The Writing on the Wall

I can’t speak beyond the dirt roads of the two communities I spend my days in, but I’ve noticed that there is a tremendous deficit for relationship language here. Long ago, in the more traditionally tribal days, marriages were arranged, labola (dowry) was negotiated, and that was that. No need for words that involve butterfly bellies, secret crushes, romantic feelings, or even the words that define degrees of relationship.

Today, the Western world has touched down in South Africa. But in these starving communities that lack running water but not a TV, the Western culture is only screen-deep.

I often walk into feeble homes full of sick and hungry bodies, only to find a TV blasting the corrosive messages of the handful of American programs that come on basic channels: The Tyra Show, Judge Joe Brown and the Bold and the Beautiful.

That’s where this culture is learning how relationships work!

There’s no middle-ground between the words “love” and “hate”, betrayal and abuse is the norm, and the dangers are soaring. Yet there’s still the cultural history of not talking about relationships with your family, and an expectation for the labola to be paid for the relationship to be acknowledged.

“I love you,” can mean anything from, “Nice to meet you,” to “I think you’re pretty,” to “Let’s have sex.”

And, therefore, it means nothing at all.

Yet, meaning or no meaning, people are still speaking.

Words are still flying – building up or breaking down.

They write a banner over our lives and draw the boundaries of our realities.

We live inside the walls of our words and what we believe about them.

Nandi is called Runaway. So she runs.

In the book of Hosea, Gomer is called adulterous. So she defies the price of a covenant and sells her body.

BUT, sometime between Gomer’s life and Nandi’s, the Word became flesh.

The real Word.

The Way. The Truth. The Life.

That Word.

Jesus broke through the walls of His heavenly home, walls written by holiness and perfection. And He broke through the veil that separated His house from ours, bringing our misprinted, broken banners down with it.

He rose from the grave to raise a banner of Truth over us. 

A banner that restores the meaning of the word LOVE.

When I visited my family in America, my sister presented me with a beautiful piece of art. She painted the word LOVE on a canvas, and filled it with True Love. What the Word says about Love. She handed it to me and said, “This is for Mama Nandi.” (In South Africa, you call a mother by her oldest child’s name. Nandi’s mother is called Mama Nandi.)

I was blown away.

My sister has never been to Africa, never met Mama Nandi.

But my sister has access to the Word and to Love. And she knew that Mama Nandi’s body, mind and spirit has been broken, beaten and sold into a counterfeit love.

Today I got to go present True Love to Mama Nandi.

Even as her womb swells with a product of counterfeit love, we went into her home and declared veil-tearing, life-giving, true Love over the walls in that home.

She held in the tears. She couldn’t hold in the smile.

A new banner hangs over Mama Nandi’s home.

A veil tore so she wouldn’t be called the adulterer anymore.

“In that day,’ declares the Lord, ‘you will call me ‘my husband’; you will no longer call me ‘my master’. I will remove the names of the Baals from her lips; no longer will their names be invoked… I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion.” Hosea 2:16,19

The Word became flesh so you could bear that Love in every part of you.

So you could come Home with Him, and so that He could make His Home in you.

Wave a banner of hope and a banner of love wherever you go, whatever you do, whoever you are. You can’t earn in it, but it’s meant to be lavished on you. To clothe you in splendor.

 “Take words with you and return to the Lord. Say to him, ‘Forgive all our sins and receive us graciously, that we may offer the fruit of our lips.” Hosea 14:2

“…His banner over me is love.” Song of Songs 2:4

And look! We taught the same Truths to the volunteers in Dwaleni and painted the walls with banner-restoring words!

Rise and Shine

Talk about a wake-up call.

In the past week and a half since my return to South Africa…

An overwhelmed mother has tried to give me her unnamed, 4-week old baby. “I just don’t want her. I have too many.”

I have piled tears and filth into my car to come home for baths, vitamins and affection, longing to lavish baths, vitamins and affections on my own.

A mother told me a story about her sister, whose stomach now stretches around another baby, most likely conceived in prostitution. This sister raises two children in the grip of her sharp, abused edges, and now I hear that another child has been removed from her home because this shame-laden mother tried to kill her. And another baby died at 3 months… We don’t know how… And we watch the stomach grow.

A dear friend and fierce woman of God climbed down a mountain with two little ones and all her belongings, crying and calling for refuge from her husband’s abusive hand, even when her culture and her family say to withstand it.

A hungry, chicken-poxed family of orphans walked far and long when they see my car turn into their community, partially to welcome me back but mostly to beg for food.

I rocked a half-grown child in my lap as her and her brothers retreat from a drunken mother and a broken home for the joy welling up in the church yard and a hot plate of food at the feeding.

It’s not just here. It’s everywhere. But it’s definitely here.

Some days it feels dark and crushing.

I can’t save every baby. I can’t save any baby. I hold nothing in my own hands, nothing by my own strength. I can’t even catch all of the forbidden tears.

But we remember. And we speak out.

You don’t stop seeing.

You don’t close your eyes.

You don’t turn away.

You don’t lose heart.

You don’t lose hope.

You are Hope. You are Love.

You see. You know. You respond.

Your justice and your love can’t be measured.

Can’t be attained by the standards of this world.

The circumstances crush.

Days turn into dark and lonely nights.

But YOU.

YOU are the bright Morning Star.

In the darkest night, the light of morning illuminates the soul and drenches the spirit.

“I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony for the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David and the bright Morning Star.”

Revelation 22:16

Morning promises – new mercies and joy – are awake in every storm, every broken body and every time zone. When we receive them. When we welcome them, as we were welcomed.

It’s not time to hit the snooze button. It’s not time to close our eyes or our hope in the midst of a dark night.

“You are my lamp, O Lord; the Lord turns my darkness into light.” 2 Samuel 22:29

Wake up, O Sleepers.

Give your heart and your hope to the morning and not the night.

And pray and pray and pray for that bright Morning Star to rise over every dark shack, every broken body, every dead womb, every devastated mother, every lost sheep buried in a thorny thicket, every bleeding marriage, every secret and sorrow pushed into a dark closet’s corner.

Rise, oh bright Morning Star, and shine.

Shine on the new babies and the old ones.

Shine on Your beloved who run, Your beloved who fall, and Your beloved who seek.

“The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp.” Revelation 21:24

The Grass Is Always Greener....

...when you're under a pile of children.

Here goes Kevin...

And he invited Given

My perfect view

I've spent the last two days sprawled out in the springtime grass reconnecting with the people I love after being away for 7 weeks with the other people I love.

These past days have felt refreshing as my toes stretched through blades of green African grass because my heart's been dancing through the clouds.

NANA'S BEEN MIRACULOUSLY HEALED OF CANCER!!!

My family's been given such a gift of healing, hope and future from a God we cannot deny.

And I get to lay in the grass and share THAT testimony and THAT Truth with these people.

Nandi's happy, healthy and talking and laughing with her mom who joined us for church and Sunday lunch!! Prayers are working!

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

he leads me beside quiet waters,

he restores my soul.

He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake...

Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Psalm 23

New Nikes on Old Stompin' Ground

I'm BACK! 

Sitting here at my smoothie spot in the Joburg airport, just an hour till I catch the shuttle for that last 4-hour stint of cross-eyed, crammed-up travel. I can't wait to ride down that TTH driveway, walk into my little cottage, see everybody, take a SHOWER (please, oh please, let us have water today!), and get into some sort of a normal swing.

I'm thankful and overjoyed by my time in the States. Thank you to each person who was a part of that, and to Citymark Church. I love you all.

I wrote this before I left Texas and thought this might be a good time to share it with you. Please pray with me, as the shift between cultures, realities and time zones is never easy.

Jesus, I love you.

You come down to earth – You leave the throne. Those gates. That heavenly home. Your father. You left completion in the name of family.

You left to reach down and scoop up this prodigal people… the people who beat, mocked, betrayed and hung you on a cross. When you humbled, they humiliated.

When you humbled, I humiliated. You came down to scoop me up. I don’t always… I don’t even usually choose gratitude.

I grumble at grace.

I grumble because all the people aren’t in the places I want them to be…

Because they don’t do or say or decide how I want them to.

Because it’s not all better.

Because this world is corroding my 5 senses, lunging for my spirit.

I crack open a journal, and I bow down on my knees to file my complaints. I stomp my feet because Happily Ever After hasn’t happened yet. And somehow, so quickly, I forget that I’m the prodigal people who beat, mock, betray and hang you on a cross. That I judge; I hate; I am a broken fountain.

I have no claim on Happily Ever After.

Until that grace I grumbled at entered the world.

Until I built a cross on a mountain of fear.

Until I scourged the flesh wrapped around you with all of my vengeance.

Until I engraved my scorn and destructed your authority with thorns in your crown.

Until I swung with all my anger, piercing God-made flesh with man-made tools.

Until you lost that last breath you used to pray for me and finally surrendered your spirit.

Until it finally left the realm of my small, unholding, unholy, unsovereign hands – out of the reach of the created, raising their hands and their hate at the uncreated.

Until the living, breathing, uncreated, bearer of Happily Ever After left eternal perfection to come down and experience everything that’s happened since Once Upon a Time began.

Grace flooded.

All the earth. All of creation. In the name of and by the power of Love.

Only love.

I dig tombs. Love walks out of them.

Grace doesn’t demand anything. Grace uses his last breath for you to get an all-access pass to Happily Ever After.

Grace evokes gratefulness.

I grumble louder than I say thank you.

Grace walked out of the tomb while I was still grumbling.

I choose gratefulness today.

Thank you, Jesus, for leaving Home to show me. To invite me. And to know me.

Thank you, Jesus, for giving me your very last grace-breath.

I want the rest of my breaths to say thank you.

Jesus, You left Home to touch our sick, dirty skin and bring healing.

Thank you for letting me touch sick, dirty skin, Healer.

I cry about culture shock. But what was it like to leave heaven for earth?

Thank you for the culture shock of promise – that we were made for Happily Ever After. And we’re still in the Once Upon a Time until we can spread the word that the table has been set, and the banqueting feast is ready.

Love walked out of that tomb for the sick and the dirty. The homeless and the hungry. The broken and bruised. The scared and the lonely. The widowed and the orphaned. Love’s last breath said those names. Said my name. Said your name. Said their names.

Thank you for my breath and for yours.

Thank you that this is not the home I’m supposed to be storing my treasures in.

Thank you for Happily Ever After.

And thank you that this is not what Happily Ever looks like.

Thank you that it’s coming.

Thank you for letting me come and for letting me bring my friends. 

One Thing. And Everything.

I'm surrounded right now by thousands and thousands of people singing....

"Your love never fails, 

Never gives up,

Never runs out on me...

One thing remains."

Thousands of people.

They are every color, age, shape and size.
There are mohawks, faux-hawks, bald spots, and everything in between.
There are Converse, Chacos, Crocs, boat shoes, dress shoes, shoes that sparkle, and shoes that buy shoes for other people who don't have them.
There's a guy a few levels below me playing keyboard along with the band on his iPad.
There's a lady in front of me with just one nail painted black.

There are thousands.

I'm in an arena packed to overflow.
The lights, the talent, the effects, the entertainment, the programming, the hospitality, the details, the everything are more advanced and exquisite than, what I would imagine, the rest of the world has to offer.

The raw talent, the sheer goodness, the phenomenal... PHENOMENAL capacity here is unbelievable. Not Christianese, not cheesy entertainment, not fluffy songs... What I'm experiencing here is art that was graced by God's hand, passion that you can taste, and His people living to the fulness of their original design.

The voices sing along. Thousands of voices.

These aren't normal people's voices. These aren't normal songs.
This is an arena full of Christian leaders at the most innovative Christian leadership conference on the planet.

It's so loud.
We sing so loud.

I'm bathed in swirling spotlights, and I sing.
I can't hear my voice, but I hear us all.
The most heavily burdened soul could crowd-surf here without ever falling because there are so many arms. Such a strong body can carry anything. Any body.

The words, "Holy, holy, holy" pulse through me with the intensity of the bass and of the Truth.

I'm blown away by the extravagance and by the immeasurable amount of influence in this one room- 13,000 orange badges dangling and 26,000 hands waving, pounding, pumping and praising - singing in unison to the immeasurable God.

We sing, "One thing remains," in extravagance.
Senses spark and thousands of sights and sounds collide.

"One thing remains."

We'll stroll outside and enjoy free books, peruse tools to advance spiritual growth in churches, go outside to hear the band, play the games, lounge in the hammocks, and then talk about our favorite parts over lunch.

I'm blown away by this reality I've never encountered.
This measure of excellence, talent, extravagance, and joy.
Singing for the One Thing.

But all huddled up with these people - these spiritual heavy-hitters, these best of the best - I can't help but think, "HOW?"

How can there be this many types of people who know Him - and millions of other people who need to be known?

How can there be this many influencers and this measure of culturally relevant tools - and people not be reached?

How can we have access to this - and people not know they have access to eternity?

How can we be filled with power and Living Water here this week - when I'm getting on a plane next week to land in a place where there's not enough food or water?

I may have never seen this advanced world of leadership, and I have nothing to download the conference app onto... But I'm an influencer just like these people.

Everyone with the power of the Holy Spirit and the authority of Jesus Christ is an influencer... a heavy-hitter.

How can we live with power and unlimited eternal access - and not let them know?

How can we stand, sing, be filled and even pour...
How can we know that One Thing Remains - and be content to stand in the middle of everything when there's still somebody with nothing? Whether it's no home, no water or no hope?

If One Thing Remains... How can we not use everything He's given us to reach every one?

All for One.
One for all.