Wednesday, March 21, 2012

There's a Fine Line...


It started with dramatic taglines, banners of injustice proclaimed in “Africa Red”:

THE ORPHAN CRISIS

THE AFRICAN AIDS PANDEMIC

So I came.
I came armed with hugs, kisses, and a few children’s books.

There were mobs of perfectly-brown faces with eyes that spoke of hope and hopelessness, joy and sorrow, broken and whole. And I was right-smack in the middle of the mob with my hugs, kisses and stories.

One on my back, one on my front, at least two clinging on to whatever fingers I had to spare, and two climbing up my legs. I was always covered in children.

Is this what it looks like?

THE ORPHAN CRISIS

It didn’t seem right. Good pictures and warm and fuzzy moments were plentiful. But that’s just how it started.

Then it got personal.

I became part of a family. 

Families.

I became part of a church.


I became a mother.

I no longer go on missionary-appropriate “home visits”. I go visit my friends.
I don’t go with a goal. I go because I love them.
(And because I get cranky if my baby-kissing quota doesn’t get met everyday.)
And I don’t just go to their houses. I bring them home to mine.

We’ve been hosting outreach teams non-stop since the beginning of the year, so I will often bring a few team members along to each “home visit”.  I love watching them love the people I love.

I love when they get to meet THE ORPHAN CRISIS and fall in love with the way Kevin hides behind the door, waiting for someone to come find him… or the way Charity wants to climb you like a jungle gym, taking risky moves, just to make sure someone’s always holding her tightly… or the way Tommy is like a tornado of destruction until he can find some way of getting out everything inside of him, and real joy and laughter wins out… or the way Lifa becomes the DJ and the choir in his backseat throne when he feels at home again… I love when THE ORPHAN CRISIS has names, faces, quirks, kisses and a story. Just like you and I do.

In-between teams this week, I got to visit my families and friends alone… and the personal, most-broken parts of them flowed out like secret fountains.

A 22-year old mother of 4 that I adore told me she’s getting kicked out of the tiny shack she calls home and her and her children, even her 6-month old, are getting beaten by her own sister. She doesn’t know where to go or what to do. She’s out of money and doesn’t even know how to feed her children.

A 22-year old friend and mother who went back to high school after quitting when she had children told me “there are demons at school.” The school is turned upside down by young women “slithering on the ground like snakes” and “screaming, screaming, screaming.” Students are traumatized and having nightmares.

THIS IS NOT THE ORPHAN CRISIS.
THIS IS NOT THE AIDS PANDEMIC.

THESE ARE NOT STATISTICS.

THESE ARE MY FRIENDS.

What do you do when it gets personal? When THE ORPHAN CRISIS is calling you “Mama” and when THE AIDS PANDEMIC is falling asleep in your arms because he’s just so malnourished?

There’s a fine and God-breathed line that answers that question, I think. I usually trip over it instead of walk on it…. Or kneel before it. I don’t think I should be losing this much sleep, or feeling this oppressed, or even feeling this lonely in the middle of it.

Maybe if I trip over that line enough times, I’ll learn where it is. And learn how to build an altar there. How to exchange my yoke for His there. Learn how to love and be loved there.

It’s supposed to be personal.
Jesus didn’t die for a statistic.

And there’s supposed to be enough. Enough arms, enough love, enough grace, enough healing, and enough of us to bring what we have to those who do not have.

One time Jesus and his disciples saw a mob. Mark 6 says their tagline of injustice was something like SHEPHERDLESS. The crown remained a nameless mob and a tagline to the disciples, so they told Jesus to send away to find something to eat.

But he answered, “YOU give them something to eat.” Mark 6:37a
It’s supposed to be personal.

They said to him, “That would take eight months of a man’s wages! Are we to go and spend that much on bread and give it to them to eat?”
“How many loaves do you have?” he asked, “Go and see.” Mark 6:37b-38a
There’s supposed to be enough.

There was a miracle that day, and well over 5,000 ate.
They took what they had, Jesus blessed it and broke it… and there was enough.

That’s where the line is. The point where power and provision meet.
The harmony of Family, the faith in bringing everything I have, and realizing that it’s supposed to get personal between Jesus and I first - because He’s the One who made it personal, and there’s always enough in Him.

Jesus, here’s what I have. Bless me. Break me. Let there be enough.  

Thursday, March 8, 2012

A Name in the Dirt


Two little faces – I’ve watched them for over a year now. I’ve asked everyone at the Mbonisweni feeding about them, and have received no answers. I’ve kissed them. I’ve hugged them. I’ve only known them as Sesi and Bhuti (Sister and Brother). They’ve been mysterious little angels with that infamous “orphan cry” written all over their faces.
Bhuti and Sesi - May 2011
I first noticed them when they began showing up to the feeding very early. And when it only took a glance or a wink for their entire bodies to wrap around mine. After one day of hugs and kisses, we were like family, and they knew they had a place on my lap.

They smelled like filth. They were so, so dirty – every week. Their clothes never fit. They would inhale a heaping plate of food in what seemed like a single bite, and then run back to beg for seconds. I don’t know how it fit into such tiny bodies.

Sesi and Bhuti. I just knew there was something about them… Something for them.

Recently, at TTH, we hosted a group of 13 young adults who came, armed and ready, with a clear direction from God and the plans to make it happen. They would pay for and build 2 homes with us, and then return back to their mission base in Los Angeles to build a model home to raise awareness. They gave us advance notice and asked us to start making plans with families. We were thrilled – and all over it. We couldn’t even wait for the TTH ministry break to end before getting knee-deep in that red dirt again.

This was it! This is the dream! This is how it works! We were building relationships that wanted to spread the movement throughout the nations. They were coming with willing hands and hearts. And we already had strong relationships with just the right families! Praise the LORD!

But then there’s the people-factor. You know, the fact that we’re all broken people. And culture-factor. And allllllllll those broken parts of this earth.

The same factors come into play all over the world, in every stage of life, in every body and every church… and it’s just as disappointing every time. We were made to be redeemed people, designed for the Kingdom culture, and belong as citizens of heaven.

The team arrived, and so did a cyclone. Rain, rain, rain.
We ran into a cranky headman (a tribal chief or community authority) who was unwilling to open his door, much less help.
For the first time ever, we could not secure a plot of land to build a home on. We had people; we had money; we had plans… We just couldn’t get a piece of dirt!
A month went by with absolutely no break-through.

Over and over again, the team set out to pray through the communities, trusting God to fulfill the words HE spoke into them. We didn’t know what to do. It’s our policy and a core value to know the families we build for. Relationship creates Home, not money and not four walls with a roof.

They came to us and said they’d found the home. Three times God brought them there. I was nervous. Filled with doubt. And disappointed that my families, the people I visit and pray over, weren’t getting a home over a matter of whose name was written over a piece of dirt.

As I pulled up to Leah’s plot, to a pitiful shack inhabited by a reportedly welcoming and broken woman with three young children, I could hardly unbuckle my seatbelt before bolting out of the little blue Mazda… SESI AND BHUTI!!!! And Samkelo – a child whose eyes lit up, greeted me by name, and whom I didn’t even know was related to Sesi and Bhuti.

YES, YES, YES.

This WAS the family.

They are all the families. They are all the children. They are all spoken for, planned for, and in line for a Home. But this WAS the family for today. For these people. For right now.

The excited team huddled around Leah and her children. They told her that God knows her, sees her and has not forgotten her. They told her He cares about every need. She is so valuable to Him that He changed the plans of an entire ministry; He rearranged everyone’s schedule; He began speaking to a team and hundreds of generous hearts around the world months before; and, starting the very next day, the strangers-turned-family that filled up her piece of dirt were going to build her a house!

Her reaction wasn’t exactly one you’d write a blog about. She didn’t turn on the waterworks. Ty and the gang at Extreme Home Makeover might have been disappointed.

Leah froze.

Her name was written on a piece of dirt. That’s it.

She had 3 children with an abusive father who had been kicked out of the community because of his violence and danger.
She had nothing to offer her children – no food, no money, no hope.
She had neighbors who smirked and giggled as they walked by because of the way she lived.

She’d never known a promise to be fulfilled.
She’d probably never heard a promise with her name in it.
Her name was written on a piece of dirt. That’s it. 

Leah’s heart is not just on a piece of dirt anymore.
Leah’s name is written on a house that is called The Home of Hope.

Sesi and Bhuti are not their names. They didn’t even introduce themselves by their names. How would you know it’s worth it, if your mother doesn’t know her name is worth more than a piece of dirt?

Her children’s given names, Samkelo, Maria and Bennett, are written on plaques over their brand new beds. They each have a place to sleep now.

Leah has her own room. Her own bed.

More than a house and more than a plaque, Leah’s name is written in heaven – as a full heiress, adopted and treasured.

She met Home after she saw a promise with her name being fulfilled. They kept coming back every day for a month. They kept praying and singing worship songs as they put on one brick at a time. Then they gave her the keys – to her brand new door and to heaven as they shared the gospel.

She heard her name. She accepted His Name to redeem her from the dirt and call HIM Home. She took every key offered to her. And now she has a lot more to give her children. And now they answer to their given names.


Maria with a whole new countenance

Friday, March 2, 2012

This Morning's Prayer

I'm taking Lifa back to his dad's house today after 2 weeks of bliss and thanksgiving! 


Inviting you into my prayers this morning... thanks for doing this with me.  

I don’t want to be numb today.
I don’t want to be broken or shut down.

Will You really fight for me today? Even if that does mean my faith is tiny?

I want to worship You in the desert, in the storm, in the in-between and in the all-the-time. These are the parts where You get to flex. Where Your love gets to be big and strong. Where You get to hold all of us in Your one hand – no matter how far apart we are.

You’re fulfilling promises in us over and over again. Thank you, Abba.

I need you more than I need to breathe. More than I need Lifa. More than I need anything. I need You.

I choose to believe You completely.

I believe You sent Your Son to die so Family could be restored.
To end the orphan crisis.
To set free. To deliver. To redeem.

Attune my heart for Your Big Picture. Your Kingdom. Your glory.

Again, today, I release my plans. I surrender my deepest desires and dreams at the foot of the cross, at the foot of the throne, into the sovereign and loving hands of My Maker. You hold my heart. You choose my highest good.

Every breath. Every hair on my head. Every passing thought.

You know about every child with every kind of hair. Every kind of skin. Every circumstance.

You know the child bound by slavery. Lord, let her go. Set her free.

You know the child trapped in abuse. Lord, deliver her.

You know the child set up for hopelessness, in line to perpetuate the orphan crisis. Lord, redeem him.

Savior, save us.
Deliver us from evil.
Redeem us.
Restore us.
Make all things new.

You did. You are. You will.

Receive this contrite heart today. It’s been broken. It’s been given away to others. It’s sought after it’s own dreams. But today it’s Yours completely. Today it’s running after the Healer, Restorer, Lover.

My dreams, my hopes, my plans are to always be closer to You. To know You more and experience You more.

That’s my dream for Lifa – wherever he goes, whatever he sees, whomever he’s with. Wrap Yourself around him like a cloak of protection that shines with Your Radiant Greatness. Let darkness flee at the sight of Your Light on him and in him. Let all the broken, dried out, orphaned hearts around him be compelled by the Light engulfing him and shining through his eyes and that little voice.

Lifa met Family. Let Family prevail everywhere he goes.

Set them free. Deliver them. Redeem them.

Darkness will flee every time this 4-year old, anointed little boy says Your Name, Jesus. Go in power before him. Give him a supernatural awareness of Your Presence with him always.

His Family is always with him. Never abandons him.

Set them free. Deliver them. Redeem them.

Amen.