Loving a Runaway

2008 – I met a twelve-year-old, front-tooth missing, phonily happy teenage girl who ripped the heart right out of my chest. But in its place, God put His heart for her. And so she became “umntfwana wami” (my child) ever since.

2009 – I returned to Swazi to find “my child,” was nowhere to be found. “You will never see her again,” I was told. “She’s a prostitute,” they said. After being abused and sold by her step-mom, she decided to run away. They said, “She’s not worth it.” They were looking out for my own benefit. “It’s no use. You’ll never see her again.”

But through Divine Intervention, I spotted her in a blue hat, sitting in the back of a white truck with a bunch of men. When I called out to her, she leapt out of the moving vehicle, ran across traffic in her bare feet, and flew into my arms. “I’ll never lose her again,” I vowed.

2010 – After graduating college with a teaching degree, I moved to Swazi for the year to volunteer teach. It took me two weeks to find her. And two weeks to lose her. She was back and forth, back and forth. Into my life, then out. Appearing for help, then disappearing. Begging for hope, then running from it. I chased, pursued, refused to give up. And in the pursuit, I met so many girls with horror stories of abuse and forced prostitution just like her. Sister Mary Jane told me, “This sounds like a life-calling.” I laughed. I had my own dreams. I couldn’t stay here forever.

2011 – She got pregnant. By a man whom her step-mother had sold her to. She let the walls come down. She shared openly for the first time in 3 years the horrors of her past and present.

But then I moved back to America.

I got a teaching job. The best one. One I dreamt of.

She gave birth to a baby girl! I sent clothes through another volunteer who was onsite. She still remembers that moment to this day.

2012 – My friend, Chris, and I started the non-profit Hosea’s Heart.  

She got pregnant again by the same man but hid it for as long as she could. She tried to abort him, but he survived. He is the prince of my heart to this day, and the aura of

God in our home.

2013 – We opened Hope for Life girls home! She was placed in the home. Her first time in over five years she was somewhere safe and away from the streets. But not for long. People running the home onsite (we were partnered at this point) didn’t think it was right to have a pregnant girl in the home. So, one day, without warning, they told her to pack her bags and sent her to her birth mother – the woman who left her as a baby in the grass to die. The counselor said sending her away was possibly even worse than the sexual exploitation she’s endured. To be given hope, given a home just to be told you’re not good enough and see it ripped right out of your hands. I don’t know that she’s ever healed from this yet.

When I returned that summer, I went to find her and put her back in our Home, refusing to let others treat her like she was nothing.

2014 – My heart split in half when I decided it was time to be in Swazi full-time. I had to leave the 99 sheep in pursuit of the one. But one is worth it. I moved to Swazi and moved into the girls home, becoming a mother of many. She left the home. People said, “I told you so.”

2015 – She stayed with a pastor and his family but suffered immensely with no supervision, abusing the children she had but never wanted. The lack of psychological, emotional, and spiritual support did its damage. But she eventually went to a rehab program and shocked me with her growth and newness, strength, and love for Jesus and love for herself. But the months were few; counseling was scary because it meant she had to face her past; she ran away again. I thought it was our end. I was devastated. I wanted to leave. I wanted to give up. If I couldn’t succeed in helping one girl, how in the world could I continue to run an entire organization of them?

Near my birthday that year, I got the best early b-day present. She came back to me! She shared my room at the volunteer house (I still lived at girls home, but had a room at the volunteer house to live in on weekends). She became a cook and worked for rent, food, and small change. But at that time, she was already 6 months pregnant. However, she thrived in this new environment of Christian support, love, work, and dreams. She gave birth towards the end of the year to a baby boy and named him Joshua because of the biblical significance of his name.

2016 – She started counseling again. She still couldn’t face the pain. She ran away again. Back to a life of selling herself. I thought 2015 was the worst heartbreak, but I was wrong. It took a whole lot of prayers and some inner calm of Christ himself to keep me in Swaziland. By this time, I was exhausted on all levels – a full house of girls with dramatic, intense needs—feeling inconsolably homesick, feeling like an immense failure, and overwhelmed by the millions of things I needed to improve/change/do to better Hosea’s Heart. The truth was, I knew why she ran away. She didn’t feel loved. I became a workaholic. I buried her under the work of Hosea’s Heart, so much that she came to hate Hosea’s Heart. She said she wished I never started it. 

2017 – God strengthened me immensely through the heartbreak and then miraculously brought her back into my life again. She came back in February, and lived with me full time. She was very sick and I thought some of those nights were her last ones. But she improved immensely. I was now living at the college where I taught one class of English. We lived there until July when I had to move out of the college again because my teaching term was over. From Feb – May (before I left for the States), it was like living inside of a miracle. We had arguments, fights, outbursts, lots of tears, but best of all, lots of love and grace. She humbled me in many ways. I learned to “keep No record of wrongs,” though it was very, very difficult. She learned how to deal with conflict without running away. She became the best version of herself I’ve ever seen. She worked countless hours cleaning, washing, serving, being an incredible mom and daughter at the same time. I got to teach her from a homeschool curriculum and see her dreams grow. She instilled in me self-discipline with the Word of God. She read it relentlessly—questioning, reflecting, soaking it in. We began a bedtime routine of sitting down together (after putting the kids to bed) to journal silently and then read Scripture aloud and talk about it. My heart was on fire for the Lord.

Then came August. We were no longer living at the college but had moved back to town and lived in an apartment near a bar. She told me how she hated weekends because the loud music from the bar was calling her back to her old life. She would sleep with earphones in and play worship music to cut out the past.

I left for the States to transition Ayanda into college. It was supposed to be the highlight of my year. But the day I left and hugged umntfwana wami goodbye, she sobbed in my arms. I was so confused. She knew that I would only be gone three weeks – the shortest time I’ve ever been away. I thought she was doing so well. But I should’ve known from the way she wept. From the look on her face that said, “Don’t leave me. I’m not okay. Please don’t go.” But I had to go.

When I was away, I could sense something was wrong. A couple days before I was about to return, I had this odd sixth sense (aka Holy Spirit) that she was gonna run. That she was gonna disappear before I got back. So I prayed. And I asked the volunteer onsite to make sure my girl was there to pick me up from the shuttle. I knew that if she didn’t greet me then, she was gonna bolt. I was DELIGHTED when she met me at the shuttle. But I knew immediately something was off. She was ashamed. I didn’t know it then, but that’s what she was. (She made a lot of poor decisions while I was away.) She was reserved and standoffish yet so longing to be hugged and loved. I had missed her birthday so I brought back bday gifts from my family and me. She cried. “Wow, you really love me!” she kept saying. (As if 9 years hasn’t proved it yet? :/) She confessed that she had wanted to run away while I was gone again. I told her I was so proud of her for staying and fighting it out.

Two days later, it was my birthday. We had made plans together. But when I went to our apartment to meet her, she was gone. I called her but she had already ditched her phone. (And got a new number so no one could contact her.) She didn’t leave a note or say happy birthday. Just gone. Gone. My 31st birthday. And I haven't seen her since. :(

Journal entry -- 10-6-2017 (Note: this is obvi more poetic than literal) 

"There's a constant sadness that continually attacks me, trying to impair me. I have yet to name the happenings of my heart. I've tried to be strong. They think I'm strong. I try not to let the emptiness in this house shine through in the emptiness of my heart. They don't understand. But do I even understand? What do I feel?

I feel numb sometimes. Like the darkness punched my gut and knocked the wind out of me. I fight for breath. 

Things that were once natural and routine are strings of pain. Praying with Benji and Lucia every night without her on the other bed next to them praying with me is like lemon juice on a wound that's be reopened countless times. 

My heart tries so hard. fights in vain. To ignore and reject the pain. She can't hurt me again, I say. Don't shed even one more tear for her, they say.

Jesus, the ache inside me is crippling. My throat tightens and sadness envelopes me. She left me empty. My anger burned so violently it blew a fuse. But grace came and cleaned me. 

Still, the pain remains unwashed. There is a dam of tears, a well so deep I can't access it anymore. My soul is stricken without notice. I mourn the death, the loss. For this apartment is no longer home but an empty tomb. There is no place I can go that is without her; yet she is gone and I am without.

I bury my face in her sweatshirt, I stare at her picture, willing her to come back to life. Already I wonder who the girl is in the photo frame. Is that really her? Is the girl I gave my life for really gone again? her bible left behind on purpose. other things of hers she didn't bother to pack. Except her shoes. She took every pair with her. not one stayed behind. She's a runner. I guess she needs every pair, huh?

This is worse than death. Harder than a funeral. There is no celebration of life here. no goodbye. No closure. No one to tell me it's okay to cry or it's okay to grieve as I would be allowed if it were a funeral. No one to hold me up when I waver when the pain gets too strong. Instead, they practically hate her. They don't want me to mourn her. My heart screams but makes no sound. It wants to break free, but that means the dam must break, and I don't want to hurt anyone in its path. 

And yet, all this sadness, all this pain -- is simply an ocean of opportunity waiting to glorify your Name. Lord, turn these dry tears into oceans of mercy, rivers of joy, and lakes of love. Soak me in it. You have the final say. This is your victory. She is your child. I am yours. Let it be."

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Christmas List: Lesson of a Priceless Life

Sometimes going to the girls home can feel like entering a black hole. If spiritual warfare is particularly high that day or if the enemy of the past -who laboriously visits the girls' minds - is invited to stay, then a cloud of darkness seems to mask itself as the ceiling. Sometimes it feels like entering a fortress of defeated dreams. Sometimes it feels like energy is zapped out of me, as if those I'm ministering to are attempting to suck the life right out of me. Sometimes I forget. I forget the horrors of their past. I forget the doubts and lies that still tug at their worth and torture their dreams to a silent scream. Sometimes I forget that sitting so close to this kind of pain and heartache day after day has a grave effect on me and my own happiness. Sometimes I don't notice that my smile has retreated or even worse my laugh has gone to sleep.

But then in the midst of "sometimes" it just takes ONE time to change it all. The "one" moments are not often profound, dramatic, or even worth telling a story. Usually those moments are simple, tender, and extraordinarily contagious. It's Joy. Joy is so powerful that it takes one moment to undo a lifetime of darkness. True joy. I'm not talking about happiness, for that kind of pleasure is great and we need it, but it lasts only a moment. The joy I'm talking about is the Joy as a Choice. Joy that says, even though there's a cloud above my head, my HEART knows the sun is out there; and so we choose to rejoice in the sunshine, even if we cannot see it.

It's this very lesson I gave the girls last week. For our nightly devotion, I tried teaching them the difference between happiness and joy, and that joy was their choice. It is something that cannot be taken from them. The lesson morphed into an early Christmas wish list. They began to dream and write up a list of things that would make them both happy and give them joy. Reading their lists was remarkable. They understood. They understood more than I did the difference between joy and happiness.  They wrote some material items they wanted, but most lists were filled with wishes to do something - opportunity, experience, service = all things that give us JOY.  A number of them wrote a way to bless me. For example, one of the youngest wrote: "To help you clean your house," and "To stay overnight with you." Another one wrote: "To buy you a car and new house when I'm old. (And you can't say 'no thanks')"  Their lists amazed me so much, that I think we can all learn from them.

Here are some of their wishes:

 Can you tell what their favorite restaurant here is? :)

Amazing, isn't it? Remarkable, aren't they? So, who wants to help bless them with items on their wish list? Due to shipping costs and that fact that it takes at least a month (sometimes 3) to get any items here, it will work best if people could donate money in the name of certain item so that we can purchase it here. However, if there's something small (like a ring or watch) you could send in an envelope (cheaper and faster) you could mail it here.

So, for anyone wanting to send Christmas blessings, please do this:

-Go to www.hoseasheart.org/donate and donate the amount of money you'd like to give for a certain item.
-Please leave a note that says which item it is for. If you don't need to specify a certain item, you can leave a note that says, "Christmas gift for girls" and we will add it something that is not yet purchased. Since some of their wishes are not for items but for outings, general donation amounts will enable us to take them out for a day trip or do something extra fun like go to a swimming pool or something else for Christmas.
-Please contact me personally to let me know what you have donated so I can then send you pictures of the items we are able to buy from your donations.
-You can also feel free to mail a card/letter so that I can give it with your gift.

Please address as follows:
Hosea's Heart
PO Box C2536
Hub-Manzini
Manzini
Swaziland
Africa

Ayanda's American Adventure

“How are you doing, Ayanda?” the flight attendant in charge of an entirely different section of our plane came over to check on the ecstatic and terrified young woman sitting next to me. Ayanda has that magnetic effect on people.  

“Good, good!” she beamed from ear to ear while catching her breaths.

“What do you think so far?” he asked in a language similar to SiSwati to give Ayanda a sense of comfort.

“I thought we were gonna die,” she said honestly. During takeoff, Ayanda was so scared that she grabbed not only my hand but also the hand of the stranger sitting next to her. She didn’t ask, but the stranger didn’t seem to mind Ayanda squeezing the life out of her hand. Ayanda has that charm.

“We should try to sleep now,” I tell Ayanda, as I’m already putting my watch ahead to match American time.

“Okay,” she closes her eyes. Not more than 30 seconds later she opens them again. “Nah, I’m too excited!”

I smile at the miracle sitting next to me. Really it’s a miracle. A rags to riches type. A rural girl from a tiny unknown country that sometimes doesn’t even make it on the map of Africa decides to dream for something everyone told her was impossible. And here we are, on a huge plane together, experiencing a life above clouds she’s never dreamt of.  A life for her I never imagined.

On our second flight (from Dubai to Chicago), we got split up and couldn’t get seats next to each other. I tried to ask the flight attendants to switch us around so we could sit together but the flight was full and we couldn’t. I was so worried about her sitting with strangers many rows ahead of me and out sight. But soon I could hear her laughter rolling back towards my row and I knew she’d be fine. Of course she’d make friends with the two strange men sitting in her window section. She has that charisma.

Once we landed in Chicago and went through customs, Ayanda and I got separated again as she had to go through an entirely different process in entering my country than I did, of course. It seemed like hours, though, as I waited and waited on the other side of the glass booths. I had so much time that I was able to go the bathroom multiple times and collect all our luggage, and worry worry worry about a million scenarios if Ayanda didn’t walk through customs.

FINALLY, I saw her and she nearly ran to me.

“I thought this was America?!” she exclaimed. “No one around me spoke any English! I think the lady directing us was speaking in Korean or something. I didn’t understand a thing until someone finally noticed my panic and explained in English!”

Diversity of cultures was not the only culture shock for Ayanda. When she was asked what was the greatest culture shock she answered, “All the short shorts!” In Swaziland, it is publicly inappropriate to wear short clothing. “I could basically see that girl’s butt!” she explained how she covered her eyes with her hand and then realized she was in public and people would think she’s the crazy one. One more culture shock was after she was at college for a couple weeks. She said, “I can’t believe how some people really hate God. One guy was bashing the Bible, and he was so aggressive about it that I was afraid to say anything.” This from the girl who has faith to cure blindness of a multitude.

There were many firsts I got to experience with Ayanda. My favorite was her first brat. That’s all she could talk about for the first three weeks of America. “I need to make sure I can have brats in my dorm room!” Another favorite was her first time in the lake and first time wearing a life jacket. She had no confidence that it would keep her floating. She was terrified and nearly drowned my brother because she couldn’t trust the life jacket.

Ayanda met a million people with me the first weeks together. She was such a champ. If I were in her shoes, I would’ve wanted to crawl into a hole and tell everyone to leave me alone for a week so I could catch my breath. But day after day, she took in new sights, new sounds, new air, and lots of new people. Somehow, she never complained.  But that’s just Ayanda for you.

After Ayanda moved in on campus, she immediately asked about on-campus jobs. One of her childhood dreams was to be an actress, so when she found out she could apply for a job working in the theatre, she was thrilled. We tried to help her prepare for her very first interview. She was hardly nervous, though. I envied her.  Thirty minutes after the start of her interview she returned.

“Oh, did they reschedule?” I assumed she didn’t get the interview.

“No, I just finished,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Oh. What did they say about when you can find out if you got the job?”

“I already got it!” she exclaimed.

“What?! How?” But I didn’t need to ask. After all, it’s Ayanda. And she has “it”—whatever it is that sets people apart on first glance, first impression, first anything.  “What questions did they ask you?”

“Oh, he just said, ‘Tell me a little bit about yourself,’ so I basically talked about that the whole time. Then after awhile he said, ‘I’m hiring you.’”

But all the fun and excitement couldn’t last. Ayanda and I were both dreading when it was time for me to head back to Swazi. It ripped my heart to have to leave her and to know she was terrified of my absence. I knew the homesickness she was already experiencing and I knew the intensity it would increase to over the next couple weeks. I knew how much money she still had left to raise and now it was all in her hands and not mine. There was no way her part time campus job would get her any more than some spending money for clothes, books, and other necessities. How in the world would she finish paying tuition, let alone raise enough for the next semester?

Ayanda met many people her first couple weeks, but one significant meeting was with the Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration. They awarded her a last minute scholarship (after she had tried multiple times to get scholarships – and received none) which finished her first semester payment and even added a downpayment on semester two! She still has funds left to raise, but now she can sleep at night knowing she doesn’t have to worry about finding sponsors for first semester on top of working part time, being a full time student, and learning full time about how to survive in this American culture.

A month or so after I had left her in America, she called me many times in tears and in desire to come home. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t fit in, couldn’t understand her professors, couldn’t figure out all the online documents and submissions that the professors required. She was gravely lonely and feared failing. She was worried about letting her sponsors down – disappointing all the hundred + people who have or currently are supporting her financially or otherwise. She was worried about her family in Swazi and missing the girls at the girls home. “I just want to come home,” she kept saying.  I didn’t need to tell her no; she knew she would stay. All I could do was tell her how proud I am of her and how I don’t know one other person in this world who can do what she is doing right now. She cried at her first F and was stressed about her midterms. She was lonely as she felt like the only one left in the dorm while her neighbors went out to parties (to which she kindly and consistently declined invitations).

But recently, her phone calls are different. Her smile is genuine. She still sheds some tears in the ache of missing home and feeling alone, but she is shining. Really shining. She showed me her scores on her midterms and her papers and my heart soared. Her hardest class she was able to increase her scores to 80% and 90% on her papers! She meets with professors, the college counselor, a mentor Sister, tutors, work friends and school friends, and still has time to call me. J I am amazed. If you want proof of God, proof of miracles, proof that Hope can give life, simply spend five minutes with this girl.

I’m not exaggerating when I say This Girl is Destined to Change the World.   

  For supporting Ayanda, please visit: https://hoseasheart.org/support-type/sponsorships/
Or 
https://www.gofundme.com/ayandas-college-dream

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To Fail But Not To Fear

The highlight of my trip back to the States in May/June of this year was having the incredible honor of blessing the last class of students that I taught before I moved to Swaziland. This is the class that tore the heart right out of my chest -- 14 and 15 year olds who made it painfully obvious they were hurt by my leaving yet 100% supportive of my move. They sent letters, packages, emails, facebook messages, and so much love. In the three years after my move, even as they got older and busier, they never failed to remind me that I was valued, appreciated, and supported. So, how do you possibly write a graduation speech worthy enough of their character? Writing usually comes easy for me - very easy. This was the hardest piece of writing I've ever tried. I had writers block more on this one speech than in all my writing combined. I finally realized I had to drown the perfectionist inside me and just write what I think would give them the best lives possible. And so, with no further ado, what I said to them, I can say to you, in hopes that we can all make this world one to remember: 

  

There is None Like You Class of 2017 Speech

...

Did you know you have a right to fail?

I believe our greatest downfall as educators and parents is giving you the false idea that it’s not okay to fail or to prevent you from failing. But you need to fail. To fail is to be human. As Pedro said in his speech freshman year on Rocky, “It’s not about how hard you can hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. Get back up and keep moving forward.”

But, I believe some of you are sitting in these seats, settling for a second rate version of yourself and future, unable to dream, because you’re afraid. Afraid of what others might think, afraid to dream, afraid of not being good enough. But you cannot let fear keep you from doing something radical, impactful, important, and larger than life. You would be robbing yourself, community, and our world of an opportunity that others would die for. There are people who would do anything to be in your shoes and have the choices you have about colleges or jobs or gap years. So don’t let fear give you a watered-down version of your dream or stop you from making the most out of this freedom. Dare to do something no one has done! To go somewhere no one has been! To be the best version no one else has seen! To the ones who will never get this chance, make them proud of you. Take this opportunity, and make it worth it. Have courage to fail.

You also need courage to face loneliness. The fear of loneliness is perhaps the most dangerous of all. It can cripple us, suffocate our dreams, and push us into addictions or behaviors that shame us: whether it’s drugs, alcohol, sex, work, or pornography. None of these is harmless. Did you know that self-control is your key to freedom? Sounds ironic because control sounds like limitations and being fenced-in. But the truth is if you don’t have self-control you are not in control of yourself or your desires, which means your desires or something else is in control of you. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m an abolitionist. I want to be free and I want others to be free. So practice self-control and you will experience freedom. It’s the only way to survive in the face of loneliness.

As most of you know… I’m 30 and I’m still single. I say STILL single because I’ve spent 30 valentine’s days “alone.” Never had a serious boyfriend or romance worth telling you about. Does that make me lonely? Sure it does. But does being lonely make me less worthy?  Does being single make me weak? Unattractive? Unsatisfied?  Or would you say my singleness has given me strength, beauty, and life in the fullest! Ladies and gentlemen, there is beauty and life in being single.  For that is where you learn how to deal with the loneliness. There is nothing you can do to prevent yourselves from feeling lonely in life. When I was struggling with my singleness once, my married friend said to me, “Kate, I would much rather be single and lonely than married and lonely.”  Now what she meant was that loneliness is not for those without relationships. True loneliness is at the heart of those who are IN relationships.

It’s okay to be lonely, it’s okay to fail. But it’s not okay to let fear make you less of the man or woman you are meant to be.

We all know someone who has already conquered both of these fears. His name is Mario Miller. He did not let his circumstances, fear, or injustices take any life out of him. Instead, he achieved impossible things. He defied doctors, medications, machines. He may have lost some things but never did he lose his fight, purpose, courage, or his character. And because of that we will never lose him.

There is a Super Mario in all of you. You have the ability to overcome, to do impossible things if only you believe there is none like you.

He Came Back For Me

I’m standing in the middle of a battlefield. Smoke, darkness, echoes of artilleries. But I hear nothing. The battle has ended; our loss is great. Bodies have fallen. Our army in ruins. In the middle of it all, here I stand.

Mortified by the loss—confused, angry, empty-handed, empty-hearted—I’m numb to my core. The silence of devastation paralyzes me. Then I hear it. The first sound.

A hum. A voice, a song. It’s quiet at first. Then more voices join. In minutes, I see an army rise from the dust and ash. Armor and clothes in tatters, but hearts strong and voices triumphant. The army, unphased even though scathed, gathers up the broken and hurting and sings the most beautiful battle lullaby. It’s peaceful, calming, and full of ecstasy. Praise, glory, and victory begin to bounce off the mountain tops, magnifying the sound into an awesome melody. At this sound of 10,000 armies marching in celebration, the enemy army trembles, shakes, panics. What army celebrates after a loss? They quiver. What army marches towards us after defeat? They fear. What kind of army can rise from this death field? They run.

Though the enemy army outnumbers ours by 10,000, they flee. Not at the sight of a weapon or awful defeat. They flee because of a song.

Yet, here I stand. Immovable. Silent. Numb. Watching the army march forward without me. An emptiness hits me like I’ve never felt before.

                  --                                                        --                                                        --

Then I opened my eyes. I was in the middle of a worship song when I closed my eyes and this vision came to me. The song ended and I wanted to hear it again, for indeed I felt a depth of emptiness I hadn’t faced before. I was nervous about my trip back to the States because I knew my internal gas light had already come on. And I knew that being Stateside was nothing but endless highways with no gas stations in sight. Always eventful, far from restful.

Normally, I wouldn’t be so negative about it. Normally, I would be having lots of fun and enjoying my window of opportunity in America. Normally, I would be joining the victory song. But I don’t feel normal. I don’t feel like me. It took coming here to finally admit why. I’m bitter at God. I feel left behind. Like in the vision. Not fallen, not defeated, but frozen. Unable to march with the army. They left me there. Standing alone.

And sometimes this is exactly what ministry abroad feels like. (Please note my distinction between “feelings” and what actually is.) The first year or two had immense struggles of its own. I guess I thought each year would be easier. Although this year has been the BEST for the ministry, it’s been the hardest for Kate. It seems the more I pour into the ministry, the more it fills, but the less I have of me. It feels at times that I’m left standing alone. People think I’m strong; courageous; independent. I’m not. At times it felt like I was watching my family march on without me, or my friends leaving me behind. My relationships with people Stateside are the weakest they’ve ever been, and I have few friends outside of the ministry Swaziside.

I’ve told the Lord plenty of times how much I need friendships, fellowship, and for sure a husband. I’ve called out, “What about me?” I watch Him bless the ministry and other people in my life, but I feel robbed of my own blessing. “I’ve given you everything, Lord. When’s my turn?”

So a couple days ago, I went to mass at St. Rose Convent in La Crosse. When it was empty, I crept to the front pews, prayed, and wept. I wanted to figure out where my joy had gone. I wanted to revisit that vision. I wanted to know why I was left behind.

When I closed my eyes and pictured myself standing alone in the heaps of darkness on the battlefield, God put the question back on me as He whispered through the voice in my head: “Why are you alone? Why didn’t you go with the army?”

There it was. An answer hidden in His gentle question. Reminding me that I’m the one who stood there; I didn’t get left. I stayed behind.

“I’m weak,” the answer came quickly. I saw myself standing there, stubbornly frozen. “Because I’m weak,” I confessed. Immediately a man entered my vision. He came to me with concern on his face and took my hand, leading me forward to catch the army. But as we walked, he noticed how weak I really was and lifted me into his arms. Like a girl in her daddy’s arms, he carried me.  All I could think was, “He came back for me. He came back for me.”

We all need to be carried at certain seasons of life, no matter what age, no matter what “strength," and I guess this is mine. We all need a Savior. In my childishness or stubbornness, God lets me vent, feel, cry, and beat his chest with ungratefulness and accusations…and He carries me anyway.

How life-changing to know that we have a God who will ALWAYS come back for us. 

Why Not Her?

"Why me?" the common question each of us asks when faced with unjust hardship and pain. 

But she doesn’t ask that question. Why? Because she’s not common. She’s extraordinary. 

Resilient. A relentless chaser of dreams. When life doesn’t go her way, she doesn’t give up, victimize herself, throw a pity party, or ask why. She picks herself back up and asks how. “How am I still going to get this dream?”

All her life, she’s had to fight for dreams and battle for hope. “I am nothing,” she used to say. So when she started dreaming about going to college in the States, I didn’t dare stop her. There were plenty of other voices telling her she was crazy, she’d never make it, it was a waste of time and money to pursue such an impossible dream. After two years of working hard in all her studies, SHE GOT ACCEPTED to Viterbo University in Wisconsin!

What a beautiful, living, active, vibrant symbol of hope! Imagine how this will touch the lives of so many girls like her who have also grown up without the ability to dream. 

Yet, one hurdle remains. The dollar sign.

She is currently working three jobs: a tutor, a nanny, and hand-crafts. She gets paid on average less than $6 a day. 

Some have a mentality that goes something like this: They’re from impoverished backgrounds so they don’t need new clothes; hand-me downs are better than nothing. They don’t need several pairs of shoes when one is better than none. They don’t need juice because water is better than nothing. Rice and beans every meal is fine because, well, it’s better than nothing. Used supplies are better than nothing. 

Are we really okay with “better than nothing”? When I first started Hosea’s Heart, my friend Musa said to me, “What I like about you is that you treat the girls like they are your own. There are plenty orphanages or volunteers who come and help, but they give just enough. Never stop giving them your best, Kate. Treat them like your own; do for them what you would do for one in America.” Not to make them American, but to make sure they are valued just the same. 

Of course, giving the best looks different amidst different needs, depending on our financial support. For example, some months rice and beans is all we have. Other months we have extra donations and can give some away to others in need. One month we had nothing and by God’s grace neighbors came “for no reason” to give us chicken and extra food donations. But I have never forgotten Musa’s words: Why should I treat them different than I would treat my own child? 

If we have the means to give them our best, why would we do "just enough"? 

I want her to have the very best. But this is one thing I cannot offer her. A sponsorship to Viterbo University. I cannot get her there; Hosea’s Heart cannot get her there as we are raising money to build new homes. This is a venture of her own, on her own. So I’m here to support her and to plead with anyone who might be interested that yes this girl is worth investment. 

Do for her what you would want for your own child. Not left overs, not table scraps, not used merchandise. Not just enough. Sure, $1.60 is better than nothing, but she’s been measured against “nothing” her whole life. What if you gave her your best? 

One hand cannot carry her over the waters, but many hands together can be her bridge. Would you be one of these 50? 50 people to give their best. To sponsor her $50/month so that she can finally meet her dream come true this Fall 2017! That’s roughly $1.60 per day. That’s one less coffee, one less soda, one less beer, a size smaller milkshake, or size smaller anything.

If you could give someone your very best, Why not her?


For a tax-deductible, monthly donation, use the Hosea's Heart sponsorship: 
http://hoseasheart.org/support-us/sponsorships/kalli/

For a one-time donation (not tax-deductible), use GoFundMe: 
https://www.gofundme.com/ayandas-college-dream