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Message from Mary Miller

On Ethiopian mornings

By Mary Miller, minister of outreach

First the street dogs began to bark, incessantly. The crows in the cashew tree outside our window tuned in. Then at 5 a.m., a solitary flute and chanting drifted on the air, heavy with spice and muddy decay. By 6 a.m., a loud speaker amplified a second eerie melodious chant. The front gate banged. The cook arrived in a downpour. “Aiyee!” she cried. At 7 a.m., a radio began blaring Ethiopian pop music.

From the second floor of the guest house in Addis Ababa, we listened in darkness to the city waking up. We couldn’t sleep anyway. Sarah, my oldest daughter, would meet her daughter for the first time on this day. I would become a grandmother. We had flown over 7,000 miles to this Ethiopian city, drawn here by a wide-eyed little girl named Mitike.

Early the next morning, our hearts were full from our first encounter with Mitike, and our circadian rhythms were still interrupted. Sarah and I lay in our beds listening to the waves of sound again: the dogs and birds, the chanting, the pop music. As soon as it was light, we laced up our walking shoes and ventured in the direction of the sounds. Next door to our guest house, perched on scaffolding (actually flimsy lashed-together sticks), workers had cranked up the radio.

But it was the chanting that drew us out into the street. We walked past herds of goats, dodged blue Toyota mini-buses. Mangy dogs tussled over discarded bones. Women in dazzling white dresses and shawls navigated around mud holes. We made a turn at the banana stand. And then, around a curve, we spied in the early mist the blue dome of the Ethiopian Coptic Christian Church — the source of the early-morning chant. At the gate outside the church compound, up and down the street, hundreds of people crowded close.

Somewhere else in the waking-up city, from the Islamic mosque, a muezzin called the faithful to daily prayers.

There is much to tell about adopting Mitike, this two-year-old who now lives with her mama in Juneau, Alaska, and scatters joy wherever she goes. But I will never forget waking each day to the convergence of the Islamic and Christian calls to prayer. The traditions mingled in the morning air. From places of worship into homes and shops all over this teeming capital city, the call to faithfulness took first place in the day.

Love God: The persistent chants drifted into our consciousness on Ethiopian mornings. Love others: Our hearts brimmed with love for this sad and frightened little girl who had been entrusted to her new-found mama. Each day, children’s books, bottles of bubbles, plastic blocks, and a ziplock bag of Cheerios were the universal stuff of love.

“Mitike,” Sarah would reassure her daughter with her eyes and embraces, “I love you.” And each day, I too poured out every ounce of a mother’s love and reassurance to Sarah. The cacophony of Ethiopian mornings called out to love God. With each new day, love began to bounce happily on a bed in an Addis Ababa guest house.

On Iowa mornings, the 6 a.m. call of the cardinal in the pine tree doesn’t carry quite the riveting impact. I crawl out of bed, get a little exercise, shower, read, eat my bowl of oatmeal, kiss my mate goodbye. If I’m really alert, I say thanks — grateful that I’m alive on this fine day. It’s the morning routine. But Ethiopia remains in my memory. The interplay of chants — the faithful, dressed in white, drifting toward the church — and a little girl’s shy smile as love took hold. I listen still.

Loving God, loving others with you,

Mary Miller,

Love God. Love others.

The Shema, the traditional Jewish prayer: Deuteronomy 6:4-9

Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart… Write them on the doorposts of your house.

Jesus response when asked “Which commandment is the first of all?”

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart… You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” — Mark 12:29-31

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