When I'm All Shook Up...

At dinner a few nights ago, I asked Lifa what he wanted to be when he grows up. His big brown eyes danced with confidence when he shouted, “A dad!”

“I have to work. And build a house. I have to be STRONG. I want to have 13 or 10 or 5 or 6 or 7 kids. I think it’s pretty easy to be a dad.”

This little boy who dreams of family was an orphan three years ago.

His biological mother, father, nor Lifa have a birth certificate – no proof on paper that they exist. And nothing to hold them together. Lifa’s mom left when he was 7-months old. His dad wasn’t present in his life three years ago because he just didn’t have the resources to be there, or any understanding that it was worth it.

That former-orphan, whose name “Lifa” means “inheritance”, told me a few months ago, “Mama, I have soooo many people who love me. I have so many family!”

Lifa goes back and forth between his dad’s house and mine. His dad loves him and loves being his dad. His dad taught him to call me ‘Mama’. He speaks two different languages and lives two very different lifestyles in the different households. The circumstances seem completely bizarre.

My heart flutters when he’s here, and it breaks when he’s not.

Right now, he’s here. For a few more days.

And he’s mastering Lego cars.

And practicing the names of the continents.

And creating his own art gallery.

And living a super-hero life.

And eating like a grown man.

And playing the thankful game.

And worshiping in the back seat.

And praying with me in the mornings.

And learning the three parts of God: “Jesus, Baba (Father) and Holy Spirit.”

And I’m thankful.

But, if I’m honest, a part of me… a hidden, selfish, insecure part of me… trembles. Not that holy, awed kind of tremble. More like a fearful, meltdown trembling. That kind of trembling you don’t want to blog about.

This little boy, whose very name boasts the promise of adoption, has been set free of a generational curse. 

A lineage of invisibility has been obliterated, and Lifa is now known, seen and chosen for something greater that oozes with the glory of God.

This should be a hooping and hollering blog, delighting in the full circle redemption story.

But even now I’m selfish.

I tremble today because I want to be a part of that story everyday.

I want to be a part of loving Lifa closer to the heart of the Beloved.

I am. I get to. But I want to choose what it looks like. I want to grab tight.

I want to get to be the kind of part that has naptimes and brushes our teeth together.

What if… What if…

What if the story doesn’t end like I dream it will?

What if a day comes when I have to let go of what I’ve been holding tightly to with my hands and heart for so long?

The heartache, the joy, and the goal of every parent…

What if the time comes to release my child to the father’s house?

Have I loved him so much that I have to let him go?

Do I love him enough to let him go?

My capacity for love feels like it’s only for what’s in arm’s reach.

And I want to hold TIGHT.

I cannot fathom the love of the One whose arm is not too short.

Who can love… Who IS Love… with a grander family plan in mind that what I can understand from this one little cottage with this one little boy napping on the couch.

God’s exists as family and His nature won’t leave anybody behind.

He doesn’t get intimidated. He doesn’t get grabby.

He offers an open hand full of the treasure that came at the highest price. And He keeps loving us when we are too busy shivering in fear to take it in our hands, or even out carelessly squandering it.

He knows Lifa’s father and Lifa. And He knows me. And He has something extravagant for us all. He says it’s better together.

When we make space for His glory, there’s room for everyone.

A place prepared for each person.

My reflex is fear. Because I don’t understand. I don’t know.

I’ve poured my life and my heart into what He said.

And I have no idea how it’s going to turn out.  

We don’t live inside of a fairy tale or a Hallmark movie, where there’s always a white picket fence, ‘Happily Ever After’ kind of ending. You always know how that turns out.

We live within an unshakable Kingdom. We live with a Father who promises something greater when we’re all together in His House than we could dream of from couch naps and writing our own ‘happily ever after’ scripts.

I’m praying and practicing being thankful for what I can see in front of me – but seeing those things with eyes of faith. Seeing what’s invisible.

Because the invisible is the Rock-solid Truth that I can trust.

When the world shakes, when my heart breaks, my God will stand firm.

And He’ll hold me tight so I won’t fall down.

Today, I can see a little boy filled with love is surrounded by family who loves him. His story was filled with twists, turns, dead ends and disappointment. And we have no idea what lies ahead.

All I want for Lifa is to stand strong when the world shakes.

To live in the inheritance that was given to him when the earth shook on a dark day on Golgotha.

So I have to do the same.

The earth won’t stop shaking.

People will come and go, circumstances shift, and the wind and the waves will blow in constant change in our lifetimes.

The Word of God promises that there’s a day coming when the earth and the heavens will shake. But the Kingdom of God will not.

There is a Kingdom that is unshakable. I belong there.

There’s a place for you and this little snoring heir next to me also.

Our stories and our what-if’s leave us tossed by the wind.

I don’t want to live with whiplash or windburn.

And I will not teach this boy, whose life currently takes him back and forth between cultures and who doesn’t have control over his circumstances, to find his security in whatever speck of shaky-ground his Converse land on.

Or whatever house he sleeps in. Or whoever’s arms wrap around him.

His Family is unshakable.

"Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire." 

Hebrews 12:28-29

 

The Sparkle-Reach

I have to tell you about Esther. (I adore her.)

It’s a God-given, doesn’t-make-sense kind of love because I don’t know much about her and I don’t speak the same language as her. I have no idea if we have anything in common, and, typically, when I approach Esther, her eyes bug out in apprehension as she curls further into herself.

I can’t shake the feeling to keep going though.

Esther’s always been at church. I’ve never talked to her, but she’s always been the overwhelmed lady hiding against the wall with teeny-tiny twins tied to her body.

Earlier this year, we built a home for an incredible family. Sifiso, Lizzy and their children have become an indelible part of our lives. They live very close to Esther. Lizzy is living out the Hope and Home she experienced when we built her house together, and is putting in into practice with Esther.

It’s the real thing – real love happening right there on the side of the mountain.

Lizzy and I often visit Esther together and scoop up those filth-covered babies and pray – even though Esther’s cringing.

One day in June, Lizzy casually announced to me, “I delivered Esther’s baby today. We didn’t have time to go to the clinic. I’ve never done it before. You should have the baby. You can keep him. She can’t do it.”

I had seen Esther days before – and had no idea she was even pregnant! Her under-developed 14-month old twin girls were always wrapped around that frail little body. That sweet lady with a medical chart full of reasons why she was unable to breastfeed her newborn, or even properly care for her other children, was maxed out.

Overwhelmed. Empty-eyed. And hopeless.

Esther lives in a tiny shack without very many options on the horizon. She answers to a husband who drinks the meager funds they do have for feeding the babies, her parents have passed away, and her brothers have removed her oldest child from her home and want to give the babies away.

There is not a quick-fix for such brokenness.

Sometimes you can’t build a home to make it better.

Sometimes you can’t give money to fill a need.

Esther’s needs go far beyond material possessions. Or circumstance improvement.

All of ours do.

But you have to start somewhere.

So we started bringing formula.

There weren’t words. There was no personal sharing.

There was only one hand reaching out to another to offer some formula.

Then, one day, those sorrowful, hollow eyes approached me at church and said, “Kacy, we need diapers.”

I was elated! We were still on the basic needs level, but she reached. She felt cared for enough to reach and to ask. Girlfriend got some diapers right away!

It’s because so many of you have reached into your pockets and given to Ten Thousand Homes that we could reach out to Esther to meet some basic needs. Because you have to start somewhere.

But meeting a physical need does not fill up empty eyes.

And empty eyes can’t get full when the stomachs that go with them are not.

I don’t ever want to make someone feel like a charity case. Or disable a family from self-sustaining. But something in me said to just keep going and just keep giving. And that this relationship had to start with the very most basic foundation of reaching in the most raw needs.

I’m not sure if Esther has been reached for before.

Or if she’s only been taken from.

So now Lizzy’s reaching, and we’re reaching… and we’re gonna fatten up those babies!

I pray for Esther, but I honestly don’t always know what to pray. Because sometimes I only think about what’s within reach.

But I’m here to tell you I’ve seen a miracle by the hand of the God whose arm is not too short – Whose reach is unfathomable to me.

Holly and Laura are visiting Ten Thousand Homes (TTH) for a Season of Service. They left their daily lives to enter ours for a season, and have held nothing back.

Holly has been working toward this trip for 3 years, and took a leave from her free-lance business as a professional hair and makeup artist for the entertainment industry in New York City. (She’s kind of a big deal, y’all.) Laura came back to TTH to give 3 months of herself before she follows God into the next giant leap of faith. She’s an incredible videographer and photographer and is dedicated to using her gifts for the glory of God. (I hope you’ve noticed that my blog photos are so much better when Laura’s around! She’s the real thing.)

With these two ultra-talented artists on hand, we decided to reach beyond the basics with Esther and Lizzy. Makeovers and a photo shoot!

Because something amazing happens when your hands reach for the unreached for – and they reach in the capacity that you were created for. When I asked them, Holly and Laura immediately got sparkly-eyed. And I hoped and hoped those sparkles, the ones that come from the Creator pouring in and through you, would overflow – or at least dribble – into Esther’s eyes.

Lizzy practically pranced down to Esther’s house. She was READY to be made into a model that day. And, let me just tell you, she’s a natural! And I think that has everything to do with being not just reached for… but being beheld.

Lizzy’s encountered hope. Lizzy knows family.

We practically had to drag Esther up the hill to Lizzy’s house. Her expressions clearly told us that she thought we were ridiculous.

And, for a minute, so did I.

This lady needs formula. And diapers. And medical care. And protection from her husband. And help.

Why were we pulling her out of her shack, away from her never-ending laundry, to do her makeup, paint her nails, and accessorize the outfit her baby had just soiled?

Esther's "before" photo

The physical needs are unending. The hope deficit is critical.

The sparkly-eyed artists put their hands to work.

They were unstoppable.

Their hands, their hearts, and their gifts stretched toward these women in full force. They held nothing back.

And we saw a few sparkles. We saw a hope flicker. And we laughed as Lizzy immediately transformed herself into a supermodel – and dreamt of what Esther’s photo shoot would be like one year from now, after fanning those tiny flames we saw.

Lizzy's "before" photo

Beautiful Esther all made over.

Lizzy the super-model

Esther's, "What have you gotten me into!?!" face

But she goes with it!

The eyes of the beheld.

Do you see the sparkle!?!!

My contribution to this day: baby-holding, cat-calling,
and booty-shaking to jump-start photo session. Oh, and also
providing the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for inspiration. 

Can't even handle it.

Neither can Lizzy.... so she tries to teach Esther how to model. 

And this is what we get...

So beautiful!

But that wasn’t even the best part.

Lizzy and Esther proudly walked into church that Sunday with their makeup done and their new accessories on. They looked and felt beautiful. Esther had a confidence I had never seen. She held her babies with joy instead of burden.

A few days later, we took pictures to the ladies of our makeover/photo shoot day. When we walked up, Esther smiled! And her eyes danced! And then this happened….

Laura showing Esther her photos

Lizzy seeing her photos

And pure joy breaking out!

The team minus Carla

This week, Esther showed up for our feeding program at the church… with her eyebrows done! (That’s when Holly lost her mind.) And then she pulled out the pictures to show the other women. (That’s when Laura lost hers.) And when she saw me, she jumped, screamed my name, and ran up and gave me a KISS ON THE LIPS! (That’s when I lost my mind… obviously.) She stayed and helped wash the dishes before tying the babies on to herself to walk down the hill.

Esther felt beautiful. She felt seen. She felt reached for.

Esther at the feeding

 And even more than that, she felt like she belonged.

She is a part of something bigger than that shack, those crying, hungry mouths, and the conditions she can’t change.

When Holly and Laura sparkle-reached with their hands, their hearts, and their gifts, Esther experienced Her Maker’s hands, hearts and gifts.

Through their reaching, the King of Kings touched –and beheld- Esther.

He doesn’t need our arms, but we are invited into His grasp and to reach with Him. He gives us full, dancing, sparkling eyes – and plants something in us to spread it around.

Pray for Esther. And use your hands, your heart and your gifts and sparkle-reach for someone around you.

“Arise, shine, for your light has come and the glory of the Lord rises upon you… Lift up your eyes and look about you… Then you will look and be radiant, your heart will throb and swell with joy… Your sun will never set again, and your moon will wane no more; the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your days of sorrow will end.” –promises from Isaiah 60

________________________________________

EXTRA special thank you to Laura Uechi for the incredible, sparkle-filled photography. All (good) photos in this post by Laura. 

Another EXTRA special thank you to Holly Ernst for generously giving your gift to make these women feel beautiful. 

Thank you both for reaching and making His glory known through your gifts. 

You're Not Naked

In the past weeks, a group of the most lovely, Jesus-like people I’ve ever known have stumbled into some conflict amongst themselves.

With desperate eyes, pleading voices, and even pointing fingers, my faith heroes said, “Kacy, you must tell us and our leader what to do and how to run the feeding program.” They proceeded to outline a list of specifics that they expected us at Ten Thousand Homes to assume power over. 

I was devastated.

They were asking to be enslaved. Again.

Because, almost 20 years after apartheid ended, this is still new.

Oppression covers and smothers like a cloak. You learn how to live under it. 

Freedom still feels naked.

All the promises that Freedom made from the cross have come, but they are still coming.

Freedom removes what smothers and give you breath.

But freedom isn’t naked.

Freedom’s Spirit comes. It clothes and fastens to our own spirits – our mantle of promise and our guarantee that fully dressed, robed with righteousness, crowned in glory freedom is coming.

Last week, I was picking up a friend in a local community to give her and her baby a lift into town. I was going anyway and was happy to save her the long wait for the taxi to fill before it would leave for town. (Local taxis are similar to 15-passenger vans that wait until they are completely full so the driver can make maximum profits. It should also be noted that they aren’t typically known for being highly reputable businesses.)

Before she could even close the door, my car was surrounded and the whole road was blocked off with taxis. They told me I was stealing business from them. And that I didn’t have a permit to take people to town.

Anger and injustice flared in me from a voice I didn’t even know. “She is MY FRIEND! This is MY car!”

Truth and justice did not win that day. The taxi barricade would not budge until that sweet lady and her baby crawled out of my car. The taxi drivers are oppressing their own people.

Oppression is coming from the inside out.  

We dispense what’s in us.

Tears and rage carried me into town that day over a seemingly meaningless occurrence, but one that screamed out the reality around me.

People who were designed in Freedom’s image are waking up and clothing themselves with chains, with weapons and words of vengeance.

You can be given the gift of freedom, but you have to know Freedom to be free.

Otherwise, you just have a different platform to exploit and to be exploited.

The oppressed oppress. The slaves enslave.

Stories and circumstances can strip us down to nothing.

But the Truth that sets us free adorns us and covers us with what lasts.

Remember the story of The Emperor’s New Clothes?

(Here’s a reminder in case some of you did not have the good fortune of growing up in a family that considers children’s literature a lifestyle.)

That king wanted to prove his superiority by flaunting the greatest garments. It was irresistible for the emperor to hear that someone was knocking at his door offering to make clothing that only the wise and competent would be able to see.

People of all status and stature did not want to be incompetent. So they ooed-and-awed over invisible clothes. The king pompously paraded his stark naked butt through town to the cheers of praise of pretending people.

Until that one kid spoke up.

      “A child, however, who had no important job and could only see things as his eyes showed them to him, went up to the carriage.

      "The Emperor is naked," he said.”

It’s a good story. With a great moral.

You don’t have to get dressed by the words and measurements of the world.

You don’t even have to prove your competence or worthiness. In fact, you can’t.

There’s an even better story and an even better moral. It’s a story of Freedom entering into oppression and cutting off the chains for you. And dressing you in freedom’s garments from the inside out – where chains can’t reach and lies can’t smother.

If you read far enough you’ll know…

Just in case you don’t…

(Spoiler alert)

YOU’RE NOT NAKED!

If you bow before Freedom, He will give you new clothes.

The parade, the people, the humiliating back-story won’t matter. You have a king who’s done it all.

The King of Kings was stripped naked.

He was paraded through town with a cross on his back.

And no one spoke up.

That formerly-naked carpenter king carried your suffering and oppression to the grave. And then He stood up, shook off the grave’s clothes, and put on Freedom’s garments.

We don’t have to put on slave clothes.

We don’t have to wear chains.

Stories of the past have no grip on the promises for today and for tomorrow.

I’m asking today to not feel naked in this thing called freedom.

I’m asking for me, for my friends here, and for one little boy among thousands who is still waiting on one piece of paper to unlock opportunity.

Freedom has come. And Freedom is coming.