How do I sum up a month? The laughter, the tears, the friends made and lessons learned. I’ve had hard days, but only a few. A bad attitude, but not often. Small fights, but soon forgotten. I’ve eaten more carrot cake than I ever have in my life, swam with Great White Sharks, eaten ostrich, visited one of the seven wonders of the world, filled up an entire journal, written a new song,, led worship at a support group, repaired a broken relationship, prayed fervently, and loved deeply.
I’ve fallen madly in love with Jeffrey’s Bay, with South Africa, with my team and the local people, and with the World Race. I got blessed this month—like seriously blessed. I lived in community with teams Wimbi and Wildfire, our hosts Lyndon and Anthea, and two men from Cape Town named Mark and Clint. I stayed in a guest house just a two minute walk from the beach and a five minute walk from my favorite coffee shop (In Food) and the rest of downtown. I met a Jesus-loving youth pastor-turned-bartender, the part-owner of In Food and his dog, McDuff, and a waitress who works from open to close each day. I got to travel to Cape Town for vacation and explore the peninsula with three teams who I greatly love. I slept in a bed bigger than mine at home and was warm at night thanks to my sleeping bag and my snuggle buddy, Janelle. Lyndon could basically be a professional cook and both he and Anthea are two of the best spiritual leaders I’ve ever met. Life in J Bay is good.
But good doesn’t always mean easy; this is not a vacation.
Our ministry shifted around from week to week. Most weeks, we worked either doing construction for Global Leadership Academy—the first Christian high school in J Bay that’s currently being held in a mall—or at the local horse farm, helping the young owner feed and take care of the horses. But the second week looked much different. In my last blog, I gave a glimpse of what Turning Point Camp was like. I hate to say “you had to be there,” but the impact it made on my life is one that can only be felt, not explained.
About 45 teenagers came to camp. They came in rambunctious and unruly, and some left the same way. But the majority of them left changed; I left changed. We were paired up and given a group of about 6-8 kids to call our own for the week. Kelsey and I were put in charge of Uncle G, Sethu, Bapsie, Nosie, Javian, and Ayanda: six people that have absolutely shaken up my heart. On the first day we were told that we needed to come up with a team name and they came up with Team Fearless.
Over the course of the next four days, I learned just how fearless these six young people truly are. Camp was great—it was fun and we laughed a lot. But it was also heavy. We heard testimonies and tribulations. We worshipped together and cried together. And I realized something and it broke me.
The majority of people I met and fell in love with at camp have lost someone to murder.
Our friend and pastor lost his mom when she was brutally murdered by his stepdad. One of the boys in my group lost his father, who was standing and singing gospel music, to a knife in the back. One of the men who helped organize the camp lost his father-in-law when some men broke into their home and shot him, raped his wife, and shot their son. Mark has lost several friends to gang violence—some who were never even involved in the gang.
I spent the few days after camp trying to sort it out. Why? Why is it that so many people here turn to gangsterism? To drugs? To alcohol? I was angry. Angry that I live in a community back home where drugs and alcohol are considered “fun” and “cool” and here, they are life-ruining. Something we make light of and do so casually is here destroying our brothers and sisters. I cried a lot when I started to get a glimpse of the suffering felt here. I started questioning things. Am I supposed to feel guilty for where I came from? Am I more naïve than I thought? How can I possibly make a difference?
I had breakfast this morning—my last morning in J Bay—with some of my kids from camp. They were so happy to see us again and my heart was full as I watched them excitedly pick out pizzas and burgers and milkshakes for lunch. They drew me pictures, got my contact information, hugged me, and showed me something: I will never fix the brokenness. I will never rid a community of drugs or alcohol or gang violence or crime. I will never bring someone’s mom back and I will never make the hurt go away. I will never fix sin.
But what I can do, I’ve already been doing. I can show people their worth. I can love them like Jesus does and see them through His eyes. I can pray and I can laugh with them. I can tell my own story—one of alcohol abuse and an absence of self-worth. I can use what God’s equipped me with to turn people toward Him. I can just be joy for everyone I encounter. And that’s enough.
To be fearless is to be confident in God. To be confident in God is to possess all the power that one can possess. Team Fearless is powerful. They are six incredibly gifted, unique, Christ-loving boys and girls with dreams so crazy they just have to come true. Last night we had a get-together with a few kids from camp. We drank soup and played games and just enjoyed each other’s’ presence. I turned to Uncle G. “Have you been hanging out with Team Fearless at school?” I asked him. He smiled and said yes. I asked if they hung out before camp, to which he answered “No, we didn’t talk before.” “And now you do?” He answered:
“Yes. Now we’re a family.”
XXX
