Meant to be. My Family Part I

I was just a normal girl.

Doing a normal DTS. (Discipleship Training School)

A normal 6 month-trip to Africa - a dip into missions, into Africa, into orphans, into learning and living the compassion of Christ.

Normal. Right?

Part of my DTS at Ten Thousand Homes was a community stay. This past March, I stayed with another DTS student, Lyn, in the home of a family I'd never met before in Mbonisweni for 5 nights.

I had no idea what was going on the whole time I was there. Lyn was from nearby and spoke the local language, grew up in a similar culture, and instantly felt at home.

I sat on the worn couch with little Lifa on my lap... kissing him constantly... listening to the conversations in SiSwati, the multi-

lingual soapies on TV and the loud music blaring on the radio. All at the same time.

I said things like, "Lyn, who actually lives here? Who's related to who?" She usually didn't bother answering those questions - they just seemed irrelevant.

Or sometimes I said things like, "Lyn, how do I pee HERE?"

Or "You eat the toenails AND the bones?"

Or "What part of the cow is this?"

My GoGo loved me instantly. It wasn’t a matter of figuring out who I was, but I was home, so I belonged. And that was that.

GoGo and Baby Fiona

Twenty-year old Zodwa and her sister Prudence were young women just like all the rest. They loved loud music, soapies, spending time together, and talking about boys and lipstick.

Post dance-party with Zodwa and Baby Fiona

Their older sister, Sharon and her twin boys came over every night to watch Generations, the famous South African soapie. The twins, Samkelo and Bongani came after school every day. As the 12-year old men of the family of 9, they worked hard and loved even harder, with a pure and authentic joy. They spoke no English but we understood each other.

Sharon and the most amazing twin boys in the whole world. 

Zodwa has a sweet baby girl named Fiona and a 2 year-old son, Tsthepiso whose tiny-toothed smile makes you want to never let go of him. Tsthepiso’s live-in best buddy is Lifa, a 2 year-old taken in by GoGo after he was abandoned by his parents at a very young age.

Lifa is loved and welcomed into the family, but is obviously different than the biological relatives. He gets the dirty bath water after Tsthepiso, sleeps on the floor when there’s not space on a bed, and hardly gets touched. When you pick him up, he immediately falls asleep in the safety of your arms. It’s precious and absolutely heart-breaking.

Lifa and I had a special connection from the very beginning. Lyn told me to stop kissing him and babying him so much because he’d get spoiled. I didn’t care. If there’s a perfect baby boy not getting enough love, I was going to love him as much as possible. And I did.

You could tell Lifa had been abandoned- not by his appearance because he was well-fed, dressed and cared for. But by his demeanor. Silent. Downcast all the time. Completely shut down. Two year-olds are supposed to be full of energy and a little sassy. Tsthepiso had it down and felt safe enough to run into your arms, play, and make a lot of noise. Lifa was silent. The sad kind of silent where he did every single thing you told him to do with a terrified obedience. I didn’t want to think of any reasons that might be the root of is fear – I would never hear the story and couldn’t communicate with him in English anyway. So I just held him and kissed him and played with him as much as he would play.

By the end of the week, he was smiling, kissing back, blowing kisses and, although he would never ask for me to hold him, he would linger close enough for me to grab him into my lap at all times. I was in love and there was no turning back.

I didn’t know what was going on most of the time (which, by the way, is pretty much my new normal,) but I saw family. I saw that family is the same everywhere in the world.

Granted, in America or any other country you go to, family looks, feels, smells, sounds and tastes completely different from one door to the next. But the kind of family we’re created for, our needs for family and the way we yearn to do life in the context of family is the same everywhere.

I belonged there.

I didn’t know the details, the language or even who was related to who (it took months for me to get the who’s-who information I just wrote to you). But I was known as someone who belonged and who, despite differences, came in to do life with a family. I was known by touch and by kiss.

I was home.

I didn’t know it then, but being a part of this family would become my new normal. My new family. A new outlet for unending and unconditional love. New characters in my own story of the God of the family and the way he heals through families.

I think being known means something different to me now. And it has nothing to do with details, language or cultural this-and-thats.

Family means something different to me now too. And it has everything to do with being created to be known and to share life with people.

Our God exists in a family – three-in-one – Father, Son, Holy Spirit. He created woman out of the rib of man so he wouldn’t be alone. We are made for family. We are made to be known. We are made to do this together in the neighborhoods, communites and corners of the world called has called us to and also in a way that extends across and connects the nations.

The Kingdom of God is the Family of God. You already belong. There’s always a place for you at Home.

I’m so happy to introduce you to and tell you the story of my family in Monbisweni. And to celebrate YOU as my family… You’ve chosen to know me and do life with me by reading this blog alone. It matters to me so much. We were made for it to be like this. Thank you. 

Superhero Capes and Dinner Dates

I love words. (I know, I know… you probably picked up on that already through my lengthy blogs.)

God speaks to me through words. He often speaks through me with words. I am continuously amazed by the power of our words with each other and the ways words create our reality. And by the authority of His Word in speaking directly to our soul. Mmhmm.

I came to Africa in response to His words to me:

HOME.

ORPHAN.

I thought maybe I’d find some kind of direction for my life with these words – something fabulous and very Mother Theresa-esque, of course.

But that God of ours… whew… He got me. Good.

When I got to Africa, with my superhero cape on nonetheless, He spoke. He said I was the one acting like an orphan. And I needed to get a grip. (Those may not have been His exact words. But they definitely came in a booming, superhero cape-obliterating voice.) Shoot.

He told me I was not living like His daughter. I wasn’t living like I was part of the family of Christ, an heiress, and a sister of the One who died for me. He told me the price had already been paid.

There was already a chair for me at the dinner table whether I sat down or not. He asked me why I thought I could bring Home to orphans if I wasn’t living at Home, sitting at the dinner table in the Kingdom of God myself.

He called me Beloved. He called me His. And he told me He wanted me to come sit with Him. 

“He predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will…” Ephesians 1:5

I got awkward. Uncomfortable. I stumbled. I stammered. I was supposed to be “saving” orphans. But instead I came to Africa to find out I needed to live at Home. I didn’t know how to do it- which is His very favorite place to work from.

He’s changing everything.

My perspective is shifting and my lens is changing. I don’t think I’m getting my superhero cape back. But I don’t need it anymore. I can’t spend all my time leaping over tall buildings in a single bound… I belong at Home.

We all belong at Home. There is a place set for you at the dinner table. And for every orphan in Africa. We all belong in His family. “…predestined to be adopted…in accordance with his pleasure and will…” HIS idea. He already planned it. And, even while His flawless Son was suffering on the cross, HE considered you worth it. And every orphan in Africa.

I have a new word:

FAMILY.

I know the promise He won’t leave us as orphans. (John 14:18)

I understand my role in the orphan crisis differently. Families. I believe everyone needs to know they belong in the family of Christ. Predestined. His idea.

I believe that if we have strong families, we can end the orphan crisis. Africans can end the orphan crisis in Africa. If we have healthy homes and healthy families, we’ll be able to care for those who are already orphaned and will not continue creating orphans.

I feel like I’ve been given a privileged seat at the dinner table these past few months. I’ve had the joy and the honor to watch God do His thing through a family that means so much to me here. A family that loves me like their own. I want to share their story with you. Because I want you to do this with me. I want you to walk with me as I figure out how to fit here. I want you to be a part of an unfolding story of redemption, hope and healing love that God is putting together piece by piece and one family at a time.

I’ll be writing the story of this family from my vantage point over the next few weeks. Thank you for doing this with me and for being family to me in some way along this path.

The Constant

Jesus,


I need you. There's too much going on.


My person is hurting. Teams are coming. My family's grieving. My body's groaning. Relationships need building. Communities are changing. Guatemala's drowning. Houses are burning. Life doesn't stop.


YOU never stop.


Forgive me for every moment that I keep my mind, my heart, and my eyes on the verbs. I want my heart and my life set on The Constant.

You are My Tower. My Refuge. My Strength. You don't waver.

You part seas. You move mountains. At your voice, the earth melts.

You're The Constant.

Jesus, people are getting washed away in Guatemala. People are wasting away and abandoned in Africa. People are being sold into slavery all over the world. People are grasping to fill voids with anything in arm's reach in America.

You know them all. Every face. Every name. Every heart.

And you love them all the same. Perfectly.

You're The Constant.

Nothing about me is constant.

You Are Constant.
You are Love. Perfect love that is impossible for me to make sense of - especially when the details come in. And stories. And experiences. And me.

You're The Constant.

I can't understand how You are everything and more than I need. But it's even more than that. Thank you for being more than a feeling, a moment, a story. Thank you for being The Constant. The perfect thread connecting the feelings, moments, stories and more all together.

A Constant thread of love. Beyond faces. Facts. Time. Places.

You're The Constant.

You're Home.
And more than that.

You won't go. Even when I try and turn away. The Constant.

And You...
The Constant...
You call me Yours...
All the time.

You call me Beloved.
You say You are pleased with me.
Nothing about me is constant.
You are The Constant.

Amen.

Being THAT Girl...

I have a reputation around here.

And I figured I’d better warn you now.

There are parts of me that have come alive since I’ve been in Africa. I think they are parts that were always there, but something about this side of the globe really brings them out in me.

I have a reputation with the children in the communities of being that girl who cannot and will not stop hugging and kissing every child that comes within arms reach. Let’s be real… sometimes I even chase them for it. When it’s necessary, I hold them down.

The language barrier can be so challenging – and words are kinda my thing. Words here have so many sounds I can’t make, and I’ve actually had to grieve not being able to use them as effectively as I’d like during this time in my ministry.

But God has done something powerful through touch. When I hug these kids, there’s more to it than a few moments of physical contact. There’s an exchange – a language deeper than words that goes far beyond cultural differences. And I have truly experienced God building relationships out of touch.

At first, the older kids would point, laugh and be absolutely mortified when they got caught up in a hug or kiss from me. Didn’t stop me. Now, in each community, they run to me shouting my name with open arms and puckered lips. It's beyond greeting; it's acknowledging their value in every interaction.

The little ones in Mbonisweni created a game last week out of running as fast as they could across the stage at church and taking a flying leap into my arms for huge hugs. My body has become both a jungle gym and a resting place.

These children don’t get enough touch or love. But it’s more than that. It’s more than satisfying a physical need. It’s an interaction. I feel God’s power move through our hugs. I feel when they need refuge and when they need celebration.

It seems like it’s taken a long time for any sort of relationship to build. I don’t know most of their stories. I don't even know many of their names. But I know them through what I feel. I know them through what God speaks through those tiny hands reaching up to be held, that little head resting on my shoulder, and those bare feet climbing up my legs. And I know that they can feel that I love them. I feel the richness of these cross-cultural relationships going deeper with every hug and every little moment – something that could seem like nothing if we’re not looking for it.

In the past couple of weeks, I learned the SiSwati words for “I love you” and “Jesus loves you”.

As I’ve hugged each familiar little face and let God do His thing, I whisper these Truths to them: “I love you. Jesus loves you.”

I knew they felt it. And it was time for words that match it. As I whispered, faces changed. A new sense of safety, a new sense of delight, and… almost all of them said, “Ya” or “Yebo”. They already knew. They felt it too.

Little things. Hugs. Kisses. Three words at a time. Nothing else in common but that.

God is teaching me now about his unmatchable, unfathomable, unstoppable power. We don’t ever have to understand it. We don’t ever have to figure it out. We don’t even have to bring our super-hero talents.

I came with a license to counsel. And got here to find out I was a long way from being able to use skillfully crafted semantics to give glory to my God when it came to His orphaned and vulnerable in the communities of South Africa.

When we let Him (which has taken and still is taking me a loooong time), He’ll do the talking, the giving, the growing, and the perfect, perfect loving. He knows every detail of every story of every orphan. And He knows how to love them perfectly. All I have to know is how to let His love flow through me.

Hug someone this week and mean it. No side hugs, people. Full frontal hugs. And mean it. And feel what God does. He has things to say and He’s gonna say it every chance He gets. Linger for a moment and let His love flow through you. Surprise someone with God’s authentic love and embrace.

Photo by Carly B

And be warned, America, I’m coming in December with open arms and lots of chapstick. Forget about social norms. Lingering hugs and kisses are my new normal. Don't say I didn't warn you!

“We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body."

-2 Cor 4:10-11

Watching It Work.

It was SO good to be back in Dwaleni for the first time in weeks today! Our biggest feeding program was cancelled during the strike because of lack of local volunteers and the children being dispersed all around the community.

The kids looked great.... They were bright and shiny and huggy and absolutely perfect. They are ecstatic to be back at school and starting the feeding scheme again was like a family reunion. (Except there was no karaoke machine.)

I know I just posted about this, but I HAD to show you. You NEED to see what your prayers are doing. You need to get as close as you can to a hug from these children. It's just not fair that I got all the hugs and kisses today... had to show you a few of the precious little faces they were coming from.

And, Alyssa, this is worth writing for everyone to see. The sweet angel that wrecked your heart for Africa came right up to me... looking like a new person. I've known her to be sorrowful and clingy for a long time. She bears the proof of pain on her face and always carried it in her eyes.

But today I saw that you are praying for her daily. Her eyes were shining; she couldn't stop smiling; and she was giggling with friends all day. She wrapped herself around me and climbed up me for a ride on my back, and I spoke truth to her: I told her she's beautiful. She's perfect. She's loved. She's the daughter of Christ. And I told her how much you loved her... by name.



Thank you to every one of you who prayed. Just like Alyssa's story, I could physically see the impact of your prayers. You are making a difference in South Africa and in the Kingdom of God. And in my life. Thank you.

Keep praying - the strike is on a 21 day break to work out negotiations and such. Pray for stability, structure and safety in this country.

Thank You For Praying!

When we all join together, God hears and He moves. The perfect Father responds to His chidren's hearts and cries. Thank you for joining in with me and this country.

The strike has gone on break! Children are back in school and hospitals are fully functional! We're going back to Dwaleni today, and yesterday in Mbonisweni, so many children came and were like themselves again. 

Your prayers have impacted me and this country. Thank you!

the kind of blog I hate writing

I live in a "Rainbow Nation".

A first- and third- world county full of abundance and poverty.

As if that weren't enough contradictions in "normal", daily life... things are REALLY out-of-whack now.

This country needs prayer. I need you to know what's going on here. And I need you to feel it with us.

A few weeks ago the civil service workers union went on strike for higher wages and an increased housing allowance. I've been burdened, overwhelmed and devastated as I've watched the trickle-down effect of those who haven't chosen to strike, but are being affected in unbelievable ways.

Teachers, nurses, hospital staff, home affairs and petrol workers are on strike.

At first we could maintain our daily life stuff without having to look too close at the reality... But now the stories, sights and sadness are pouring into every corner of this country. The reality is unavoidable and we need you to actively join in this and pray with us.

Thre's a million news articles. But here's a glimpse at the strike from the ways I see it in daily life:

The children...

A highlight of my week is attending the three after-school feeding programs. Everything feels different since the strike started, though. Dwaleni's feeding scheme had to be cancelled due to lack of volunteers and children. Numbers are down in Kabokweni. And the kids in Mbonisweni are showing up so, so dirty and so, so hungry. For many children, school was their only meal of the day. Now they are without guaranteed food, structure, attention, stimulation, and protection from the dangers of walking around the streets of South Africa. I hate to think of the dangers lurking as these children walk around unsupervised, uncared for in a place where it's public knowledge to all the "bad guys" that every single public school child is unaccounted for right now.

Photo by Rae

Pray for the children of South Africa who cling a little tighter and look a little hungrier every week. Pray for justice and for a blanket of protection and provision over these children as they anxiously await to return to a safe place for the attention, affection, education and basic needs they were created with the rights to.

The hospital...

Although many of the government hospitals in South Africa have closed, the needs for healthcare haven't slowed down at all. Last week, we went to volunteer at a large hospital in the nearby city of Nelspruit. We passed mobs of strikers walking the streets on the way, but even that shock couldn't have prepared us for the desolate emptiness and maddening business we were walking into. The hospital staff is normall aournd 1000 people with a huge capacity for patients. Now, including the army medics brought in, there were about 100. Even nurses who wanted to stay were violently forced out by strikers.

Staff parking lot

Waiting room

We were sent to the maternity ward - where there were 13 newborn babies, which doesn't include at least 2 HIV+ babies who'd been brought in for treatment and abandoned. The weary staff were so overwhelmed they didn't even know how to tell us to start. We spent most of the morning cleaning, organzing and trying to speak life and encouragement into staff and patients.

Ugh. Ok. Here we go.

Confession: So far, these pictures and these stories have been the "easy" part. I've been putting off writing this blog for weeks and have tried to shut myself off to the reality of what's happening in the country I live in. This isn't a 20/20 special or a movie that you have to pause or crack an uncomfortable joke when it gets too hard to watch. These are my neighbors, my community, and people that I love dearly. This isn't America with built-in fallbacks or resources to get things taken care of when disaster strikes. What you see is what you get here and what you see just isn't enough.  

What's happening here is unfathomable, unacceptable and just plain ugly. Patients are missing meals because no one's around to feed them. They are lying in their own filth because no one's there to wash or change them. Sick and contagious patients are being released because there's no place for them to stay or person to care for them. Babies are dying... DYING... because no one will stay with them. I've heard numbers ranging from 10 - 50 infant deaths directly related to the strike.

Just before I left the hospital, Rich burst through the maternity ward doors holding a young mother in one arm and her newborn in the other. He found her staggering down the hall, and she just wanted him to hold her baby.

I told him I'd take care of her and felt my stomach tie itself in knots as I held her baby and, through another family's translation, I got her story.

Anabel is a 17 year-old single mom. She was released from the hospital that day with no idea how she was going to get home - and I'm not sure she even knew where home was. She looked absolutey exhasuted, shell-shocked and miserable. She had been given pain pills that morning but no food so she was nauseous and dizzy and scared. I gave her my lunch and another family offered to help call someone to pick her up.

This is NOT how it should be. This is not how it should be. This is not how hospitals should be.

She wanted nothing to do with her baby. She wasn't breastfeeding and it didn't seem realistic that she'd be able to buy formula. He didn't even have a name yet.

A perfect little baby boy entered the world, but because there was not the community, care and support we were created for, he's missing out on attachment, nourishment and even being named.

Pray for all of those things churning inside you right now. Pray for the sick, the broken and the abandoned. Pray for justice in South Africa. Pray for the health of this nation - the government, the union workers and the sick and vulnerable. Pray that not one more life gets lost and that violence and pain does not cross the threshhold of one more hospital or clinic. Pray for this little boy by the name that God calls Him by, his mama and all the other babies and their mamas that have been touched - and bruised - by this strike.

It's not getting better yet - and we're praying it doesn't get worse. Our God is the God of justice, compassion and mercy. He wants justice for the underpaid, struggling civil servants and compassion and mercy for the children, the sick and all other groups being affected by the strikers. He's BIG enough to understand how to love us all perfectly even when we think we're fighting for exact opposites of one another. Let's lean into that BIG and trust together... because I don't know what else to do.

Thank you for praying. Thank you for every emotion you might be feeling right now - anger, desperation, sorrow, or even wanting to pull out your super-hero cape and come save the day. Thank you for feeling for these people and for being moved by the things that moves the heart of Jesus. Pray with us. We need you here.