I was nervous last week...

I was nervous last week.

[First, read this clarifying background info:]

I am part of a ministry called Ten Thousand Homes (TTH). We exist to build hope and create Home in any and every way we can. Here’s the website for more info.

I am part of a team within TTH called Community Development. Most of my time is poured into feeding programs, participating in the local church, home and hospital visits, working with families, and getting covered in dirt and kisses daily.

University Village is the name of the ministry base where we all live. It has a great vision and purpose as a place to train local and international guests-turned-family in skills and as disciples.

TTH’s Training Team has been working hard for the Discipleship Training School (DTS) starting this weekend. It’s a 5-month program where people from near and far come to learn how to hear God’s voice and put it into practice.

[So there’s the skeleton-version of some of the parts of our ministry, and a few links to get the full story… now let’s get back to me being nervous.]

I was nervous last week.

After building a house for Busi two years ago, and meeting Mama Charity in Busi’s yard, these ladies and their children have become family to me. We’ve been going to church and having Sunday lunch together for a year and a half.

Busi in front of her former shack, October 2011

Christmas 2011

We’ve celebrated birthdays and consumed A LOT of chocolate cake.

We’ve walked through loss and disaster hand-in-hand.

We’ve had slumber parties and done Christmas together.

Also… all of their children have pooped on me. It’s real family, people.

Over the past two years, I’ve celebrated as these women without families learn how to do family. They’ve learned how to not just keep their kids alive, but to treasure them.

They’ve taken the first baby-steps from surviving life to living it… there’s hope-seeds juuuuuuuust starting to sprout. The kids catch it fast, but it is a lot harder on these hard workin’ mamas who’ve never had mamas to take care of them.

Christmas 2012

Their culture says to not expose your weak places or wounds… but to just keep walking. Because the water has to be fetched and the kids are still crying. But, after two years of Sunday afternoons and hospital wards, I occasionally get invited into a glimpse of anything from body image issues to hopeless loneliness.

Baby steps have made me jump for joy.

Milestones that could only be measured on Kingdom scales… because He has to be in this…. This is going to give His glory some glimmer… Right?  

A few weeks ago, Busi and Mama Charity both asked me for applications for our DTS.

And I was nervous.

The facts: Despite our best efforts and “home improvement”, we just don’t have enough finances or living spaces yet for all of Mama Charity’s five children.

Was this going to be the relationship deal-breaker?

Our Training Team prayed. They didn’t want to say no. But no one knew what to do.

Busi called me, and I was still nervous. And so was she. She told she didn’t have the money required for DTS and didn’t know what to do next. She had been praying earnestly.

I asked her if she had ever heard God’s voice, or if He’s ever answered a prayer. She said no with resignation and hung her head.

I shared the gospel of Home in the shadow of the house we built two years ago.

And asked Busi if she had received Jesus into her life as her Savior. She said yes… and I had a secret-spirit-party while shy Busi just watched and waited.

I explained the Holy Spirit deposit and promise – her full access to the King of Kings. And that His Word says when two or more are gathered, He is there.

I asked Busi if she would be willing to pray together and believe that God would answer her. She was terrified, but we agreed that first I would pray and then she would pray. We would ask God how to pursue finances for this DTS, if she should go to it, or if she should wait until next year’s DTS. And then I would ask her if she heard God… because His Word said she would.

As we lifted our voices, her body started shaking.

I was nervous.

As soon as she ‘Amen’d’, I asked her if she heard God.

That shy, shaky body fell back, completely overcome, and shouted, “YES! I’M DOING THE DTS NEXT YEAR!”

Not. What. I. Expected.

Why was I nervous?

Why did I tremble and secretly doubt what I was saying to Busi… WHAT GOD’S WORD SAYS? Why did I still have shadows in my soul that expected Busi to say she wanted an immediate way out of her daily life?

Busi encountered the Holy Spirit while my doubt sent my thoughts drifting… while His glory was shaking the knee my praying hand was resting on.

How could I be nervous about how the Father loves His Family?

How could I be nervous about the way the cornerstone and the foundation builds His Home?

Charity wearing my shoes. April 2012.

Covered up in His glory, Busi said she wanted to start studying God’s word at Sunday Lunch.

And that’s not all…

Because then I had to go to Mama Charity’s borrowed shack. 

She had an 11-month of crawling all over her, a half-naked 2-year old running between us, and 4-year old twins licking the cake pan I had brought over and immediately running sugar-coated laps around the shack, directly in the middle of the conversation we were trying to have. (My version of the perfect scenario… but possibly not hers.)

I told her the story about Busi.

I shared the gospel of Family to this orphaned mother whose every moment was crowded by her children.

I asked her if she’d received her Father.

And I was STILL nervous about that part.

Because they’ve listened to me talk for two years, but they have not talked about their faith.

And, to my joy and delight, Mama Charity looked at me like I was the most ignorant idiot she’d ever met.

And said, “YES, Kacy.”

WOOOO-HOOOOOO!

So I asked her if she’d heard of the Holy Spirit. She hadn’t.

So I had the pleasure of teaching this sweet mama about the Trinity: our 3-in-1 Family God.

She gave me another priceless look, this time with awe, “THREE IN ONE!?!”

Every penny I’ve spent on Sunday lunches and every minute I’ve spent sitting in meaningless conversation in these yards for the past 2 years, was worth it for this conversation.

Kevin helps fetch water for Dwaleni feeding program. August 2013. 

 I told that Busi wanted to study God’s Word after lunch on Sunday.  Her eyes lit up with childlike joy and an involuntary, “YES!” left her mouth when I suggested using the Jesus Storybook Bible that I read to her from on Easter.

I’ve been nervous that we’ve been missing something this whole time.

His ways are higher. His thoughts are not my own.

His glory-scales, His Home-building, Home-coming plans are woven with intentionality, stained picnic blankets, long-term relationships, and the very moments I was nervous about that were just the right amount of heat to increase the depth and breadth of Family.

Charity's first day of school. January 2013.

I’m blown away by gratitude and awe that has canceled out anxieties.

I feel so surrounded by my Strong Tower and by a community of like-minded people who do their Body parts: like hosting a DTS, building housing at University Village, and giving personal finances to fund Kingdom purposes.

Sunday Lunch and my family relationships just committed to go deeper. We got a new language.

 

And, at Ten Thousand Homes, we are talking about what’s coming in our culture. We are committing to being intentional with finding a way to help Mama Charity and Busi come to DTS next year. And we are bracing ourselves for a base full of sweet African babies who’ve only known hardship and poverty… and showing them and their orphaned parents that they are wealthy heirs in the Family of God. 

Start praying, Family. The best is yet to come!

Hopewell's Story

I’m pouring over photos of the people I long to be with.

I am dwelling in memories.

Even before my heart is ready for it, it’s time to stop dwelling and to start declaring through testimonies.

A vocabulary shift from story to a testimony can change a lot.  

A Source change.

A story can fill a blog.

A testimony appeals to heaven and says, “Do it again, God.”

It says, “We know You and who You are. We bear this testimony because we can access You here.”

So, this morning, I offer up Hopewell’s testimony as a plea to His goodness and to help me get up again.

Because when I met Hopewell, I encountered the Light that makes eyes shine and hope that makes it worth getting up again.

Hopewell is a 5-year old boy that looked like a very sick baby when he entered the hospital in June. He was bed-bound by the chords and wires keeping him alive.

His chart was full of letters… initials of terrible diseases that plagued his tiny, malnourished body. His lungs were full of fluid that made breathing almost impossible.

I remember asking the nurses one day if he was going to be ok, only to receive a “tsk, tsk” kind of head shake and those dreaded words, “We’re doing everything we can.”

We watched Hopewell. But we could never interact.

And we consistently thanked the nurses for loving him well.

Then, almost two months after being admitted, my cousin Laura came to visit Hopewell with me. And he made eye contact. And he sat up!

Laura never broke eye contact with him.

For almost an hour, she leaned over Hopewell’s bed, while that fragile little boy reached out his paperweight arms for her. Hopewell stroked her hair. And then her face. And wouldn’t stop.

While they gazed and oogled into each others’ eyes, a doctor came by and reviewed Hopewell’s lung x-rays with me.

And, somehow, long hair leaning over a bed and question-asking at the foot of a bed, grafted Hopewell into the family and the hearts of these two cousins. I think he felt it too.

When it was time for Laura to go, she wrapped him in love and covered him with kisses.

And Hopwell stood up with outstretched arms to go with her.

In less than an hour, Hopewell found enough hope to get back up again.

Locking eyes with love and belonging to a family overcame his immobility.

The next time I went to the hospital, I found Hopewell sitting in the hallway on a bench, holding a water bottle and an apple, and just taking things in. As soon as we saw each other, we locked family-eyes.

Family eyes that say and understand, “I’m here for you. I know you. And I came just to scoop you up.”

Hopewell spoke. And smiled. And responded. And my heart exploded.

Healing was taking deep roots.

We passed that tiny boy from lap to lap, lavishing our affection and laughter over him. And he drank it up, as though that was the only nourishment he’d been lacking.

Hopewell and Ginger

 The next time, I found Hopewell with a jaw-dropped specialist. Hopewell was talking to her. And she’d never heard him respond.

He reached for me. As soon as I picked him up, Hopewell began checking himself out and flirting with his reflection in the mirror. The specialist was floored… even more so when that deep, never-heard belly-laugh exploded out of Hopwell’s little body.

And then she told me Hopewell has reached his goal weight. 

Motionless months with no progress.

And then Love made eye contact. And reached.

When Love reaches, we reflexively reach back.

Because we were made for it.

Designed in the image of Love Himself.

A well of hope is rising up in its namesake.

Love-reaching, body-healing, soul-satisfying.

That’s the testimony.

That’s Love’s story.

That’s Hopewell’s story.

That’s the story of all the people whose pictures I study.

That’s the story of you, me, and the people we fall asleep praying for and thinking about.

Spoiler alert: I read the end of the book.

Love won.

“They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony…” Revelation 12:11

Love reached us and covered us through the blood of the Lamb.

And Love got up and left the tomb so we could get up too.

So Hopewell could find the strength to reach again.

And so my picture-stories sing Truths of His faithfulness… and that the best is yet to come.

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Update: Please continue praying for Hopewell. Due to his amazing recovery, he was released much sooner than expected! The nursing staff didn’t seem to have much confidence in his mother’s capacity to care for her child. Please pray without ceasing for this chosen and dearly loved little boy and the great plans God has for him.

 

The Remembers

There are so many promises.

A GAZILLION in God’s word and in my heart, Handwritten ones from the One who wrote me.

This week has been one of those weeks where they dance in the horizon, and you wonder if that really is an oasis of fulfillment in view, or if it’s a mirage that taunts your scratching throat and your aching feet. 

Breakthroughs and birth certificates are still just out of arms reach… but be assured that I am reaching.

In some moments, I reach with open and faithful hands. And, in others, I try to grab with clenched fists.

And in the midst of it all, a 10-year old blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl showed up and helped me remember the power of remembering.

This is Lily. Photo by Charity - age 5

I was Lily’s nanny when she was 3 – 5 years old. We became family through dress-up dance parties and cake-baking. (Some things never change.)

When I left for Africa almost 4 years ago, Lily made a vow that if I was still there when she turned 10 years old, she would come visit me. She started selling lemonade as soon as she turned 9. And here she is today, with her awesome mama, just a few months after her 10^th birthday.

 

Photo from Lily Sells Lemonade

When those blonde curls bounced onto base, with 10-year old sized boots and a sense of fashion that did not involve princess dresses, I realized how long ago it was that we lived like family together. It’s been 5 years since we made dinners and read bedtime stories. And everything is different now.

But then we remembered.

With the help of a few old photos and homemade music videos (that her mom just saw for the first time). Before the grand finale of  ‘A Whole New World’, that double-digit diva was leaning into me and we were giggling together, just like we used to.

Remembering what’s real beyond circumstances, fashion statements and hemisphere changes is where the promises are fulfilled. Where all the good stuff is.

Because the kids are going to grow up. And people will come and go.

Nothing will ever stay the same. Except the Truth.

Lily will always have a place in my family.

And I will always have a place in His Family.

And I will remember to remember the parts that are true instead of measuring the parts feel different.

This week, just two months after commemorating the most incredible Family celebration at Sifiso and Lizzy’s new home, we heard news of disaster striking their family. Spirits were crushed, and hope went silent.

Until my leader, John, remembered to remember.

We loaded our team up and drove to that mountainside piece of land that was once a fire-seized testimony of tragedy. It is now a chosen and cared for place of promises fulfilled. It’s a home with a bed for every child, space to sit together, and a front porch that boasts of the Truth of Family.

We gathered there like we had gathered the first time God was fulfilling promises in their family. After the first time disaster had struck.

 And we remembered together the Truth that prevailed beyond today.

We put our same family hands on those same family shoulders, and we remembered.

There’s something about remembering Him that breaks through our circumstances and invites heaven to open up. When we remember what true, where our hope comes from, He can’t help but remember how much He loves us.

“But he took note of their distress when he heard their cry; for their sake he remembered his covenant and out of his great love he relented.” Psalm 106:44-45

Same hands. Same shoulders. Different sizes and circumstances.

Same Family. Same God.

He does not forget His promises. He does not forget His Family.

I’m reaching to remember. And staying right here in His holding hands.

“Remember the former things, those of long ago;

I am God, and there is no other;

I am God and there is none like me.

I make known the end from the beginning,

from ancient times, what is still to come.

I say: My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.”

Isaiah 46:9-10

Shadow-Light

I’m floored by family.

Not just the capitalized, Family of God kind of family… but the lowercase, people-who-are-placed-together family too.

I’ve got a mom and a sister who can set up shop from a hospital bed, laugh out loud and send perfect love from right there underneath the bandages and fluorescent lighting.

I’ve got cousins who care enough to invite me into their daily lives, even though I miss so many days with them.

I’ve got not-so-distant relatives who will fly around the world to close the space and lavish me the most precious gift: the good mornings, the goodnights, and just being here with me.

I’ve got a grafted-together family with a mama and a little girl named Lily, whose been selling lemonade and saving for a year to come here just so we could be together again.

The last couple of weeks have been incredible – and the fun’s not over yet!

But in all of this glorious love-lavishing, I’m having trouble hearing from my Glory-source.

This blog is called Known.

I have a thing with being seen and being known.

I think we all do.

The people around me are lighting up my life.

They are highlighting the goodness I get to be a part of.

Somehow, I’ve stumble into the spotlight with the sweet little ones I’m here to serve.

I think, somewhere amidst making the Father known, I started making myself known.

I’m afraid that while I tried to show “the least of these” how worthy they are in His hand, I started measuring my own worth on some self-made, earthbound, other-approved measuring stick.

And now I find myself in this swirling confusion. I’m actually asking my God, “If the way I’m living doesn’t deserve to be seen, to be spotlighted… do I actually deserve to be here? To be a part of this? To be counted as worthy to be Yours?”

That is not who my Father is. Or what my Family is.

But the spotlight strains and smudges my eyes and heart.

It gives off false heat, and it makes it impossible to see what’s really happening around you.

It doesn’t look at all like the Kingdom of God… where the meek and the broken are pulled out of the nosebleed seats to be wrapped into the Mercy Seat… where the light shines from the inside out.

So to all of you who read and pray and watch with me… to all of you who know me… I thank you for loving me like family.

This week, in the presence of you and all of those around me, I’m taking it back to the Father and letting Him be the light of my life.

I’m remembering that abundant life… Everlasting Light is found in the shadow of the cross.

Honestly, I don’t know how to live any differently. I don’t have a step-by-step plan to change my actions or perspective. I don’t know where I took a wrong turn. I don’t know how to make my life look more like His Kingdom, how to live for His Family.

But I do know that where HE is, no spotlight is necessary. And Life abounds.

“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.”

Isa 60:19

This week I’ll call upon my Father, and ask for eyes that see by everlasting light rather than manmade light.

This week, I’m going to look and pursue Glory-light.

I’m going to tell the stories from the shadow.

A Moment on the Mat

Throughout the past month, God has been inviting me into the pages and promises of the Faith Hall of Fame in Hebrews 11. Asking, beckoning, and beaming as I pour through these hard-to-swallow stories and wrestle with where I will stand.

His never-ending patience catches tears and hears me out as I ask questions He’s already answered. He waits without condemnation to see if I can say yes, to that kind of faith… the faith that says you won’t see the finished product because He’s creating “something better” for the grand finale than what my lifetime can grasp. (Hebrews 11:40)

I’ve stomped and stirred because it feels like one of those edge-of-the-diving-board decisions. Once you jump, you’re in the deep end. And you better remember how to swim. You’d think that moving to Africa would be enough, right?

“It’s high-dive time,” the Deep calls out.

I’m in. I decided to climb up that ladder.

To tighten the goggles. And hope that I don’t belly-flop.

And then I got sick. And then the tires on my car got stolen. And then my mom was in an accident that led to an emergency landing in an Intensive Care Unit.

And that was all just this weekend.

I’ve been awake since 2am, frozen on the end of the diving board.

I said yes. And no part of me doubts my God’s sovereignty or goodness.

His timing is perfect. His grace is sufficient.

But my knees won’t bend and my breath won’t catch.

That Faith Hall of Fame felt far away, as I had just enough faith to punch out text messages to three people to tell them about my mom.

I told them I could not pray.

There is an entire church praying in Texas.

And then some.

And a pastor praying in Germany.

Hands covered mine at Ten Thousand Homes and prayed in three different languages.

Carly B said, “Thank you for letting me do this with you.”

Misty said, “I know that numb feeling. I’ll be your voice.”

Pastor Steven said, “You are loved. And we’ll pray. You rest in that. Paralytic on the mat moments happen. So do friends who cut a hole in the rooftop when you’re unable to do it yourself.”

And then I understood.

The Faith Hall of Fame exists as a Family… just like our God.

Hands that cover yours.

Voices that speak on your behalf.

And being allowed to have a moment.

God won’t leave us at the end of the diving board and step back to see what happens.

He’ll listen to your friends.

He’ll see their faith standing in for yours.

He’ll look straight at you in your immobility and say, “Take heart…” (Matthew 9:2)

Today, from this faith-place where my legs won’t work, I feel the jostling prayers of my friends and family. I can almost hear their laboring to cut a hole in the roof and lower me to the feet of my Savior, the One whose faith-place carried Him into a tomb and out again. (Luke 5:18-26)

Maybe, just maaaaaabye, this is part of the pulse of abundant life… of going to new faith-places. Maybe today it’s okay for me to crawl into His cradling arms, to just rest on that mat to the rhythm of my friends’ prayers.  To lean into the Family.

The Hall of Famers all experienced frozen toes on the edge of the diving board. Most of them even belly-flopped a few times. Yet they are remembered for their faith that “conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised…” (Hebrews 11:33)

Today I will take heart. And I will be thankful. Because, with or without my words, His Kingdom is coming and His promises are being fulfilled.

Thank you for carrying me on this mat. And thank you for breaking through the barriers on my behalf.

This week, I will ask for an opportunity to carry someone else the way you have carried me. This week, I will call on the name of Jesus on behalf of another – for His Kingdom coming and for justice flowing. This week my faith is made stronger because of yours.

Take heart, your prayers will reach and carry another through my strengthened hands and heart.

On Days Like This...

Two and a half years ago, my African pastor approached me and asked me to teach our church about family. He said, "Start at ground zero because we don't know ANYTHING about family."

I interviewed him to understand what ground zero really looked like, and I quickly discovered that step one would be teaching the church why it was even relevant or worthy to teach a church full of orphaned children and adults about family.

Today, my African pastor stood before the church himself and taught about the "spirit of the orphan" - that any one in any circumstance  could feel like an orphan. And that God the Father send His Son to die for us so we could all belong in the Family of God.

He declared that we all belong in this Family. And we have a Father who'll hike up his holy robe and run toward us because He's happy we're coming Home - no matter what stench lingers in our trail. This church full of formerly-known-as-orphans hooped and hollered in the name of Family. 

THAT'S MY CHURCH!  Can I get an AMEN!?! 

The Family of God is stretching and swallowing up those who were broken and orphaned. 
And it's worth celebrating!

After his message, my pastor welcomed three fathers to stand in front of the church. He officially welcomed them as the three newest members of our congregation. THIS IS A BIG DEAL!
Fathers are running home... Children are learning they belong. 

And sometimes, on days like this...
when you've danced and hopped and hollered...
when you've held that naked, malnourished baby high over your head (risking projectiles from both ends) just to hear her giggle and squeal...
when you've picnicked and fed families...
when you've talked about Jesus and seen His miracles in real life...

On days like this...
You just have to say, "Thank you, Father." 

And get out a beach ball and play.

Holding Happiness

A million moments have come and gone since I wrote last from that spiritual and emotional place that could only be diagnosed as “a hot mess”.

There’s been brilliant breakthroughs and devastating detours.

Hope has risen, and tears have fallen.

I’ve wanted to tell you so many stories, but the words just wouldn’t come.

I’ve wanted to speak out and stand on so many Truths, but…

Some days I’ve stuttered and stumbled.

And some days I’ve sang and stood strong.

Most days were a really awkward dance of the two “some day” alliterations.

I am desperately seeking His Kingdom and His Presence…

The comfort of the The Comforter.

The healing of The Healer.

But I am doing so in a painfully human, two-steps-forward and one-step-backward kind of way. On Monday, after I poured out this stumbling, singing heart to my team, I just wanted to hold and to be held.

I wanted to hold Happiness.

Happiness is a little girl I adore.

Happiness’ 9^th grade sister carries her uncomfortable body to the feeding program in Clau Clau every week. Relief flashes through the loving eyes of this big sister when we scoop up that small, stiff body, seized by what is probably cerebral palsy, and let her go whisper, giggle, and dance with her friends from school.

We’re so gripped with love for this little girl who cannot speak to us, who has black holes where teeth should be, who can’t sit up on her own, and who can’t focus or function. All I wanted to do on Monday was hold Happiness.

Monday with Happiness. Photo by Laura Uechi.

 I leaned against the brick wall, with a bundle of beauty stiffly stacked in my lap, and I loved her. I stroked her skin and told her how beautiful she is. I melted as her glazy eyes found mine when my voice hit a note she liked. I unfolded her fingers enough to put one of mine inside her unyielding palm. I kissed all over her face and neck and arms. I spent a ridiculous length of time making faces at her while I watched hers react, imagining what a full, unhindered smile would like. And I prayed and prayed.

Carla came over and sing-songed a promise of Happiness dancing down streets of gold. Brett came and oogled and cooed with the enchanted eyes of a father.

 

Photo by Laura Uechi

And I thought about this Kingdom I’m pursuing.

This Comforter and this Healer I’m appealing to.

And how, all wrapped up in this broken body, I think He’s here.

Suddenly, I started to wonder if Everlasting Joy has a day where He just wants to hold His Happiness.

Does Eternity’s Keeper ever just want a moment to hold and behold me?

Does He fold me, stiffly unsure, kicking and screaming, into that big, holy lap of His, and position me to see and to hear, like I did with sweet little Happiness?

Does He see how broken and diseased I am, yet coo and oogle and stroke my skin and call me Beautiful?

Does He speak a thousand words over me with a cascade of sensations, pictures and octaves, until I hear that one that makes my glazed eyes find His face? And then does He melt?

Does He paint glimpses of His face through Creation just for my reaction, imagining what my unhindered smile, my unhindered heart and vision will be like?

Are His Fatherly eyes filled with enchantment for the day His Happiness will dance with no pain, no suffering and with absolute freedom down golden streets into our happily ever after?

Whether we need to hold or to be held today, I believe there’s a sovereign grip on us. A lap you might not even know you’re in yet.

Behold, the Holder has come. He cuts off chaos, sets us free, and never-ever will stop moving mountains on behalf of His beloved.

You are His Happiness. Behold an be held.