Playing for Peace

Last week, TTH's Dwaleni feeding program was rough.

I won't sugar-coat it.

Almost 400 children tore through the gates like a tornado. Fists were flying, and faces were snarling. Corruption, injustice, abuse, poverty and oppression were flowing out of them like wildfires dressed  in school uniform. Everything they live through in the darkening walls of their homes came out with a vengeance last Thursday.

I couldn't even pray.
I felt like I was in a chokehold... one that brought tears to my eyes and kept words from my lips.

I wandered around - supposedly the one in charge - with a baby on my hip, hundreds of dirty little hands lunging for me, and discouragement closing in on me. I broke up fights, pried hands out of my hair, supervised dish-washing stations, and made plans to take home one group of kids who walked way too far down a dangerous road to get home everyday and another young woman to the police station because she was in grave danger.

There weren't enough people to help.
There weren't enough arms to hug.
There wasn't enough food to feed them all.

We can't proclaim a Kingdom, a Father, and a Family that has space for everyone, sets a place beside Him at the dinner table, and wipes away our tears if we don't have enough plates, food or hands. 

We have record numbers coming to our Dwaleni feeding. I know it's because hope is coming there too. Because God hears what we've been crying out to Him, and He loves these kids.

The spiritual warfare is raging. 
Last Thursday, I couldn't even pray. 

So today, Wednesday, we tried something new with the Sizanani volunteers who cook, serve and volunteer full time in Dwaleni. We marched into that very same yard where chaos prevailed last week, and we proclaimed peace for this week.

And we played. 

Half an hour into this not-so-traditional tea time, Sophie was all wrapped up in a hammock for the first time ever. She sighed and rocked herself into a state of bliss. "I am happy."

I put my hands on her reclined, hardened feet. I said, "Sophie, this is what it feels like to rest in God's peace. This is what the feeding can feel like."

And she got it. Eyes flickered and fluttered. And over and over again, she said, "Thank you."

I told her that Jesus asks us to have faith like a child and to give our burdens to Him.
So we play, on a hard and hot day, and we find ourselves smiling. And not feeling the pains we came in with.
We lay in a hammock. And we see only the heavens above us, with no weight on our bodies.

And then we find ourselves praying - communicating with the Peacemaker - as instinctively as taking our next breath.

Barbed-Wire Freedom

You probably know Nandi. I’ll include links to a few stories to catch you, just in case.

Nandi is a little girl who lived in a crippling household. Everyone around her has shrugged their shoulders, shook their heads and written her off with the name Runaway.

But God says to call her Freedom.

Because when you’re free, you don’t have to run anymore.

Nandi on Christmas Eve

Nandi was removed from her mother’s home and placed in a house full of pulsating love. She has parents who love her and have never known her as Runaway. She has foster sisters and brothers who have overcome their own painful stories. And a playground. And a new school. And homework help. And children’s church. And prayerful hands touching her everyday. And hope-filled voices speaking life into her.

Nandi is staying within the high and guarded fence of a ministry right down the road from me. When her school bus passes my car on the road, I see a long arm fly out the window and hear a gleeful scream, “Maaammaaa Kaaaaccyyyyyy!”

I visit her about once a week. She runs toward me screaming and flops her suddenly child-like body around me. She parades her friends, brings me cards, and then stomps her feet, puffs out her bottom lip, and begs me for cake.

Nandi’s a child again!

I told my friends at Michael’s Children’s Village (Nandi’s new home) about Nandi’s new name: Freedom.

And they told me that she dances wildly with flags to worship music in the prayer hut.

Freedom dances with flags flying in the name of Jesus.

Yesterday, I was waiting for her within the gates of her new home… and waiting, and waiting. I was telling the staff there about Nandi’s family when the bus driver came in and told me Nandi didn’t get on the bus. In fact, she saw it and ran.

So we went immediately to find Freedom.

I knew where she’d be. Nandi has family in the community where she is attending school now. Her uncle passed away last week and the whole family, including her mother, has been staying very close to where Nandi is dropped off every school day.

We found Nandi at the gate of her family’s house, standing with her brother Thami. She had waited for the day that her mother wouldn’t be there but her brother would.

Thami ran, jumped, wrapped those springy, 6-year old legs around me and planted a wet kiss on my lips immediately. Nandi slumped next to me, afraid to lift her head. She got in the car in silence, and we all prayed while she wept.

We drove her back to her new home. As the gate locked behind us, I could feel Nandi’s heart splitting in two directions. Her body limp, yet her hand squeezing mine, we walked into the prayer hut.

And she sobbed.

They weren’t angry tears.

And they weren’t scared tears.

For the first time, they were broken tears.

Shoulders shook and eyes flooded, and Nandi wailed her brother’s name over and over again.

Nandi's brother, Thami

Nandi was worried about Thami. She missed him, and she was afraid for him. Nandi received the blows of her mother’s shame before. Now Thami is the one carrying around the 2-month old baby, boiling his own bath water, and receiving the backhanded pain from a mother who bears strangers’ children from the dark corners of the dark nights.

I held her, and we cried.

And I thanked God for His timing, that I was there.

Nandi was crying broken tears.

And she was beginning to receive her new name.

Nandi wasn’t running away from the safe, guarded, fenced-in yard.

She was recognizing that it is safe there. And dipping her toes - toes made for dancing and not running - into the deep sea of freedom.

Nandi is relishing in a fence that protects her.

In barbed-wire freedom.

Because freedom isn’t wild, unprotected, and on your own.

Freedom is learning how to dance at home – inside the boundary lines - until it’s written all the way through you, and you can dance Light into dark places.

Nandi felt freedom flicker inside her.

In a place with rules that made more room for love.

In a place with gates that say they want her to stay.

In a place with people whose arms hold instead of hurt.

As she internalizes newfound freedom, I believe Nandi is beginning to experience some guilt. She’s dancing and Thami’s working. She’s feasting on freedom and her mother’s withholding milk from her new baby to punish her existence.

Broken Nandi is not operating in safety-mode for the first time in almost 12 years.

Freedom feels. And sometimes it hurts.

Sometimes freedom isn’t only flags-waving and fun.

Palm flags waved in the name of Hosanna, clearing the path for crucifixion.

Freedom pains stretch and groan. Freedom is the dance we were designed for on an earth that can’t keep up with heaven’s songs. Freedom is uninhibited praise in the protection and presence of the Holy Spirit – even when circumstances aren’t all better.

Freedom is inside the fence of Abba’s house. Because we were made to be Home with Him – in the place where there’s no pain to be protected from.

Barbed-wire freedom is only the beginning. And it’s a beautiful beginning.

The gate we were made to dance inside of is pearly, and the path is golden.

Let freedom’s flags wave high for Hosanna today and keep asking Him for the peace of His Spirit on his daughter called Freedom.

Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. 

Happy Valentine's Day

From the children's ward!

Learning How to Color

Ten Thousand Homes has just officially started joining in a new feeding program in a community called Clau-Clau. (Sounds like klow-klow)

Every Monday and Friday, we bring what we have. Currently, that is just our hands and willing hearts.

Clau-Clau is so new for us that there’s still one baby who cries every time he sees our white skin.

The need is so palpable there. You can see it in the cracked and oozing skin, the bowed legs and distended tummies, the tiny tatters of clothing and the pools of longing behind yellowed, groggy eyes.

For the past two months, we’ve filled Clau-Clau’s feeding ground with teams and staff who are bursting with energy and hope. And prayed for it to be contagious.

To rise and shine…

…In the boy who just cries, in the boy who just sleeps, in the girl who runs to her younger sibling with curving legs, in the boy wearing baby clothing, in the young women whose reasoning and realities are distorted by mental retardation, and in every boy and girl who go home to darkness, sickness or a shack.

Last week, one of our visiting teams decided to throw a big party for the children to teach them about the eternal party called heaven. Face painting, party-hat making, games, songs, popcorn and cookies! It was a day that made history in Clau-Clau.

And a day that made me pray.

I sat down on the floor with a ginormous bag of crayons and a stack of undecorated party hats that were destined to be made vibrant. Over and over again, I filled a little reaching hand with a crayon. And watched… nothing.

Faces didn’t move.

Eyes didn’t light.

Fingers didn’t grip.

Hats didn’t change.

There was nothing.

Concerned team members looked at me, not knowing if they had offended or crossed some sort of invisible cultural line.

And then I remembered.

I remembered 3 years ago in Mbonisweni when we filled ears with songs, eyes with smiles and hands with crayons. We got the same reaction as we did this week in Clau-Clau. Empty and blank.

The kids could only see blank, plain, nothingness – and didn’t know what to do beyond that. No imagination, no creativity. There was no vibrancy in their lives. They didn’t know how to color.

Slowly, we watched the children in Mbonisweni learn how to hope – from the stability of the regular feeding program in the yard of a church. When starving bellies stopped crying out, when nutrition was served with love, when the word of God was spoken over them, the kids started learning how to play… how to laugh… how to color.

So I did in Clau-Clau exactly what I did in Mbonisweni.

I took those little hands and curved them around the crayons. I kept my big hands on their little ones, and, together, we made squiggles, shape and colors on those plain white party hats.

Eventually, they ventured out for their own squiggles - some of them with squiggly little grins.

Then they realized they could add more colors!

Finally, while squigglers were a’squigglin’, I could put words to what we were seeing and doing.

We were learning how to color.

And so much more than that.

We were learning how to hope.

You can’t see hope. Especially with all the things their little eyes take in every day.

But we have a Creative Creator, who colored and counted the waves, the squiggles and the straights of the hairs on my head, theirs, and yours.

He colored sunsets and stood on holy tiptoes to cap a mountaintop with a snow-kiss.

He didn’t even hold back His beauty from the depths of the ocean floor, placing sandcastles, grain by grain, for magnificently multicolored sea creations.

And He created these little squigglers in His creative image… designed with hope for tomorrow. Sealed with a promise.

Hope is believing in something greater… Juuuust beyond your line of natural sight. Hope is knowing that the One who is worthy came and walked in these deplorable circumstances, and then died so you could have something greater.

Hope is sitting down low in the dirt right where you are and getting ready for the party that’s coming.

You can look at a blank party hat and see its colorlessness - a future piece of trash.

Or you can look at a blank party hat and see a canvas – promise for something beautiful.

Sometimes someone whose hand has beheld beauty needs to wrap around yours and show you how to squiggle. And once you’ve learned to squiggle, the possibilities and promises go higher than that mountain kiss and deeper than that sandy ocean bed.

There are two hands with hope scars that wrap around mine and yours. And He’s set the bag of crayons at your feet.

Let’s learn how to color.

And let’s fill empty hands with crayons.

“For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?” Romans 8:24

Because she said "Yes"

A woman I don’t even know, who lives far, far away, changed the lives of some children very close to my heart this week.

She said, “Yes”…

And, with that one word, the story of a little girl and a family changed. 

You’ve probably heard about Neli and her family.

Neli is the head of her household, raising her 4 siblings. All of them are labeled with the euphemism “sick” and will be taking medication to control incurable plagues for the rest of their lives. They have lived in some of the worst circumstances we’ve ever seen, and somehow still know how to love each other and shine like a beacon of light in the dark, dangerous corner of the mountain they’re tucked into.

Last year, we built Neli and her family a home. And we stayed family.

This year, we helped her biggest dream come true. Neli went back to school!

Photo by Carly B

And her empty eyes filled with that light of hope and a future. She started believing tomorrow doesn’t have to be the same as today.

But there’s a baby sister. Neli left school to care for  almost-3-year old Lethu. As I celebrated with Neli on her first day of school, I asked where Lethu was.

“She’s at home. Locked in the house by herself.”

It’s summer. It’s so, so hot.

And there’s no food in the house.

What else could she do? She didn’t know.

It’s too much for a young woman to manage.

But what about Lethu?

I told her it wasn’t safe for Lethu to stay home alone. So Neli tried was leaving Lethu with a neighbor. She had no money to pay the neighbor or even provide food for Lethu. So the neighbor beat that sweet baby girl, and she was afraid every day when Neli left for school.

But that far-away, faithful woman said, “Yes”.

On Tuesday morning, we picked up Neli and her whole family. We drove through Dwaleni like an early-morning parade and pulled up into a preschool. A house full of giggles and joy.

I had enough money in my hand, from that one, “Yes” to register Lethu for safety, protection, education and play for the next four months.

We waved goodbye all saying, “YES! And THANK YOU!”

Today Lethu is safe and Neli is able to go to school without her fears vying for her attention. Because of one, “Yes”.

Yes changes everything.

It changed everything.

“For no matter how many promises God has made, they are ‘Yes’ in Christ. And so through him the ‘Amen’ is spoken by us to the glory of God.”

2 Corinthians 1:20

We were designed in the image of the “YES”, with the honor of being His “Amen”.

And we have the delight and the duty to say, “Yes”.

What could have been Lethu’s lament, a childhood of darkness and despair, is now a psalm of provision and praise. Five sweet lives have a home because of a “Yes”, a safe toilet because of a “Yes”, new school uniforms because of a “Yes”, and hope in the “YES” for tomorrow.

There are a thousand question marks waiting to be responded to.

And even more ways to say, “Yes”.

I was so moved by this “YES” that I couldn’t not tell you, nor could I not respond. If you, the image of the “YES”, can say “Yes” – why wouldn’t you?

Last year for Christmas, Lifa and I
decided to say, "Yes"to taking Neli, her
little brother Mpendulo, and Charity
to get new uniforms so they
could go to school this year.

If you don’t know of any ways to say “Yes” from where you’re sitting right now, here are some ways:

Currently, Ten Thousand Homes is not set-up for individual child sponsorship or for donations specified for certain people or projects (beyond our feedings and houses). HOWEVER, you can give a life-changing “Yes” here.

Through that link, you can specify to “Yes” to many different parts of TTH, or you can select General Donation and leave a memo, designating your “Yes” for Community Development. Community Development funds can reach out to stories like Lethu’s and respond to needs as we find them.

Another way to say “Yes” is to invest in my personal funding.

God is increasing my vision to build a home and a lifestyle that can be a “Yes” for the lost little ones He’s calling to come Home. God is beckoning me to live with doors wide open, to buy bigger pots and more plates, and to believe that there are enough faithful ones to say “Amen”.

I cannot faithfully live the way He’s inviting me to without the yeses and amens of prayers, encouragement and financial giving. I am asking for more monthly supporters, people to come around me, even from far, far away that I can say “Yes” with.

What do you say?

Hope has no price tag, yet there is a deposit of it living in us. And it’s worth investing in.

“…He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.” 2 Corinthians 1:21b,22

Abba, let me always be Your Amen.

If you are interested in partnering with me, becoming an “Amen!” in my financial needs, please email me at kacychaffin@gmail.com for more info. Thank you!

Life sounds

Life’s noises swirl, louder every day.

Houses to be built.

Mouths to be fed.

Bodies to be clothed.

Babies to be held.

Mothers to comfort.

Hospitals to visit.

Sickness to be treated.

Tears to wipe dry.

Tears to let fall.

Hope to be found.

So many sights to see, feelings to feel and sounds ringing… resounding through my soul.

Ten Thousand Homes, armed with 50 visiting volunteers, recently tried the never-been-tried-before. We rented three ginormous buses – and overflowed them with the children and the volunteers whose lives we enter every week through our feeding programs. This time, they were coming to our house!

And this time, they were to be treated as princes and princes of the King of Kings. It was TTH’s first ever Day of Royalty. And it was incredible.

We crowned 400 children and had nonstop fun for an entire day. Talk about SOUNDS!

Singing, dancing, face-painting, art, soccer, nail-painting, shield-making, movie-watching, Bible-acting and a delicious lunch feast…

Every child was dressed as royalty and took a picture at a photo booth. Most children don't even own a photo of themselves, so this is an extra-special treat!

Oh, and don’t forget the dunk booth…

Photo by Jen Price

At the end of the day, I asked some of our volunteers what their favorite moment was. One woman said she had asked one of the little girls what she liked about her princess day. The little girl responded, “It’s so quiet here. So peaceful.”

Quiet and peaceful.

Not exactly how I would have described the day.

So I started to wonder what her house sounds like.

What noises swirl around this little princess when she doesn’t have her crown on?

And can one day of hope-sounds affect the decibel of all the other sounds ringing through her perfectly-created body, mind and heart?

It has to.

Because He promised.

“For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now the one who has fashioned us for this very purpose is God, who has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come… For we live by faith, not by sight.”

2 Corinthians 5:4,5,7

I have to believe that little princess, basking in the peace of Royalty Day, wore that crown home as a banner for the promise of what’s to come…. For the heavenly clothing that’s coming and the worship-sounds that come with it.

For we live by faith, not by sight – or by sound.

That little princess heard hope beneath the noises. She went home clothed in hope and heavenly love.

I want those kinds of ears.

Let’s life-noises become a symphony of praise. 

Some children came needing an extra-loud song of hope

At least 80 children accepted Christ!!

25 watermelons!

800 hot dogs!

Royal toes