Reality

This week has been an interesting one...

The reality of what this place is hit me hard. So hard, in fact, that my body began shutting down because of the emotional stress. For two days I just slept. I didn't have energy to do anything else. I had so much tension in my back, and my stomach was upset all week. I had it at least 10 times where I was sure I was going to throw up, yet nothing happened. 

Starting Sunday evening, my mind and heart began wrestling with my role here. And very quickly, I began a grieving process that I wasn't expecting.

The obvious grief was over the fact that the children even have to be here, that this place, and so many others like it, have to exist. But this wasn't what really hit me hardest. I know this to be a place of hope. God's hand is so evident, and it is clear that the children are not short of love by any means.

The grief that has been consuming me is for the parents who are missing so much joy in their children's lives, and grieving over whatever got them to the place to let their children go. I don't understand the kind of desperation that causes one to abandon their child, so I cannot be angry with them. But my heart grieves that my role is necessary, that I am the one feeding these beautiful children, I am the one to witness their first steps, I am the one to sing them songs, give them goodnight kisses, and delight in their innocent laughter. These are things of unexplainable joy, but I wish so badly that their parents could see. I wish they knew what precious jewels their children are becoming. I grieve the outrageous beauty they are missing. 

With each moment of sweet joy that came this week (and they were endless), there came an aftertaste of bitter grief. I don't know how to explain this feeling well, but it is as if I have been given somebody else's gift. I know I should feel blessed to witness all these phenomenal moments, but instead I feel like I have peaked into someone else's present, one they will never get to enjoy. And that sucks. My heart and mind are feeling very jumbled. I wish I could express this better. My week wasn't bad. I wasn't in tears at every moment, I wasn't on the verge of a meltdown all the time. But my heart became so heavy. I had such a hard time accepting the moments of joy because I knew they should belong to someone else.

So after almost three months of being here, my heart has finally broken, and I'm honestly not sure that this is fixable. "Break my heart for what breaks yours." It's a prayer I have said in the past, and it has certainly been answered. I don't know what moving forward looks like from this point on. I know this is part of God's redemptive plan, and I know He is a God of restoration and healing. So I don't think I will be in an eternal state of grieving, but I think God has broken my heart for good.

Still I know there is hope. I know He is working out all things for the good of those who love Him. I know He will gather His children from the east and the west, and I know He has His hand around all these parents as well. I may never get to see how it works out in the end, but I have confident hope in the story Ntate Molimo is writing (N-tah-tee Mo-dee-mo: sesotho for Father God). So I will praise Him through each heart breaking moment, rejoicing in His perfect plan.

(And to all parents who may be reading this, please don't take your children for granted. They radiate so much beauty. I know 63 children whose parents are missing that. I would hate for you to miss it too.)

Kids: Joy, Sadness, Innocence

I had three distinct experiences with kids this weekend. One of holy joy, one of deep sadness, and one of pure innocence.

My moment of joy was on Friday. One of "my" boys was adopted to Sweden, and though each adoption is a beautiful story, it is a little more meaningful when you have had the pleasure of being one of the child's fill-in moms for two and a half months. My boy is sweet and forgiving, timid and silly, cuddly and hungry. He loves kisses, he knows what he wants, and he is a child of repetition. So on Friday when we all filed into the chapel to celebrate this beautiful union, my heart was especially joyful to see one of my kids be given a forever family. I did my best to keep in the tears, but I quickly melted into a little puddle when, near the beginning of the ceremony, he hopped off the couch by his mom and came searching for me to give me a final hug and kiss. Though not in school yet, he understood fully what was happening, and I was ruined by this sweet act. My cheeks remained tear stained for the remainder of the ceremony, and my heart was filled to the brim with such a holy joy that can only come from the witnessing of God's redemption story being played out before you. His mother came up to me later and said, "I can see that he really loves you, and I can see that you love him too. But please, tell me why." So with pride in my heart and a lump in my throat, I told her all the reasons I loved her son as I watched her eyes twinkle at the gift she had been given. Oh my friends. Words cannot even explain the magnificence of seeing a mother be given the child she had been praying for, of seeing a child be given the mother he had been longing for. I know I was only two and a half months of his life, and I know I was not anywhere near being his mother, but I have such pride, hope, joy, and love for him. What a beautiful moment to cherish. 

My moment of sadness came this afternoon. I know I will fail miserably at explaining the depth of my emotions, but I will do my best. Most of the time, the kids just seem like kids. They play like kids, laugh like kids, cry like kids, eat like kids... But every once in awhile, you get a tiny glimmer of the weight of their past. Today, I was dragged around the playground by one of "my" girls. Our time was full of giggles and silliness, and a sweet moment of just gazing in awe of each others' differences. However, when it was time for me to head back up the hill and go home, the sweet lightness of her face quickly dissipated into the look I hate most here at Beautiful Gate: abandonment. I stood up and said goodbye, and her eyes filled with tears. I thought at first that she just wanted to play longer, but when I looked into her eyes again, there were more than just tears there. Fear had settled in as well. I kneeled down in front of her and took her small hands in mine, assuring her that I would be back in the morning to give her breakfast before she went to school. But no matter how much I tried to give her confidence of my return, she continued to shake her head, not wanting to be left. Finally I just had to leave as she cried and took a few steps after me. I waved and blew a kiss, and through tears, she gave the most heartbreaking blow of a kiss back, one that truly looked like a final goodbye. What a stark difference to the sweet hug and kiss I had received on Friday.

My moment of pure innocence came shortly after, and was gladly welcomed. I had settled onto a big sleeping bag in the sun, rolled up like a burrito, when Mercy (the director's youngest child) rolled up next to me in a smaller blanket. We giggled about how we looked like tacos, and our conversation took flight. We covered everything from our favorite colors, the depth of a tree's roots, the recipe for a perfect rainy night (pizza, a movie, and green caramel popcorn), all the way to discussing which was really home, America or Africa. As we lay there, faces close, I soaked in her innocence and honesty. She was unafraid to ask questions, unafraid to answer. She was curious and thoughtful, and she was eager to share her silly jokes with me. She didn't want to be talked down to because she was young, she just wanted to talk. It was such a moment of peace, and in a way I can't explain, a moment of restoration. We simply thought about life together, and I had the privilege of seeing the world through her innocent eyes.

These instances don't flow together in some poetic fashion, except to show you the breadth of emotions experienced here. There is joy unexplainable, despised sorrow, and restorative peace in a matter of a weekend, along with all the other little feelings thrown in as well. I don't have a big point to share, no revelation from these moments. But it's a view of the rollar coaster this journey is and has been. Praise God for His faithful, constant, and ever-loving presence in our lives!

Rainy Season

Rain.

It is often thought of as life-giving, renewing, cleansing.

But if I have learned anything during this wet season in Lesotho, it's that rain brings up a lot of dirt.

With each storm we get here, our sidewalks and back walkways get covered in mud, slime, and filth. Our ponds overflow, the weeds grow high, and our lawn turns to mush.

As I sat on our front steps and watched the rain come down this morning, these were the thoughts running through my head. 

Just as these few summer months in Lesotho are rainy and wet, God brings us through seasons of cloud and storm. And just with the rain, it is exciting and thrilling at first. The power of the storm makes you cozy up inside, letting you be still. But after awhile, we begin to get restless. We feel trapped and claustrophobic. I think when we are in seasons of spiritual rain, this fact is the same. We welcome the quiet time, but then get uncomfortable to be stuck in the stillness. We see things around us getting weedy, mushy, dirty. Our clean paths suddenly become slimy, and we have to navigate new routes because our normal ones are flooded. 

Nobody wants the dirt of their life to be brought to the surface. We want the lawns of our lives to be well-manicured, the path before us clean, dry, and sure. We want a little rain shower here and there to make our flowers grow, but we have no desire for a flooded, mushy swamp. Yet these are the moments that God seems to transform our hearts.

Some storms in our lives make us feel so trapped that we will find any excuse to get out. But when we step out the front door, we realize the paths we are so used to have become a pond, and God forces us to choose a different way. 

Some seasons reveal the weeds in our lives, the outside things that keep our flowers, our faith, from blooming. We see how far they have spread, and we are shown exactly where we need to mow, to cut out the things that hinder us from our full potential in Christ.

Still other seasons just bring up a lot of dirt. These seasons don't force you to find a new route, they don't show you the outside obstacles in your faith. Instead, they show you the things you have covered up with grass, the deeply buried sin, the filth. This may be the most difficult season of all.

When our paths get flooded, we have the joy of discovering the new one God has intended for us. When our yard springs up with weeds, we get to remove them and watch our flowers grow. Though the path may be longer and the weeds tricky to get out, both end in something new, something better.

But in the seasons of mud and dirt, it seems to just stick there. The sun comes out, our paths are dry and we can get rid of the weeds, but the dirt stays there on the sidewalk. It gets stepped on and finds its way into the cracks and settles when the water soaks up. We can try to sweep it away, but we end up just spreading it around. It sticks to our feet and we start to track it inside the house.

Yet this cannot be the end. As I sat on my front porch, I knew there had to be something that got rid of the dirt. I thought long and hard. I thought through the flooding, I thought through the weeds, but I knew the dirt stayed, even when everything else was dry again.

In Lesotho, the only thing that gets rid of the filth is wind. It may be a soft breeze that gently blows the dirt away, or it may come in big gusts that quickly pick it up and sweep it off.

In the Bible, the Hebrew word used for wind is often the same as the word for Spirit: ruach. So as it is with the physical dirt on our sidewalks at Beautiful Gate, the ruach is the only thing that can remove the dirt in our lives. It may come gently, or it may come in a mighty gust, but it comes on its own accord. We cannot get rid of the dirt ourselves, and we cannot force the wind to come, but in the right season, God sends the ruach into our lives and removes the filth and dirt.

I don't know what the weather is like in your life. I don't know if you can hear the thunder in the distance, if it's right above your house, or if the sun has come out again to dry up all the water. But wherever the storm is or has been, take a look at your lawn. 

Is God asking you to seek out a new path? Pursue it with a spirit of adventure and discovery, taking joy in knowing it has been marked out by Him.

Is He revealing the weeds you need to pull? Dig them all out and watch the beauty of obedience blossom.

Is He uncovering your filth? Rest assured that His wind has come, and worship Him for His gracious and complete cleansing.

Friends, may you see beauty in the rain God sends in your life (and keep your eyes open for the rainbows too).

Child-Like Faith

What does it look like to have faith like a child? My heart is pondering that thought this morning. 

As I began praying, I was overwhelmed by the fact that God chose me as His child, and chose to dwell in me. So here is my prayer for the day...

My soul is full, Holy Spirit, with your presence. How blessed a thought it is that you have made room in my broken heart to dwell and to heal and to move. I am no tabernacle, no holy of holies. I am no sacred temple, built by Solomon. I am but a child with dirt on her face, her feet, her hands. My knees are scraped up from falling, and my hair is in a tangled mess. Yet you look and say, "There. That one is mine. In her I will make my dwelling, and in her I will accomplish my will." 

Daddy, I pray that I might be a good listener, that I would clean the cluttered rooms of my heart, sit still in your lap when I get too wiggly, and come to you whenever you call me. May I trust you to catch when you throw me up high into the air, hold tightly to your finger as I begin to walk, and may I reach my little arms up to you alone, fully delighted when you pick me up. May the sight of you make me jump with excitement, and when I lose track of you, may it be the biggest tragedy.

Today, Papa, may I be fully satisfied with the food of your Word and the living water given to me by my big brother Jesus. May I not leave my food unfinished, but eagerly devour it and ask for even more.

Father, Papa, Abba, Daddy, thank you for this new day of child-like faith.

I love you. Help me love you more.

<3 Gracie

Adoptions, Names, and Water

Today is a jumble of things. Forgive the lack of flow (:

Last week Friday, I got to experience my first adoption ceremony. I wish I had written about it that day so all the images and feelings were still vivid in my mind, but the day came and went and days kept coming and going without me having the time or energy to sit down and blog. So I will do my best to give it the justice it deserves...

I went into the chapel not knowing what to expect, but incredibly excited and joy-filled at what the day meant for this sibling set going to Canada. As the seats began to fill, I think our hearts did too. The Bo Me started the ceremony in song, and the joy and worship that filled the room was so thick you could taste it. The story of the children was told, their housemother spoke about them and gave the charge to the parents to grow them up in The Lord, and Bryan charged their oldest son to look out for his two new siblings. As they signed the final documents, the room was filled once again with the most worshipful praise, and the verse in my mind that kept running over and over again comes from Zephaniah 3:17, a verse about the redemption of God's children, Israel. 

The Lord your God is in your midst,
    a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
    he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.

What a beautiful image! In seeing the joy these parents had in bringing their children home, it was as if I got a taste of what that first moment in heaven will look like: finally home, finally able to see our Father whom we have been waiting so long for, entering with joy as the heavenly hosts welcome you home with songs of great praise. 

We prayed a blessing over the family and enjoyed some tea and sweets, and the whole day my heart was so full. I cannot wait for the day when I get to see my Father. We are familiar with the adoption part of our faith, that God bought us with the blood of Christ to share in His inheritance, but to see it so closely made it so much more real. This family waited for 5 years to get their children, and with adoration they held them closely in their arms. Our Heavenly Father is waiting too, and when the time is right, we are going to be scooped up in His loving arms where He will rejoice over us with gladness, quiet us with His love, and sing joyfully over us, our mighty God who saved us. Mm. I cannot wait for that day!!

Two big things happened for me this week. I got my first compliment, and I got my Sesotho name from my housemothers! This culture is not one to praise you to your face. Though they will tell others how much they appreciate you, it is not often that they will actually tell you personally. So on Wednesday, as I was finishing up in my house and making sure all the babes had gotten their water, one of my housemothers said, "Ausi Grace, you are doing such good work here. Thank you for all you do. God bless you!" Though it was short, it meant the world to me! It is so rare to be complimented, and my heart swooned when she told me I was doing well. 

On Thursday, I got my Sesotho name (: My Bo Me talked between themselves and said, "You will be Ausi Relebohile, 'we are grateful'." As silly as it may sound, it felt like parents choosing a name when you are born, except that I got to be there and understand what was happening! It was a very warm moment for me to be named by my mamas, and to know that they chose a name fitting to how they saw me!

On Wednesday, we also welcomed a new volunteer, Brittany! She will be here for six months and is from West Michigan, so it is fun to make connections and play a little Dutch bingo. I am so excited for her to see and experience all that BG has to offer. She has already been a joy to have on campus (:

Our water was off for the past few days... We have a reserve tank, but it leaked and within the first day, we lost a third of our supply. The tank should last for ten days, but that was certainly not going to be happening at the rate we were losing water. So we flushed our toilet with pond water and a bucket, washed way too many dishes in filthy, cold, leftover sink water, and went without showers. It stunk in more ways than one. But this morning we got water back!! We don't know how long that will be for, so we have been told to remain conservative in our water usage, but it felt SO good to take a shower after four days of greasy hair and sticky skin. (There is so much that gets on you when you work with 60+ kids, a shower was SUCH a relief) So we would love prayers that our water stays and they get all the problems fixed, as this may only be temporary. It is not just us, but a very large portion of the community, so it is really detrimental for those who don't have any back up. Thanks!!

My friends, God is good. He is a God of redemption, a God of blessing, a God of provision, and a God whose mercies truly are new every morning. Each day is another opportunity to be in fellowship with Him, regardless of where you are. So seize each moment. Though circumstances may not be the best, your God is incapable of truly letting you down. Be still in His presence today. Drink fully from the living water of our Lord.