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!

   

Give Your Best Anyway

“Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough.

Give your best anyway.” –Mother Teresa

On Sept. 2^nd, I wrote in my journal, “It seems like the problems are so large, how do you even help these girls without hurting in the process?” 

For the past two weeks, I feel like I’ve been running on empty…but somehow still running.  All you stay at home moms, I don’t know how you do it.  Really, I’m exhausted.  The girls have been on school break, so most of them went home to family members, except Nonhlanhla, Sindi, Ayanda, Welile, and Lucia and Luciano.  I was so excited for this to be a “break” for me, too, but instead it seemed like more work than having a full house.  Many secrets were brought to light over this break about the behaviors of a number of the older girls.  There will be definite disciplinary actions awaiting the girls when they return from break. 

It’s not easy coming up with consequences.  It’s not like in the States where there are so many things (car keys, cell phone, computer, iPod, etc.) you can take away from a kid, and there’s really no point in “grounding” because they don’t really spend time outside the house anyway, other than to and from school.  Finding proper ways and creative ways to discipline has been in itself exhausting, and sometimes the problems combined seem too big to even worry about facing.  There are reasons why these girls are acting the way they are and living in deceit and darkness.  They don’t come from easy lives and all are jaded and scarred in more ways than one.  Daniel Walker wrote that sexual abuse is the worst crime against humanity because it robs the person of her soul, her pride, her worthiness; it “murders the person but leaves their bodies alive.”  Why would one of these girls even care about discipline if they feel they have nothing left anymore? 

I’m trying to find the balance between grace and punishment, because I still have high standards for my girls.  There are reasons but not excuses.  I don’t excuse their behavior but I try to understand it first.  That, too, gets frustrating because others see that as me being too “soft” or inadvertently encouraging bad behavior.   A couple of the girls themselves see that I am a very empathetic person and take advantage of it by inflating their stories, exaggerating, or flat out lying, and that makes me feel like giving up.   Yet, I still have the solid few that despite their own horror story of a past remain righteous, obedient, faithful, and committed.  Too much focus on the negative takes away the glory of the positives, so I don’t want to take away from everything they’ve done for me; for, they have provided me some incredible “proud mama” moments recently:

The other night, I dismissed everyone for bed but stayed out in the living room.  The girls thought I went to my room and was asleep, so they stayed up for quite some time.  I could’ve taken this as another frustrating moment because I had told them all to go to sleep because it was already late.  However, as I listened, I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt.  Nonhlanhla and Sindi (blood sisters) were “practicing” English words to some worship songs I had written down for them.  They were singing softly but got louder as they somehow randomly broke out in a Whitney Houston song.  Then they prayed aloud in SiSwati and then continued singing and laughing with each other.  At 1:00 a.m., I finally closed my journal and went into their room.  Nonhlanhla quickly put her notebook down and Sindi pretended she was asleep.  “That was so beautiful,” I told them. 

“Oh, thank you, Mom!” Nonhlanhla beamed. 

“I hate to make this end, but you really need your sleep,” I replied.

“Yes, Mom,” Sindi smiled and kissed my cheek goodnight.

#proudmama

            I took the girls with me to do some singing and praying at the Hope House; even Gogo Martha wanted to come!  Melissa went with me to each little house to invited the residents to the circle pavilion for preaching and worship (a pastor was there to preach as well).  I had my guitar so we sang some fun songs and the girls were interacting with the residents to get them to dance and laugh.  The pastor did a mini sermon on John 10:10 “The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy,” and he did a phenomenal job.  After he finished Ayanda whispered to me, “Can I say something, too?”  At my eager “yes,” she stood up, sweetly greeted the group, and began preaching on Psalm 23:1.  She was beaming, the most beautiful I’ve seen her.  For, as Scripture says, “Those who look to Him are radiant and will never be ashamed.”  #proudmama

            One morning, I sat outside playing with Lucia and Luciano for awhile.  Sindi and Welile came to join us.  I had my basketball, so we were rolling it and bouncing it around.  Then Welile asked how to dribble the ball like I do during games.  It turned into an unexpected basketball coaching session, and the girls were amazed at how I could dribble the ball between my legs.  After trying themselves for quite some time, Welile yelled to me, “Mama Kate! Look!  Look!” and she proceeded to successfully dribble the ball between her legs.  #proudmama

            Lucia is not even three years old yet.  She HAND washes her own underwear, she sweeps the floor, she tries to pick up her little brother (who’s almost bigger than her!), and she speaks two languages.  Her English has gotten increasingly better; in fact, she speaks better English than some of the older girls!  For example, she conjugates verbs correctly, which the older girls struggle to do.  The other day, she was on the couch and wanted to jump off.  “Mama Kate, Mama Kate, Mama Kate,” she pesters me until I look, “I’m jumping!”  I couldn’t believe it.  It wasn’t just, “I jump,” but she had the verb correct.  She repeats much of what we say or do, which we have to be careful about of course.  I didn’t realize how much I said this to her, but I tell Lucia, “Girl, you’re cray cray,” when she’s being crazy (which is almost always).  Well, the other day I was driving and all of a sudden I hear “Cway, cway! Cway, cway!” in my ear.  I turn and there she is giggling to get my attention.  Naturally, I can’t stop laughing because it’s so stinking cute, but now she uses that to her advantage, so when I’m scolding her she’ll smile and say, “Cway, cway” to get me to laugh.  That little stinker.  Still, it’s a #proudmamamoment.

            Since Tenele hadn’t been around for my basketball games, she and Melissa came to watch a pick-up game at the local university.  After the game, I treated the girls to some KFC dinner since we had missed supper time.  Tenele and Melissa had a heart to heart, mostly in English, which was surprising!  Tenele shared about her past and opened up to Melissa to encourage her to walk in righteousness.  It was absolutely amazing.  Tenele’s transformation as of lately has been astounding.  Her time at Project Canaan was exactly what she needed to mature her and mold her into the leader she is now.  She identifies herself as one of the “problem” girls in the home, but she wants to have a house meeting and talk to everyone about how to walk in the light and not in darkness.  Melissa soaked up what Tenele had to say and she in turn also asked me if she could say something to the other older girls on my behalf.  #proudmama

Because Tenele has been raised in abuse, that’s often how she disciplined her own kids.  It’s taken me a long time to try to break Tenele of this habit that is a part of their culture in Swaziland to beat children.  I can judge much of Tenele’s heart and character based on how she’s treating her children.  Since she has moved back from Project Canaan, it has been a complete turnaround.  I have given her support, advice, and have shown her how I’ve been disciplining them, especially Lucia.  She actually listens to me and follows my advice!  She’s been a phenomenal mother, and she is adorable with Luciano, who says, “Ma-mah, Ma-Mah,” in the cutest voice ever!  #proudgrandma

Lastly, still concerning Tenele’s new freedom and walking in the light, she said something to me the other night that counters my frustration I talked about at the beginning of this post.  She said to me, “Mom?  I know I’ve disappointed you so many times, but because God give you the pure heart and heart forgiving, you keep fighting for me.  Other people look at us (girls in the home) and say, ‘Ah, forget them.  I’m tired of them,’ and they give up on us.”  She was encouraging better behavior from the girls but empowering me at the same time to not give up on them.  #proudmama

So, as Mother Teresa says, even when my best isn’t enough and I want to give up, I will choose to give my best anyway.