It's a Wonderful Life

“At the heart of Satan’s attack upon you is his attempt to rob you of your true identity and destiny.”

-Neal Lozano, Unbound

My last blog post was an attempt to regain parts of me that I feel I have lost.  Satan had done well in distracting me from receiving God’s full blessing.  It’s a truth I had known, but not really understood until I read Unbound by Neal Lozano.  “God wants to bless you much more than you desire to be blessed.  Allow yourself to receive from Him.”  Really?  Is it really that easy?  It was actually very, very difficult for me to write my last blog and ask people for help and ask for specific things/items/donations, etc.  But isn’t that exactly what God wants of us?  To ASK specifically?  Bruce Wilkinson says it this way: “When we ask for God’s blessing, we’re not asking for more of what we can get for ourselves.  We are crying out for the wonderful, unlimited goodness that only God has the power to know about or give us.”

Wow.  I have received in FULL this “wonderful, unlimited goodness” of God through His people.  In the course of 25 days, God has “surrounded me with love and compassion” and “filled my days with good things” (Ps 103:4-5).  Every day that I have been home, I have been blessed by someone.  I feel so overwhelmed and undeserving of such love. 

One day, Marissa, a college bestie, drove a couple hours just to meet me for lunch.  “I have a present for you,” she told me while we were out to lunch at Cracker Barrel.  A present, she had said, when just her presence was enough.  But when she came back inside, she didn’t have “a present,” she carried a laundry basket full of presents in her arms!  She gave them to me one by one, and as I unwrapped these presents, I couldn’t stop the tears that I tried to fight.  What moved me most was reading all the names on the card of who contributed to the gifts.  Truly amazing.  Marissa had contacted a whole crew of people who went to UW-L with me, and together they were able to raise enough money to support part of my housing fund as well as buy major items on my wish list, including thoughtful gifts like NFL ticket, cooking items to buy in Swazi, and a new Macbook Air!

A friend who contributed to these gifts wrote a message telling me it reminded her of the last scene in “It’s a Wonderful Life” where all sorts of people came to help George Bailey.  When I watched the movie (which I used to do every year), I cried.  God wants to bless us, we just need to ask.

I asked, and I received.  I received every major item on my list from my last post, and in addition, my housing need for 2016 is fully funded!  The most amazing surprise is that the overwhelming support came from both acquaintances and friends—from high school, college, and career connections—like donations from a couple students, Rachel Howe and Katie Shepardson, a surprise package from a high school acquaintance, Brianna Lynch, who I had no idea followed my blog, a set of Christian fiction books and financial support from my mom’s co-workers, the biggest donation I’ve ever personally received from my own co-worker (the Kreutzmans) at La Crescent High School, some supporters who don’t even know me, and so many more!

I am so filled.  I am so humbled.  I am SO full of joy!  I recently skyped with my friend Chris who lives in Ecuador and when he first saw me on the video, he immediately commented, “Wow, you look great and so lively.  So full of joy!”  (And he knew NOTHING of what has happened to me these past two weeks.) 

Indeed, I am so full of joy!  And it came from my three day retreat at a convent where I spent my days in prayer and reflection, letting Jesus love me and fill me. Thank you all for restoring in me the spirit of joy.  For reminding me that my identity is not tied to what I do, but who I am. Thank you for preventing Satan from robbing me of my identity as a daughter of the King, a beloved whom God genuinely desires to bless.  God, my good, good Father, you are Enough for me. (Listen to the song here: Good Good Father)

So, 2016, thanks to all of you—my army, my victors, my givers—I am now ready for you!  (I fly back to Swazi January 1^st!)

"That he may grant you in accord with the riches of his glory to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in the inner self, and that Christ may dwell in you hearts through faith; that you, rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."

-Ephesians 3:16-19

Marissa treating me to Culvers after spoiling me Cracker Barrel with food and a laundry basket full of gifts!

 Some joyful moments of December:

Mom and Dad picking me up at the airport in Chicago

HS Bestie Lauren taking me to a Badger basketball game!

Spending time at sporting events of my ol' students

Football and fun with my nephews

Kelly and my second fam: the Conways

Bowling and fun with Laura, Garret, Kiley, and Tony

Vising Mario in the hospital and praying for him

Jess and Kristen, my Newman fam!

In the presence of my beloved Bethie-boo

The Fab Four cheering on our old HS coach!

My grandma, my main reason for coming home.

Christmas with my family! And in this picture, my extended family.  All the Martin cousins together at last!

What I Need

“What do you need?” I’ve been asked hundreds of times throughout this past year and a half.  I’ve always responded with needs of the ministry and my girls.  But then a few people persist, “No, I mean you.  What do you need?”  I didn’t know. 

Now I do.

I need to rediscover the joys of simply being me.  The me who dances like a maniac, sings in strange voices in the shower, pretends to be a thug, relishes in competition, and loves laughing, giving advice, playing games, being goofy, being artsy, and playing football.  :)  I've lived here for too long like a volunteer or short term missionary. Missions mentor Elysa Mac recently told me, “You won’t last much longer living like that.  You need to make your life here.”  Indeed, I’m at that point.  I need to make this my life. 

So my needs (which still aren’t really needs) revolve around how to make my own life here.  I’ve turned them into a wish list, so now I have some ideas when someone genuinely asks, “Kate, what do you need?”    

1.       Health/food/nutrition: Don’t get me wrong, I love rice and beans.  But after 18 months of eating them every day, I think I can move on to better nutrition for myself.  I quite enjoy cooking, when I have time, and it’s something I haven’t done here because I eat what the girls eat/cook (except when it’s intestines or fish, of course).  Eating healthy is much more expensive, but in the end I know it will be worth it.  When I went to the local shopping mall the other day, I got quite excited looking at the different kitchen items I could buy to start making healthy meals in a timely manner.  These are items I can buy here (rather than having them donated because of the different electricity and outlets here) if you wanted to send a check/cash to me then I can purchase them here:

·         Crock pot $28.50

·         Hand blender $12.50

·         Hand mixer $13

·         Grill $15

Other fun foods/items that could be sent/donated that I’d quite enjoy at any time are:

·         Granola bars or Cliff bars

·         Trail mix

·         Dried fruit mix

·         Vitamins

·         Gum

·         Mints

·         RECIPES (your favorites)

·         Box mixes (for cake, brownies, muffins, pancakes, etc.)

·         The really healthy stuff like dark chocolate chips, M&Ms, and PB cups J

2.       Writing:  I’m working on a book, so you can pray for me to finish it, find an editor, publisher, etc. The computer I have is quite old so it has to plugged in in order to work, which is frustrating when there’s not always access to electricity; it’s also nearly out of memory and space (though my brothers keep reformatting it for me).  I also journal every day.  I made a promise to God a couple years ago during lent that I would write to him every day.  So every night before bed, I write to him and tell him all the things I’m thankful for that day.  To buy journals here are very expensive and to buy pens aren’t really worth it because they’re not that good.  So these are items for the wish list:

·         journals

·         fancy or colorful pens

·         small laptop

·         photo editing or video editing system for computer

3.       The “girly” me:  In this blasted heat and life of sweat, I sometimes just need to feel pampered and it can something as simple as these:

·         lotion

·         perfume

·         scented candles

·         makeup

4.       Reading:  I could use some great Christian fiction reads for when I’m sitting at the clinic or at the bank or another meeting place that takes 2-6 hours of wait time.  I have plenty of non-fiction to read, and I’ve eaten up pretty much all of Francine Rivers’ books, so I’d love some other options!

5.       Football: Eish, I miss this so terribly much.  I miss being able to come home after church and turn the TV on to watch football.  In fact, I just miss TV in general (and I hardly ever watched it at home!).  I haven’t figured out how to solve this yet, but a few options would be buy internet wifi, and then buying some sort of online NFL subscription or game streaming, etc.  Anyone have any ideas for me on how to get me some football and basketball?

6.       To feel normal: Receiving letters or packages from home are incredible.  My grandmas is the one who sends me consistent letters (even if I don’t write back to all of them) and it always makes me feel normal.  She tells me about her life, simple things, or about all the family.   Sometimes I get tired of trying to describe life here to people so it’s such a gift when others update me on every day random things about life.

·         letters

·         pictures

·         things that mean something to you or represent you

7.       Lastly, to make this life my own means renting a house of my own.  My friend Morgan and I plan to rent a house for the next year starting in January.  I created a GOFUNDME page to raise money since this is an expense I didn’t raise support for nor can I afford on my own. 

It will cost $5,200 for the whole year including rent, electricity, water, and furnishings. You can go to gofundme.com/mamakate to donate there or mail a check to: 208 Scenic Circle, Marshall, WI 53559.

Most of all, I need prayer.  The greatest gift I can ever receive is utterance of your words to our Father on my behalf.  

Blessings, love, and so much joy to you all!

$28.50

$12.50

$13

$15

Bench Warmer

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I am back in time on my high school basketball court.  I can hear the crowd bellowing, particularly the student section that’s right beneath our basket; I can see my friend, wearing his “Hot-shooter 32, I heart Kate” t-shirt; I can smell the wet socks when our point guard Danielle gets hurt and has to take off her shoes to get her ankle wrapped, again; I can taste the salty sweat that drips down my forehead during a free throw; I can feel the high fives and butt slaps as the throttle of competition rises  within me.  It’s a different world.  For two hours of my life, everything disappears and nothing matters except putting that “brown thing in the round thing,” as our team once quoted.  We take our place on the battlefield, the enemies in their rival maroon and yellow, daring to take their stand against our white and blood red school colors.  It’s not “just a game,” as my mom would say to me after a loss, and I would respond (in immature teenage fashion) by slamming my bedroom door to shut myself away for the night.  Just a game? No, this is war.  The real enemy isn’t the opposing team, the real battle isn’t the scoreboard.   The battle is to make them proud, the enemy is the war of emotions within me.  I have to learn to tame the beast, to learn through defeat. 

In times like these, now ten years later, I am thankful for those moments, those memories that still teach me so much.  As the saying goes, it’s not about how many times we fail but how many times we got back on that battlefield.  Even if we shouldn’t.  In basketball, I hated the bench; I hated rest.  There was no rest during a game, no relaxing during battle.  I would endure the rest only when Coach forced me to come off the court, but never of my own choice.  What a shame it would be if I gave up.  At least that’s how I saw it then.  Weaknesses must be mastered, and the court was the perfect place to do that—to learn how to battle my emotions, fix myself, and get stronger, better.  Who has the desire to rest when glory is on the horizon?

I laugh now at myself.  I laugh looking back at my life in general and see how much of a Martha I really am—always doing, never resting.  Even in college, I hated naps (I still do), because it felt like a waste of time (that and I never liked the way I felt when I finally woke up).  But there comes a point when a limit is a real limit.  We get taught in sports to push and go beyond.  In cross country, I learned how to beat my body into submission to my mind’s will to keep going, keep running, don’t give up.  But there is always a limit.  The thing about rest is that rest can help us to stretch our limits, to prevent us from breaking along the way.  And then again, sometimes breaks are the best medicine for us.

This life I live now has been non-stop for the past year and a half. The ministry has consumed me.  I’m on the basketball battlefield and refuse to get off.  Only when Coach pulls me out do I realize how much I desperately need rest.  And oh, Lord, you know.  No matter what pep talks I give myself, He knows…He knows how much I desperately need that bench.

For lack of ability to explain in detail what has been happening the past few months, I simply confess God is putting me on the bench for a while.  And somehow, I’m relieved.  Starting in January, my life will be drastically different, though I’m not sure how.  I have no idea what it will look like, except that I will no longer be the house mother for my fifteen girls.  (I will still be serving them but I will be finding my own place to live.)  As a ministry, we are separating from our partner ministry MYC that owns the home and has opted to keep running the home and keep all the girls.  From an organizational standpoint and with the decree of social welfare system, we must submit and let MYC take over in order to grow our own organization.  When I prayed and prayed about what do to, God kept reminding me, “The Lord your God will fight for you, you need only be still” (Ex 14:14).  Yes, “Be still and know that I am God” (Ps 46:10).  God made two things clear to me: 1) our ministry has become so thin because we are trying to cover too much.  We have the girls home, Mangwaneni ministry, street nights, and the workshop; all supposed to be run by just one full-time staff (me) and our year-long volunteers?  As Rachel put it, “We don’t want to be a mile wide and only an inch deep.”  Because the needs are SO tremendously great here, it is difficult NOT to try to help.  But we have definitely been spread thin.  So, as a ministry, it is clear that it’s time to pull back, call a timeout, re-strategize, and reconnect with God’s intent for who to help and how.  As the executive director, this actually thrills me.  I’m so excited to see where God will take us because there are SO many different options and directions!  I know He will grow us tremendously to be a mile deep and a mile wide.  But as just me, Kate, the mother figure in these kids’ lives, well, that’s a different story—one I’ve been avoiding dealing with at the current moment, because it just may destroy me.  2) I need to find me.  I have never faced such a battle as I have the last four months.  I thought things would get easier, but the battles have increased.  Face to face with demons, praying endlessly for the freedom of some of my girls, frustrated and confused, empty and bitter.  Angry.  Angry that I can’t be the mom I’m supposed to be (I didn’t realize how motherhood could bring out the worst in us!) or the friend I want to be or the director I need to be. Angry that I keep shooting but the ball won’t go in the basket. 

In a couple weeks I will be going home for the month of December.  It’s my extended timeout.  Time to catch my breath and get Kate back.  Somewhere along the way, I feel I’ve lost her.  Surrounded by so much heartache and disappointment 24/7, she couldn’t survive like I thought she could.  I can do it, I said.  I’m fine, I said.  It will pass, I said.  Yet, now I see how pride is so sneaky.  Pride has put a veil over my eyes.  Pride has prevented me from keeping Kate.  So I’m letting go of pride.  I’m admitting personal defeat by clinging to spiritual victory.  For, He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world.  “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’” (2 Cor 12:9)

For the first time in my life, I think I’m really looking forward to that bench.  During my prayer time the other week, I asked God what He wanted from me, what I was supposed to do this next year.  His response: “Come and enjoy life with me.”  I don’t know what that means, but I know I’m going to love being a bench-warmer.   

“Therefore that I might not become too elated, a thorn in my flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me, to keep me from being too elated.  Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me.  Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.”  -2 Corinthians 12:7-10

Go Before Me

                “God, are you there?  I believe in you...I think.  But then I start doubting.  I want to believe,” she prayed one night as she laid on the bare concrete floor staring up the holes in the hut’s ceilings.  She was alone as her friend Jane would be out all night on the streets, selling her body.  She had wanted to go, too, but Jane told her no.  “It’s a no good life for you,” Jane had said. 

“Then why do you do it?  You come back every morning with lots of money.  How is that not a good life?” she asked her friend. 

Jane shook her head no, “But there’s still hope for you.  Don’t do what I do.”

                With Jane gone, her loneliness felt oddly peaceful tonight.  Her boyfriend was out of town and her friends refused to take her to the clubs anymore.  “All you do is cry!” her friend spat her one night, having to leave the club early to tend to the outpouring of tears.  “I’m not going with you dancing anymore.  Do you hear?  All you do is cry and I don’t get it!”

                Neither did she.  Every time she tried to go to the clubs and get drunk, she’d start to hear a voice in her head.  It wasn’t an unfamiliar voice, it was one she knew too well; it was the voice of the one she called Mom, though they were of different skin colors and drastically different worlds.  But the voice came unceasingly, pleadingly, “Stop what you’re doing!  Come back.  Why are you doing this?  Think of your kids.  You’re better than this.  You know better.”  And every time the voice came, it was as if her mom was yelling in her ears, begging her to leave the clubs, to return “home.”  And every time, she cried. 

                The tears didn’t come tonight, though, as she lay in the still night.  But her thoughts rampaged. 

                “Maybe I should go back to Mama Kate.  Maybe she will forgive me… again.”

                Ha, really?  Again?  Do you think she’s just going to keep forgiving you?  Again and again? 

                “She’ll be so angry,” she muttered, placing her hand over her swelled belly.

                And unforgiving.  You can’t keep going back to her.  You ruined it.  She gave you one more shot already, and you ran away.  How do you think she’s gonna feel seeing your pregnant AGAIN?  She’s going to give up on you.  In fact, she already has.  That’s why she’s not here, right?  Has she come after you since you left?  

                Her body shook with the poisonous thoughts.  “That’s true.  She hasn’t come after me like before.  Why would she want to? How could anyone actually love me?  I’ve done nothing but cause her stress.  The last thing I want is to cause more stress.”

                She loves you.

                “Not anymore.  I ruined it.”

                She’s waiting for you.

“I can’t go back.”

All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

                “I don’t deserve it.”

                True, you’d do her a favor if you just disappeared forever.  Don’t go back.  She’ll expose you for what you really are. 

                “Yeah…she’s powerful.”

                She’s sent by Me.

                “I’m afraid.  Oh, God, I’m so afraid.  I want to go back, but I can’t.  I can’t tell her I’m pregnant again.  I can’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes one more time.  I can’t bear to feel her heart break and see her tears.  I have to hide.  Maybe I will wait until after I give birth…”

                Now that’s a good idea!  Better yet, don’t worry about the baby.  Don’t keep the baby.  Dump the baby in the river (since you stupidly decided not to abort it earlier) and then she’ll never know.  No one has to know.  You don’t have to worry.  Just get rid of it all.

Indeed, it was a solution.  It was a solution she had been thinking about since the moment she found out she was pregnant.  But would it really solve anything?

                “Oh, God, I don’t know what to do.  If you’re there…if you’re listening, please… Please go before me.  Please go before me and tell Mama Kate everything.  Then, maybe then…I can return.”

*                                             *                                             *                                             *                                        

               

                I flip shut the Joyce Meyer book, “Battlefield of the Mind” that Tenele and I are reading together.  I look over at her, eyes shining, and I am struck by the beauty of God.  I start laughing. 

                “What?” she tilts her head and frowns.  When I can’t stop laughing, she giggles, too. “What’s so funny?”

                “I’m just…” I pause for words.  “So happy.  Tenele, for the past seven years, I’ve been waiting for these moments.”

               

After God had told me plainly, “Stop holding Tenele’s past against her,” and after Hosea’s message of loving “newly” washed over me (see last blog), Tenele and I started over on a fresh slate.  She moved into my extra room at the volunteer house and agreed to cook and clean as her way to work for rent.  But the best part was on weekends when I stayed at the volunteer house to get a couple nights away from the girls home, and we did devotions together. 

Tenele agrees with my joy.  “To be truthful, Mom, I never thought we’d be spending time like this again,” she beams.  But her smile quickly fades and eyes flash darkly as she looks out the window. 

I stare at her, unsure of what thoughts are burdening her again.  She rises and I catch a glimpse of her stomach.  She had been wearing a sweatshirt for awhile, and now I see why.  Somehow it makes me smile.  I’ve always known she was pregnant.  I had had a dream back in March and then Ayanda told me in June, but Ayanda thought maybe Tenele terminated the pregnancy.  But now I can see she didn’t.  And it makes me light up.

“You’re pregnant.  When are you due?” the words spew as if they are not mine.

“What?” she flashes a glare my way.  “No.”  It’s what she says when she’s stubborn and doesn’t want to share, “No.”

“No, what?  You’re obviously preggers,” I smile.

She meets my eyes questioningly.  I see the pain.  I see the clouds, I see the anger and the apprehension. 

“It’s okay,” I keep smiling.

“No, I’m not pregnant,” she says angrily, as if to convince herself.

“Tbelle,” I laugh.  “Come here.”  I hug her.  “You have a baby bump,” I gently touch her stomach.  “And it’s beautiful.”

Finally, she smiles.

Later, she unloads everything.  She tells me about her past seven months and how she went back and forth from believing in God and not believing.  She asks me about hearing God’s voice because she says she asks to hear him but she never can.  I explain that it’s an inner voice.  Then she tells me, “The only voice I hear is yours.” 

“What?” I laugh.  “What do you mean?”

She explains her time at the clubs and getting drunk and how all she could hear was my voice repeating in her head, begging her to make good choices. 

“Wow!  Tenele, that’s God!  He had to use my voice to get your attention because I am someone you know.  He is using what you know to speak to you!”

As we continue talking, she reveals a few more things. 

“I have never forgotten the message you sent me in March.  You sent me a text about a dream you had that I was pregnant…” she pauses.

I nod.  “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I cried all day long after that.  Because I was.  I had just found out I was pregnant.”

“Wow,” I’m at a loss for words.

“And then, in June…” she continues, “You came to me and asked if I was pregnant.  I told you no.  But you said you didn’t want me to answer you only wanted to tell me something.  And you did.  You said, ‘No more abortions, Tenele, no more.’”

I nod.  I remember that moment so clearly.  I had been so angry at her but God’s peace thankfully got the better of me and He simply spoke a command through me.  Apparently, Tenele listened.

“Mom, I had bought pills that morning.  I was going to abort the baby that day,” she trails off, eyes glazing.  “Oh, how I cried.  I couldn’t stop all day.  Because all I wanted was to get rid of the baby but I couldn’t, not after what you told me.  I knew I couldn’t.  So I threw the pills away.”

I was dumbfounded by the glory and Lord.  He knows.  Oh, how He knows.

“And then…” she smiles to herself, clearly in newfound awe, “I asked God if He was real,” she shook her head.  “Now I know He is.  I asked that if He was real, if He was listening, would he go before me to talk to you.  I couldn’t tell you I was pregnant.  For many reasons.  So I asked God to tell you, to go before me…”

Tears pool in my eyes.  “And He did.  Wow… He did.”

Such a simple prayer.  Such a powerful answer.  Looking back I see that if I had acted on my own accord, my own emotion, my own frustration, my own weak “love,” I would not have welcomed Tenele back.  I would have turned away not only her, but a second life (or a third if there really are twins in her belly as Lucia suggests).

“Lord, go before me.”  How our world would change, if we prayed that every day.

                

When We Love Like That

I get a phone call one night from Tenele: “Mom, it’s not good here.  My mother is talking things again and she just want money.  She no want me here.  I’m going to leave at month’s end.” 

I’m not surprised.  Deep down I knew this was going to be the result, but I had hoped miraculously her mother would be different.  “When will you come back?  Where will you go?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly.  “But I will come to you first, I promise.”  She sounds so convincing.

Before long, it’s my brother’s last few days in Swazi and still no phone call or sign from Tenele.  We decide to plan a trip out to the bush to see her at the homestead, so I call her mom.  Her step-dad answers and tells me Tenele had left three days ago.

I’m confused.  Why wouldn’t she come here?  Especially since she was so excited to see Garret?

Later that night I find out from Ayanda that she is back in Mangwaneni…and trying to hide.

I turn livid. 

The following day we go to find her because Garret wants to see her, not me.  In fact, I stay in the car with Benny and Lucia while he, Rachel, Tony, and Ayanda search for her.  Almost an hour later, they finally return (after Ayanda had to coax and threaten Tenele to come to us).  

I see Tenele, but instead of my heart leaping, it burns.  Her eyes are not pretty.  I can read everything from her eyes.  I’ve said this in the past many times, that although she lies often, her eyes never lie.  And her eyes are now filled with evil. 

Sure enough, she barely greets me.  I ask her what happened, why she didn’t come to me like she promised; she spits out a response in SiSwati.  She turns to Lucia and starts saying nasty things to her and about me.  Luckily for me, I know some of the “naughty” SiSwati words and know what she is saying so I quickly shoo her away, demanding her to leave if she can’t talk properly.   She leaves.  As she turns away, she covers her face in her elbow and cries.  Garret jogs after her to say goodbye but my heart remains like rock.  I’m so done with her, I shake my head.  After all I’ve done… and she says those things about me?  And to Lucia?  No, I’m not putting up with her anymore...  I decide to myself on the piercingly silent drive home. 

I run a few more errands that day and return to the girls home at night.  Tenele is there.  Apparently she had felt so terrible that she walked all the way to the girls home to apologize.  She seems to be in high spirits with her kids and with the girls.  I am not. 

I am angry.  I am fed up.  I am finally done.  Once and for all.  Done. 

70 x 7… comes that still small voice in my head. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” I snort.  “God, you surely can’t be telling me to excuse her again.”

70 x 7…

“What am I supposed to do?  I can’t keep loving her, Lord! I just can’t.”

70 x 7…

I shake my head.  I hear Lucia whimpering outside my door.  Then I hear Tenele’s voice, “Sorry, Lucia, sorry.”  I throw open the door, grab Lucia’s hand, which is rubbing the tears from her eyes, and glare as hotly as I possibly can at Tenele.  Then I pull Lucia into my hug and slam the door on Tenele. 

To my surprise, Tenele opens the door and sits next to Lucia and me. Nope, can’t do it.  I don’t care anymore.  I don’t.  I try to convince myself as tears dare to form behind my eyes.   She tries to speak, but I turn away.  I can’t look at her.  She tries to speak again and I cut her off.  I yell at her.  I break.  She tries to comfort me by putting her arm around me and repeating, “Sorry, Mom,” over and over.  But I don’t care.  I had convinced myself that I was done.  I try to stay cold and unfeeling but the tears won’t let me.  She is what everyone told me from the beginning: hopeless. 

70 x 7.  Where yours ends is my beginning. Let Me begin again.   

I breathe out my anger and hurt.  I try to let go of my pride.  I fight the urge inside me to help her.  Tenele’s the one crying now.  And still, my heart is cold.  I want to comfort her, but I can’t.  She repeats over and over, “Mom, I’m so sorry I let you down.  I’m sorry I left Teen Challenge,” she speaks about Teen Challenge over and over.  “I can tell,” she starts to sob.  “You… you…you stopped loving me after I ran away from Teen Challenge.  I can see you are tired of me.  But Mom I love you.  I see you don’t love me anymore…” she cries. 

“Tenele, you don’t know what love is,” I say in exasperation.  I talk about God’s love.  She cries harder. 

When she calms down, she takes in her breath and faces me.  “Okay, Mom, I want to tell you the truth.  I don’t believe in God anymore.”

The knife to my already bleeding heart.  If seven years…SEVEN YEARS of loving this girl doesn’t prove to her that God is good and that God is love, then I’ve spent these seven years for nothing.  I’m crushed.  I cry.  I’m angry.  I cry out to God, “Is all of this a waste?  What have I done wrong?  How did this go wrong?  Did I really stop loving her?  Am I holding Teen Challenge against her?  What do you demand of me in this moment for her?  What can I say?  What can I do?”

Hosea.  Remember Hosea.

I grab my Bible for some wisdom, some solace.  I open to Hosea, to the place where Tenele and I began.  I flip open to the introduction by author Gene Giuliano Jr.  There.  There it is in highlighter.  He writes, “The story of God’s covenant relationship is contained in chapter 11…The prophet moves from describing God’s love for Israel in terms of a marriage to describing it in terms of a parent-child relationship.  When love is refused or ignored, the good parent, like the good spouse, continues to love despite being rejected.”   

Parent and child.  Redeeming Love.  Our story.  We read some verses together.  I am refreshed.  I’m somehow renewed but I don’t understand how it could happen so quickly.  My love for her is suddenly restored.  I smile.  I laugh.  How?  How did I go from yelling at her, almost hating her and hating the fact that I had to waste seven years of life on her to now loving her like she’s never done any wrong?  And I see the words again…

“Yahweh’s love for Israel is not only unfathomable but also powerful enough to regenerate.  And therein lies Hosea’s message—Yahweh loves like a new spouse, like a new parent.”

There it is.  I can feel God whisper to me, “Mary-Kate, stop holding Tenele’s past against her.  Let go of Teen Challenge.  Let go of every wrong.  I have forgiven her.  Stop judging her.  You are to discipline her, yes.  But it is mine to punish, mine to judge.”

I speak to Tenele what I’m hearing the Spirit encourage me to say: “Tenele, I’m sorry for holding Teen Challenge against you.  I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t love you anymore.  The truth is I was tired, I didn’t want to keep loving you.  But the love I have for you is not mine.  It’s God’s, so I can’t stop loving you.  I won’t stop.  In fact, we need to restart.  We are going to start completely fresh in our relationship.  I will not hold your past against you anymore.”

Some people don’t believe in miracles.  If you want to see one, forgive someone who has deeply wronged you.  Tell someone you will erase their past mistakes and love them newly, like God renews His love for us as a new spouse—the honeymoon spouse, and a new parent—holding her newborn like there is nothing greater in the entire world.  When we love like that, miracles happen. 

Tenele became a miracle again.  The two weeks that followed this moment have been the most incredible two weeks I have ever had with Tenele in all of my seven years combined!  God is so good! She is new!  It amazes me.  I can’t comprehend how deep and wide and powerful and high is God’s love for us.  This grace is miraculous. 

And God knows.  Oh He knows.  He knew what Tenele needed to hear from me; He knew how He needed to prepare me; He knew that I needed to let go of Tenele’s past.  Because her recent past involves a new life now forming inside of her again.  But this time, it’s okay.  I tell her the baby bump is beautiful.  And finally… she smiles. 

Hustlers

I know these streets so well.  I’ve walked them hundreds of times.  Yet, somehow they seem foreign now in the dark.  Nighttime transforms them into a world I do not know.  Nor want to know.

“Let’s just drive a couple laps around and pray for those we see,” Rachel comments.  It’s our first street night.  Since my brother and his friend Tony have come to visit for 10 days, Rachel and I take full advantage of having men around.  It was Rachel who arranged tonight, our first night seeking out prostitutes. 

None of us knows what we are doing or going to do.  Or what we might say.  My heart tightens with memories of four years ago and the dangers that came along with the ministry.  But that was a different place.  These are my streets, my home. 

It’s the library.  A place of safety during the day where people from around the city can enter into a world of wonder wrapped up in books.  But at night a haven for lust-drunken men, on their way in or out of town, who stop for a few moments of pleasure.  No one will know.  The night keeps them in a different life.  One girl later tells us that some of these men are sometimes policemen, who have beat them before in the day, when in front of their fellow policemen, but now at night, alone, they too pay for pleasure from a prostitute. 

We pass the library and see a few girls getting into cars and few on the street sides, laughing and holding bottles of alcohol.  “Honey, please don’t get into that car,” I say to myself as we pass a late teenaged girl talking through the window of a black car.  She gets in.  The car drives away.  When the car returns she gets out and finds another post on the side of the street. 

Garret and Tony decide to walk while Rachel and I stay in the car for safety reasons.  We drive a couple laps and come back to pick up the guys.  As we pull over to the side of the street, a few young women eagerly approach and then shutter back when they see it’s just Rachel and me. 

“Hi sisi,” I smile as the women frown at us.  “Do you need a ride home?” the words come quicker than expected.  The young woman looks puzzled and shakes her head. 

“A lift, do you need a lift home?” Rachel clarifies since they don’t understand ride. 

The first girl shakes her head no again, but the older one says, “Yes, please!”  And she jumps in the car.  Seeing her friend enter our vehicle, the younger one decides she’ll do the same.  Garret and Tony enter and we all talk together as if we don’t know what was happening.  They pretend not to be prostitutes and we pretend not to know.

The second street goes a little differently.  Our first pass at the library leaves us with nothing but empty, quiet streets.  “Maybe they’re not out tonight?” we say with childish hope.  But five minutes later when we make another pass, the streets are all of a sudden alive with noise and laughter and girls with short skirts and tight clothes and beer bottles. 

We pull over and ask a couple if they want a ride home.  One, bold enough to approach our car while the others shy away (and one jumps behind a pole to hide) comes to our window and laughs.  “A ride home?  No way, it’s too early.  Come back at half twelve,” she giggles and walks away. 

We come back at twelve-thirty. 

“Ready for your ride?” we ask as Rachel rolls down her passenger side window.  The girl who told us to come back leaps back in surprise when she sees it’s us in the vehicle. 

Her name is Dani.  She doesn’t get in.

But her friend looks at her and then to us and then to her and says, “Uyahlana” (you’re crazy) and gets into our car.   Dani pauses, unsure if she wants to end the night of work and finally decides to get in with us.  We pull forward a couple feet and two more jump in.  On the way to drop them off, we pick up a fifth. 

We have no planned conversations, questions, or objectives.  We don’t preach to them or quote Scripture or ask what they were doing.  Our only goal is to meet them and show them love.  And this night it comes in the form of a ride home. 

During the drive, the women talk freely, especially Dani.  She wasn’t ready to go home.  As we drop the first girl off, Dani complains that it’s too early and that work brought no money tonight.  The others try to hush her.  Two girls decide to get dropped off and keep working.  Dani lingers, not wanting to go home but not wanting to be back on the streets either.  We drop the second to last girl off and Dani finally agrees to go home.  Her friend in the front seat is upset, as she was trying to convince her to stay out.  The friend in the front seat follows suit and asks us to drop her off at home instead.  As we drop off the last girl, she enlightens us briefly on her life, her difficulties, and her wish to not be a prostitute.  “Once they find out we’re prostitutes, they don’t give us a chance.  But it’s like, we’re human too!”  She tells us about the policemen who beat them when they are all together during the day but at night, when they are alone, they come to the women to pay for sex.  “Please pray for us.  We need jobs so we don’t have to keep hustling.  It’s a hard life, ya know. Especially when you’ve got kids.”

Five years ago, Sister Mary Jane told me, "Maybe helping these young prostitutes is a life-calling."  I laughed then because that was not a dream or plan of mine.  But I ache now to help these women, who have indeed become a life-calling.  

Please join us in praying for these women and that our ministry can grow financially so we can hire women for our workshop ministry! 

Blinded

What is it that you want?  I mean, really want?  A car?  Chocolate?  Money?  To find your ever after? To be a famous somebody? To cure something?  To save someone?  What do you want?

But why?  Why do you want those things?  Why do we want what we want?  What is at the heart of all our yearnings, our longings, our deep wantings? 

It’s our chase for happiness.  It is essentially at the heart of everything we do.  I want chocolate because for the one minute that it melts on my tongue I’m satisfied, I breathe out delight, I’m happy.  I want a car because it makes life easier.  Life easier makes me happier.  I help someone because it makes him/her happy, and because I make him/her happy, my heart smiles and I’m happy.  I want money because, I mean, well who doesn’t?   So what is happiness?  Why do we long for it, sell ourselves to gain it, if only for a fleeting moment?

What is it that you don’t want? What are you fears?  What do you wish will never happen to you?  Or wish never did happen?  Spiders, car accidents, suicide, murder, death of a loved one, abandoned by a parent, sickness, loneliness, depression, anorexia, self-hatred, living but unloved?  Pain.  In the simplest and the most grotesque forms, we are terrified of pain.  In fact, we spend most of our lives obsessed with avoiding pain.  We burry the pain.  We numb the pain.  And we call that life?

In numbing the pain, we dull the life out of living.  What is there left?  The numbing dulls us, so our void is even bigger, deeper.  But wasn’t that supposed to lead to happiness?  We want more.  We crave more.  Never satisfied.   And we become addicted.  Yes, addicted.  Drugs, alcohol, sex—those are the most visibly destructive, but we all have addictions.  We are addicted to whatever dulls the pain, minimizes the ache, kills the thoughts in our heads.  So we can be happy.  But it’s just that—the dulling, the avoiding, this pursuit of happiness that eventually kills us—the lives we are meant to live.  No second-grader ever says, “When I grow up, I want to be a drug addict,” or “I want to be a drunk driver,” or “I want men to want me, and I will do whatever it takes.”   No, when we are young we have hope, we know what happiness is because we are fearless, until we are taught to be afraid.   It was my mom who told me to come home from the park before it got dark because she was afraid, not me.  It was my dad who told me to wear a helmet when riding the bike because he was worried, not me.  At that age we can dream, we can become anything.  And we are happy without having to dig for it or numb the pain that divides it.  It’s no wonder that Jesus says the Kingdom of heaven belongs to such as children.  

Did you ever wonder how your life might be different if you accepted pain as a requirement of life?  C.S. Lewis said, “If you think of this world as a place intended simply for our happiness, you find it quite intolerable: think of it as a place of training and correction and it’s not so bad.” 

If you want happiness, start by accepting the pain.  Feel it.  Live it.  Overcome it. Face your fears and that face in the mirror that sometimes disgusts you.  Don’t numb, don’t avoid, don’t bury.  Lift up your eyes and look.  See.  Look at the world for what it is: pain, separation, sin.  And see how you can transform it.  You don’t need to change it to transform it.  You simply need to see—to see the beauty amidst the pain, to see the thanksgiving amidst the sorrow.  In her book One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp explains this as a directive to “lean into the ugly and whisper thanks to transfigure it into beauty.”  She continues explaining the paradox of the connection of joy to pain, saying, “…they are but two arteries of the one heart that pumps through all those who don’t numb themselves to really living.”  Furthermore, Voskamp explains our model for this is Jesus himself, who—on the night before he was betrayed, captured, murdered—“showed us how to transfigure all things—take the pain that is given, give thanks for it, and transform it into a joy that fulfills all emptiness.”

Ah, joy.  A joy that fills all emptiness.  Could this be true?  Take the pain that is given, give thanks, and transform it?  Can a simple utterance of thanksgiving transform something ugly into something beautiful?  See how this transformed Ann Voskamp’s life in her book One Thousand Gifts, and take the dare to do the same.  Indeed, my life, too is being transformed when I whisper thanks over this sometimes- busily-soured life.    

Whispers of gratitude:

·         This pen with a child’s teeth marks – evidence of a shared (or stolen) moment with my ink

·         The wobbly, wooden, worn bench that somehow still invites unity when we sit together watching the sun go to bed

·         Water dripping from freshly hand-washed clothes hanging on the line

·         Lucia’s afro, making her look like a mad scientist

·         When Bongekile smiles

·         Benny’s belly shirts because Gogo insists on feeding him too much on purpose

·         The way peanut butter glistens when it’s melted just right on a piece of toast

·         The pumpkin spice candle from my friend that melts the nerves after chasing and killing a cockroach

·         Ah, yes, sleeping children

·         The single, small stained-glass window in the small chapel that casts a beautiful red streak of love on the wall

·         A woman in bare feet, immersed in her bible during adoration

·         When my old students still contact me and especially when they ask for advice

·         When Angel, Miss Tom Boy Who Never Shows Affection, fights for my hand and hangs onto it all the way through town

·         When I hear noises in the front yard, thinking Benny escaped to the outdoors, but I find out it’s a cow on the loose enjoying our lush grass.

·         Rice and beans – no matter how many times a week I eat the same thing, I can still enjoy them

·         Words – oh how I love words! Hearing them, reading them, and most especially writing them

·         When Lucia draws pictures of me, even though I look like a multi-eyed, harry monster -- at least she got my shoes right!

So, when life around me is usually a blinding chaos, how splendid it becomes when I see!  Even amidst my complaints, my groans, my doubts, my “why me?”, and my fears the  beauty of God still surrounds me—every day, every minute, every second—as he keeps whispering, “My amazing grace is enough for you, if only you will take time to see.” 

Join me in asking God for eyes to see. 

“The art of deep seeing makes gratitude possible.  And it is the art of gratitude that makes joy possible.  Isn’t joy the art of God?” – Ann Voskamp

 

Hair, eyes, nose, cheeks, and shoes!  -A 3 year old's drawing of me

Lucia's fro after waking up