Confession: I was mad at America all day on 4th
of July.
I was the Grinch of the 4th of July.
In America, it was a day to celebrate freedom. The entire
country came together around BBQ pits and sprawled out under fire-cracking
light shows.
In South Africa, I felt swallowed up by oppression. It felt
like things wouldn’t stop falling apart, and I missed the Light show as I stumbled
to try to find a few more pieces to pick up.
The emergency calls started just before midnight.
Sweet little Given began fainting and had to be rushed to
the hospital.
There’s not enough time or patience in the system here to
explain to a 22-year old, SiSwati-speaking mother of 4 with a 9th
grade education what’s wrong with her baby – so no one has yet.
He just spent his second night there. We don’t know why.
Healthy, happy Given on Sunday
Lifa and I said goodbye to a dear friend, Lindsay, as she
loaded up 2 months of memories to take back to Texas.
Something triggered in Lifa - all the goodbyes and all the transitions. He spent the
rest of the day fighting me, melting down on me, and remembering all the people
who’ve come and gone…. Concluding, of course, that Jesus must live in Texas.
We brought Charity and Kevin home with us for dinner and
baths. (They were still wearing Sunday’s church clothes.) They were even more
lethargic than normal, absorbing the stress of Kevin’s twin, Given, being
hospitalized.
Kevin threw up on the couch.
Charity’s eyes sunk even further in.
But we cleaned them, they ate, and they slept in warm arms
for a few hours.
Nandi was safely returned to her mother’s home a week and a half ago. The church intervened; I watch closely; and her mom seems to be
coming around, even joining us to worship on Sunday.
Yesterday I found out that she ran away again.
And a friend I admire tremendously, who is serving at
refugee camps in South Sudan, wrote me yesterday with pictures and prayer
requests. She asked me to pray for the children of Yida – they are dying every
day due to malnutrition. The refugee camp is maxed out, beyond an ability to maintain
proper hygiene, and there’s a life-threatening emergency every moment.
I woke up this morning, on the 5th of July,
saying,
“God, is it time yet?”
Is it time for babies to stop dying?
Is it time for homes to stop being too scary to stay?
Is it time for goodbyes to stop hurting?
Of course it is.
He hates it more than I do.
I’m here to stand for Hope and Homes.
To walk it, talk it, live it, give it.
Some days I feel like it’s happening. I KNOW it, see it and
get my hands dirty in it happening.
Those are the days when we do it together.
On Fridays at TTH, the whole staff loads up and drives down
the bumpy mountain road to Neli’s house. A child-headed household of five sick,
struggling, beautiful children have been abandoned and crammed into a tiny room
for way too long.
We don’t have enough money to finish her house yet.
But we have enough Hope and Home in us to keep showing
up.
We come with what we have, and we give it.
We’ve made miraculous, truly
miraculous, progress in four Fridays.
When we all pick up a shovel…
When we all look for and pour out God’s love on that
parched land…
Hope happens.
Home is being built.
In more ways than one.
As a staff, we’re seeing God in each other and celebrating
it.
We’re watching Him build Home together – using our hands!
The 10-year old man of the house, Mpendulo, picked up a
paintbrush last week. He wanted to be a part of this Home.
Shy Neli’s sharing her fears and her dreams with me.
Thuli’s asking for help to go on a field trip for school.
We celebrate birthdays with cake and parties.
We work, we feed, we treat wounds, we build Hope.
Home is built in us.
On Fridays, I’m incapable of being the Freedom Grinch.
Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.
And where His people come together, there is the Spirit
of the Lord.
He can’t resist unity.
While I was scowling, He must have been giggling with
delight as he watched his red, white and blue-clad children join together in
thankfulness and celebration.
It’s freedom time. It’s been signed, sealed and
delivered. I just have to look up at the fireworks.
There’s freedom when everybody picks up their shovels.
There’s freedom when we know the pieces we pick up don’t pay
for our freedom, but can help build Home.
There’s freedom where we are, when we are doing it together.
On the 5th of July, and on all the days after
that, I won’t let the real Grinch that come that comes to steal, kill and
destroy have my freedom. Or anybody else’s.
Let’s do what you did yesterday, with an eternal twist.
Let’s come together, unified in the purpose of
celebrating freedom.
Let’s wave Zion’s flag high, and sing the Hope-Spangled
Banner.
Let’s lay on the grass, or maybe do cartwheels, under the
most dazzling Light show we’ve ever seen.
Let’s sing and shout in anticipation for the Grand
Finale.
Let’s eat together, and share what we have.
Let’s open our doors and invite people over.
Let’s call down unity and love in every country, under
every flag, and on every day.
Let Freedom
Ring.
**Since
writing this blog, I’ve spent the day in the children’s ward at the hospital.
Given was having seizures due to high temperature. He was being tested for
meningitis, but after the results came out negative, he was discharged. He was
so happy to see us and seemed to
be feeling much better. Continue praying for his health!
So glad that Given is doing better. Febrile seizures can be quite common and may or may not happen the next time he has a high fever. Hopefully, the reason for his fever was just a passing virus, that's how I'm praying anyway. My heart is carrying these burdens with you and thankfully, we can give them to our Father because they are too heavy. Thank you for your work and your love and for being willing to see the injustice of sin affecting ones who are too young to make a choice. I love you. I'm praying.
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