wash him clean

around ten yesterday morning my helper, becca comes to me and says one of the boys had pooped.
all over himself.

...and here i thought i had them all potty trained and was past the days of diapers and wipes and gross.
nope. no such luck.

i was doing activities with the older boys so i asked bec to take care of it. within a few moments she said she was gonna throw up and couldn't.

i left the boys, let her take over and went to see the mess myself.
boys don't do anything half hearted. i've learned that. it doesn't matter what they are doing, they go big. every single time.

this was no exception.
poor pedrence. he was coated.

i put on gloves and began to clean.

within ten minutes of very very little progress i realized more was needed.

we took a little walk. his cute naked body following behind me as we walked to a house.
i used to hate cleaning up their messes. sometimes i still do. but yesterday i didn't.

spent the next twenty minutes bathing him. laughing with him.
getting all sorts of soapy and clean.
i borrowed some clothes and dressed him.
then we walked back home.

i used to hate cleaning up their messes. sometimes i still do. but not yesterday. yesterday i kept thinking to myself that this is what the gospel is.

this is what Jesus does for me.

He comes in all big and clean and gets on my level and wipes me. 

He smiles at me as i stand exposed and gross and coated in my own flith and shame.

He lovingly washes over all of me. 

He'll lift me up out of the tub, wrap me in warm blankets and dry me off.

dressing me again in new clothes.

and i kept thinking to myself, this is what i came here to do. i came to love and spill of myself into others. i came to be gross and used and do whatever is necessary so that these little boys of mine know the Love of their Savior and Maker. 

and when He asks me what I've done for the least of these, i can think back to these moments. and i can know, and answer that i loved. that i gave of myself and got dirty too so that we could both be clean again.

and all the good of that means nothing if my heart isn't right, and so i pray pleading prayers with each swipe from the wipes. i pray that i stay humble and small and let Him come clean out all filth from my heart. 

i loved the special time with pedrence. it wasn't how i'd planned it, or what i'd normally think is the ideal, but sharing sweet giggles together and washing Him with love filled my heart. 

what a joy to be His hands and love these boys. even days like this when loving equals the dirty.

being left at the piano

i've been thinking a lot the past weekend about this one night last year. it was september or october.

i was alone and vulnerable and exposed.
and in a way, thats sorta how i feel now.

last year before the time Manassah entered my life i was rather stuck on the farm. i would have to hitch a ride into town or beg one of my friends from town to drive out to the farm to get me. i didn't really like doing that because its 30 minutes to the farm, then 30 minutes back to civilization, then 30 minutes to the farm to drop me off, then 30 minutes home for whichever friend it was. but i was desperate to get into town and get to church.

so i called a friend of mine to come and get me. i don't even remember everything from that day. we got to church and there was no church. so we played a bit of poker with friends. i was demolished. i can't fake or lie or anything, my face gives me away. but i love playing. really, i just love playing any game. but soon i realized after losing again, that the church was empty and so i asked and meandered my way into the sanctuary.

and there she sat. quiet and still and beckoning.

since i wasn't on my own schedule i remember whispering to shawn where i would be and that i wouldn't be leaving the piano, so he would have to come and get me when he was ready to go and take me home.

and so freely i sat and played. it was the first time i had really played since i moved here to south africa. and i was alone. something about the night quiet, and the stillness of a house of worship makes my heart sigh and relax and my fingers move and find the melody that lays buried.

i didn't realize it at first but shawn had come in and was laying down listening to me sing and worship. he said he was there awhile before i realized it. i always get embarrassed when i notice someone listening. i stopped playing, made to move away, and he gently coaxed me back to my seat. it took a few songs but i forget he was there again. the piano is my place. my happy secret place.

i heard richard come in before i saw him. he too sat and listened. i had an audience. a bit later i glanced up and realized shawn had left. he wasn't there. i asked richard what happened and he said shawn slipped out and had to leave. some phone call.

i remember the panic, the frozen paralyzing fear that gripped me. i remember not being able to think. and praying, pleading that no tears would escape. i would not cry in front of richard over something i knew was so small. i was abandoned. alone. my ride had to leave. i didn't know who to call to come get me. i was afraid. i felt so betrayed. shawn said he'd take me home, and here he had left without a word. richard could tell i was antsy and apparently the whole time he was smiling and apparently shawn's car keys were right on the floor.

but for those moments, who i was, and where i was, was enough to send me into a near tailspin.

a few more minutes passed. i had walked back to the piano. i had lifted my fingers but i couldn't play. i was alone. left. maybe it was not even a minute, i don't know. more time passed. then the familiar face reappeared. i stood. tentative. fearful. i struggled to come up with words saying i was ready to go home. but my movement was enough.

soon we were in the car. and on the way home and we didn't reach the edge of town before the tears came.

i wasn't ready to cry in front of richard (that would take about another month till we'd get to that point), but in front of shawn silent shame-filled & hot tears poured down my cheeks. it took almost the entire drive home for me to put to words the lunacy in my tears and why i had gone from so normal to so afraid. and i knew shawn wouldn't leave me but i felt he did, and it was more richards words than the absence of shawn, but i couldn't shake the anger over what i thought happened. and i couldn't stop feeling so ashamed to have doubted one man off of another man. (and isn't that so like us? constantly comparing and judging from what we know. glory, glory He doesn't do that!)

i was vulnerable. and exposed. and there wasn't much i knew here yet, or understood, and what i thought i understood in having a friend to depend on, and then having that friend go against everything (so i thought) and leave, and being abandoned...it was too soon to feel that.

i cried because i thought it had happened again. someone i trusted left me. and i cried because i didn't know how to be fixed. and i cried because i'd just have called my parents in america and at least they could tell me who to call and how to get home and i was all alone in a strange place.

all alone in a strange place.

i've been thinking about that night a lot lately. wondering how i'd react now? would it be the same? would i laugh at the teasing? would i look and notice the keys before i felt it was true? i don't know. i don't know.

but i do know that i see growth in my life in simple things. in small things. today i see growth in that i have a host of people i would call if i was really abandoned somewhere. in the fact that i wasn't abandoned that day, nor since and that He will never ever leave me.
growth is often painful and confusing.
and thats the point, right? so we don't stay confined to the shell we're living in. so we branch out and spread wide wings and go soar.
higher than the last time.
with stronger wings, and more gumption in our tail feathers.

when i can figure out why i keep replaying that story i will be sure to share....i feel like there are nuggets there from Jesus for me, and i think i have an idea of where and why its heavy but He does tend to move in mysterious ways and so i wait. i am waiting....

while i wait, let me count up more endless gifts...35-53

• for good friends who i can cry in front of
• growing up in Jesus and growing stronger
• parents who made me diligently practice piano every day even when i was grumbly and complaining
• a sister who showed me how to write music and create
• truth, good, painful, real truth spoken over me
• a marvelous weekend away
• new favorite drink: red cappuccino
• new favorite fruit: persimmons
• someone gifting the Brits family with real maple syrup from america. oooooo SO, so good to me!
• not having to drive to jozi this weekend
• falling asleep to the sound of the wind whipping in the car.
• in fact, car naps in general
• sleepy boys who love to snuggle when they wake up from their naps
• sleepy little boys who smile when i smile at them
• potato soup on cold winter days
• LOST. wow. tonight was so intense!!
• the bulls won the championship on saturday night. its so superficial but it seriously made me so delighted
• little amelie and i playing make believing all day sunday.

simba's blood, and how it dripped on me

little crimson drops spread on the white shirt i wore today.

i wear clothes to cover up my skin, my heart, my thoughts. i wear them because society tells me too. though strangarity genes scream "freedom!" i whisper "no, no, no" and gather something semi-matchy matchy, thats presentable and waltz out the door.

little Simba dog was shot this morning at a neighboring farm. its all still a bit surreal. he is a much loved dog on this farm. two holes. in and out. shaved skin, droopy eyes, and heart cringing yelps of pain escape his little mouth. he whimpers with each movement. no side is good to lay to find comfort because the evidence of pain and opening is there, is everywhere. each turn, its there. i shudder to think how i would feel with the marks of what happened...*

i walked home from school today and met my family on the drive. i sat in the back with jacquie and nicole. simba was crying from the pain of the bumps. these farm roads do not soften bullet wounds. i climbed in, i didn't think. i reacted. i reached and held and gave stability as much as possible to brace and take the bumps myself. only minutes later realizing that i was wearing white.

white to cover my white.
cloth to cover my skin.

and simba had dripped and his red blood poured on me.
and i was marred.

we got home and i gathered pillows and blankets and cleaned and scrubbed blood, and then i saw myself. i paused in the mirror upstairs. i saw me. i paused and i saw me still. i lingered. and as much as i am ever able to see what lies in the deep, i lay uncovered.

the red spotting my white.

and i undressed slowly. whispering prayers for simba, and myself as i did so.

i like wearing white. its so clean and fresh and i think better when i have white on. and my skin isn't so nice and creamy milk white like some of my friends, but i am, by far, the whitest in the family, and i tan a nice shade of white and you'd never know the sun and i met. and still i wear white. because i like it.

and i put on cloth to cover and i haven't really thought before of wearing white to enact and hope it changes me and purifies me, but i do like the light more than the dark. and perhaps maybe subconsciously i have put on white to make me feel more clean. make me feel more alive and just fresh.

and i wear clothes to cover up what i don't want you to see. and i wear little masks to cover what i don't want to see or show. and i'll paint my nails and wear mascara and twirl and swirl and pitter patter on and wonder if its working or not. do i cover up half as well as i think? and do i want to?

its awfully amazing the thoughts that are conjured up when your beloved dog has been shot.

simba's blood stained me. and i watched the droplets spread over my clothes. and strangely all i wished was for it to cover and coat more.

somehow, red blood always makes me think of the cross. and how i wish to be coated full so it stays. how easily i forget that the once dripping was enough for ever. for all. how silly i am. how often i forget.

i don't need more of the crimson to come today. enough was spilled that day. enough for today.
and i don't need to find and search and hope for something to cover me and what i wish no one will know, and that not even myself, sees.

his blood is altogether enough for me and its coated and soaked through and its all and everything and more. and no need for me to wear anything or need more red drops to cover either....

and i sang little shouts of praise that i am coated in His blood. and i am free to live and be and wear myself and my heart cloth-less. and His blood has sang and danced and washed me and no amount of stain-remover can remove the parts that he's branded and bought and paid for. and i rejoice and sigh deep that i'm all at once clean white new and also oozing the red blood of life. all at once. all at once.

little simba was shot today. please say a prayer. this beloved family dog will heal and be running soon again and that the circumstances around it will be smoothed and somehow good, deep, peace will come....

*normally, farm life is not this exciting, this terrible. in fact, most days pass in a semi-vegetable like state where i search and see and discover beauty. today was a bad day. but He's holding little simba. and i'm not worried about being shot myself...for numerous reasons not blog worthy...so, relax mom and dad. love you *smile*

they nod in close, and i do too. its our morning fix.

there are little bubbles of spring in my heart.
in my mind.
and i don't know how to put to paper what is stirring, and being removed, and encouraged.

a friend is writing a book. its one of the most exciting things i've ever been a part of. and its a small part. and i'm not even really a part of it. my part consists in being blessed to receive email drafts weekly if not daily and share what moves and stirs and what can be re-worked and what is good, and really there are never any grammatical edits. its a book i believe in with so much of my being it almost aches. each chapter, each sentence, each little section just pricks little Jesus heartbeats in me and i feel at once broken and healed and loved up and over and complete. its a book about suffering and pain and it isn't just little nice sunday school answers that praying this prayer and reading this passage will help you. it is much more gruesome and real and hope-filled and i. love. that.

i love that, because the more i sit with Jesus and just pour and read and sit and pour and read and sit in the gospels with Him the more i realize i've sorta screwed Him up in my mind and He's a lot more radical then i like to think of Him. and i love that. i love the passion and feelings and re-reading what He did and who He is and how He cares for the marginalized and sick and the diseased and He could've cared less for those running business, those running towns, the ones making decisions, and running nonprofit's, and the presidents, and the learned ones* and He just longed to sit with the wee little ones and He was moved be swift and sweet compassion and He felt. He felt.

oh, He felt and i see how all His feelings wrapped up together and no box can hold how He moves from one feeling to the other in a moment and He wasn't ashamed....

each morning the boys and i have begun to play a little game. its called hugfest-hide-and-seek. i listen closely by the window for little foot falls and little voices talking and laughing as early morning fog drifts in and out by the school house. i listen. i hear the faintest whispers of their coming home to me. i wait till i hear they are at the door. sliding glass and i peek around the corner and get glances of winter hats and gloves despite the fact its not even in the 50s yet. these african blooded ones are chilly when the morning is still bright with new dew mornings full of love.

i peek my head round the corner. they pause at the door. our eyes lock together. slow smiles creep up over cold faces. the door opens. i kneel. arms outstretched and i hear giggles and running as they race to fall into me. we pause and linger like that for a few moments. letting the morning chill wash away in warm embraces of love. they tuck into me and we pull closer and speak hellos and how are you and i missed you and i glance down to see little smiles and feel the nodding of heads against each part they cling to.

of course that isn't how every day goes. some days i pause at the door and wait. eager for my morning full of their hugs. the drug that is sweeter than honey and healing to my own cold morning bones. somedays i just pause and sit and watch eager for the running and jumping and slamming of body against body. but they pause. they give a nod and shoulder shrug that speaks they don't need my warm hug today. in fact, all they care for is "why can't i eat my chappie now?" and "i want to play with legos, now!" i pause in those moments and wonder what happened their desire isn't there anymore for my morning hug. was i harsh yesterday? did they sleep bad? is my hair really that crazy in the morning? my thoughts can run together and together and beggar's questions fill my mind.

but that only lasts so long. these african ones, all of them, need the morning hugs and small moments of connection as much as i do. and so shortly we will meet in a hug and warmth is shared and connections are made.

some mornings dont go as i planned with my morning hugs. some do. sometimes life doesn't work out how i planned. sometimes it does. i guess thats why this book has me so excited and energized. because its wonderful. and encouraging...

and no matter if mornings consist of dew hugged connections or of toys being chosen first, they all can end the same. they all end with me in utter need of Jesus to speak life into my bones and prayers and pleas that He lay down deep what He showed me in spending so much time with these little ones who just always speak God-whispered lessons to my heart.

because no matter the moment of the day, He is there speaking and loving and He is the one that brings the morning dew and fill of love. and that will never shift or change and is not determined by our wants and desires and longing for lesser things to fill and come.
He is the one that will gently, always peek His head round the corner and wait expectant for me to walk home, then wait all arms-outstretched and i will stand and our eyes will meet and lock and we pause and i linger in the look He brings my heart and then door opens and i full of giggles, run and leap and nuzzle in close and my head nods as He bathes me in His love and words and welcome and we stay like that till He's warmed me up from morning chill and then i too run off on my way all full of morning light.

its not just my morning routine with my little ones. its my morning routine with Him and i'm His little one. and each morning, or, at least the good mornings, we meet in that warm embrace and i nod into Him for my fill. and listen as words of welcome dance across the crevices of what is. and His words are my honey and healing. and it is good.

*but glory! glory! glory! that He too cares for those running towns, and presidents and leaders and He moves swift for them too for they are broken sick also but in different ways. and somehow He is all-together what is needed there and what is needed everywhere and in small ways that intimate little dust hearts of ours can feel and know and we step back and sigh that He is what is healing and redeeming and we glory! glory! glory! for He is good.
just, good.

wanna be one of them

i have few words tonight. my heart feels at once full and empty and hopeful and confused and expectant.

i listened to this song of sara's on the way home tonight.*

on repeat. over and over.

i had goosebumps and was crying by the time i reached home.

i just so ache to be one of them.

to be one that has a story written. to be the one that lives a story.

i am in the middle of my story. and i want to live it well.

i want to live it so that others are inspired to live their stories well.

i want to be counted among the saints that gave up everything, sacrificed everything, and ran to Jesus with all reckless abandon. 

there is just something in the building of the melody, the stirring of the words, and the way they connect with my heart.

setting captives free.

let the blind see! let the bounds be broken.

Christ has come and we are free.

Glory glory, hallelujah. I feel it in my bones.

He is coming, friends. He is coming.

.....................................................
And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them
And when the Saints go marching in 
I want to be one of them

I see the long quiet walk along the Underground Railroad
I see the slave awakening to the value of her soul 

I see the young missionary and the angry spear
I see his family returning with no trace of fear

I see the long hard shadows of Calcutta nights
I see the sister standing by the dying man's side

I see the young girl huddled on the brothel floor
I see the man with a passion come and kicking down the door

I see the man of sorrows and his long troubled road
I see the world on his shoulders and my easy load
.............................
i added the italics to sara's lyrics.

*if that is the wrong song, or poor quality or something funky appears, i wasn't able to get the video to load, i just saw the opening shot and the title...so my african ability to preview is stunted just now.

To whom shall I go?

In the past six months a whole new world has been opened up to me. Its a world I never wanted to understand, never wanted to be a part of.

Its a world of the rejected, the deserted, the abandoned, the divorced.

Of course I joined that group awhile ago, but it was begrudgingly. I tried to stay on the fringe. I tried to be all there with my D-friends at our meetings, in our email exchanges, and late black night phone calls, but deny them when I was away from them. I so loathed being part of them.

Such shame I have in what's become of my life... by choices I really had no control over and had no part in.

But I think something freeing clicked in my heart about six months ago. I began to not only enjoy the new friendships I have formed. I relished the way they understood. Some would say they understand, some compare hard break-ups, but you simply can't understand the betrayal, devastation, and hurt of a vow being shattered and a promise broken unless you've seen a spouse walk away personally. You just can't. And be glad you can't. I have lots of good friends and support I never intended to have in my life, and I love them all so but I still wish to not know them. But how sweeter they have made my life, my journey.

Then He began to bring morning dew to water my parched heart. And life-words always spread like wildfire.

The Breath of Life breathes even when all seems dead and lost and He has gone before me and whispered help pleas into my path from others who've, against their wishes too, joined my secret D-club.

Somehow advice and help and encouragement have been springing up like streams in the desert and I watch, and awe-stare in Him using wee bits of me to bless others. I eagerly wait returned emails hearing how My Sweet Jesus also moves in their lives and speaks desire and belonging and hope where others have sown seeds of death. My dear Jesus is in the business of replacing every broken curse with life-giving love. Love that is not held back from anything, or by anything.

A dear friend of mine who understands and always pushes me into love stained hands said how even in utter desperation, where is there to go but Jesus? For He only has the words of Eternal Life.

Peter actually said it first.

The point is, yes! Where is there to go but Him? No matter how lost and hurting life is, its always so much worse without him. I love what John says about all this too; you may read it here. There is nowhere. There is nowhere that is better than being under His Rod and His Staff and hearing the voice of your Good Shepherd call out your name.

Because I write when I'm not intending. When I have no proper form of dictation in front of me, and when He stirs something....a surprise visit to two separate churches this week with silent filled rooms holding beloved pianos found me sitting and hammering out a love song. One that is for my beloved group of abandoned ones as much as it is for me.

When I said, "take my heart," I mean it. I guess you knew it.

I said, "take my life, make it what you want it."

but I didn't know then what I know now,

this has not been for the fainthearted.

When I said "I trust you," then you sent the darkness.

I said, "I'd follow you," and then your voice became the distance.

I never thought it would be like this,

that my faith would falter at the brink.

Where would I go?

Where would I go?

Only you have the words of life.

Only you have the words of life.

Where would I go?

When I said "I'd go," I never thought you'd put me here.

Said "I love you," and I do and now it brings sweet tears.

You have always been right here with me with

every single thought and every single prayer.

Where would I go?

Where would I go?

Only you have the words of life.

Only you have the words of life.

Where would I go?

You said you'd bandage me, bind up every wound.

Said you'd comfort me and fight off all my fools.

Weary, I had tried and tried to run away,

but my heart is set its here to stay.

.............................................

When there is nothing else to do, and no hope left, and the floor has given way to pain upon pain, He's right there. He's the one with eternal life. May you run to him, go to Him today. I'll be sitting there with you on His tender lap as He washes us in His healing-love words. 

Manassah

Manassah means: "The Lord has caused me to forget my past."

it all began about two years ago. probably longer. he was much loved by her. prayers were uttered over everything she owned. a rededication and anointing, her car, of course, was part of the praying. when they came to him, a prophesy: "He will be used for ministry." she took it, sat confused, and questioning, thinking to herself:
"well, i do use the car to take girlfriends out for coffee and encourage them. i guess thats what was meant?"
and it was forgotten. for two years. till friday two weeks ago.

my boss called inquiring after an add. he explained who i am a little. he explained what i am doing here in ZA. he explained what i needed the car for and how i would use the car.
in a moment the prayer, the prophesy was remembered. she would tell me she knew instantly i would be buying the car, even though it took me a week of tests and questions and emails and phone calls to be sure myself.

on saturday i laid eyes on Manassah for the first time.

i couldn't believe after almost five months of looking a car has finally matriculated. i have learned patience. grace. perseverance. appreciation. gratitude. so many hard life lessons as i waited.

he's perfect for me. a whimsical green color. old. full of history and life and worn-in. and he's cute and dainty and little in a sturdy sort of way.

we sat drank cold drinks together and chatted about life. she told me all about the prayers and how she loved him and will miss him. and i fought for a sense of normalcy and calm as her words bathed over me.

"two years ago....two years ago...two years ago..."
the only words that sank in that weaved their way into the fabric of my heart and mind.
"Lord! You knew? You knew even then? how?"

i will not cry in front of a stranger. i will not cry in front of a stranger*.
the mantra rang in my head.
i blinked back tears as i tried to grasp all she was sharing. for you see, she didn't know. she couldn't have. in fact. no one, save the Holy One who knit me in my mother's womb could possibly know. know i would be here today. here and needy.

two years ago last week was the bottom of the abyss. the lowest of the low points i have yet to see. and if i knew then a car was set apart for me i would have laughed in your face. because africa, and ministry, and living were so far removed from anything i wanted in that moment.

but He knew. and He saw. and He set before me like a lamp to my feet little guideposts to get here today. He knew i would be beyond frustrated waiting so long for a car. He knew i clung to hope and faith but seriously doubted anything would ever materialize. He knew what it would require to get me back to Africa.


people: He freakin planned a car for me, for today, over two years ago! 

i can not get over nor grasp the goodness of Him to me in His beckoning me and shaping me and how He has set before me this gift of blessing.

and so, his name is now Manassah. i wanted a good name. a strong name. i always loved Manassah and Ephraim and how they were children of promise after all the heartache Joseph experienced. i love both their names, but Manassah: to forget the past. that is a name i love.

two years ago he prepared and set apart this car for me. that attention to detail blows my mind. it fills me with ever greater hope in what He is preparing and doing in me now that i can't see.

.............................
*we're already fb friends and have set plans to reunite in person aside from business transactions. isn't that delightful? providing not only a car, but a friendship for me? just like Him.

and i can't take photos yet. its too personal and close to my heart. i am taking him in with my senses and basking in the goodness of the Lord. soon. i promise, soon.

weekly roundup vol. 5 and other things.

my apologies. this was written on and off over four days. its flows in my head and i dont wish to edit it into smaller posts. somehow they all found there way just here, just now...
...........................
amazing collection of fine art photos from the World Cup stadiums. we're down to 45 days!!!!

really? whale poop will seriously save the world?!?

this makes me really proud.

haiti doesn't want your money anymore. in fact, stop sending it..

.........................................

can i tell you how random my brain is? i wonder if there is something wrong that it can be completely absorbed in one thing and in a moment switch gears fully. i had the sweetest little conversation with my best friend today. it had been to long. i told her the latest inside information on my life. we giggled. we sighed. i almost cried. she drove. i sat. it was lovely. she could be the only truly close friend who doesn't call me boo. the rest all do. including my new south african father who upon realizing my blogspot address inquired and now can't stop. its comical and weird. 

even though i go up at night to lay my head down and sleep. i am not alone. lizzy nods her head when i ask questions or smiles when i cry and gives me hugs. jacques gives me a hug goodnight and i'm safe. jacquie and nicole clamor, "tannie bekah, look! tannie bekah, watch! auntie bekah, see what i made!" and like my boys, the smile and look with wide-eyes to see my affirmation and love and attention. so endearing the heart of wee ones are. its good to be touched.

.................................

they tell me they won't ask me to leave.
they tell me that they will talk to me about little annoyances before big issues arise.
they tell me goodnight each evening.
they tell me i'm a leader. i'm doing remarkable work. and they believe in me.
they tease me incessantly.
they say all the inappropriate swear words good christians dont say in america, because here it is not a curse word to say them.*
they tell me their kids love me and like spending time with me.

and i sit and wait and watch and try and not test on purpose but wait for the moment of reckoning.
i wait for them to realize they don't want me to stay. and i wait for the moment i realize i don't want to stay either...

its so weird to be living with others. not just for a night or two. but living. the sort of living where i am fully laid bare and my junk is visible, and their junk is visible, and i choose to still love, and they choose to still love....or, they ask me to leave. and they promised they won't. which is marvelous, and in my head i believe them. but even if they did ask me to go back to my little lapa it would be ok. but thats another long thought and not for here. not for today....

and i'm adopted in. i'm adopted in like my siblings were. different yes. i have my family still and i will never lose them. never lose their love and that support and that family-ness. but i've been adopted in. websters says adoption is:

1. to take by choice into a relationship**

that is what they have done. by choice they invited me in. its a strange feeling and thought and i dont know if its the living or the choosing or the whatnot but i am here and its doing weird things to my mental processing. its given me a new awareness of what my all grown siblings felt when they were taken in. the process of being and morphing but still being your true self is strange. adaptation is a good thing. a hard thing. a joyous thing.

i'm learning that grace comes in many forms. many graces have been laid on my head. i don't know how to process them.
i'm a loud shout of silence.
i'm just taking and sitting and storing. but he's doing a good work in me and i can feel it. and i want to kick back and fight the absorbing and my pride longs to stand strong, but i'm not strong and i am needy (thanks, missy), and its ok. and we're all needy. and i feel He is storing up in me and preparing and healing and working out joints and marrow and hurt into something good and strong and He loves me and not an ounce of weird feelings or moving across an ocean and separating from normal will mar what He is doing or in fact what He is purposed in me and that is good and strong and joy and new-life. and He is the redeemer of all things and i am just the product that sits and watches the one i love take the hammer and chisel smooth somedays or chops into pieces other days and my marble carves out and it hurts and other times i see shiny beauty and its glorious to be carved and He does it. does the carving and does the mending.

and He throws me into fire and He mends the broken pieces and He makes me gold and shiny and silver dancing in the moonlight. and i feel all together like a mess. and i used to think missionaries were such good people. leaving behind so much, and leaving behind everything, because they felt compelled to go and share love. to share real love. and yes, there is a compelling and there lies fire in these bones that won't stop or quit till its all known by all, but there is much more than that and its hard to put it all into thoughts and feelings when it runs wild in your mind. because love moves in weird ways and love does weird things to a heart and its done weird things to my heart and i can't help but want to share that. even though right now the disconnect between the love in my head and the love in my heart seems vast and seems stronger than an ocean current and deep deep deep like the ocean floor. i can't seem to be able to reconcile what is known to what is felt and maybe i'm just too analytic for my own good. and maybe i am. or maybe i'm just too prideful to just sit and let it be and let Him be and let it all be fine. and maybe its true. or maybe the times i have felt and the times i have sang and danced and been enveloped in good freedom bursting love have all been real.

and its all been good and right and maybe i'm just thinking too much or thinking to little and i just want to sit with Him up on Bethany hill and just look over Jerusalem with Him and just hear Him long, ache and whisper how He beats to gather his children together and hold them, and hold them close, and whisper to them love, and warm away the cold night air. and just to sit and marvel next to Him that this man, that this man is the one I love. that this man is the one who has made me new and makes me new and refuses to quit on me when i quit on me. and just to watch the way his hair blows free in the moonlight and how his hands reach out and heal the little ones, and how He's full of compassion on those he's closest too, on the ones who are honest with Him and the ones He lives with. honest with their pride, honest with their hurt, honest with their disbelief, and how He kept around him the one who would betray Him and how He didn't give up believing in that one knowing it all; knowing what He'd do. and that is why i love judas, for i'm him too, but somehow and in someway i think that maybe knowing i'll run away and betray and grab my 30 pieces and toss them in the wind, that somehow maybe he won't give up on me knowing all that. that somehow he will still invest in me and trust me and that is what i ache to see. to just see the love in His eyes. to hear the miracle words He spoke with my own ears....
........................................

*can i tell you how i still giggle tremendously to hear such a passionate man of the Word, of Jesus; a man who is my south african father, say things that my dad in america would never say?!? like normal dinner conversation to have d*mn or a*s spoken. ooooooo i will never get used to it and never understand how its normal here.
hey bud, you know, it certainly isn't helping my cursing disease to be living with them!! :)

**the other definitions don't really apply!
............................................
sit and take Him in. pause and listen to the stirring in your heart. know that He longs to gather you, longs to hold you. feel His hair whip across the wind and speckle your face, too.

two years ago today...

...i rushed across the street to see my baby brothers at their prom. perk of living close to the nicest hotel in the city. they were dashing that day. i love them.

after a few photos and hugs i slipped out of my heels and walked back home. i think the joy of seeing them look so nice, walking home in blue skies and good ole' lancaster county sunshine, and feeling grass between my toes were little love-miracles to steady me for what was to come.

i entered the house and all was quiet and still till i reached the top step. and there he stood. the one i said yes to when pearl ring was placed on my finger. the one who i promised till death separates us. the one i trusted. he now sat on all his possessions packed in bags at his feet.

so this is what it feels like...

a few words were said. lies uttered. pain spoken and felt. silent nods from me.

"yes i understand what your doing." "yes, i realize you don't want to live with me." "yes, you're going to your parents? ok. ok...yes i hear you."

only...why? and its wrong. and silent pleas and prayers and questions stir in my head. but silence filled my every word. what do you say? when a mind is made up. made up and filled with lies. what do you say when your frozen in shock and disbelief and confusion and more vulnerable then ever.

i watched him gather everything and walk down our steps. it was the last time they were ours. i didn't watch him drive off.

i don't remember calling anyone. but i must have.
i don't remember leaving the floor in the living room, but i woke in bed so somehow i did.
i don't remember knowing how they came. they were those who loved me. sister and sean. parents. my lania. somehow i told them. and they sat and touched and prayed as i rocked and heart sobs escaped my voice. i don't remember them much. but they were there. when floor became ceiling and ceiling melted into floor they were there to signal what was up and what was down and hold me when i had nothing.

i don't know how to write. i don't know how because i still fear unbelief and accusations. and i still want to protect vows i made to keep and protect. and i want to be honest but i don't want or know how to be like that. i wrote something yesterday. posted it. then deleted it. but maybe i'll post it again. i want to name things for what they are. there is power in naming things and i feel sometimes i'd have more courage naming what is mine to name...but its not just my story. i feel you sorta forfeit your rights when you walk away from the Lord and your wife but even then its still not just my story. its his too.
............................
its been two years today. every day has been easier. days, and even weeks go by and i don't think of pain. they till me months will pass without a thought too at some point. really? i question ponder if it could be. i sit and ache in some moments still for every dream that walked out the door and died.

and He gives good gifts and good dreams but pain is still real and questions and whys linger.

i always prayed to be able to touch a life. to be able to share from my stories into other stories and find common ground. and answers to prayer are strange indeed because i never thought any story of mine would entail all that it has. never wanted it too.
...................................
one of the only things i remember after he walked out was calling my mentor on the phone. and i choked out words before swift tears soaked through; and she prayed. i don't even remember the words but i sat on the bed and she prayed over me over the phone over state lines. last year i was in california with my brother. on this day we moved some of my dearest friends into a new house. i sat and they prayed over me. whispers of life and new hope. and today i sat and had hands touch and pray new life again. more whispers of life and hope.
...................................
seasons come and bring new feelings and new processing and new understanding of grace. grace that floods and fills and shatters darkness that engulfs and hurts and frustrates forward motion.

His grace was sufficient for me two years ago.
His grace was sufficient for the dark was that still to come.
His grace was sufficient when i up and moved across the ocean, because though i'd given up on me being used again, He hadn't and still called me to share life and love and teach.
His grace is sufficient even today.
and it will be sufficient tomorrow.
despite the days and moments i have had, and still do have, and will again have thinking it isn't...
it IS. He is.
He's my portion and i believe working out in me good.
..................................
two years ago today i felt and thought and believed i was over. that i would cease to be from the questions and torment and hurt. but here i am. not only alive but somehow teaching and loving precious little wee ones. still alive. still alive. still alive.
that is Grace.
so, here's to two years later, i'm still standing.

my new ring.

three minute thursday.
i've decided to try something different. thursday and three just sorta go, don't they? i think so. they got that t, h, and r thing. i've decided every thursday i will write for only three minutes. so maybe not every thursday, or maybe every thursday, i don't know that yet, but i do know i'll write only three minutes on every thursday that i write. it'll be a fun little exercise.
my three minutes will not count any links or photos or fixing of spelling. those i can add later. its my blog and my rules. and thanks to Alece, for sorta inspiring this. and inspiring my continual lovesong with Africa. she and i are more similar then i wish.
the rest of this all happened this morning, around 530.
...............................
4:16-go!
days pass and what i want to say is buried in the secret places of my journal.
leather bound.
inspiring me to always be proactive. not aimless. but usually i'm aimless. its when i'm at my best.

she gave me a ring.
in a box.
said she had a dream about me.
that she saw me running.
running to God. and he running to me.
and we met in the middle.
and he knelt down and gave me a box. asked me to marry him.
said i had no shame.
all shame was gone.
and he wanted me.

and do you know what your name means rebekah, she asked?
yes i shook my head but i've heard two versions.
one-captivating.
two-a rope that is twisted and tied.

and i told how i always hated that. that most people saw that as the meaning though the hebrew says differently in the root of the word. but whatever it was a silly thing to care about the meaning of a name....
and she told me, but you know what. it does mean captivating. the root means that. it can't be different. and you know the rope it is referencing is one finely crafted and lovely to behold. either way, you are beautiful and captivating. and HE wants you still. that is your name. divinely given to you, labeling your intrinsic value.

you haven't done too much for him.
and she gave me this box. and inside a ring. so i would always remember that He has chosen me. to bind himself to me forever. and no choice i made, especially no choice made upon me, can mar that.

and she told me that she believes in me.

and with white crystal dancing in the morning sunlight i drove home.
i drove home as red rocks flamed fire in the sunrise and white bellows of seafog danced in the meadows.
and my ring glistened pure and lovely

4:19-done.

pride

i was once told i was very prideful. it was rather shocking. i've always sort of thought of myself as close to humble you can be without actually being humble. (see, if i say it like that, i sound "more" humble, right?!? *wry grin*).

i remember the day vividly. it was a spring day. i smelled beautiful in the air, flowers were blossoming on campus. i was a junior. i remember walking along the path that led from my dorm room to the student center to visit one of my dearest mentors, the campus pastor. i had developed a friendship, a good surrogate father-daughter relationship with pastor haub. he was where i could be found after a puzzling discussion in any class, after a run-in with authority i questioned, after i was told i couldn't do something, after i got a good grade in class. pretty much whenever i was bored too. he had an entire wall of library books. it was a small piece of heaven in that office! :)

he was all kind blue eyes like my dad, too.

but this one spring day i was lamenting getting a 94% on a big paper. at LBC, for this class, that was a B. i was crushed. to be very honest, i can count on both hands the number of times i've received a B. i'm not naturally smart, i just like working hard and studying. like, as in, i'd rather spend my free time studying or debating then pretty much anything else.

i was complaining about how it would hurt my GPA. how now i'd have to work extra hard. on and on i went. suddenly i was interrupted. he asked me what i think of "______" (insert name of one of the girls in my section who really struggled with passing her classes). without thinking i answered that i love her and think she is amazing (because she is).

he then told me, "how dare i judge myself on a different scale. what makes me think i'm worthy to be on a "must get good grades" scale when i think its fully fine for my girls to get such and such for grades. or get bad grades. the reason i care is because i'm awful prideful and think i'm by nature better then everyone else so i have to get better grades."

it shocked the heck out of me.

still does.

but its true. i hadn't realized it, but its true. i do think i'm better than everyone else and therefore i deserve or "have to" get better grades. or better "this" or "that" or whatever. that conversation has stuck with me since then. i replay it over and over and it still convicts me.

i've been thinking about it a lot the past few days. i still like to get good grades. but i've tried to purpose in my heart and not let grades become an idol for me and source of pride like that. its hard. pride, is the very root of all other sins. and its a creeper. it creeps up slowly. usually very well intentioned at first.

reality is, i'm awfully prideful. and judgmental. if half the thoughts in my head were every said out loud i'd shudder in shame and embarrassment!

i'm prideful when it comes to academics, on a small scale, there is SO much more. what are you prideful about?

lets confess together and practice nipping our pride in the butt :)

*pastor Haub, have i ever told you how much that mean to me? how much it meant and means that you'd pour honest feedback into me and not let me settle or be apathetic? o thank you!

Tempest

Websters defines tempest as a violent storm.

i rather like that.

(edit: i stumbled upon this painting a bit ago. it is by Bridget Beth. one of my favorite etsy finds. link to her shop is HERE)

TEMPEST: a violent storm.

oh, i like that.

for He is a storm to me.
always has been.
sometimes He comes in softly, a gentle tide lapping the shoreline of my heart.
other times i feel He is a might typhoon. and i tremble in terror of the force He is.
sometimes i feel steady, feel secure on the shore.
my feet tip tap the sand and they nestle into little burrows with the shells.

the sea has always had a mystic quality to me. always been full of romance and terror.
both. always both.
terror because i'll forever have a fear of being swept out to sea.
romance because the scents, the spray, the crashing wave crescendo, blues and greens touching on the horizon, browns, tans, whites, mingling under my soles. its not controllable. it sings. its romance.

the Lord continues to speak to me in metaphors. using the sea. using water. using boats, the tide, rafts. He speaks little murmurs to my heart.
whispers of who He is. who i am.

sometimes i have felt fully engulfed in the sea.
waves overtake me and i'm drowning. i reach my hand up, i slip under the water and scream out for help.
but, help has come.
it has come in friends letting me go visit them at work and just rock back and forth on the ground as silent sobs escape from my heart.
it has come in musicals and dramas and students i never intended to know becoming friends.
it came in two sweet girlfriends moving in with me or allowing me to move in with them.
it came in brothers and guy friends who lifted and moved and boxed too many times.
it came in parents who continue to lather love over every inch of me.
it came in siblings. it came in flowers. it came in hand written cards.
help has come from Him. help still comes from Him.

i wrote a song a bit ago. it describes this all perfectly. lania plays it with me. she mirrors on her flute what i do on the piano. i dont even know what i do, i just 'do it.' i love when she plays along. it is heaven music.

i guess what i was thinking tonight and when i see this painting is how He is a tempest.
He is the tempest.
He is the sea. the waves. the crashing.
He is the mighty sea. 
so long i fear i feared him.
and well, i should have.
go for a swim. bask in the expanse of all He is.
He is all terrifying and good.

He is the pillar of fire by night. the cloud of glory by day.
He is all-consuming and small. small enough to see me. and to want to step in and reach me.
He is the one who causes the rain to fall on the clean and unclean...and who is ever clean beside Him?

He is the tempest. He is the storm of raging love and righteous mercy.
He is the steady hand that doesn't allow me to slip and fall off the edge. i will slip and fall, but only on sure footing. He holds me fast.
i am His little one, and He won't allow me to be lost in a sea.
He is my sea.

i think i'm only beginning to realize that i'm not tossed about unprotected. i'm not in a sea of lost circumstances. the sea isn't happening around me.
i am safe. i am in His hands. i am in His sea.


o blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! and i am His.

and He blows about me in a tempest of love and mercy and goodwill and hope and life and joy and holiness...
and i but float in all that He is.

*this book helped form a few of these thoughts. not all, but a few.
..........................................................................
just got done baking birthday cupcakes for dear rubin.
the cookbook was all afrikaans. i did ask banie to double check my translations. but i'm quite elated to announce that i translated it all by myself correctly. perhaps my afrikaans is getting better after all!
bekah 1, afrikaans 0
boo yeah, baby!

a bottomless sea, i like that.

"do you sometimes feel so thirsty for grace that you could drink the Jordan dry? more than a river could hold is given to you, so drink abundantly, for Christ has prepared a bottomless sea of grace to fill you with all the fullness of God. do not be frugal. do not doubt your Savior. do not limit the Holy One of Israel. be great in your experience of His all-sufficiency. be great in your praises of His bounty, and in heaven you will pour great treasures of gratitude at His feet."

~charles spurgeon

spilling my heart

i dont have a lot to offer people. especially right now.
one of the biggest struggles for me here in africa is feeling like i have no place, no home to have and welcome others 'into.' i so love having a room to entertain and a kitchen to whip up fresh cookies or make tea or coffee. i've always felt my ministry is best in having someone over, into my space, one-on-one.

right now, i have a glorious chair, but its still small, and my room/home is small and i often feel like i am saying: "come in, come sit on my bed." which is all well and fine, and in fact, i do love laying down on a double bed with a girlfriend and whispering into the light around us truth and sharing our hearts, but it makes it difficult to have others over onto your bed when that makes them uncomfortable, or its boys coming over. i don't mind boys seeing my room at home, but here it just seems more private and (this might sound weird) but sacred and it is weird for me to invite them in like that.

but i love spilling myself for others. the Lord asks for our best. and i've always felt my best is my time, my heart, my ear and prayers. and that is what i give back to Him, through others time and again. my sacrifice is myself. its my best, and worst, given to Him.

and He meets me there.

i spill the best of me. my heart, my tears, my fears, what i've seen and learned, and each time i ache to do it more....

the past two weeks have been surprising. i felt like i should share about jordan and everything on another blog as a new mentoring series was started. so i prayed and sat and tried to keep it under 300 words. i couldn't. so i did "two posts," only each was over 300 words. but each less than 310 words, so thats progress, right?!?! i dont even know if what i wrote will go 'live' but writing it reminded me of how big He is. i love sharing how He has walked beside me, but i dont like sharing if not asked. it was a good stretch doing that for me. a good faith step to believe He could minister out of me.

then, a good blogging friend shared a gentle request to someday hear my story. i love the invitation to share life. there is something sweet and sacred about honesty and pain and joy. i didn't try and keep this telling to 300 words. in fact, i checked and before i realized it, i was at over 11 pages single spaced! geez, i'm long winded! *smile* i'm just amazed at how far the Lord has taken me and how He gently is giving me back what locust ate.

tonight i just had dinner at the hopehouse. the americans occupy that place and invited tommy and i for dinner. TACO'S!!!! i love SA, but these people dont do mexican food right at all. it was yummy and i enjoy those americans. we were just about to watch a movie when one of the girls asked me to share my testimony with her. i asked if she wanted to hear it now, and all of it, or just the past few years?

so sitting around the countertops, joined by almost all the house occupants, i began to weave my life. we sat on the countertops because its the best place for conversation. love that house. love the blessing it is. but it was seriously not designed for conversation or comfort. the sofa is annoying and not comfortable and nothing faces each other. the countertops are more comfortable and at the right angles for conversing. i probably shouldn't say that...but its true. i love being over there and partaking of the house's blessings but its annoying too. and thats ok. life is also good and annoying. anyway, i digress.
so we are sitting around the countertops talking...

and i finish. i dont remember where i began. its always a bit unnerving knowing how to wrap things up. how to not make light of things but also let others know its ok to move and continue with life. i usually will crack some semi-inappropriate joke so everyone knows i'm ok and its ok to go do whatever it was they planned on doing before. one of the girls came up to me after when no one was around and with tears asked if we could get together and talk tomorrow. yes! only...i have so little to offer when i want to make a meal or cookies or have a comfy sofa with pillows and air-conditioning for the heat, and and and...

sometimes i want to say, "no." the trap that my lapa isn't enough to host someone makes me feel inadequate and embarrassed. just like how i sometimes want to tell the Lord no when He wants me to step out and minster where embarrassed and feeling inadequate. but i realize all He asks is for a heart willing to give it all. holding nothing back. He wants the best and worst parts.

so tomorrow (today, now) i'll share my lapa with one of the girls. the spilling of me will occur in sharing my home, in sharing my heart. and that is what He delights in.

there is such joy in spilling for another. i dont know. i can't explain it. but its life to my bones. its vindication and restoration and laughter and tulips on spring mornings and raindrops...

i'm reading an excellent book. i'm probably reading it a bit too fast. but its so good i can't put it down. it is super practical. it is my kind of book. it follows the Israelites and pulls lessons from their wondering so when you are walking through the wilderness you might learn from them. i like it. a lot.
one thing rick talks about is the fact of desert Oasis' awaiting you/me. he talks about what causes them. he talks about the fact that they will come. your desert might seem so dry and empty and barren, but in every desert is an oasis. its just a matter of time till you come upon yours.

then he says that people very often prove for a season to be the water and respite for our hearts. oh, how true!!! i can think of so many planned and random people who spoke calm and rejuvenation into my spirit the past few years. he then says we shouldn't just be ok with others being our oasis. we are called to be Christ, to be the water, the cool breeze for others. even when hurting.

it struck me. i think i find that the more i spill of myself the more i feel refreshed and uplifted.
that is Him in me. that is His promise proving true. that is what i stand on.
that as i pour He pours back. its such a promise. its such a beautiful gift.

the equal parts giving and spilling and being poured back into.
fill.
to filling and overflowing.

this afternoon we sat on the cold tile floor and shared stories. stories that should not even be imagined, let alone lived through. we cried happy tears after pausing to wipe the snot falling down our faces. we uttered faith and belief and trust when it seems bleak. i spilled my lessons learned. my hopes and doubts. she shared her fears and guilt. and together we became an oasis of calm.

i spill out, and He always spill back into me.
i spill my best, my time, my heart.
he spills his best too, his crimson, his time, his life.

a voice behind you says....

two days ago i was talking with my friend lelane. she was up here at the farm for RaG regional meetings, she runs our operations, or something like that?! she's basically just cool and a very sharp women. it was her daughter i wrote about having in school for two days, here.

anyway, we were talking about my future and my life in general. it was exciting and terrifying at the same time.

she said something that stuck with me. she shared one of her favorite passages from the bible to me. it also has been one of mine since stumbling upon it 7 years ago (or maybe earlier, who knows?!?)

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it."

Isaiah 30:21

that verse has always bothered me because of the 'behind.' but i also had never really given it much thought. i can be a VERY deep thinker, or not at all. *smile* it was more a strange comfort to me. always believing and trusting Him that i would hear that voice behind me say this is the way walk in it.

if i'm honest, all of my life, on and off, i've felt like a bad follower of Jesus because i struggle to hear His voice. He's always more whispered to me. or spoken in peace. i am not one of those people that has dreams where He speaks clearly. Or someone who hears Him speaking audibly.

i know people like that. and i always wondered, what was up with me? did i not love enough? was there some deep unconfessed sin that blocked my hearing? a mind can wonder and go crazy.

but i have come to hear Him. and i do recognize His voice. probably not always, but most of the time. and i pray to hear it more. and i pray for confirmation. and let me tell you...i can think of 3 major things last spring (fall for you americans) where He told me something and someone here reiterated the exact same thing. He was just letting me know it was Him.

but its in whispers and through the nudging on my heart even then. i've learned to trust the thoughts that come...and i've learned to test them.

but still i sometimes wish i dreamed or had visions or heard Him. even yesterday Lizzy was telling me about a dream she had and then how it happened a few months later just as in her dream. He doesn't speak to me like that. and i'm learning its ok. its ok.

and really, it is. and i like that he knows me well enough to know my heart and speaks to me quietly and internally. because i am more quiet and internal. and thats nice. its nice He knows me like that....

but it was so nice talking with lelane, it was such a blessing to me. because she said that for her, He doesn't really speak from in front saying: "come, follow me this way or that way," that for her, she walks forward in faith and then the reassuring voice says, "this way or that."


and that is how he talks to me! so often i'll see an open door or have a bit of peace, not total or complete, but a bit, and i get out of the boat and i walk, and then comes the sweet voice of Him to my heart.

about the link we share

as long as i remembered. when one hurts, so does the other.

when one experiences joy, so does the other.

when one is feeling beaten down so is the other...

its just how its always been.

how it always will be.

i remember being 8. laying in a hospital bed. a routine surgery didn’t turn out as planned.

i reacted to medicine the normal person can handle. what should have been in-and-out,

lasted for 3 days. or was it more, mom? i can’t remember...

i do remember being so sick...and hurting so much....

and dad brought abi and joey to see me. i remember his face, my baby brother, not even 3.

we strangarity’s might not always say our emotions well, but we have always worn them well.

seeing me so sick traumatized the poor kid.

not even 4 hours later, out shopping with dad he decided he was going to start throwing up too.

because i was. because he hurt for me. 

so he literally became sick too. 

all over the grocery cart, check-out counter, everything.*

thats how its always been with us.

when i'd have a giggle and joy rise up for boxing out someone twice my size, because you can do that when you box out properly, he'd smile too.

when he'd smash some tail back out of nowhere, cause a fumble, because thats what he did

as one of top linebackers in the state, i'd laugh with him. 

an innate sense of joy and accomplishment after destroying "the enemy," 

(the other team).

there's always been an unspoken trust. 

a shared form of mental processing that is weird and off but perfectly normal to each other.

february stole a lot of energy. good and bad. 

from me, from you.

and its amazing how catching up reveals all that.

two hours skyping is almost as good as getting coffee at chestnut cafe in person.

ok, ok, not even close. but the next best thing, right, joey?

i wrote a song this morning for us, brother.

about Him. and His new grace each day. about how He forgets every stain, every choice, everything, when we but ask. about how i can't and don't and wish i could. about how i don't know how to forgive myself. about how i miss you. i wrote it out sitting behind my lapa in the trees. monkeys danced in the limbs above me and i said my heart. for you, for me. then i stole away to roelene's and the piano. and i sat and created melody and music. melody and music that is fitting for hope. for future. because we have hope and future, and He isn't finished with us and will complete what He started. melody that is about Him and His blood making me new. about music that says what words always fail to communicate. about me feeling so sweetly comforted knowing you understand. knowing you believe for me, for yourself.....

it was the weirdest fastest its ever come. but that doesn't surprise me. it always comes so fast when i'm overwhelmed and words fail...

i love you, little brother. don't you want to fly to me for spring break?

*this could be one of our favorite family stories. it certainly is up there.

and momma....because you always worry and remind me of our 'link,'

i'm ok.

really, mom. He is very big today. i love you, too; 

and daddy, also you.

jealous you're all getting together to see Joseph. may it be good and sweet and may you miss me there less than i will miss you all together, here..

about no milk in his cereal

each day he looks at me.
frantic.
all big chocolately brown eyes
the panic rising up is evident by the way his words slur together.
by his running up to me & grabbing my leg, pulling me, pushing me.
he's desperate to get me to understand one simple concept.
he doesn't want milk in his cereal.

"no milk, bekah. no milk."
somedays, he'll say, "no milk please."
usually not.

but each day his insistence grows. as if in the past 100 plus days i've ever given him milk to have him worry so.
i mean, i did the first few days he came to school.
but it only takes a weeks worth of not eating for me to see the kid means what he says and i better stop putting milk in his cereal if i want him to eat his food.

so perfect doesn't get milk. its so ingrained into me i would never even dream of putting milk in his cereal. but each day he asks me, begs me, reminds me, again and again to not put milk into his cereal.

and i have to remind myself i do the same thing with the Lord. if i being fully broken and imperfect know what my boys want and like, and do not want or like, how much more does He know what i need and want.
sometimes i find myself praying for the same thing. begging for this or that. He knows.
He knows already.
in the same way i dont need perfect hanging on my leg telling me he doesn't want milk today i realize i dont have to hang onto the Lord's leg and tell him what i want and need today.
He knows.

before i even ask He knows my need.
knows my heart.
knows my fears & dreams.

i just was reminded of this fact early this morning as i prepared the boys breakfast.

she wears a necklace of pearls

my sweet nicole.....

she turned nine this week.

all sunflower hair and sea eyes.

she holds my hand when we pray.

she dances when there is no music.

she received real pearls for her birthday

strung together and clasped at her nape.

a gift from her brother.

“look tannie* bekah. for my wedding day. aren’t they lovely?”

“yes, yes, my sweet girl. and so are you.”

a kiss on her head and off she went dancing through the rest of the house.

she wore them with pride.

she is a big girl now. she wears real pearls. but only for a bit.

because, “i want them to still be lovely and not dirty for my wedding.”

smart girl. i’d want that too.

so off they went to her special pouch to stay safe and protected.

i wear a necklace around my neck too.

i wear it tied tightly on my back.

not with pride as nicole does.

but with the same determination.

her pearls mark her: pure, lovely, delighted in, hopeful.

mine mar me: branded, shamed, rejected, unworthy.**

unaware of how to unclasp what was placed against my wish.

my necklace is not one of pearls, or any other precious gem.

in place of each pearl is a lie whispered in darkness or shouted into the abyss. 

i spent the better part of last night crying and praying with other americans on the farm.***

i do so believe in my spirit that i am on the edge of something good.

the birthing of something new is so close i can almost taste it.

but old things are still clasped around my neck.

not for my wedding day...but, because of it...

some days things are easier to un-believe.

some days it is not so easy.

He brings in waves the lies so the removal isn’t so painful.

a new wave of truth has come. and now, i either can choose to 

remove the lies and replace with His truth, or 

snuff them down and let the lies be buried, still grasping me tight and letting

denial roam freely.

i’ll choose the former.

through harder in this moment, better, healthier, in the long run...

would you say a prayer for my necklaces to break.

so many have been removed already.

ah thank you Lord for faithfully, steadily walking with me...

but the clasp on these remaining ones is strong.

and i can not take them off alone.

........................................

*let me translate into english for you: auntie.

**isn’t that the point? that we are all so unworthy. that grace is fully unmerited. that grace is fully His goodwill and benevolence manifested on me. that i was never worthy. that i’ll never be worthy.... 

**funny story, my friend, oom jan, was laughing at me not even yesterday morning that i talk about the “americans over there” as if i’m not american. i guess its true. i feel neither american nor south african. but this strange mixture of many places and things. it made me laugh to realize i do talk about the Nomad team as the “americans” on the farm as if i’m not 'american.' i guess since they travel in a pack they stand out more...i like to think (to hope?) since i'm more 'solo' here i blend in and assimilate a bit better. anyway.... it was so funny!! haahhhhhhahaha