Eleven Children

A day or so after arriving in Africa, we were taken on a walk through the countryside to visit the people who were too far out of town to get many visitors.

My whole team along with quite a few women from the orphanage walked for a while until we came to a hut that was smaller than my room.

My first thought was "What poor soul has to live here?"

Not one. Eleven.

We discovered that eleven children lived in this smoky hut that was probably 6 feet by 14 feet.

Not only that, we were told that these children had no mother.

I was shell-shocked. We were invited in of course, which is a testament to the hospitality of a nation that has next to nothing. There was barely enough room for me to stand.

The children were cared for by their oldest sister.

I was not ready for this. I had only been in Africa for two days! I quickly discovered that all my previous assumptions about Africa were inaccurate.

This was poverty I had only read about or seen on tv. It's completely different when you're standing in it. But what made a bigger impression on than the poverty was the way these beautiful children refused to give up.

By the world's standards these children have nothing to live for. They have no future, no money, no parents, no chances.

Yet they refuse. They refuse to let go. They refuse to quit.

What makes them do that? I can't imagine that kind of courage. That kind of bravery.

I can't imagine how it feels to stare the future in the face despite the hopelessness of it and keep walking.

Needless to say, I've been inspired by that. I've been inspired to make the most of an opportunity that most people don't have. A chance to learn and grow and dream.

And my hope is that I will be able to help them out of their situation. To encourage them and tell them that there is hope, that there is something to better than this.

To tell them that this is not our home. To tell them that they have something to look forward to.

And to encourage them to keep smiling and laughing despite the circumstances.

Because some day? It will be better. In this life or the next:)

My Need for Him

Isn't it funny( and I don't mean the haha kind of funny) how we don't realize just how badly we need a Savior until we're in trouble?

When life is good? Jesus is like an accessory, a resource on my shelf next to my Bible and tea. And I only pull Him off the shelf when i feel that I need Him.

That idea in and of itself is ridiculous. When do I NOT need Him? Never. I ALWAYS need Him. I just don't think I do when it seems like I have things under control. I'm like the impetuous child standing at climbing wall saying to his dad "No i can do it myself!"

Inevitably I get stuck. And then, like that child, I have to call for Him to pull me cause I'm not as strong as I thought I was.

You'd think I'd eventually get it. All I gotta do is let Him lead. Let HIM take the rope. Simple right?

Guess again.

And then something else occured to me.

When times are hard, when I feel alone or distant, when things aren't working the way I planned, when things are crashing around me? There's only one person I think about.

Jesus.

It's amazing to me how fast I run to Him when things start to slide.

So why not?

Why wouldn't God allow things to collapse in my life? Why wouldn't H let me take the rope and learn a hard lesson? Why wouldn't He let me fall a short way?

Everytime I do I turn to Him!!!

Why wouldn't he do that?

I don't think He makes them happen to me.

But He ALLOWS them to.

Because He knows.

He knows I need Him.

Even when I don't. That's why we are allowed to fall, to stumble. Because it leads us to a realization of how badly we need him.

This doesn't answer for all the evil in the world but I understand it in my own life.

So what do I do with this? I need to understand just how badly and desperately I need Him.

To understand just how broken I really am without Him. Even when life is good.

God, help me understand. Help me get it. I want to know.

I Want to Hold Them

One of the hardest things I have ever had to witness is children infected with HIV.

Why? Why do they have to be infected? What did they do to warrant such an injustice?

All they did was be born. Their parents took care of the rest.

It's one of the more horrific examples of generational sin. The children have to pay for the sins of their parents.

One of the distinguishing characteristics in a child infected by HIV are sores. Typically on their heads. In more advanced stages these sores cover their bodies from head to toe. They are extremely painful and constantly leak fluid. These sores can be transmitted by touch so often times we could not hold these kids, otherwise we would be infected. Even if we wanted to anyways, the people probably wouldn't have let us.

I literally ached when I saw this. All I wanted to do was stroke these kids on the head, to hold them and tell them it was gonna be alright.

And I couldn't. I felt helpless.

One particular time I went with a group of ladies to bathe a young girl. At first nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Then they took off her clothes.

She was covered from head to toe in these sores. These woman began to wash her.

They had to scrub hard enough to rip the heads off the sores. The girl began to scream in pain.

Soon there was blood running all over her body. She began crying for her mother, who ignored her. That broke my heart.

And me? I cried. I cried because all I wanted to do was pick her up in my arms. I didn't care about the blood or sores. But I couldn't. So i prayed. And cried. Eventually they finished.

Then something incredible happened. I saw myself in this girl. And I saw God in the women.

Here's why: the little girl? She didn't understand why. She didn't understand why we were hurting her. She cried and screamed and became angry at us. She didn't understand that we were helping her.

Isn't that exactly how I am with God.

He allows things to happen to me. Sometimes he disciplines me. And it hurts. And I don't understand. I complain. I say it's not fair. But He's doing what's best for me. He's doing what needs to happen in order for me to be clean. For me to be whole.

I Gave Up

On March 1st I set out on the adventure of a lifetime when I stepped on a plane bound for South Africa.

It was my first time flying. It was my first time out of the country. It was my first "mission trip".

I will never be the same again.

It's like the the tv show "Lost", where the island has a strange pull on all the people that have been on it. Once they leave they're still haunted by it.

That's how it is for me with Africa.

Part of me doesn't want to go back. Part of me doesn't want to see the death. The suffering. The flies. But then I remember what else I saw.

Joy:) Pure, unadulterated joy. Joy in the face of death. I saw people facing an inevitability of death, yet they had something shining out of their eyes. Literally shining. It was Jesus. I saw Jesus shining through death.

I also saw the good that I can do, along with my teammates. We can affect change. We will affect change.

But more than that; these people, these beautiful people, have a hold on my heart. I didn't see it coming. I didn't think it would happen so quickly. I fell in love with Africa as soon as I stepped off the plane.

And then I met my mother. The woman who gave me her bed so I wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. She slept next door instead. The woman whose name I can't even write cause I can't spell it but whose face I will never forget. The woman that continually gave me the biggest portion at every meal. I have never experienced anything more humbling than eating more than a hungry family. The woman who had experienced horrific abuse, yet is beginning to discover the joy of the Lord. She protected me and sheltered me and laughed with me and was everything I needed her to be. I called her right before I left Africa. Her excitement. I can't forget her excitement. I love that woman so much it hurts.

And her beautiful children, whose names I can't spell either. But their faces are burned into my memory like fire. There were four of them and a baby. We would all play together after dinner. I taught them to sing classic American songs and they taught me to sing their songs. Which caused much hilarity among them when I kept stumbling over my words and screwing it up:) We would all dance. I would put in some Christian hip hop and we'd go for it. The eldest girl spoke decent English so we connected in a deeper way. What a confident girl! An amazing voice and dancing ability. She was the leader in the house among her siblings and many of her peers as well. She'll make an amazing mother some day. One of the boys would croak like a frog at me all the time:) We had fun:) We would wrestle and spar together too. Eventually other kids in the neighborhood heard the noise and started poking their heads in the door to gawk at the curious dancing white man. Eventually they would join in and we would have around ten people in that house.

I say house. More like room. Not much bigger than my bedroom. There's a little perspective for ya.

I bathed in a plastic tub twice a day. My mother insisted:)

I'll be writing more about Africa every couple of days. As things and memories return to me. Why the title? I gave up on telling these stories. I probably told them for a couple weeks after I got back and then just stopped.

These stories need to be told. For one, I need to tell them to honor them. For another, I need to tell them for my own sake. I can't keep this locked inside. We should all know about this one way or another. Either we go or we learn from those who have gone.

I can't wait to go back to Africa. And someday I'm going back to see them again. The ones I love. And I don't just mean in heaven.

I'm going back.