Home Is Where the Hope Is

In the past year and a half that Ten Thousand Homes has partnered with Pastor Sthembiso to host a feeding program from his church, I’ve watched Wednesday afternoons in Mbonisweni transform from a handful of chaotic kids climbing the trees, walls and anybody who’d stand still long enough into a family of 200+ who laugh, play, learn, sing, dance, and sometimes just sit together.

A real and beautiful family.

And here at Ten Thousand Homes, we’ve had a growing awareness that we need to know the children beyond the churchyard. We need to call them family in the places they go home.

Culturally, talking about home-life, need or even revealing parts of your story is a no-no here. In fact, Americans have a reputation for asking too many questions that seem completely irrelevant or inappropriate. (Remember that time I went to grad school to become a therapist and learned to think in questions? I’m that American.)

I’ve been loving, squeezing, feeding, kissing and holding many of these children for over a year and know very little about their post-4:30pm lives. What do they go home to? The spoken language is a barrier, but not as large as the difference in cultural languages.

How do we speak love, belonging, value and Home in a language they can receive?

Steadfast relationship-building. 

Consistent love.

There’s a foundation now. 

We’ve been speaking of the Rock, and we’re ready to build a Home on Him.

And we’re ready to go deeper. 

It’s time to call them known where they live. 

Lindsay Loveless helped jumpstart this call when her heart was jumpstarted during a trip to Ten Thousand Homes in May. Her heart latched onto a little heart whose need for love was louder than any language. Lindsay fell in love with 7-year old Siyabonga.

She sent a suitcase full of clothes, shoes and winter wear to replace the too-small, too-torn and too-dirty clothes and shoes he pieced on every day.

I rallied up a group of SiSwati-speaking volunteers and some TTH representatives after a Wednesday feeding and asked Siyabonga to take us to his home.  Instantly, he was overcome with anxiety and that sweet smile and little voice that usually follows me around singing my name went icy. We walked and walked and walked – far enough to be “malungu” (white people) that stood out, partially because of our skin color and partially because of my incredibly graceful slipping and sliding up and down every rock and hill.

Finally, after avoiding every short cut and taking the longest way possible, Siyabonga runs ahead of us to warn his mama we were coming. She stands outside of a house that isn’t hers - she says she is watching it for someone else and didn’t know where she’ll live after that – and she just stared.

Siyabonga’s shivering from the winter evening chill setting in and the arctic-temperature of the  environment.

So far, so good….

You know… if good is defined as painfully awkward.

Awkward is kinda my new normal since moving to Africa, though. Some would be more politically correct and say "different'.

This is when I started praying that we weren’t getting Siyabonga in trouble or putting him in danger. Maybe we should have respected his anxiety?

Too late now.

Pass me that bag of warm fuzzy treasures.

I’m going to try to not look like a ridiculous American, but rather a messenger of God’s love for His children.

His provision. His comfort.

He meets needs. Even when we’re reallllllly awkward about it.

I got down on eye-level with the man of the hour, shaking in his sole-less shoes.

I told him he’s loved.

He’s valuable.

He’s a dearly loved child of God.

I told him God loves him so much, He’s speaking about him to the heart of a woman on the other side of the world.

I told him Lindsay loves him and prays for him everyday.

I pulled out a card with photos that Lindsay had sent. She even wrote it in SiSwati.

Siyabnga was overwhelmed.

All the expression had washed out of his face. Usually, you can read him like a book.

He almost looked empty.

But the second he saw Lindsay’s photo and remembered – when he really knew what I was saying – I saw the tiniest yet brightest flicker. 

It’s what feeling loved looks like. 

It was a piece of Home taking root in him.

The moment he got it.

My friend Tersia read the card to Siyabonga and his mama.

I turned to the mama and explained how happy we were to know her son and how he makes the feedings better just by being there.

I went in for the arm touch… We’re getting there.

Siyabonga's mama looking at the photos and my friends from church, Witness and Tersia 

I crouched down and dressed shivering, stony-faced Siyabonga in winter clothes. Everything fit perfectly. I could see behind his overwhelmed eyes, eyes that were unsure what his mama was thinking, that he was over-saturated by love. 

I would guess he’s never had an encounter with grace, love and provision like that before.

Hand-me-downs and an extra baggage fee changed one little boy’s life and experience of family.

It was time to get outta there. The mama was getting increasingly uncomfortable and Siyabonga didn’t know how to handle it.

We prayed together and invited them to church.

We left hoping for the best. And in total shock . We’d never seen a kid who didn’t know how to feel when receiving to that degree before.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t smile.

I don’t think this is uncommon.

And I wonder how receiving hope translates.

I found him Sunday morning when I pulled into church  - he was waiting at the gate dressed from head to toe in his new clothes. Beaming. The happiest little boy at church. He was standing there modeling, wanting everyone to notice and ready to be thankful.

Mr. Mbonisweni himself - the proudly-dressed welcome committee!

His mama was standing in the road. We watched her inch her way closer to church. She looked like Siyabonga did when we asked him to take us home.

Meanwhile, he was busy having photo shoots – with a watchful eye on his mama’s whereabouts. Finally, pastor pulled her in, greeted her and the mothers took her in under their wings.

Somebody get this guy an agent

Siyabonga sat with me. She sat with the mamas. He watched her nervously. She clapped awkwardly to the music, but eventually started singing.

Three weeks later, she’s still coming.

As a family, they are slowly settling in as part of our church.

Siyabonga’s less nervous.

She’s more social.

He went to Sunday School.

She came on her own.

God is moving.

God started moving through a feeding, a suitcase and a card written in SiSwati.

I don’t know what Siyabonga’s life looks like when he goes home everyday. 

But I know that we went to that house and spoke love over it. And something changed. 

I know that one person responding to one Christ-breathed whisper was enough to start a change that I think will transform Siyabonga’s life.

Now we get to join in together, as a family that believes this family is worth Hope and Home…

Pray with us.

Speak with us.

In your own home, speak home into Siyabonga and his mama. Seeds have been planted, and now it’s time to intercede. Let’s lean in together and watch Home grow.

The sparkle of hope is growing in that sweet little boy, and his mama is beginning to experience the warmth and the glory of His grace. His welcome. His provision.

Let’s build Home together. 

A bigger, brighter and more hopeful smile