First Morning Back

I love mornings. No really, I actually do. Throughout my college career, I was usually the first one out of bed, before all my roommates. This was partially due to early classes and even earlier workout routines, but also because my introverted personality loves to bask in the stillness of the dawn.

This is my first morning back in Swaziland after a six-week furlough in the States. Over the past four months or so, I’ve become less and less of a morning person. I became tired. I love this work in Swaziland, but it’s exhausting. I had become physically and emotionally drained, more than I could ever imagine. Some nights I’d be in bed as early as 8PM, and refuse to get up no earlier than 9 or 10AM, only if I had to. Fatigue? Stress? Probably. I needed a break.

However, my trip to the States was less than restful. I was in six different states and ten different airports and countless couches and air mattresses and guest rooms during that six-week period. I had very few opportunities to be still and take in my surroundings or even spend quality time with God. I was in a world that never sat still or silent, even for a moment. I enjoyed my time back in America, but it wasn’t exactly what I anticipated or thought I needed.

It’s 5:30AM here in Swazi. I’m not awake by choice – jet lag has kept me up for the past 20 hours. But this is amazing. Outside my window are the familiar rundown buildings and purple flowered trees. There’s laundry hanging from a balcony across the street. Occasionally joyful voices speaking rapid siSwati wander past. Bird are singing, dogs are barking. All so familiar, yet so fresh at the same time.

Maybe I needed to be overwhelmed by the busyness and franticness of America in order to finally find peace and solace here.

And in the midst of it all, I know God is taking care of me. I got overly emotional at the Denver airport on my way out a few days ago, because the airline ladies checking my luggage made me remove a few pounds from each of my bags. I was annoyed. I had three suitcases stuffed mostly with items and materials for the girls and workshop, and very few things for myself. I had to remove a few bottles of body spray, which is such a small thing, but it’s one of the luxuries I was looking forward to going back to the hot and smelly African summer. I couldn’t put them in my carry-on, so I left them with my parents and pouted all through security. I was annoyed at the situation, but also with myself, for being so crabby over an insignificant material thing.

I’m not living in Africa to have an American life. My treasures are in Heaven. I have the basic clothes and toiletries that I need to survive, nothing more, nothing less. I am blessed with an amazing apartment just a few blocks from downtown and a bed to call my own. It’s simple, and I love it so much.

While I was in the States, I offered a short-term missionary to stay in my apartment for a week. It was the least I could do, since she has done so much for our ministry, and I wasn’t going to be there to use it anyway. Last night, after dinner with Kate and hugging and kissing all of the girls at the girls’ home, I settled back into my place and started unpacking. In my closet, there was a green gift bag without a note, which I later found out was a thank you gift from this missionary. Inside…a bottle of body spray, along with shower gel and lotion.

It’s such a small thing that probably seems silly to someone who’s been awake for a normal number of hours (unlike myself). But sometimes I need the small reminders like that. I am giving my life to Him, and He sees that. He knows that. He’s looking out for me. He knows exactly what I need and when I need it, whether it’s rest, companionship, strength, or body spray.

(in)dependence

I am twenty-three years old. I have not had a boyfriend since I was sixteen. Not that I haven’t wanted one; that’s just how it worked out.

Being single all through college and moving to Africa on my own a year ago has taught me so much about independence. I had a conversation with another single friend a few months ago about the view of “strong, independent women.” Is that attractive to the Godly men we want to date? We’re not damsels in distress – we’ve had to learn how to do many things on our own (including, but not limited to, basic home repairs, jumpstarting cars, and changing tires). But people need to be needed, and they need to feel that they’re needed, especially our husbands.

Even before I moved here, coworkers and acquaintances back home would notice and comment on my “independence.” Sometimes it felt like a compliment, sometimes it would sting a little. I desire a husband, but is that evident in the way I act? In the way I speak? Are guys not attracted to this type of personality?

But here’s the secret – I’m not independent. I am totally dependent on God.

And that’s how I’m able to move halfway across the planet without a man for companionship and physical protection. God’s not going to change my flat tire for me, but He gives me the patience and wisdom to learn. He grants me discernment for what is safe and where to avoid in town. He surrounds me with friends and community to love me and support me, to show me I’m never alone in this life.

My (in)dependence allows me to walk in the confidence that I am loved, valued, strong, beautiful, and important, even without a boyfriend or spouse.

It’s still not easy. I can’t be a father to our girls. I couldn’t get my refrigerator out of its Styrofoam casing. I can barely carry our hefty three-year-old. My Friday nights are usually spent with a book and early bedtime. I get far more proposals and remarks on the street than a woman walking around with her husband at her side.

I desire a husband. But my singleness does not define my value or womanhood. Only the Father can.

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Hey friends! I'm still about $700 short of my fundraising goal for 2016-2017. Interested in helping me out? Visit here!

Living Without A Salary

I’m going to be honest. Most of typical mission life does not make a lot of sense in the secular world.

My life (sometimes)

I am willingly living thousands of miles from my family, friends, and culture; so I can offer a home to children who sometimes repay me with ungratefulness, run a low-budget business to employ women who’d rather make quicker money selling their bodies, get marriage proposals from strange men daily, and do all of this without a salary.

NOT MY LIFE

Yes, it’s hard. It’s not the romantic running-around-with-elephants-on-the-savannah-and-taking-selfies-with-children life people make it out to be. Sometimes, I’ll watch an American movie about a woman with a husband and kids and a house with a yard and a dog and a well-paying-upper-middle-class career with book clubs and concerts and drive-thrus and microwaves and washing machines and Panera, and I’ll think, Why can’t I have that?

If I take God out of the equation, I could totally have that. I could be on a plane to Atlanta to Kansas City tomorrow to start a career and be on that magical path to the American dream (whatever that means these days).

I could do that. I could totally do that. But guess what? I don’t want to. And I have a feeling that if I did hop on that plane, God would figure out a way to send me right back to the mission field, whether I wanted it or not.

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”  - Frederick Buechner

Here, pursuing prostitutes, mentoring struggling women, taking care of traumatized girls, I have my deep gladness. And there's definitely a deep hunger. This is the place God calls me to. 

There is freedom in living without a salary. I'm not tied to any contracts. Yes, there are expectations and people rely on me for certain things, but I can go above and beyond without feeling shortchanged when it comes without a bonus.

I can do what I love purely because I love it, and not because I have to.

Living without a salary teaches you a lot of things. Your budget looks different. Your hobbies and free time might look a little different. Most importantly, it’s a huge lesson in humility.

Every day, I have to wake up with open arms and ask God to provide what I need for that day. Instead of signing up to take more shifts or applying for a promotion, I humble myself before the God of the universe and ask for help.

And here’s the tricky part. Choosing the mission life means humbling myself before you, my family and friends, to ask for help.

My goal for the 2016-2017 stretch is to live on $10,000, which is over $18,000 less than the average cost of living in the States. Yeah, that’s a little tough. That $10,000 will cover rent, utilities, food, gas, a trip to the States, and (hopefully) at least a little recreation. This is my fifth year in a row to fundraise, and every year so far, God has put me on that plane fully funded.

So far (as of May 15, 2016), I am halfway to that goal. If 20 people pledge $20 per month for a year, I will be fully funded.

So here I am, once again, asking for help.

If you’re interested in donating, visit here to give via PayPal. Please remember to put my name in the memo.

This life is challenging. But I love it. And it's worth it. And I need your help to do it.

Thanks again. Blessings.

Faces

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been slacking with my blog writing.

I could make excuses. I’m busy (true). I’d rather spend my free time watching Friends (which I do). I forget (true). Writing isn’t really my thing (true).

But I think the real reason is that this place is becoming home. And words can’t really effectively describe home. At least, my words can’t. But maybe faces can.

I spend two to three days with these women every week. I’m their “boss.” I’m the scary white lady who shows them the difference between a good purse and a not-so-good purse. I discipline their kids. I distribute paychecks. I tell them off for not coming on time and for wasting glue.

I’ve shared my story with them. I’ve cried in front of them. I’ve danced in front of them. I sing in front of them. They see my good days and my bad. They know my dreams and my fears. I hate hiding behind a mask. They see my true colors, my real face, every day.

Every day, I lead Bible study. Every day, at the end of Bible study, I ask for prayer requests. Nearly every day, it’s silent.

Until today, when I asked them individually, away from the group, what to pray for. And the masks came off.

“I want peace in my home. It’s not a good place.”

“I want peace in my life. I want peace with my husband.”

“I have headaches.”

“I want to provide a home for my siblings and their kids.”

“I want to get into college. After college, I want a good job. And I want my family to stick together.”

“For the last few weeks, I’ve been angry.”

“Angry with who?”

“Angry with myself. Angry with God. I feel far away from God.”

“Pray that God will fight for me more than this.”

“What does that mean?”

“The devil is attacking me in my home.”

After ten months of praying, countless sleepless nights, hours and hours of inventory and budgeting, teaching myself how to sew bags and scarves, planning Bible studies and opening up my soul to them, finally, the fruit shows.

These faces are the real story of why I came, why I’m here, and why I’m staying.

Hell on Earth

There are lots of great things happening in Swaziland. Amazing things, even. Girls’ homes. Boys’ homes. Baby homes. Agriculture ministries, teaching people to farm. Sewing workshops, empowering women to earn a salary. Medical ministries, bringing care to the very rural areas of the country. Some days, I interact with more missionaries and volunteers than actual Swazis, learning about what God sent them here to do, and I am so encouraged by their work and stories.

And then, El Roi, the God who sees, shows me the darkest corners, where His light isn’t known yet.

Driving laps around the city, starting no earlier than 10:00 PM, doors locked. A girl in a short skirt and gold tank top gets into a black car with tinted windows which speeds away into the night. Her friends move on to the other cars parked along the block, offering to do God knows what for next to nothing of a material price.

Abba sees these girls, His precious daughters. He watches them get into the cars and give away a piece of themselves, all for a place to stay or a small meal ticket. He sees me in my weakness, unable to stop or rescue them in the confines of our van.

When we offer to give her a ride home, she asks us to come back in a few hours, because she’s not done working yet.

He allows me to feel a small taste of the pain He feels for all His lost sheep.

This. This is hell on earth.

God’s beloved children so lost and enslaved in Satan’s snare of lust and greed that they don’t know there’s anything different. Girls who have been told from a very young age that all they’re worth is what they can make in a night to bring food to the table. Women so seemingly trapped in this lifestyle that they believe there’s no other option. And a society that doesn’t give them any other option.

And this is where God shows me my heart.

Five girls in the car, plus us two missionaries. Katy Perry album breaks the ice. The girl in the front seat, J, guides us to her home. Between African dirt roads and the way neighborhoods are set up, we can’t go right to her house, but we get close enough that she can quickly finish the route on foot. As she opens the door, her friends encourage her to go fast, run, be safe; we’ll watch your back. After watching her dart into the darkness, I turn to C and say, “It’s amazing how you girls watch out for each other and take care of each other.”

“Well, we have to, love. Or else we’ll never make it.”

These girls cling to each other for mere survival. But that’s not enough to dig them out of the trench.

They need someone to fight for them.

C is the last to be dropped off. After being in the car with us for a few hours, she opens up about her life. “Once they find out we’re prostitutes, they don’t give us a chance. But it’s like, we’re human too!” Policemen chase them during the day, but then pay for their services at night. 

“Please pray for us. We need jobs so we don’t have to keep hustling. It’s a hard life, you know. Especially when you’ve got kids.”

Oh, my heart. My broken heart.

If only she knew how truly beautiful, amazing, and valued she is, especially in her Father’s eyes.

In the Psalms, God gives us a direct order:

Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked. Psalm 82:3-4

Yes, Lord. Here I am.