Sunday Lunch

Something feels just right about Sundays.

Sunday’s story is about the two neighboring communities Ten Thousand Homes currently works with.

In Mbonisweni, we host feedings at a local church – my church. Pastor Sthembiso is a shepherd, and the youth of the church come together to host the entire feeding themselves. Because of this church Home and the people who come to serve God in His house, the Mbonisweni feeding on Wednesday afternoons feels like a backyard family picnic. After two years of feeding every week, the peaceful and playful chaos of 200 children, laughing, braiding, wrestling, tree-climbing and singing feels like the deepest sigh of satisfaction and a time-tested seal that Hope and Church really works.

Dwaleni is different. Zionism, a version of Christianity that believes you have to consult the ancestors to get to God, and traditional witchcraft prevail. When you drive the winding, shack-speckled road to Dwaleni, you can feel the spiritual oppression hovering like a storm cloud. On Thursdays, we feed 300 children from a house donated by an American missionary who dreams of it becoming a house of worship. Dwaleni’s feeding is no family picnic… The children latch on to whoever will touch them, fight to lick the empty pots after the food is gone, and their version of “playing house” is a horribly violent reflection into what they are probably avoiding going home to.

Just a few miles apart from each other.

It’s been an uphill battle to build relationships in Dwaleni without a church.

And then God opened doors to an incredible family. I asked Mama Charity if I could be part of her family, and she said yes. With no previous framework on family, besides the one that beat her and abandoned her, she had no idea what she was getting into with me.

What started with a baby and a bath bucket in the back of a truck in October 2011, has become trust that defies shame, laughter that trumps tears, and a little crack in the door of Truth.

After 5 months of regular visits, health care, hide-and-seek, baby-kissing, snack-bearing, and rescue missions, Mama Charity asked to come to church with me. ABSOLUTELY! 

And then she asked for a Bible in her language. YEEEHAWWW!

For the past two months, I’ve loaded…overloaded… the little blue Mazda with Mama Charity’s family of five, plus their cousins Nandi and Tommy, plus Busi and her baby. We roll that heavy car right over a mountain and into the yard of Mbonisweni Evangelical Reform Church, where everyone instantly feels at home.

Maybe it started as an exciting outing and a car ride.

If you could see past Lifa's crazy-face from last week, you would count TWELVE in the Mazda!

But then an elder from the church gave Mama Charity and Busi a bag of clothes for their children. 

And Pastor Sthembiso welcomed them to the front of the church and blessed the children, calling them each by name and declaring the church would welcome and care for them.

Then God talked to me about Sunday Lunch.

Sunday Lunch is my new favorite part of the week.

After church, I bring that whole carload of perfection home with me, and we eat together. We break bread… cornbread… because something happens when you eat as a family.

Given and Kevin

It’s not a shuttle service to church. It’s not about beating the Bible into them and dropping them back off into their empty shacks with empty bellies. It’s about tasting and seeing that the Lord is good… about learning what His Family looks like.  

The meal is not gourmet. And it’s the same every week.

It’s what I can afford to do every week, with hopes of inviting more as car-space allows.

Beans, rice, cornbread, juice and dessert – today it was peanut butter cookies.

It started as chaos – exactly what family looks like to two young, orphaned mothers. I was exhausted by the end of every long Sunday.

Last week we had a family meeting. I taught – and trusted God to translate the words they couldn’t interpret – about a family with boundaries, a family who takes care of what they have so they have more to share, and a family who works together.

Mama Charity hung her head in shame the whole time, expecting me to repeat the family stories she’s known before. “You’ve worn out your welcome.”

I’m inviting her into a Family that says, “You’ve been chosen for eternity.”

She leaned in, unable to hide her smile, drinking up foundational family words. There were new rules – she loved them. She wanted them. She needed them. She’s never known them, not a single boundary, and now is 22 with four children and paralyzed in her own fear.

I gave everybody a job.

Four-year old Charity carried the cups.

Five-year old Tommy carried the spoons.

Eleven-year old Nandi carried the full plates.

They cleaned and set the table.

We prayed together before we ate together around one big table.

A simple routine with the power to cut-off chaos and unify even those who’ve never known unity. 

Something Family happened. Something they needed, wanted and that we were all designed for.

Can sitting around a table and sharing a meal together really silence the orphan cry – even if just for one day?

Can the spirit of adoption really be imparted, at least a little, through a simple meal served with love around a carefully set table?

All Together: A previous week's Sunday Lunch with co-founder  Micah Burgess

I brought out basins of heated water, and we all washed our own plates.

The mamas washed the rest of the dishes and cleaned the kitchen while I held and kissed the babies.

Tommy washing his plate

 It sounds like the sweetest story, tied up pretty with a bow.

It’s not. It’s me, still learning to live and the way His Family does, two overwhelmed mamas who’ve never even seen a functional family, and seven kids who speak no English.

Busi and her beautiful baby girl

Like every family, we have our moments… And so many more than that…

Like the one where I found all the kids locked in the bath house cackling and crying like wild hyenas…

Or the time I found myself playing Hide and Seek with Nandi and Tommy – and my team was the one with the baby whom I was feeding a bottle, a huge dog, two toddlers and a four year old whose pants can’t stay on when she runs - and who were all afraid of the huge dog…

And even that one time there was a DISGUSTING explosion out of Kevin’s backside that called for an emergency bath, load of laundry and sidewalk spray-down…

Um, and all those moments were just from today.

But, somehow, it’s still beautiful. And I’m still smiling. And overflowing with, “Thank you, thank you, thank you Jesus.”

Pastor Sthembiso wants to start a branch of our church in Dwaleni.

But first we have to find people, build trust, and look like a Church.

I think there’s something to Sunday Lunch.

I think there’s Church at that table.

Lifa praying for our meal at a previous Sunday Lunch

I believe God is laying a foundation for His Family – to live just like the original church. Can you imagine what kind of redeeming hope and desperate love can be birthed out of this church of orphans called Family?

 

Western Hemisphere, pray for Sunday Lunch as you wake up every Sunday morning. For joy to spring out of baby sounds and bodily functions, for contagious family love, and for a Story and Salvation sweeter than dessert to be consumed.

Karabo and Charity

Sabbath Saturday

Yesterday my eyes and my heart were filled to their brims with a swallowing sorrow, baptized over and over again by crushing waves called, “Why?”

And then I talked to you. And I remembered.

And you responded, and so did He.

Thank You.

The Truth about today, the one ordained with glory, came to the forefront of my mind, and I started looking for the Light instead of stumbling in the dark. I committed to telling you about it so we could change our outlook on our todays as they melt into our everyday.

Saturdays are my Sabbath.

So we’ll keep this one short…ish.

Mountain drives and meadow walks.

Community gathering and Brazilian hot dogs.

Birthday songs and birthday cake.

An infantry of 10-year old boys and a cottage right in the middle of the battlefield.

Cookie baking and onion chopping.

A smelly candle and a cup of tea.

That was today.

Honestly, I didn’t feel God or hear Him much today. Not like I love to on this holy and set apart day of the week.

But I saw promises scatter and take root as seeds danced through the wind and as I sang to Him on the most beautiful walk.

 And I tasted the sweetness of community as six cultures came together around a cake and a trampoline to celebrate a child’s life.

And I gave thanks one cup of flour, one recipe book, and one egg yolk at a time during my newest routine… the two-hour Saturday night sanctuary in the big kitchen, with headphones singing His love from the front pocket of my apron as I prepare for Sunday’s lunch.

Quality time. With Him. And His people.

He’s there. When we feel Him and when we don’t.

When it’s a beautiful mountain scene and when it’s a messy kitchen that’s water just ran out.

And that’s exactly where I want to be. Giving thanks right there.

That’s the only thing that makes this string of todays become a story of everyday glory.

Everyday and Today

My 10-year high school reunion is coming up… TEN YEARS!

There is date-setting, event-planning and website-creating happening to commemorate 13-years of celebrating small-town daily life together. Memories and ridiculous pictures are resurfacing, marking and memorializing the spectrum of our stories together: coloring sheets and note-passing, play dates and game days, chicken pox and cootie shots, field days and game days, first kisses and first hurts, playground giggles and parking lot stories, choosing white or chocolate milk and choosing the next step when our everydays would no longer start at 7:42am in the Gym 3 parking lot.  

Our everydays shape us. The people. The places. The moments.

Ten years later, I remember and am still being influenced by the people who played, spoke, cheered, and loved into those critically-shaping 13 years.

Nothing looks the same in any of our lives as it did 10 years ago. And, 10 years from now, nothing will look the same as it does today. Our everydays turn into life-moving stories and immeasurable change, marked by pages written one day at a time.

And, somedays, the everydays don’t seem to be worth counting. Or remembering. Or marking.

I’ve been dragging the past couple of days in the “post-Lifa slump”… the mornings start with me waking up and checking on him, only to realize his bed is empty. Dinner doesn’t seem to be worth cooking for one. I even miss washing all the tiny clothes and the pee-pee sheets. The cottage that felt like the perfect Home, bursting with love, creativity and the crazy-beauty of the Spirit and His Family just days ago, started feeling like four empty, cold walls and a roof.

Yesterday at the feeding in Dwaleni, I had 12 beautiful children sitting on me and 4 more with their hands in my hair. Their beautiful, piercing eyes just blinked, waited and watched. And I had nothing to say, nothing to do, nothing to give. 

And I actually thought, “Did I really get a Master’s Degree in Marriage and Family Therapy to make PBJ’s, paint toenails, wipe snot, scoop beans, and sing ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes’ over and over again?”

He whispered, “YES. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. Everything was orchestrated for today. This slice of your everyday.”

I heard Him, but I still had nothing to say. They kept blinking with those perfect eyes. They kept touching with those dirty and longing hands. They kept puckering their little pink lips, knowing that, even when Mama Kacy doesn’t have anything to say, she’ll never deny a kiss. That was enough for that day. It had to be.

They rotated places on my lap. They consumed my arms, my hands. They rubbed my skin. They drank up my touch, maybe even the part of my heart that longed for my child. They wanted to be longed for. To be touched. To fill up all the empty spaces in me and on me, and for theirs to be filled too. They would even come and cry for no apparent reason at all. And I rubbed their backs. And tried to release His comfort over all of us.

Everyday was written with profound meaning, glory, intention and love.

Yours and mine and Lifa’s and those children in Dwaleni.

We all have that same, wanting blink in us. We want our empty places to be filled. We want to be reached for and to be touched.

We want to be known. We want to be chosen. We want to belong.

And that’s for today. That’s for everyday. But it’s especially for today.

Even the today when you’re washing dishes and sheets. For the today when you’re performing life-saving surgeries. For the today when you’re on maternity bed-rest. For the today you spend driving your child back into a home with no hope. For the today when it feels and looks like you’re just doing the same thing you did yesterday. For the today when you’re achieving your biggest goal. For the today when it feels like your dreams went bankrupt.

When we’re tired, when we’re sad, when we’ve got nothing in us, and we cry out to Him – or even forget Him because the day feels like a spiritual faux pas - He says, “YES. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. Everything was orchestrated for today. This slice of your everyday.”

But in this piece of my everyday, the last few todays and the next few, I need help. I need family to remind me the promises of His Family… and that His promises have already been fulfilled, everyday designed and written exquisitely and intricately for His perfect glory.

So here’s what we’re going to do…

I’m going to do my very best to spend every day of the next week intentionally marking my everyday for God. I’m committing to writing to you about HIS glory-story revealed in my everyday, no matter how un-glamorous it seems. 

Hang in there with me, and try to do it in your own everyday. We can use our words, our perspective and our lives to speak Light and Life or darkness and death. And somedays it takes more effort than others to choose the capitalized-letter words. And everyday it takes a Family.

“…All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:16b

“Sing to the Lord, all the earth; proclaim his salvation day after day.” 1 Chron 16:23 

The Really Cool Surprise About Jesus

Yesterday I took Lifa back to his father’s house. The two homes, “Mama’s house” and “Baba’s house” are like two different worlds, like a twisted knot of culture and time travel, and as opposite as light and dark. But God says keep going back and forth. He says it’s worth it. So we keep going because it’s worth it.

During the transition part, I always ask Him again if it’s worth it. It’s hard on a little boy whose four years have been a broken record of abandonment, confusion and uprooting. And now his story is told in three languages from two different realities.

I wonder if I make it worse. And then I remember it’s not about me.

We were both emotional on that day I tried to spin positively- the “special day where you get to see Mama and Baba!” Lifa explained to me that he gets in trouble if he cries at his baba’s house, so I gave him permission through so many words and actions to be extra angry, extra sad and shed extra tears at mama’s house. I handed him pillows to throw and kick over and over and over again until his tears turned into giggles. And then we started all over again when the tears came back.

It’s like light and dark.

After we prayed together on the way to his father’s house, I explained to Lifa “the really cool surprise about Jesus.” With so many of his favorite words in one sentence and a bag of Doritos in-hand, he couldn’t resist listening, no matter how emotional he was…

The really cool surprise about Jesus is that whenever you feel sad, or lonely, or angry, or frustrated, or scared, or when you’re all by yourself, or when somebody hurts you, or when you’re around bad people, or when it gets too dark, is that all you have to do is say, “Help me Jesus” out loud with your mouth, and He will come make Light where it’s dark.

Lifa, can you believe that!?! All you have to do is say His Name. Say, “Help me, Jesus.”

Yeah, Mommy. And if I just ask Jesus to come and to help me then I won’t be feeling scared anymore p-p-p-p-p-cause He comes to make it Light.

But Lifa, what about when it’s REALLLLLY dark and you can’t see anyone or anything? And you’re too scared?

Mommy. It’s ok. I can say, “Help me Jesus” and it won’t be dark anymore.

But Lifa, what if nobody around you knows about Jesus? What if they can’t help you?

Mommy, Jesus will help me. He will come and make me not scared or not sad and make the Light come.

Such a really cool surprise.

A mama and a little boy’s countenance, confidence and faith was illuminated as something was sealed in that conversation. Not one single detail of the rest of the trip was easier. But my little boy knows that all he has to do is say the name of Jesus and the Light will come.

And Light and dark cannot exist together. Darkness flees. Light prevails. His little light is gonna shine. I’m clinging to that.

…”I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” John 8:12

“If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” Romans 10:9

I taught him "Please". He's teaching me "Thank you".

I've been huffing and puffing about the darkness and broken parts of the world all around me... and then becoming REALLY unpleasant when I realize I'm one of those broken pieces too.

Lifa came home for what might be a very short visit. For most of the days of the year, he lives in the sharp edges, infirmity and smoldering oppression that I kick and scream about living around. For most of his days, Lifa has no voice or height to rise above his current circumstances.
Right now I'm listening to him fight off the bad guys in his sleep.

But- For this two weeks, I hear him. 
And- Every single day of his life, MY GOD hears him.  

And- Today, I'm learning from him.

That little 4-year old voice that only speaks English when it comes to mama's house... that starts off silent, then turns to a whisper, and is now uncontrollable shrieking and laughing...
That big voice has a lot to say.

Lifa prays aloud all the time. Kids here learn lengthy, memorized prayers. I have no idea if he knows those.

I've listened to him all day today as he prays in his comings and goings.

He remembers to thank Jesus for everything... things I can't remember happened. He thanks Jesus for people who don't remember to say thank you. And makes sure everyone has a turn to say their thank-you's. He celebrates every piece of playground equipment, every puppy, every friend, every moment, and even says thank you for the things that haven't happened yet.

So today I'm going to take a big lesson from a little voice and bask in the glory of some of the beautiful moments God gave me this week. Bask in them and boast of them. And bring them to Him as a sacrifice of thanksgiving. (Psalm 50:23)

Thank you Jesus....

for Charity's first bubble bath.

for a hug and a hat.

for Hope and Home in progress.

for a mohawked, striped reminder of Your extravagant creativity.

 for a new cupcake pan.

 for Nandi's first birthday party... and a gazillion dazzling sprinkles from Texas.

 for role models... no matter who's influencing whom most.

for a fish pedicure and a friend to share moments with.

for this face.

for two boys and a blue balloon.

for three perfect children giggling through dinner together.

for that split second of surprise and delight when you see a monkey running right in front of you.

 for freshly-cleaned and painted 11-year old toenails.

 for a brother who does the dishes for you at the end of a long day.

"Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn't rescue the suffering. The converse does."

One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp

This morning's song lesson

Something caught fire in me on Sunday. We went to pick up Lifa, and it was one of those nothing-went-according-to-plan misadventures. Eye-opening. Heart-wrenching.

It shook parts of me that I have tried almost successfully to put on the “Survival Simmer” setting in my heart. Abba, it was horrible.

So much broken.

So many of your children misguided.

Turning to false idols.

Bowing before demons breeding hopelessness.

Perpetuating generational curses.

Raising up their children – and mine – and YOURS – to do the same.

Yet creation is singing outside right now even before the first ray of light breaks through this dark night. I’m writing to the soundtrack of the greatest symphony, sung from the treetops by the most extravagantly dressed songwriters.

It’s dark outside.

It’s dark in those houses.

It’s dark inside so many broken hearts.

Morning still comes.

Creation still sings.

The Glory song starts when it’s still dark.

My heart feels dark.

It’s justice kicking, knocking me out of “simmer”. I can’t just survive here.

It’s dark here.

But I’m not singing a Glory song.

I’m kicking. I’m screaming. I’m shouting.

I have to confess that my heart is not pounding out an anthem of justice.

My blood is boiling way past simmer and way past righteous anger.

What do I do with this?

How do I walk through the dark and sing like the light?

How do I sing the birds’ songs?

How do even they know how to sing Glory when it’s still dark?

YOU came here so you could walk through darkness and sing Glory’s song. We crowned you with thorns and hung you up like a banner for darkness – all the darkness of humanity displayed through the broken body of the Son of Man.

But YOUR fists weren’t balled up like mine are.

YOU opened your hands for the nails.

YOUR teeth weren’t gritting. YOUR mouth wasn’t full of bitter, sour, hurting words.

Darkness asphyxiated you. But in the breaths you had left, You sang Glory.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do...”

“It is finished.”

YOU knew morning was coming.

YOU knew about Sunday.

But YOU shook. In YOUR sorrow, the sun stopped shining, and darkness took over the land. YOU tore.

YOU tore from the top-down. YOU tore so that light could come anyway.

Jesus, I’m lost in a battle of light and dark, even in this very moment while a dark-skinned little boy sleeps in my lap. His skin is not a stamp that says it’s ok for him to live in the dark. IT’S NOT OK. Sunday night was not ok with me. The unknown stories of the children I will kiss over and over again today are not ok. It’s still dark outside. Help me sing Glory’s song.

“See, darkness covers the earth

And thick darkness is over the peoples,

But the Lord rises upon you

And his glory appears over you…

No longer will violence be heard in your land,

Nor ruin or destruction within your borders,

But you will call your walls Salvation

And your gates Praise.

The sun will no more be your light by day,

Nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you,

For the Lord will be your everlasting light,

And your God will be your glory.

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.”

From Isaiah 60

Ladies Day Out!

So many deep thoughts.
And so many frogs during deep-cleaning.
At the end of a heavy holiday weekend, I needed a getaway!

Yesterday I picked up two of my very closest friends from Mbonisweni for a great adventure: the fish spa!

We drove to the top of a beautiful mountain, and, for the equivalent of about $3.50, had the most organic pedicure you could imagine. Creation was singing to the beat of a whole different drum as hundreds of tiny fish nibbled away the dead skin on our feet. It was AWESOME! And the perfect change of scenery for all 3 of us! (I'm officially addicted.)

First, he washed our feet to get them ready for the fish.

Thuli and Prudence meet the fish. It TICKLES... A LOT at first. And then becomes the most relaxing little spa with fins! Please excuse my cackle... I couldn't hold back.

Prudence was hilarious... she just couldn't stay still!

Thuli loved it immediately. The fish did too!

Guess whose foot this is...

Finally making progress!

So much fun!

Finally... she likes it!

And... then relaxes COMPLETELY!

Three happy, relaxed ladies soaking in our little getaway and the view from our picnic spot