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.