I Was Nothing

“Keep me as the apple of your eye…”
“Now I can see…”
“I came from darkness but now I’m in His light…”
“I let satan have control but never again…”
“I was nothing, but now I’m something…”
“I know I can be a good mom…”
“I should forgive my mother…”

She wrote numerous statements like these that filled pages and pages in her journal, six weeks’ worth of pages to be exact. 

After not seeing or hearing from Tenele at all in six weeks, I was a little anxious for our reunion.  Did she think I had forgotten about her?  Did she think I didn’t love her?  Is she being a rebel?  Is she coping?  Is she growing?  Or is the darkness and loneliness too much for her? Will she make it?   Although the questions swirled about me, I had an overwhelming peace, knowing God was surely making himself known to her. 

“Make Thobile,” the director of Teen Challenge where Tenele stays, messaged me some good news:  “Tenele has passed the induction phase.  You may now visit her on Saturday between the hours of 12-5.  She is doing well.  I am very proud of her.”  I was thrilled with the good news and on Saturday we loaded up the car with her kiddos who also hadn’t seen or heard from her in six weeks.

As we pulled into the gate and parked, Tenele saw our car from her room and started screaming and jumping up and down.  She wasn’t allowed to come out and greet us, though, until the staff member checked me in and called Tenele to us.  We could still see Tenele through the window of her room where she and five other young women stayed.  When Lucia got out of the car, Tenele started crying and had a difficult time waiting to embrace her daughter.  The reunion was nothing short of beautiful and joyful.  Hugs, kisses, and chocolate were shared among the three, Tenele, Lucia, and Bhuti.  Then it was my time alone with T-Belle as Rachel, Kiley, and Alex entertained the kids outside. 

“It’s so hard…” came Tenele’s first words to me.  “But I’m learning about God and…” she burst into tears and couldn’t talk

“Oh honey,” I put my arm around her.

“At first I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” she continued in sniffles.  “I thought you wanted me here because you didn’t want me or love me.”

I waited for her to continue.  This had been my fear.  But it was something I also prayed a lot about.  I prayed specifically that God would let Tenele know I still love her.  So I waited for Tenele to continue, and she did.

“But now…” she choked back her coming tears.  She wiped her eyes and looked at me briefly.  “Now I know I’m here because you love me.  You want a future for me even when I didn’t.”

Tears pressed forth in my own eyes as she was speaking an answered prayer!

“Before I came here, I was nothing.  Now I will be something.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  Six weeks is a long time to go without seeing or talking to you child, but six weeks is a very short time in terms of emotional and spiritual growth.  Yet, here Tenele was quoting Scripture to me as we talked and sharing how difficult life is for her at Teen Challenge but how committed she is to finishing the program.  “I want to make your proud, mama.  I will finish and graduate next November, no matter how many times I want to leave.” 

“Now I know who Jesus is.  Before I was a pretending to know, but I didn’t know at all.  I’m learning a lot.”

She went on to tell me about “Make Thobile,” the program director and all that she has been learning through her.  “Make Thobile, when she preaches…wow, it’s meant for me.  And when I get angry she tells me to go to the garage and pray.  She gives me Scripture to read and asks me to tell her what it means to me and how it can help my anger.”

Indeed, Thobile had also mentioned to me how impressed she’s been with Tenele’s growth.

“When she works or does extra chores, she never complains, which is so rare in our girls here!  She’s very open about how she feels, and that helps us help her, too.  She’s still very naughty,” she said seriously but light-heartedly.  “But when she told me about her life and past abuse, she said she still struggles with so much anger.  She’s working on it, though.  Actually,” she paused and looked at me.  “I haven’t told Tenele this, but when I was praying for her the other day, I had this vision of her directing a program like this one day.  It was like God had elevated her to be the leader.”

I was so happy I nearly squealed.  “That’s the SAME feeling and vision I have for her, too!”

“Wow, really?” she was surprised.  “Let’s keep praying for that then.”

Among Tenele’s many victories so far, one very significant one is that she was already asked to share her testimony at a small gathering at the program on Friday.  As Tenele recounted for me how it went, she explained, “Eish, I was so nervous!” And she put her arm over her eyes again, as if she was nervous now just thinking about it.  She continued recounting how she started her testimony.  “I greet you in the name of Jesus Christ.  My name is Tenele Nhlengetfwa, I’m 19 years old, and I have two children.  I am here because I used to abuse my life.  I was drinking and smoking and sleeping with boys.”  She shifted uncomfortably and summarized,  “I told them all the darkness of my life, but that God had given me the Martin family to show me a way out.  Now I’m living in the light!” 

What a miracle.  What an amazing story God is continuing to write with this woman’s life.  We, too, are nothing apart from Christ.  We deserve nothing, yet by his grace we are giving everything so we can be something.

        What a redemption story and grace for all of us.  She has changed my life.  And God will use her, like Thobile’s vision, to change this nation, too.

Unstained, Unhampered, Spotless

Can you solve this riddle?

What is…?

intelligent, holy, unique

manifold, subtle, agile, 

clear, unstained, certain, 

unhampered, beneficent, firm, 

all-powerful, all-seeing, pervading all spirits…

“She penetrates and pervades all things by reason of her purity.  For she is an aura of the might of God, and a pure effusion of the glory of the Almighty… She is a spotless mirror of the power of God, the image of his goodness… She renews everything while herself perduring.  For she is fairer than the sun and surpasses all constellation of stars…”

(Wisdom 7:22-29)

Wisdom: it’s the rain to a parched heart and the air to my daily breathing.  It’s necessary for success in laboring for the Lord and required for resilience that feeds my survival.  It keeps me from giving up while enabling me to let go.  To let go and let God.  Especially during weeks like this one.

Saturday, Dec. 6th

Leah(fake name) seemed to be having a difficult couple days.  She was rather moody and seemed like nothing could lift her spirits no matter what we said or did.  Her recent depression and mood swings have valid reasons—past sexual abuse and separation from family are just a couple, and I could only will away the inner turmoil she was in.  Still, it was frustrating that she wasn’t letting me or anyone else help, especially because she had recently been quite grateful and open to help.  Her dramatic elevation of negativity irritated me and when she acted out like a 12 year old to get attention, I ignored her.  I was not about to feed into her “pity me” party after all the progress we had recently gone through.  Months ago, Leah had asked me to write her a song with a happy ending, “A song about anything as long as it ends happy,” she requested.  I had put it off for so long, but now I needed to put my emotions for her down on paper.  So, while the other girls were watching silent TV (the old tv we have in the girls home doesn’t have sound, so they call it “watching an album” as if they are watching pictures instead) I shut myself in my room and worked hard on writing her a new song. If my conversation with her isn’t getting through, maybe music, which she loves more than anything will break through to her. 

She’s buried under silence

of memories from that night

when a man left her lifeless,

her hopes and dreams now muted cries …

I was interrupted with a knock on the door.  Emily came into my room and said, “Leah wants to know if…” and made a request of me. 

“No,” I answered succinctly and went back to my writing.  Emily was taken a little off guard and paused for a moment as if she were waiting for me to say I was joking.  “No, I already told her no.  And the answer is most definitely no if she can’t come in here herself and ask,” I explained.  Emily quietly shut the door. 

All that’s left is fear that haunts her

Sick of suffering, she’d rather die

All alone the emptiness taunts her

Not believing I’ll fight for her life…

I heard a door slam.  Probably Leah, I thought.  I went back to my paper and finished the lyrics.

There’s a love that’s unfailing

There’s a truth that’s unchanging

There’s a hope that’s unending

Oh what I would do, to give this to you

Satisfied, I sang it out on guitar.  I think this will really help! I thought, and I left my room, hopeful of giving some encouragement to Leah without feeding her fire of attention-getting. 

I opened the door and saw Leah lying on the bed asleep.  She was facing away from the door, the opposite way of how she normally sleeps in her lower bunk.  One leg was sprawled near the edge of the bed so that her ankle was hanging off the mattress. 

“Leah,” I said excitedly, knowing that she had just gotten into bed not more than 15 minutes earlier and couldn’t be that deeply asleep.  But she didn’t answer.  “Leah, I finished my song for you, want to hear it?” 

No answer. 

I stepped closer to the bed but nearly tripped on something at my feet.  Empty pill bottles lay on the floor by her near-empty water bottle.  I paused and assessed the scene.  Two pill bottles were upright and empty, another was knocked on its side, also empty.  A bag of half-filled pills also lay next to the water bottle. 

My first thought was obvious; she’s attempting suicide.  But while my heart was in my throat and I nearly had a panic attack, my gut told me something was strange about the way the bottles were laid out, as if they were set up meticulously on a stage, and I doubted Leah consumed all of the pills. Still, I obviously had to be sure.  I shook her, but she didn’t move.  My heart started pounding faster as the worst passed through my mind.  Did she take the pills?  Is this her dying body?!  

I saw a folded up piece of paper at her feet that said, “To whoever finds this note, please give it to _________.”  Though tempted to read it, I refused to touch the letter at first.  I refused to believe the dark thoughts clouding me.  Instead, I demanded the sleeping Leah get out of bed.  I shook her harder for the third time and when she moved, my breath deflated my chest like a popped balloon.  Phew, I thought, she’s still alive.  I rolled her over but she covered her face with her hands.  “Leah, get up,” I exhaled in a sing-song voice, trying to cover the terror that was still in my throat.  “I have the song you asked for.” I didn’t say anything about the pills or the letter, pretending I didn’t see them.  “Come to my room so I can sing it.” 

She slowly got up, turning so I couldn’t see her face and marched out of the room ahead of me.  When we got to my room, she sank down on Titi’s bed and let her head fall in her hands, waiting for my song.  I played part of it and when I finished, she said quietly, “That was really good, Mama Kate.”  That’s when I knew she was okay.  And that’s when I started reprimanding her. 

“So is that a suicide note in there?” I said suddenly. 

She shook her head no. 

“Really? What about the pills?  What are you trying to do, Leah?” my voice rose in transparent anger. 

“Nothing,” she responded. 

“Did you take the pills?” I asked in anxiety, though deep down something told me she hadn’t.

“No.”

“Then look at me,” I demanded.  But she refused to let me see her face. 

“So, did you do all this for attention?  To scare me?  Or to actually kill yourself?”

“To kill myself…” she said quietly.  “But I didn’t take the pills yet.”

“Where are they?”

“Under my pillow.”

“Go, show me, and get rid of them right now.”

“I already flushed them,” she changed her story.

‘“Leah, first you took them, then you didn’t, next they’re under your pillow, and now you flushed them?  Where are they?” I grew impatient.

“Mama Kate, can I just go get rid of them myself?”

“Absolutely not.”

She grumbled, got up, and darted out of my room.  I followed at her heels as she fell back on her bed to dig for the pills.  She handed me a small box filled with them.  Phew again, I thought.  So, she didn’t take them.  But how do I know these are all of them?  How do I know she didn’t take any?  She was still acting so strange that I couldn’t be sure.  I disposed of the pills and came back to her and asked again if she had taken any.  She said no, but I was so nervous I didn’t know if I could believe her.  What if she did take them and I believed her that she didn’t?  By morning she’d be dead and it’d be my fault.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” I said suddenly. 

“No,” she spat.  “I’m not going.” 

“Well, you made it look like you took pills so how do I know you’re okay, Leah?  How can I trust you?”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital.  I didn’t take any.  It wasn’t going to work,” she confessed.  She was probably right.  The pills she wanted to take were old HIV pills and a mix of another kind.  It would have done grave damage, but not quickly.  And she would have suffered for awhile first.  Unfortunately, she had another attempt with other pills in the past, and she knew the pills she had access to here wouldn’t do damage fast enough. 

I held back tears and a fistful of anger at the same time.  She lay back down on the couch and claimed she was going to sleep there tonight. 

“Convince me that you’re okay, Leah,” I sighed. 

“I’m fine,” she grumbled.  “Good night.”

“I’m not convinced.”

She just shrugged and pulled a blanket up to her ears. 

“Fine,” I said, “Then I’ll stay up until I know you are.”  I left the room to retrieve my journal and book and came back out and sat on the adjacent couch.  I scribbled frustrations in my journal about how it was such a long day and all I wanted was to sleep.  Instead it was already past midnight and I had to will myself awake to make sure Leah was okay.  I prayed and talked to God, and I just felt his peace reassure me to place Leah in His hands and not to take the burden on myself.  So I entrusted her to God and the wisdom I felt telling me that she was fine and didn’t take any pills.  Finally, I climbed in bed and fell asleep, praying for more and more wisdom to get me through. 

Monday, Dec. 8th

Two days later, an unrecognized number sang my phone’s standard ring tone.  I frowned at the unknown number and paused, deciding whether or not to answer it.  Too often, far too often, I get calls from random numbers, asking for help.  It’s not that I’m sick of helping people, but their requests are of money, mostly all for school fees.  I don’t even know these people but they get my number from someone and ask for help.   I’m not a walking ATM machine, and I’m not here for handouts.  I’m here for relationships, for hope, and for healing.  So, I started just ignoring any unknown numbers unless they call repeatedly in a short period of time because that usually means it’s someone I know calling from a different number or the person really, really needs help. 

I let the phone ring a few more times and then answered.  It was a police officer on the other end.

“Hello, m’am,” he greeted politely.  “I’m Simelane from the police station.”

My stomach did a loop-dee-loop.  Great, what happened now?  I feared his reason for calling.

“I’m calling on behalf of Tracy (fake name for one of our girls).  You are her guardian, correct?”

Tracy had just left two days ago with her mother to enjoy the holidays back at home.  “Yes, I’m her guardian.”

“Okay, great.  I’m the officer in charge of her case,” he continued.  Tracy had been raped and the trial was finally being brought to court.   “She, um…well, she broke down yesterday at court and she had to leave.  I’m afraid if she can’t testify we won’t be able to carry out the case,” he explained. 

“Well, she’s with her mom right now for the holidays,” I said, “But please let me know what I can do to help.”

He was very thankful and said Tracy wanted me at the next court trial.  He explained she was to see the counselor at the end of the week and then would continue trial the following week.  “I will let you know when we need you there,” he said and hung up.

I was devastated for Tracy.  This poor, far too young girl, who had been raped a year ago now has to be the one to testify against a man who stripped the life from her—a man she thought she’d never have to face again, a man who would walk free if she couldn’t hold it together at the next trial.   

Wednesday, Dec. 10th

By mid-week, over half of the house was emptied of the girls who went home for the holidays.  A few girls now remain in the house, ones who don’t have anyone—not even an aunt, uncle, or relative—to spend the holidays with or ones whose home environments aren’t safe, even for a week-long visit. 

Wendy (fake name) was one of the girls who had already gone home with her mother, a young 30 some year old who found out her daughter was in Manzini (not Mozambique like she thought) with her abusive father and step-mother (before being moved into this home this year).  Her mother, who took great joy in finding her daughter, came to the girls home to spend some time with us before taking Wendy home for the holidays.  Several days later, she contacted Gogo with some alarming news.  Gogo contacted Titi, and Titi had the grave duty of relaying it to me. 

“I have sad news, sisi,” Titi said.  “Wendy is pregnant.  Her mother just found out.”

I felt like an arrow hit me between the ribs.  Pregnant?  No!  My thoughts raced on, thinking of our sweet 13 year old who had blossomed miraculously in these past several months, going from a timid, fearing-for-her-life, never smiling girl to a giggling, bubbling, intelligent, joke-telling young teenager.  Before coming into the home just five months ago, she had been raped several times walking home from school.  Additionally, she was also abused and beat ruthlessly by her father, and there was speculation that he had raped her, too.  Now, out of the walls of our home, Wendy finds out the past that she had run from and felt rescued from is now still growing in her womb.   

Thursday-Friday, Dec. 11^th-12^th

To wrap up the week, I faced my own battle of pain as a friend, who once was more, spent two whole days, sacrificing his time and energy to help me out doing things for the girls.  Sitting in the passenger seat as he drove us around, it was hard not to imagine what life would have been like with him always at my side.  Just his presence, his laugh, the way he looks at me can set my heart at ease.  He had told me a week prior, “You’re still number one on my list.”  I laughed to myself, knowing I could never be with a man who has a list. I’m not going to be number one on anyone’s list, I thought, I should be the only one.      

As if my week wasn’t heavy enough to handle, news from back home about some of my American kids was extremely unsettling.  A boy, who told me awhile ago that he had been “locked up” and had relapsed again, recently messaged to say things just weren’t getting better, but he won’t take my advice even though he reaches out for help.  Another two of my girls whom I had poured so much into while I was in the States both remain dabbling into drugs and other things that temporarily satisfy, and one’s extreme behavior with guys and drugs is painfully disappointing.  Not to mention broken friendships, unforgiveness and fist fights.   If I hadn’t invested so much it wouldn’t hurt so much.  Sometimes I wonder if it was all wasted efforts and I should have poured into those with more fertile soil, but then I remember it is not me who causes growth.  One plants, one waters, “but only God causes growth…” 1 Corinthians 3:7

Wisdom.

So, as Wisdom tells me to do, I offer up all of these whom I dearly love both near and far, who have varying battles of pain and darkness; without giving up, I let them go into the Hands of hope—the only hands that can heal, save, and satisfy. 

And then I pray for the wisdom that “penetrates and pervades all things by reason of her purity.  For she is an aura of the might of God, and a pure effusion of the glory of the Almighty… She is a spotless mirror of the power of God, the image of his goodness… She renews everything while herself perduring.”  

Wisdom will be my survival pack. 

This Is What It's Like

Knock, knock!  I rolled my eyes and sighed at the all-too constant knock on my bedroom door.  Is there really nowhere I can escape to be alone just for five minutes?! I thought to myself.  The door opened without me answering.

“Mama Kate?” Nokwanda came in the room without an invitation. 

“What, Nokwanda?” I said with a blatant hint of agitation in my voice. 

“I wanted to give these to you earlier, but you weren’t home yet,” she lifted up a handful of semi-wilted flowers.  

Immediately, her thoughtfulness melted away my annoyance and a smile spread across my face.  “They’re beautiful, Nokwanda!” I exclaimed, and her own face lit up. 

“Really?  I’ll get you better ones next time,” she smiled and left the room. 

I put the flowers in an empty toilet paper roll on my dresser and just stared at the lovely purple and wilted green.  Though they were wilted, the scent was still wonderfully potent. As I breathed in the scent of beauty I thought, This is what love smells like.   

“Go, Sibussa!” The girls cheered on their sister as she ran around the soccer field during a practice game.  Kiley, Rachel, and I had brought all the girls to the soccer practice because there was a basketball court nearby and we wanted the girls to run around and use up some of their seemingly unending energy.  It was nearing the end of practice, so we all left the court and gathered at the top of the hill to watch the soccer players below.  The girls yelled and laughed, sang and talked.  Little Benny, who had also been getting his fill of running around, wandered over to me and wrapped his arms around my leg. 

“Getting tired, Benny?” I asked. 

He gazed up at me with his coffee-colored brown eyes and asked, “Tata? Tata?” (Take me, take me.)  I scooped him up onto my hip and he set his head on my shoulder.  I shifted him around so he could snuggle up to my neck. Within minutes, even amidst all the noise around us, he fell asleep in the comfort of my arms and I smiled, This is what love feels like.

“Sawubona Make!” I answered my phone, knowing my mom was calling from Skype.

“Sawubona! Unjani?” she greeted back in a voice too excited for an ordinary phone call. 

I could hear my sister and my dad yelling hello from the background as well.  Then an adorable little voice came on, “Hi, Kate!”  Unable to identify the voice, Mom told me it was my niece Edessa. 

“Oh my goodness!” I exclaimed!  “She’s getting so old already!”  A jab of pain shot through my gut, knowing that I was missing out on my niece and three nephews growing up.  But the news that followed momentarily washed out the ache. 

“Your dad has something to tell you,” my Mom could hardly speak without squealing.  I held my breath, hoping that our prayers (Ayanda, Nonhlanhla, and Sindi prayed with me) about my dad coming to Swazi would come true. 

“I’ll be seeing you in January,” Dad replied nonchalantly. 

“Did you hear that?” Mom squealed.  “I didn’t even have to push him!  I just told him I was going to buy my ticket so I asked, ‘Are you coming or not?’ And he said yes!”

I ran into Ayanda’s room and announced the good news.  “Mkhulu (grandpa) is coming in January!” I exclaimed.  Ayanda, who was lying down in her bed, screamed and jumped up to her feet, balancing on her mattress. 

“Ah!  I knew it!  I knew it!” she screamed again in contagious delight.  Knowing how much it means for my girls to meet my dad, I giggled in uncontained joy and thought, This is what love sounds like. 

The smell of intestines hit me in the face as I opened the kitchen door.  “Ugh,” I groaned, realizing that the dinner menu for the night consisted of rice and cow intestines.  Annoyed, I walked out of the kitchen and escaped to my room to vent for a few minutes.  I was getting so sick of the same meals over and over, but somehow the beans always tasted so nice, especially when compared to the intestines and tuna fish the girls would sometimes cook.  I had already been having a bad day, and I just wanted the regular beans for dinner so I didn’t have to gag at the smell of the intestines.  A knock at the door interrupted my self-pity party.  “Dinner!” Elena called.  When I got to the dining room we all prayed and then sat down to eat.  Elena handed me a special plate.    

On my plate was a heaping scoop was delicious smelling scrambled eggs, mixed with onions and tomatoes.  

“Wow, thank you!” I hugged her.  As I took a bite of eggs, I thought, This is what love tastes like.   

“Ahhhhh!” a shrill, two-year old scream came from the dining room.  I darted into the room, wondering what had happened to Lucia.  Upon seeing me, she pointed at the ground where she was standing and screamed again.  A big beetle bug was moving around near her feet.  She swiftly grabbed a nearby shoe and let the bug have her wrath.  After giggling uncontrollably at the sight of my almost-three-year-old reenacting my reaction to bugs, I gave her a high five for disposing of the beetle, “Atta girl!”  She marched proudly out of the room. This is what role-modeling looks like.     

One of my girls handed me a letter one night, and this is what she wrote: “I am so happy for everything that you doing for me, you made my day, yah you always do but today you made me more happy.  I am so glad that you trust me I always needed for someone to trust me.  I know I cannot be good at everything but I hate disappointing people, so I don’t want to disappoint you.  … I never had the love of a mother but am getting it now and I thank Lord that He gave me you and calling you my mother you are playing the role of mother to me. … Thanks for your encouragement it really changed me.  And so far you are my role model.  I am not writing this letter to search your love but I am writing it to thank the love that God gave you to spread it on us and I truly need your love.  We do Mama Kate.”  I stared at the words in surprise and awe, as a wave of warmth engulfed me.  This is what purpose feels like.

Knock, knock.  It was nine-thirty and I had just crawled into bed.  I hadn’t been able to sleep soundly for the past week and I was coming down with a cold, so all I wanted was to close my eyes and disappear into a dream.  Knock, knock.  I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep.  But that didn’t stop the person at the door.  The door squeaked open and the girl entered and asked, “Mama Kate?  Are you sleeping?” 

I didn’t want to answer, I wanted to pretend I was already asleep, but something in her voice made me lift my head.  “Almost,” I groaned. 

“Can I tell you a story?”  She sat on the bottom bunk as I cocked my head in question. 

“A story?” 

“Yeah, you can lie back down and even close your eyes.  But I want to tell you a story.” 

I shrugged, “Okay, maybe you’ll put me to sleep then.” 

She started her story, “Once there was this girl…” and I thought it was going to be a nice bedtime story to put me to sleep.  But it turned into a horror story about a girl being raped by a neighbor boy her age, a boy whom no one would expect would do such a thing.  The girl screamed, but no one could hear her.  After she escaped from the boy, she suffered in silence because she was afraid no one would believe her.

When she finished the story, my heart was pounding and tears were forming in my eyes.  Is she telling me about herself? I wondered.  She was one of the very few girls with no “recorded” past of sexual abuse.  Was she now sharing something she’s kept hidden? 

“Mama Kate?  Are you still awake?” she asked quietly. 

I sat up and peered over the rail of the upper bunk to see her back was turned towards me.  “Is this a true story?” I asked without really wanting to know the answer, without wanting to believe that this girl was raped only a little over a year ago and never reported it.  “Who is this girl?” 

Without turning to face me, the girl’s face dropped into her hands and she answered, “Me.”

I climbed down from my bunk and put my arm around her as her tears poured onto the floor.  I didn’t know what to do or what to say.  She had never told anyone about this rape, not a single person until today.  Another volunteer had shared her story with the girls and encouraged them to refuse to be silent and to share their stories and pain, too.  So this girl was the first to come forward and finally refuse her silence anymore. 

There were only a few words I could muster up.  “I can’t take away this pain.  I can’t save you from it, no matter how much I wish I could.  But I want you to know I’m here to walk you through it.” 

She shook her head in acknowledgement and we both cried together. 

This is what life is like.          

Do You Love Me?

While on vacation in Mozambique for 10 days, I spent a lot of time in Scripture, Christian books, and in prayer.  Every day during the week, a thought kept coming to mind about dedicating a morning of silence to God to be still and listen for Him.  I kept pushing the thought aside, thinking Rachel, Kiley, and I already had plenty of time during the vacation to just be still and hang out.  Still, the thought, or the “Holy Spirit nudge” kept coming; that’s when I knew God was trying to tell me something and I couldn’t leave vacation without having the three of us commit a morning of silence and stillness to Him.  On the second to last morning, we sat out on the porch overlooking the Indian Ocean and read, prayed, and listened to God.  I started with a journal entry first:

Dear Abba, Holy One, Master of the Universe, what a wonder that you notice me!  What a miracle that you love!  Even more so that you would speak to us.  On this morning of silence, open my ears to your voice and wisdom.  Tell me what I’ve been too busy to hear.  Show me what I’ve been too blind to see.  Speak to me this morning, Lord.  Give me my vocation…”

After journaling, I wanted to read Scripture but I wasn’t exactly sure where to start so I asked, “God, what should I read in your Word this morning?”  Immediately, Luke 10 popped into my head.  I wasn’t sure if it was just a random thought of my own or if it really was an answer from God, but either way, that’s what I decided to read first.  And from that reading came a fruitful vision I will never ever forget.

While reading Luke 10, several things jumped out at me, but I’ll share the most important to set up the vision that followed: 1) Jesus sent out 72 people in PAIRS to minister to people in towns ahead of him.  “[Jesus] said to them, ‘The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few; so ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest.’”  The word PAIRS seemed to jump at me, and it made me swell with hope that God would provide a partner for me in ministry, a man of God, a husband to do this work with me.  And as Jesus said, the laborers are few, so I must ask the Master to send me another laborer for his harvest.  2) In sending out the 72, Jesus commanded them to carry nothing with them and greet no one along the way as to not get distracted from the mission.  It reminded me of God’s provision through others and the single-mindedness required of missionaries, to abandon material possessions and attachments, and even separate from attachment to relationships.  3) The story of Martha and Mary, one I am all too familiar with, as I tend to be a “Martha” myself and busy myself with things that look good but fail to be still and sit at the feet of Jesus to listen, as Mary had done.  4) Lastly, right before I closed my Bible, the wind flipped over a bunch of pages to John 21, and my eye caught some verses I had underlined: “Feed my sheep.”  I reviewed the quick snippet of Scripture where Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?” And then he commands Peter to feed His sheep and take care of His lambs.  After that, I closed the Bible, then closed my eyes...and watched a magnificent moment unfold.

(During confession several years ago, Fr. Al walked me through a spiritual exercise where I closed my eyes and envisioned being in my favorite place of worship with just Jesus and me.  He asked me to imagine a conversation I might have with Jesus, what I would confess to him or ask him, and then what Jesus might say back to me.  When I opened my eyes, tears were streaming down my face and Fr. Al gently asked, “May I ask what Jesus told you?”  I replied, “All he said to me was ‘I love you.’ And I guess that’s what I really needed to hear.”)

Now on the beach of Mozambique overlooking the Indian Ocean, I went on a similar spiritual journey where I closed my eyes and imagined it was just Jesus and me on the beach.  After a moment of solidarity for the two of us, all of a sudden the beach became noisy, occupied, and full of festivities.  Jesus and I walked together through the suddenly crowded beach—a beach full of people I knew and loved: my family members, my friends, and all of my students.  It was my old life back!  There were ice cream shops all over, colorful balloons, and even Subway (a restaurant I ache for).  But Jesus wasn’t stopping for ice cream or for Subway or even for my family.  He kept walking and I walked with him, as if leaving the life and festivities behind me.  Everyone wanted me to stay, though, including myself.  My family, my friends called after me.  Tempting situations and attractive young men enticed me to stay.  My students started calling after me, asking me to stay, pleading that I don’t leave them.  Jesus kept walking with me, asking me, “Am I enough for you?”  His question pierced me, especially because I tell him that often in my journal; I almost always sign it, “You are enough.”  But when Jesus asked me the question as we walked through the beach, it was painful because it was convicting. Do I really believe what I say?  Do I really believe and live like Jesus is enough for me?  So I had to tell my old life goodbye and leave everyone behind.  Of course it was very painful. 

When the old life suddenly disappeared behind us, it was just Jesus and me in the quiet and loneliness.  Then a shack appeared out of nowhere and we sat down to have a Coke together.  Then we moved on.  As we walked, Jesus picked up a shell that said my name on it and “I love you.”  He got down on one knee and asked, “Mary-Kate, do you love me?”  I paused.  I paused?!  How awful.  But I then I got teary eyed and said, “I do, I do love you, Lord. But I know not enough.”  He answered, “Feed my sheep.”  Then we continued and he bent down and picked up another shell and did the same thing, asking me, “Mary-Kate, do you love me?”  I said, “Yes, Lord, I do; I do love you, but I’m sorry for when I don’t.”  He said, “Take care of my lambs.”  Then we walked on.  He stopped a third time, picked up the shell and asked, “Mary-Kate, do you love me?”  I said much more eagerly this time, “Yes, Lord!  Yes, I love you!”  Then he said, “Feed my sheep.”  He pointed to a hilly pasture of green up ahead where sheep and lambs were waiting, and then he disappeared.

When I stood at the gate of the pasture, a handsome man appeared with me, looking out over the pasture and said, “Well, looks like we got a lot of work to do.  Better get going.”  He turned to me with a big smile and offered his hand, introducing himself as Michael.  And that’s where the vision ended.

I learned so much from this incredible vision and time with Jesus!  In my journal I had asked God for insight on my vocation in life, specifically about marriage or singleness. In the vision, Jesus convicted me of the way I’m still holding onto my old life and want of material possessions; he convicted me of a phrase I use often, “You are enough” without living up to it.  I am Martha, burdened with worries and anxieties about what it costs to follow God.  Jesus showed me only one thing matters, just like he told Martha, and that’s to spend time with Him—and that is where I find my vocation.  Jesus commanded me to feed his sheep.  He said “feed”—not rescue, save, protect, grow, etc.—just feed them with the Living Water and the Bread of Life.  For the little ones, the lambs—the vulnerable, lonely, young, scared, abused, lost, at-risk, etc.—he asked me to take care of them, to do more than just “feed.”  When they are grown, as the third command goes, I am to again just feed them.  The most significant part of my vision, though, is that I am to never take my eyes off the mission for the man.  As I was walking on the beach, leaving my old life behind, there were numerous temptations and opportunities to stay behind and marry my prince charming.  However, that’s not my greatest desire; my deep desire is to simply do the will of God and follow where he leads me.  When the young man appeared at the end of my vision, it gave me hope that if the Lord wills it, he will give me a partner, so I can serve in a PAIR.  But I will never have to abandon my mission or look away from Jesus.  If I stay fixed on him, He will always provide, and possibly a husband one day.  But what if he doesn't?  Well, I had a revelation as I reflected on my vision that gave me such excitement and peace about the fact that I may remain single for the rest of my life.  “Michael.”  The man introduced himself to me as Michael, and as I frowned wondering why that name popped out so quickly, it suddenly struck me: Michael the Archangel!  Maybe it’s not about waiting for a husband but about finding confidence in my mission (with or without) knowing that I have a spiritual helpmate who will fight for me through this battlefield to which Christ has called me. Wow!  Jesus, you truly are enough!     

She Said Yes

"Mama Kate, where's make(mom)?" Lucia tugged on my skirt one day.
"She's at her place," I answered.
"At her place..." she echoed, just as she repeats everything I say.  She looked at me with sad eyes.
"Should we go see her today?" I asked.
"Yes!" she jumped up and down.

Isn't it amazing how forgiving, pure, and loving the little ones are.  No wonder Jesus said the kingdom of heaven belongs to children (Matt 19:14).  The past few weeks were hard on Lucia in particular as she stayed at the girls home with us while Tenele stayed at the pastor's house on her own.  Tenele ached for her children, too, but she knew she had to embrace the consequences.  Time was running out, though, for Tenele to figure out what she was going to do with her future.  She claimed she would move back to Mangwaneni or would find her own place.  She wanted to find a job.  Then she wanted to ship her kids off to Cedric's family.  Her thoughts were inconstant and based on emotion.  There was one option, though, that was the clear winner: Challenge Ministries.

I learned about Challenge Ministries through my dear missionary friend Elysa Mac.  Elysa and her husband Jim and their kids go to a church in Mbabane called Potter's Wheel, which is a church that supports Challenge Ministries.  Jim and Elysa had purchased tickets to a dinner fundraiser, which explained all they had to offer and how young people's lives had been transformed.  Teenagers and young adults could become a part of this program to get rehab for different things and intense counseling and faith building.  One of the members of the church, Waheeda, welcomed me so kindly one day and exchanged numbers with me, letting me know I could contact her for anything.  Well, when things with Tenele had gone sour, Waheeda popped into my mind one morning.  I decided to contact her and see if she had any resources for Tenele.  She contacted Challenge Ministries, explained my situation, and gave me the director's number.  By God's grace, the director said even though they currently didn't have room, they'd give Tenele an interview and see if they could help.

I brought Tenele nearly two weeks ago to this interview.  The director was incredible.  The program was perfect.  It was a year long rehabilitation program that would offer her counseling, strict supervision, discipline, classes and learning, Bible studies, and healing from her past.  The director, who had talked to both Tenele and I separately, was so impressed with Tenele's vulnerability and honesty.  One of the interview questions was about her kids.  "Have your children ever been abused before?" the director asked her.  Tenele should her head yes and held back her tears.  "By me," she said shamefully.  Furthermore, when the director asked Tenele what she needed help with most or what she wanted as a result of this program she said, "To manage my anger," and "to become close to my God."  Beautiful.  But the director was very clear with me that this was a strict program and for the first six weeks, Tenele would be removed from all life and communication outside the walls of the ministry center.  For six weeks, she would not be able to see or even talk to me or her kids.  She wouldn't be able to even say hello or hear Lucia's voice on the phone.  Then, after the six weeks, the programming would begin and Tenele would slowly earn rights to communicate and then visit us or we could visit her.  When we left the interview I was on cloud nine because this was exactly what Tenele has needed her whole life--a safe place with loving people to admonish, build, and correct her.  She couldn't take any more bandaids; it was time to open the wound to heal it.  Though I was thrilled, I knew Tenele wasn't.  Tenele was too used to her "freedom," and it would be the biggest sacrifice she's ever had to make to say yes to Challenge.

The director told us to take a couple days to talk it over and think about it, but that they would take Tenele as soon as she said yes.  Unfortunately, Tenele couldn't.  She said no.  She couldn't get beyond the thought of being isolated from all of us for six weeks and she was scared at how strict the program was.  I was crushed but I wasn't surprised.  I saw it coming, but I let it be her choice.  But that meant she had to find other options.

Time was burning up too quickly.  By the end of the month, true to my word, Tenele would have to leave the pastor's house because I refused to pay for her anymore.  I regretfully had to call the director of Challenge and tell her the bad news, but she told me if Tenele changed her mind to give her a call.  So I gave Tenele the director's number and repeated what she told me.

Though Tenele gave me more than several reasons not to hope, I still somehow felt the glimmer light inside.  Sure enough, ten days later, Tenele gave me the best news I'd heard all year.  "Mama, I'm going to Challenge."  Again, by the grace of God, the director said they'd make room for her, and welcome her in to the program.  What made her change her mind?  It could be a million things, but something special happened in her last Saturday when we as a Hosea's Heart family did a prayer walk in town.  During this prayer walk, Tenele came across several people in town that she began minstering to and praying for.  One of our other girls, Sibussa, said that day was the day she fell in love with God.  I believe it was the same for Tenele, too.  Because something was different after that.  The crazy thing about all of this... is that Tenele had the option to do Teen Challenge several years ago when Christina brought her to this interview.  Though Tenele said no back then, it was a seed that God has been watering until today, when it finally took root!

Yesterday was Tenele's last full day until she moved to Challenge.  So, she spent the whole day at the girls home.  As night drew in, I could tell she was getting stressed.  Her eyes, her eyes never lie. And they seemed to be growing dark with the night.  I stood with her outside on the porch and said, "Tenele, tell whatever those evil thoughts are in your mind to go away.  You are doing the right thing, and I'm proud of you."  She half laughed at me, surprised I could tell what was going on in her head.

She nodded and proceeded to say to her thoughts, "Yeah, leave me alone; go away!"  She admitted she didn't know how to manage her thoughts and often times got confused as to why she behaved the way she did.  "I don't know why I do what I do," she said in frustration.  "I really do love the Lord."

I answered her, "Maybe that's exactly what you'll learn this next year at Challenge.  And it's evident, Tenele, you love the Lord, because you said yes!"  At bible study that night, the Spirit was so thick among us and while I played guitar, the girls went around taking turns praying for one another.  It was beautiful to see how powerful and compassionate Tenele prayed for her fellow sisters.

So, the next morning(just a couple hours ago), I dropped Tenele off at Challenge Ministries.  Luciano cried and cried when she left, and Lucia was so confused and sad.  Tenele, too, burst into tears, but she embraced it. She told me, "I'm happy, Mama, because I will be closer to God."

It will be hard not hearing from Tenele until mid December, especially since she'll miss Lucia's 3rd bday.  But she said yes to the Lord, and that means more than anything.

Not Your Savior

After certain episodes from specific girls in the home, I realized that I had to make something very clear to everyone.  "I am not your savior.  We (including Rachel and Kiley) are not your saviors.  There is only One Savior, and trust me, it's not me."  We explained this to the girls during bible study one night, as they somehow got the impression that because we are preaching to them and missionaries that we don't sin, or that our sins aren't as bad as theirs.  I was shocked when even Ayanda said, "What sin?  You don't sin, do you?"  I wish I didn't. But I course I do.

The discussion was sparked by one of the girls in the home who wrote semi-suicidal letters to several people saying something to the effect of, "You're my only hope.  You are the only one who can save me now."  It might come as a surprise to you, but it didn't to me because this girl is a master of manipulation.  She knew just exactly what to say and how to say it, to make someone bend to her wishes and go out of their way to give her what she wanted.  She is also a master of lies, which makes sense in her act of manipulation.  It has taken us four months since I've been here to uncover the mess of lies she's gotten herself into.  But as we all know, lies catch up with you at some point, and when you least expect it.  This particular girl had been skipping school every week.  She'd leave the home, dressed in her uniform and with her books and backpack, pretending she was going to school, but in fact she was actually staying in town with her boyfriend.  Her school refused to let her write final exams for that and other reasons.  It was the school counselor that then filled us in on all the lies she had even told the school.  That day, when the girl found out we knew about all the lies and more, she pretended all was well but when our attention was occupied elsewhere, she snuck off, "running" away from the home with a large sum of stolen money in her pocket.

It hurt. First of all, that she ran away. Second of all, that she told lies about the home to her counselor.  Third of all, that after all I had given her, she still felt the need to take off with my money (which she had been stealing earlier, too.)  To make a long story and a very long week, short, she admitted to stealing and was taken to court.  She begged to be let back into the home, but she was already going to be on suspension before the stolen money. We had found oit that she had even lied about the reasons for why she was in the home to begin with. She had also been stealing from any place she had stayed, including her grandma, mother, and people's tithes from church. That and so much more was finally broight to light, but she hardly showed any convicyion or regret.

 I was so torn, though.  I was crushed.  I loved this girl.  It was so hard to tell her no, she couldn't come back.  I wanted her back.  With open arms, I wanted to welcome her back.  But I also knew how destructive that would be to the other girls in the home as well.  So I asked the Lord what to do.  I prayed and prayed for wisdom.  So many people were telling me just to forget about it and let her back.  Even a man from social welfare said, "I know you have such a big heart, so you can let her back in."  But none of them understood.  It's not about having a big heart.  It's not about the stolen money or the lies.  It's about how to correct her.  It's about what's best for the house AND for her future.  It's about showing her that we are not the saviors. I prayed for wisdom and the next morning, my reading in Sirach said, "...discipline at ALL times is WISDOM." It was perfect.  I had forgiven her, I even wrote her a letter to tell her so.  But she still needed correction.  After the experience it was very clear to me that people from the society expected us as the foreigners to be the saviors, and I realized how damaging that can be.

Unfortunately, the girl's father, who hasn't been a part of her life for the past 16 years, decided to pay the court fine and take her with him instead of to the remand/correction center (where she'd get supervised schooling and counseling) like we had all originally agreed.  It didn't take more than a few days for the dad to realized his cell phone had gone missing and maybe more.

Although, she is out of the walls of our house, she is still very much so a part of us and my heart.  It's hard not having her in the home, but it needed to be done.  For her own growth and healing.  For her own time to find the true Savior.      

No Such Thing as Typical

It’s Tuesday.  If this were a normal day, I wouldn’t know how to describe it, because here there is no such thing as a typical day.  But I wanted to give you a glance into what a single day of life might look like.  So here’s a peak into a not so typical Tuesday.

                I briefly woke up when my roommate, Titi, left for work, but I must’ve been sleeping like a rock because I didn’t hear my phone alarm go off.  Instead, I dreamt on; I dreamt that “Benny,” my little 17 month old was a young boy and had long curly locks of midnight brown hair, and everyone stopped and stared at how charmingly handsome this boy was.  But then he all of a sudden started crying and as he cried, he shrunk back in years to being a baby again.  He kept crying and crying and wouldn’t stop, so when I opened my eyes, it took me a solid minute to realize he was crying in real life.  So I hopped off my top bunk and wandered out to the living room to console my little one. 

                After my quiet time reading and praying, I made some eggs and onions for breakfast and browned some bread in the pan for peanut butter toast (Jiff peanut butter from my dear friend Kelly).  Benny was hanging on my leg nearly the whole time and when he saw me finally eating, he’d point to his chest and say, “Me?” because he wanted me to share.  I taught him “please,” and he adorably pronounces it, “Peas.”  This boy is going to grow up being an excellent English speaker!  Especially since Lucia likes to speak to him in English as well!

                I gathered some puzzles and sat down with the two crazies, teaching Lucia some counting and some colors.  Luckily, Benny was able to entertain himself quite thoroughly with the puzzle pieces, though, I had to reprimand him a few times for throwing the pieces at Lucia. 

                Sibussa and Melissa both stayed home from school, since they weren’t learning today (because their school is terrible and the teachers don’t show up).  So, I taught them how to type on the computer keyboard and showed them what a word document was and how to use some features.  It was so difficult trying to teach keyboarding because I never had to teach it, I only know how to use it!  But they really loved learning and want to keep practicing.  Ayanda returned before noon from school because she had finished her exam for the day.  So, we took Lucia and Benny to town with us to spend the rest of the day with their mama, which Lucia had been asking about for a couple days.  During those free hours, I stole some internet time and paid a quick visit to Mangwaneni where I was eagerly rushed by twenty little ones, who brightened my entire week.  How often do you get that many hugs and once?  It reminded me how much I loved that place and it made me sad that I don’t make enough time to go there anymore.  So, I decided I need to make a weekly visit to love on those little ones I’ve neglected for too long!

                After returning to the girls home, Rachel and Kiley were already here, which was fabulous because that gave me an extra hour or so in town.  They tutored some of the girls one on one, and I studied with Shashie.  Ayanda joined us in the room later, and the study session turned into a giggle fest after Shashie “poofed” (their word for fart)quite loudly and looked up at me with big scared eyes, hoping I didn’t notice.  When we caught eyes, I lost it and we both couldn’t stop laughing.  Ayanda asked why we “poofed” in public in America or talked so freely about it, because “here, I can’t do that,” she claimed.  That just brought more questions and more laughter.

                Then it was time to talk to the police who showed up at our house (a longer story for another day, and no that’s definitely not typical).  We had gone to the police the previous night to report one of our girls who had gone missing, and along with her went a lot of missing money, too.  Just tonight we learned her whereabouts and she is safe, which is what matters most.  But she certainly has caused a lot of stress the past few days and has gotten herself into a web of lies and messes that will take a very long time to get cleared up.

                Johannes paid us a surprise visit over dinner, which Sibussa had cooked a nice flavored rice meal.  Around 8 I dropped Kiley and Rachel off in town and drove back to the girls home to find most of the girls already in bed.  I made my rounds to the different rooms and hug and kiss the girls goodnight and then stayed up later with Ayanda, Shashie, and Sibussa, as they gave me some SiSwati lessons.  The language lessons turned into laughter because I misprounced some words, which apparently ended up being quite inappropriate.  But it was a lesson well-learned because now I know when the girls are using naughty words. I ended the night by journaling in the living room for a few minutes and then headed to my already dark bedroom where Titi was fast asleep. 

                I would tell you that I went to sleep and woke up to repeat the previous days activities, but no other day has been exactly like this Tuesday.  Wednesday was quite different, and it just reminded me that in my new life here, there is no such thing as typical.     

                    

                   

Nothing Lost

With the burden of Tenele and taking on the mothering role of her two kids, I had felt my energy depleting.  Negativity had taken over me; certain things about Swazi that I once appreciated started irritating me more and more, and I was even getting aggressive in my slight hint of road rage (I like to think I inherited it from my father).  I felt plagued with constant yearnings for home and complained to myself (and Rachel and Kiley) about all the things I was missing out from home, all the people and relationships I had lost.  But the worst part of it all, was I didn’t know how to fix it.  I just got angry and infuriated with myself because I didn’t understand why I couldn’t shake it.  I had never felt so inadequate to be here and my shortcomings snowballed.  

To help me get some weekly away time, Rachel and Kiley and I decided once a week, I would switch places with one of them for a night.  So Kiley and I switched places last Thursday, and in that quiet time away all it took was two phrases from a song to shatter the hardened shell of my heart.  “If You are all you claim to be, then I will not have lost anything.”  I’ve heard the song “You Can Have Me” at least a dozen times, but for some reason I felt as if I had never heard those words before.  

“I will not have lost a single thing!” I nearly exclaimed aloud.  “Ha!” I said to my jaded spirit.  “What am I complaining about?  Why am I aching for home when God is telling me He is enough!”  

It sounds so silly now that I’m writing about it, but it was my lightbulb moment.  The lessons from the lyrics continued into the chorus: “When did love become unmoving? When did love become unconsuming?”  It was as if God were telling me, “Kate, when did I ever say that love should not move you?  When did I ever say that love should not consume you?  If you truly love me, you will move where I send you and build your life around where I place you.  Stop looking back at what you lost, look at me to see what you have gained!”  Furthermore, I had accidentally flipped open my Bible to a page in Isaiah.  A verse in the upper right hand page was underlined and caught my eye: “Whom shall I send and who will go for us?  And I said, ‘Here I am, send me!’”  It was as if God was reminding me, “Why are you acting so surprised at the hardship and complaining about being here?  Afterall, it was you who said, ‘Here I am, Lord, send me!’”  Indeed, that had been my coined verse and prayer since my first trip in 2008. 

After that night, I felt so renewed.  Nothing could get me down, not even Tenele’s escape to her old life for one night.  For I know that the Lord has a plan for her, and I know she will get there, with or without me.  My joy enabled me to let her go, knowing that she is in a crossroads moment in life and must make this decision on her own, without me.  

Following this lightbulb moment, I've been filled this past week with so much joy.  I received several letters from old students back home and an incredible package from my second family, the Conways!  I felt so loved and cared for with messages and emails and connections along the way.  Moreover, one of the older girls surprised me one night.  She asked for me to give her some time so we could talk. Admittedly, I didn't want to talk because I figured it'd be more drama or baggage or something I had to worry about.  Instead all she said was, "I want to thank you.  Thank you for loving me.  My whole life, all I've wanted is someone to tell me I'm beautiful, someone to love me and fight for me.  I struggled to see how God  could exist as I was left alone in my pain.  But now I am starting to see Him.  Now I can start to believe because my situation has brought me to this home.  I now have someone who tells me I'm beautiful, hugs me goodnight, and truly loves me.  I just wanted to say thank you.  I can't promise I will not fail you, but I promise I will do my best so that you can be there when I graduate and when I start my own home someday."  

God truly has shown me, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.  

When Love Fails

I’ve been told, “Love always wins.”  I’ve read over and over 1 Corinthians 13, “Love is patient, love is kind…love never fails.”  But what happens if it does?  Or when it does?  What happens when love really isn’t enough?

Living alongside these girls in their daily joys and struggles is truly an incredible experience.  Obviously, growth is a process, healing is a process, and it all cannot be achieved at once.  Yet, I still maintain high standards for my children, just ask my past students, especially the ones I’ve coached.  One of the girls in our home, who has been a particular struggle for me, came into my room one night to talk.  “I know I’m not perfect, Mama Kate,” she began. “But it’s like you expect us to be.”  It was the beginning to a very healthy conversation for the both of us, and since then, she has been nothing but a joy instead of a burden.  Understandably, when I hold high standards for myself and others it’s easier to be let down or feel like love isn’t enough to help them reach their potential.  So, with a massive let down over the past week, it has got me wondering, “Am I expecting too much?  Are my standards too high?  Is love enough?”

For six years, I’ve loved and pursued Tenele as my child.  Out of the six years, the past three months have been both the best and most difficult with her.  Perhaps I judged her growth too quickly and she really wasn’t set free or washed anew.  For, over the past two weeks, there has been a devastating retreat of growth and character.  Just as I was able to judge her state of mind based on how she was properly and wonderfully mothering her kids, I could tell something was wrong when she resulted to beating them again and talking about them in frustration.  “Cedric can just take them!” she said angrily one night.  “I’ve had enough.  I can’t do it anymore.  It’s his turn to take the kids.”  What I thought had been a healthy conversation where she shared her frustrations eventually festered into more anger and bitterness on her part.  She didn’t like coming to the girls home anymore, and I figured out later it was because it was extremely hard on her to come and see me giving all of my attention to the other girls, tutoring them in their school work while she had none.  She loved school but now that was no longer an option for her, and that began to eat at her.  She felt she had no future and blamed it on her children.  More and more voices filled her with doubt and fear.  You are nothing, you never were and never will be, they told her.  And she began to believe them.  After I intervened on numerous occasions of beating her children, I warned Tenele if she ever abused her kids again or I ever found marks on them again I would not support her any longer because I could not continue supporting someone who abuses their children.  She understood and promised she wouldn’t abuse them anymore. 

A few days later, I went to visit Tenele and the kids.  I had already disciplined Tenele for some other things that I had actually had a dream about before it happened (crazy how my dreams here give me a little hint of things to come sometimes).  I was getting so frustrated with her because she was taking massive steps backwards and there was nothing I could do about it.  When I checked on her that day, Lucia was playing and part of her shirt came up in the back.  I grabbed her in haste, lifted her shirt and quickly put it down, horrified by the marks I saw.  Tenele’s face immediately dropped in fear and shame.  I didn’t even say a word.  I was so furious I was shaking. I was so disgusted I started crying.  How can she do this to her girl?  It was the worst I had seen.  And it wasn’t only on her back.  I marched away immediately, awash with emotions I couldn’t handle.  “I’m done,” I said to myself over and over.  “I am so done with her.  Six years…six years!  And she’s still like this?  I can’t do it anymore.  I’m done.”  I walked the entire hour back to the girls home, uphill, and in 98 degree weather.  But I didn’t care.  The exercise helped me breathe and think as every part of my heart sank.  “Lord, what am I supposed to do?  Haven’t I given her enough?  Haven’t I taught her enough?  Haven’t I prayed for and encouraged her enough?  Haven’t I loved her enough?”  I squinted my eyes shut behind my sunglasses, trying to take away the sting of hot tears.   “Haven’t I forgiven her enough?”  Frustration flushed my already reddened face and a gentle voice in my head echoed the bible verse, “’How many times must I forgive him?’ ’70 times 7.’”  I definitely wasn’t there yet.  As I walked I talked and argued with God, and finally I listened.  It was clear that two things were demanded from me for Tenele: 1) discipline and 2) grace.  Yes, still grace. She desperately still needed grace.  As for discipline, I had already warned her of the consequences of continuing to abuse her children, and that was to remove my financial support for her future.  It was time to let go. 

Devastated at my news of discipline the next day, Tenele hung her head and held back her tears.  “You have proven to me again, that you cannot be trusted alone.”  I told her I was taking her children away from her for the time being until she could prove to me that she could be trusted.  I told her I had forgiven her but that there were still consequences.  I explained that consequences and true discipline is difficult but meant for growth even if you can’t see it in the moment.  I told her that she could no longer depend solely on me; it was time for testing, time for her to depend on the Lord and not man.  I told her she still had options, she still had many people who could help her through anything she needed, including Marcia, Musa, Rachel, and Kiley.  But I told her because of her choices, I had no choice but to let her go. 

Let go.  It was confirmed through Rachel as she encouraged me with Scripture in Acts.  It was confirmed in prayer and then confirmed in a song: You Can Have Me.  “If I saw You on the street, and you said, ‘Come and follow me,’ but I had to give up everything, would my love be enough to let go?”  Did I love Tenele enough to let her go, to let her go through a period of pain and suffering, and hopefully so that she can find her out in the end?  Moreover, did I love and trust God enough to let her go into His hands?  It was a time of testing for both of us.  Would Tenele choose hope in the darkness or go back to a life she once lived?  Would I, gripped by the fear that she might choose her old life, renounce my discipline and let her lean on me.  I had to let her choose. 

The following Saturday, Nonhlanhla went to visit Tenele as had been previously arranged.  Instead, she sat with the pastor for nearly three hours, waiting for Tenele to return as the pastor had told Nonhlanhla that Tenele had left earlier that morning.  Nonhlanhla returned home; Tenele didn’t return at all. 

The next morning, Sunday, I was woken up by a call from the pastor.  He said, “Tenele just came in this morning.  She’s weeping and needs to be tended to.” 

When I got to the house that morning, I walked down the hall towards her bedroom door, which is almost always shut, but I found it partway open.  She was lying on her mattress, which was on the floor, with her legs hanging off the side.  She was wearing shoes, her skirt, and a jacket with the hood up.  She looked up when I walked in and just groaned with sad eyes.  I looked around the very tidy, small room.  Two toddler chairs were stacked on each other and a suitcase lay by the door, packed full. 

“Where have you been?” I said unsympathetically, already knowing there was no other place she would’ve stayed the night other than Mangwaneni.  She slowly sat up and made space for me on the mattress.  “Where were you?” I asked again.

“I went to Khanyi’s mom’s place,” she said quietly.  “I asked if I could live with her.”

I cringed.  Khanyi’s mom’s place is where she stayed when she first became a prostitute.  Later, it was a place where she tried escaping to once Cedric held her captive, but he came after the mom and beat her up, leaving her no decision but to tell Tenele she couldn’t live there.  Now, several years later, Tenele thinks that’s her only option—to go back. 

“So, where are you going?” I asked, but she didn’t answer.  “Tenele,” I pointed to the suitcase, “Where are you going?”

“Khanyi’s mom said I could live with her,” she choked down the tears.

“No, where are you going?” I asked again, emphasizing the deeper meaning to my question.

Tenele couldn’t look at me as I gazed firmly at her.  She began crying as I questioned her.  “Do you really think that’s the right choice right now?  Do you really think that’s the only option you have?  Why would choose that?”

“B-because, y-you s-said you w-w-wouldn’t s-support…” she started shaking in sobs. 

“I wouldn’t support you anymore?” I finished for her.  She nodded yes and cried uncontrollably.  I hugged her towards me and let her cry on shoulder.  “Tenele, is that really the life you want to go back to? Do you really want to go back to selling your body again?”  She violently shook her head no.  “I’m not abandoning you,” I clarified.  “I’m not like your real mom. I will always be here, I will always love you.  That love can never go away because it is not my own, it’s the Lord’s.  But your choices have prevented me from helping you as I desired.  But I’m still here, look at us,” she nodded as she still cried.  “There’s no reason to make these desperate choices you are making now.  There is no one chasing you from this place or kicking you out of the pastor’s house.  You can’t give in to the lies and fears that fill your head.” 

Eventually, she stopped crying and sat upright.  We sat in silence for a few minutes before I checked my watch.  It was nearly time for mass.  “Do you want to walk with me to Cathedral?”  To my surprise, she said yes.  So we went to mass together, and it was beautiful.  It was the SiSwati service, so I didn’t understand much content, but during the responsorial psalm, Tenele eagerly grabbed my hand and whispered, “It’s Psalm23!”  That is our Psalm.  That is the Psalm that has captivated Tenele; that is the Psalm that defined her two years ago, the psalm that she read in Timbutini church one day and pointed to the verse about restoring her soul and said, “That’s me!”  What a beautiful reminder that even though I gave up on Tenele, God hadn’t.  God was reminding me that He was still working, that Tenele was not a lost cause and never will be.  God was answering me, “Love always wins.  My love is always enough. My love never fails.”

Can I Love Until It Hurts?

"If you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, 

only more love." 

-Mother Teresa

I'm at the point where I'm in need of the latter: more love.  Love certainly hurts.  When I left La Crescent to move here, I cried for obvious reasons.  I needed to grieve the life I was leaving behind.  But I thought when I got here the love of being with my Swazi kids and heart would erase the ache for my old life.  How wrong I was.  Actually, just today during their lunch break, I was supposed to skype with my old students who started FCA with me last year.  Of course, on the one day I really needed it, the connection didn't work.  I was able to call Allie and say hi for about a minute before they headed off to class.  But as I hung up, tears filled my eyes.  I didn't know I would miss them this much.  I didn't know I'd miss my job and the daily joys of being in a position to inspire and teach this much.  I didn't know I loved all 400 of my students to the point of hurt, as Mother T says in her quote. But this certainly hurts.  No one here can replace those I left behind, similar to no one in the States being able to fill the empty spaces in my heart left for my Swazi children.  In all my times in Swazi, never have I been homesick this often.  Perhaps it is because my purpose and the duration of my stay is different, longer.  I had no idea how much things would change in making an "indefinite" move, with the possibility of forever.  There is no end point for me like there was before: 2 months, 9 months, 1 month, etc.  I didn't realize how having a lasting perspective changes everything.  To be honest, it scares me.  Can I really live here?  Can I make a living?  Can I keep loving like the way I did on a short term scale?  Can I persevere?  Do I want to?

If you would've asked me six years ago what I envisioned my life would be at 28, I would've told you this: By 28, I would've already been married for a few years with a 2 year old boy and baby girl on the way.  I would teach for a little longer before becoming a stay-at-home mom.  I would be a coach and a writer.  My husband and I would be living in a 2 story house with a front porch and porch swing that we'd sit in together in the evenings to gaze at the stars.  Our yard would have lots of room to play football and have cookouts and maybe even a pool.  There would be an expensive basketball hoop, one I can adjust so I can dunk.  My husband and I would visit our families often and be active in our church.  I could go on and on.  Africa wouldn't have been in the picture, and certainly no non-profit.  Who would want to start and run a non-profit, anyway?  Definitely not my cup of tea.  Funny how life works sometimes, eh?

So here I am: 28 and single, living in a foreign country whose only concept of "football" is a soccer ball.  I live in a house big enough to hold all 21 of us, and I sleep on a top bunk in a room that has little space for my things and it has a window without a screen (which was the entrance and exit point for a rat).  I have 18 girls and one baby boy, and it's the youngest and oldest age groups that give me the most trouble or take the most energy.  The wounds from their past demand so much love, and to be honest, it scares me to love them because I know that comes with pain.  I know that what I have isn't enough.  Can I love them like they need to be?  Can I love them beyond the pain and frustration they bring me?  Can I persevere?  Do I even want to?

A couple days ago, Nonhlanhla prayed for me and asked God to renew my heart so I could love them the way I did when we opened the home, before they've done so much wrong since.  Indeed, they have.  One got pregnant, one chose to leave the home so she could see her boyfriend, one is a chronic liar to get constant attention, one give the answers we want but is deceivingly rebellious; one lies to get away with things, one lies to stick up for her friends, one lies out of fear, one lies to "protect" me, thinking that the truth would hurt.

I told this to a man who nearly broke my heart: The truth hurts, yes, but hurts can heal.  Lies and deceit, however, destroy, and destruction cannot be healed.  Somehow this seems to be the story of my life here--being constantly lied to.  It's gotten to the point where I don't know who to trust in the home.  I don't know which sob story to fall for, and I'm becoming jaded and I hate it.  I feel like the old man in that starfish story where a young boy tries to rescue the starfish and throws each one back into the ocean.  The old man tells the boy it's a waste of time and energy because he can't possibly make a difference in the hundreds of thousands of starfish on the beach.  But the boy picks one up and throws it into the ocean, saying, "Well, I made a difference in that one!"  I used to think I was like the boy, who could see the importance of one; now I feel more like the old man who sees the larger picture and gets discouraged.  Because I'm surrounded by so much need every single day, it makes me ache for my old life--a life that was much easier and more peaceful, a life filled with people who love me without expecting anything in return, a life of comfort, familiarity, and trust.

Can I live here?  Can I make a living?  Can I keep loving the way I once did?  Can I persevere?

No.  I can't.  Over the years, I've grown tremendously in my dependence on Christ, but I've also become a very independent woman by the world's standards.  My independence sometimes deceives me.  I think I'm weak if I have to ask for help.  I should be able to handle this.  I've turned some bitterness of "single and alone" into "fine, I can do it on my own anyway."  And that, of course, ends up affecting my relationship with God, though I'd like to think I am wholly dependent on Him.

So, no, I can't do it.  I don't want to.  Because it's not about me anyway.  It's about the Lord and the story He wants to write using my life.  It's about what He will accomplish, not what I can or can't do.  So, this is me admitting that I am not strong.  This is me confessing that I am weak, and that's okay because His strength is coming.  This is me realizing that love hurts, yes, but when the hurt runs out, there can only be more love.  This is me offering up my negativity so I can embrace the coming joy.  As my dad told me once, "March on, weather the storm, for the rainbow is just around the corner." This is me asking you to be part of this story and a warrior of strength.  Prayer is the only way God will accomplish all things through and for me.  Through your prayers, I can live here, I can make a living here, I can love like I'm loved, and I can persevere.

"And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them."  -Romans 8:28

New Creation

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!" -2 Corinthians 5:17 

                It’s a Friday night, and that means movie time!  The girls giggle in excitement as we momentarily argue about which movie to watch; since we've made it through my narrow-themed DVD selection (made up mostly of dance movies), it’s time for repeats.  The older girls want 10 Things I Hate About You and the younger ones want Pitch Perfect for the millionth time, but we all agree on Step Up II instead (which has nothing to do with my suggestion, of course).  They pull up their chairs around my laptop screen and we switch the lights off.  Lucia snuggles in with Sindi, and that’s when I realize Tenele isn't in the room.  I sneak out of the living room to check on Tenele.  I push that squeaky door open and pop my head in to find her sitting on her bed reading her little purple Bible I gave her.  Looking up at me and seeing my ear to ear joy, Tenele smiles.  “What, Mom?” 

                “You don’t want to watch the movie?” I ask, coming in to sit on her bed.

                “No, I’m reading,” she says matter-of-factly. 

                My joy is too much, so laughter fills the room.  “Tenele, there really is no greater joy than to know my child is walking in the truth,” I quoted the Scripture.  She laughs too in a shy and modest acceptance of the praise.  “I’ll leave you to it,” I pat her knee and rise to leave.  At the doorway, I pause and look back at her, in awe of how much she has changed. 

                “What?” Tenele giggles nervously as I stare at her. 

                “I am just so proud of you, Tenele.  You truly are a new creation.”

                When I left her, I didn’t go back to the movie right away.  I went to my room to process all that had happened in Tenele’s recent life.  Was this the same girl I met six years ago?  Was this the same girl I had pursued tirelessly and painfully for nine months?  Was this the same girl who lived in prostitution, who was a bully to others, who refused to believe anyone besides Mary-Kate would help her, and who beat her own children.  No.  This young woman is indeed a new creation, and every time I looked at her, I was looking at a living, breathing miracle. 

                Since Tenele’s miscarriage, we had moved her back into the home for a few transition weeks before looking for another place for her.  Her time at Project Canaan was exactly what God needed to heal her and to captivate her heart.  She came back a mature, thoughtful, Scripture-hungry young woman.  No longer would she fit in at the home full of girls; she was a woman.  She saw how older women raised and treated their kids; she received advice, challenge, and even books like Redeeming Love from her new co-workers and friends at Project Canaan.  So, she returned to us equipped for a life of growth and independence.  She returned ready to listen to me and follow my instructions about how to discipline her kids instead of resulting to beating them (which is how she was raised and abused).  It was one of the sweetest feelings I’ve ever had to see her put into practice what I had been teaching her.  Tenele never had a good connection with her boy, Luciano, but their relationship was transformed when she returned.  He started saying, “Ma-mah, Ma-mah,” and Tenele would snuggle him.  She started using her voice and her finger to say, “No, no,” to him instead of swatting him when she didn’t want him to do something.  And he listened, imagine that.  The way she loved and cared for her kids was astounding in comparison to how she treated them before.  Instead of treating them like a burden on her back, she cherished them, realizing that they were her first priority above her own life and dreams.  Lucia repeats everything she hears and sees, so when she’d see her mom read the Bible, she cried one time to Tenele saying, “Can I have my own bible, too?”  How beautiful!

                But…  You weren’t expecting any buts in this one, were you?  Neither was I.  This poor girl, I just don’t know when she’ll ever catch a real break.  While things were going wonderfully here, a dark part of her past met her on the street one day.  I was away in Pretoria this past weekend when Tenele ran into Cedric, the father of Lucia and Luciano, when she was in town meeting a friend to help her get a job at shop in town.  Cedric detained Tenele for several hours as they talked and caught up on life.  He made several requests of Tenele, which involved threats.  When Tenele refused to go home with him, he said, “Oh, did this time away make you forget about me?  Don’t you remember that I’m not scared of blood?”  Immediately, her dark past of living with Cedric in captivity and being beat and abused, stabbed and almost killed once, flooded her and clouded her judgment.  It was getting late and nearing dark.  Tenele knew she needed to get home but didn’t know how to lose Cedric, so instead she pretended to enjoy his conversation and stayed in town talking with him.  Back at the girls home, Gogo was getting worried, so she phoned Tenele.  Luckily, Tenele was holding her phone and showed it to Cedric saying, “See, the one who’s caring for my children is calling. I need to go.”

                “Don’t answer that,” he demanded.

                So she didn’t.

                Amazingly enough, Gogo must’ve sensed something was wrong and called Tenele again.  When Tenele realized Gogo would keep calling, she got the courage to leave Cedric in town. 

                “I have to go,” she said.  “I’ll be in trouble, and my kids need me.”

                “No, you’re not.  You’re coming with me.”

                Tenele started crying.  “I need to get the kids.”

                “Fine,” he gave in.  “But bring Lucia and Luciano tomorrow and you will all stay with me.”

                “Okay,” Tenele agreed.  “But you have to call Mary-Kate first.  Here’s her number…”

                And Tenele took off for the bus rank to catch a kombi home. 

                When I got back from Pretoria, I didn’t know about the story, just that Tenele had gotten home late one night, so I went in to scold her.  Before I even talked to her, though, I could see she wasn’t okay.  Her face was stern and conflicted.  When I asked what was wrong she refused to say.  Only when I started telling her I knew about her getting home late was she willing to explain about Cedric.  I sat up with her that night until 1:30 in the morning because she was so full of fear and anxiety and couldn’t sleep.  She recounted her past with him and cried and cried.  Through her recounting more details of her past, I learned what stronghold Cedric really did have on her and it made sense why she couldn’t leave him during the 9 months I was there.  Apparently, Cedric was the first one Tenele’s step-mom sold her to, and it indeed was an exchange of possession.  In paying for Tenele when she was 12 years old, Cedric believed he owned her.  She ran away in the streets as a prostitute until Cedric found her again.  He beat up anyone who tried helping Tenele, including an older woman who was the mother of Tenele’s friend.  He took her by force, and Tenele had to live with him, pretending to want to be his girlfriend, pretending to enjoy someone she loathed.  She lived in fear for so long, thinking if she just pretended and did what Cedric said, she could survive.  Thinking that life was far behind her, she has found so much freedom.  But now after seeing him again, her mental state immediately went back to one of captivity.  She told me, “If Gogo hadn’t called again…I would’ve gone with him that night.  I didn’t know what else to do.”  God bless Gogo! 

                Another blessing is that God has provided a place for Tenele to move into for the time being.  Just yesterday, I moved Tenele and her kids in with a pastor, his wife, and his two boys.  Luciano will finally have some males around!  In trying to help Tenele get rid of her dark ghosts of the past and ending her fear of Cedric, we read through the Scripture of David and Goliath.  She marked it in her Bible and said she’d refer to it if ever she feels afraid.  Also, as a whole family at the girls home, we prayed protection and healing over Tenele.  We circled around her and laid hands on her, and as we prayed she cried and the girls hugged and held her.  That’s what family is for! 

                Tenele indeed is a new creation, and nothing can reverse that.  Satan has no hold on her life and darkness has no place because in June she was set free.  And she was been washed in grace and molded into a new woman!  Please continue to pray for strength in her newfound faith and trust in the Lord, that He will be her refuge.  That perfect love drives out all fear.  And pray for Cedric.  Though he is a man, he looks like such a boy to me, so scrawny and seemingly harmless.  Pray that God breaks his heart, and like Saul, he calls him from a life of persecution to a life of righteousness.  Pray that Tenele’s future of hope may be magnified and that she gets good direction and discipleship living with the pastor’s family.  Lastly, in your prayers, praise God for all that He has done in this girl’s life, all he is doing, and all he will continue to do.  And praise God that he has let me be a part of this journey to witness what it looks like to be a new creation!