onto busy two-lane roads, and then a ramp up onto the highway. Traffic zooming by on my left. Blinker on, I moved forward and got in lane. Pretty soon my route veers off to the right and merges in with a couple (was it three?) lanes of traffic on my right. Of course, a horn blared. I ignored it. Because I had to get all the way over to the right across all those lanes to get onto the Parkway East going towards the Squirrel Hill Tunnel - which was under construction. 

But look. Big old tractor trailers do this all the time. I can get my little Jeep and little camper into this traffic. And if anyone wants to blare their horn at me - go ahead and blare. I won't hear it! 

A big sigh as I get onto the Parkway in the right-hand lane. I'm driving peacefully along in the right-hand lane and suddenly I realize the sign above my head says, "exit only". Oops. Gotta move left or I'll end up in Oakland and have to navigate around Pitt and CMU. Hold it steady and use your blinker, I tell myself. Lucky for me the driver behind me hung back a bit. I got over and then ... the "construction ahead" signs. I stayed in my lane ending up in the middle lane. And that's where I stayed, they can all merge around me!

And yes, I aimed my phone and clicked a couple pictures, too!

The tunnel is not as scary as it seems. No cars coming head-on, and, because of the construction, none on either side. Just construction barriers and a wall. 

When I finally saw the brightness at the end of the tunnel I started breathing again - because, don't you know, you always hold your breath going through tunnels! 

As I emerged into the sunlight, my hand shot up and I did a one-handed high-five to the empty seat beside me! "Did you see that, Michael!?!" I said. 

He would have squeezed my hand on the gear-shift. 

Grief comes in Waves

 The last time I was at the beach, I went into the water and standing about waist high I was jumping and "riding" waves with my kids and grandkids. The last time I ever did that (and am ever likely to try it again) I jumped up caught a wave - or rather the wave caught me, slammed me down to the floor of the ocean, yanked all my breath out of me, and receded as if nothing happened.

People have told me, "grief comes in waves". I guess I assumed that meant that it comes sweeping over you, you cry for a few hours or maybe a day, and then it passes.

After a week at New Wilmington Mission Conference, I spent some time with my sister in northern PA, then a wonderful, quiet few days in Cook Forest, not far from my sister's place, with just Gabi. We walked in the woods, slept in late, cooked dinner on the induction stove. I didn't have the energy to build a fire. I wrote a lot, thought a lot, prayed a lot, worked on my yarn project a lot, and cried some, too. Michael would have built a fire. 

Then I came home. It was about a week after my birthday and a week before the 41st anniversary of our wedding. I walked in the house, sighed a deep sigh and slept well in my bed - our bed - that night. I woke up crying in the morning. Amira had been away and returned that evening. I cried. I cried all the next week up till the day of our anniversary. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. 

On our anniversary I remembered last year. On my birthday last year, Michael noted (somehow) that he hadn't gotten me anything. Gifts were important to him. Then he said very clearly, "That's where we are now." He couldn't smile for our anniversary picture. I just miss him so much this year. 

The wave has receded. I emerged out of breath, but I'm ok. I prayed. I journaled. 

Grief comes in waves. I don't ever want to go into the ocean again.

Blues Fade to Greens

 

For more than a week after the conference, I spent a week at my sister's house camping on their driveway beside the house. I was hoping to work out the glitch in my solar system. It was peaceful for me - not alone, but still living alone in my portable house. 

The Hamm's (Peggy, my sister, and her husband, Glenn) house is surrounded by woods. One neighbor's house is visible, if you stare hard enough through the foliage. With music planted against my eardrums, I wandered the woods contemplating my help that comes, not from the hills or the trees, but from the One who created it all and loves it all ... and me. They were hard days, but in many ways very green days.

Just some green pictures. 

Remnants of the 150 year old oil boom.

They were blue, blue days, but I found goodness in the grace of the green around me. 

And then a quiet several days in Cook Forest alone with Gabi and more green.

PCUSA Mission Continues

Since my last post, I've had several driving and camping adventures. The first one was a week at New Wilmington Mission Conference. 

My main job with the conference was to welcome the 2025 PCUSA Mission Co-workers, the ones who lost their positions when the PCUSA leadership decided to do mission "differently". They all needed a big hug. The mission networks along with the conference, through an event we called With You Always, did that. Sharon Curry, a colleague from several years ago, and I hosted a welcome room. 

For 120 Years the New Wilmington Mission Conference has been a gathering place for Presbyterian missionaries (or co-workers) and people interested in cross-cultural mission. It has been a place where those seeking direction have found inspiration and heard God's call to Go into all the world.

As a mission network convener (The Ethiopia Mission Network) I was part of a small group of people who organized the gathering of the 2025 Mission Co-workers and the time of public lament followed by conversations of hope, discernment, and commitment. The NWMC theme this year, planned more than a year in advance, was Matthew 28:18-20. In the With You Always gathering we promised to continue support for those whose positions ended, but whose call had not; we promised to continue relationships with international partners, and we remembered the source of our calling and the promise that Jesus is with us to the end of the age. 

The With You Always event was held during the "free-time" hours in the afternoon of two conference days, July 21 & 22. The time of lament, led prayerfully by Dr. James Taneti of Union Presbyterian Seminary in Richmond, VA, was moving, powerful, and sobering as many losses were named by the mission co-workers and others. We moved from lament to hope as we began to think about new possibilities. Hunter Farrell of Pittsburgh Seminary led us in the second day's conversations discerning possible options for sending and being sent and then we ended the conversation making prayerful commitments to using our gifts to continue engaging in incarnational relationship-building work to follow Jesus command to Go into all the world.

It was good to be with many former mission colleagues. It was hard to look around and see groups of Michael's friends laughing and talking without him. 

I continue to meet with the With You Always planning team to keep talking about ways Presbyterians will continue to support God's work in many places in the world.

After a week away, it was good to be reunited with my Gabi at my sister's house.