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 |
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.
Your words give us all a manicure. Thank you for being the hands and feet of Jesus. Sending you so much love!
ReplyDelete