How I Did Church This Morning...

There were sandwiches, bananas, hide-and-seek, the cutest giggles you've ever heard, the deepening of a beautiful friendship, so many baby kisses, a jumping game, and....

What's a Sunday morning without a dance party?

TODAY

TODAY is an important day in South Africa, America, the ends of the earth, and in the Kingdom of God.

TODAY we are wearing our Ten Thousand Homes t-shirts and believing.

Photo by Lindsay Loveless

TODAY this movement is bridging the supernatural with the natural, as the Kingdom of God touches earth, permeates all five senses, and speaks every language.

TODAY we are fasting and praying – and hoping you will too.

TODAY we need $15,000 to complete the purchase of University Village by the approaching deadline – It’s the property we live on, and where the nations gather, one team at a time, to impact the orphaned and vulnerable children in South Africa.

TODAY we believe God will respond to His children, fasting and on their knees, for provision for our home. He has called the land ours.  

TODAY the heavens will open – not manna, but a banquet. A wedding feast as His promises are consummated.

TODAY we’re not waiting for the rocks to cry out.

TODAY we won’t be too busy or anxious to enjoy His delight, His blessings and His gracious responses to those who respond to Him.

TODAY is a day where we have the honor of ravenously calling His Kingdom down to earth, starving for more of His glory, and being more hungry for His will to be done than we are for lunch.

TODAY you and I are called to look after the orphans and the widows, to love the least of these. Today.

Photo by Carly B 

TODAY is the day to respond. You're invited to be a part of His promises and plans.

TODAY is the day you find your unique place in the Body.

You have a place. You have a seat at the extravagant banqueting table. TODAY is the day to take it. We believe we’ll have a home TODAY if everyone takes their place in this Kingdom call.

If it’s through making a financial donation toward the $15,000 we need, click here.

If it’s through fasting and praying, take a knee and start now.

If it’s through spreading the news and needs, start typing and start talking.

If it’s through fundraising ideas or you need more information, contact Lindsey Kaufman today.

“This is the day the Lord has made; 

let us rejoice and be glad in it.” 

Psalm 118:24

Hope is Like Jell-O

(Written on January 17th, 2012)

Today was the day! Nandi was coming to spend the night, after faithfully staying at her own house for two weeks. She’d been singing, dancing, begging and counting down since the day we found her in the shelter.

Despite the 15-hour rainstorm and wet everything, I was beside myself. I was ready to welcome a perfect little girl into my home, treat her broken skin with the new lotion and medicines I bought for her, tuck her in, pray over her, make chocolate milk when she woke up, pack her lunch and take her to the front door for her first day of the school year – even if she is repeating the same grade she was in last year. I couldn’t wait to celebrate her and make her feel proud to be her.

When we pulled up to the muddy yard, she ran out with a consuming smile.

And then she remembered.

Faster than her smile disappeared, Nandi quickly ducked into the kitchen to cook her family’s dinner. Her mom was in the other room with the door closed.

I scooped up an armful of children, began kissing the raindrops off their perfectly kissable foreheads, and went to Nandi’s auntie’s shack. Ivonne is Mama Nandi’s sister (Charity, Kevin, Given and Karabo’s mama) and lives in the same yard.  Ivonne told me nervously Mama Nandi had changed her mind about Nandi coming to stay with me.

Last time Nandi came over, her mother was relieved. Mama Nandi has welcomed me into her family with hugs and kisses ever since. This time, I found a little girl hiding behind a door while she cooked dinner. She fought back her tears until she managed to turn her face and her emotions into stone, even willing her limbs to be immobile. Mama Nandi locked herself into her room when I came to greet her and shouted to her sister in SiSwati that she didn’t want to greet me.

I decided to give everybody one last kiss and leave quickly to avoid causing trouble for Nandi later.

And now I’m sitting here alone in a cottage I was sure would be filled with laughter tonight.

And I’m thinking about why.

I can’t translate, unravel or make any sense of Mama Nandi’s quick change of heart. But I’ll give you a few background stories…

A couple of weeks ago, the two families (Mama Nandi and Ivonne) had no food. It was heartbreaking to see the underweight children fight over the last morsel of food they found buried in the dirt. One of the staff members from TTH brought over some food. Only Mama Nandi was home at the time. Later we found out she had kept the food all for herself. A local pastor intervened, had what seemed like an incredible talk with the sisters, and they agreed to share the food.

I wonder if Mama Nandi’s change of attitude toward me had anything to do with what she might have felt was us taking food from her when she was asked to share what she thought she had been given?

In a whole new story with a whole new set of people…

We met a group of people nearby who were feeding 120 every single day, but didn’t have much meat or nutrition to offer. We were blessed with extra meat, so we took a few packages to them. Later we found out that the local volunteers had each taken a package, leaving one small packet of meat for the 120 children.

I wonder what my thoughts and motives would turn to if I spent 7-days a week feeding people’s kids and didn’t have enough to feed my own?

And just one more…

I went to a friend’s house today. She is the oldest of a child-headed household at 18-years old and the mother of a 6-month old. We built her and her siblings a home last year. She begged me to come inside and away from others to tell me she wanted to go back to school but needed someone to care for her baby. And she was out of food. Her eyes filled with hurt and frustration as I explained I had no money with me nor the ability to care for her baby full-time.

I wonder what hope and home are shaped like to her, beyond the four walls of the house we built. Can she even imagine not having to depend on people who she thinks have money and power? Can she grasp feeling value and worth in who she is and escape the oppressive lies of poverty?

I started the day floating in God’s provision, swimming in hope. I started the day in a posture of Thanksgiving for all the goodness flowing out of Him. And then I left the sanctuary of my fluffy couch, oversized coffee cup, iTunes and Bible.

I encountered the orphan crisis today.

I know their names. I know where they live.

Some of them are parents. Some of them have parents.

But they are each under the same crushing arm of that tagline we use – The Orphan Crisis - that makes us think of cute, little brown babies eating under that perfectly-shaped silhouette of “the Africa tree”.

The orphan crisis is the voice that seethes and slithers through Africa and says:

You’re on your own.

There’s not enough for you.

Nobody’s really here for you.

You’re alone.

You will live your life scraping from the bottom of the bowl and from the bottom of the rich man’s shoes.

You will never be anything but poor. Orphaned. Alone.

If that was in my ear…

If I was born into a culture that breathes and breeds these statements as reality…

If that’s all I ever knew…

I would shut a foreigner out of my family for stealing from me...

I would take the only meat I could get my hands on and feed my kids...

And I would shamelessly beg for handouts, selling my self-respect for a full stomach…

But we’re here to shut that voice up, and stomp out the orphan spirit.

We’re here to build a Home, create Hope, and raise up the Family of God.

You probably grew up in a family that had enough meat. You probably have, at one time in your life, sat around a dinner table, family-style and shared a meal… for the very experience of sharing the meal. It’s probably rooted somewhere in your culture’s values, even if it’s been buried in the past few generations, that there is something to family – something about sharing meals, experiences, life and provision. Something that’s worth it and something that’s good.

The people I encountered today didn’t.

How can we end the orphan crisis if we don’t model family? If we don’t spread the news about the Greatest Adoption? If we don’t give more than the meat we have – but give love that doesn’t stop and comes in whatever form it takes.

Love that keeps coming back to knock on that door you’re locked out of…

Love that offers to cook the meat and dish it out to everyone...

Love that sits down and helps a young single mom find resources to empower her to make her family thrive…

So, at the end of a hard day, and from the quiet of this empty cottage, I’m going to choose to find the hope. The possibilities.

We’re here to create hope.

We’re here to speak Family to the orphaned. To welcome them into the Family where they’ll never be orphaned again. To be His voice. The ambassador of His Family.

My right hand upholds you.

There’s more than enough for you, and I will never run out.

I am here for you. I desperately want you.

I will never forsake you.

The Kingdom is coming. The poor will inherit the earth.

You belong to me. I want you to be mine. I will never stop loving you.

Despite what I feel like after a day like today, Africa is not hopeless.

There is endless potential for hope to be released through this nation and the entire continent.

Today I got insight into how to love, how not to love and the atrocious lies the orphan spirit burns into hearts.

Hope is like Jell-O…

There’s always room for more.

Manicure of the Heart

She’s 22-years old with two-beating hearts and four extra hands and feet following her, reminding her that she’s not like the other girls in class. She doesn’t go home to do homework and hang out with friends. She goes home to do the wash and to expectant, hungry cries from the most beautiful and most needy little faces.

She made some choices and had to grow up fast, at least enough to turn off her own life to sustain another’s for 9 months. And once you’re the one who’s not in school and the one who has a baby, why not keep doing what grown-ups do? Even if it leads to 9 more months of growing, stretching and another sacrifice.

But she’s back for a re-do. She signed up to return to grade 9 at age 21, not totally sure if she would stick with it. But at least she would have something to do and a break from the kids and the chores.

What does redemption look like for a woman who is both a mother and a child? For a woman with a “used” mark on her body, holding her hand and strapped to her back? For a woman who’s been almost completely given up on by her family? To a woman who feels like she has to find family elsewhere – even creating her own?

Photo by Carly B

She still dreams like the young ladies she’ll start grade 10 with tomorrow. Prince Charming will come… Won’t he?

Zodwa is my African sister. I love her dearly. We’ve hit our share of cross-cultural, sisterly bumps along the unending road of relationship-building, but yesterday we took a turn.

Since I’ve known her, her kids have seen me as a parent. They are faster to call me "Mama" than her. She’s leaned on me, begged me for things, and hidden things from me like I was her parent too. She signed up to return to school upon my refusal to meet her material needs, insisting she was capable of earning nice things for herself if she got an education and a job. We even set goals with rewards to help her make it through each quarter of school. And each quarter, she created an amazing story of how she lost her report card on the way home from school.

In December, Zodwa proudly thrust piece of paper in my face and began dancing wildly at how she was going to get a special treat from me. She passed grade 9!

So yesterday, 2 days before grade 10 started, we waved goodbye to her two crying children, and I taught Zodwa what a manicure was. We went to a side of town she’s never seen, and she tried to play it cool. It was awesome. Almost an hour later, Princess Zodwa came out beaming… coolly… and trying not to stare at her purple fingernails.

Over a latte and a hot chocolate, I started pouring out my heart to her. I didn’t want her to leave with only her fingernails manicured. We were starting a year together, and we were going to make it count.

Dreaming into the future and Kingdom-sized hope is hard to come by in her culture…. So you are who your family says you are and live how your family lives. But we all have the invitation to live in the Kingdom culture.

And in the Kingdom culture, you are who your Family says you are and you live how your Family lives. In perfect love and full inheritance.

In Zodwa’s culture, if she were to find a husband, he would negotiate her labola, or dowry, with her family. She would be worth less cows because she has children.

In the culture of the Kingdom of God, we talk lamb instead of cow. And the worthy lamb, the Son of God, paid the full price for the full worth of His Bride. She can’t do a thing to change the value of the lamb that was slain, or the fact that He was slain for her bride price.

When I started talking to Zodwa about the new year, she rattled off an answer that would compare to marking “C” in a multiple choice pop quiz. “I want to make better marks in school and become a social worker one day.” I asked for more than that – for heart talk.

I read God’s word over her and the words of my TTH family and my church family to remind her who her Family says she is. And I told her that I wanted this year to be different for us.

I told her that this was a year for God to be who He says we are. I confessed that I get insecure and nervous living out this calling to impart the intimacy, teaching and gifts of a mother when I’ve never conceived a child. And I’m completely embarrassed and insecure that I don’t speak the local language. I typically feel inferior, unworthy and like I don’t do things right.

Then she started listening.

I told her I saw that she was different because, no matter what the other girls in school, or even at church, do in secret, her “secrets” recently turned 2- and 4-years old.

Something in our relationship changed when I told her that we were equals. That I’ve made as many mistakes as her. That I’ve got 5 years of sin and brokenness on her, and I’m sure she couldn’t catch up if she tried. And I told her that we were both made clean, the same kind of righteous in the same kind of family. 

Photo by Carly B

I listen to what people say about me and try to make it true, just like Zodwa.

More often than Zodwa

I try to fill in the holes in my heart by my own strength, just like Zodwa.

More often than Zodwa.

I try to earn my worth and author my identity, just like Zodwa.

More often than Zodwa.

So I spoke to both of us:

“Even now,’ declares the Lord, ‘return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning.’

Rend your heart and not your garments. Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love…

‘I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten…’

from Joel 2

I asked her again what she wanted for this year. This time she said, “This year I’m going to be clean. I’m going to be an adult.”

And she is. And she will.

Believe with me with her and for her.

It got me to thinking.

This year, I want to be clean. Because “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus…” (Rom 8:1) I want every part of me to live in freedom, so there’s more room for love to pour in and out.

And this year, I want to be an adult. Is there a higher pinnacle of spiritual maturity than being absolutely and completely childlike? With His kids. With Zodwa, with Nandi, with Lifa, with Baba Lifa, with the congregation of them I’ll speak to this Sunday, and one-on-one with the Living God in me.

 

Zodwa got manicured fingernails. I got a manicure of the heart. The buffing, trimming, polishing and shining in my spirit gave glimpse to a little more Truth, a little more authenticity, and a little more perspective on this perfect Family I live in. 

2012: The Year of Thanksgiving

We’re 11 days into 2012, and I’m just now getting around to making a new year’s resolution.

You might think that waiting a week and a half into the new year takes away from the sparkly, hope-filled excitement of making that behavioral 180° at the stroke of midnight, to the sights and sounds of cheers, fireworks, and carriages turning into pumpkins.  But I’m just now getting around to this traditionally cliché and spiritually symbolic embrace of the opportunity for a new beginning because I’ve been so busy swimming, laughing, loving and rejoicing with all my heart and all 5 senses in the One who’s calling me closer to Him and to walk into these promises for 2012. Good enough reason, huh?  

For my first 26 Christmases and New Years, I was surrounded by the same people, the same kinds of food, and the same language. Gifts were exchanged with warm hugs in cold weather. Resolutions were made after a night of laughter, game-playing, and while standing around a bonfire of Christmas trees.

On my 27^th Christmas, I gave summer clothes to SiSwati-speaking children, went to a bilingual Christmas play, ate watermelon, and got sun-kissed while we barbequed leg of lamb. And on my 27^th New Year, I danced under the stars and fireworks with my toes in the Indian Ocean to the sounds of God’s unending, majestic waves and my uncontrollably thankful laughter.

I finished 2011 and started 2012 standing on the edge of the immeasurable.

I’ve never been so aware of My Creator and the ways His Love washes over me without stopping.

Thank you Jesus for an opportunity to visit the hem of the most beautiful continent. To see Your glory in the most undeniable and life-giving ways. And for the friend who came with me, who flew around the world with a suitcase full of Christmas love from family and friends, and who counted it worth it.

I played, I laughed, I danced, I sang, I walked, I prayed, I cart-wheeled… I rejoiced.

Photos by Carly B

 My soul and my spirit were fed.

It was my first no-work, no-business, no-culture-shock, non-missionary holiday in over two-years.

I was struck by the strength of the current alluring me into the crashing and unending waves of the beautifully blue Indian Ocean.

And that’s when God reminded me…

He doesn’t stop.

His grace keeps crashing over me.

His love keeps pulling me in.

He keeps making me new.

He keeps filling me with joy.

He doesn’t stop.

I don’t ever want to lose that feeling of dancing, playing, laughing and loving in the crashing waves of God’s love.

And I don’t want to stay toe-deep either.

One time a lady reached for the hem of Jesus’ garment because even the edge of it had enough power to heal a 12-year ailment. (Luke 8)

And now Jesus is in me. And you.

Full-on, crashing waves, un-resting current, couldn’t-grasp-the-depths-if-you-tried Jesus.

I started 2012 dancing on the hem-line that separated Africa from the ocean. I intend on going deeper and deeper into His power and grace every day of this year.

And that’s where we come back to my new year’s resolution.

How to get deeper. How to usher in more of His presence. How to be carried away by His grace.

Thanksgiving.

Jesus always gave thanks before performing a miracle during his life on earth.

Giving thanks makes more room for Him, compels us to worship, and increases our faith by reminding us of how much He’s already provided.

In 2012, I will begin every day giving thanks. Instead of “Please and Thank you’s”, I will be a rejoicing, peace-seeking, “Thank you and please’s” kind of woman. His waves, His love, His grace, His giving never stops. Why wouldn’t I start with thank you?

From Philippians 4:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  

In 2012, I will not complain. Sometimes, people from the States look at my life and only see how much I’ve sacrificed and the conditions I live in. And sometimes I do that too. But, today, and this year, I’m floored by His provision and feel overwhelmingly blessed. I don’t feel like I’ve given up anything. This doesn’t feel like a sacrifice. I feel like the richest woman on the planet with the most joy-giving life I could have never imagined.

From Philippians 2:

Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like the stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life…

God is dreaming bigger and better things in me in 2012. I have no idea what or how He’ll make these things happen. So, I say, “Thank you Spirit for dreaming through me.”

God is promising to give us a home at Ten Thousand Homes. And to keep the property we live on, we need $30,000 in less than 30 days. And so we say, “Thank you for letting us be a part of fulfilling Your gospel message, for knowing Your favorite children, and for giving us an opportunity to rely completely on You and Your Body for something we cannot provide on our own.” (Click here for more information)

Thank you for knowing me, loving me, and doing 2012 with me. 

The Most Worthy Rescue Mission

I can’t get Nandi off my mind.

One month ago, I went to visit this 10ish-year old little girl and her family, only to find a mildly distressed mama telling me she had run away… again.

So, we loaded up her mama, her auntie, their additional 5 children, and a couple of Nandi’s friends who knew where she was hiding, and went to go find Nandi. I brought her home with me that night.

Lifa was ecstatic to have a sister for the night. Nandi took two showers just because she could. And there was a 4-year old birthday party on base that night, so we had a pool full of laughing kids… Nandi included. 

We gave a ride home to a woman who lives in a neighboring community, and she said, “I know this girl.” Nandi had shown up knocking on her door one night at 9pm looking for a place to stay. The woman had called the police, but they dismissed it saying, “She always does that.” Another young woman from another community looked her over and said, “Oh yes, I know Nandi.”

People know Nandi.

But nobody knows her story.

Nobody knows why they know her.

I was beside myself the next morning when I got to make two glasses of chocolate milk and two plates of cinnamon toast for my two kids. On the way to school, I did my best to communicate clearly to Nandi that she was to go home to her mama’s house right after school. She got it. She said yes.

My Dwaleni princess and the king of the car

Playing in the car on the way to school

 And they all lived happily ever after…

I wish we were to that part of the story. I can’t wait for that part. 

But today, we’re still somewhere between the “Once upon a time…” that took place in the purity, nakedness, and perfect relationship in the Garden of Eden and the “Happily ever after” of when the fullness of His Kingdom comes.

We’re still looking for leaves to cover ourselves and trying to make life work in a back-and-forth, Hokey Pokey kind of relationship with our Creator.

Today I can’t get Nandi off my mind.

I went to visit her again a few weeks after she spent the night with me. Her mama greeted me by saying, “Where’s Nandi?”

Uh-oh.

I told her I didn’t know and asked when the last time she had seen her was. She never came home after school that day. The mamas said they hoped she had been staying with me. It was easier to hope that – even though they knew it wasn’t true. Now the truth was in the yard sharing brownies with them, and they had to face it. Nandi had been gone for weeks.

One more time, we loaded up and hit the road. Nobody seemed phased. House after house with no luck. We never found Nandi that day.

We had to have Christmas Eve without Nandi.

Because she’s The Runaway. It’s just what she does.

Heads shake. There’s a generalized, “tsk, tsk, tsk.”

And people worry about the stress she’s causing in the family and community.

She always runs away.

And nobody knows why. It’s just what she does.

Yesterday we went to visit her again. Her mama came bounding out, cheering, clapping, dancing, and hugging all over me. Nandi came home on Christmas Day! I knew it was true because she was wearing the new shoes I had bought for Nandi. But Nandi wasn’t there.

They gave me a detailed explanation of where Nandi was… in SiSwati… so I just got in the car and trusted they’d tell me where to go.

Our third trip this month to find Nandi.

This time we went far.

A 15-minute drive. Then crossing over a major highway. Then entering a dirt-road, tin-shack community I never knew existed. To the end of the road, the back of the community, and into a bunch of warehouses.

Big warehouses full of beds.

And children. 73 children.

And a couple of 20-something caretakers.

Nandi came out with an unsure smile but with a sparkle of a little girl who was being rescued and redeemed. For the third time this month. She ran into her mother’s arms. They hugged each other deeply, and then her mama quickly pushed her away and sent her over to me.

I thought our hug would never end. And I never wanted it to.

You know how much I like words – especially adjectives – but there are no consonants, vowels or syllables that I could craft together to give you even a picture of what this place was like. Not if it’s good or bad, dark or light. It just felt like another world. I tried to ask so many questions. Conversations went something like this:

“Some other white people dropped her off. We think maybe her mother is dead.”

“I’m here with her mother. I’m friends with her family. But I need to know if she has said anything about being in danger, being afraid, or why she would rather stay here than in her own house.”

“If she wants to stay, it’s fine. If she wants to go, it’s fine. Let me show you our rooms!”

I tried to understand if Nandi wanted to go. She wanted to come to my house. But finally agreed to stay at her mama’s house if I would come visit her at her house.

We left Nandi at her house yesterday with a hug, a kiss, a promise of returning the next day, and a drive home filled with silent prayers for God to do what He does bigger than He’s ever done it.

It felt undone. Because we’re in the “…” part of the story. You know, the part between the “Once upon a time…” and the “…happily ever after.”

On this third “rescue mission”, the third time we were going to get a little girl who wasn’t sure if she wanted to be rescued, I thought about the story of Hosea. The book of Hosea in the Bible is a story about a wayward, adulterous harlot who married and had children with a man of God. She had safety and security in him. She was pursued, loved, rescued and wanted by him.

But being the harlot had become her normal. Her identity.

Just like being the runaway. How can you quit who you are?

How can you quit your identity- even if it’s prostitution or running yourself into unbearably dangerous situations?

Hosea’s wife, Gomer, kept running back into her old ways because at least she knew it. It was the easiest way to feel known. Everybody knew Gomer.

Everybody knows Nandi.

She’s The Runaway.

But nobody knows why. Probably not even Nandi.

Gomer had Hosea’s babies. The Lord told Hosea to name his daughter Lo-Ruhamah. It means unpitied. Lo-Ruhamah was the symbol of the plight of Israel. A wayward people who wanted to be known skin-deep, and didn’t care why or how. It was just easier.

But here’s what the Lord says about his wayward girls. His daughters. His Bride. About Israel. About Africa. About Church. About me. About you. About Lo-Ruhamah and her mother. And about Nandi and her mother.

“Call her Lo-Ruhamah, for I will no longer show love to the house of Israel, that I should at all forgive them. Yet I will show love to the house of Judah, and I will save them- not by bow, sword or battle, or by horse and horsemen, but by the Lord their God.” Hosea 1:6-7

“I will plant her for myself in the land; I will show my love to the one called ‘Not my loved one.’ I will say to those called ‘Not my people,’ ‘You are my people’; and they will say, ‘You are my God.” Hosea 2:23

Hosea had to chase Gomer over and over again. He continuously rescued her when she didn’t know if she wanted to be rescued. Because God knew her true identity – His Bride.

I have a feeling that yesterday wasn’t my last rescue mission with Nandi. And that the more I learn about the family, the more tangled and dysfunctional it will become.

But she’s worth it every time.

To Nandi, to me and to you:

I know you deeper than your skin. And deeper than the identity people write on you. I won’t stop coming for you. And I won’t get tired of it. You are worth it. You have been redeemed. And I can’t wait for you to know it all the way, to live in THAT identity: Pure, Renewed, Dearly Loved and Mine.