Blinded

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whispers of gratitude:

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

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

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

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

·         When Bongekile smiles

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

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

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

·         Ah, yes, sleeping children

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Join me in asking God for eyes to see. 

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

 

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

Lucia's fro after waking up

   

Rich Soil

 Over the past two months, I didn’t chase after Tenele.  I didn’t pursue her or go looking for her at Mangwaneni like in the past.  (In fact, I didn’t go to Mangwaneni very much because I couldn’t face the pain of seeing Tenele there.)  There is a time and season for everything, and that season of relentless pursuit was over and a new one began—one of patience and grace.  God had asked me to pursue Tenele, to take up the motherly version of Hosea’s story and continue to bring Tenele back, showing her over and over again the extent of God’s love redeeming love for her...until she could finally believe that she was worth it.  Then He asked me let go and to wait. 

So I am.  Though waiting is painful, it also brings hope.  And it has been a thorough test of my trust in God.  Do I believe His promises?  Do I believe He has the best for Tenele?  That no matter where she is, or what situation she is in, He can still restore her?  Do I have faith in prayer?  If you want to prove something is true, it must withstand the test of time.  If you want to know if someone loves you, ask them to wait, and see how long they’ll commit to waiting for you.  My faith has been tested many times during this seven-year long story with Tenele.  But with every test I realize how impatient I still am.  Yet, with every failure, with every new hope, my faith only grows stronger.  I rejoice in the hardships, in the tears, in the separation from Tenele, because it will be the source of our future joy.  So, over the past couple months, while I didn’t actively reach out for Tenele, I fought for her in daily prayer and waited for God to work wonders in her heart.  And He did.

Tenele sought me out every other week and sometimes weekly, whether through a letter, a quick hello over the phone, or coming to the volunteer house.  There has NOT been even ONE of these times that I haven’t seen her cry.  Every single letter she wrote said the same three main statements and one question: “I’m sorry for everything.  I don’t know what I’m doing.  I want to go back to God.  Please, mom, please forgive me.”  She had to beg for forgiveness, not because I haven’t forgiven or God hasn’t forgiven her but because she couldn’t forgive herself.  She hated herself, and the inner battle became clearer and clearer.  Finally, on one of her visits, I said, “Tenele, you keep saying you want to go back to God.  You tell me that you pray every night and ask Him for help.  But what are you doing about it?”  It was like she wanted God to magically rescue her from her darkness and pain without having to do anything herself. But that’s not faith.  That’s not a relationship.  For several weeks she wanted to go back to church, but every time Sunday rolled around she couldn’t.  She was crippled by fear and pride.  I told her she must pray for humility.  And she did.  And wow…

Finally, one Saturday night, she stayed over at the volunteer house with another girl Nomvula, who had run away from the girls’ home months ago.  On Sunday they both went to Potter’s Wheel Church with us; it was the church Tenele attended when she was in her rehab program at Teen Challenge.  She said she loved the Pastor and his preaching always made her cry, but she was afraid to see the people she had run away from.  During the service, she came alive.  She cried and praised and prayed.  At the end, she took my hand, trembling, and asked me to walk her to the pastor.  When we got to him, Tenele was so overcome with tears of repentance that she couldn’t even speak.  The South African pastor spoke encouragement and words of redemption over Tenele and then prayed over her.  Nomvula, who had been grumpy and disinterested the whole morning, lit up and glued her eyes on Tenele as she wept in front of the pastor. 

I wish I could tell you that in that moment everything changed and Tenele’s life was completely restored.  But that’s not the journey of faith I know.  Faith is a process in which growing pains are required.  This was another major piece of the uncompleted puzzle, but of course it’s not finished yet.

                During Friday Bible studies at Mangwaneni, Tenele tried helping, translating, praying, and keeping the drunkenness of other women under control.  She came to the volunteer house during the workshop hours and spent time with Lucia and Luciano.  One day, she read the Bible for a straight 2 hours.  Still, she refused to leave her sin behind. 

                Finally, last week, she came to me and said, “Mom, I need to tell you my problems.  I need help.”  I asked questions about her current lifestyle and she was honest.  She said the temptations surround her and she can’t always say no.  (I had heard from others that she was living with a "boyfriend" again.)  She talked about her prostitute friends and how she even asked one the other night to go with her to a different area but she told her no.  Offended, Tenele said, “You’re just jealous and don’t want me to come.”  Her friend told her sternly, “No, this is not a good life.  This is no good life for you, Tenele.”  Tenele asked me if she was right.  “Because sometimes they come in the morning with 400 rand and they always have money.  If they bring KFC and I ask them to share, they say no.  So I think, fine, I will get it on my own, too.”  She asked me if that was okay.  It sounds weird that she asked me, but they were sincere questions.  Was selling her body bad?  Was money bad?  If she didn’t have money how else could she get it?  What if she wanted KFC or nice shoes?  Where did God fit into all of that?

               

 Inspired by the Holy Spirit, I shared with Tenele the story of the Parable and the Sower.  As the words came out, I realized that I have had the incredible honor of seeing and experiencing this Scripture parable to its (almost) full.  Tenele had been the seed on the path where Satan came to steal the Word away before her faith could take root.  She had been on this path for years, her faith only being a topic of conversation and a means to getting what she wanted, but it never took root.  Until Teen Challenge.  Teen Challenge changed Tenele to the second soil: the seed on the rocks, where she sprouted up quickly but withered away because of the weak root.  Tenele’s faith during her time at Teen Challenge skyrocketed.  She was a plant higher than any others; however, with the pain of her past bearing more weight than the root could hold, she crumbled.  And now, now she’s on the thorns.  She is so hungry for God.  She wants to know truth.  She wants to understand.  She desperately wants God.  But she also wants the desires of the flesh, the pleasures of the world. 

                “Tenele, I cannot wait until you get into the fourth soil in the parable—the rich soil!  You will bear fruit for this nation more than you can imagine!”

                Her eyes were big and hopeful.  “Mom, I want to leave Mangwaneni…” and she started crying.  She couldn’t talk, so she wrote on a piece of paper.  She asked if she could come and clean the house for small payment so she could get bus fare to go back to her real mom’s homestead an hour outside the city.  I was shocked.  I was hesitant.  But that’s what she believed would help give her the necessary time she needed away from distractions so she can focus on her relationship with God.  She had forgiven her mother and believed it was safe to give the relationship another try.   

               

I dropped her off one week ago.  I am very nervous for her, as we had tried moving her to this homestead in the past and it turned out to be a wreck, hurting Tenele even more because of the lack of love she received from her real mom.  To be honest, I don’t believe things will be different from her mom, even though her mom said it’s okay for Tenele to stay with her for awhile.  But I think what will be different is Tenele’s relationship with God, and that will affect everything, making it an opportunity to reconnect with her mom and get the necessary healing she needs from her past.

                

Please join me in praying for Tenele and her mother and this time out in the rural homestead for Tenele to find her center in Christ again, to remove the thorns and become the seed on rich soil. 

Puddle-Jumpers and Ocean-Crossers

“There comes a time when you need to stop crossing oceans for someone who won’t jump a puddle for you.”

During my last week of my visit in the States, something significant (but by no means good) happened that prepared me for continuing my “redeeming love” journey with Tenele.  It was a heartbreaking situation with a young girl around Tenele’s age whom I had poured into over the past four years.  “She’s your American Tenele,” one girl told me.  And she was right.  “She’s too far gone.  You can’t fix her.  You’ll only end up hurt if you try,” another girl messaged me. And she was right.   “Sometimes holding on hurts more than letting go,” another girl gave me this quote.  And she was right.  “I don’t need another Tenele.  One is already too much.  I’m ready to give up,” I said to myself.  And I was wrong.

Over the past year, so much happened with Tenele and I was depleted, upset, confused, angry.  It seemed that I had failed in helping her, so when my American Tenele also rejected my love and help, it cut doubly deep.  I became angry at them, at God, at myself.  Why do I have to care so much?  Why do I have to try to fix everyone?  Why do I have to be an ocean-crosser for those who don’t even puddle-jump? 

Because Christ did.  Christ is.  He carried a cross for us, so we can cross into eternal life.  His oceans of mercy are unending, as he continues to love us when don’t deserve it, when we are too weak, too stubborn, or too selfish to even cross a puddle for Him.  As Mother Teresa said repeatedly, “Grab the chance to offer something to Jesus.”  Our oceans are only a grain of sand on the shore, but the little we offer He can turn into a sea of glory.  Through the depressing situation with my American Tenele, I realized I wasn’t offering it up; instead, I was holding on… in vain—trying to fix the unfixable on my own strength.  I wasn’t offering it up, I was trying to do it on my own.  Then I realized I was doing the same with Tenele.   

When I got back to Swaziland, I was anxious to see Tenele but I wasn’t eager.  When she called one night to say hello, I struggled to quiet the anger still inside me.  In my journal I wrote:

 “Thank you for Tenele calling so I could hear her voice!  We both don’t sound the same, though, and it makes my stomach ache.  She doesn’t say my name or greet me with her girlish delight anymore.  Her “Hello, Mom” is heaving with aching of her own.  My ache is there, too.  But my voice doesn’t bear my inner longing, it reveals my inner anguish, the weariness of time spent on her, the bitterness and anger.”

 When I hung up the phone I thought of all the things I wanted to say to her when I saw her again.  But just as soon as those thoughts flooded me, that still small voice inside my head told me to offer it up.  “God, what is demanded of me for Tenele right now?”  The immediate answer came, Grace.  “What?  Really?  I mean, really?  But she deserves to be punished.  I want to yell at her.  She should know how angry I am.”  The still small voice continued, You will drive her away and do more damage.  I sighed slowly.  What she desperately needs is to know My grace.  Don’t yell or scold; love and hold her.

In my journal I continued: 

“I’ve realized something about Tenele and me.  I’m hurting because I’m holding onto pride, like with (American Tenele) too.  It doesn’t need to hurt this much, but it does and I’m bitter… because I’m being prideful.  Up until this point, Tenele and (American Tenele) haven’t really directly sinned against me.  Now that it’s more personal, though, now I want to give up?  Isn’t this where I should love them more?  Because this is where it shows my love really is the Lord’s and not mine.  Anybody and everybody can love until they’ve been burned.  But Christ goes further.  Forgive 70 x 7.  Lord, help me be a minister of your grace.”

The first moments I saw Tenele again, I couldn’t speak because my anger had not yet vanished.  We sat together in silence, but somehow it was what we both needed.  Eventually we began talking and she began crying.  It was clear that she was in immense internal pain and indeed she desperately needed grace.  The more I talked about God’s grace and the more I said He forgives her, the more and more she cried.  And the more and more I saw the remarkable results of God’s mercy. (Details to come)

A minister of mercy.  It seems this is the core mission to which God has called me.  This ministry cannot exist without His mercy.  How often have I asked God for wisdom in dealing with the girls and disciplining, etc. and nearly every time He answers me, “Mary-Kate, they need Grace.”  And when I do, when I try, when I let go and let God, oh how many burdens are lifted from me.  Oh, such Amazing Grace!  If only I could make them see…  Yes, Lord, make me an ocean-crosser, a minister of your mercy.  

Child, Look Again

 After exposing my inner anguish and admitting my struggles with joy and self, I was encouraged by several people to commit more time to prayer.  My friend Jess told me that Mother Teresa’s Sisters of Charity commit two hours of prayer every day so their ministry might be successful.  So I went to mass and stayed after to pray.  Thanks to Fr. Al, who taught me about vision-prayer (to picture myself with Jesus and imagine what He might say to me, etc.) this has become a transformative part of my spiritual life. 

Because my journal holds my heart and my heart says it best, this update is fresh from my journal— a sneak peek-- no, an in-depth splash--into an incredible experience that new words cannot recreate.

I recorded the visions that unfolded that morning in my journal:

Mother Mary stood over me, with one hand on my left shoulder and the other palm lifted up toward God as she prayed for me.  She asked me what was wrong.  I said, “I don’t know,” and I cried aloud in the chapel (luckily I was the only one in there).
            She said, “You’re hurt and angry.  Why are you angry?”
            I kept crying and said, “I don’t know.”
            She continued, “You’re angry at yourself.”
           I said, “Yes” and choked down a sob.
           She said, “Tell your Mother everything.  Why are you angry at yourself?”
          “Because I can’t do this.  I’m miserable here.  I’m bitter and I only see girls as burdens now.  I hate my sin and myself.  Yes, I’m angry at myself and that God is not giving me what I need.”
                “What do you need?” she asked.
                “I don’t know,” my common answer.  “A husband, a Simeon, or someone to help carry my cross.”
                I don’t remember the rest of that part, but what I remember next is her saying, “Jesus, come and minister to this child.”
                Jesus came and held my folded hands and said, “I love you.”  I cried again.
                Then I remember being invited to the throne room by God himself and I physically shook my head no and wept, telling God I am not worthy, I cannot enter his throne room.  He said it’s a feast He has prepared for me—for me, the honored guest, and I couldn’t believe it!  He wouldn’t take no for an answer and I appeared at a feast, a table of food and wine in the middle and a long table on both sides where people sat.  Someone invited me to join them at an empty seat.
                Then God showed me a mirror.  He said, “What do you see?”
                I cried again because I saw in myself nothing good.  I saw pain, lack of joy, loneliness.
                He said, “Child, look again.”
                When I looked again I saw people forming a V behind me, like the shape of birds flying south, but I was the point, the head.  St. Michael was at my right and angels were behind me.
                “See, you are NEVER alone,” He said.
                Mother Mary appeared again with the motherly command, “She needs to be ministered to and she needs healing.”
                God confirmed, “Come to Me and you will find rest.  You need DO nothing.  You need to find what joy looks like.  You cannot do that if you don’t come to my feast.”  Then I pictured the feast, the laughing, the music, the dancing, and I pictured Jesus doing my ‘shake baby shake’ dance.  Now THAT made me laugh!  God commanded that I come to his feast every day for the next week.
                When Mother Mary appeared again, she was washing my feet.  And I thought of my own mom.  Mother Mary reminded me that my mom is like her at Calvary.  That my mom weeps for me as Mary did for Jesus.  That my mom is walking this road with me even though I can’t always see her, just as Jesus didn’t always see his mother, but she saw him.  Mary told me to give my burdens to my mom, to tell her of my suffering, so she can take it from me, she can help give me courage.  “Your mom is a powerful prayer.  Let her fight for you.”  As she finished washing my feet, she led me to a room of beds, all white, and told me to lay down and rest.  Then she left me and continued ministering to others at their beds, fallen warriors, those getting recovery to be sent back out into battle.

I ended my journal with a commitment of returning to mass (His Feast) every day for the next week.  This was over a week ago, and indeed I’ve felt healed, built-up, restored and not once have I felt alone.  “Bless the Lord, who has crowned you with glory.  May he grant you wisdom of heart to govern his people in justice.” –Sirach 45:26