Revelations from Date Night

So I watched the movie Date Night last night. I’d had a long day of workshop and ministry life, and I was exhausted by 7pm. But that’s too early to go to bed, so I made dinner and watched a few episodes of Friends and read a chapter of a book. I didn’t even play guitar, because that would take too much brainpower (even reading the book was a bit too much work). Around 9pm, I knew it was still a little too early for sleep, or else I’d be up by 5:30am (which I was this morning), so I started the movie.

The film opens with a married couple, Tina Fey and Steve Carell, going about their busy daily lives…disciplining kids, getting them ready for school, work, meetings, etc. Not only do those activities take up all their time, but it’s all they ever talk about, as well. When Steve gets home at the end of the day, he flops down on the couch, and his son asks him to play Legos. Exhausted, he tells his son to let him rest a few minutes before he plays. The couple is so busy and tired they totally forget it’s date night until the babysitter shows up to take care of the kids.

Watching Tina and Steve’s lives, I was amazed and amused at how much I could relate to them. Going home to 14 girls after a long day of workshop and meetings and appointments and whatever else happens between 8am and 3pm is not the most relaxing experience. I can’t even count the times I’ve had to turn down requests to play or watch movies because I was so tired.

Steve and Tina’s date that night was less than spectacular – nothing to talk about, no dessert, and still an early bedtime. I found myself somewhat grateful to be here without a husband because of the toll this lifestyle could take on our marriage.

But then this morning, as I rolled out of bed long before anyone else was awake (I passed out about halfway through the movie so my plan failed me) and read my daily devotional about faith without actions, I began to realize how my relationship with God had begun to suffer because of my tiredness.

For your Maker is your husband – the Lord Almighty is his name – the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; he is called the God of all the earth. Isaiah 54:5

God is my husband, and too often I have been too tired to spend meaningful time with Him. My morning quiet time has become our empty date night – intended to kindle the romance, but instead has become one more forgotten item on the endless to-do list. Like the girls, He desires and longs for my attention, but I am too tired and selfish to give it to Him.

Short-term mission trips are saturated. You experience all of His intense love and glory in a sprint of a journey. When you’re in it for the long haul, however…it’s much easier to sink into a routine. I still see God every day – in my girls, in the squatter camp, in the hearts of the other volunteers – but I’ve gotten out of the habit of really spending time with Him and asking Him what He has in store for me each day.

In the movie, the couple begins to realize how their marriage is suffering, so on the next date night, Tina Fey puts on a fancier dress and a little more makeup, and her husband is inspired by her appearance to take her to an upscale restaurant in the city instead of their usual place close to home.

I am so grateful I don’t need to wear extra eyeliner for God to notice my beauty and desire to treat me special. I do, however, need to make the first move. He’s there, waiting for me. I only need to call His name and fall into His embrace, and He will restore our relationship to the pure, holy, amazing adventure of a love story it is meant to be.

There are few feelings better than the excitement in waking up knowing that soon you will see the one who holds your romantic interest. When that One is God, that excitement happens every single day.

Still Can't Strum

Once upon a time, I thought Green Day was the coolest band in the world, and I bought (with the help of my family) a guitar to become just like Billie Joe Armstrong.

I played for hours and hours every day, learning new songs and dreaming of being a rock star and standing for something (whatever that something would be).

As classes got harder and band and orchestra (oh yeah, I also played clarinet and violin) rehearsals demanded more, that guitar rested in its stand in my room, only to be picked up a few times a month to see what I could still do (which dwindled to almost nothing).

I discovered my love for teaching, and my dreams shifted from being a rock star to being a band director.

Later I went to college for a music degree. Whether it was classes or rehearsals, music consumed the majority of every day. People who shared my aspirations, some of whom would do anything to get to the top, surrounded me. Competition was fierce and a chronic feeling of inadequacy reigned my heart. Even as my technique improved and my knowledge grew, I still felt mediocre and self-conscious next to my peers.

As time went on, I discovered I love people more than I love music, and I started searching for career paths that would be better suited for my passions (i.e., music therapist, counselor, etc.).

Then I graduated and moved to Africa and brought a guitar with me. I was excited to start learning worship songs while being separated from the competitive music lifestyle I know so well.

But, I soon discovered that two other people on the ministry team also play guitar, and are way better at it than I ever was, especially now since I haven’t played in at least six years. There’s no way I could play with or in front of people who actually know what they’re doing. Besides, I left my chord charts and capo at home in the States, so I don’t even have the necessary tools to really play…never mind that the local music store is within blocks of my house and it doesn’t take a ton of effort to write out chords.

Months pass. The stress of this ministry starts weighing down on me. I journal and watch movies and read books to escape, but that actually does very little for my soul. Then, we get some hard news about the future of our girls, and I sink into a weeklong mild depression with no outlet.

That’s when I receive a package from my older brother back home, complete with eight three-subject notebooks and a pack of pens. Perfect for writing out songs and chords. On my day off, I walk to the music store and purchase an overpriced capo. And the work begins.

I start with four worship songs in my notebook (a grand total of six different chords) and play them over and over, experimenting with strumming patterns (spoiler alert: I don’t really know how to strum – I just make it up), and softly singing along. I copy down a few more songs, a few the girls know, and play through them a few times.

This is great, I think. I love this. I love playing by myself. No standards. No pressure. No judgment. And I can play whatever I want. I never want to be in a band or play for people.

I take my guitar to the girls’ home to get some extra practice, and before I know it, my bedroom is full of eight kids singing along and requesting song after song.

They’re not ignorant – they know I’m only learning and that I have a long way to go. They know when I play wrong chords and sing off key. But they don’t care. They just want to sing and have fun.

Sometimes I get annoyed when they request the same songs over and over and have no desire to learn something new.

But then, that’s how every relationship is, isn’t it? You go on for a while by yourself, and you think, Wow, this is great! I can do whatever I want! I can go wherever I want! I can buy whatever I want! I can wear whatever I want! Nobody will care if my clothes don’t match! Nobody’s going to judge me for only wearing underwear around the house! Nobody’s here to be better than me! Nobody’s here to tell me any different! I don’t have to share anything or listen to anyone!

That’s all great and grand for a while, then life gets a little lonely, so God drops a friend or roommate or boy/girlfriend or spouse or 16 African adolescent females on your doorstep, and that all changes.

Now you have to share stuff. Now somebody cares if you eat their peanut butter. Now it’s less okay to run around the house in your underwear.

Now somebody’s going to tell you want songs to play. Now somebody’s going to notice when wrong notes happen.

As their guardian, I have full right to say “no” when they request a song, and sometimes I do, or I suggest something different I think they’d like. But if I say “no” too many times, then they’ll stop singing along altogether. And what’s the point of that? Music, like peanut butter, is meant for sharing.

Two weeks later, I now have 39 songs in my trusty notebook (some worship, some Katy Perry, some T-Swift, some Mumford, and some in between), and I still don’t really know how to strum. But I play every day, and nothing fills my heart quite like Nadia knocking on my door and asking, “When are we singing?” before I’m even dressed for the day.

When I shared the news that I was moving to Africa after graduation, people would tell me how excited they were for me to share my musical gifts, because music has such a healing power.

I finally discovered that’s true, not because of how it’s healed the girls, but because of how it’s healing me.

So, How's Swaziland?

Anyone who’s ever spent any time abroad, whether for school, work, or volunteering, is all too familiar with the question, “So, how’s your trip?” or, “How are things in [location]?” Most people expect responses such as, “Great!” or, “Challenging!” or, “Really rewarding!” All of that is true, of course, but it’s almost impossible to articulate what truly goes on in this life.

I recently had the task of sending a quarterly update to my home church. The following is from is the message I sent:

Life here can be described as busy, chaotic, unpredictable, intense, and immensely wonderful, all at the same time.

I would describe a typical day, but, of course, there is no such thing. I live at the Hope for Life girls’ home with fourteen girls, ages 9 to 21, along with the founder of our organization, Mary-Kate Martin.  We also have our two kids, Benny (2 years old) and Lucia (3 years old), whose mother used to live in the home. These girls have been abused on several different levels, but you could never tell by the joy that radiates from their hearts in this home.  Every afternoon, I tutor the girls, lead one-on-one devotions, and deal with any typical girl drama that comes with having fourteen sisters (which is a lot). This is the only girls’ home in this area, and women’s ministries are few and far between in this country.

While I adore these girls, my heart is really with the prostitutes of this city. My primary responsibility is running the Blossom House Workshop, which is a craft business to employ struggling women and teach them skills such as sewing, jewelry making, and the responsibilities of employment and earning a paycheck. I never imagined I’d be running a small business right after earning my music education degree, but here I am! God has prepared me for this position in so many ways, and it is always the highlight of my days.

Pursuing women in prostitution is no easy calling, but even the shortest of interactions is so rewarding. I spend time with girls in a nearby squatter camp, praying with them and simply sharing life. Whenever I can, I also go out to the city streets at night, offering the girls working corners a ride home early. Nothing breaks my heart more than watching a young woman, probably no older than me, get into a man’s car that speeds away for twenty minutes before dropping her back off at her post. This is a battle so rooted in culture and sin that there’s no way it can be won overnight, but it is a battle I will never face alone, with Christ on my side.

My soul longs to show these women their value, worth, beauty, and purity in Christ, despite the world viewing them as dirty, shameful, and worthless.

Please pray for this organization, as we are constantly under a spiritual attack, for the Enemy is intimidated by the Good work we are doing. Pray for us as we close on, renovate, and move into a new home by the end of the year that will house 22 girls. Pray for Benny and Lucia’s mom, who is expecting her third child at 20 years of age. Pray for our girls, that they all will accept Christ into their hearts and declare his goodness in their lives. Pray for the prostitutes, that they will be safe tonight and learn that they are valuable and that there is a way out. Pray for the men, that they will become men of God and learn to truly love and cherish women. Pray for this nation, that the sinful culture will begin to shift and make this place a pulpit for Africa, proclaiming Truth across the continent. Pray for me, that my love and passion for this nation and these women will always come from God and will never cease, even in the darkest nights.

Thank you, family. God bless.

Just for Me

I round the corner and see the massive mountain before me. Execution Rock towers high above my head, and I can’t believe I actually agreed to go on this hike. Garret, Tony, and three of the girls are far ahead of me, while the other three were left far behind. I was able to keep up with the guys for a while, but this out-of-shape flatland Kansan girl is still adjusting to the elevation of this region. The temptation to stay behind to “watch” the others was great, but I knew I would regret it if I did. So here I am now, this steep incline ahead of me, caught between those who ran ahead and those who gave up long ago.

I take a deep breath and start to climb. As I begin, a thought pops in my head.

Faith can move mountains.

Great, I think. So why can’t this mountain just level out a bit so I can climb it? Internally, I chuckle at myself (but only internally, because to do so externally would waste precious breath). And then I think, What is my mountain?

Swaziland is my mountain. Pursuing prostitutes. Mothering fourteen girls. Running a small craft business. These make my mountain.

As I continue to climb, I dare to turn and look down, just for a moment. I could very easily see the long, winding path from where I’d come. Places where the road was smooth, where hikers had paved before, and trails blazed completely by scratch by the few who went before me, as well as a few blazed completely by myself. And it is like looking at my own past; my own journey that brought me to this point.

Good, easy years. Rough, challenging times. Good company, and bad. Times when I knew exactly where I was going, and times when I had to trust the people in front of me. Times when I had to make my own path, whether they led to fruit or destruction.

I turn my focus back on the current climb. I force my aching muscles to pull my body up and up. I hear the others ahead of me, and I know I’m close.

I reach to the top of this ledge, and the others are still nowhere in sight. I follow the path around the edge of the mountain, and discover a view so breathtaking, I could just stop here. I take a moment to absorb it. But this still isn’t the summit, so I can only imagine what’s to come.

I find my five comrades perched on a rock overlooking the entire game park. It is certainly a sight to behold, and I take a moment to rest. Before I know it, Garret is pointing to a bigger, higher rock behind us, and we all run to find the best way up.

Garret, Tony, and Ayanda are already almost all the way to the top, and I just watch. Some people train for months, or even years, to climb mountains. They have the clothes, ropes, and whatever other fancy equipment you use to keep safe. But all I have is my own tired strength and these worn-out purple tennis shoes.

Some people train for years to run a business. Some people study at seminary to become a missionary in a foreign country. I have done none of the preparation, yet here I am, doing exactly those things.

Garret calls down from the rock, “You can see zebras from here!” and I am elated. ZEBRAS?! These are my favorite African animals…besides South African penguins, which would be more than shocking to find on top of this Swazi mountain.

Instead of scaling the giant stone, I climb over the smaller rocks surrounding it, finding ways around pointy trees and dodging a few lizards. And then, I see them.

A young zebra feeding from its mother, and about half a dozen more grazing just beyond those two. They’re so close – just about thirty yards away, if that. They’re so peaceful and beautiful.

I must get closer.

Mama Zebra keeps a close eye on me as I venture closer. About twenty feet from these gorgeous creatures, I can’t help but thinking…

God put these zebras here, just for me.

I might not have climbed to the very top of Execution Rock with the others, but God still had something there, just for me.

Whatever I do, I might not end up in the same place as everyone else, or have the same prize as everyone else, but God has something in store, just for me.

What were you?

Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.
1 Corinthians 1:26-27

I was going through some old photos on my laptop last night, and I found some gems from pre- and early high school, such as a family vacation to Las Vegas and a trip to Chicago with my brother. I hadn’t opened these files in at least six years, and what I found was almost laughable.

Back when I wore boys’ clothes, cut my own bangs, and had terrible acne. It was a somewhat shocking sight. And it’s almost more shocking to think about who I was back then.

An angsty, adolescent female who dreamt of rock concerts and wanted nothing to do with church. Who was teased at school and could count her shady social circle on one hand. Who didn’t want to exist and regularly scripted suicide notes.

This was about two years before I read the words, “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23) and studied Lewis’s Mere Christianity in Sunday school, which God used to help lead me back to Him. When I think of that girl, that lost sheep, it’s hard to believe she’s now living in Africa as a missionary to “defend the weak and the fatherless, uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed,” and to “rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked” (Psalm 82:3-4).

There’s no way that transformation could have happened by my own power, or solely by the power of therapists or medication (not that I don’t condone seeking professional counseling).

That transformation was done by the power of Christ. He is the reason I am sitting at a dining room table in my house in Swaziland, surrounded by thread and fabric and paper beads to teach struggling women how to support themselves out of prostitution.

There’s no way I can say, or even think, “Way to go, Rachel! You did it! You made something of yourself!”

All I can say is, “Wow, God. You repaired this weak, broken vessel, and now you are using it as a testament of your love and grace. I owe everything I am to you.”

It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God – that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: “Let the one who boasts boast in the Lord.”
1 Corinthians 1:30-31

Space for Grace

Something I’ve often heard is that if you pray to God for patience, He will provide you opportunities to learn it. This phrase has always been shared with me as a warning. I’ve even been told that it’s “dangerous” to pray for patience, because you never know what God will use to help you learn it.

I feel that God is teaching me a similar lesson with grace. Spending a majority of my time living with 14 adolescent females (regardless of culture and living conditions) is a huge challenge – and an opportunity to learn about grace.

First, I have to look at the grace given to me from God.

The law was brought in so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.Romans 5:20-21

We have the law so we can define, by humanly standards, what sin is, and then so we might become aware of our own sin. As C.S. Lewis writes, “… there would be no sense in saying that a footballer had committed a foul unless there was some agreement about the rules of football.” There would be no sense in saying that I had sinned and fallen short of the glory of God unless there was some agreement about the God’s laws.

We sin so that God has an opportunity to fill us with His grace. In a study on the book of James, Beth Moore states, “Every mistake, every sin has made a space for grace. Will it sit there hollow, or will you let God fill it up?” Now, being filled with God’s grace does NOT grant us permission to just keep on sinning. Again, Paul writes to the Romans:

Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its evil desires. Do not offer any part of yourself to sin as an instrument of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life… For sin shall no longer be your master, because you are not under the law, but under grace.
Romans 6:11-14

We have sin so God can fill us with his grace. We have grace so we can be free from sin and offer ourselves to God as instruments of righteousness. How beautiful is that? God is so cool.

And then we’re called to share that grace with others.

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy times seven times.”Matthew 18:21-22

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.
1 Peter 4:10

On Sunday, our pastor shared, “God gives grace to fulfill His purpose for us, in us, and through us.”

These girls will fall short. They will disappoint me. They will test my patience and understanding. They will baffle and annoy me. But every one of those moments is an opportunity to practice grace. It is an opportunity to show Christ’s love on a whole new level. It is not something I can do on my own, with my own selfish, worldly desires.

Father, grant me grace for my own sins, as well as opportunities to share Your grace with others.