My husband just packed the truck full with the little bit of furniture we have. The pink desk. Our lopsided shelves.
Now the china bowl from Zanzibar with the crack in it that I love because she said it reminded her of us, is empty on the floor.
I remind myself that change is good. Change means progress. But my heart, she is stubborn.
I do not have much predictability in this life. Things are never stable on this adventure in Africa, but I'd become attached to this space. This constant, in a universe of alterations. I always have to remain flexible here. If the rains don't come....if the rains do come.
There are never any certainties.
I think of how often our women must feel that. Don't know where the next meal will come from for their children, or how long they might have to live. Their pain cuts a little deeper than mine.
So when we are sick, we pray. And where there is no hope, we see hope.
And when the heart is broken, we sing.
Because I know only this: that He is working for my good. Our good.
I know it will be better. But how to let go of the good for the better? The sacrifice squeezes my heart.
Risk is a rickety bridge towards trust. Sometimes we get a little too comfortable.
We forget how to leap. And belief the biggest risk of all.
Sometimes He has to teach us again.
But what is a home really? These paint and boards don't define me. They don't make me my own.
If I make my heart His home, then Home is wherever He is. And wherever I go.
Then wherever I go, there must be a miracle about to break forth.
Give thanks for the morning sunrise I'm well enough to see. Give thanks for the husband still warm in bed, his arm over his head in dreams.
Some days we give thanks because we don't know what else to do. Because if we truly look we can see the gems shimmering through the mud and the mess.
I slip out into the cool of the morning before the day's heat drenches my shirt, and give thanks for that breeze and early stillness.
The doc says I have malaria/and/or food poisoning which is less than reassuring with all the slashes.
Africa wins again.
I made it to the office. I so want to teach my counseling seminar because the healing,
the lifting of unburdened heads,
the symphony of song, is what I love. What I live for here.
Unbroken wings.
By mid-day I can feel the fever coming back, the sweat at my temples. I want to push through this thing. I want to be strong enough.
Father gently says it's time to go home.
Some things can feel like failures. Business ventures not turned out quite like expected. The dream trip to Italy postponed because its not what he needs right now.
Being sick in bed. Our body betraying us. The unanswered questions.
Like all the seeds planted still waiting for fruit. Or as in my case, a tiny sprig of lettuce.
We don't get the why's all the time.
Don't understand the losses.
The little girl selling herself for food, when she should be playing with dolls.
The unexpected deaths.
The friends far away.
The waiting for a miracle.
The bombs going off in Congo.
I come across the contradictions. And wince.
Want to take them all in, but can't. Want to do it all, but can't.
May have to move out of our home of three years, because it's the best decision to be made.
Choosing something new and unknown.
These things cut quick and scary.
But it's not so scary anymore. My life all wrapped up in His.
The dark, an opportunity, for light.
The hurt, a gateway, for healing.
The ruins, a road to redemption.
The leaving, a beginning.
One door opens another.
Only a choice:
Choose thanks
Choose love
Choose belief
Choose laughter
Choose rest
and His arms
When we're not strong enough a sliver, to see that He is. He is strong enough. He is good enough.
So, when I'm not strong enough, my Daddy is.
He paints the world a new color.
Little Lucy who once was strangled, gets to come home and be a daughter.
The broken hearted sing.
A prayer gets answered.
She'll wear my wedding dress in June.
When the world goes dark, there is still a ring of fire.
Sometimes things get ugly. These babes of mine, they fight.
And no I'm not just talking about my 5, 6, 7, and 8 year olds, but my grown women.
Sometimes my friends here laugh at me and say how can I be a mama and a grandma (yes, it's true—baby Dominion is in full effect!) to so many and have not yet birthed a baby from my own womb. Then they tell me I have to have my own baby. And then I tell them....I've got my hands pretty full already!
The mystery startles me too.
I'm a mother.
And a mom has to be a mediator, above all. I envy the wisdom of mothers who can do this.
I am still tongue-tied and leaning.
The accusations come. The stories from both sides. The pointing of fingers. I struggle with how to relate to the sin and the hurt and the wounds they inflict on each other.
I want to bribe them with candy.
But that doesn't really work on adults.
I go through all my possible options in my mind---discipline, correction. But none if it feels quite right.
How to change a behavior that flows black and thick from the heart.
If the heart can't change, the behavior can't change.
These women of mine grown blue and maroon from the pummel of fists, taken and ravaged with the disease of some man's mistake, children pulling at their ankles. It is hard. I get where they come from.
And where they are.
And where they are going.
Sometimes the sacred is here too.
My daughter of mine, she is hurting. I can see it in her eyes. The longing to be declared innocent.
A heavy-winged thing. The hurt and the hope.
Will I come to her rescue?
Is there any justice in this world of ours?
And I hear Jesus' words ring:
“Where are your accusers? Didn't even one of them condemn you? Neither do I. Go and sin no more.”
The release of this grace, like a prison door sprung open.
Undeserved favor.
“Kindness also, working by the law of love, has often changed the most unworthy, and therein proved that it is not a factor of evil.” -Charles Spurgeon-
It is HIS kindness which leads us into repentance.
Always the father/mother welcoming the son/daughter home.
At the end of it all, I hold her.
And she says, “God bless you.”
And I know that grace, that love, is the only answer to this problem of our hearts.
The goodness of God slips stealing and steady into her heart and I know she will come home.
Is there somewhere where you can spare a little grace today?
"The only counter force against sin is grace; so my text tells us, and we may learn the same truth from a hundred texts besides." -Charles Spurgeon
For some reason, before this year, I had never actually watched the African Queen. Which seems absurd from someone who spends most of her time in East Africa. I decided on my sabbatical that this was a wrong which needed to be righted. What struck me most was the determination of Catherine Hepburn. She had a dream and she was going to hold tight to it, no matter what storm or marsh or rapids she had to face. I spend my life so close to the Nile which that tiny boat traversed down. It reminded me of the wonder in it all. Of the adventure of living this raw, simple life.
Last month I spent sitting in a snowy refuge watching the icicles suspend from the roof of my retreat. And this month, I returned to my beloved town, which has changed in my absence, my town born of dust and dirt.
And heat.
I spend a day cleaning the dust from the clothes and shelves. 3 months worth of absence. Dry season here, and yet me, so full of hope.
Because this is home.
This place where if you eat the wrong thing you might poop on yourself---yes, this is it. And when people ask me why I love it, the only thing I can say is because it makes me desperate and clinging to my Father for fresh bread every day.
Things are different here. The girls have grown 2 inches overnight, I have two American volunteers, one who is my Assistant (whoohoo!) I have staff that have left and new staff that have joined us. More women who needs jobs, more children who need a home. There are holes which need to be filled. The need for healing which seems ever more present around me.
But then there are the blessings.
Our women have grown and changed. A team has come to encourage us.
We walk through the narrow, muddy slums to the women's houses to pray. It takes us many hours to reach them all but we do it with joy because the reality has gone deep into our bones. Whatever we do for them, we are doing for Jesus. The team washes their feet. And I want to cry at the extravagance of love.
The women open up and are vulnerable and reveal to us the secret things which require prayer.
So much in their lives which could leave them hopeless:
AIDS
Abuse
Broken relationships
Sick children
Not enough school fees
And yet the smile when I greet them in the morning at work says they still believe.
Elizabeth, one of our Imani women, has taken 4 children into her home which are not hers. She cares for them as a mother.
These are the beautiful ripples of love lived out and given away. As it's been received. These women are my African Queen's. Strong. And they keep fighting.
What remains the same is the relationships and the love between us. It is not about numbers or results for us. It is about the woman or child in front of us, who needs love.
I find that the burdens are so much easier to bear, because Jesus is carrying them and I am letting him.
The mornings before the sun rises is hallowed ground.
There are still budgets, and deadlines, and too many people to meet with for 3 hours, and children to hug, and people to be encouraged, and hospital trips to make, but I find my orientation to it all has changed.
My Father gives me this piece of bread to give away for today.
He meets with me today. There is enough faith for this mountain today.
Enough gold He puts in me for today. So I can give it away.
And tomorrow, tomorrow will take care of itself.
I can enjoy this journey down the Nile into the heart of the unknown, with a mission and a dream.
Because after all, there is always a Rescuer.
**We would like to say a special thank you to all of you who gave towards our Van. God provided all the $20,000 we needed through people like you! We are overwhelmed with gratitude for this supernatural provision.
**You can still sponsor an Imani woman for only $25 a month a receive a free necklace in the mail.
"and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair." Isaiah 61:3
Most of you know I love *LOVE,* I love weddings, wedding dresses, flowers, and yes, even Valentine's Day! This year, I want to do something that I am REALLY excited about! Something special I have been dreaming about for a long time and I want to give you an opportunity to share in my joy!
Most girls dream of their wedding day and plan it down to every last detail. Women in Uganda often do not get this opportunity. Weddings are very expensive, as are wedding gowns. Most women end up cohabitating to avoid these costs. As many of you know, I work with women/girls who have been sex-trafficked, abused, raped, discarded, and abandoned.
Most of them never dream they will actually have a wedding day. Or a man who loves them. When I took my first group of child mothers/child soldiers into a HOME, one thing we prayed for and dreamed for, is that someday they would get married.
This year I have several of them who will have that dream, and will enter a covenant marriage with a man who loves them. For a woman with a difficult past, this is a huge dream come true.
We can bestow beauty and praise upon her, instead of a spirit of despair.
I want to make that day as special as possible.
The beautiful thing is we have a team of 12 from Alethia Church in Harrisonburg, coming over to Uganda this March and they can carry extra supplies for us! I'm asking that you send those wedding dresses you hold so dear that are sitting in your closets, or those bridesmaid dresses you've been wanting to get rid of to us----- so that we can make a girl's dream come true!
Please send
Wedding dresses (in good condition--larger sizes especially wanted)
Veils
Wedding shoes, accessories
Bridesmaid dressesto: Zion Project 4729 Palmer Rd, Massanutten, VA 22840 by UPS or Fed ex only- no USPS by February 25th.
I've also dreamed with Pst Ron & Joy for a long time that we would have a MASS WEDDING in Gulu to marry all those people who don't want to cohabitate, but truly want to enter into a COMMITMENT of marriage. We have many women who've been sex-trafficked or left the sex industry to start a new life and they want to have a covenant marriage, but cannot afford it.
You can help them!
We're even hoping we can turn this into a little boutique or business for some of our women to run! Yeah when we dream, we dream BIG! :)
If you would like to contribute to this dream please consider giving Zion Project a donation:
I often wonder how Jesus felt after he came down from the mountain.
The scripture is full of places where Jesus “slipped away into the hills,” and I've known the weight of why He did that. The sea of faces. The hands outstretched. The need. Ever growing.
How did He feel when He came from being face to face with His Father, back to the life of human need. And demands.
This is the hard part about meeting with God. It is so good. So good you never want to leave. And yet the world is waiting for you to offer them a piece of bread.
Or send them tax-deductible receipts.
Whether I am back home in Uganda, or in the USA, the need is always there.
How to meet with God in the middle of “real” life. When the only real life I've felt is resting in His arms.
So I stop for a moment from licking a pile of envelopes.
The sun dips low and orange past the mountains, setting them ablaze.
The soaking music sings, “the whispers of heaven,” and I try to think about what that means.
These whispers of heaven.
In the midst of every day life.
I breathe.
And I can feel Him again.
He is still here. I am still His daughter.
Even though I feel different.
I am still His. And He is still my shelter.
So much so, that last week when two of my precious little ones in Uganda ran away from home, I had nowhere to run but to my Daddy. Nothing I could do. I was stuck in Canada. So I soaked. And I prayed, and I released them to Him, because after all He is their Daddy too, even though they struggle to know it.
So I prayed God would Father them. Take that orphan spirit clean from them, and make them whole.
I actually wonder if the resting produced more than the striving.
Because come Monday, there was a change in them. Over the phone, I hear the reports. Reports of how the Father touched them.
He is the only one who can love a heart back to life.
I think Jesus carried the mountain around inside Him. He kept it close.
The mystery of that Holy meeting.
He wrapped it around His heart and stopped to let it fill Him anew.
He handed out the bread and fish, all the while contemplating in His heart, the goodness of the Father.
The new year finds me open and receiving, resting in these arms that long to carry me that I always seem to push away. After all the clutching and striving. After all the cement stained floors cradling a thousand tears. I let him hold me. I let God love me back to life. I get off the crazed swirling monotony of days and empty hands and babies and dirt and sweat. Because Uganda, while I love it, takes my little heart and rubs it raw. Too busy to tend it; I falter. I need a safe place to be still.
Sometimes we have to come to the end of ourselves to finally come home.
No longer a mother. But allowing myself to just be a daughter. One who is loved.
I find this revelation hard to receive: God the Father loves me as I am, just as much as He loves Jesus. He loves me just as much whether I am sleeping, or yelling at someone, or praying for the sick and spending myself on the poor. Whether I feel far from him, or close to him, my identity does not change. I am His.
That His love is not a temperature gage.
Does not rise and fall with my good and bad actions. Not dependent on what I do, but just because I AM. I am His girl.
The Father's heart is a deep-boned thing, something that covers and calms every anxious voice, every fearful thought, every long to do list. It is life-changing.
To know this. It shifts everything. Because I no longer have to do for approval.
I move from approval. My heart learns the lesson again. And again.
How to stop and know. To know. And believe. And receive. His love.
I had a vision.
Me and Jesus on a beach.
I am a little girl busy building my sand castle. Jesus wants me to come join him for a swim in the water. But I refuse, because I want to build this castle to show him. To show him he can be proud of me. He insists. Come join me. Be with me. So I relent. We play in the water for hours. When I come back to the beach, my sandcastle has washed away. But I did not feel the pain of it. It was as if it no longer mattered. Because His presence was so real and so sweet.
I look up further on the beach and there is a large castle, built of stone, made for a princess, like a backyard play house. And as I enter I realize it's big enough for me and Jesus to fit inside.
And I did nothing to build it.
I come out of the dream, and I know:
Everywhere all of us dying on our knees, when we could be with Him.
This is His furious longing.
And He is able. To cover our hearts with His hands. All the dissapointments, and the shattered dreams, the betrayals, and the back-stabbing. His hands hold them and absorb them into His heart.
So much healing in this place. So much healing for me. So much revelation to bring back. These women, these girls, are loved exactly as they are, regardless of their actions.
This is the most important thing in the world: To know we are loved and receive it. And to finally accept ourselves and be free.
The heart is where everything springs from.
And how we view God has everything to do with how we are going to live our life.
From GRACE. Or from DOING.
This is the calling. The reason we are in Uganda.
The reason Zion Project was born.
A destiny of healed hearts walking in wholeness awaits us.
So much love received, to give away.
The truth becomes real. There is no other way.
And gratitude.
The gratitude of feeling His love. So much more than a thousand gifts.
The plaintive prayers find rest.
I am home.
Will you join me?
*If you are interested in inner healing/the father's heart, a great resource is Catch The Fire School of Ministry in Toronto, Canada. May you be blessed! http://catchthefire.com/
We just want to say thank you for ALL the ways you have supported us in 2011! We praise God for the hundreds of lives touched with His love.
You are such a special part of our family in Uganda.
And the girls were pretty happy about their presents! New dress, and new shoes! For us in America, very little. But to them, it meant the whole world.
And our Imani women each got new Swahili Bibles! Which as you can see they were stoked about!
Thank you for making it all possible.
If you'd like to make an end-of year tax-deductible donation to us,we would so appreciate it! We are trying to reach our goal of $20,000 for a van to take the kids to a better private school. So far we've raised $4,000. Merry Christmas to you and yours! We'll see you in 2012!
