It’s hard to believe that in a couple of days I’ll be packing up my bag once again. Here’s another blog post about how I can’t believe almost four weeks have passed. Another goodbye, followed by hundreds of hellos. This month was completely unlike what I had expected it to be. Many had asked me prior to the race which country I was most looking forward to, and I would reply, “South Africa.” Yet Daddy’s teaching me to incline my ears whether or not my prescient expectations are met – because His plans are better than mine.
I’m tired. My bones ache. I wake up at 6 am, if not earlier, every morning, because how can you sleep in with creaky wooden planked floors, squeaking wire-springed bunks, and eleven other girls? Some mornings are spent running around, the afternoons are spent walking 4 miles to and fro from the library, having my hair pulled at by fiendish little girls more fascinated by straight hair and how to “speak China” than reading about what Clifford the big red dog does on Halloween. . .which I guess isn’t too terrible of a thing when all’s said and done, but it’s quite exhausting. Immediately after I get back to the hostel, usually I’m imprisoned in the kitchen for a 2-3 hours. Rinse and repeat, until burnout is reached.
It’s hard being away from home during the holidays. I’ve had my share of travelling in the past, so I only assumed that this would be familiar emotional territory, and I do admit, I don’t have the ever-contagious disease of homesickness as badly as some of my team-members do, but once every short while, I think about what it would be like to just be able to go home for a week. I think about the stupid mundane things that I miss. The frenetic tugging of a dog leash. Wiping down the steamed mirror after a hot shower. The smell of perfume on my wrists. The lacquered banisters of my parent’s house. Sipping tea. Fast internet. Internet at all. Driving with the windows down. Solitude. For just a second. I’ve forgotten what that feels like.
But then I snap back to reality. I snap back to what I saw this afternoon. Three children dressed in rags playing in a heaping pile of garbage. One of the boys had his hand down his pants, no doubt passing away the time. I snap back to the middle aged woman who stopped Katherine and I as we were exiting the library and begged us to pray for her as her contrite heart felt compelled to tell us, “I drink too much. I have four children. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem.” She sobbed as she leaned on us, the alcohol in her veins preventing her from being able to stand up straight. As she wiped away the tears from her sorrow-stricken face, I placed my hand upon her and begged Daddy to release her. I snap back to this. My reality now. The reality of sitting beside nearly illiterate children, encouraging every word they manage to say correctly. The reality of telling 10 year old girls that they are cherished, loved, and worthy to Jesus. The reality of believing that with all my heart. These children just want to know that they’re loved, that they’re worth something. They need to know that they’re allowed to dream. They need to know that their circumstances don’t shackle them. You should see the way that their eyes light up when I smile at them, and they way they delight in the affirmations I give them. They are so hungry to be loved, waiting at the junction for someone to meet them – someone who will not abuse them or mercilessly take advantage of their innocence.
When your reality becomes a nightmare, there’s nothing else for you to do than to stand on faith that it can change. To not wait for someone else to come along, but to be that change. For so long, I’ve been hiding behind uttered prayers dismissed through faithless insecurity. I prayed hoping that God would show up, and if He didn’t, well, it just meant He didn’t want to. I prayed with an uncertainty in who I was and whether or not He was even listening because I considered myself such a pathetic “Christian.” Why on Earth would God care to listen to me? But that’s a lie! As His chosen daughter, I have been given His divine authority. I have been given the indomitable power of the Holy Spirit. Faith is not equivocal to Hope. “Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance for things that we cannot see.” Hebrews 11:1 Praying in confidence and assurance has brought me so much closer to Dad. Because of the blood of Jesus, I have the authority to usher the Spirit into any situation. How amazing is that?! How amazing is it to declare, not postulate, that our God is forever faithful? It’s amazing to have faith in His faithfulness and not just hope in His faithfulness.
“Unless your faith is firm, I cannot make you stand firm.” Isaiah 7:9
P.S. Check out the albums I uploaded . . . I have some more to upload, but I haven't taken many due to the high theft rate + my paranoia
P.P.S. I reached my December support deadline! DANKIE (That's "Thank You" in Afrikaans) to all of you who donated! I am still short a decent amount to fully funded, so if you feel compelled to give in any small way, you'd be blessing me so much!
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| South Africa, Cape Town Arrival |
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| South Africa, Muizenberg |
