I have spent this month in a home full of little monsters who return from school as if someone fed them four giant Pixie Stix with a side of Mountain Dew. And originally, even with all this energy, the kids spent as little time as possible with me. I do not speak their language and look half as cool as their friend with a split toe from climbing mango trees. This led me to stare at a nearby swing that I saw as a part of Heaven John forgot to write about. The swing meant avoiding twenty-something kids who saw through my façade of coolness. But then again, I do not believe Jesus had me go halfway across the world to bench myself on a rickety swing. After days spent sitting in my own sweat thanking God for loving these kids better than I do, I decided to give it a try and swing for the fences.
I engaged them, playing every game I know and creating new ones as time passed. I followed kids who went off by themselves to show love through my presence. Though I felt awkward, they grew to love it. My English class asked me to teach them and little boys fought to play tic tac toe with me. A group surrounded me as I drew fruits and vegetables and I quickly noticed the papers around me resembled a farmer's market. They noticed me and my special love that makes me better than cool, and I continue to seek them out to remind them what love feels like and show the depths of it.
There are a bunch of popular, edgy songs that Christians like that say "You don't relent." I do not speak Christianese fluently so I sneakily looked up what that meant one night after worship. It means God does not give up or back down. He chases me with His love when I run away and fights for my attention when my eye catches something shiny. He does not stare at a bench or sit around nursing a bruised ego. He does not quit when I decide He lacks coolness but fights to engage me and shows me his love and His presence. He does not decide to stop loving His children because they find "better" things to do. He loves relentlessly and I get to learn a little bit of what that looks at this orphanage in Cambodia.
Boom, Snap, Clap
Kia wrote sentences in English class.
Hin reading a storybook bible after children's church.
Deborah loves when you sing to her.
I love when she smiles.
A baby in a necklace. Hello Paul.
Fruits and Vegetables with Map
A contemporary panda for all you AOIIs out there. Thank you Map.
Commercial sex industry. You've probably heard of it. Thanks to the Passion Conference, Not For Sale, the Covering House in St. Louis, and other honorable organizations, terms like "modern slavery" and "sexual exploitation" have entered our vocabulary. When I heard that things such as these were occurring, my world was rocked. I read everything that I could get my hands on. I wanted to go there. I wanted to see with my eyes this place that 500,000 (yes, that's five-hundred thousand) foreign men visit each year to use prostituted women, one-third of which are minors.
Luckily, I didn't have to work too hard to get here. Jesus clearly loves prostitutes- He got attacked for befriending them, but continued to shower them with life-altering love and their true worth. And He brought me to Thailand on my World Race so I could do that, too.
I spent this month working at SHE (Self Help and Empowerment). This place is great, ya'll. It was the most powerful ministry site I have been at all year. The main goal of the organization is to offer women honorable jobs and a new life in exchange for leaving the commercial sex industry forever. Women can work at a hotel, become a teacher, start a business, help at SHE, whatever. They can live their dream as they intended when they left home for Phuket, the dream that was squashed when they were told they were too uneducated for the job. Unlucky for them, the Red Light District is always hiring.
So yeah, I spent a month hanging out with prostitutes. And so it goes:
I finish daytime ministry, eat dinner (surprise, more rice), and go through the process of transforming from looking like a missionary to a tourist. Shower, jewelry, makeup: Check. Clean-ish clothes: Check. Physically ready: Check. At 8 o'clock, we begin our hour of prayer and worship. My heart breaks for the girls, and so do the hearts of the 26 women around me. Tears fall. Prayers are lifted. We are broken and willing. We beg for God to move. 9 o'clock comes. Spiritually and emotionally ready: Check. I sit in the truck bed. Thirty minutes and I'll be there. I'll be walking down Bangla Road, giving it a little shout out from Jesus.
I can't avoid those bright lights. Flashing signs. With 120 open air bars, I don't know which to choose. I keep walking...
Past "Russian" women dancing in elevated glass boxes.
Past posters of sex thrown into my face... "No sir, thanks but no thanks, I do not want to go to a life sex show."
Past white men holding the hands of Thai women they have purchased, women they treat much differently than a wife or girlfriend.
Past topless women, some "ladyboys" who can legally be topless, some young ladies told to pull their tops down who bashfully try to cover their breasts with their long hair.
Past tourist families, even young children, watching a Red Light District in action.
Past women dressed seductively dancing on poles.
Past men drooling at them, slowing placing dollar bills up their not-much-different-than-panties shorts.
Past children who are up way past my bedtime, much less theirs. Children who are selling flowers- Little pieces of beauty amidst the chaos.
I sit down at one and grab a drink. "Coke on the rocks. No, I don't want alcohol. No, I don't want to buy you a drink. Can we play Connect 4? You think you're going to beat me? Girl, you're on." So I play and drink my Coke... I don't even like Coke. I fight for her attention. I make this stupid game that is used to ease the awkwardness and a language barrier between western men and Thai women to build a relationship. Yeah Satan, my God takes what you intend for bad evil uses it for good. How do you like them apples?
"Where are you from? How old are you? Do you have any children? A baby boy, I love baby boys! I call little kids nuggets... Is he a nugget? Wait, you don't get to see him? I'm so sorry. I bet he's handsome. I bet he loves his momma. Is your hair in the way? Here, don't hold your hair back, have my clip. I can do it for you. Gosh, you look so beautiful. You are beautiful. You are so worthy of any job that you want. Do you like your job? No? The men ask things of you that you don't like? Well, I think you're beautiful. You don't have to do anything to be my friend. You want to be my best friend? Duh, instant friendship. Best friends for life. I'll be back tomorrow, can I see you? Then maybe we can hang out? You have to dance on the bar? Well I must go also."
I hand her my money. $2.50 for a Coke? Whatever. It was worth it. As I walk away, her eyes catch mine. A smile. I smile back. Eyes lock. She feels it. You see, I look right through her to what she really is- A girl, just like me, who has a family, dreams, and bad hair days. She's just like me, except she's bound to this life. So she dances. And I walk. My God sets captives free. Sweet Jesus, break every chain off her.
Truck ride home, wash face, lay in bed, hum of fans. Sweet sleep, please come. But it doesn't. And I cannot stop thinking about her. Is she taking shots right now? Is someone touching her? Has she been bought for a price lower than a steak dinner? Do men see her like that- something that will "satisfy" their desires? I don't know what to do, so I pray. I take that thing that the Bible says changing things and go big with it. I pray big things and I believe big things. I don't want little things anymore. She needs big things, so I want big things. I want big things. The world needs big prayers, big love.
Ya'll, prostitution is a problem. Men are believing lies that causal sex with a woman will fulfill them, and women believe they are so unworthy that it is okay to sell their bodies even when they don't want to. Watch this video of a team that I was with that captures the essence of our ministry at SHE this month. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.
One of my goals this year was to seek the Lord's eyes and show ya'll what He was showing me. So along with the longer stories this month, here are some short snip-its of what I have seen and learned in Swaziland.
A Quick Mouthful of Information:
Swaziland is predicted to die out by 2050. The HIV/AIDs rate is over fifty percent for adults in their twenties, and over 15% of the population are said to be orphaned children.. Many children are cared for by a GoGo, or grandmother figure, whom they are not necessarily related to. Most of the GoGos that I have met are elderly, tired, and barely able to provide food for themself. Carepoints provide meals for children, and many walk long distances to receive the only meal of their day at this location. Some carepoints are only able to provide meals Monday thru Friday, meaning that some children go 72 hours without a meal on the weekend. I have even seen sweet children bring home part of their meals for their GoGo.
Before our ministry officially began, I went on a prayer walk with a couple of my teammates that led us past the church. I had the urge to go in and was greeted by this little monkey, who we call Moses, and this sweet princess Dama. I realized they responded with "yes" to everything that I said, so I thought I would help them speak life over themselves. "Jesus loves me." And they said their only response, "yes." "I am a beloved child of God." "Yes." "I am worthy." "Yes." "I am the daughter/son of the King." "Yes." After a while of this, I taught them the itsy bitsy spider.
This woman cooked at one of the carepoints and wore shoes that engulfed her little feet. I praise God that He provided shoes for her to travel in and am humbled that I have never had to wear shoes that do not fit me
The engagement and marriage process is a little different over here, which we realized when locals who ask the men on our team how much we cost. Kyle kindly told them that in America, we do not purchase women, we marry for love. The normal way to pay a dowry is with cows.
Granny Margaret, a sweet woman that I would visit twice weekly at a rehabilitation center for those with terminal diseases called the Hope House. Margaret is bedridden because of pain in her feet, but it really doesn't slow her down. She is one of the most joyful women that I have ever met and I was so incredibly encouraged every time that I got to visit her. The faith of those that I have seen at the Hope House is something that I pray to have myself.
The worst sign of abuse that I laid eyes on this month. The boy was not ashamed whatsoever when I got a picture of it- This is just normal. Abuse is such an accepted part of culture that it is difficult to imagine a way to change it if not from the inside.
Chests are for napping on. The children would fall asleep as soon as we arrived at the carepoint and we were instructed to wake them up for only two reasons: a meal and the time to head home.
Spelling words in a fourth grade textbook. Students begin studying English in kindergarten. This story is titled "No is a Complete Sentence" and highlighted a girl being raped by her uncle and sexual abuse laws. Locals have told us that physical and sexual abuse is a normal aspect of life here.
I met this child only once at the beginning of the month, but I was so encouraged by her. She is twelve years old and hopes to be a pastor. When I asked her about that, she said "People will listen to me because I know the truth." I have never met someone who so grasps the authority and responsibility that they have in Christ. She wanted to know an important verse so I taught her one that went well with her mission statement- John 8:32 "For then you shall know the truth, and the truth will set you free."
Truth on a t-shirt. What can I even say about that?
Ya'll should know this nugget, but this little one is precious Mercy. I met a social worker recently who said that the country doesn't really do adoptions or foster care, even domestically. (There was only one adoption of a Swazi child to an American in 2011.) That being said, Mercy is likely to end up in an orphanage that she will never have the chance to leave. Your prayers matter! Let's interecede for Mercy to beat the odds and find a forever family.
That's right, he got an Operation Christmas Child box!!!! It may be March, but they really get delivered and really change the attitude of a child. (While in Romania, I learned that a missionary couple used these boxes to break down barriers and become welcomed into the homes of the locals.) When my teammate Glenn asked him where the box came from, he had a one-word response: "Heaven."
Children like to play with hair, and African children especially like to play with hair that is different than theirs. They even asked me to cut my hair so that they could see my white head! During this afternoon, I was surrounded by 11 children who could not stop rubbing my skin and talking about how white it is. (Actually, my tan skin is orange but my pale legs are white! Way to make me self-conscious about my skirt tan, eh?) My favorite part of the afternoon was when a plane flew by and over half of the children ran after it pointing and screaming. So precious.
I am pretty sure that God gave me fingers so that I can teach precious children to count.
Food is a luxury that I am blessed to have. This purple mess was served at the carepoint and the kids couldn't even wait for it to cool to begin scooping it up with their fingers as a spoon. The carepoint meal that I saw most often was pop, a substance similar to grits, and beans.
Sometimes you just have to stop and take in God's glory. My team took a break from ministry on a Wednesday to spend some quality time together hiking a nearby mountain. It led to one of the best times I've had with God this month.
I'm counting this as my month recap blog. Next blog from Thailand!
I almost became a mother today. Not the "I'll babysit and we can pretend" type of mother. Not the "I'll tote my dog around and pretend he's real" mother. I almost became a mother. A real mother. A mother who provides physical needs, emotional support, adequate education, encouragement, and an upbringing in a home of unconditional love that points to Christ. I almost became a mother today. And honestly, if I could of, I would have a daughter in my arms right now. But I can't... because Swaziland's borders are closed for adoptions to Americans... because one American woman decided to "adopt" Swazi children and instead traffic them. So I sit here with spit up on my only "clean" shirt, heartbroken for my sweet little girl.
My amazing teammate Kayla and went to Manzini for fellowship this morning. Our travels were entertaining, our food was delicious, and our hearts were full. We walked to the hospital for visiting hours and sought who the Lord wanted us to visit. Kayla wanted to show me one of her favorite children, an abandoned little girl whose body is contorted due to a medical condition that cannot be identified here, cerebral palsy. She was so precious and lit up when she saw Kayla's eyes and I felt such joy for being able to witness that moment. But it was interrupted by crying. And it continued. And continued. No one in the ward was coming to comfort the child. So I picked her up and rocked her in my arms. Silence.
I have never felt so many eyes on me before. The type of staring that is so intentional that there is no need to look away when your eyes meet. Did I just pick up someone's baby? Am I offending them? Do they think that I'm some arrogant white girl coming in to fix all of their problems? Am I unwelcome here? It didn't matter. I refused to set her down. I cannot stand when a child cries seeking comfort and is consistently ignored. It may only be one fit, but one touch of love is enough for me.
A nurse passed by and I stopped her to inquire whether this was someone in the room's child. She only said one word: "Abandoned." I couldn't believe it. I just stared at Kayla. No IVs in her body, no scabies, not quarantined room for TB, no chart with treatment.Nothing. Someone had abandoned this perfect gift. I stopped her again, "What is her name?" And so nonchalantly, the answer: She doesn't have one. I couldn't believe it. I looked Kayla in the eyes and told her I would take this baby home if they let me. She looked straight back at me, in full faith that I was ready to become that child's mother.
You see, I had no doubts because I am confident that God will provide. I have no job, no savings account, not much of anything honestly, but I knew that God could provide me with everything that I needed- a job with a daycare, a crib, a truckload of diapers, and the list goes on and on. God always provides for His people. He may not give extra, but He gives exactly what you need- remember manna? And the whole lilies of the field talk in Matthew 6... Jesus says that you will have all that you need if you seek God's kingdom and His righteousness. I would say that making my life uncomfortable for an precious five month old orphan fits the bill.
I asked the nurse if there was a hospital social worker. I even went to find her office. But I resisted walking in because I knew the response- I'm American. I would have to leave without her. But I did leave her with something: A name. Mercy.
You see, I believe that God does not just tell us that we should love the poor, it's a requirement. James warns that it is not just enough to be a hearer of the Word, you have to be a doer also. I fear the Lord so I take this very seriously, and I know that seeing an abandoned baby and turning away is not enough.When we see the poor, lonely, the least of these, it is not enough to just wave and smile and pray that someone helps them. I'm someone. You're someone. We are the church. And we need to do something. I'm tired of seeing begging naked babies, abandoned children, and five year olds raising their younger siblings. I don't have all the answers, but we need to do something. The answer to the orphan problem in our world is the church body, not because we can do something about it, but because we are required to.
Please take in my chunky monkey Mercy. She sits in a crib all day so she hasn't gotten to learn to crawl yet, so give her and her chubby cheeks a break.
I continue to visit Mercy and have asked a missionary couple here to contact me when she has been found a family. Until then, please pray fervently for this social worker to find Mercy a home that loves Jesus and raises her up to be a righteous daughter of the king. Ask for God to speak to this social worker and her parents in big ways and that they will fear God and follow His lead
I recently sent this email to my parents and thought that it would be appropriate to share with all of you. I love ya'll so much. Enjoy!
Parents,
I feel like at this point in my travels, you may begin to think that I am crazy. You may begin to read blogs and wonder what your daughter with the bowl cut and Osh Kosh overalls has turned into. You may read things that are a little radical, a little crazy. Things that don't necessarily add up with an American mentality or with really any rationality. So this is your disclaimer. This is your warning.
But what it comes down to is this: Following our God is crazy. Since I was a little girl, I've been told all of these Bible stories that are crazy. I'm sure that Abraham thought it was a little crazy that God was asking Him to sacrifice his son that He promised to redeem the world through. I bet Noah thought it was a little crazy that God told him to build an ark for something like 120 years. "Hey Noah, there will be a storm in roughly 120 years, but you better start today. Happy building! PS The dimensions are to hold the animal kingdom." I bet Joshua thought it was kind of crazy that he was supposed to walk around Jericho once a day for six days and then seven times the seventh day and then when seven men blew ram's horns the wall would fall down. And when the Lord told Peter to walk on water? I'm sure that would come off as slightly insane.
My point is that God asks us to do things that look insane. He asks us to do things that are completely irrational and impossible. But with God, all things are possible. With God, we will be provided for... He provides for the lilies of the field and how much more He loves us because He made us in His image! Even in tough times, He will not leave us nor forsake us. These are His promises. And the more that I seek Him, the more that I try to link up with His heart, the more steps I take away from 'normalcy' and 'rationality' and the more I head to whimsy. And I like whimsy, because whimsy makes me need God a whole lot more.
Today, I almost became a mother. I picked up a crying baby in the hospital to find out that she was abandoned. She was found in the African bush. And she doesn't even have a name. Five months old and she doesn't know how to hold on to someone when they are holding her. And I sat there, and I looked in her sweet eyes, and I decided that I could be her mother. I would come home, ya'll would probably be very ticked at me, but God would provide. I was confident that He would provide me a job with a daycare. That He would provide the finances and medical care and strength and knowledge for me to be a mommy. That He tells us to care for the orphans and love the poor... I don't mean talk about loving them for hours, but actually giving up my life to be uncomfortable to do it. (Note: Jesus never talks about being comfortable. But He does say our work is not in vain.) If it was legal to sign paperwork, I would have a daughter right now. No pro con list needed. But instead I sit here with spit up on my shirt heartbroken because there is beloved daughter of the King sitting alone in a cradle with no one to love her. Because I'm an American I cannot adopt her, but I could give her a temporary name: Mercy. And when I think about her looking into my eyes while I fed her, I think about just how much she needed me and I felt so full. And I can only imagine how our Father in Heaven feels when we look that way in Him. I'm just like Mercy... tired, hungry for love, sitting in my own mess, just wanting to be held and loved. I can only imagine the joy that He feels to hold me in His arms and comfort me and guide me in life, knowing that one day I will finally understand.
So I will look a little bit crazy. I'll probably spend my grocery money on a woman who God tells me needs the food and eat rice and beans every meal for a week. I'll probably look a little crazy when I'm trying to live solely off of the money I will make at my minimum wage job (with $625 rent) because I know what little I can live off of and that the less I have, the more I'll need God. And I want to need Him. I don't want to get comfortable and forget. But I want to pray and ask and seek. I want to be radical.
All that I want in this life is to serve the Lord, and one day hear "Well done my good and faithful servant." That's it. No five year plan. No career goals. Nothing.Just doing my job, enjoying God's blessings each day, and serving Him recklessly. I know that I have enough. I know that a rich man getting into Heaven is like a camel going through the eye of a needle. And I want to be righteous. I want to be wise. I want to get in, and I want to spend my eternity worshipping and praising God. So here's your disclaimer. Here's your warning. Get ready for whimsy. Get ready for people to either praise me or make crazy eye movements when they hear what I'm doing. But just know it's for the Lord, it's out of humility, and it's a good kind of crazy.
I recently received an email from a parent about a family member being ill. Two sentences in, I began reading it out loud in an effort to feel less alone. But I did. I felt very alone, very far away, very disconnected. I knew I was not okay, my friends knew I was not okay, and gosh, everyone in the African fast food chain knew that the white girl with the bright eyes was not okay. For hours I sat there and I could not escape this heartbreak for my family. And I began to wonder if God was calling me home... If He only called me abroad for eight months and it was time for me to follow Him elsewhere. Wisdom told me that I needed more information and to seek direction.
Two days later, a few friends and I spent two hours taking public transportation into town to contact my family. Six AM in the Midwest is 2pm for Swaziland so we headed to Raleigh Fitkin Memorial Hospital (RFM) until the afternoon arrived. Earlier that week, we went into the children's ward and I was so blessed to visit the quarantined babies with tuberculosis. The ward looked like something out of a 1940's movie, but most of the children had parents accompanying them and everyone was surprisingly upbeat. As we reached the steps to split up, I felt an urgency to visit the women's ward and my friend Kristen and I headed that way.
Public transportation in Manzini. We walk thirty minutes down a dirt path to the side of a highway where we get picked up.... Sometimes we wait an hour before deciding to hitch a ride. This is the bus rink where we wait in line, sometimes over an hour, to grab a kombi home.
Children's Ward at RFM. One of my teammates missed the memo about not taking pictures and grabbed this shot. None of the children I visited with had preventive medications for pre-diagnosed conditions such as asthma or epilepsy, so they stayed in the hospital for IV treatment when things got out of control.
It was unlike anything that I have ever seen. There was a long hallway lined with small rooms of two patients. Women wearing only a blanket, completely motionless, terribly in pain, and skinnier than I've witnessed before. No call button, no television, no air conditioning, no janitorial staff, no nurse's pager number, no bedpan. Just two women, two IV's, and an open window providing little escape from the African heat. And God was leading us to one woman in one of these rooms.
That day we met Felicity, a lady about our age who had been in the hospital a week without a visitor. Her pain made communication difficult, but we learned that she has not been able to move her legs for a long while and has so much pain in her chest that she struggles to eat. When we told her that we came to be her friend, her eyes lit up and she weakly shook our hands. Kristen and I tried to make her as comfortable as possible by fixing her fan, getting her a new blanket, and playing worship music on Kristen's computer. We taped a note next to her bed simply to remind her that she is a beloved daughter of the King. And then I scooted my chain closer and placing my hand on her bed, asked her if she wanted to hold it.
And she did not let go for the next forty minutes.
In those moments, there was no place that I'd rather be. For the first time in days, my heartbreak was taken away and my heart was so full. Before leaving, we laid our hands on Felicity and interceded on her behalf. We asked boldly and with authority that if it was the Lord's will to heal her that He would do so. We prayed for peace and comfort for Felicity and that she would know just how much her Father in Heaven loves her... so much even to lead us there in that moment of that day to remind her of how special she is to Him. When we finished, she weakly whispered into my ear: "The God that you pray to is the provider. And He loves everybody."
Sometimes the simplest truths are exactly what we need to hear. I've reflected on those short sentences that Felicity gave to me for a week now: He is the provider, and He does love all. Because of this, I trust that if He wants me to continue to follow Him here, He will provide the peace, comfort, and strength that I need even though my heart leaps at the idea of returning home. I trust that He will love me through this struggle; even though being abroad is now more difficult, He will not leave me nor forsake me. Talk about provision- He has given me the eyes to see the quality of American medical care as a true miracle. And I can trust that He is providing for my family and showering them with His love. God brought me to Felicity's room not just so I could speak life into her, but so she could speak the truth into me. And if Felicity can trust, I can trust.
Please continue to pray for Felicity and my future visits to her at RFM.
Teaching Classes- Each day, we were given a few hours to teach enrichment courses for the boys at Beacon of Hope. My teammates poured so much into these classes and the boys enjoyed them each day. I taught an etiquette class focusing on handshakes, western eye contact, and table setting.
Soccer Tournament- My teammates had an awesome idea to start a soccer tournament with all of the boys and the staff. I have never seen anyone get so excited about anything in my life. The boys would spend the days where their teams did not play pretending to be newscasters, announcers, and cheerleaders.
Worship- I loved how honest and real worship was. It wasn't something just during church hours or that you needed a guitar for- All that the boys used were their voices and they worshiped while cutting grace with a machete, sitting outside their home, riding in the bus, etc. Worship is not simply reflective, it is often praise and claiming the promises in the Bible. For example, an upbeat song and dance repeating its only lyrics "When we pray, demons have to flee".
Beach Visit- We got to take most of the boys to the beach for the first time! Even though it was cold and misting, they ran out to the water and went wild. I can think of very few people from home who have never been to the beach, but these boys have lived within a few hours of it their whole lives and never have been able to afford the public transportation there.
Day in the Bush- I put up pictures about this before (please check that blog) but we traveled hours into the African bush to visit a school that one of the students attended until sixth grade, the age where schooling ends in most of Mozambique. We performed a VBS for the children before visiting David's home and being blessed by their family.
Struggles:
We had no running water for three days! Luckily we could afford drinking water and the boys lugged a few buckets for us so we could each have one bucket shower.
We were in the highest malaria concentration in all of Mozambique! Despite being sick, both malaria tests that I've taken have been negative.
It was so incredibly hot. The worst moment I can remember is trying to fall asleep at 10pm under a mosquito net in 93 degree heat.
Facts:
Marriage is so expensive that most couples begin their family years before they have saved up enough to be legally married.
A tank of gas costs about 200 USD. Yikes!
Many children cannot receive schooling past grade six. (Note: The quality of education in Mozambique is lower than a sixth grade education in the states.) Additional schooling is very expensive, selective, and is available only in large cities. Irony: You need a tenth grade education to attain most jobs.
There are so many students that schools run three times during the day: Timing is around 7-11am, 12-4pm, and 6-10pm.
You are blessed to eat three meals during the day. You are lucky to have rice, and mayonnaise is an absolute luxury.
What I'm Learning:
Food is a luxury. Though the foods that I am served often lack nutrition, I lick every last bit on my plate. I even eat the core of my apples now because I realize that most people I interact with have never been able to afford one. I know every day that three meals are available to me. I know that if I choose to skip a meal, another one will be available to me tomorrow. I even get to eat different things each day, rather than pop for every meal.
School is a gift. I have been given an amazing free education through college: Without cost to me, I have been placed into the 1% of people in the world who are college educated. Our boys who had finished their public education never learned multiplication: I was offered college level Calculus 1 and 2 in public high school. I am so grateful for how much favor I have had.
God is Showing Me:
He created me carefully and intentionally.
I don't need to work hard for God or stress about my growth. All that I need to do is be His and love Him and fruit will naturally come from my life.
The most important thing that I can do for those younger than me is raise them up into strong men and women of God.
When you're sitting in my seat, it is very easy to believe that you aren't doing very much... or even worse, that you're not doing enough. Not helping enough hurting people. Not showing enough love. Not changing the world enough. Not reading enough of the Bible. Not spending enough time reflecting on God's glory. Not doing enough to be worthy of the title of a missionary. Enough. Enough. Enough. I'm becoming quite sure that "enough" is Satan's favorite word.
Well, if you were literally sitting in my seat, you would be on a plastic chair overlooking the mountains of Swaziland. But before I welcome you into the next country, I need to share with you about the heart of Mozambique. I've shared one story of God's provision and God's calling, but ya'll, the heart of Mozambique is so, so good. It's a heart that shares: The people are so hospitable that it's like coming home. It's a heart that is joyful in all circumstances: They knew in their heart that all pleasure comes straight from the Lord. It's a heart that makes a community soccer ball and one extra shirt look like owning the Mall of America: All possessions are treated as gifts from our Father for provision. It's a heart that looks a lot like Jesus's heart: Come on in, there isn't much but take the clothes off my back, share my rice, and let me fill your cup with your Father's love.
When I left Mozambique, its heart spoke straight to mine and told me that I had done enough. I sat in a room with my teammates and blessings were poured upon me. Weeks later, I cannot get them out of my head. "Americans don't just have big buildings, they have big hearts." "You smile with your teeth! It tells me you enjoy life. Keep smiling for Jesus." "When you came, peace camp upon this place. Spiritual warfare was gone." And my favorite from a student, Jocque: "You show God's grace every day. I never thought that I would get to go to a place like Beacon of Hope. Did you ever think that you would be in Mozambique? No? That is proof that God is real."
During my month in Mozambique, I learned what it means to present my body as a living sacrifice (Romans 12:1). I was truly living on mission: My life was ministry in every waking moment, whether I was ministering to the boys, my contact, her children, the staff, my squadmates, my teammates, and even myself. My view of rest even changed. What a gift it is from the Lord to fall asleep anxiety free each night and wake up ready for what the next day brings! I began to realize that not only am I doing enough, but I am enough! It is so easy to compartmentalize your life: I can visualize my Lily agenda and my ministry, work, and school commitments on it. Maybe you even have something similarthat you use daily. But I challenge you to see ministry as something that you are doing with each breath, and ministry commitments as a time to do ministry alongside a designated group of people.
Mozambique took away my questions of 'enough' and taught me how to live, ya'll! How awesome is that? Praise the Lord!
This month, I got to live out every World Racer's dream- I got to go deep into the African bush! Our morning started at 4:30am when we rose for the three hour journey. To get there, our chapa (van) rode on a ferry and a macheted one-lane sand path. The boys sang praise songs and we arrived joyfully at the school. (Most schools around Mozambique only educate through the seventh grade.) The students brought their desk outside and we spent the morning under the tree with them singing, dancing, performing dramas, and talking about Jesus. We left them with some food and headed on a thirty minute walk to David's home, one of the boy's who attends Beacon of Hope. Once we arrived, we were blessed with an African fruit that tasted like a mix between an apple, orange, and banana. They even gave our contact a goat which road with us on the three hour ride home!
At the beginning of our time in Mozambique, Tropical Storm Dando came for a visit. The rain was unbelivable: I have never heard anything hit a tin roof so hard. The house was leaking, the electricity was sporatic, and you couldn't talk it was so loud. This happened day after day for almost a week. School was delayed for the boys- They couldn't even get to our house without being pelted by rain.
When we were able to get out of the house, what we saw was insane. Water was everywhere!!! Sewage tanks had overflowed and we couldn't walk off the property without hopping around it. (There aren't services here to take care of things like overflowing tanks.) A few of my teammates went to visit the boys house and couldn't believe what they saw: There was sewage in the boys courtyard and their living conditions weren't very good. We came together that night and prayed about their home and agreed to meet there the following day to pray for direction. Should we raise money for paint? Roofing? A pathway? So many options.
So we did. We went there and prayed. And when we went around and shared what we heard, we were surprised:
"They're fine."
"They have what they need."
"Speak life into them."
"Pray."
"All they need is me."
And then it hit me: I had been looking with the perspective of an American. I looked straight to the boy's home and wondered what could I do to make it better. What could I do to fix it. Luckily, Heaven's perspective is not anything like my perspective. God focuses on the boys, not their belongings- Heck, He provided those things for them! He sees those boys and thinks "Those are my sons. All they need is their Dad."
And when He spoke those things, I was so humbled. How good our God is that He created us to only need Him.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
