Open Jars

On these once-a-year Texas trips, I catch myself feeling “paused”.

Not paused in the sense of things slowing down… Not that at all.

My “normal life” feels paused.

No little brown babies filling my arms, no shacks or hungry bellies, no bumpy roads or punctured tires.

Wee-hour morning routines with my Beloved are distorted by jet lag and house-hopping.

I come here, and I talk about there.

I talk about promises and plans for there.

And I cry when I dream about them there.

And I stomp when I realize they’re here too.

I shout, “WHAT IS THIS!?!” when this country, founded on freedom and justice, runs on emergency mode – and when that country, fertile and extravagant, withers away in corrupted poverty.

And then I think about when the Israelites shouted, “WHAT IS THIS!?!”

They didn’t understand either.

They were lost in a desert.

An old guy with a convicted felony and a speech impediment was the ringleader.

And they were hungry. (I shout when I’m hungry too.)

It was manna. It was a miraculous wilderness provision. (Exodus 16)

Manna literally means, “What is this?”

A miraculous mystery meal for the hungry, meant to be consumed completely and one day at a time.

Weary exiles worried that the miracle they had seen and tasted would be a one-time wonder. So they hid manna leftovers in a jar and sealed it tight. After only twenty-four hours of their doubtful disobedience, the One with mysterious ways filled those manna jars with maggots.

He says that today’s miracle is to be consumed today.

Today’s glory is all for today… because forever’s is even better.

There’s no pausing the ways of an unfathomable Creator.

Texas time is not just an in-between. No place and no time is just an in-between.

The manna tastes like Tex-Mex and sounds like beautiful worship in my very own home church. I can’t take the queso, and the songs sound different in South Africa. But I have to keep this jar open and believe it’ll be filled with a miracle for today.

As hungry as I get for hope when I’m there, I can’t hide today’s away and hope it stays fresh until I get there.

I want to live with the lid off.

Jars left open were the places where the miracles happened.

Emptying their last jar for the Lord’s prophet during a drought kept a family alive by a jar that would not run out until the rains came. (1 Kings 17)

The neighbors’ lended, empty jars overflowed with miracle oil that paid off a widow’s debt. (2 Kings 4)

Emptied jars and poor party-planning became Jesus’ first miracle and the best wine at the wedding. (John 2)

A jar lowered into a well invited an untouchable woman into eternal life. (John 14)

A precious, broken jar anointed the Savior for His burial. (Mark 14)

Holy vessels are open jars… meant to spill, fill and be emptied.

Meant to hold a miracle everyday.

Even while we crave, commute, and await the Promised Land.

One day’s jar will fill and spill with justice.

One day’s with a place called Glory House – a roof over redeemed little heads.

One day’s with birth certificates for the unnamed and unknown.

One day’s with healing, every tear wiped away by a holy hand.

Let’s not seal them tight while we wait.

Miracles rot if they don’t spill and fill and flow.

Today’s jar will be filled with salt-water, soul-cleansing worship.

And that’s more than enough.

Jesus, let me be an open jar, overflowing with your goodness and glory. Filled or emptied, let me stay open and aware.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.  We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.” 2 Corinthians 4:7-10

Between the Blinks

In the past week and a half, I’ve said another goodbye to Lifa, taken a bath in a bucket, passed out candy to the children’s ward, soaked in pools of mineral water, showered in the Middle East, watched three movies on a tiny plane screen, surprised my little sister, eaten Mexican food at least 4 times, walked barefoot on the beach, celebrated the start of a new family, watched Dancing with the Stars with NaNa, spent too many hours in Target’s aisles… and so much more.

I’m whirring.

I’m thrilled to be back in Texas today… even with this unfortunate Benadryl – jet lag combination. I want to see everybody and do everything! My heart and my eyelids are trying to stretch around the world – to hold, to feel and to taste it all.

Today, I sat across a table with my best friend since kindergarten.

We talked about injustice in Africa and bombings in America.

So many realities our hearts and eyes weren’t designed to behold.

She looked at me with clear, sure and tearful eyes and said, “I’m ready for Jesus to come back.”

Me too.

There might be more bombs, more burns, and more broken hearts broadcasted while we’re still blinking in today’s realities. Some days I want to just squeeze my eyes shut and not see what’s between the blinks. Some days I can’t see through them anyway because of sorrow’s floods.

Our eyes weren’t designed for the images on the 5 o’clock news.

Soon we’ll use them for what they were fashioned for…

To be filled with forever and always.

To gaze with googly-awe into eternity.

To be locked with Love’s.

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror, then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part, then I shall know fully, even as I am known.” I Cor 13:12

He’s coming to wipe our tears. And to change our vision.

He’s coming to restore our eyes to what they were made for.

So today I’m asking for hope between the blinks. I’m asking Love, Love that rejoices with Truth, always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres to give me a glimpse at forever’s promises.

If Love can still hope when Love’s very image is being broken and burned, then I can still love.

And I can still hope.

And I can keep blinking in today’s realities, but seeing what Love sees. 

Even Better

I keep finding myself in the place of asking, “Is this really worth it?”

Am I investing my days, my life and myself into something that’s going to make an impact and be worth it?

He says, “Even better.”

“For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere…” Psalm 84:10a

Is all this love and all this hurt that I’ll never be able to un-invest in going to be worth it?

He says, “Even better.”

“Because your steadfast love is better than my life, my lips will praise you.” Psalm 63:33

So sometimes I kick and I scream.

I whine even more than that.

And sometimes I celebrate and I sing.

And I beg Him to help me remember He’s even better.

He’s even better than all this glory and goodness swirling around me.

And He’s even bigger than all the other parts that don’t look like glory and goodness yet.

Sometimes I feel like a faith-weenie for the whining, weariness, and for not always remembering… not even believing… it’s worth it. And, more importantly, that He’s even better than that.

But He sees, He knows, and He planned for the days when our Better-Vision needed to be enhanced. When the Glory-Moments needed to be captured and celebrated.

He says it’s even better when we’re together.

“Two are better than one…

If either of them falls down,

One can help the other up…

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:9,10,12

So today I want to celebrate my Better God and His everlasting goodness. To sing His praise and seal some priceless moments. I want to share silly videos of moments this month that reminded me it’s worth it because He’s worthy.

Because your prayers, love, and moment-celebrating gives me Better-Vision. You keep me from falling and make me not quickly broken.

Thank you for being part of His Glory-Moments in my life.

Busi's 20th Birthday Party - She came prepared with a speech!

Our fearless and faithful volunteer Lizzie playing on the new playground after cooking for the feeding.

Given's family making a video greeting to reach sweet Given all the way inside the hospital. 

Don't judge my crazy voice! Playing our favorite game. That's me screaming, "RUN!" in SiSwati.

Hospital choir :)

A perfectly Lifa moment

Two Orphans Sitting On My Couch

Two orphans have been sitting on my couch.

Last night, they sat side by side, enchanted by Lion King.

This morning, after I made them a huge breakfast, we all piled on the cushions together as I taught them how to use an etch-a-sketch. One of them worked those little white knobs and the magically erasing shake-shake-shake, while the other went for the crayons and construction paper.

Then my African pastor and I drove them to Home Affairs. Neither of them have birth certificates. I sat quietly with the little one on my lap and prayed while my pastor spoke in their own language.

The older one’s mother never had any identity documents. And his father disappeared early on, never to be heard from again. There are no living aunties or uncles. He’s always been completely alone, missing the one piece of paper that could make his education and very existence count. The piece that makes him go from invisible to visible, from nobody to somebody… access to health care, a bank account, government support, a good job.

And Home Affairs is sending him on a wild goose hunt. Uttering a cyclone of placating words that whoosh you right out the door.

That boy – that orphaned boy who has always been on his own – that boy is Lifa’s father.

He’s not a little boy anymore, but he’s an orphan whose never been taken care of. Who has never watched a Disney movie, held an etch-a-sketch, or been told with voice and action that he’s worth it.

And that little boy on my lap – he had the very same story three years ago.

Lifa’s mother doesn’t have an ID. And to make matters worse... or as Home Affairs says, “impossible”… she might be from another country with no permission to be in the country. His father disappeared. And there was no one.

Orphans create orphans.

The cycle continues.

You can only live what you know.

Chains bind tight. Generations are plagued.

But Jesus came to break those chains.

To pluck us out of the plague.

To hem us into wholeness.

Someone just has to tell the ones who’ve never been told.

And it usually takes a lot more than a sermon or a tract.

Family makes way for more Family.

The inheritance increases.

But they can only live what they know.

And someone needs to tell them.

Tell them with time, talents, finances, words, affection, and use up your entire Kingdom inheritance on the orphans – only to watch it be replenished and multiplied.

Most of the time I feel crazy for this painfully abnoral family set-up I have with Lifa. He lives part-time with me and part time with his dad. He has a dad! Now he has a father and a family who loves him.

I keep asking God, “What am I doing!?!”

But, this morning, with those two on my couch, I remembered.

Lifa was in line for the same story his father has been living. 

Just like all the generations before them.

Lifa was discarded, expressionless, and emotionless at the age of 2 when I met him. He was invisible.

Lifa - 2010

But he was picked. Chosen. Held. Cared for. Prayed over. 

The very moment he learned to receive love and understood he belonged to somebody, Lifa became visible.

He became visible enough for his dad to see there was something to him. And to come back for him. But it wasn’t enough to break the cycle.

So we kept going… For the past two years, we’ve made countless 8-hour road trips too see this family, to bring Lifa home for visits, and to invest in the Family of God. As time and trust built, Lifa’s father told us his prodigal son story. And then asked us if we would take him to meet his extended family.

 

Lifa and his dad - April 2011

It doesn’t matter how old you are… everybody needs to be chosen, held, cared for and prayed over. Everyone needs to learn how to be loved and to know they belong. Every orphan on this earth, whether their condition is physical, spiritual or both, needs to be welcomed into His Family by the way that we live.

Don’t get me wrong… I still have no idea what I’m doing. And with every meltdown Lifa has, I have at least five more. It seems like it’s too much for a little person to handle – this back and forth family that exist in completely different worlds. Different languages. Different environments. Different everything.

Today I watched an un-fathered father sneak an etch-a-sketch into his bag because he never got to play.

And I remembered today that the little boy sitting on the couch has learned that he belongs. And that he’s loved. He can bounce between languages and environments… because his belonging and love are not limited to anything that could be contained in this whole-wide-world.

Lifa this morning

It’s not the most logical set-up. And it’s certainly not the easiest. And we still need miracles to break through.

But as I sit on this couch tonight, I am choosing to remember the miracles that have broken through. And to tell you about them.

Because we’re made to tell people about Family. Even when you feel crazy.

How will they know if we don’t tell them?

"How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?" Romans 10:14

Reality Check

On New Year’s Day, I was snorkeling in the Indian Ocean. My first peek at what was under even the shallowest places, brilliant and seemingly excessive extravagance, took my breath away – which is awkward when you’re snorkeling.

In January, while I still had those goggles on, Jesus called me to go deep with Him and His children in 2013. To dive into the places I couldn’t breathe without His breath, and see the extravagant, beautiful love crafted just below the choppy surface.

Standing in the place where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic Ocean and they wrap around South Africa, I was awed at the invitation to live in the deepest Truths and heaviest, holiest glories with this God. His vibrant design doesn’t stop where our eyes and our lungs do. But something about those deep, glory-hemmed secrets are for us.

A week later, I was back to hospital and home visits. Immediately after changing from my swimsuit to pre-stained, culturally appropriate clothing, I held screaming, bleeding, suffering babies who couldn’t escape pain. And I found a child who ran away, only to return them her to a house where she weren’t welcomed.  And I spent a night with her in a trauma center being flogged with statistics about stories and faces that have come through that trauma center this week, with girls in circumstances just like hers. That was all in one day.

And it seems like those days haven’t stopped. I’ve held more children than I can count in that hospital ward. I’ve met the social workers and seen broken justice firsthand. I’ve spent more time than I’d like to measure in the trauma center. I’ve been the advocate for placing two children in foster care. I’ve been asked to take children home with me. I’ve been accused and lashed out against by hurting, angry orphans, fleeing from the somehow scary security of His Family.

He said go deeper.

I feel like I’m in over my head.

But I have a feeling this isn’t exactly what He was talking about.

I know He ordained these relationships, these people. It’s a gift to be welcomed into to most painful parts of lives with others, to be able to bring some love and some hope there. Somewhere among bandage changes and broken hearts, the deep part I dove into was the circumstances.

My five senses scream.

I see poverty and broken bodies.

I hear agonizing cries and angry shouts.

I smell infected burns and dirty bodies.

I taste my own tears and whatever I can whip up in my meager kitchen to feed them.

I feel dirt, sweat, snot and pee (not my own) clogging every pore.

Can I get any deeper than this, God?

And He says I’m still on the surface.

It’s ultra-choppy here. And I’ve completely exhausted my heart, mind, emotions, and body by trying to keep myself from sinking. Honestly, I’m not sure how much hope and joy I’ve been carrying to His most precious, chosen children. I’m not sure how much I have left.

My five senses scream, but He says to close my eyes and see. To cover my ears and hear.

“However, as it is written:

‘What no eye has seen and no ear has heard,

and what no human mind has conceived’ –

the things God has prepared for those who love him -

these are the things God has revealed to us by his Spirit.

The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.”

1 Corinthians 2:9-10

I’m begging and I’m searching for “the deep things of God”. The things below the circumstances that are pulling me under. “The things God has prepared for those who love him.”

For the children in that hospital ward.

For the 5 children, 14 years and younger, raising themselves in a shack on the side of a mountain.

For the family whose house just burnt down.

For my NaNa in America who just keeps going back for biopsies.

For the little boy singing “itsy-itsy spider” on the couch right now with no idea that his dad will be showing up any day to try one more time to get himself a birth certificate.

And for me – who just can’t seem to find His joy.

He promises something deeper. He’s calling us there.

Because circumstances never stop.

But joy is a constant. Joy is a promise. And joy comes with closed eyes, closed ears, and the only reality we can hold onto for eternity.

I’m here to confess to you that I’ve been living in the wrong deep and the wrong reality. I’m gasping for breath just to keep going, much less inhaling surrendering, holy joy.

“What we have received is not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may understand what God has freely given us. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words.”

2 Corinthians 2:12-13

Jesus Christ died for us – to finish joylessness. To finish circumstances winning. To overcome suffering, death, poverty and brokenness on eternity’s timeline.

He’s coming back to cancel out these circumstances forever. For the ultimate and never-ending joy ride. Today is just today. Eternity is our hope and our promise.

He says we don’t have to wait for the joy. Hoping and believing in what’s to come is enough to complete our joy. We just have to close our eyes and see, and close our ears and hear. We just have to believe in the most real reality… the one we were designed for by the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

The most real reality of our spirit and not our five senses.

I know that. And I struggle. We don’t get to choose our flesh, and we have to choose His Spirit.

Spirit, we need help. I need help. I wake up every morning and choose you. And then I get lost in an explosion of senses…of what they call “reality”. Help me. Please, please help me shift my reality. To live in and to dive into what’s real. Help me to see and hear today with glory-filled senses, from the reality I was designed for. Heaven, come with me, come in me, and come through me today. Amen.