Now There Is No Meteku

Hey! I started this post earlier in the week. It is possible to do life without a phone and I just have to be a bit more creative to still communicate. It’s also been a bit fun as it pushes me to use our big camera instead of my mediocre camera phone. Yesterday we dropped the Schrocks off in Bahir Dar. What a great time we had with them. I have so much to write about, girls’ birthday, Field Days, North Team Retreat, hut visits, bit by bit maybe I will catch up. 

Whitney is safely back in the USA.

I love this sweet shot of she and Tiger on an in-country flight. He slept the entire time.

And just because Little Miss T found her groove and now crawls, scoots and wiggles all over the place…

We arrived safely back to our Blueberry house (our Injibara home) on Friday night. It’s always fun to see our home through the fresh eyes of visitors. After the sun went down, a neighbor came to tell us the sad news that Meteku was hit on the road and it didn’t look good for him. Meteku, a man with whom we have shared countless cups of tea and coffee, a man who we have grieved with over his 13 year-old-daughter who had a long illness and just passed away. 

He’s the uncle of Challie and has gone with us to Bahir Dar and came to us with countless messages on behalf of Challie’s family as Meteku’s house is closer to us than Challie’s house. We moaned and groaned and prayed for more time for Meteku. God’s plans are not ours but He is always good. Meteku didn’t survive the night. 

Entering into the beautiful hillside where his funeral was held by the Orthodox church, my heart was captured by the beauty, the way the sun shone on the green grass and the bright yellow meskel flowers. The sea of white movement as everyone wears their white gabis and ornately decorated horses lined the perimeter. We drew nearer into this valley of grief and the sounds washed over me, the distant chanting of the priest, the beat of the drum, the wailing and groaning of pain. We waited our turn to be drawn into the circle where we walked and cried and when we were near a family member, we came in, shaking, crying and hugging. The family is marked as they hold items of Meteku’s up, a sword, a whip, his wife held his jacket. There are loud cries of “my brother” or “my husband” and tears run down cheeks, unchecked by normal cultural standards of “don’t cry”. One more kept yelling, “Now there is no Meteku”. 

I stepped back with Debbie and we watched the scene from a hill and prayed for this beautiful scene, yet with so much darkness and lack of hope. I groaned with the throng but I am still crying out to God on behalf of the Awi.  

Thanks for joining us in prayer.