Because We Say So!

Thursdays are Dwaleni days.

Dwaleni is a beautiful mountainous piece of South African landscape, decorated with small shacks made of remnant wood, aluminum and plastic, with a sprinkling of slightly more sturdy homes separated by bumpy dirt roads and pieces of fence here and there. Every Thursday, Ten Thousand Homes joins with a local NGO (non-profit), Sizinani Home-Based Care to feed around 300 school-aged children from the community.

Many of you have heard me talk about Dwaleni before… swarms of crazy kids mimicking the wrestling they see on TV and the violence they watch at home as they “play” together in the yard. Joy, jubilation, and the occasional “you’ve gone too far” screech of pain or scowl get tangled up in skipping ropes that slice the air but cannot penetrate the leathery, weathered feet of the school girls. Piles of boys with torn clothes just barely hanging on their bodies are covered in dirt stains and, if you can get close enough unnoticed, you can get a glimpse of the latest, greatest and usually wildly dangerous daredevil games.

Some days it feels like absolute chaos.

But every single day you can’t help but see the beauty that shines out of the eyes and even out of the battle wounds of these perfectly-created children. These intricately-woven images of Christ who didn’t get to choose their economic status, their parents or the violent messages their society surrounds them with. They don’t have a say in whether or not their house has walls or if it will stand up through a stormy night.  They don’t get to decide how much food they do or do not get to eat that day.

No child does.

I’m struck by that thought today.

After the feeding, the children were still lingering outside the yard for as much attention as they could drink up before going back to whatever their home life is like the other six days of the week. Keri had a child on each hand; Stan had become a human jungle gym; and Lennon was running up and down the dirt road chasing after the kids who couldn’t keep their hands off his new “Texas” hat from Alyssa. I walked up to an excited mob with a 10-year old angel wrapped around me, just needing to be hugged, rocked and sang to.

Another little girl, probably about 9 or 10-years old, named Simphiwe was crying while her girlfriends were taking up her offense and chasing after the bully. Like a typical scene at any elementary school recess.

The big news of the day was Simphiwe’s umbrella had been stolen.

She wasn’t crying because she had lost an accessory. Those tears weren’t accessory-sized tears.

Simphiwe’s umbrella was stolen.

And she was going home to get beaten because of it.

As though we had any doubt what the tears were from, her friends who had lost the chase and let the bully get away, came and explained through wild gestures while they exclaimed a few of the SiSwati words that I actually know. She was going to get beaten at home.

An umbrella.

A child.

She didn’t get a say in what had been given to her or taken away. Or what she was going home to.

Through choppy SiSwati I told her we would pray that she would not get beaten. Keri’s eyes welled with umbrella-sized tears.

Many of you were just waking up or still hitting snooze while Simphiwe’s umbrella drama unfolded. I was right there, almost in arm’s reach. But I could not march myself with the recess crew, still adorned in school uniform, to Simphiwe’s house and explain the umbrella crisis without putting her in more danger. Especially not with this skin and this language.

Today I watched Simphiwe not get to decide who she was going home to and what was going to happen when she got there.

Today I felt helpless and hopeless for the swarms of children buzzing around who didn’t choose this.

Today I felt more aware of the color of my skin, the safe house I grew up in, and that if I lost an umbrella – or even that time I lost my retainer – I never cried those kind of umbrella tears and I never felt that afraid.

Simphiwe and you and I… none of us have a say in the nouns or the adjectives… the types of persons, places and things we’re around as children.

But today, you and I have a say in Simphiwe’s home life and the droves of sweet little Dwaleni angels who don’t even know they are missing safety and security, hope and home.  

We have a say because we have access to the Holy Spirit who knows us, loves us and cares enough to listen. God in us Who’s willing to be influenced by His own creation, moved by His own masterpiece. (Romans 8:26-30)

And is their anything more worthy of speaking for or being moved by than Simphiwe?

So, today… Speak for the ones who don’t have a say.

And know that you’re heard.

And believe that you do have a say.

It is written: “I believed; therefore I have spoken.” With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, because we knowt hta the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in his presence.

2 Corinthians 4:13-14

A New Kind of Birthday Suit

I’m back everybody! Back from a little internet hiatus, minus one blog I just couldn’t resist.

I missed you.

I have to tell you that, even more than I was 3 weeks ago, I’m overwhelmingly grateful for your reading, your praying and your knowing me as we build hope and home in South Africa together. 

And now, in true form of friends and family who really know each other, let’s just pick up where we left off, shall we?  

A few weeks ago I celebrated my 27^th birthday in the crazy-colliding way God has taught me how to party this year. He threw me a “He’s-Got-the-Whole-World-in-His-Hands” kind of family party with my Ten Thousand Homes family, my South African family and with my American church family, Bay Area Community Church!  He even dressed me for the party.

A week before my birthday,  I was visiting my favorite house in Africa: GoGo’s house. The twins were washing my car, and I was sitting on crates with a lap full of babies. All of a sudden, I noticed excited whispering, giggles and wild gesturing between GoGo and my sisters. I see Zodwa and Prudence run into the house shrieking and look at GoGo, who speaks no English, for a clue. She grinned and gestured for me to sneak up on them to see what was going on. It was my birthday surprise! They couldn’t wait any more – they had to give it to me!

And it was more meaningful and lovely than anything I could have ever imagined or given. It was a church dress! Not just  your average church dress… it was a beautiful, hand-made dress that is fitting for a mother to wear.

This birthday wasn’t just about having a fun party… but trust me, it was fun:

There was dancing…

There was bubble-blowing…

There was kissing…

There was art!

The whole family gathered around to help decorate a "Happy Birthday NaNa" banner for my NaNa in America!

But this year, as I turned one year older, I grew up in a lot more ways than I could have anticipated.

Last year on my 26^th birthday, I blew out candles at GoGo’s house with very different wishes.

On my 26^th birthday, I was a regular visitor at GoGo’s and everybody knew Lifa was my favorite kid. I was new on staff at Ten Thousand Homes and still living out of suitcases without a place to call my own, and not sure I wanted to call any place in this hemisphere “my own”.

On my 27^th birthday, I welcomed GoGo and our family into my home where they admired Lifa’s new big-boy bed and poured over our family photo albums. 

Contrary to the culture that doesn’t celebrate birthdays, I was given a gift that require immeasurable sacrifice and love and that speaks louder than words. A gift that says: “You belong here. You are welcomed into our lives and our culture as a mother. We see you and we love you.”

This year on my 27^th birthday, I was dressed like the belle of the ball and, instead of just making wishes over birthday candles (that wish is a 3 ½ year-old piece of home with his little hand in mine), I am making “trusts”.

I am committing myself and my 27^th year to trusting My Maker – the Ultimate Birthday Celebrator. He sings “Happy Birthday” to the tune of creation’s song while He claps, cheers and spurs us on toward His highest good, and we inch closer and closer to the best birthday ever when we get to sing the songs of new creation!

So…

This year...

I trust You with my hopes and dreams.

I trust You with my loneliness.

I trust You to mend the tears of time zones and culture gaps that  have over-stretched and overwhelmed relationships.

I trust You to meet the needs that I can’t even identify.

I trust You to align my heart with Yours, and give me a gentle, grace-based curve as I learn to bend in opposite directions than the ways of the world.

I trust You not to leave the place You called me to stay.

I trust You to pave the way and break through every barrier standing in the way of family.

I trust You to swing your mighty hand of justice through South Africa and wipe away every unshed tear from every eye and to rest on the heads of Your children with a touch that says, “I know you.”

Camping Out

I told you in the last blog that I was taking time away from the computer to live and to love right where I am. As always, His plans far surpassed mine. (Mine involved naps and giggling.) 

He keeps teaching me family and is even giving me tastes of some of the other ways He loves. You know, the sides that hurt. If anybody knows about hurty love, it's that Father and that Son that said it was worth it. (John 3:16)

I stepped away from my "normal" daily life routines for a sort of holiday of different proportions than what I was really bargaining for. 

It's kinda like camping...

Everybody gets excited at the beginning of a camping trip.

Load an ice chest, tents, sleeping bags and a truck load of Deet if you happen to be camping in Texas.

Take a road trip to find a place with air so fresh you can almost taste the extra-twinkly stars.

Pitch a tent, unfold some chairs, spark a fire, and sing a little Kumbaya.

It's a beautiful adventure. 

The living in a tiny tent, carrying a roll of toilet paper into the woods, and wild-outdoorsy body aroma is charming for a weekend... a week if you're really hard core. 

But there is nothing like that first shower and the first night of sleep back in your own bed. No more bumps or bites in the night. No more snoring from the sleeping bag next to yours. 

Home Sweet Home. 

Yesterday I walked, talked and sang to God about how much I love him. I was radiant by His love. I was so pleased to be displeased with this earth. And yesterday every prayer I prayed was heard and answered. He makes all things good and wraps them in Truth and Love. 

Today, partially in response to the tremendous emotions wrapped up in all those answered prayers from yesterday, I feel crumply. Exhausted.

Nothing's wrong. Nothing's out of line. I'm learning about His Family, just like I asked.
Yesterday it just got personal.

Greater things have yet to come...
Greater things are still to be done...

So today I will worship from this crumply earthly tent, punctured by the spears and sharp edges of my own self-defenses and of humanity not having the capacity to squeeze all that Perfect Love by the Perfect Family 3-pack into these earthly tents. 

Paul was a tent-maker. He gets camping. His words in 2 Corinthians 3-5 have been my camp-fire song for the past few nights. 

"Now we know that if this earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling..." (2 Cor 5:1-2)

From every hole in me- the grabby, selfish, foot-stomping, whiney-voiced parts that just keep getting it wrong...

Jesus, flood this tent. Break through this earthly dwelling and let Your light shine through. 

It's not supposed to feel good here. And today I'm not pleased. I'm not beaming with the hope of the Kingdom coming like I was yesterday. 

Today I'm groaning with the hope of the Kingdom coming. Sometimes even stomping and whining about it. But keep it coming, Jesus. 

"For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not with to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life." (2 Cor 5:4)

We're camping out, sitting under the starry blanket of creation, singing songs as part of a new creation. 

Some days we take soak up the adventure of the campout and love on that breathtaking beauty, Mama Nature. 

Some days we just wanna go Home and see our Dad. 

"Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. We live by faith, not big sight. We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord." (2 Cor 5:6-8)

Kumbaya everybody. 

Kumbaya.