THIS IS MY LIFE

I have been trying to write a blog for a few days now but my heart has been so conflicted. What do I even write about? Where do I even begin? I have seen so much and so many things have happened, how can I ever begin to convey what all has been going on over the past few months? Where do I even start?

Or do I write about the three babies I scooped up off of the side of the main road with cars flying by in Tanzania? They were screaming and crying in terror with brand new razor blades in their laps.  Without even a thought in mind, I picked them up as if they were my own children and off I went. Where was I going? I still don’t know, but I know I was not about to leave them there. Praying, as I walked with them in my arms, as a fearless mother fighting for her cubs, I felt like a lioness in protection mode when a man stopped me to ask what I was doing. 

God guided me in the direction of getting them to a safe place, the police station, in which they had lived, yes LIVED before. 

Or do I write about Wangola a.k.a. Jeffery, whom I found lying in the dirt, unable to walk with just a dirty old t-shirt on and no pants, struggling to survive. He could barely keep his eyes open and could not stand up. It took a few minutes for me to diagnose that he was mentally handicapped and not getting any attention. His family just did not know what to do with him. As he peed on himself and sat in his own puddle of mud, my heart throbbed and I knew I had to take him. Kendall and I fought to get him to a hospital to get taken care of, only to drive him two hours into town and turn straight back, because the holidays had caused there to be no doctors available. 

As we took him back the few times after, I saw a brother with the most unfailing love I have ever witnessed in my life. He would carry him for days on end if he needed to and he tended to him as if it were his own son. He fed, held and nurtured him. He helped the doctors and therapists mold plaster on his legs as he watched his brother cry and walked out looking like he just left a plaster fight. He would have done anything for him and he was only a teenager. 

Do I write about the woman with five children and no husband who had NO roof on her house and when I asked her what she wanted me to pray for her, she said she only wanted me to pray for her prayer life to exceed to new heights.  

Or do I write about my ever increasing passion for human trafficking and the thoughts of the women I now call friends still roaming that street and the thoughts of the ones who have left but I still hear from that think about going back for money, or above all things what they still believe to be the definition of LOVE. 

Or do I write about the beautiful squad in which I am blessed to be a part of and how we have gone from being uncomfortable being comfortable to comfortable being uncomfortable. We just roll with the Lord from day to day. We adjust so easily as if we could live or dwell anywhere. We are going where He asks us to and loving every minute of it. 

I was lying in the airport last week with a snotty nose looking around at my amazing squad, all the love of Christ just oozing from them and how they so quickly made the airport their new home. We got off of the airplane and within 15 minutes of getting there, they were settled, some playing guitar, some sleeping, some hanging out and some on their computer or eating. A beautiful display of Christ’s disciples and the stripping away and surrender of their lives in such a small act but never unnoticed.