Back to the Future

I’m writing this from the past…

Or maybe I’m just speaking into the future.

Either way, I scheduled this blog to post much later than I wrote it. So maybe we’ll all be surprised by what it says!

Today, the day I’m writing you, is January 14, 2012. The world around me is just shaking off the afterglow of the holiday season and beginning to exchange resolutions for routines.

I got a late start, and I usually can’t even remember which month it is anyway, so I’m just revving up in excitement for God’s promises for the year.

Not only am I writing to you, the future, from a new year’s mindset, but on the first day of my 3^rd year in Africa.

Two years ago today, with jet lagged, cross-eyed glee, I unknowingly set foot on the soil that would become my new home on earth.

January 14, 2010

January 2010

How can a girl not get reflective at a time such as this?

Today, January 14^th,  2012,  my house is empty for the first time in 2 ½ months. Today, January 14^th and the today from which you are reading, my house is brimming with promises, hope and God creatively weaving the highest good for all His kiddos. And that’s the part I’m reflecting on. And that’s why you’re reading this blog in August instead of January when I wrote it.

I have no idea what our Augusts have in store. I know that if I’m in South Africa the day this posts, I’m probably FREEZING cold. And if you are in Texas reading this, you’re most likely BLAZING hot. Whichever hemisphere you reside on and no matter how you fill your days, we are now 8 months into the year that you probably started with at least a handful of hopes and dreams. We could probably all use a reminder of the Name and the One who authored hope and wrote the dreams in our hearts. And a reality check that there’s more to this year and to who you are than whatever is on mine and your to-do list today.

If I would have known on January 14, 2010 what was in store for the rest of that year, I would’ve see everything with different eyes and a different heart. And if I would have known that in 2011 I would become a spiritual mama and a foster mama, I would have made A LOT of other suggestions as to ways God could use me that involved a lot less tears, cultural splits, spiritual warfare, financial support raising, endless transitions, and separation from my family.

Me and little Lifa. April 2010

So, it’s a good thing He didn’t tell me until it was time.

Maybe today – the August, present-tense today – is time. Time for Him to unveil and reveal something great He has for you. And for me.

Or maybe today is a day we both need to be reminded that those seeds of hope and promise He planted in me and in you are real, were planted richly in the fertile soil of our hearts, and the harvest is coming.

January 2012

On January 14, 2012 God reminded me that HE knows the road for me and for you. HE won’t leave my side or yours for a moment, no matter how far and fast you try to run and no matter how many ways I try to take things into my own hands.

August 2010. Photo by Jillian Hamp

On January 14, 2012 God asked me to tell you and myself that we are filled with Him because His blood was shed for us. And it doesn’t matter the ways we fill in the societal blanks of who we are and what we do. We weren’t made to be called therapists, pastors, missionaries, teachers, nurses, doctors, businessmen, mothers, fathers, or anything but His children with the greatest gift: the love, the authority and the commission to carry the name of Jesus wherever we are in whatever we do.

January 2012. Photo by Carly B

On January 14, 2012 God said to write to somebody to say that He hasn’t forgotten our hopes and dreams, and He doesn’t want you – or me – to let chaos be louder than His voice. He is fulfilling His great plan today. He has something for you today.

January 2012. Photo by Carly B

So, on August 14, 2012, let’s carry the name of Jesus in all that we do. And let’s trust our God to be who He says He is and do what He says He’ll do. 

January 2012. Photo by Carly B

To Tell You The Truth...

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve blogged. It’s not because I haven’t had anything to say. It’s because there’s been too much.

To tell you the truth, this weary lady could use your prayers as I’ve let myself get overwhelmed by the extremities of the jagged edges of injustice and the safe arms of restoration, by the suffocating chokehold of hate and the reviving breath of forgiveness, and by the empty-eyed desperation of need and the giggling celebration of provision.

Building Hope in a culture whose death rate says, “live for right now because later is not guaranteed”, and creating Home amongst a people group infected with shame, poverty, and injustice, requires a lot more than I have in my own strength. (Which is really good news.)

To tell you the truth, “building Hope and creating Home” doesn’t just happen with butterflies and cupcakes. You can’t put a coat of paint on a dilapidated shack and call it home. You can’t smile and wave at an orphan from the comfortable interior of your car and call it hope.

But it’s happening.

Hope and Homes is happening in South Africa.

It’s happening to the beat of that two-steps-forward, one-step-back shuffle that started in the produce department of Eden, when we took our first step back.

Life’s been messy here.

I’ve been teaching Family to a local church.

I’ve been passing out hundreds of plates of hot food to hungry tummies.

I’ve been kissing and kissing the droves of tiny voices and feet that follow me wherever I go.

But to tell you the truth, my real sphere of influence runs deep with only about 3 families.

It developed through countless cups of tea and car washes at GoGo’s house, slumber parties with Mama Charity’s kids, sewing lessons with Nandi, Sunday lunches, church at Busi’s house, Band-aids and bathtubs, and hours and hours of sitting in their yards. Laughing, dancing, picture taking, meal sharing, and all the usual parts of relationship building have swung the doors of Family wide open and given me the unique favor and honor to speak Truth into their lives.

It’s daily life with these three families that I’ve been so overwhelmed by the extremities of life and that I’ve danced the two-step-forward, one-step-back shuffle with.

Nandi ran away last Friday.

And to tell you the truth, nobody (else) seemed that worried about it.

We couldn’t find her anywhere until Wednesday. Nandi was hiding in the bathroom at Ten Thousand Homes’ feeding program in Mbonisweni, a few miles and a mountain away from her house in Dwaleni.

Nandi and her mom - Jan 2012

With the help of my pastor’s wife and the alluring bribe of a bright purple Band-aid for the cut on her finger, we learned that Nandi was hiding because she was simply out of places to go. This hard-faced, empty-eyed 11-year old was betrayed by her own tears as she crumbled in fear, explaining that her mom said she would beat her until the police came if she went home. And the extended (also not-so-safe) family she was staying with now said she couldn’t stay there anymore. She wept and begged to stay at my house.

I had to choke out that it wouldn’t be safe for her to stay at my house either. When her mom found out, she would lash out. I couldn’t become a threat to Mama Nandi and risk losing the ability to be a part of Nandi’s life. This situation required more than a Band-Aid, more than a coat of paint, more than a right-now repair job.

My pastor’s wife and I just started at each other, with dirty, barefoot, shivering Nandi tucked between our bodies to protect her from the winter chill.

We needed Hope.

We needed a Home.

Finally, I reached down deep and decided to take a chance.

“What about GoGo’s house?”

GoGo lives within shouting distance of the church. Nandi is from another community. They have no real connection, but they are both my family.

So we marched down there and asked if she could stay, at least until Sunday. They didn’t ask a question, didn’t bat an eyelash, and didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“Of course she can stay!” (Um… that was after the awkward clarification to GoGo that Nandi is a girl and not a boy.)

I was blown away.

Because to tell you the Truth, THIS is what it looks like to build Hope and create Home. I was the one taking lessons in Truth this time.

A friend who visited TTH earlier in the year seemed to have insight into this very Truth and the generosity that comes with it. Scott and the New Hope Church team left me with a stash of cash to meet needs as we saw them. I had it and was ready to tell the Truth with it.

As soon as Nandi was situated at GoGo’s, that little blue Mazda headed to town and bought her socks, underwear, a sweat suit, an outfit for church, and we threw in Amanda’s sparkly silver Toms too. Then we went to the grocery store and loaded a basket full of food for GoGo’s family, who hadn’t thought twice about another mouth to feed. We even had Lindsay’s perfectly-girly Knit-A-Square blanket to cover that extra body piled into GoGo’s 2-bedroom house of 6.

We burst through the cold winter night into GoGo’s house with loaded arms. Before she even knew I was there, I caught a glimpse of Nandi with little Fiona tied to her back, playing with her hair. Nandi was beaming from ear-to-ear.

The whole family was packed into the living room, just being a family. They ooed-and-awed and celebrated Nandi’s new wardrobe, clapping, cheering and dancing. Lindsay passed out sweeties, and Tshepiso cooed over new oranges. (They hadn’t even seen the big package of chicken yet!)

I stood there, soaking up the warmth. The Truth. Family.

I told them that this is what the Body of Christ looks like.

When one person has a need, there’s always someone who can meet it. Nandi needed a Home and a family and a sanctuary, and GoGo’s family responded. Before they even saw the need, people in America responded to God’s promptings, and we were able to bring the food and clothing they would need.

The Truth is, He sets the lonely in families. (Psalm 68)

The Truth is, He died so we could have access to Family. (Galatians 3)

The Truth is, Hope and Homes is happening.

One house, one little girl, one pair of shoes, one bag of groceries, one knitted blanket, one sweat suit, and one choice at a time.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat,

I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,

I was a stranger and you invited me in,

I needed clothes and you clothed me,

I was sick and you looked after me,

I was in prison and you came to visit me…

I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.”

Matthew 25:35,36, 40

Nandi - March 2012

Prayer Request:

Please continue praying. Nandi is smiling, laughing and adjusting beautifully at GoGo’s, but this is only a temporary place. She is not attending school. Pray for breakthrough with Mama Nandi as my pastor’s wife and I go visit her on Monday. We have no idea what the next step will look like or what God has in store, but we know He’s got His eye, His hand, and His heart on Nandi. 

A Name in the Dirt

Two little faces – I’ve watched them for over a year now. I’ve asked everyone at the Mbonisweni feeding about them, and have received no answers. I’ve kissed them. I’ve hugged them. I’ve only known them as Sesi and Bhuti (Sister and Brother). They’ve been mysterious little angels with that infamous “orphan cry” written all over their faces.

Bhuti and Sesi - May 2011

I first noticed them when they began showing up to the feeding very early. And when it only took a glance or a wink for their entire bodies to wrap around mine. After one day of hugs and kisses, we were like family, and they knew they had a place on my lap.

They smelled like filth. They were so, so dirty – every week. Their clothes never fit. They would inhale a heaping plate of food in what seemed like a single bite, and then run back to beg for seconds. I don’t know how it fit into such tiny bodies.

Sesi and Bhuti. I just knew there was something about them… Something for them.

Recently, at TTH, we hosted a group of 13 young adults who came, armed and ready, with a clear direction from God and the plans to make it happen. They would pay for and build 2 homes with us, and then return back to their mission base in Los Angeles to build a model home to raise awareness. They gave us advance notice and asked us to start making plans with families. We were thrilled – and all over it. We couldn’t even wait for the TTH ministry break to end before getting knee-deep in that red dirt again.

This was it! This is the dream! This is how it works! We were building relationships that wanted to spread the movement throughout the nations. They were coming with willing hands and hearts. And we already had strong relationships with just the right families! Praise the LORD!

But then there’s the people-factor. You know, the fact that we’re all broken people. And culture-factor. And allllllllll those broken parts of this earth.

The same factors come into play all over the world, in every stage of life, in every body and every church… and it’s just as disappointing every time. We were made to be redeemed people, designed for the Kingdom culture, and belong as citizens of heaven.

The team arrived, and so did a cyclone. Rain, rain, rain.

We ran into a cranky headman (a tribal chief or community authority) who was unwilling to open his door, much less help.

For the first time ever, we could not secure a plot of land to build a home on. We had people; we had money; we had plans… We just couldn’t get a piece of dirt!

A month went by with absolutely no break-through.

Over and over again, the team set out to pray through the communities, trusting God to fulfill the words HE spoke into them. We didn’t know what to do. It’s our policy and a core value to know the families we build for. Relationship creates Home, not money and not four walls with a roof.

They came to us and said they’d found the home. Three times God brought them there. I was nervous. Filled with doubt. And disappointed that my families, the people I visit and pray over, weren’t getting a home over a matter of whose name was written over a piece of dirt.

As I pulled up to Leah’s plot, to a pitiful shack inhabited by a reportedly welcoming and broken woman with three young children, I could hardly unbuckle my seatbelt before bolting out of the little blue Mazda… SESI AND BHUTI!!!! And Samkelo – a child whose eyes lit up, greeted me by name, and whom I didn’t even know was related to Sesi and Bhuti.

YES, YES, YES.

This WAS the family.

They are all the families. They are all the children. They are all spoken for, planned for, and in line for a Home. But this WAS the family for today. For these people. For right now.

The excited team huddled around Leah and her children. They told her that God knows her, sees her and has not forgotten her. They told her He cares about every need. She is so valuable to Him that He changed the plans of an entire ministry; He rearranged everyone’s schedule; He began speaking to a team and hundreds of generous hearts around the world months before; and, starting the very next day, the strangers-turned-family that filled up her piece of dirt were going to build her a house!

Her reaction wasn’t exactly one you’d write a blog about. She didn’t turn on the waterworks. Ty and the gang at Extreme Home Makeover might have been disappointed.

Leah froze.

Her name was written on a piece of dirt. That’s it.

She had 3 children with an abusive father who had been kicked out of the community because of his violence and danger.

She had nothing to offer her children – no food, no money, no hope.

She had neighbors who smirked and giggled as they walked by because of the way she lived.

She’d never known a promise to be fulfilled.

She’d probably never heard a promise with her name in it.

Her name was written on a piece of dirt. That’s it. 

Leah’s heart is not just on a piece of dirt anymore.

Leah’s name is written on a house that is called The Home of Hope.

Sesi and Bhuti are not their names. They didn’t even introduce themselves by their names. How would you know it’s worth it, if your mother doesn’t know her name is worth more than a piece of dirt?

Her children’s given names, Samkelo, Maria and Bennett, are written on plaques over their brand new beds. They each have a place to sleep now.

Leah has her own room. Her own bed.

More than a house and more than a plaque, Leah’s name is written in heaven – as a full heiress, adopted and treasured.

She met Home after she saw a promise with her name being fulfilled. They kept coming back every day for a month. They kept praying and singing worship songs as they put on one brick at a time. Then they gave her the keys – to her brand new door and to heaven as they shared the gospel.

She heard her name. She accepted His Name to redeem her from the dirt and call HIM Home. She took every key offered to her. And now she has a lot more to give her children. And now they answer to their given names.

Maria with a whole new countenance

Why We Call It Miracle Week

On Monday morning, we woke up to find that a vehicle had been stolen from our property in the middle of the night. It was there when we said goodnight, and it was gone when we said good morning. Nothing left behind except broken glass.

Instead of saying the words that might have popped into these oh-so-holy missionaries’ minds, we started the morning giving thanks. The visiting team was borrowing the vehicle and lost a credit card and an expensive baby stroller and carrier in the theft. They set the tone by praying for the thieves. And speaking blessings over the baby that would be carried in the carrier. The mother even said that although her first instinct might have been to rip the baby-carrier away from someone if she saw it walking down the road, she would, instead, give away the extra accessories that hadn’t been in the vehicle when it was stolen.

We sang to our God and declared him the victor and the giver of good things. We gave no credit and no attention to the one who comes to steal, kill and destroy.

As the dust settled on University Village (the property we call home) on Monday morning, we headed straight for the red dirt of Dwaleni. I took a team to visit a family of five – five children living within four windowless walls, which enclose just enough space for the queen-sized bed they all sleep on. HIV has wrecked their immune systems, and none of them has been able to escape TB (Tuberculosis) in their cramped quarters.

Their father is dead. Their grandmother abused them. The mother steals money and disappears. They are 20, 17, 15, 9 and 2 years old. They cook on a pile of sticks on the days they have food. When I asked what they wanted prayer for, they asked if we’d pray that they could get electricity. They’ve been waiting on the electric company since 2010.

With tiny, 2-year old hands wrapped around me, we prayed for more than electricity. For the Power and the Light that are everlasting… and for electricity too. And food. And comfort. And provision. Prayed for a way to build them a bigger house. For the oldest to be able to go back to school. And for the perpetual abandonment by their mother to be cut off in the name of the Father’s Family.

That was Monday.

And Monday was the day we started calling this week Miracle Week.

The same Monday we woke up to find that something had been stolen from us, God gave so much more than that. He provided in full, on that day, enough to secure our home, this fertile soil for discipleship, community and a hope to rise up. This week the money was wired over to purchase University Village - $77,000 in the last 2 months! 

And the same Monday we found a house full of orphans with nothing of value on this earth, we called them family and wrapped them in love and new blankets.

“Africa time” was overcome by the agenda of the Kingdom this Miracle Week.

Within one week of meeting this previously forgotten family, God provided food, education, school uniforms and supplies, the beginnings of a process for financial and physical security, and tear-streaked hope.

On Monday, there were empty eyes. On Wednesday, there were streaming eyes and a trembling voice saying, “I am happy.”

 

Weary and revived.

Longing and satisfied.

Desperate and thankful.

This is what Miracle Week looks like.

We live in the middle of miracles every week. This week we looked for them. We had to.

Jesus kept his disciples confused by saying things like, “The Kingdom has come and the Kingdom is coming.” The promises, the provision, the hope, the everything has been finished by His death on a cross. And it’s all coming.

Lifa and I love each other completely. His biological family calls me his mother. So does the Father. We are family. A Miracle family. That has been fulfilled. Finished.  

I haven’t seen him in 7 weeks. The news I received this week, during Miracle Week, says that the times we’re together are only be getting shorter as the times we are apart will get longer. There is not a document at all, much less one that calls us family. Nothing on this world seems to align or agree with the promises we know.

The promises have been made. He does not conflict Himself. He cannot be unfaithful.

In making the promises, they have been fulfilled.

The Truth has come and the Truth is coming.

That’s the miracle.

It’s full of tension because we were designed for the fullness of heaven, all promises completely fulfilled, His Kingdom Come… and we’re here on earth bringing it as best we can.

Miracle Week isn’t full of rainbows, butterflies and fairy Godmothers.

There’s no magic wand. Not even glitter.

Miracle Week started on a week called Passover 2000 years ago, and now it’s every week. Miracle Week has come and is coming.

Miracle Week has left me with swollen eyes, a sunburned face, a broken heart, a consuming peace, a lot less gas in my car, sticky kisses, and a new playlist on my iPod.

Miracle Week is pregnant with promise. Miracle Week gave birth to hope.

I couldn't resist...

Call out the miracles with praise.

Cry out from the in-betweens in thanksgiving.

He’s faithful. He’s good. And He’s the only Constant.

He hasn’t forgotten and He will not forsake.

“The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” 

2 Peter 3:9

Faithful local volunteer carrying donated food to the family of 5

TODAY

TODAY is an important day in South Africa, America, the ends of the earth, and in the Kingdom of God.

TODAY we are wearing our Ten Thousand Homes t-shirts and believing.

Photo by Lindsay Loveless

TODAY this movement is bridging the supernatural with the natural, as the Kingdom of God touches earth, permeates all five senses, and speaks every language.

TODAY we are fasting and praying – and hoping you will too.

TODAY we need $15,000 to complete the purchase of University Village by the approaching deadline – It’s the property we live on, and where the nations gather, one team at a time, to impact the orphaned and vulnerable children in South Africa.

TODAY we believe God will respond to His children, fasting and on their knees, for provision for our home. He has called the land ours.  

TODAY the heavens will open – not manna, but a banquet. A wedding feast as His promises are consummated.

TODAY we’re not waiting for the rocks to cry out.

TODAY we won’t be too busy or anxious to enjoy His delight, His blessings and His gracious responses to those who respond to Him.

TODAY is a day where we have the honor of ravenously calling His Kingdom down to earth, starving for more of His glory, and being more hungry for His will to be done than we are for lunch.

TODAY you and I are called to look after the orphans and the widows, to love the least of these. Today.

Photo by Carly B 

TODAY is the day to respond. You're invited to be a part of His promises and plans.

TODAY is the day you find your unique place in the Body.

You have a place. You have a seat at the extravagant banqueting table. TODAY is the day to take it. We believe we’ll have a home TODAY if everyone takes their place in this Kingdom call.

If it’s through making a financial donation toward the $15,000 we need, click here.

If it’s through fasting and praying, take a knee and start now.

If it’s through spreading the news and needs, start typing and start talking.

If it’s through fundraising ideas or you need more information, contact Lindsey Kaufman today.

“This is the day the Lord has made; 

let us rejoice and be glad in it.” 

Psalm 118:24

Hope is Like Jell-O

(Written on January 17th, 2012)

Today was the day! Nandi was coming to spend the night, after faithfully staying at her own house for two weeks. She’d been singing, dancing, begging and counting down since the day we found her in the shelter.

Despite the 15-hour rainstorm and wet everything, I was beside myself. I was ready to welcome a perfect little girl into my home, treat her broken skin with the new lotion and medicines I bought for her, tuck her in, pray over her, make chocolate milk when she woke up, pack her lunch and take her to the front door for her first day of the school year – even if she is repeating the same grade she was in last year. I couldn’t wait to celebrate her and make her feel proud to be her.

When we pulled up to the muddy yard, she ran out with a consuming smile.

And then she remembered.

Faster than her smile disappeared, Nandi quickly ducked into the kitchen to cook her family’s dinner. Her mom was in the other room with the door closed.

I scooped up an armful of children, began kissing the raindrops off their perfectly kissable foreheads, and went to Nandi’s auntie’s shack. Ivonne is Mama Nandi’s sister (Charity, Kevin, Given and Karabo’s mama) and lives in the same yard.  Ivonne told me nervously Mama Nandi had changed her mind about Nandi coming to stay with me.

Last time Nandi came over, her mother was relieved. Mama Nandi has welcomed me into her family with hugs and kisses ever since. This time, I found a little girl hiding behind a door while she cooked dinner. She fought back her tears until she managed to turn her face and her emotions into stone, even willing her limbs to be immobile. Mama Nandi locked herself into her room when I came to greet her and shouted to her sister in SiSwati that she didn’t want to greet me.

I decided to give everybody one last kiss and leave quickly to avoid causing trouble for Nandi later.

And now I’m sitting here alone in a cottage I was sure would be filled with laughter tonight.

And I’m thinking about why.

I can’t translate, unravel or make any sense of Mama Nandi’s quick change of heart. But I’ll give you a few background stories…

A couple of weeks ago, the two families (Mama Nandi and Ivonne) had no food. It was heartbreaking to see the underweight children fight over the last morsel of food they found buried in the dirt. One of the staff members from TTH brought over some food. Only Mama Nandi was home at the time. Later we found out she had kept the food all for herself. A local pastor intervened, had what seemed like an incredible talk with the sisters, and they agreed to share the food.

I wonder if Mama Nandi’s change of attitude toward me had anything to do with what she might have felt was us taking food from her when she was asked to share what she thought she had been given?

In a whole new story with a whole new set of people…

We met a group of people nearby who were feeding 120 every single day, but didn’t have much meat or nutrition to offer. We were blessed with extra meat, so we took a few packages to them. Later we found out that the local volunteers had each taken a package, leaving one small packet of meat for the 120 children.

I wonder what my thoughts and motives would turn to if I spent 7-days a week feeding people’s kids and didn’t have enough to feed my own?

And just one more…

I went to a friend’s house today. She is the oldest of a child-headed household at 18-years old and the mother of a 6-month old. We built her and her siblings a home last year. She begged me to come inside and away from others to tell me she wanted to go back to school but needed someone to care for her baby. And she was out of food. Her eyes filled with hurt and frustration as I explained I had no money with me nor the ability to care for her baby full-time.

I wonder what hope and home are shaped like to her, beyond the four walls of the house we built. Can she even imagine not having to depend on people who she thinks have money and power? Can she grasp feeling value and worth in who she is and escape the oppressive lies of poverty?

I started the day floating in God’s provision, swimming in hope. I started the day in a posture of Thanksgiving for all the goodness flowing out of Him. And then I left the sanctuary of my fluffy couch, oversized coffee cup, iTunes and Bible.

I encountered the orphan crisis today.

I know their names. I know where they live.

Some of them are parents. Some of them have parents.

But they are each under the same crushing arm of that tagline we use – The Orphan Crisis - that makes us think of cute, little brown babies eating under that perfectly-shaped silhouette of “the Africa tree”.

The orphan crisis is the voice that seethes and slithers through Africa and says:

You’re on your own.

There’s not enough for you.

Nobody’s really here for you.

You’re alone.

You will live your life scraping from the bottom of the bowl and from the bottom of the rich man’s shoes.

You will never be anything but poor. Orphaned. Alone.

If that was in my ear…

If I was born into a culture that breathes and breeds these statements as reality…

If that’s all I ever knew…

I would shut a foreigner out of my family for stealing from me...

I would take the only meat I could get my hands on and feed my kids...

And I would shamelessly beg for handouts, selling my self-respect for a full stomach…

But we’re here to shut that voice up, and stomp out the orphan spirit.

We’re here to build a Home, create Hope, and raise up the Family of God.

You probably grew up in a family that had enough meat. You probably have, at one time in your life, sat around a dinner table, family-style and shared a meal… for the very experience of sharing the meal. It’s probably rooted somewhere in your culture’s values, even if it’s been buried in the past few generations, that there is something to family – something about sharing meals, experiences, life and provision. Something that’s worth it and something that’s good.

The people I encountered today didn’t.

How can we end the orphan crisis if we don’t model family? If we don’t spread the news about the Greatest Adoption? If we don’t give more than the meat we have – but give love that doesn’t stop and comes in whatever form it takes.

Love that keeps coming back to knock on that door you’re locked out of…

Love that offers to cook the meat and dish it out to everyone...

Love that sits down and helps a young single mom find resources to empower her to make her family thrive…

So, at the end of a hard day, and from the quiet of this empty cottage, I’m going to choose to find the hope. The possibilities.

We’re here to create hope.

We’re here to speak Family to the orphaned. To welcome them into the Family where they’ll never be orphaned again. To be His voice. The ambassador of His Family.

My right hand upholds you.

There’s more than enough for you, and I will never run out.

I am here for you. I desperately want you.

I will never forsake you.

The Kingdom is coming. The poor will inherit the earth.

You belong to me. I want you to be mine. I will never stop loving you.

Despite what I feel like after a day like today, Africa is not hopeless.

There is endless potential for hope to be released through this nation and the entire continent.

Today I got insight into how to love, how not to love and the atrocious lies the orphan spirit burns into hearts.

Hope is like Jell-O…

There’s always room for more.

Manicure of the Heart

She’s 22-years old with two-beating hearts and four extra hands and feet following her, reminding her that she’s not like the other girls in class. She doesn’t go home to do homework and hang out with friends. She goes home to do the wash and to expectant, hungry cries from the most beautiful and most needy little faces.

She made some choices and had to grow up fast, at least enough to turn off her own life to sustain another’s for 9 months. And once you’re the one who’s not in school and the one who has a baby, why not keep doing what grown-ups do? Even if it leads to 9 more months of growing, stretching and another sacrifice.

But she’s back for a re-do. She signed up to return to grade 9 at age 21, not totally sure if she would stick with it. But at least she would have something to do and a break from the kids and the chores.

What does redemption look like for a woman who is both a mother and a child? For a woman with a “used” mark on her body, holding her hand and strapped to her back? For a woman who’s been almost completely given up on by her family? To a woman who feels like she has to find family elsewhere – even creating her own?

Photo by Carly B

She still dreams like the young ladies she’ll start grade 10 with tomorrow. Prince Charming will come… Won’t he?

Zodwa is my African sister. I love her dearly. We’ve hit our share of cross-cultural, sisterly bumps along the unending road of relationship-building, but yesterday we took a turn.

Since I’ve known her, her kids have seen me as a parent. They are faster to call me "Mama" than her. She’s leaned on me, begged me for things, and hidden things from me like I was her parent too. She signed up to return to school upon my refusal to meet her material needs, insisting she was capable of earning nice things for herself if she got an education and a job. We even set goals with rewards to help her make it through each quarter of school. And each quarter, she created an amazing story of how she lost her report card on the way home from school.

In December, Zodwa proudly thrust piece of paper in my face and began dancing wildly at how she was going to get a special treat from me. She passed grade 9!

So yesterday, 2 days before grade 10 started, we waved goodbye to her two crying children, and I taught Zodwa what a manicure was. We went to a side of town she’s never seen, and she tried to play it cool. It was awesome. Almost an hour later, Princess Zodwa came out beaming… coolly… and trying not to stare at her purple fingernails.

Over a latte and a hot chocolate, I started pouring out my heart to her. I didn’t want her to leave with only her fingernails manicured. We were starting a year together, and we were going to make it count.

Dreaming into the future and Kingdom-sized hope is hard to come by in her culture…. So you are who your family says you are and live how your family lives. But we all have the invitation to live in the Kingdom culture.

And in the Kingdom culture, you are who your Family says you are and you live how your Family lives. In perfect love and full inheritance.

In Zodwa’s culture, if she were to find a husband, he would negotiate her labola, or dowry, with her family. She would be worth less cows because she has children.

In the culture of the Kingdom of God, we talk lamb instead of cow. And the worthy lamb, the Son of God, paid the full price for the full worth of His Bride. She can’t do a thing to change the value of the lamb that was slain, or the fact that He was slain for her bride price.

When I started talking to Zodwa about the new year, she rattled off an answer that would compare to marking “C” in a multiple choice pop quiz. “I want to make better marks in school and become a social worker one day.” I asked for more than that – for heart talk.

I read God’s word over her and the words of my TTH family and my church family to remind her who her Family says she is. And I told her that I wanted this year to be different for us.

I told her that this was a year for God to be who He says we are. I confessed that I get insecure and nervous living out this calling to impart the intimacy, teaching and gifts of a mother when I’ve never conceived a child. And I’m completely embarrassed and insecure that I don’t speak the local language. I typically feel inferior, unworthy and like I don’t do things right.

Then she started listening.

I told her I saw that she was different because, no matter what the other girls in school, or even at church, do in secret, her “secrets” recently turned 2- and 4-years old.

Something in our relationship changed when I told her that we were equals. That I’ve made as many mistakes as her. That I’ve got 5 years of sin and brokenness on her, and I’m sure she couldn’t catch up if she tried. And I told her that we were both made clean, the same kind of righteous in the same kind of family. 

Photo by Carly B

I listen to what people say about me and try to make it true, just like Zodwa.

More often than Zodwa

I try to fill in the holes in my heart by my own strength, just like Zodwa.

More often than Zodwa.

I try to earn my worth and author my identity, just like Zodwa.

More often than Zodwa.

So I spoke to both of us:

“Even now,’ declares the Lord, ‘return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning.’

Rend your heart and not your garments. Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love…

‘I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten…’

from Joel 2

I asked her again what she wanted for this year. This time she said, “This year I’m going to be clean. I’m going to be an adult.”

And she is. And she will.

Believe with me with her and for her.

It got me to thinking.

This year, I want to be clean. Because “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus…” (Rom 8:1) I want every part of me to live in freedom, so there’s more room for love to pour in and out.

And this year, I want to be an adult. Is there a higher pinnacle of spiritual maturity than being absolutely and completely childlike? With His kids. With Zodwa, with Nandi, with Lifa, with Baba Lifa, with the congregation of them I’ll speak to this Sunday, and one-on-one with the Living God in me.

 

Zodwa got manicured fingernails. I got a manicure of the heart. The buffing, trimming, polishing and shining in my spirit gave glimpse to a little more Truth, a little more authenticity, and a little more perspective on this perfect Family I live in.