A Family Surprise! Part V

This family and this fire hit me hard. They are my family. My people.

I have more family and more people in the States. A Home in the Body of Christ. And they know my African family too. They’ve walked though this with me, seen pictures and sent gifts. I asked for prayers because this was more than I knew how to handle.

Prayers were flying around the world, and peace was settling in amongst what was burnt and broken.

Almost instantly, I received a $200US donation from someone I had never even met. Family members responding to faces they’d never seen. This was going to make for one awesome surprise!

I got Zodwa in on the surprise with me and asked her to have the boys ready for a shopping spree. By the time we pulled up, the whole family was waiting outside by the fence. We loaded up a bakkie and were off to town! The boys still had no idea – Zodwa told them I was taking them for a pizza treat.

We arrived at the mall and stopped at an ATM to pull out the cash and have a pow-wow. I got one twin on each side and explained what we were really there for, with Lennon’s help translating.

“You boys are my family. Everyone I know in America knows that too, and they love you and pray for you often. I was so sad when I heard about your house that I asked my friends and family in America to pray for you. And they did. God loves you boys so much. He loves you SO much He started speaking to people’s hearts on the other side of the world about you. He even spoke to someone who I’ve never met and you’ve never met. And the people He spoke to LISTENED to Him. They sent a donation for you. Because God wants you to know He loves you, He’s providing for you from people who know how to listen to Him. We get to go shopping today! Each of you can spend R400 and buy any kind of clothes you want! And later we’ll get some things for your mom too!”

Eyes lighting up. Smiles so big their ears might pop off. Looking directly at me, in English, they each said, “Thank you, sister.”

Let the shopping begin! There were so many colors, sizes and styles to choose from! Our arms were loaded up. And I grimaced a little in remembering that, when you lose it all and are told you can buy anything you want, you want to buy stuff kids shouldn’t worry about, like underwear. But they got colorful underwear! And they loved it.

We had a fashion show right there in the store and they brought out their best poses. We snuck in watches at the last minute in line – the only thing they actually asked for. And we even did a little happy dance as we left the store with two bags stuffed with new treasures and tangible proof of a God who provides everything we need from head to toe.

  

Then it was time to eat! We sat down at Milky Lane – the equivalent to a Dairy Queen – in the food court, and they ordered by pointing to pictures they liked. Zodwa held my hand and told me she could never say thank you enough. The boys looked like they felt lighter than air. Bongani grabbed my arm, kissed it, and said, “Thank you Sister.” I melted.

Lennon showed Samgelo how to use a knife and fork. They loved dinner – savory waffles – the closest thing to pizza we could find. Then, of course, it was ice cream time! Later I found out this was 21 year-old Zodwa’s and the boys’ first time to sit down at a restaurant.

The mall was closing down and the hallways were empty. We were still waiting on one more person after we finished dinner, so we took advantage of high spirits and an open range. I twirled around the passages with baby Fiona and, while it was just the two of us, prayed aloud over her family. I prayed that through God’s crazy and powerful love, they would experience Him fully. And that this family would be a catalyst in their community, loving others the way He loves them and the way they love me in a contagious kind of way and that the orphan crisis would end in Mbonisweni. Then, Bongani and I held hands and skipped and giggled down the passage until Samgelo caught up and said, “Kacy… gym. Exercise!” So we took off running. Giggling.

Thank you, Lord, for joy that surpasses and even springs forth from tragedy. You win every time. 

I know fires. Part IV

I know fires.

I know what it’s like to remember – two years later – something else you don’t have anymore and you can’t replace.

I know what it’s like to not have the things you once thought represented who you are and where you’ve come from.

But I also know what it’s like to have a community of support made of people with more than enough – an abundance of love and stuff. We slept in spare bedrooms and on palettes made of extra bedding, slightly worn-in and pushed aside for a new look. I know what it’s like to have insurance so you know you’re not starting over from scratch.

I don’t know fires in Africa.

I don’t know what it’s like to be the twin who started the flame that burnt every tangible memory and possession of a family to a pile of ashes. 

I don’t know what it’s like to have nothing and to have no plan for something. 

I know two of the most incredible boys I’ve ever met.

I don’t know how to communicate to them through language, but we know we’re family and we love each other.

I know the two 13 year-old men in an extended family of nine who work harder than any 13 year-old in America would even know how to – with a smile, with dancing eyes and occasionally with full-on dance parties. They love life, from the babies they can’t stop carrying around and kissing, to the passion and pride they have in gardening and growing everything from beautiful flowers they pick for me to vegetables to sustain their family.

Digging trash pit at GoGo's

Part boy. Part ninja. They even make hard work fun!

Samkelo lit the match.

Everything was lost, including the money and materials their mother had saved up to finish building a half-constructed house for the family of three.

Samkelo was angry, disruptive and almost too much to handle. Bongani was broken-hearted and had empty eyes. Their mom, Sharon, looked like she wanted to be invisible.

The entire family carried sorrow in the deepest parts of them through a culture that doesn’t make room and a lifestyle that doesn’t know how to express it. 

Lifa and Tstepiso – for the first time ever – smelled like trash and were playing with trash. The twins stayed outside.

I held Sharon’s hand and, even when every face in the room remained expressionless, I talked. I told her how much I hurt to see my family experiencing loss. I told her about when I lost a home to a fire and how much it hurt. I just kept talking. I talked about what Home means to us, the ways God provides beyond the physical needs, and that she was not alone in any way.

She doesn’t even understand English very well. No one said much. Not even their eyes said much. But the more I talked, the tighter Sharon squeezed my hand. She felt the little bit of love and the little bit of Home I could offer that day. 

The boys, who, keep in mind, are still 13 year-old boys, usually at least try to duck and hide from my crazy-aunt kisses and hugs. On that day, Samkelo held my hand all the way back from church. And they both let me hold them and hug them and speak love into them. They needed it. They were like dried-out sponges.

That evening, we went with Pastor Sthembiso to see where their tiny shack had stood. It was only an outline on the dirt with some melted, morphed wire framing from what had been minimal furniture cast aside. She held my hand tight again. I held Sharon and her sister and prayed Home in the most powerful and providing sense of the word over them in that place in that moment. John and Sthembiso talked details, making a plan of action to take care of my family. I held hands and talked provision.

Then we saw what looked like a pile of tin. Upon closer look, we saw it was a homemade fence protecting the most beautiful vegetable garden. A carefully tended patch of vibrance. Life amongst what looked like – and felt like – death. The boys’ handiwork. Their aunt gushed with pride over the twins and the ways they cared for the garden with such joy and the diligence in which they did everything.

I felt a surge of relief to hear the boys being celebrated, when, so easily in this culture, they could have become the black sheep of the family. I couldn’t bear the thought of Samkelo carrying around the label “the twin who ruined everything” for the rest of his life. I couldn’t stand the thought of even the slightest flicker of life leaving either one of their eyes.

Hearing the aunt talk about them over their garden, I knew God had given this family a special gift. Thinking back on it now, I shouldn’t have been so worried. This family loves so well – they love me completely and as their own. In this small patch of red dirt – the community of Mbonisweni, you have to focus on the present and every person uses every bit of energy to maintain daily life. But God has written somewhere in this family that His love prevails beyond today. Without a single possession to their name, this family was celebrating the life in the garden instead of the pile of ashes beside it.

Please pray with us for finances to restore a sense of safety and a tangible sense of home to the boys and Sharon. We have received a donation to continue working on their home and are so grateful for that. I’m praying for more home for them. They’re my people. I’m praying for beds, furniture, an oven, a couch, curtains, and all the things that we don’t even realize we’re missing on a daily basis. If you are interested in joining in bringing Home to my family, feel free to email me at kacychaffin@gmail.com

Thank you for doing this with us. 

we now interrupt your regularly scheduled programming....

There's a few more stories about my family coming up in the next week, so please stay tuned! Just had to let you hear the little laugh that melts me. Lifa, Zodwa and Baby Fiona spent the night last night. 

Please pray for my family right now as we are going through some hard losses. It's hard for me to grieve so far away from them. Although there were about a bajillion culture clashes in just one night together, it was so nice to have tiny kisses and snuggles all night. 

Dirty Dishes. Part III

“Southern hospitality” is its own culture back in the States. We’ll welcome you in like family and serve you with the fancy plates no matter what time of day you stop by. Mom always said, “The guest gets the best.”

You know you’re really family in Texas when you are welcomed into the kitchen with a sink full of dirty dishes and Mom doesn’t have her make up on yet. If you’re hungry, you’re gonna have to look for something to eat – it’s all fair game, but, for the love, please clean up after yourself.

Even more than that, you’re family when you’re invited into all the parts of a family, a place where Mom’s make up can’t cover pain and where clean dishes don’t clean up messy circumstances. There’s something about being given access to the broken and imperfect parts that make you feel really welcome.

In many of the culture groups in South Africa, my family’s included, hospitality is huge. You are welcomed in to do daily life with people without giving it a second thought. On my birthday, I was given GoGo’s chair and Lennon and Keri and I were served a feast on the family’s plates while they waited until we were finished to re-use the plates for themselves. When I visited during my community stay, a friend brought by ice cream cups for the kids, an extremely rare and delicious treat. The twins brought each cup to me and Lyn first to make sure we received the first bite before passing it out to the drooling children.

Over the past five months since I’ve returned to my family’s weekly routine, I’ve felt a deep and remarkable shift from the word family into the experience of family. Part of it is time together. Knowing one another looks different here. Besides the language barrier, there’s not much space in the culture to ask personal questions or go deep in any sense of the word I know how. Instead of face-to-face, eye contact, deep and personal conversations, we’ve spent time shoulder-to-shoulder doing daily life together.

Every Sunday and Wednesday, as soon as we put the truck in park, I head straight to my family’s house to greet, chat, help bathe and pick up the boys. Sometimes I’ll bring the family a treat. Sometimes they’ll send me with fruit. There’s always hugs and kisses. The more often I go over there, the longer I stay. Lifa’s hand in mine, we walk to church while I talk to him, pray over him or play with him.

Photo by Carly B

Something really changed when I invited the family into my home and onto our base for our monthly community night, Taco Tuesday. They dressed their best and picked flowers for me when we picked them up. I invited them into my cottage and Stanley translated “how to build a taco”. Zodwa, Baby Fiona and Lifa spent the night. We had girl talk. We painted fingernails. We read a bedtime story. Lifa took his first shower ever. And snuggled with me all night.

I knew it was meant him be when I saw him devour his taco.

GoGo was in tears when I welcomed her to my home. Best Night Ever. 

Zodwa and Baby Fiona after her first shower.

All of my favorite things in one photo. Bedtime really is the best time of the day. 

Dirty dishes and no makeup. Life together.

Slowly but surely, Zodwa has started sharing stories. Small pieces of her life that I savor, as though I’ve found a buried treasure.

In the past few weeks, Sharon has joined in with Prudence and Zodwa in greeting me with, “Hi Sister!” and giving me a kiss.

Prudence has opened up too – always begging me to bring her chocolate. (I make a mean chocolate cake… I’m just sayin…) And telling me part of her story that completely goes against the grain of the culture to share. Yes Prudence… I will give you as much chocolate cake as you can stand if you’ll keep letting me know you like this.

GoGo tells me stories about Lifa and life in a beautifully excited combination of SiSwati and Afrikaans. I don’t know the words, but I get the stories because I know my GoGo’s gestures and voices and kisses.

And Lifa…

Oh man, Lifa.

He’s perfect.

We have a reputation around church. The GoGo’s call him my baby and Pastor celebrates Lifa Day with me every Wednesday and Sunday. The entire congregation is celebrating with me as Lifa is learning, through consistency and value being spoken into him, how to be loved.

I celebrate the tiniest milestones –the day he started playing with my watch, the day he started comfortably swinging his legs on my lap, the day he smiled with I held him up over my head, the day he laughed, the day he started running into my arms, the day he started clapping during the songs.

Photo by Carly B

Then the day I heard him say my name, the day he spoke to Stanley, the day he started playing with other children, and the day he started to play with other white people. 

The more he is loved securely and the more he sees I’m coming back, the more he knows how to be loved. With our Mbonisweni family, we’re re-writing his story of love – from abandonment to abundance.

Photo by Carly B

I love to see him running around during the feeding program with the other children. When he’s not with me, I see him glimpsing at me for approval or coming over for a kiss to check in. I secretly and especially love it when he gets a little sassy with the other boys. He’s starting to understand that he’s valuable and that he has a voice!

They are my family. Not in that hospitable, fancy plates, GoGo chair sense of the word. They are my people – I feel with them, I love them deeply and I’m slowly but surely being given the most incredible gift… they are letting me know them.

Every week there’s something to celebrate in this shift of welcome. This week, Lifa said “I love you”. I almost threw up. Instead, I attacked him with kisses. I’m not sure he could breathe.

Brokenness and messiness hurts. It’s not as easy to write a blog without something squeaky and shiny. But I never want to go back to what squeaks and shines again. I’m their family and they are mine.

It’s kinda like the Family of God.

You enter in with the greatest welcome – one of salvation that’s better than the very fanciest of plates serving the most delectable piece of chocolate cake. Then, as you start living like you belong, walking into the Kingdom and into knowing the heart of Jesus, you feel His pain. The more you know Him, the more your heart looks like His. The more you belong in His family and they more you're living for eternity. The dirty dishes look like broken families, poverty, orphans and loneliness that don’t line up with “Your Kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven.” His Kingdom came with pierced hands and blood. Of course it’s a mess.

But I never want to go back to what squeaks and shines. I want to be fully vested, dirty hands, broken heart and to completely belong in the Family of God. To know Him and His children and to be known. The treasure of hearing pieces of Zodwa’s story. The kisses and “sister” greetings. The wild gestures and neck kisses. The most perfect lips and the tinest “I love you”. Yeah, that’s worth it. 

More than a welcome mat... Part II

But Thou art holy, O Thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel

Psalm 22:3

He inhabits the praise of His people. He lives there. He dwells there.

He’s Home in the praises of His people.

That’s a big deal.

I’m struck by the idea of the holy, perfect, creator God inhabiting the praise from this broken vessel.  Being Home in me.

To be welcomed is to know you belong and to feel at home. Think about it – how many of us decide if we’ll join a church based on the greeting at the door? One awkward glance or cold shoulder and we feel isolated, invisible and homeless. We need to be welcomed.

You don’t have to earn welcome. There are no-prerequisites. That goes against the design. Welcome is a gift.

I only had a few weeks to visit Lifa and my family before leaving for a two-month outreach. I stole as many kisses and moments as possible on Wednesday’s feeding and looked forward to greeting and loving the family at church every Sunday.

Two months later, when I showed up at church in Mbonisweni again, not knowing what to expect, I was bombarded with welcome. Everyone in the church remembered my name. They hugged and greeted and loved like I never could have expected.

When I greeted my GoGo, she held me so tight, kissed me on the neck and told all the other GoGo’s with wild gestures and huge eyes that I was HER child. Over and over again in SiSwati she said, “MY child. MY child. MY child.”

The twins, Samkelo and Bongani, RAN to me, dancing, jumping and shouting their rendition of my name like the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard, “Kacely, Kacely, Kacely!”

Zodwa, Prudence and Sharon hugged, kissed and acted like we never missed a beat. Went straight to the present and talking about how the day was.

Tsthepiso and Lifa were shy. Hiding behind legs and batting those eyelashes. Oh those perfect eyelashes. It didn’t take long for me to become Tsthepiso’s human jungle gym again, but I could see a painful reservation in Lifa.

I had loved him. Built trust with him. Held him so often.

And then I left.

That had happened in is story before. And it didn’t work out well.

I was crushed.

And, somehow, loved him more than before. 

Welcome felt different for Lifa. Welcome had to be an ongoing, continuous message of belonging. His story is different. He needs a different kind of welcome. We all have our own kind of welcome. And God knows them all and the stories that shape them. He created us to be a family to know each other and to meet those personal and valid needs to be welcomed.

It’s part of His image. He longs to be welcomed too. He longs for your praises. He longs for your voice. Your heart. Your passion. Your energy. Your everything. He lives there.

Jesus taught us how to pray a prayer of welcoming His Kingdom to earth and His power to create families amongst us. (Matthew 6:10)

Let’s start welcoming God into our stories by living as a family where every one of every tribe and every tongue belongs. I get to live that here in Mbonisweni with the cutest GoGo and my perfect Lifa. And, I’m telling you, it’s worth it.

I want you to know that you are welcomed into my family here and you belong in the Family of God.  No matter what you’re story, past, present and future…

You are welcome. And we love you.

Meant to be. My Family Part I

I was just a normal girl.

Doing a normal DTS. (Discipleship Training School)

A normal 6 month-trip to Africa - a dip into missions, into Africa, into orphans, into learning and living the compassion of Christ.

Normal. Right?

Part of my DTS at Ten Thousand Homes was a community stay. This past March, I stayed with another DTS student, Lyn, in the home of a family I'd never met before in Mbonisweni for 5 nights.

I had no idea what was going on the whole time I was there. Lyn was from nearby and spoke the local language, grew up in a similar culture, and instantly felt at home.

I sat on the worn couch with little Lifa on my lap... kissing him constantly... listening to the conversations in SiSwati, the multi-

lingual soapies on TV and the loud music blaring on the radio. All at the same time.

I said things like, "Lyn, who actually lives here? Who's related to who?" She usually didn't bother answering those questions - they just seemed irrelevant.

Or sometimes I said things like, "Lyn, how do I pee HERE?"

Or "You eat the toenails AND the bones?"

Or "What part of the cow is this?"

My GoGo loved me instantly. It wasn’t a matter of figuring out who I was, but I was home, so I belonged. And that was that.

GoGo and Baby Fiona

Twenty-year old Zodwa and her sister Prudence were young women just like all the rest. They loved loud music, soapies, spending time together, and talking about boys and lipstick.

Post dance-party with Zodwa and Baby Fiona

Their older sister, Sharon and her twin boys came over every night to watch Generations, the famous South African soapie. The twins, Samkelo and Bongani came after school every day. As the 12-year old men of the family of 9, they worked hard and loved even harder, with a pure and authentic joy. They spoke no English but we understood each other.

Sharon and the most amazing twin boys in the whole world. 

Zodwa has a sweet baby girl named Fiona and a 2 year-old son, Tsthepiso whose tiny-toothed smile makes you want to never let go of him. Tsthepiso’s live-in best buddy is Lifa, a 2 year-old taken in by GoGo after he was abandoned by his parents at a very young age.

Lifa is loved and welcomed into the family, but is obviously different than the biological relatives. He gets the dirty bath water after Tsthepiso, sleeps on the floor when there’s not space on a bed, and hardly gets touched. When you pick him up, he immediately falls asleep in the safety of your arms. It’s precious and absolutely heart-breaking.

Lifa and I had a special connection from the very beginning. Lyn told me to stop kissing him and babying him so much because he’d get spoiled. I didn’t care. If there’s a perfect baby boy not getting enough love, I was going to love him as much as possible. And I did.

You could tell Lifa had been abandoned- not by his appearance because he was well-fed, dressed and cared for. But by his demeanor. Silent. Downcast all the time. Completely shut down. Two year-olds are supposed to be full of energy and a little sassy. Tsthepiso had it down and felt safe enough to run into your arms, play, and make a lot of noise. Lifa was silent. The sad kind of silent where he did every single thing you told him to do with a terrified obedience. I didn’t want to think of any reasons that might be the root of is fear – I would never hear the story and couldn’t communicate with him in English anyway. So I just held him and kissed him and played with him as much as he would play.

By the end of the week, he was smiling, kissing back, blowing kisses and, although he would never ask for me to hold him, he would linger close enough for me to grab him into my lap at all times. I was in love and there was no turning back.

I didn’t know what was going on most of the time (which, by the way, is pretty much my new normal,) but I saw family. I saw that family is the same everywhere in the world.

Granted, in America or any other country you go to, family looks, feels, smells, sounds and tastes completely different from one door to the next. But the kind of family we’re created for, our needs for family and the way we yearn to do life in the context of family is the same everywhere.

I belonged there.

I didn’t know the details, the language or even who was related to who (it took months for me to get the who’s-who information I just wrote to you). But I was known as someone who belonged and who, despite differences, came in to do life with a family. I was known by touch and by kiss.

I was home.

I didn’t know it then, but being a part of this family would become my new normal. My new family. A new outlet for unending and unconditional love. New characters in my own story of the God of the family and the way he heals through families.

I think being known means something different to me now. And it has nothing to do with details, language or cultural this-and-thats.

Family means something different to me now too. And it has everything to do with being created to be known and to share life with people.

Our God exists in a family – three-in-one – Father, Son, Holy Spirit. He created woman out of the rib of man so he wouldn’t be alone. We are made for family. We are made to be known. We are made to do this together in the neighborhoods, communites and corners of the world called has called us to and also in a way that extends across and connects the nations.

The Kingdom of God is the Family of God. You already belong. There’s always a place for you at Home.

I’m so happy to introduce you to and tell you the story of my family in Monbisweni. And to celebrate YOU as my family… You’ve chosen to know me and do life with me by reading this blog alone. It matters to me so much. We were made for it to be like this. Thank you. 

Superhero Capes and Dinner Dates

I love words. (I know, I know… you probably picked up on that already through my lengthy blogs.)

God speaks to me through words. He often speaks through me with words. I am continuously amazed by the power of our words with each other and the ways words create our reality. And by the authority of His Word in speaking directly to our soul. Mmhmm.

I came to Africa in response to His words to me:

HOME.

ORPHAN.

I thought maybe I’d find some kind of direction for my life with these words – something fabulous and very Mother Theresa-esque, of course.

But that God of ours… whew… He got me. Good.

When I got to Africa, with my superhero cape on nonetheless, He spoke. He said I was the one acting like an orphan. And I needed to get a grip. (Those may not have been His exact words. But they definitely came in a booming, superhero cape-obliterating voice.) Shoot.

He told me I was not living like His daughter. I wasn’t living like I was part of the family of Christ, an heiress, and a sister of the One who died for me. He told me the price had already been paid.

There was already a chair for me at the dinner table whether I sat down or not. He asked me why I thought I could bring Home to orphans if I wasn’t living at Home, sitting at the dinner table in the Kingdom of God myself.

He called me Beloved. He called me His. And he told me He wanted me to come sit with Him. 

“He predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will…” Ephesians 1:5

I got awkward. Uncomfortable. I stumbled. I stammered. I was supposed to be “saving” orphans. But instead I came to Africa to find out I needed to live at Home. I didn’t know how to do it- which is His very favorite place to work from.

He’s changing everything.

My perspective is shifting and my lens is changing. I don’t think I’m getting my superhero cape back. But I don’t need it anymore. I can’t spend all my time leaping over tall buildings in a single bound… I belong at Home.

We all belong at Home. There is a place set for you at the dinner table. And for every orphan in Africa. We all belong in His family. “…predestined to be adopted…in accordance with his pleasure and will…” HIS idea. He already planned it. And, even while His flawless Son was suffering on the cross, HE considered you worth it. And every orphan in Africa.

I have a new word:

FAMILY.

I know the promise He won’t leave us as orphans. (John 14:18)

I understand my role in the orphan crisis differently. Families. I believe everyone needs to know they belong in the family of Christ. Predestined. His idea.

I believe that if we have strong families, we can end the orphan crisis. Africans can end the orphan crisis in Africa. If we have healthy homes and healthy families, we’ll be able to care for those who are already orphaned and will not continue creating orphans.

I feel like I’ve been given a privileged seat at the dinner table these past few months. I’ve had the joy and the honor to watch God do His thing through a family that means so much to me here. A family that loves me like their own. I want to share their story with you. Because I want you to do this with me. I want you to walk with me as I figure out how to fit here. I want you to be a part of an unfolding story of redemption, hope and healing love that God is putting together piece by piece and one family at a time.

I’ll be writing the story of this family from my vantage point over the next few weeks. Thank you for doing this with me and for being family to me in some way along this path.

The Constant

Jesus,


I need you. There's too much going on.


My person is hurting. Teams are coming. My family's grieving. My body's groaning. Relationships need building. Communities are changing. Guatemala's drowning. Houses are burning. Life doesn't stop.


YOU never stop.


Forgive me for every moment that I keep my mind, my heart, and my eyes on the verbs. I want my heart and my life set on The Constant.

You are My Tower. My Refuge. My Strength. You don't waver.

You part seas. You move mountains. At your voice, the earth melts.

You're The Constant.

Jesus, people are getting washed away in Guatemala. People are wasting away and abandoned in Africa. People are being sold into slavery all over the world. People are grasping to fill voids with anything in arm's reach in America.

You know them all. Every face. Every name. Every heart.

And you love them all the same. Perfectly.

You're The Constant.

Nothing about me is constant.

You Are Constant.
You are Love. Perfect love that is impossible for me to make sense of - especially when the details come in. And stories. And experiences. And me.

You're The Constant.

I can't understand how You are everything and more than I need. But it's even more than that. Thank you for being more than a feeling, a moment, a story. Thank you for being The Constant. The perfect thread connecting the feelings, moments, stories and more all together.

A Constant thread of love. Beyond faces. Facts. Time. Places.

You're The Constant.

You're Home.
And more than that.

You won't go. Even when I try and turn away. The Constant.

And You...
The Constant...
You call me Yours...
All the time.

You call me Beloved.
You say You are pleased with me.
Nothing about me is constant.
You are The Constant.

Amen.