Posts Tagged "love"

syrian refugee children

5 Practical Ways to Respond to Trump’s Refugee Ban

I want to begin first by saying this isn’t a political post, this is a love post. This isn’t about whether or not you are Republican or Democrat, conservative or liberal, whether you’re concerned about national security or whether you’re concerned about refugees. This is about being human and this is about our call to love one another. This is about empathy and compassion and about moving beyond our fear and standing for what’s right. This is about having a conversation.  If we have a heart for missions, this might be the greatest need of our time, right now, to

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9 Ways I Saved My Marriage

9 Ways I Saved My Marriage

  I’m blogging over at A Life Overseas today about the 9 Ways I Saved My Marriage. Come on over and learn the tools for saving your marriage too, especially on the mission field. Here’s a sneak preview: “We thought that love and sex would save us, and it worked for a while. But the reality is, while marriage is an intimate union of two souls growing together, it’s also hard work, and it leaves the soul rubbed raw. When we left Uganda, I wasn’t quite sure if we should even stay together. It seemed like we’d done a lot

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huts

What Love Looks Like

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.

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Love is a Battlefield

I’m honored to say, InCourage blog for women recently featured this blog post: I know how God’s heart breaks now. I know the fault lines and the wrinkled scars, I know where the flesh is still tender. I know the jagged points, and the parts that wear a weary smile. And the parts that are blackened with pain like the charred remains of a grass-thatched home. And I know the angry parts too. The ones that are bruised crimson and blue with injustice. I know how He takes them all into His heart and holds them there. I know how He cried

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How to Have Character

                      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

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When Love is Extravagant

            I’m the kind of person who cries a lot. I cry during sad movies. I even cry at happy ones. Like Sea-biscuit. I think that God probably has an X-Large bottle in heaven for my tears. Something more akin to a water tank here in Uganda than a perfume bottle.   So when I say that lately I’ve been so overwhelmed by God’s goodness that I just cried (for a really long time) and it means that I’m happy….maybe you can understand. My husband on the other hand, who always wants to comfort me,

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How to Chase Your Lost Sheep

It’s so hot in Gulu that I feel I might actually be losing brain functionality. Dry season. In Africa. Winds like the Santa Ana’s sweep through the town scattering dust into people’s eyes. Nothing like a hot Thanksgiving in November to make you feel normal. It’s dry and it’s dusty, but it doesn’t hinder our progress. We have a lot to be thankful for. In just the last four months… *We’ve taken in 11 girls and 13 children from the camps into a home where they receive safety, love, a family, food, counseling, discipleship, life skills, parenting skills, medical care,

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How to Build a Rescue Home

It’s amazing what a single month can do to change a person’s life. A month ago they did not smile. Now, everywhere the sound of laughter and children showing off their teeth. The same children who a month ago would cry in their mother’s lap. Now they play. Like normal kids. Like our kids. They build blocks and race cars. A month ago they did not dream. Now they sit around in circles and talk about going back to school or learning to do catering to continue the baking skills they’ve learned at our house (not from me, I know

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pamela

How to Recover Your Heart

“The city will be rebuilt on her ruins.” Jeremiah 30:18 (Pamela, age 16, raped, with daughter Maria–they live in our house) Here, they do not cry. But I watch an Acholi girl cry. I think in the end, what scares her most, what scares all of them, all of us, most, is being alone. I think of her—being left. They promised to stay, but left. I think of the moment she knew she was pregnant and how a place inside her wanted to die. Not wanted. That belly, a scarlet letter. And home is now a place of disapproving looks

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