Famous People: singing with Elton John
By lisalynne | October 28, 2008
Have you ever wondered why some people are famous? (i.e. can someone please explain Paris Hilton?) I have often been amused and confused by our culture’s propensity toward lifting someone up who hasn’t necessarily earned the spot-light in which they bask.
But last week, when I watched Elton John from backstage at the New Amsterdam Theatre on Broadway, the sounds coming out of the piano gave me chills on top of my chills. I thought to myself, “THIS man is exceptional, extraordinary, and worthy of the place in music history that he deserves.” His voice has hardly aged, it’s amazing.
When we walked out onto the stage to rehearse with him our background vocals for “Harmony” from his timeless album Goodbye Yellow Brick Road he greeted us warmly with a “Hello, lovely, right, let’s run it a few times and have a cup of tea, shall we?” We all tried not to gape and gush and focused on lettin’ her rip when the moment arrived. He turned around and smiled widely with big eyes… phew, he liked it, he’s happy with how we sound …
It was a moment that went by too fast but one none of us will forget any time soon. He was gracious, generous spirited. An example of what being a true pro is all about.
Topics: Performance, Music | No Comments »
different worlds colliding
By lisalynne | October 19, 2008
It is strange how worlds collide sometimes. When we agreed to host Pastors Andrew and Prosper, two missionaries from Burkina Faso, Africa, I could never have anticipated the contrasts of their lives with mine. I’m speaking of the obvious contrasts: the desperate poverty in Burkina Faso (v. the ridiculous wealth we take for granted), the total lack of natural resources (v. the fibrant colors of autumn along the banks of a thriving Hudson River), the terrible death-rate of children who perish unnecessarily from preventable diseases (v. my bounding high-energy beauties pumped full of vaccines) … these are the contrasts we all would expect.
The paradox was having them here in my home during the week I would rush into the city at the last minute to sing back-ground vocals for up-and-coming Jason Mraz at Radio City Music Hall. There have been incredible opportunities through Broadway Inspirational Voices and my dear friend and colleague Michael McElroy, but this was unprecedented … 5,000 screaming fans, singing every word of his songs along with him … the pulsing energy of the crowd amazed us. Jason was gracious, humble, and charismatic all at once - we truly had a wonderful time singing for him.
And I crawled home late at night, with that exhausted/hyperness toxic combination I always have after a performance. And the next morning when I heard the patter of feet going down the stairs outside my bedroom door, I dragged out of bed to prepare breakfast for our new friends, Andrew and Prosper. And listened some more to the stories about their families and their work, as they patiently explained and responded to my questions. I swallowed hard to keep the lump in my throat from surging up into tears with some of the answers.
What do I do with it all? Feel guilty, ashamed? Not much point in that. After a week of thinking it through, it seems the best response is to be incredibly grateful for the vibrancy of my life, in family and in music, and live in the moment as best I can, always cherishing, never assuming, never taking for granted. And to pray, love, give all I have to the least of these whenever possible. And, perhaps, to visit Burkina Faso.
Topics: Family, Music, Life, balancing acts | No Comments »
hearts of gold … the people of the US Transplant Games
By lisalynne | July 24, 2008
When a boy named Kevin lived three years beyond the day he was shot in June of 2003, is was due to a successful organ transplant. So grateful for his second chance at life, Kevin spent the better part of those three years speaking out against urban violence from his wheelchair. Now that he is gone, his mother stands before us, this audience of 300 or so people, at the Quilting Ceremony, a powerful moment of the US Transplant Games in Pittsburgh. Kevin’s mother pins onto a huge piece of plain fabric a small quilt square which has specific symbols representing her son. On Kevin’s square is a photograph of the man who shot him. His mother speaks softly into the microphone, explaining it is because, “Kevin forgave him before he died.”
Before I could catch my breath and reach for the box of Kleenex at the center of each of the tables scattered throughout the Hilton Hotel ballroom, an older, large man approached the mic, apologizing for choking up as he started to speak, telling us in no uncertain terms that he had never been a “crier” before, but ever since his 21 year old son Stephen had been killed in a car accident, he now cries all the time. In spite of his apparent pain, he felt strongly that we understand that the fact that his son Stephen had given life to so many through the gift of his organs, his tears he now sees as having been “transformed from tears of grief to tears of love.”
Then a teenage boy came forward, sauntering with reluctance in his swagger. With a distinct edge of resentment in his tone, he stated flatly, “I’ve hated every minute of being here.” An uncomfortable hush fell over the ballroom. He paused then said softly, “and I’ve also loved it.” His brother Matthew who was also killed in a car accident, was not a registered organ donor. But as Matthew’s mother took over the mic, she retold the story of how she sobbed over the hospital bed where her dead son lay and pleaded, “Matthew, what do I do now?” She described to us that she experienced a kind of spiritual communication from her son that told her plainly, “Please, help me give life to others.” So she called nurses into the room who contacted the resident donor team. Matthew’s mother described them as “the most compassionate people she had ever met.” They listened to her life story for hours, showing her great love, compassion, and encouragement. She felt so proud of the decision to allow Matthew to be an organ donor, and she feels as though she has a kind of new family through these organ recipients.
And this was only three people, out of hundreds in attendance, a small fraction of accountings of new life being given, and people being connected through the need for organ transplantation. I sat in this hotel ballroom and wept through every story.
I had just arrived in Pittsburgh not a few hours prior, with no idea what to expect, never having attended one of these events, not having anyone in my life who had gone through what these brave souls have gone through. I felt like a bit of an ass, frankly, like an imposter. What could I know of their journey, their suffering, their new chance at life? These were people having near-death experiences and I was swooping in here to perform? Yuk.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself I was there for the sole purpose of bringing a song of comfort and hope and so I guess I was contributing something meaningful to these vulnerable people’s lives. It seemed minute and pathetic in light of their plight, but I decided to focus on the blessing music can be – that was my gift and I was there to give it to them.
I sang with my all and thanked God I got through it without starting to cry, which would have been easy, given the power of the Closing Ceremony content. I hugged a few sweet souls after it was over, and I met one of the most extraordinary doctors of our time, Dr. Thomas Starzl, literally the father of organ transplantation. I returned to New York uncertain whether I had been what was needed in that moment, but determined to trust that God knows and my role is merely to make myself available through which a blessing can move. I can hardly think of a group of people more deserving of such a blessing.
Topics: Ministry, Music, Life | No Comments »
Demons Wrestled to the Ground
By lisalynne | July 15, 2008
I keep thinking that as I grow up (I’m almost 39 for God’s sake) I will be less inclined to be overcome with emotion and panic. To continue to be a drama queen, working myself into an absurd lather over a visit back to my alma mater, is ridiculous. I should know better by now that ample time has passed, the campus has changed dramatically since then and 17 years is a long time to continue to harbor lingering memories of humiliation, hurt, sweat, tears, disappointment, confusion, rejection, okay I’ll stop.
But as my sweet husband and I drove the Pennsylvania Turnpike last week, Carnegie-Mellon bound, for a radio interview about The Greatest Embrace and how it was connected to the US Transplant Games, I was re-living the images and sound-bytes that swirled through my spirit and diminished my resolve to stay collected. As Gil pressed me to explain what was going on in me, unexpected tears slid down my cheeks and I did my best to describe the distinct feeling of not belonging there to begin with, as if I had been a mis-fit out of the gate, who had just happened to have given a great audition and gotten in on early acceptance by some fluke.
Because, you see, I was not a child of misery and despair, I was not from a broken home, or near poverty, or emotionally or psychologically abused, in desperate need of unloading my damage on the stage. But many of my fellow “dramats” were. That’s why they needed to be actors. That’s why they craved to become other: through a script, a song, a combination … to transform themselves into something other than who they were; using the vehicle of a role to play in order to escape, they could call upon their pain to produce the needed emotions to convey the pain of the character.
But what could I possible bring to this mix? I was an emotionally stable teenager, from a loving, encouraging Christian family, who felt grateful to have the resources needed to send me to this bastion of misery and boot-camp-esque training. How in God’s name could I have chosen this for myself? What was I thinking?
20/20 hindsight tells me that I was craving authenticity. If I were to grace any stage, I had to be trained by the best, and in 1987 they were at CMU, waiting to eat me alive. Several professors unabashedly rejoiced in the tearing down of my cheerful, naive spirit. But two in particular taught me how to be what any person on the stage should be: a vessel through which a script and a song is delivered, with grace, integrity to the composer, and passion.
The late Billy Wilson was patient and lovingly harsh (ha!) and made me love the Broadway musical like noone ever had. And Mel Shapiro pushed me to my core, told me I was decent and “had it if I wanted it” and challenged me in ways I didn’t even know I needed to be challenged.
As I walked through the hallways where we lingered after rehearsals, as I gazed upon the stage of Kresge where our feet blead and our bodies ached, I felt calm and I said a silent prayer of thanks for all those who had forced me to find myself, get secure with who I was, and to know exactly what my gifts were (and also what they weren’t). And I came upon the grand piano in the recital hall where I used to sneak away late at night and play and play and sing and play until “I could see better.”
And so the demons have re-located. And I had clearly over-blown the trauma. And I realize how lucky I am to have had hard life lessons so young so that I can use the gifts I have been given … not for applause, but for healing … healing to anyone who might care to listen and healing for myself, too.
Topics: Life, past experiences | 1 Comment »
a journalist, Carl Lewis, and a song
By lisalynne | June 11, 2008
It’s kind of a bizarre coming together of people with an important cause and a song. But sometimes it’s those seemingly odd connections that are the most meaningful, at least this time it certainly was.
Carl Lewis, the 8 time Olympic Gold metallist track athlete, is still as handsome as I can remember him being, and what makes him more beautiful is his kindness and integrity. He and Jeffrey Marx, the Pulitzer Prize winning journalist who covered his amazing story, became dear friends, particularly when Jeffrey’s sister, Wendy, was diagnosed with Hepatitis B and in dire need of a kidney transplant. She survived it and dedicated the remainder of her too short life to raising organ donor awareness. Jeffrey and Carl traveled the country with Wendy promoting the urgent need for people to register as donors. They reflected recently that they have probably done close to 100 events over the past 20 years.
So what the heck does that have to do with me? Right. I must say that the triviality of my own existence is painfully transparent in light of a life dedicated to saving the lives of others. But the gist of it is that Wendy required a second transplant and that one she did not, in fact, survive. Her death, five years ago, had a ripple effect on an enormous number of lives who loved her and were drawn to her magnetic, powerful spirit. Which is why when Jeffrey Marx heard The Greatest Embrace, it touched a place deep inside of him and caused him to want to connect with me. We spoke numerous times on the phone and I went to hear him speak about his best selling book, Season of Life, and the idea dawned on Jeffrey that I should sing for the annual Wendy Marx Foundation dinner in Washington, D.C., which I did.
And because of Jeffrey’s encouragement of me and his passion for the song The Greatest Embrace, he had given many people who attended the event a copy of the album. At the event this past Saturday night on Capitol Hill, there was an overwhelming response to the song. It was one of those terrific moments when a song so completely fits the moment and has been deeply personalized by someone else; these are some of the most meaningful experiences for me because it makes me the mere vessel through which a blessing is given.
For all the grappling, evaluating and analyzing I’ve been doing over the past year or so, the conclusion I have come to is that really what drives me, what motivates me, is simply to be a blessing to others. Sometimes that means showing up and being there when needed. At others, a willingness to listen and serve. And sometimes, to sing.
Topics: Performance, Music, Life, activism | 1 Comment »
A Journey to El Salvador: a week that changed me (and my family)
By lisalynne | June 1, 2008
El Salvador
April, 2008
What we knew (or thought we knew): we traveled to El Salvador to spend much needed time with a dear friend, his amazing wife and their three children; we expected to have adventures and see many things we’d never seen before, knowing that the brave founders of ENLACE would take us into remote areas of the country; we figured we’d feel ashamed by our privilege and comfortable lives. We hoped we could somehow be helpful.
What we learned (and are still processing): The true Angel Servants, the Pastors in the many impoverished villages showed us what it really means to serve others; Central America is frantic for access to clean water; most of all, sustaining relationships are what really make a difference long-term.
We expected to see poverty and despair. We were overwhelmed by the smiles and hope and love we received from people who have nothing. We are called to engage the lives of God’s children in a new and critical way, guided by the Christian hearts of ENLACE.
Soft Landing
The Beach and First Impressions of El Salvador
We landed at the San Salvador airport 12:35 on Saturday, April 19th. The lush green vegetation surrounding the airport and the thick, tropical humidity and 90 degree temperatures shock my system immediately into an awareness of being in another land. Though two of our bags seemed to be missing (to be delivered later to the hotel) we pressed through to find Fritz, our dear friend from the Chicago years, and a soul-mate of Gil’s since childhood. Fritz’s children, Isavel and Jayger, were also there to greet us, feeling shy but carrying sweet, open smiles. We piled into a small bus Fritz acquired from ENLACE, the organization we were here to make a connection with, in addition to experiencing a third world country for the first time.
Pulling away from the airport, it took less that two minutes of being on the road to see the extreme poverty right there on the edge of the street. Fritz talked us through everything we were seeing to help us process it all. The shanties and tin shacks, mangy stray dogs, children in barefeet walking dangerously close to the huge trucks nearly over-flowing with sugar cane stalks carrying the harvest, one of the two staple crops that are critical to the survival of the people here, along with coffee.
The El Salvadorian people are hard working in their labor, very friendly and somehow always smiling. It seems inconsistent, Fritz explained with frustration, that they would throw garbage on the streets as much as they do. The sides of the streets are caked with litter and there is no infrastructure to address it, at least not yet.
The land we drove on initially was flat, but that was only the short drive from the airport to the beach, Fritz explained. When we go to the city on Sunday night, we would climb nearly 1,200 feet and would be amongst the many volcanoes the country possesses. Amazing!
We turned off the main road onto an incredibly bumpy dirt road that took us to the beach house community. The passage was very narrow and several times we had to stop for cows and chickens wandering the streets. We stopped in front of a lovely yellow house, where we were greeted by Nelson and Rosa, who would be taking care of us at this rental property. This felt strange initially, but I remembered quickly the time we spent in Mexico City that this was normal for even middle class living and it provided needed work so I received them graciously and deferred to Ana. Beautiful Anna, Fritz’ wife lead us through the garden entryway into a home that opened onto a pool and beyond onto a crashing ocean! This was clearly our “soft landing” – Fritz’ genius crafting in order to ease us into the experiences that he knew would be a little rough in the days ahead.
Anna’s (and now Fritz’) children, Jayger (14), Isavel (11) and Kevana (8) were eager to dive into the pool with our girls, sweaty and weary and eager to engage. After an incredible meal outside, evening ocean breezes coaxed the girls asleep almost standing up and other than a rude awakening at 2:00 a.m. to roosters determined to remind who’s property this really was, we slept like rocks. Day two was another glorious beach day, braving the raucous surf and undertow to play in the waves, and enjoying the magnificent stories of Anna’s father, Senior Tomisino. By 4:00 p.m. on Sunday, a knock on the door warned us that a group of aggressive robbers were making the rounds and we should pack up and get back to San Salvador sooner rather than later.
The weekend at the beach was lovely, of course. But even in what was luxury for any El Salvadorians, the children noticed the differences from our comfortable American lifestyles. To Gil and I as adults, we rolled with the changes and enjoyed the company, but for the girls commented on the lack of air conditioning, the milk tasting “funny”, the stray dogs everywhere were very upsetting, looking mangy, skinny and unkempt, and the radical changes in meal choices, the coveted mini bags of Cheetos becoming a huge treat. They didn’t complain, they were just aware. And I smiled at every comment, biting my tongue not to lecture and wag my finger about how spoiled we are. They got it so I zipped it.
The drive to town opened our eyes to the incredible privilege we had been enjoying for the weekend. The shanties, the garbage, very young children on the street up next to black exhaust fumes from barely functioning buses … the girls were … quiet. When we pulled into the Radisson Hotel, we walked into America-in-San-Salvador and, honestly, my heart sank a bit. We knew the girls would be better able to absorb what we were asking them to experience in the coming days if they could have a few comforts of home. They are young and we didn’t want to be heavy handed. We wanted this experience to be positive – convicting but not overwhelming. But already they had adapted to simpler living and now we had access to room service. Seemed like moving backwards. But the coming days would be tough so I took a deep breath, tried not to feel raging guilt, and decided to be grateful for every clean towel and drop of hot water. We fell asleep before could even get all the lights turned out in our room.
San Salvador Adventures
The people of ENLACE
Monday, Gil spent the day at the ENLACE office with Fritz, meeting Ron Bueno, the Executive Director and key inspiration for the other amazing people, Peter, Dave, Walter, Shane, Tina, Martita and more. They had a scheduled regular devotional time together and were also able to debrief Gil on the fundamentals of the organization. After a brief foray to a local salon and one of the small city shopping centers (which was very nice by any culture’s standards but made me incredibly frustrated with myself for not having studied Spanish) we went on the hunt to find flowers for Ana, who was preparing a catered meal for us at Fritz and Ana’s home so that I could meet the ENLACE leadership as well. After all the crap she had to haul to the beach to host us there, and a full day at the office (Ana is a Sub-director at Salvadoran Ministry of Foreign Affairs), I felt very aware of the responsibility they must be feeling for us “gringos” who had come to see their dear, old friend but also to experience the work of ENLACE. The kind shuttle bus driver for the Radisson got what I thought was an appropriate tip for the driving us around he had done, he was so sweet and claimed to do this kind of thing “all the time for foreigners”! Fritz told me later that $5 a day is a standard wage for working poor and that my $20 just made his week big time.
Fritz and Ana’s home is in a gated community, the garden held all 11 adults and 12 children. They had arranged for traditional “pupusas” to be prepared fresh for us – these homemade flour tortillas stuffed with cheese and beans were absolutely fabulous, filling, and unique. We heard from Ron Bueno more about his background as the son of a Pastor who was a missionary there in El Salvador. Though college educated in the US and still in the midst of a phd program through American University, it struck Gil and I both how full of integrity these Christian men and their families are – how they are living their faith in their work, lifestyles, everything they do. They are raising children in the international school, living on meager salaries supported entirely by donations from the US, and taking weekly, if not daily, trips into disease-ridden communities of desperate people. It was impossible not to feel inadequate and even ashamed of my lifestyle choices but knew in my heart that God will use us the way that God feels fit and that this moment of being with these spectacular people was about encouraging these pastors and leaders in their commitment to the poverty in El Salvador.
I didn’t sleep well that night but I didn’t really expect to. Inevitably, I replayed every conversation I had that night with Peter and Ron. Tell me what you want me to learn, to hear, how to receive all this, God, and I will follow.
God’s Angel Servant called Pastor Miguel
And the people of the hills of San Martin
So Tuesday, after a quick breakfast, Fritz drove us to meet up with Peter de Soto, the Parnership Development Director, to the Municipalidad (what we might call a “country”) of San Martin, which was really only about 45 minutes outside of the city. Within 15 minutes of leaving town, the cratered, dusty roads revealed poverty unlike anything I (we) had really ever seen first hand. I rode separately with Peter so that I could hear his story, his perspective. The spirit of love and conviction in his voice (even a voice handicapped by a gunshot wound only one year earlier, leaving one side of his vocal cords paralyzed) as he described how God has lead him and blessed him and called him and tried him … it all washed over me as we drove through the volcanic landscape, shacks and huts and stray dogs and barefoot children and all – Peter’s intelligence and professional journey could have him in many other places than this (making serious denero, by the way) but his response to the call to be there was inspiring, motivating and also a critical prelude to meeting Pastor Miguel.
Honestly, the ENLACE bus just didn’t seem equipped to make it up these winding hills but, by God, it truly did! To call the paths we traveled on “roads” felt like a stretch to me, but Peter laughed and said, “oh no, these are in great shape!” The height we climbed was nothing to how steep we would dip and curve until we pulled up to a tin roofed (laminate) cinder-block home next to a compound of concrete buildings built down into a steep slope. The children in crisp blue uniforms, standing together lead by a teacher, jumped up and down to see the bus arriving, and another bunch of children, barefoot, filthy but smiling broadly, came running out of what I learned to be Miguel’s home. Introductions were made, my girls smiling shyly at the surrounding children who giggled and hid and watched us peeking out through the wood slats of a pick up trucks’ walls.
We sat in plastic chairs as Peter translated Pastor Miguel’s words to us. Distinguished in his crisp trousers and button down shirt and so clean and calm in his appearance, Miguel has eyes and a smile that seemed to nearly leap out of his warm brown skin as he shared with us incidence after story after testimony of how God continually provided for his needs; he lived in another part of the country, he had retired from being a Pastor and wanted to farm, he was given land, he was given a roof, he was given materials for the construction of a church near his new home. Two of his sons were killed as they shoveled sand from a hillside for a community project when an unexpected quake caused a landslide that buried them. How was this man smiling? A good deal was “lost in translation” of the details, but the heart of the message was clear: for every obstacle, God provided a blessing, for every blessing, Miguel poured out his heart of commitment to the even more desperate people in his community. He also has managed to bridge the divide from the Catholics in the area by coordinating specific aid projects with them, which is a big deal as a non-catholic Pastor. Miguel also serves on the local Water Board and works with the Mayor of the Municipality. God is using him in more ways than are even imaginable.
Pastor Miguel serves his people. ENLACE serves Pastor Miguel. We support ENLACE.
The key, the critical issue for survival, is water. Riddled with parasites, infested with human and animal waste, what little water the people of this area had not only had to be carried for miles in buckets (usually on their head) but was the culprit for illness, disease, leading to a horrific rate of infanticide. Pastor Miguel and ENLACE were partnering in an enormous water project, they explained, more enormous than they had initially expected. They are so proud and so grateful for the incredible progress they have made thus far, having constructed huge water tank, which we got to see, and they took us down to see the significant well that has completed construction.
But they need pipes to channel the water. And they need pumps to get the water to the people up in the hills. It will take $1.2 million dollars to finalize these steps to this critical project. The government is not interested in spending the resources on only 10,000 people (approximately 1,600 families). ENLACE is encouraging the local people to raise a third of those resources, the government to put up one third and seeks 3rd party donors for the remaining third. A lofty goal.
The girls and I walked around the concrete structure at the base of this massive ravine. Surrounded by chain link fence, there were 4 or 5 dogs inside running around, one of which was a puppy that captured Audrey’s heart forever (I knew the minute I laid eyes on that dog, thinking “oh, no”). Hannah managed to get a little baby chick in her hands, and the woman who lived on this property and was provided a home by ENLACE as a part of the construction of this well system, watched us with curiosity and smiled at the girls as they obsessed over the animals. (Again, smiles. In the midst of cow dung, all alone at the bottom of a ravine, sheltered by a cube of concrete cinderblocks. Peter commented how happy she was to have this home.)
And we stood there and saw this amazing and productive work. And Miguel beamed and talked about how good God had been through it all. And we felt sick to our stomachs that it still wasn’t enough to get the people the water, clean water. Wracking of brains and gnashing of teeth to make connections, develop relationships to get the needed resources to complete this huge project. And yet there was Pastor Miguel, calm and certain that God would provide.
Oh, Lord, I believe. Help me in my unbelief.
If Jesus walked these streets, what would He do?
A day with Pastor Marcos in Coffee Bean country
San Jose El Naranjo would take nearly two hours to get to. By now the girls were used to the bus and didn’t have their noses pressed against the windows with gasps of discovery quite as much. So we were able to visit with Dave McGee, who came to El Salvador with his wife Jenny for their honeymoon and never looked back. With a two year old son and a newborn girl, Jenny was not with us, sadly, but we listened intently to Dave’s experiences working with Pastor Marcos, who we were preparing to meet. When high winds came in January, many homes lost whatever paltry roof they had had and in May and June the rainy season comes, a crucial time for the working poor and the surviving poor, who could farm the dry land, yielding coffee and sugar cane. So ENLACE kicked into high gear, acquiring needed laminate for roofing and getting teams from the US to come down and help install it in the communities where ENLACE Pastors were serving. Additionally, several homes were restored and some even newly built. Dave’s relationship with Pastor Marcos was strong, friendship poured from his heart, in spite of minimal sleep, with a 2 year old and a newborn at home. And I’m not even sure this guy is 30 years old yet. The perseverance and spiritual maturity he possesses is pretty astounding.
When we finally pulled off the paved roads and ventured up the dirt ones, we were able to see and understand more about the different “levels” of living. Every now and then a home would appear, painted bright orange or yellow, constructed in brick with windows and an entry and flowers in pots on ascending stairs. This was a shocking site when directly next door is the despair we had grown accustomed to seeing (one must never “grow accustomed” but rather come to expect). Before I could even ask, Fritz said, “Remittances.” I didn’t understand. “That means Uncle Jose in Arizona sends $500 a month so I get my good house and food on my table.” This didn’t seem like such a bad thing, but Dave explained that although it isn’t on the one hand, on the other hand, 90% of remittance money is spent on pure consumption. So the government is off the hook supporting the people of the land. The elite few, the land-owners from families 500 years ago, are still the ones with all the capital. And the tiny middle class, who live almost entirely in San Salvador and surrounding regions, will never grow and support the development of the economy as long as people leave the country and send money home, money that never gets seen or taxed. What little infrastructure exists is in the city. Meanwhile, the majority of the 7 million people live in the hills of El Salvador where government seems to mean next to nothing.
Suddenly, the road changed to a somewhat paved road. We were entering a real town, which compared to Pastor Miguel’s area, seemed like there might be a semblance of functionality. There was a medical clinic, a few little convenience stores (with American soda and candy, of course) and the gated entrance to this church was quite lovely. We could hear the children in the school playing in the courtyard out back, and as we were introduced to Pastor Marcos, we couldn’t help but notice the concrete basin with clean water, set just outside a neat latrine: a vastly different picture indeed. All because here there was clean water available, a tank at the top of the hill, with gravity on their side, water flowed down to this town. Our brief conversation with Pastor Marcos, translated by Dave McGee, was equally as full of grace, humility, and deference to God’s continued bounty and blessing on their lives. We were interrupted several times by locals stopping by who needed to speak with the Pastor, grievances to reconcile, problems to unload. One little boy looked particularly distraught. (It turns out our bus had unknowingly hit his dog on the way up the hill – Audrey was sure she had seen it happen, too, but we were unconvinced, incorrectly. Dave assured me it happens all the time, the dogs run under moving vehicles daily. Still, we would not tell Audrey the truth, it would be more than she could bear.)
We walked through the school yard, the children racing around us with glee. At the back of the property was a gate leading out to a garbage infested road where we walked to a home that ENLACE had recently helped to restore. We could see the differences in construction up close – many homes made of sticks and mud, which would literally dissolve under the pressure of the coming rains. But the cinder-block masoned homes would survive, so long as the laminate roofing was properly affixed with bolts at the top (many homes just had big logs and/or junk piled on top of the laminate roofs in the hopes of fending off a wind storm).
After walking along a stream (which in one month will be a river) we came to a house that Dave was particularly interested in showing us. There was some slap-dash construction in places, reinforced by the tell-tale cinder-blocks, but there were three important features to this home that others did not have. There was a cooking area separate from the main house and the concrete oven/stove was enclosed with a small chimney guiding the smoke through the roof. This was huge. The amount of respiratory illness in El Salvador is severe because most cooking happens with no ventilation and the smoke inhalation is ultimately fatal. The other construct of note was the outhouse. As basic as it may seem to us, the poor are not accustomed to digging a ditch and separating human waste from the land surrounding their property. Along with The Water Project, ENLACE is forever promoting The Latrine Project. For $100 it is possible to save an entire family from the potential from parasites (and God knows what) in their water.
And as we walked through this family’s home, we noticed we were walking on a carefully constructed stone pathway. “When the water comes,” the floors of the main house and the health of family will be protected as the rain water (which of course washes excrement and garbage through the house) is guided away. It was so helpful to see what concrete measures could be taken to empower people to live with dignity and a chance at better health (read survival).
But we came upon a home that has me hardly able to form the words to describe it. I am sure it is not unusual and that it is just my stupid, naïve lack of exposure to this level of true despair. It wasn’t just the mud walls held together by sticks or the fact that the shack had been built against a dug out section of the hill which meant that as soon as the rainy season comes, they would be washed away. It wasn’t just the chickens pecking the mattresses or the matted piles of clothes on the floor. It wasn’t just that. It was the expressions on their faces. Nothing. Numb. Spiritually disconnected, like the night of the living dead. Only it was day and hot and bright and there was no hope. Not for them.
But Pastor Marcos is the lifeline for this family, as he is for every family in the village, the region. He is the glue that holds them together, praying and worshipping their hearts out for 4 hours on a sweltering Sunday afternoon. He is the center around which every morsel of courage in gleaned, his words, his energy his spirit … and everything he has comes from Jesus. And it’s our job now to help him sustain his capacity to serve that community by providing him the resources, clean water, prayer, training, empowerment, whatever he needs to keep these children of God afloat. It is daunting and seemingly insurmountable. But, then, so is faith. Believing without knowing.
Topics: Faith, Family, Ministry, Life, relationships, activism, politics | No Comments »
Straight talk in tragic times: Learning from Lee Woodruff
By lisalynne | June 1, 2008
Meeting Lee Woodruff at the most recent Westchester Women’s Leadership luncheon (organized by State Senator Andrea Stewart-Cousins) was not what I expected. The title of her incredible book, In An Instant: A Family’s Journey of Love and Healing, does not at first glance give one the insight into the tough cookie Lee truly is. Oh, don’t get me wrong - she’s beautiful, inside and out, kind, gracious and very warm. But when she speaks about her husband’s (famed journalist Bob Woodruff) harrowing and near fatal trip to Iraq when a roadside bomb exploded next to the vehicle he was in, Lee Woodruff tells it like it is and speaks her mind unapologetically. She is the kind of woman that speaks my language.
What I mean is this: she doesn’t mince words but she’s not hurtful. She’s direct and clear and you walk away a better person for having heard her talk to you.
It is a very, very difficult position to be in, given our American celebrity-crazed culture, to have a crisis strike your family and to have it be public. When Bob Woodruff was critically injured, Lee was a working mom living in CT and trying to keep the pieces together of her family in our manic-intense, New York Metropolitan Area existence, let alone with a famous television journalist on assignment in Iraq.
As Lee shared with us the blow-by-blow of the days following the explosion and injury, she kept us rapt with the horrific details, we were right along with her, we were all in tears as she described her daughter seeing her daddy for the first time in the hospital (he was totally unrecognizable from the brain injury, swelling, and surgery). She’s an incredible story-teller, but for me it was the inter-woven commentary that makes Lee worthy of so much more than being designated the smart-wife-of-famous-journalist-who-writes-a-book.
Because Lee is responding to her new calling. Her life has been forever changed, her soul has been forever impacted, and rather than retreat to previous existence and as much normalcy as possible, she is on the road advocating for Veterans Rights and improved medical facilities and support for the men who are shattered, physically in their brains and emotionally and psychologically in their brains. She is embracing the fact that she and her family will never be the same having come out on the other side of their nightmare. She is an unconventional minister, of sorts, speaking truth to power with wisdom and grace. I love it.
She also gave us a few helpful pieces of advice when you have someone in your life going through living hell:
1)Please, she says, no “pity face.” It pushes the suffering spirit away, it makes them feel pathetic and as if they can’t talk to you. “I’m so sorry” is just the first instinct and we mean well but it accomplished nothing. Be present, be available, be real.
2)Never, Never say it’s “God’s will.” Even if you believe that’s true, it’s incredibly unhelpful and will not be well-received. Leave the preaching to a minister (and even they will not have the right words many times).
3)When you tell someone, “Please let me know what I can do,” all you are really doing is creating more work for the person who is suffering. It is better to find out their schedule and offer to take the children to the movies and for ice-cream or to walk their dog or send over some fresh fruit (easy on the lasagna, folks, the freezer may be jammed-packed and it will just spoil - if there are kids in the house, better to send brownies).
4)Speaking of food - coordinate a meal drop-off so that 15 people don’t bring food on the same day. And don’t call the house 2 days later and say “did you get my lasagna?” it just creates more work and also produces guilt. Just give it and leave it and follow up with a call 3 months down the road and don’t mention it. No neediness projected onto a soul in need.
5)(this was a good one for me) Please don’t say, “You are so brave.” All it does is make the person feel like, “Oh, crap, now I have to appear brave and I don’t feel brave at all.” It’s much better to say, “Wow, this is really awful. This truly sucks. I am praying for you, I am with you.” That means you actually enter into the reality of the situation with that person and it allows them to feel less alone in their unhappiness. Lee said that a friend she can let herself cry with and be herself with is pure gold.
To hear someone speak with such candor was so helpful to me. I think everyone in the room was knocked out by her intelligence and wit and the book is terrific. But Lee Woodruff possesses so much more than what can be effectively marketed through a website or at Barnes & Noble. She’s an authentic woman with a story to tell and serious work to do. You go girl. Thanks for inspiring the heck out of me.
Topics: Writing, Family, Life, relationships, women's issues, activism, politics | No Comments »
8,200 women at the crack of dawn
By lisalynne | April 28, 2008
There were 8,200 women at the crack of dawn last Sunday, bouncing up and down at the Starting Line in Central Park. We were all trying to stay warm, which was easier for me, not being in running clothes preparing for a half-marathon. But these brave athletes were gearing up to participate in this women’s-only event (the only marathon of it’s kind) sponsored by More Magazine, and I had the gift of being there to sing them the National Anthem to launch them on their way.
It seems like not a big deal, on the one hand, singers do this all the time for major athletic events. But in all honesty, as I looked out over the sea of women’s faces, their noses red and eyes tearing from the morning chill, their expressions eager and full of expectation, I was shocked how incredibly attentive they were; every face right there with me, it was a wonderful sight, an inspiring event, and it made me want to shed my stupid pumps and run!
Topics: Performance, Life, women's issues | No Comments »
a happenstance homerun at the Metropolitan Room
By lisalynne | April 28, 2008
It wasn’t because of phenomenal preparation and ample rehearsal that the performance at the Metropolitan Room was a blessing. It was primarily due to the outstanding pro’s who “backed me up” which is a joke because they “saved my butt” in spite of slap-dash lead sheets (time for a serious tutorial in that Finale software, for cryin’ out loud). Furthermore, they inspired me to let go and have a great time and let her rip. It was an absolute gift and I receive with utter gratitude. The Praise Team from Space for Grace, who we call VOCE, came up to close out the night and it was clear from the moment they came up I should have had them up long ago for several numbers and you can bet next time I will. So for you folks who turned out to support the music and to hear Steve Jankowski and Tom Timko and me stumble along behind them, thank you for being there. For those who missed it, looks like I’ve been invited back in September.
Topics: Performance, Music | No Comments »
A gathering of Ambassadors
By lisalynne | March 20, 2008
This Holy Week brought about an unusual opportunity. On Tuesday night I performed for nearly 200 Ambassadors to the United Nations for the Easter Dinner put on by the Christian Embassy to the United Nations. It was a beautiful rainbow of highly distinguished human life and I felt, well, unsteady about how to deliver an “Easter message” that would reach across so many nationalities, principalities, religiosities … how marvelous and how daunting.
But something happens when the music starts and the room is hushed and I pull back from the keys to make eye contact with these faces of the world. There is a glimmer in the eye that seems to say, “I am fully present and receiving your sound.” Likely there were language barriers, perhaps not all the lyrics were clear or understandable. And I wasn’t entirely sure that my style would appeal to all, some who perhaps prefer or are accustomed to a more classical approach. But no matter, it’s not about pleasing each listener, rather it was about fostering a connection and ushering in a Presence that would reach each heart uniquely.
And so it was a beautiful night and I’ve never been thanked in so many beautiful accents. How vast our world, how small and how vast. What a privilege to be among those who have given their lives to the work of bettering a nation in cooperation with other nations. It is imperfect work but it matters. To bring music of hope to such a gathering as this was a gift to me. Even as I ponder more deeply today the gift of Life given to us so many years ago.
Topics: Ministry, Performance, Music | No Comments »
