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
“By changing nothing, nothing changes.” -Tony Robbins Five years is a long time. It’s a lot of sweaty bus-rides. It’s a lot of roach killing, and mouse killing, and eating posho and beans. It’s a lot of swatting mosquitos on your legs, and running out of water just as you soaped up your body. It’s a lot of pouring out your life. And it’s a long time without air-conditioning, that’s for sure. A lot of time to fall in love with a place and it’s people. And even more time to love the reality vs. the rosy colored version. It’s
As we sat in the knee-high grass legs itchy, sun scorching, and the sound of worship heard over the wailing I concentrated on the yellow weeds at my feet growing wild and thorny. I wonder if someone planted them here. I’ve been here before. Death a part of my existence here in East Africa. No matter how many life-breathed words over cold, clammy bodies, the caskets seem to pile high. Tiny crosses engraved in the black cloth. Aids a raging killer. But it is different this time. Years ago they would have been alone. Years ago they would have crumpled
Last year, Niclete was just another woman in Uganda living in the slums, trying to provide for her family of growing children, alone. Last year, she did not have a job, or access to maternal health care. Last year, Niclete gave birth to a still-born baby boy, body too twisted. Last week, God redeemed all that. As I struggle through the why’s and wonderings of why bad things happen to good people or any people, for that matter, I look at a picture of Niclete, and I am satisfied that God remembers us. That His intentions towards us
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
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
“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
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.
We sidestep trash and puddle-filled stench. We move through the narrow corridor of buildings in the slum. And there in the midst of it all, we find glory. In the small, dark room we huddle. We’ve come to love. To stay. In solidarity. When Niclete starts to sing, tremorous and brave, the women start weeping. The holy spirit breathes close and still. I think it is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. I don’t understand all the words. But I know she is singing to Jesus. A hum of a prayer. Worship in the face of loss.
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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