Over-sharing, under-filtering and talking about debris... you're used to this by now.

It’s been just over a week since I said goodbye to Lifa and only a weekend since I said goodbye to Mona, Lindsay and Anda. Life keeps going, and the hello’s and goodbye’s happen along the way, creating milestones, landmarks and moments that shape my life and my faith.

Today it seems like it’s all a whirlwind of coming and going – with a larger-than-life-sized load of emotions that come with it.

Here at the Ten Thousand Homes base where I live, we’ve had visiting teams in-and-out  constantly since February. We have the privilege of walking through the most intense weeks in people’s lives, experiencing transformation with them, and then saying goodbye – only to do it again with the next team. An honor. And a whirlwind.

I went 5 months without seeing Lifa, then saw him surprisingly and suddenly for a few hours, and then welcomed him home as his full-time mama for 3 weeks. And then said goodbye again.

Today I feel like I’m in the middle of one of the biggest storms yet. Trying to cling onto something – anything – and then realizing that if it’s not God, it’s only debris.

It’s a new normal.

A normal where the only thing that’s consistent is change.

Culture-shock is a state-of-being.

And contrasting extremes are a way of life.

I’ve been spinning and debris-grabbing on overtime this week. The more and more I invest myself in South Africa, the more I don’t know what life is “supposed” to look like or feel like anymore. The contrasting everything has left me overloaded, ultra-sensitive and extra-vulnerable.

So much life and so much death.

So much hope and so much hopelessness.

And, somehow, that’s just normal.

Two weeks ago we went to bring Ruth hope – and tell her we were going to start building her a new home! We arrived to find her grieving. She had heard only an hour before that her grandmother- her picture of Home on earth – had just passed away.

My friend Nhlanhla who is constantly speaking Life into people as he helps us build homes, spent the weekend mourning the loss of his 42-year old brother. The 3^rd family death since I’ve known him in a year and a half.

Last Sunday, we witnessed a redeeming and restoring hope at a family reunion. Life and relationships being restored, teeter-tottering in my heart with the devastation of saying goodbye to Lifa, even temporarily. Trying to get – and be ok - that we have to be apart for now for a family to come together.

And, as my tears were just starting to slow down on the dark ride home from leaving Lifa in his father’s arms, death flashed before us on the road. A man had just been hit, his body still sprawled across both lanes.

Life and death.

Hope and hopelessness.

Family coming together by being apart.

I can’t reconcile it.

I can’t make sense of it.

I can’t rest in the grey, fuzzy, increasingly painful contrast.

But I can rest in Him.

I can cling to Him.

My Rock. My Redeemer. My Strong Tower. My Fortress.

Since Sunday, I feel things differently.

When people come experience Africa for the first time and get a glimpse of hope amongst poverty, brokenness and death, it leads to an initial disabling and beautiful brokenness.

People are always asking how I can live here and do this everyday. I explain that you have to be broken to give God room to move through you. It’s the first layer of compassion.

But then compassion moves from a puddle to a verb- compelling you to love deeper, live a life worthy of the calling and be a worker for His harvest. You find a new normal and see God with new eyes, a new heart and a new understanding of how His family works.

Sunday changed things for me. With Lifa in my arms and praying over a church full of children putting their piece on our mosaic, a mother’s heart for the Kingdom was activated in me. A new intimacy in an encounter with the Holy Spirit. A new level of calling from which there’s no turning back.

And I find myself now in a new puddle – a puddle of broken compassion for families losing family members, a little boy confused and moving from house to house and culture to culture, and every one of those hungry faces and empty hands I encounter weekly at the feeding programs.

I’m trying to grab debris. Trying to just be able to hold myself up.

I’m doing things like walking out of meetings to hang out with adopted Ethiopian kids.

And trying to drown out the roar of my emotions with really loud music.

And Google all the answers to life’s problems – starting with the South African Home Affairs page.

But knowing I need to give into the Wind, feel the fullness of brokenness, and let the Spirit do His thing.

My prayers today:

Jesus, make my heart more like yours. Let me feel the way you feel. See the way you see. Touch the way you touch. Talk the way you talk. Love the way you love.

You’ve encountered death and hopelessness over and over again. You encountered it being hammered your hands and your feet, hung on your head like a crown and lashed across your back.

You felt it all the way with sinless, selfless compassion. But the whole time, you were infused with hope and rooted in love. You never left the Father. You knew He would never leave you. I don’t know how to live here – or there or anywhere – but I want to do it your way.

You are the Way, the Truth, the Life.

It’s possible. You said so.

“But when the, the Spirit of Truth comes, he will guide you in all truth. He will not speak on his own; He will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come. He will bring glory to me by taking from what is mine and making it known to you.” (John 16:13-14)

Then I stumbled across this verse and realized I wasn’t the only one looking for a quick out in a storm.

The disciples were stuck in an embarrassing learning curve between heaven and earth. The Kingdom of God and the kingdom of earth coming head-to-head in the daily lives of 12 nobodies, has-beens, tax-collectors, fishermen and even a doctor. They didn’t know how to walk, talk, feel or manage in their everyday. They said and did a lot of stupid stuff: a lot of debris-grabbing, ear-chopping, seat-stealing ridiculousness to try to manage the pain and confusion. (Did I mention I just ate about 14,000 Reese’s peanut butter cups in my own attempt? Thank you, Pastor Steven Yoes.) I get it. (Making a mental note right now to not discredit anybody who breaks eye contact while walking on water ever again.)

Jesus must have been so frustrated. They were betraying, denying and rebuking left and right. I probably would have used  more concise words… you know, something that could be summed up in four letters or a chocolatey peanut butter cup.

But He said, “I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come, but when her baby is born she forget her anguish because of her joy that a child was born into the world.”

(John 16:20-21)

Jesus, living on earth for Your Kingdom is hard. But you already know that. Better than I do. And I already have the story right in front of me, written in black and red letters. I don’t have to wait in that miserable gap between John 16 and Acts 2 to be filled with You living in me. Your Holy Spirit is in me, filling me with power, glory and Truth.

Sustainer. Counselor. Everything.

You promise that the fullness of Your glory and power is alive and active in me. You’re here. Now.

You’re gently reminding me – even when I’m lonely and looking for debris to grab onto – that it’s all about Hope and Homes. It’s all about You. It’s all about Family.

Help me to know I belong. To be loved. To be known. To be blessed. And then give it back to You.

The vine and the branches.

Amen. 

Little Guy. Big Story.

I have a story to share with you.

A story written, in part, by your prayers, your faith and your overwhelming support. A story set in a context that goes bigger than the distance separating us and deeper than the ocean of tears shed throughout its unfolding.

But I have to start this story with a confession and an attitude check.

I’m not writing with the deserved level of excitement, awe and worship that I should/could/would be. Today I’m a little overwhelmed by homesickness.

When I said goodbye to Lifa on Sunday, I suddenly felt far from every part of my family. Just a few days without that little boy has hit me harder than I can even describe… I’m struggling through each day, yet so thankful for three visiting friends who have been a witness to this story of family and celebrated and cried with me every step of the way.

Thank you Mona, Lindsay and Anda.

Sunday was a big day.  We joked that it must have at least gone on for 72 hours.

The day started with me charging through cultural norms, trusting God and my pastor’s translations to do the work. This month in my SiSwati-speaking church, my pastor asked me to teach a non-child centered culture how to love children and what it means to be a child in the Family of God. No problem, right?

It was my last few hours with Lifa. I spent it standing in front of the people who had watched him and participated in him being transformed by unconditional love.

I broke through what it’s normal to do in church. And watched a church full of friends and family, orphaned and vulnerable, with eyes wide open, leaning in and drinking up the story of a 3 year old, formally known as nobody and now called family. That same 3 year old they had watched learn to talk, love, be loved and come to life in front of their very eyes… and who pranced around church during my message with an air about him that said, “Hey guys – do you hear my mom talking about me? Who wants my autograph?”

The whole body was moved by the message that love changes us profoundly.

Loving one little boy brought the nations together to pray – you’re part of that story.

Loving one little boy changed life at the Ten Thousand Homes base.

Loving one little boy made a church decide they wanted to know how to do family well.

Loving one little boy gave me a platform to be welcomed in as a mother in a community and teach belonging in the Family of God.

Loving one little boy is bringing an estranged family together in ways that I don’t even understand yet.

Loving one little boy has changed my life forever.

After the words, we put our hands to it.

Anda is an artist who came with passion, dreams and plans to do what she does for Christ. And she did. She designed a mosaic that I will use as a teaching tool throughout the year with the church. We are creating a tree – in which every person will have an important piece in creating a picture of family and being a part of something bigger than ourselves. The fathers will be the roots, the mothers the trunks and branches, and the children the fruit. We will teach that God is our foundation, Jesus is the vine, through Him, we have access to the fruits of the Spirit.

Counter to everything they know, we started with children. We are all children of God.

I asked each child to find an adult to help them and come put their piece on the artwork. And I asked each adult who helped a child to speak love, truth and promises over that child. The first stage of our art represents each valuable and dearly loved child that has a place in the Family of God, as well as a child we’ve chosen to speak love into. 

The kind of love that changes everything. 

The kind of free love that changes everything because it was paid for in full on the tree that Jesus hung on.

The combination of Lifa’s hand in mine, his story in that church, the Holy Spirit dancing across that stage and an opportunity to engage in Truth in a tangible way changed something in that church. Adults came up hand-in-hand with orphans, bright-eyed and telling them they love them. They were even more excited than the children.

Family happened in church.

Love changed everything.

Prayers and words flowed out of me for every child who came up to the art; I spoke love and promises over them with my child in my lap.

What an overpowering love.

And THEN… it was time for the long drive to pick up Lifa’s father, two sisters and a few children to go even further to Lifa’s great-grandmother’s home for a family reunion.

Just try to imagine my emotional well-being at this point, and then add about 180 degrees of crazy to it. Lifa could not understand what was going on.

The night before was the first night he didn’t have nightmares. He actually laughed in his sleep, even jumping up shouting, “Where’s Mona!?!”, “Maaammmaaaa” and singing “Lifa! Lifa! Lifa! Poo poo in the potty!”

He finally felt fully at home, fully family, and we were taking him to a family full of strangers and estranged. Overwhelmed was an understatement.

He was happy to see his father. Praise the Lord. I needed to see that. He kept checking in with me, not letting me out of his sight, but he felt safe with his dad and was happy to see him.

Lifa’s father was so, so, so happy we’d come. We were the vehicle that helped bring a family who hadn’t been together for 3 years to finally be reunited. The father hadn’t been able to face his family alone when he left, just after Lifa was born.

Lifa's father and Pastor Sthembiso

At this reunion, my pastor prayed over the family and I gave a speech (with translation) about the power of love and family. We served cake and coke – and it turned into a real party!

I took family photos of a family whose story of estrangement, separation and shame was being rewritten to a story of redemption, reconciliation and unconditional love…. Because of the power of one little boy.

And then I was invited into the family photos.

Lifa’s auntie shared that we were the people who brought her brother back to her. She wants us to feel welcomed as family and to be able to be with Lifa anytime we wanted.

Lifa’s father shared that he was so surprised by Lifa – he’d gained weight and looked so healthy and happy. He’d never seen his son this expressive, playful or affectionate. He knew we were loving him well.

The neighbors called Lindsey, Anda, Mona and Keri Dodge over for a dance party while I handed over taxi fare and packed lunches for Lifa, his father and his auntie to make the day-long trip back to their homes. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Lifa’s father couldn’t pretend he didn’t see the love between Lifa and I. He said he just wanted a few weeks to spend with Lifa, and then I could have him back “for a month or longer”.

Pausing for you to soak in the fact that we’ve all been holding our breath for weeks and that sentence came out like no big deal….

A MONTH OR LONGER! HE’S COMING BACK!

When it was time to say goodbye, Lifa tried his best to be obedient and pacified, as African children are expected to be. He only cried when we were alone together. I asked him if he wanted to pray. He stuck out those pouty lips, told me he wanted me to, closed his eyes and tucked his little head into my neck nook until we said “Amen”.

Avoiding goodbyes with photo shoots. Me trying not to cry and him trying to get his hands on my camera. Typical.  

I could feel the entire family grieving for me and with me. They were sad I was leaving him too. Not the kind of sad where they didn’t want it to happen – because it’s important for Lifa to spend time with his father. And loving him brought us all together. They were sad to see such an attached, deep love be separated, even temporarily. I think even Lifa’s father was sad.

The 438^th time I told Lifa goodbye, I put him in his father’s arms. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t hide my emotions and tried to at least wipe away the escapee tears before causing a scene. Lifa’s father looked at me, thanked me and told Lifa to “say bye bye to mama. Bye bye Mama.”

Pausing again… because I still can’t catch my breath.

A family and a father acknowledged me as his mother. Not separate from their family, but part of it.

This love, this movement, this whole story is too much for me to pretend to understand. I can’t wrap my mind or my heart around it. I can’t get a glimpse at the big picture because this love is so much bigger than I can get. And the amount of love I feel now is almost crippling.

It doesn’t fit in the English or SiSwati languages.

It doesn’t fit in America or South Africa.

“…What no eye has seen, 
what no ear has heard, 
and what no human mind has conceived'—  the things God has prepared for those who love him—“ (1 Cor 2:9)

I can’t get perspective beyond love.

No time line.

No game plan.

No understanding.

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Phil 4:7)

The power of love changes everything.

Loving one Son changed everything 2,000 years ago.

Loving one son is changing everything now – but this time it’s being changed with an abundance of family and love because the Son of Man already paid for our full inheritance.

Lifa, his father and his great-grandmother. A photo worth all the tears, driving and confusion.

I’m back and forth between celebrating and hurting.

I’m compelled to worship in a time of feeling more full and more empty than I’ve ever felt.

I’m choosing to be thankful for a story that relies on God’s powerful hand at work in every single moment – because I really don’t want it any other way.

he knows.

I know what I see and how much I love him - but I never know what and how Lifa is really internalizing what's going on around him.

I caught him and Stan sitting on a ledge, swinging their feet and chatting away yesterday.

Stan is on staff with Ten Thousand Homes and is an incredible role model for Lifa. He's an outlet for fun - laughing, screaming, running, playing - and a compassionate, SiSwati-speaking discipler. Those two run all over base together talking, hugging and laughing. 

I walked up to a conversation to see Lifa chatting and gesturing wildly. 

Stan explained that Lifa was sharing that I was teaching Lifa how to pray.

I almost melted. 

Since I left for the States in December and Lifa and I were apart for five months, I've prayed for a supernatural, invisble-friendish, audible, knowable, powerful Presence of Christ to wrap around that little boy. The Constant to be in the middle of inconsistency. I've known that was a prayer from God.

And now I'm getting glimpses into Him answering those prayers. 

This little boy knows Jesus. 

Lifa loves to sing to Jesus. 

He walks around base singing church songs in SiSwati as well as "Holy, holy, holy" and other choice lines from his new favorite, Revelation Song. 

At night, we play Revelation Song on repeat. 

The past few nights, he's pulled my face close to mine and, with sparkling eyes, belts out his rendition of Revelation Song straight to Jesus. 

Note: Lifa didn't speak ANY English 3 weeks ago.

Oh and.... the part that goes "glory and power be" translates as "Carly B" when he sings. :)

I pray. And then he prays.

The other night, I told him, in his own language, that Jesus loves him and he belongs in God's family. Lifa just looked at me, confidently nodded his head and said, "Yebo" (yes). He knows. 

He knows he's loved. 

Prayers answered. 

Siyabonga Jesu. 

Let's keep praying.

Pray for us this Sunday. If you're in America, pray Saturday night! (And every hour in between.)

Sunday we are spending our last day together amidst his extended family. An unexpected reunion of broken, estranged pieces coming together because of the love and prayers circulating around one little boy formally known as "the least of these". He won't know the faces and I won't understand the language. It'll be overwhelming for us both, but God's glory will be shining through as He orchestrates a story of redemption and homecoming.

Pray for the details and hearts of Lifa's family members to be open to experience the fullness of God's power and love. 

Pray for Lifa - for an increase in the Holy Spirit to wrap around him, give him a peace that surpasses understanding, and an overflow of feeling loved, valued and family.

Pray for me - I have a tidal wave of emotions lurking just below flood levels. Pray that I can lean into God's peace, power and unending mercies - as well as the gift he's given me during this time. I am so thankful to have GREAT friends visiting to wrap me up in love and experience this with me. Pray that I can really do this with the people around me - that I don't revert to survival mode as I wade into a new depth in this ocean of unknown. 

Pray for our last week together. Lifa and I have sniffles and scratchy throats. Pray for a week of health, joy, and family with no room for spiritual warfare. 

Thank you for your prayers and the ways you love us. Can't wait to share pics of yesterday at GoGod's house with you soon! Love you!

Making a Mess Out of Making Sense

It was a rough night in the cottage, everyone. I’ve been more awake than asleep since 2am when Lifa’s nightmares started, complete with thrashing, screaming, kicking and the saddest SiSwati cries for help. Oh… and peeing right through the Pull-Ups. (We smell awesome.)

For months, I’ve been looking forward to my friends Mona, Lindsay and Anda coming for a two week visit. We all know that this trip is going to change them forever – God’s already been preparing their hearts and moving them toward His Kingdom.

And having people I know and love from that side of the world come to this side… people who I know and love come to know Lifa and see what life looks like here, means more to me than a blog could ever communicate. The power of the Body of Christ comes to life… coming to my daily life. Changes everything. The Kingdom expands and takes on hands, feet and hugs right before my very eyes. 

It’s the most beautiful gift… For everyone reading this and not on a plane to Africa right now, this is your formal invitation!

So… is perfection too much to ask after all this build-up and excitement?

Lifa and I are making the four-hour road trip to the capital city, Johannesburg, today to meet them at the airport, stay overnight and drive them home tomorrow. I wanted things to be perfect.

I was counting on Lifa to feel more adjusted (the last week has been amazing and nightmare-free!), the car to be clean, everything to already be packed and prepared, and the cottage to be in order.

Instead, nobody slept, the sheets need to be washed, nothing is packed, I’m not sure where my friends are sleeping yet, the cottage is a disaster and I’m not exactly sure how to get to Jo-burg yet. Oh… and did I mention that I just found a baby mouse in my kitchen sink, floating in a pot that was soaking overnight. (Yes, I just gagged and then posted it for you to do the same.) ToTo, we’re not in America anymore.

But Jesus, You are still perfect.

And You’ve been saying this year will be messy… the Kingdom of heaven meeting the kingdom of earth has been messy since the beginning.

My God is always sovereign.

Grace, salvation and perfect love came messy.

I’m stressed because my clothes aren’t folded and put away. Soldiers cast lots for Yours as though Calvary was a glorified, crucified garage sale.

I want everything to be perfectly done – to make sense.

But everything seemed undone and broken when You said, “It is finished.”

Experiencing You.

Knowing You.

Tasting You.

Touching You.

Communing with You.

Living with You.

All come with the most messy, beautiful grace – the kind that doesn’t make sense.

Curled up in a blanket in the chair in the corner of the cottage, I see little shoes and big shoes, stuffed animals, one pile of folded laundry and one that got danced on and then kicked over in a tantrum…. And the most perfect little boy who cries out “Mama” in the middle of the night while he sleeps.

Nothing I can see from here makes sense.

Living in Africa doesn’t make sense.

Spending over a thousand dollars to experience a few weeks in Africa doesn’t make sense.

A baby, rejected by an innkeeper, born to a virgin in a stack of hay to be heaven on earth and deliver the  most personal invitation to family in the history of humanity doesn’t make sense.

That same baby – the Son of Man – living 33 sinless years, being tortured, beaten and broken on a cross, the messiest and most public death, to atone for our messes and secure our seat at the most heavenly dinner table doesn’t make sense.

That same Son of Man living an upside down life by playing with the kids, hanging out with whores and rejects, and spending his last hours without nails in his hands by washing the feet of those who’d betray him and healing the ears of those carrying him away doesn’t make sense.

That same Upside Down Son of Man, dying a messy, dirty, brutal death that was celebrated and done, and then coming back for more. Overcoming the grave to come back and say that we’ve not only been made clean, but we’ve been made heirs – full rights as adopted, dearly loved, messy-made-righteous sons and daughters of the King of Kings doesn’t make sense.

So maybe… maaayyybeeee…

I’ll stop trying to clean up messes and making sense out of the small picture I have of God’s Kingdom. I’m sizing up a mess from my corner vantage point in the cottage and realizing I don’t even see a corner of the Kingdom and the most glorious restoration story God has for his children – for Lifa, Mona, Lindsay, Anda, me and for you.

Everything feels undone today.

Instead of trying to do what’s undone, I choose to worship the One who did it all already. And who exists in the mess, and makes it beautiful.

I trust You with my heart and with the hearts of all Your children. 

Jesus, undo me, Mona, Lindsay and Anda. Set our hearts on the Kingdom rather than perfection. Show us how You see beauty and let us feel Your heart in the messes. More of Your presence and less of our humanity.

Come with us today. Do the things that need to be done and let us find you in what’s left undone. Thank you for loving me when I’m so messy that I’m frantically trying to clean. Thank you for making a place for me in your beautifully mess grace.

Your Kingdom Come, Your Will be Done.

Ruth's House

Ruth is a 31-year old single mom, exposed, scared and living in a dilapidated, patchwork collection of scrap aluminum and wood.

All photos by Rae

In 2004, it felt like things were going her way. Ruth and her son, Felix, moved out of Ruth’s parents home into what was supposed to be a temporary shack. She dreamt and even started constructing a safe haven – a brick house.

The very same year, the shop Ruth was working in closed down and she was left unemployed, with no income but an inadequate pension. The early phases of Ruth’s new house was put on pause and has not resumed in 7 years. It’s become an overgrown and forgotten collection of bricks and weeds.

Seven years later, the temporary house has proven to be temporary, collapsing under the power of severe South African storms, only to be picked up and patched up until the next storm. Rain comes in and beats down at an unbearable volume against the aluminum, inviting sleeplessness from the stormy sounds and fear of the family’s refuge flying away into the brutal night. The weather her home has faced is most clearly visible in Ruth’s weary and defeated eyes.

Ruth’s oldest son, Felix, is 13 years old and, despite degenerating circumstances and the walls around him caving in, is proving to be an honorable and hard-working young man. As man of the house, when he is not caring for his mother’s garden and property, he can be found at his grandfather’s field, tools in hand. Felix’s father refused to accept responsibility as a father as soon as Ruth became pregnant, and decided then that he would not be a part of his son’s life. Felix has never spoken to his father and doesn’t even know if he’s still alive.

Felix's bed

Ruth also has a strong but shy 1-year old son whose countenance already narrates the rough times he has been exposed to after living for just one year in the dangerous, makeshift house. The boys have different fathers, but neither is in the picture. Ruth receives no support of any kind from the fathers or any recognition as a young mother.

Ruth was happy to invite me into the leaning walls of her house to reveal two small rooms filled with sunlight peaking from the gaping holes in the construction. Only one week before I first met Ruth, her home had been completely destroyed in a storm. Her neighbors came over and donated strength and scraps to put walls around her possessions, but they could not rebuild the sense of security that had been replaced with trepidation and loneliness.

This small family’s property sits on the main road in their community, Mbonisweni, leaving them exposed to every passerby. When their house fell, their feeble belongings were on display for the entirety of the community.

Ruth fought tears when she told her story. She’s been desperately seeking work, but for the past seven years has only found temporary jobs, providing minimal and unreliable income for one or two weeks at a time. She has to accept whatever price she is given, which is never enough, because she’s in constant fear of not being able to feed her boys. When asked what she wanted prayer for, Ruth openly shared that she is scared to live in her house and she is afraid of running out of food. Sometimes, between jobs, her family gets so hungry. She asked for prayer to find work. Not a handout, not a home, but just a means of sustaining her family in the most immediate way.

“My only hope is in God. I feel his presence most at night because it gets so lonely and quiet,” she shared vulnerably, shaking under the weigh of her emotions. Ruth once dreamt of becoming a nurse or a social worker, but her father could not afford to keep her in school. She now finds her dreams of being able to care for others turning into a desperate need to be cared for.  She feels like it’s too late for her dreams to come true.

Ruth’s hope fell with the aluminum walls of her house. She is longing for protection, for a sanctuary, and to feel like she’s worth being cared for. The first 31 years of her life’s story haven’t instilled the truth of her inherent value, but Ruth has never been forgotten by God and clings to Him today, when there seems to be nothing else to cling to.

We are starting to build a relationship with Ruth and her family and are believing we will be able to start building her a new home soon!

Pray with us for provision and for HOPE and HOME for Ruth and her family. Let’s end a generational curse of hopelessness and poverty here.


I’m inviting you into every part of this story and asking you to do this with us. We are praying for creative ways to use building this home as a way to disciple a community of local, young men who will join alongside us. We are praying for Ruth and her family to experience God as their home, and to know they are worth being known, safe and protected.

I can’t wait to share more as it happens!

Welcome to Wednesday

Whatever side of the world your Wednesday is on, I hope it is filled with joy, dance parties and God revealing His consistency through our change like mine was!

A taste of today with me and Lifa...

We had lunch with Lifa's "MiMi", Carla. So many secrets, kisses and smiles!

Look at this happy boy!

It's like a family reunion at the Mbonisweni feeding programs. He jumps for joy, squeals with delight and absolutely cannot control himself when he's back with Tsthepiso and Belissa!

Corn on the cob night was a huge hit in the cottage!

Ended the night with apple-flavored kisses.

mmmm. Goodnight Wednesday.

Changing Languages and Paintbrushes

I always thought it was strange that there’s “American Sign Language”.

It’s sign language for crying out loud – or for dramatically, silently gesturing!!

In my “new normal”, it’s common to be in a room full of people with fragrant phonetics and consonants jumbled with vowels flying from an arsenal of languages, and me picking out what meaning I can and not even worrying about the rest.

Can’t sign language at least be universal?

I always say that, as the classic English-only speaking American, I can at least speak non-verbals. (Remember that time I used to be a Marriage and Family Therapist?)

We’ve all heard the statistics that our non-verbal communication is so much louder than our words. I can’t help but glean meaning out of gestures, tones and facial expression.

Last Monday, the day we went on yet another 4-hour road trip, to pick up Lifa for a visit (PRAISE THE LORD), I realized that I speak American non-verbals. And English.

And that’s all.

I spent the day sitting in worn furniture with chickens and children coming in and out. There were women gesturing wildly, Lifa’s father smiling, relaxing and chattering away, and Lifa sleeping soundly on my lap. My ears were filled with SiSwati and my heart was so full of emotional apprehension, I wasn’t sure if it was going to keep beating.

I couldn’t even try to keep pace with the conversation. Everything was completely in my SiSwati-speaking pastor’s hands. I trust him completely. So I just figured I would dust off that fancy-pants counseling education and interpret the non-verbal part of the conversation.

Big mistake.

Facial expressions, tone of voice and gestures in the Swazi culture don’t exactly translate into American non-verbal. By the end of the day, I was shaking with nerves and exhausted from the soap opera playing in my mind. I was SURE that the seemingly stony-faces of the women I had encountered meant they didn’t trust me and I wasn’t especially welcomed as the white girl gliding away with their baby in a Mazda. And then confused about why an auntie was clinging onto my hand during a prayer and thanking me over and over again.

I felt unraveled. All day.

Unraveled about being completely vulnerable and feeling out-of-control while walking in the unknown.

Unraveled about me finally saying, “Ok God… I’m in this all the way.”

And then right there in that living room, in the middle of “all the way”, He says, “Ok. But it’s not going to look like the color-by-number picture you’re trying to fill in. I am creating a work of art with colors you’ve never even seen before.”

What I did know right then and there was that God is working a story of welcome and belonging in that family.

And that I felt a warm rush of Truth over me – my adoption is Christ is complete. And His family is bigger and better than circumstances and stories.

That Lifa’s father ran up to our car with the same sparkle in his eye that Lifa had before I left for the States – the one that means he feels completely loved and safe in that love.

And that Something was moving amongst a patchwork, broken family. Prayers - your prayers -  are being responded to.

So now I’ll give you as much as I can of the translated version. Thanks for hanging in!

A family story unfolded as the day progressed.

Lifa’s father shared his story of abandonment. His dad left before he was born and his mother left before he could get a birth certificate. He’s never had identity documents – a huge symbol of belonging, identity and worth withheld by brokenness, injustice and neglect. He says he knows what it’s like to grow up without a father – with eyes full of love for Lifa. He shared some of his deepest sorrows and invited us in to his family by a large gesture of trust. I have to protect the details, but I am asking you to be intimately involved by praying with us for God’s favor as we respond to Lifa’s father responding to us. 

He’s living in a house with a woman he’s in a relationship with and her family. The woman wasn’t there, but the gogo of the house spoke about being passionately moved by God’s love. She couldn’t believe that we would travel such a long way for such a little boy. It goes against everything in the culture. Even my pastor’s extended family couldn’t get it. It’s like the disciples telling the children to leave Jesus alone. (Matt 19:13-15)

The gogo drank up the love we have for God and for Lifa. She was so moved that Lifa instantly fell asleep on me. She thanked us and begged us to come back.

Then we drove FAR… almost right up to the Swaziland border, which looked even more like an enchanted forest than it sounds like. We were going to meet the father’s sister.

And more story unfolded as old family photo albums were passed around, cold drink was served, and Lifa’s father brought out the one personal possession he had packed – the Kacy And Lifa book I had given him on our first visit.

Lifa’s father has been the estranged, prodigal son. It seems like he disappeared from his family around the time Lifa’s mother abandoned them, when Lifa was only 7 months. His sister did not even have his phone number and hasn’t seen them since Lifa was a baby. There are other siblings who haven’t even met Lifa. And a gogo who hasn’t seen him in years.

Lifa’s father called his sister for the first time after we visited him earlier in the month.

Family responded to family. And he decided it was worth it.

He saw the power of love for even the smallest, most helpless child. And thought there might be a chance.

He was afraid to face his family alone.

What I thought was an over-protective auntie asking for mine and John’s numbers to check up on us was actually an overwhelmed sister trying to reign in her emotions over her family finally coming back together. And asking for our numbers to stay connected, to repeatedly thank us for bringing her family back together, and to make sure she always had a way to find her brother in case he ever disappeared again.

On the way home, once I got the full story, I managed to re-hinge my jaw long enough to join in Pastor’s giddy praises and let God keep talking...

Lifa’s gogo and 3 of Lifa’s father’s siblings live in a community less than an hour away. Instead of making the 4-hour drive when it’s time to drop Lifa off in a couple of weeks, we are appealing to God’s adoption and restoration plan. The Father who’s watching eagerly and preparing a party for his estranged son’s return is scheming beautifully.

We’ve asked Lifa’s father and sister to take public transport to come this way and meet us at the gogo’s. We’ll pick up the siblings and end my first visit with Lifa with the biggest, most beautiful family reunion ever. Fattened calf. Gold signet ring. Nicest robe. Bring it all, Jesus! (Check out the story of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15)

The father and sister have agreed! Pray with us for the transport, timing, and planning to work out. As well as for the preparation of mine, Lifa’s and the family’s hearts.

Pray for Lifa. I can see months and years of abrupt transition and insecurity taking a toll on him. He’s having trouble controlling his emotions and trying to control anything else he can. He’s screaming and crying in his sleep. And he’s completely overwhelmed by constant change. Pray for healing in the very depths of his tiny body and beautiful heart. God is moving profoundly around this child – bringing family together through the love of one little boy.

His sparkle of resting in secure love isn’t completely back yet, but it is undeniable that he gets happier by the day. In fact, he’s feeling so secure now that we’ve progressed to temper tantrums! I tell myself every time I get drenched in tears and snot that it’s a good thing for the boy who was formerly afraid to disobey or even make a sound. He’s singing, dancing, learning English and playing like he owns the place. Everything just seems better with him home.

We’re teaching each other family and creating our own langauge.

It’s not about American non-verbals, SiSwati words, or any version of sign language. Leaving it up to my own interpretation just isn’t working anymore.

God is calling me to speak a language painted in colors of grace I’ve never seen.

 It’s time to let go of the color-by-number surrender plan I’ve been subscribing to and watch the Artist of Family, Adoption and Redemption create the Greatest Masterpiece I can’t even begin to fathom.

It’s scary… but I’m in.

Promise to post pictures and (much shorter) updates this week. Pray for me to get a working modem again so I can have internet access readily available!

Thank you for being a part of His Masterpiece in my little corner of the story.