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.
Beautiful, Kacy. Such a wonderful perspective giving blog. Thank you!
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