Your Story

This is Debbie Berkley, administrative assistant for Worship and Music at FPCB. The story of how I got my job here, and other aspects that have to do with it, is a story of God’s incredible goodness, and that’s why I want to share it.

I was laid off from Microsoft, where I had worked as a linguist for eleven years, in May 2010. (During the time I’d been at Microsoft my husband, Jim Berkley, had become pastor of tiny Bethel Presbyterian Church, near Northgate. Because of this, we had left FPCB, where I had been a member of the Chancel Choir for fifteen years.) Since there aren’t any other linguistic tech jobs here in the Seattle area for native speakers of English, and the academic field has moved on since I was last in that world, I started looking for an admin-type job. But I was overqualified and also too old. So eight months went by fruitlessly until I was contacted out of the blue by Scott Dean. Scott needed a new administrative assistant, and asked me to work as the interim while he took applications for the job (including mine). Eventually he offered me the job permanently.

Meanwhile, last fall when I heard that the Chancel Choir was going to present Mendelssohn’s oratorio Elijah as a concert, I had asked Scott if I could sing in it. He had explained that many people would like to sing just for the concert, and he had to limit the choir for it to Sunday morning singers. I understood that, but was bitterly disappointed, since I had wanted to do Elijah for years, and didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance. Jim can attest to the fact that I often complained to him (”Can you believe they would do Elijah after we left?”).

So after I started working at FPCB, I asked Scott if I could just rehearse with the choir, and he said yes. That was plenty good enough for me; just to sing the amazing words with other believers was wonderful. I had been singing with a secular chorus in the interim, and I remember the thrill I felt at the first rehearsal back with the Chancel Choir, as I sang with other believers the words from Elijah: “Our God is one Lord, and we will have no other gods before the Lord.” But then about a month before the concert Scott invited me to join them for the concert, too, since I was on staff, and that was icing on the cake.

Here’s how I think God was working in this: I could not for the life of me find a job, though I was diligently applying to jobs right and left. And then Scott contacted me with a job I did not even expect, working with people I highly respect and enjoy, at my familiar former church, and in the department of that church that I was most at home in. That in itself shows God’s care for me, to provide for me a job that is not only just a job, but one that makes me happy. But that’s not all. God took thought for the desires of my heart–to sing in Elijah. Such an unimportant thing, yet it meant so much to me. I can still hardly believe that God would work this out, yet He did. He cared that much about such a little detail in my life.

What an amazing God!

The training ended well, and those folks now have the task of working out specific ways to reach out to the children, listen to them, and be alongside them. The people in the training were amazed at what they were learning—such simple things as that a child needs to be listened to and valued! That was a new idea to some of them. I hope some of you may be in prayer for this work which has begun well, but needs follow-through and commitment.

I welcome your responses, and most especially your prayers. God is renewing me every day to keep going though at times I flag and consider giving up. I’m glad he doesn’t give up! Christmas is about that, I think—God didn’t give up on
us, though we have all fallen so far short of his idea of us at creation. He wants always to bless us, and sending his Son Jesus into the world was the best blessing we could have, if we are willing to greet and welcome him, now risen from the
dead, into our hearts for restoration, forgiveness, healing and sharing God’s glory. Merry Christmas everyone!

With love,
Jean

Usually reticent to share deeply, each of these people seemed to be taken back
into some secret place in their memory, losing awareness of the people around them, as they shared. What I saw was a revelation of deep pain, still being carried to that moment, rising from their experience of having no one who could really help them or give them full information or be alongside them during that time in their lives. They all received very minimal and mostly erroneous information, including dire warnings that if they got pregnant before marriage they would be thrown into the lake. (This was a traditional practice which was still being done in their youth.) As they finished—each one tracing through these painful memories in detail—I felt they had shared on a level that is rare, and which demanded a response. I told them I was moved by their sharing, and that I could see and feel the pain of those days, pain still carried into that moment. I told them I believed God wanted to heal them, and I would pray for them that he would do so, even then, reaching back with his grace to that time in their past which seemed so bleak and frightening. I could see them nodding, agreeing that they were in need of healing, and so I prayed for them. How I thank God for allowing me to be a part of this work of healing!

From Jean in Kigali, December 2010

As we explored various aspects of this question, there was one session which stands out now as the most profound and
moving, in which I knew God was moving in a special way. The session was about talking to the children—first their own,
and then those orphans—about the changes that occur during puberty, with all that accompanies that momentous time
in a child’s life. As the leader was giving guidelines, it occurred to me to wonder what sort of teaching or sharing about
these things those who were attending might have had when they were that age. I asked the leader to pose that
question. She surprised me by inviting each person to stand up in turn and say what their experience had been, all those years ago (some of these folks were very old indeed!). I listened in growing awareness of a holy moment, as one after another shared openly, as though it had been just the other day these things had happened. They talked about not having grown up with parents (most of them), and having learned about these changes (a girl’s first period, the implications of becoming sexually active, the way to care for oneself, etc.) from either a grandmother, an aunt, a sibling, or peers.

Last week was the kick-off. After overcoming my usual huge fear relating to the bad road going up the mountain, Safari and I arrived safely, and were welcomed as always with warm hospitality by Consolata, the pastor’s wife, and given breakfast prepared by Zed. (Safari and Zed are the leaders of Imbaraga, both young men with enormous commitment to their work of helping street children and others.) The training was held over two days, and the topics included “What does a child need?” “What is a good parent?” But to start, I talked to them about my own experience, having failed as a parent, as a way of underlining what turned out to be a sort of thread running through the two days: You can’t give what you don’t have. That leads into the question of how people can be restored and renewed in their capacity to receive and therefore to give love to children.

OK, deep breath. Now I want to take the rest of this letter to tell about my recent visit to the village of Mukono high in the mountains in the Northern Province very near the border of Uganda. I think you know I have been there a few times before, and always feel I’ve had an adventure or a special sort of retreat. It is SO beautiful.

This time I went to launch a simple mission which God suggested to me a couple of months ago. In partnership with the local Anglican pastor and the people of the church there, and with the ministry called Imbaraga with whom I work, the idea was to simply mobilize interested church women (and men if available) to show God’s love to the 33 orphans Imbaraga (and others) have been helping over the last few years. This would involve no money, just commitment and love. The idea took hold, and the pastor helped identify key women who could help train others in simple concepts relating to being a good parent and showing God’s love to the children.

From Jean in Kigali, December 2010

I’m not sure what’s up these days, but I’ve killed a rather evil looking spider in my
kitchen, found a groggy frog under a chair in my living room, and Sam just killed what apparently was a young cobra weaving along with head very high on the cement just outside my kitchen. Yikes! But so grateful he saw it, as it could easily have insinuated itself under the door and entered the house. I DON’T want to go there!
From Jean in Kigali, December 2010

One day recently I was having a sort of mini-meltdown, and went home to rest and muse. After some time (next morning, actually), I was encouraged and strengthened by an insight I want to share: I had been nearly overwhelmed by an unfortunately frequent hassler named Self-Pity, and though I recognized him, and rebuked him, and he in fact did slink away, I needed to get a better understanding of what he is generally up to. I found that his big trick is to counterfeit emotions; self-pity is in fact a fake emotion! He knows how to lure me into feeling seriously upset—but about things that have only to do with myself, my comfort, my status, my. . .. He tags onto real emotions and masks them so I can’t easily identify them, and seduces me into a downward spiral that can end nowhere good or helpful. BUT, having seen what happens when he is sent away, I am now amazed and encouraged: the real emotions are still there—still perhaps troublesome and needing attention—but now I have the heart and spirit to deal with them, with Self-Pity out of the way.

The real emotion that was buried under self-pity was about my being here in Rwanda and the work I do here—especially a new level of understanding that I am here for the duration, and the feelings of grief/loss/giving up that are attached to that. I have always known that my stay here was indefinite, and had considered the possibility that I would stay to the end of my days, but there has always been tucked away in the background a sort of “out”: I have been saying, I’m here “for now.” That phrase includes the idea of possible imminent change; maybe tomorrow, or next year, I will leave. Now, with this new shift in me, I see that what I really need to do is settle. Here I am. In Rwanda. Yes, circumstances can change and I might need to leave, but otherwise, I am here, and grateful for all support—whether advice, responses, prayers, or financial—I couldn’t do this without you!

With love and blessings to all, Jean
Jean McAlister,

I’m very pleased to have a housemate for the next 5 months! My expenses have been very close to outstripping income, and I’ve been praying for a person to share my big house since I moved there in December last year. Now Mark Grayson from First Presbyterian Church, Bellevue has come to work with children (mainly, his vision is to PLAY with them!) at the Center for Champions in Rwamagana, where he will commute by public taxi (minibus). It’s about an hour’s drive from Kigali. It will be good to get to know him and share experiences (and expenses!) with him.

My usage of Kinyarwanda is ramping up a bit, as I’ve been teaching a group of boys (teenagers and early twenties) whom Network member Theoneste has rounded up from the street. He put 19 boys in a couple of rented rooms and brought them to study at his Catch-up School. He invited me to come weekly and teach them from the Bible, so I have been doing that for several weeks. They find benches from the neighbors for us to sit on outside one of the rooms where they live (sleep and cook), and the lesson is in full view of the sometimes interested neighbors who live in extremely shabby buildings all around a large open space. As I drive up, I try to avoid people’s laundry laid out on patches of grass, while a goat skitters out of the way, and a group of Batwa carry on with their pottery making in the hot sun. A bunch of half naked and very dirty children usually assemble and join the teaching time, settling very nicely at the edges of our space and quietly chatting or playing while I teach the boys.
I have been moved so much by these boys’ attentiveness and eagerness to learn, despite their ongoing need for the most basic necessities of life. I’m not sure if this ministry will be able to continue, however, unless some way can be found to help them become somewhat independent and able to support themselves. When they are really hungry, physically, it is difficult to concentrate on lessons. Theoneste has suggested that they might be able to start a little doughnut business, and I’ve asked him to give me a proposal about that. I hope it may be possible to find the small capital needed to start that up and keep it going until it can be profitable.