Like A Nail in Water

Three years ago, an art therapist from an Eastern European country, who lives in Malta, contacted me and asked about opportunities.  I will call her Elena.

Although I could offer nothing at the time, we stayed in touch.  Somehow, although our communication was only through email, I liked her.  So it was a pleasure this year to say I was coming to Malta, and could finally meet her. 

When I did, spotting her first in the crowd, I smiled.  This was an artist and a fashionista!  (Indeed, Elena would also like to be in fashion design.)  We chatted briefly, I introduced her to the people I was with, and then we went to a nearby beach cafe to chat about art therapy.  It was the loveliest of nights, in which to hear another grueling story of survival.  

Ten years ago, Elena emigrated for a job opportunity in Malta.  The job was not so great, so she left it for another, which was also not so great.  That began a string of disappointments, and I wondered if I was reading too much into the story to wonder if this single woman from Eastern Europe was being baited into the sex trade. Elena is now about one notch above the refuges, broke and sinking under the weight of trying to be a professional artist as a single woman in a foreign country.

We weren't finished, but I had a bus to catch.  We agreed to meet the next day, and I would introduce her to our team; maybe one of the long term workers would have an idea for her.

Elena came with her portfolio, which was stellar--world class.  What was she still doing in Malta?!  In my two weeks in the capital city, I only saw one art gallery that did not cater to tourists, and visited the Fine Arts Museum, which underwhelmed me except for its architecture. 

I heard more of her journey, and now the internal one surfaced with the external one.  I sensed my role here in Malta was going to be more about getting this art therapist 'online' than getting art therapy in place.  This art therapist needed some therapy!  I revved up my pastoral care counseling skills when I heard this sentence:  
  
"I am a nail in the water.  How much longer can I float?"

Elena was in a pretty deep depression; was she suicidal?

"No," she said, "but if I wasn't a Christian, I would have committed suicide already."

"Don't think being a Christian will stop you," I cautioned.

We then spent many hours together in the park, sorting out the issues, and I was grateful to learn she had theological training, which helped her connect dots quickly as I basically brought her through a short version of Neil Anderson's Steps to Freedom in Christ.  I watched her relax as truth penetrated with its hope.  Her face began to light up as she rejected lies she had believed, confessed sin, broke inner vows, and forgave one person.  I thought to myself, "So this is why I'm in Malta."  With that, she said, "So...God sent you all the way to Malta to tell me these things?!" 

Sure seems like it...in spite of the grueling story, there is something extremely satisfying about knowing you showed up at the right place in the right time. 

This is a woman who either needs to leave Malta, or is God's choice for Malta.  I was amazed by her courage, tenacity, ingenuity and integrity.  She also showed an entrepreneurial spirit, which will serve her well if she can make it through the depression and adverse circumstances.  Can she reset her spiritual life to draw on God's resources?  Time will tell.

Her heart's desire is to help the children in the family camps.     And as it turned out, she had worked in the men's camp where I had just worked; unfortunately, she could never obtain proper paperwork to work legally, and eventually had to leave. 

I've been in contact ever since, with encouragements and ideas, coaching her through tentative first steps to rebuilding a solid foundation out of the misery and into the realization of her call and vocation.  Her portfolio is stunning but her needs are staggering.

Skill and ability alone do not make the artist, but this is an artist with world class talent.   So if you are reading this, please consider yourself invited to be part of the solution.  And contact me for more info.

The Tongue is a Fire

The things you learn in a foreign culture...like this throw-away comment on the bus ride to town that yielded incredible insight into the Maltese, on the way to the prayer house: 

"Paul dealt with a poisonous snake on the island after his shipwreck.  Since then,  no snakes on Malta are venomous."

Really?! 

"Yes.  But the venom of the snake went into the Maltese mouth."

Yikes! 

Some laughed; some of us thought that was a pretty awful self-cursing sort of thing.  Taming the tongue is no small feat, and I'm sure not where I want to be with it, but I would hate to identify myself as someone with a venomous tongue.  But the Maltese carry a certain pride in their sharp tongues, directness, and ability to argue.   

Talking with an equally-shocked friend later, we decided we wanted to be people who do not speak the fire of hell but the fire of heaven: healing, purifying, refining words.  A visual immediately came to mind, refined during the bus ride, as I passed the many houses covered with the now-familiar grillwork of the Mediterranean windows--grillwork that now appeared to be snake-like, covering windows so no light of understanding could get in, just the lie of a debasing identity about themselves.  I wondered what it would take to dismantle the self-cursing proverb.  What would remove the venom from the Maltese mouth?     

A quick acrylic capture:

Ran out of time to finish - was trying to remove the 'snakes' from one side of the painting, to represent the heart choice of how one speaks.  (Heart also incomplete in the middle.)  But I hope you 'get the picture."  :)

(Text: "The tongue also is a fire."--James 3:6)

Mdina

Our closing celebration evening has arrived.  Several of us head for Mdina (pronounced M-deena), the oldest city on Malta, dating back to prehistoric times, one of the few fortified ancient walled cities left intact in Europe.  

Some of you might recognize the Arabic influence of the name; “medina” is Arabic for city.  Although the Arabs were expelled in 1250, when the islands were under Christian rule, their influence is everywhere in Malta.   

The apostle Paul’s influence is also felt again, as we pass the incredible edifice of The Cathedral of St. Paul—an impressive landmark from anywhere in central Malta, just begging to be explored.  But it’s night, and closed--our trade off for cool temps and beautiful amber lights (the best way to see Malta in my opinion!)  Note how tiny the people are in the foreground. 

  

The glass blower's shop is open...we go in to see what's on display, and I find something for my sister (your birthday is coming, darlin'!)  Not this chandelier, nor the clock...

After wandering through streets like a film set (several movies have been shot here), recalling Biblical times, or Disneyland, (only this is real!), we climb up on the city’s bastions, the stone walls fortifying the city. The view is a breathtaking panorama, and we "Oooo!" and "Aaaah!" while watching planes, cars, and fireworks over Valletta.   

A few obligatory photos later, we move on to the FontanellaTea Garden, where we navigate through a crowded multi-level cafe, filled with greenery and white lights.  Diners are tucked into nooks and crannies everywhere, and we find our niche on the rooftop, up against the stone walls, the perfect perch to feast and watch the fireworks (Malta is in festa season, celebrated with fireworks and food for weekends on end each summer.)

We are just here for dessert, and are soon ooo-ing and aaah-ing over mint chocolate cake, strawberry meringue, banofee, and baci cake.  We are taking iphone photos and slurping milkshakes or espresso.  Guys couldn’t do this, we decide.  (Well, I know a couple who could!)  

Now we are in sugar stupor, and have to leave: some of us have an airport run at 5:30 am tomorrow.  It's hard to leave the beauty, the softness of the air now, the end of discovering Malta and each other. 

We take our time, meandering back under the amber lights through medieval side streets, across Publius Square, and out the city gate, past a jazz band playing in the open air.  All is peaceful, patrician and perfect.   Mdina, I will be back, inshallah! 

 

 

Malta!

This weekend I leave for Malta, island where Paul was shipwrecked, that little speck on the map down by the toe of the boot of Italy!  Ready to take another virtual journey?

What I imagined as a sort of desolate biblical wilderness rock with some picturesque fishing boats attached is actually a densely packed, wealthy playground, with tourism being a cornerstone of their economy.  As I've gotten to know Malta a bit more in the past few years (through friends on teams going each summer), a desire awakened to go myself, to see this incredibly small but strategic island.  I wanted to see the cave where Paul got shipwrecked, learn about the Knights of St. John, Valleta, (the capital), and discover a bit more about the house of prayer there, praying for the whole Mediterranean Basin, and the refugees...   

Malta is often in the news regarding the plight of immigrants or refugees arriving in regular waves on the island, or fished out of the waters after their makeshift boats swamp or sink.  Whatever country they are fleeing from, in hopes of a better life in Europe, they are stranded; people without paperwork, they can go nowhere.

Two recent articles highlight the plight of these people: "Illegal Immigrants Arrive" & "More Migrants Rescued." Can you imagine giving birth on one of these journeys, then arriving in a foreign country to enter a refugee camp?  I can't believe she's still smiling!


You can see from the comments on the news links that this is a very hot issue on the island. These people are not loved or wanted.  Once they arrive it is extremely difficult to ever leave because very few countries want them. 

So, once again, I find myself on the road...on my way with others to work with art therapists, in three refugee camps, beginning on the day of arrival...wondering how that works in jet lag, ignorance and suffocating heat.  Hmmm....wonder if I'll still be smiling!  But imagine I'll be inspired by these marginalized ones, and sleep will be sweet when I get it!  

Malta is historically pivotal for a number of reasons, which I'll get into as we arrive...