“Why are we afraid of broken things? What if the abundance of communion is only found there in the brokenness of suffering–because suffering is where God lives? Suffering is where God gives the most healing intimacy.” -Ann Voskamp, The Broken Way- Sunset in Cape Town is like a world set on fire. The pinks and red hues dipped into the Atlantic Ocean in furious delight. The waves crashed loud and the marshy, sea salt spray filled my nostrils. Behind me, a rock called Lion’s Head because of the shape of it, and the way it drapes its mountainous body around
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
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
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
So the rain pours sweet and cold. Washes away the dusty road grime. Cleans us. Fresh, like His love. I’m driving home after a long, sweaty day. I hold the tears back. 7 hours at the hospital. No food. No water. Only to find out another one. Another one has HIV. And she’s pregnant. Alone in this world. And I think of Mama Heidi’s words, “What does love look like?” So we stay and wait in the long lines. We hold hands through the ugly words. We pray. And we help her get medicine to keep this monster at bay.
From the very first time I came to Uganda and God spoke to me about beginning Zion Project, He told me that what we would bring would be different, because what we would bring would be healing of the heart so that people could feel His presence and know His love deeply. After three full years of making Gulu, Uganda my home, I have seen the brokenness and despair, the lack of hope, and the lack of faith and intimacy with God that comes from a wounded heart. A wounded heart which can only wound others. A heart which is marked
The afterglow. The touch of Jesus still radiant on my skin. And a hand. A hand upon my heart sealing it for Him. This is the essence of life. What I live for. But oh how I’d forgotten, forgotten how good it can be. In the aftermath of all doing, there is emptiness. In the afterglow of his Presence there is only the sound of laughing and a stillness which allows me to breathe. I love missions. I love ministries. I’ve been to Iris, I’ve been to Bethel, I’ve
I’ve been thinking a lot about vulnerability lately. And how becoming a missionary or a leader can kill that. Nothing exposes our weaknesses as much as trying to lead projects or people. There is a constant struggle for perfection, to want others to see that your ministry is great or thriving or “better” than somebody else’s. People constantly want to judge it, or offer their opinions for how you can improve things and it makes you just want to wring their necks. But deep inside its a very vulnerable place to steward a vision. And to allow people to come close,
I have felt a change coming for a long time now. I knew I could not keep up the frenzied pace I was running at, nor did I want to. I would read the words of Jesus that said “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light,” but every night I was falling into bed exhausted and emotionally drained. I have cried more tears of disappointment in the last 8 months than I have in years. This is not what it was supposed to be like. This is not what I was promised. I had come here to Uganda
I saw this gorgeous baby with her mother who was selling pears by the road and had to take a picture…of course she closed her eyes at that exact moment It is night now, the curtains half-parted and the screen open to African evening air, which is cool and smoke-filled. On the wind is the singing of a prayer in Arabic. The high and low-pitched murmurings of a sing-song prayer. It is the most beautiful sound and I take it in for that, still knowing that
Writer. Missionary Coach. Recovering perfectionist. I want you to know that you are loved and already good enough. I am about helping people move from brokenness into wholeness. Together, we'll make a more beautiful world.
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