Something to Hold Onto & Something to Run Towards

As my time in South Africa was winding down, I was feeling less wanting to leave. I was afraid of coming home to a sense of “nothing.” I wanted to come home to “something.” Something of meaning to get me out of bed each day; something that builds into others and not just builds into me; something that doesn't feel like the same dreary circle month after month.

Sometimes seasons of nothing are needed. I needed to once again be stripped of everything I depended on to be reminded that only One is always dependable. But, it’s just a season and as our seasons change, so should we. I had gotten comfortable with nothing, when my Father is the God of everything. The wall of my Jericho didn't fall after the first few times around and like the spoiled child I am all too often, I plopped myself down and prided myself on defeat.

I specifically asked God to give me something sustaining to hold onto when I got home.

Later it was prayed over me that I wouldn't try to hold onto anything, but keep my hands open. I admit my heart got a little defensive. “Of course I’ll keep my hands open to you God… as long as you put something in them. I've learned how to let things go that you want to remove haven’t I?”  The problem wasn't in what I was asking, but the reason. The past (in this case what I’d lost) should never be a motive for a present or future blessing.

The following morning my new family prayed again before we said our final goodbyes. The words that stood out were that God would provide something to run towards. This time my heart replied, “Yes! Yes! That is what I am longing for.” I am ready to run (in a similar love/hate way I feel about real running) toward the best things - though the final destination is still being unraveled.  

This past weekend, I spent some time reflecting. There were places in my life I saw tremendous growth; amazed by the person I've become. I also recognized areas that are still a struggle. There were times I stepped out in faith and times I've let fear win. I doubt myself and then turn around and trip over my pride. I thought about old dreams I've buried and I’m finally starting to see new shoots emerging.

Somewhere in there, it hit me…

While the dreams hover on the horizon, God has also given me something to hold onto (with open hands of course) – each day’s gift. Like manna it falls fresh daily. Yesterday’s gift won’t be of any use today. Some days might be as simple as knowing He is for me.    

Whatever the route ahead brings, it will be hard and discouraging at times. I will need my friends and family to push me forward when I want to quit. There will also be times of celebration and great joy (maybe even dancing!) Jericho’s wall is going to fall. Time to claim some new land. 

Hard Days and Happy Meters

Six of us umlungus (white people) walked into the children’s ward of a state hospital in the afternoon. Four of us entered somewhat hesitantly as we had no framework of experience to know what to be prepared for. The other two, staff of Ten Thousand Homes, didn’t know yet how we would fare. Up the stairs past the drab colored walls that made it look even dirtier than it likely really was and through the door. The hall had the same dingy hue as if the light was somehow being pulled back outside instead of streaming in.

While the nurses and staff went about their work and a few children met my gaze with uncertain eyes, I ghosted my way past each room holding my breath as if my exhale might somehow disrupt the eerie quiet. At the end of the hall, a young girl sat in a chair. With a shy smile and a gentle touch, we found the doorway between our two worlds; no longer suffocated by the lonely ward, but breathing laughter and love. And other curious faces migrated over. 

Before arriving we learned that the hospital was designed to work on a sliding scale, but most of the families can’t afford to pay and therefore most of the patients receive free care. Visiting hours are short and strict, leaving some children alone for the duration of care as the parents are unable to take time off or get to the hospital during the day. In addition to visiting with the kids, it was equally important for us to encourage and appreciate the staff. Thankless jobs are often hard to do well. Since TTH has been visiting and thanking the staff, they have seen an improvement in the care provided.

 It was still emotionally taxing. In each moment, I focused on connecting, touching, loving, and praying over these small ones. The processing came later, and is still working from my heart out onto the page.

I stepped inside a room of boys. An external fixator and badly wounded leg was in juxtaposition of the smiling face looking back at me. He had a bunch of playing cards all over his bed. I remembered I knew the word for ‘king’ and picked up the card and said, “kosi.” A bigger smile. I gathered the cards (only about half a deck) and began to teach them the game of War. When the nurse came in to administer medication, I slipped out of her way. 

 A little thing in a crib, clutching a small stuffed elephant sat expressionless. Nothing engaged her. Nothing changed the indifference on her face. I picked the wounded bird up (it made no difference to her). Her gown, robe and bed were drenched in urine. My own shirt was getting damp, such a small inconvenience. Then a woman stood in the doorway and the little bird’s spirit came to life. Reaching out her arms to the woman, finally a smiling light in her eyes… “Mama!”

Two times burned with scalding water, another baby slept in bandages and charred skin. In yet another room, a young boy slept, body contorted in obvious pain. How does one pray? What words can one use other than a deep groan? In a quiet moment alone standing bed side, a collision of horrific love and beautiful sorrow threatened to overwhelm. I sank to my knees on the holy ground of the hospital floor.

A good party always attracts a crowd. By the time we left, us four umlungus had congregated in one room along with the children that could get out of bed. There was jumping and hand-clapping, Eskimo kisses and chipmunk noises. Best of all squeals of delight and laughter.

A hard day for my heart, but awed by love. Not understanding, yet knowing God is still good. We didn’t change the world that afternoon, but the value of every smile (ours included) is priceless. As we walked out the door, the hall behind us felt brighter with the light of just a bit of joy.

Some days came heavy, but others were lighthearted. Life balances both everywhere.

While I enjoyed our day in Krueger Park, the following day was even better. Brett and Wendy (staff at TTH and now precious friends) took Kevin and me out for the day to some of their favorite spots. The beauty of the relationships was just as spectacular as the views.

The day kicked off officially with breakfast at the infamous Harrie’s for pancakes. These are not your ordinary pancakes. We each ordered a ‘meal’ pancake (mine, sticky pork with peaches and spring onions) and a dessert one (dark chocolate mousse). I’m not sure I’ve ever tasted something so good.  When Kevin asked Wendy what her milk tart custard was, I naturally reached over and took a forkful off her plate for him to taste and smiling at her said, “It’s okay, we’re family.” Then I took another bite for myself.

We had become family, offering our real selves to each other, quirks and all. My heart felt safe, alive and at home. We weren’t a “team” being entertained, we belonged.



God’s Window looked out over a vast expanse all the way to Mozambique, so they say but I couldn’t see the welcome sign. In the rain forest, we pretended to be wild animals we didn’t see in Krueger and we cheered on the people huffing their way up the path. While Kevin and I practiced our bargaining skills to acquire souvenirs, Brett appreciated the classic cars and Wendy… well… A bus load of African woman was having a party in the parking lot. When Y-tjukutja started blasting from the bus, like a moth to a flame Wendy was drawn in. The white woman started busting loose right in their midst. They hooted and hollered, took photos and video, shook and gyrated right beside her. Like I said, a good party always attracts a crowd. Kevin and I watched in amazement and laughed our a**es off. 

We had just enough time to squeeze in one more waterfall. I had just enough time left to free fall over the edge of my own fears. Truth took it's brave dive. I spoke, she listened. The words fell and then disappeared into surrounding moments like ripples. There was nothing to mark the moment as significant, but I believe heaven was applauding for us both. The words continue to humble me, the transparency encourages me and the freedom inspires me.

I used to say that my happy meter was broken; it hardly ever went above 80%. It was hard to truly let go and embrace experiences instead of waiting for disappointment to follow. That has been changing. Headed back towards home as the African sun sank towards the horizon, my joy could not be contained. Surrounded by beauty both in landscape and company, my happy meter hit 100% and busted for good.

God had more. Perhaps 100% was a limit too low for such a great God.

I went to dinner with Kacy (another TTH staffer) anticipating conversation to be about singleness and love of children as our most obvious connection. I spared her my harder questions and simply asked her story. She shared the basics of her life journey like a well-rehearsed script. When asked to reciprocate, for a moment I felt my story wasn’t important enough to tell. My life came out in spits and starts it seemed. Little steps of faith soon became dares to take bigger leaps. Doesn't God know I'm afraid of heights? Dreams once again pressed against the dam of my heart to be loosed. I wasn’t sure I was making any sense, but the walls were down, left open from earlier in the day. Once again my ashes brought something and someone beautiful into my life. A silent barrier dissipated into a knowing that someone else understands. 

Basking in exquisite grace, we arrived back at base and the joy I felt was more than my body seemed able to contain. I think if I had tried, I would have been able to fly…

Rebuilding Broken Hope

There is so much I could share about my time in South Africa. I am treasuring so many moments in my heart that it’s bursting in overwhelmed amazement and gratitude. In the brilliant words of Kevin, I can honestly say:

I am thankful for blessings disguised as hardships.

Recently my life felt like a desert journey. Day in and day out, trudging through barren wasteland looking for hope on the horizon. When I left for Romania last fall, I was anticipating something great to happen… that God was leading me there for something new. I went and came back, and nothing appeared to have changed. 

HOPE was disappointed and broken.

Photo Credit: Kevin Kollar

But God…

In Romania, I met a South African couple who recommended Ten Thousand Homes (TTH) ministry for Kevin and I to serve with. Are you catching this? God put South Africans in Romania, and sent me to Romania in order to send Kevin and I to South Africa, where God was waiting with eager anticipation to pour out His love on us and through us. 

HOPE was dawning on the horizon.

We had many opportunities to experience what TTH does to lay foundations of hope in the communities surrounding it. After school programs allow the children a chance to just play, get a meal and most importantly to be known and loved. Relationships are built with and between parents and volunteers breaking down the walls of independence and mistrust. 

Building a community of HOPE.

We saw the desert soul first hand when meeting a woman whose dream was for someone else to raise her children. Two of her babies were sick and appeared as if she had just been crying. The youngest, just shy of a year old was the size of 5 month old. After an emotionally hard home visit, with hurting heart Kacy said about her friend, “She’s so broken.” 

Holding onto HOPE for the weary.

I stood on a hillside by a waterfall and let the dry cracked ground of my own heart be watered. I sat across the table as transparency overcame acceptability. Sharing how my broken was being rebuilt, God gave me a front row seat to watch truth bring light to some dark corners in the lives of my beautiful new sisters.

Carrying HOPE to the kingdom.

I am so thankful that we serve a God who loves to rebuild the broken, whether in Mbonsweni or Michigan. Perhaps I am drawn to Africa, because they too are a people on a desert journey. Yet, oases of dreams are being discovered. Love is coming up out of the dry ground.

The beauty of hope is no more vibrant 

than when it blooms in barrenness. 

Dead and Wasted

These thoughts have been rumbling around in my head for a couple weeks now. Much of it comes from books, music, and conversation all continuing to teach me to ask an important question.

IS GOD'S GLORY BEING SATISFIED THROUGH ME?

Not, am I being satisfied by what He allows me to have. Not, am I satisfying Him by what I am trying to do for His glory. But... Am I allowing God to satisfy Himself through me? And what does that look like?

This year I joking said I was giving up "trying" for Lent. The joking part was that I gave it up for Lent. I want to give it up forever. I knew what I meant on an emotional and mental level, but I wasn't sure how to quite put it into words for others to understand. It didn't mean I was going to give up trying to be healthy, or trying new things, or even trying to make good decisions. I gave up trying to be what I thought God (and in many ways others too) wanted me to be and instead let God actually DO through me. 

If I don't die, then there cannot be any resurrection life in me. Mostly dead (yay Princess Bride reference!) still means somewhat alive. If I am somewhat alive I only need resuscitation, not resurrection. Why would I want to bring back to life the flesh in me which can only keep trying and failing?

I heard recently of a christian who was feeling convicted in her relationship as they had crossed some lines. She realized that she had been making choices that slowly led her away from keeping her heart and mind centered on Christ. So, she confessed and surrendered her life back to God including the relationship she was in. Shortly after this, the man proposed to her. She was ecstatic as she felt God had returned her relationship to her and made it better because she willingly surrendered it. I'm not saying that isn't true. God is a good Father who loves to bless us, but my own personal experience of surrender has been different. 

At times, I have begged and pleaded for the things my heart desires. The bible says "you have not because you ask not." Well, I've asked. Other times, I've taken things into my own hands. God helps those who help themselves, right? (btw... that option never worked out well). I've gone through the motions of surrendering in hopes that God would then bless me. No such luck. Until finally, I stopped all that trying and really surrendered it all. (I'm sure I'll have to come back to this place again and again, perhaps even before the end of the day). Until He is my single desire, I'm still trying to stay partly alive.      

I can't help but wonder how often we surrender something and the enemy flashes a mirrored reflection of our own desires back into our face and we are deceived into thinking it's God's desire for us? How DO we tell the difference?

Do you know what is universal about dead people? They don't care about what might happen to them.

I want to live like I'm dead, so Christ's death can become my life.

The last chapter of Watchman Nee's book The Normal Christian Life focuses on the story of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus just prior to his crucifixion. It is here we are taught to ask "Is God being satisfied?" Mary didn't care about the monetary worth of the perfume, she only knew it was the best she had, her earthly treasure and she spent it all on the One who was worthy of it all. The disciples appeared to have watched the scene seeing all the could have "been doing" with the earthly value of the perfume. "Oh... think of all we could have done for the poor. What a waste!" Jesus was more satisfied with Mary's actions then the disciples response. What satisfied God's glory the most in that moment was His Son being prepared for burial through treasure that appeared to be wasted. 

Oh to be wasted for God's glory! 

As these thoughts were coming together, one thing that struck me was that Mary had to break the box in order to get to the perfume. The alabaster box probably wasn't anything special, just the container for the treasure... yet it too became waste in the process. Jesus didn't miraculously unseal the box so Mary could pour out the perfume, although He certainly could have. Nor did he replace the perfume so she would still have something to fall back on if times got hard. He could have done that too. Mary was left empty handed for a time. 

God did fill her empty hands with blessing for her act of surrendered worship. Mark 14:8 says "She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial." (emphasis mine) Mary was one of the women who went to the tomb to anoint the body of Christ. She already had and was the only one who would because He had risen. Who was the first to see the resurrected Christ? She was. She surrendered. She poured out. She was willing to be wasted. She desired to satisfy Him. She was the first to experience the blessing returned for her surrender... Resurrection! 

Our surrender is answered with resurrection not resuscitation. 

My prayer continues to be "I want to live like I'm dead, so Christ's death can become my life."

IS MY LIFE WASTED FOR GOD TO BE SATISFIED?

"You weren't there the night He found me

You did not feel what I felt

When he wrapped his love all around me and

You don't know the cost of the oil

In my alabaster box."

(CeCe Winans Alabaster Box)

Everyone want to be free, but...

"Everyone wants to be free from their Egypt. But few want to be delivered from their wilderness."

Those Israelities were ready to get away from those Eygptian taskmasters. No one likes being a slave. So much so, they didn't even think or care about what was on the other side of that sea. They would be free!

Fast forward a bit and there they are wandering in the desert; content with life (except when it doesn't go the way they want). God is ready to fulfill his promise and complete their journey of freedom. Except.... well.... wait, maybe we misinterpreted....

"Everyone wanted to give up making bricks, but who wanted to give up free food and water in the wilderness?"

 

They left Egypt without a care other than getting out. They crossed a sea! God provided again and again. Now... they had doubts about crossing a river, about what was on the other side, and how they might have to provide for themselves.

And here we are, with wisdom and understanding (so we think) looking back and wondering how those ungrateful, clueless Israelities didn't get it. How could they not trust? Yet, we too often flee our Egypt and then make permanent camp in the wilderness.

"The problem is that you left what you openly hated and despised when you went out of Egypt, but now you must leave what you secretly love, what you secretly crave, in order to enter the Promised Land... We all want to be free from drugs, but who wants to be free from gossip or lying or lust or envy? We all want to have our lives changed, but not so far as to give up anger or bitterness or revenge."

Maybe you are like me and read that and deny it... for a minute before it sinks in that you too have been stuck in the wilderness. The beauty of grace is that I can pack up my tent and cross the river right now. It doesn't matter how long I've been in the wilderness, hanging on to the things I thought were comfortable.

"Everyone wants to be free from their Egypt. But few want to be delivered from their wilderness."

I want to be one of the few.

The excerpts from this post were taken from the book Romancing the Divine by Don Nori. Reading this book feels like looking into the eyes of God and really seeing His love. Check it out here.

Trip of a Lifetime

I've gone on several mission trips now, but the one I am planning next just may be the one I am looking foward to and will remember the most.

Two years ago, my cousin Kevin told me that he was interested in going to Africa with me the next time I went. As he is graduating from high school this spring, what better gift than making that dream come true.

I asked him what his dream of going to Africa looked like so I could plan the best trip. He told me he wanted to see animals on safari, but he also wanted to do something to help as well. Then he said we should go somewhere I haven't been before so we can experience it together. He has one of the sweetest hearts I know.

I began the search for places to go and organizations to volunteer at. Ironically, it was in Romania that I was recommended what sounded like the perfect senario for Kevin and I.

So this May, we will be headed to South Africa for two weeks. Partnering with Ten Thousand Homes, we will likely help with construction projects, serve food, and love on lots of children. The cost of the trip will be around $6000 for both of us. I believe God will provide exactly what is needed, but the first $3000 raised will go towards Kevin's half of the trip.

If you would like to be a part of this trip of a lifetime for Kevin and I, and encourage Kevin's faith before we even leave American soil here's the info.

Mail a check (email me at canarygyrl@gmail.com for the address)

OR

Make an online donation here:

Cultivating Hearts of Hope

I wanted to save the best for last, but I didn’t realize it would take me almost a month to get it written. Just like everything else about this trip. GOD KNEW. He knew I would need some hindsight perspective to really appreciate my time in Romania.

In the village of Caramidari, Outstreched Hands has an amazing place called the Hope Center. This area is the most impoverished of the areas OH is working in. The children are often not cared for properly at home. The cycle of poverty and lack of education continues generation to generation.
 
I was fortunate to spend several of my days helping out here. The Hope Center provides kindergarten classes, a homework club, and weekly children ministry to the local children in addition to many other services for the families. In reality, they do so much more than can be outwardly measured. They instill dreams into hearts. They provide a foundation of encouragement and being believed in to stand tall on. It truly is a center where hope is cultivated.

On my first day in Romania, I was brought to the Hope Center. The kindergarten classes were in session and while I wanted to peek in and check them out, I was afraid of being a distraction. Instead, I was given a tour and learned that the Hope Center is constructed out of 45-foot shipping containers! I spent most of the rest of the day in the kitchen, trying to help where I could but also I admit hiding a bit as I didn’t quite know what to do. Around noon the older kids trickled in as the younger kids were being picked up. Lunch was served – fettuccini noodles with feta cheese. Occasionally, one of the kids would say something or ask me something (I couldn’t tell which). I used my best facial expressions and hand signals to communicate that I didn’t understand. One sweet girl came to the window and said something. I turned to get Amber and she said the girl likely wanted a hug. So I came out of the kitchen and she gave me a huge hug! She was my welcoming angel I think.

As I mentioned, I wasn’t quite sure what I should be doing so I was a bit hesitant to interact with the kids that first day. So I mostly observed, catching glances every now and then and offering smiles, especially to those little boys with long eyelashes. Melt my heart! Bringing out the camera also helps initiate interaction. Some of the kids were a little aggressive and unwilling to except no for an answer, so the camera was put away fairly quickly but the ice was broken. By the end of the day a few of the kids had already grabbed onto pieces of my heart.

 

The next time I visited the Hope Center, I was far less jet-lagged and ready to dive in. This time I would be sitting in on Carmen’s kindergarten class. The kids were like any other kids, guessing at answers, wanting the teachers approval, and full of so much energy. The lesson was all about autumn fruits. In some ways I felt like I was in the class too… learning Romanian words for fruits. (Grape sounds a lot like strudel, but with a g instead of a d.) I even got to do the craft project and have it hung on the wall with the rest!

 

In the afternoon, the older kids come in from school for homework club. They have lunch and a little time to play before settling down to get their work done. For Halloween the announcement was made that homework didn’t have to be worked on. After a half hour of play several of the kids asked if they could do homework!



Two of the girls were very behind in their 2nd grade class. I was asked to help them practice their letters and basic reading by matching some flash cards – letters to words that started with that letter. Because the words were written on the cards along with pictures I didn’t need to know Romanian. The girls took turns and in the process I learned a few more words. Once the deck was complete, another girl came over and began to quiz me on the words. I would attempt to sound out the word on the card and give my best guess. Then she would say the word right and I would repeat it. I (actually) really enjoyed it. I still remember a couple words too!

On the my last morning at the Hope Center I was asked to help give some of the older girls lice treatment. Sadly I learned that one of the girls was “less favored”. While her mom would praise her sister for her beauty and take time to do her hair, this girl was ignored. Lice and fleas are common issues with these kids. We began lathering up the first two girls, and surprisingly the other two girls wanted to make sure they wouldn’t miss out on the fun. I suppose to them it was like going to a salon.

 

Flori is absolutely adorable. She was one of the ones that wanted to do her homework on the day of no homework. She had a card with words printed on it (words like ma and mama), which she was to write in cursive. I sat with her to help if needed. She would first sound out the word and then as she spoke the word she would look up with those beautiful eyes for approval. When I nodded, she grinned. Then she would write it out. About halfway through she wrote a lower case M instead of an uppercase one. I tried pointing it out to her. Showing her the uppercase on the card and then the lowercase on her paper. She just kept telling me the name of the letter. So I asked Vali to explain to her that it needed to be an uppercase M. She still thought I just wanted the name of the letter. Finally, she looked up at me and back at the paper and said, “Oh!” Then proceeded to write a cursive uppercase A. Oops! She quickly corrected it to an M.


Georgetta was the bossy type who didn’t like no for an answer and quite independent. She was still a young girl wanting attention. I was more than glad to give her some, just not my camera to run around with. Georgetta’s greatest fascination with me had to do with the fillings in my teeth. These kids likely don’t even know how to brush their teeth. For two days she constantly asked me to open my mouth and gaze in with wonder and laughter, wanting to point it out to anyone else nearby. Finally, I asked Carmen to explain it to them. The response was a unified, “Oooh.”

The Hope Center was recently provided with an Xbox Kinect. On Wednesday afternoon all the kids were seated along the wall for a rousing game of bowling. The kids were all supportive of each other, cheering when their friends did well and sympathizing when they didn’t. It came to Carmen’s turn. The kids started to chant her name. From then on the cheer of name chants continued. I don’t care how old someone is, the sound of people genuinely rooting for you feels good. And even in a meaningless game of xbox bowling inspires you to try a little harder. I think I had my two best consecutive frames of bowling ever (you might think I’m exaggerating, but I once lost to a blind person).

I was glad to spend my last day in Romania at the Hope Center, to gather some last hugs and photos from my favorites. It was time to leave and some of my girls were still finishing up homework. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, so I poked my head in the door. Vali told the girls I was heading back to the States. They all jumped up and bear hugged me, saying goodbye and they loved me, too.

Realistically, I will likely become just another face passing through to them. To me, they are treasured children. Children I hold in my heart, little reminders of God’s love for all of us.