Ramblings of a White mom with Black kids

(One of my friend groups in 6th grade)

My first encounter with my whiteness occurred my 6th grade year. We lived in Tampa and they were trying to integrate the schools (click the link for a great video explanation of redlining and current day segregation) so they were bussing our suburban neighborhood into the inner city. My mom gave me the choice if I wanted to switch to private school that year and I chose public. The first day of school was the first day I ever was the minority. It was a predominantly black school situated across from the housing projects of inner city Tampa. I remember not feeling afraid, just aware. I remember that year noticing the different ways teachers treated kids of different races. I was given the benefit of the doubt, they typically weren't. I could get away with talking in class, they got a consequence. Most of my friends were black. That year changed a lot in my heart. We got out of school frequently for shootings, the projects being on fire, etc. I remember thinking, this isn't fair.

Fast forward a few years, God set something deep in my heart for reconciliation. I remember strangely having a heart set for Africa. I wanted to move there, I wanted to adopt. In my sophomore year of college, I met my future husband John. He was the punter on the Auburn football team. His best friends were mostly black. His roommate was black. He grew up in Brazil and had a perspective on the world I found wildly interesting. I told him "Don't ask me to marry you if you don't want a multi-racial family"... we were engaged a few months later. Our first neighbors were black. I would have afternoon conversations with her that opened my eyes more to the black experience as an adult. She would tell me about bias in her job, bias she experienced while shopping or dating. I was shocked, and it hurt my heart for what she had experienced.

Fast forward a few years into our marriage, we had a 3 and 4 year old, lived in a suburb of Raleigh, and were looking at schools for our kids. We decided then that public was the route for us. We wanted our kids to see the world and all the differences in it. We wanted our school to be a place that represented the diversity of the world. We soon journeyed into international adoption from a Central African country. Bringing these two beautiful children into our family stretched me more than ever before. I educated myself on everything from moisturizer, to hair care, to adoption issues, poverty, struggles of a transracial adoptee, and raising children with trauma in their history. I pressed deeper into the black community for wisdom and advice. I intentionally expanded my community to embrace and authentically love people of color. I wanted our children to grow up with role models who looked like them. My own inadequacy grew as I am a white mom raising two black children. I don't know what it's like to be black, yet I am raising two black children.

As my kids got older, and I listened more to the black experience of society, it was no longer an "out there problem". It was my problem. It was my son who could've been shot while ringing a doorbell looking for directions. It was my son who could have been shot while being pulled over and reaching for his license. It was my daughter I would have to tell to be more cautious walking through a store. I grieved and feared as I realized I would have to raise my black son to be more careful in neighborhoods, driving, stores, etc. I realized my black son would most likely receive less of a second chance, more of a "guilty until proven innocent" mindset where my white son would most likely be given the benefit of the doubt and assumed "innocent until proven otherwise". My fear escalated and I reached out to moms of color and asked for wisdom. I didn't want to parent out of fear of who society would see my son to be, but yet the racial climate in society is clearly tense. How do I not teach my son to live afraid but at the same time realize he has to be more careful than his siblings when sitting down at a coffee shop or while driving a car? It honestly makes me sick, my heart truly laments what I have to tell my children as far as history of the black experience and the current status of race in America. It should make us all sick. This is not a "black people problem" it is all of our problem.
We have grown up hearing a narrative about race. We need to dig deep and explore the narrative we believe. We need to have ears to hear hard things. We need to repent of our own prejudiced hearts. We need to examine our thoughts and fears when it comes to people of a different skin tone. We need to build geniune relationships outside of people who only look like and think like us. 

The same evil that fueled the Holocaust is the same evil behind slavery, lynchings, Jim Crow laws: the essence that you take someone's humanness away, rejecting that they were equally made in the image of God as an expression of His beauty, and treat them as lower than an animal. There were centuries of oppression, injustice, murder, hatred. How do we think so wrongly that 60 years of "progress" in this racial injustice has changed centuries of hate? 

When a murder happens like Stephon Clark, Eric Garner, Charles Kinsey, why does the white community so often respond with questions about circumstance instead of empathy? Shouldn't loss of life be worth mourning no matter the circumstance? Shouldn't we take the time to listen why these instances spark fear in the heart of our black neighbors? Aren't we supposed to love our neighbor as ourself? The problem is our neighbors look a lot like us, only like us, and we have redefined neighbor to sameness. We are not reaching across our differences and asking questions, leaning in, listening, mourning with those who mourn. 

Explore the narrative you have lived and heard your whole life, where has it taken root in lies? Examine your community. A pastor at our church so wisely said, 'Uniformity is not unity'. The root of surrounding people who only look and think like you is self-love and selfishness. Lean into the discomfort. Fight for reconciliation. Explain race in a gospel centered way to your children, color-blindness is just another form of racism. They see color just like we do, so showcase it in all of the beauty God intended. Diversify your dolls, your bookcases, your discussions around the dinner table.

Is the ground level at the cross? Yes. Did Jesus die for this reconciliation? Yes. Is his blood enough to break down this racial hostility? Yes. Does he already have victory over the evil and hate that divide us? Yes. But we are still living in the in-between. The not yet. I feel like the disciples on Good Friday. That did not look or feel like victory to lose your savior who was supposed to bring peace and have victory over evil. That looked like defeat. 'Surely this isn't how it is supposed to end' they must've thought. 'You can't leave us like this Jesus', they must've felt. I thought you came for peace, I thought love covers a multitude of sins? Yes. It does. But his kingdom isn't on earth yet in its fullness. It isn't on earth as it is in heaven. Yet. So until that day comes I will keep raising my voice, using my privilege, against hate and injustice. I will fight for reconciliation, until Jesus brings it to completion, and thank God he will. But I have a role to play, and I will play my part no matter how I fumble through it, mess up, and move forward and then back again. My kids deserve it, the world desparately needs it.

Please look into these books and resources as you lean in to this topic.

A 3 part series on Race in America our church did: 

http://summitrduinstitute.com/classes/race-america-week-1-3/

http://summitrduinstitute.com/classes/7156/ 

http://summitrduinstitute.com/classes/7156-copy/

Books:

Just Mercy, by Bryan Stevenson

White Awake, by Daniel Hill

Under our Skin, Benjamin Watson
Oneness Embraced, Tony Evans
I'm Still here, Austin Channing Brown

Blog post on White Privilege 

Culture Shock, Purpose, and other ramblings...

It's been especially hard for me to come back home after this time in Kenya. My 6th or 7th time stepping foot on the African continent, yet something I can't shake.

It's not the culture shock of my first trip. No guilt of sleeping in a plush bed or having an Ice dispenser, it's rooted deeper this time. Going from spending my days walking in a Muslim slum, where people are hopeless and hurting but finding hope through the local church and Care for AIDS program, sitting in the home of a drunkard in his first month of the program, holding the hand of a mother who has buried 6 children to HIV, praying over a woman who sleeps with her head on her AIDS medicine so her husband won't burn it in denial of his own positive status.

These are the stories I heard, the people I cried with and prayed for. Now I am back home to a whirlwind of packing for camp, carpools, play dates, washing dishes, making sandwiches. It hits my heart in a  different way this time. I have to push for meaning and purpose a little harder. I have to remind myself God has called me here, not there (yet at least;) My role here as a mother and wife, friend and daughter and sister. But also God has given us a business that we can leverage for a greater cause. A business that can be a fundraiser for a greater calling than just a restaurant building. God has set purpose deep in my heart, so much so that it is unsettling to not live in it.  It is painful and mundane when avoided. So I press in.

Not because these Kenyan people need a savior in me or my money. No, these people are strong and have dignity and are learning to care for themselves. But it is my purpose to support the work that is being done to restore these people. God intended for families to stay together. God intended for parents to be able to provide school and food for their children. But the world is broken, the system is messed up, disease and poverty is a hard reality. So God has called me, I would dare to say us, to step in to the mess. Roll up our sleeves and lend a hand. Be a brother and a sister to these people, not a savior. Jesus is the only one that can be that for them. The only reason I share so much on here, or raise awareness or funds is because of this-- this deep rooted purpose and joy I have found while locked hands with an AIDS stricken mother, or a man trying to drink away the pain of stigma and poverty, while in the dirt floor home of a woman who has been raped more times than she can count but still has the strength to stand and sell soap she has learned to make in the CFA program. So that puts it all in perspective for me.   We were driving to the grocery store the other day and Wheeler asked, "Mom, I only have 14$ in my jars. Would that be enough to help one of those people whose homes we were in in Kenya?" Yes buddy. God will take that 14$ and multiply it into life change, a mommy who won't orphan her kids anymore, a family that can now make ends meet, a church that can now be the beacon of light it should be in a hard place.

If you would like to join us on this adventure, you can donate at this link HERE. Consider coming with us to see the transformation that happens with our small hesitant obedience. I think you may just find purpose and joy abounding like I have...

God is moving across Kenya

I cannot explain to you the feeling that swept over me as I looked around the church in the Sinai slum as 80 men and women sang and danced and raised their hands in gratitude for all God has done in their lives over the 9 months they were in the Care for Aids program.  Kids were running in and out of the aisles, playing outside, and sleeping on chairs next to their parents. My mind went in so many directions. To my daughter who lived in an orphanage and now with her second family, not her first. To these kids who their path would have been the painfully similar, the hurt and pain of losing their parents. To these parents who's lives are changed and empowered to keep living. To communities who are changing the stigma that still exists with the disease. To lives eternally impacted by the completion of a wholistic healing program. I talked with the spiritual counselor of our center before graduation and he told me snippets of stories of clients impacted, 9 people who put their trust in Christ, women and men now earning income and sending their children to school and educating infected children and others in their community on how to manage life with AIDS.

Then I returned home. I got back to carpool, taking kids to sports, paying bills, cleaning the house. But my thoughts lingered to that graduation. Thinking about the next 80 families that just started the program in our center. That is another group of potentially 300+ children whose parents are fighting for life and to be the ones to raise them. When I look at our budget, I cannot help but be led to sacrifice more. God is asking more, asking bigger, and leading tenderly. The impact of a dollar there versus a dollar here is jaw dropping.

When John and I graduated college we worked with an amazing organization called Cafe 1040. It trains college students inside countries hostile to the gospel on how to live long term there and have kingdom impact. It was on a trip to North Africa my eyes were opened to Islam and how God's heart beats for Muslims. God planted something deep in my heart on that trip for Muslim communities. I wanted them to desperately know the good news, that they no longer have to weigh their good deeds against their bad deeds in hopes of making it into heaven. I wanted them to know there is a Savior who paid their price and all they have to do is trust and believe. However their costs are much more costly than mine to accept Jesus' gift. They often lose their family, community, and even some their lives. 

As I heard about Care for Aids moving into Mombasa, I felt God intersect several passions for me. Orphan prevention, Muslims, the outcast, marriages. I started to pray if we could do a second center. My flesh told me it was too big of a financial commitment, that we were already giving and just to rest in that, that someone else would step up and get engaged in the mission. Yet as I looked around that graduation room and saw families raising their hands waving their certificates of completion in the air with hearts of gratitude for their very lives and legacy, I felt like there was no reason not to move. God was asking something big and he wanted my trust.

So we are stepping out in faith and opening a second center. Our Mombasa center will open in September and run until June when I will again return and again see all God has done. Our family is all in and excited what God can do with our simple yes as we follow him. We rallied our community, and so many of YOU, around launching Sinai and it is off the ground and running amazingly. Now we are excited to do it again! As I think about so many friends, friends of friends, Facebook friends, blog readers, and family who rallied the Sinai center over a year ago and made this happen, I think not of dollars raised but families impacted. Read this post if you heart is pulled to get involved for more details and backstory on how we got the Sinai center going. God doesn't need our money but he invites us to be a part of the ways he is moving across Kenya. Prayerfully consider joining us and going next year to see what you got to be a part of! Here is an awesome video about Mombasa.
You can give online at our Mombasa fundraising page at this LINK! Feel free to share this post and rally your community to be a part as well!
Because life is not about what we amassed in our homes, the to do list on our phones, the bills we pay, the stuff we have. It is about how we leveraged what we have for others, the legacy we are building and leaving on earth. Because as someone so clearly said, No one takes a U-haul to heaven! Join us in this amazing adventure. Live a good story. Be a part of something bigger.
Humbly,

Stories of Death to Life, Magdalene, Grace and Jen

There was a day in the trip where we did a few home visits of clients from other centers. We got to see a client in the first phase of the program, the middle phase, and a graduate who had finished the program over a year ago... please read their stories below. I pray you find in them, strength, encouragement, conviction, and hope. Please pray for these amazing women and the journey God has them on!

Magdalene

We walked in the small 8x10 corrugated metal home that was big enough to house a bed, couch, TV and small table. It was the first time in the trip I smelled the stench of death and sickness so intensely. I prayed God would give me the strength to engage fully. On the side of the bed sat Magdalene, a frail soft woman under 100 pounds who struggled to swallow and breathe.  At first she would not make eye contact and just sat slumped with her head down. We started to talk and ask questions and she began to share, with each passing story her gaze was more frequent in our eyes, her tone strengthened and even her words became stronger with each passing sentence. Magdalene had to be between 24-30 years old, it was hard to tell in her condition. She had been working in a factory, pregnant, and realized she was becoming more and more ill. 

One day she passed out at work and was taken to the hospital. At the hospital she was given a test and diagnosed as HIV+. She was so ashamed of her status and feared the shunning that would come from her community. She withdrew until she birthed her child and became bedridden thereafter. Her neighbor, Grace came to visit her and told her about the Care for Aids program. The 9 months was already underway, but Grace knew Magdalene wouldn't make it to see the start of another program. She got her enrolled. A neighbor was caring for Magdalene's new baby as she couldn't get herself out of bed. Once she started the program and started on her medicine with food supplements, she could walk again with help. The spiritual counselor, Matthew, who was with us, said he would walk with Magdalene as she leaned on him. He said she couldn't even carry a 1 kilogram bag of rice, when wind blew she would stumble down. Now over a month into the program, she was getting treatment for tuberculosis and getting stronger. We asked Magdalene how we could pray for her and she said first- strength in her body so she can care for her son again. Her next request floored me as she said it through difficulty talking, she asked us to pray for strength in her body and soul because she needs to minister to others with AIDS. She continued on how there are so many like her that just need to hear, they need a helping hand to make it to this program. She said, "I knew of God before I found Care for AIDS, but I did not meet Jesus so closely until now." Magdalene's story shook me. I have never seen a person so close to death from HIV. Magdalene truly would not have lived much longer. Also such a powerful display of community, without Grace who was already started in CFA, coming into her home and physically taking her, she would not be here. She would not be able to raise her baby. She would not know Jesus as the source of her healing and strength. I know God will answer Magdalene's selfless prayers, she will be healed and be a blessing to others and her son will grow up with his mother by his side. Magdalene's story is one of life, healing, help and hope.

Grace's story
Grace came to the van to meet us, next to her was a sweet and shining face she introduced as Josephine. They walked us to Grace's front door and Josephine went back to braiding her client's hair who was sitting outside the home. 

Grace had a strong smile, a tight hug, and a joy in her face.  But as she told us her story, Grace had had an impossible year. Her only son had recently died after being struck by a car. Her sickness was getting worse, so she spent a year, isolating herself, fearing it would be HIV and she did not want to be outcasted so she kept quiet and didn't get tested. She didn't even tell her best friend Josephine, who lived next door. Finally, she got so weak she feared she was dying. She asked Josephine to take her to the hospital. She knew she needed to get tested but feared she would lose her best friend Josephine's acceptance. Josephine said "well then I will get tested with you." Grace's fears were true, she was positive. After she heard Josephine tested negative she knew their friendship would be over, but she told this part of the story with such joy "You know, Josephine embraced me even more now knowing my status!" She heard about the Care for Aids program through their local church and got started right away. As she was talking to us, she grabbed her pill bottle of ARV medication and shook it and said to us "I am not afraid anymore, these are mine. My name is on this bottle. I don't care who knows." What a powerful display of overcoming her own self-stigma. When we met Grace she was only in month 4 of the 9 month program, but she had already learned to accept and love herself despite her status. A few months earlier she had been isolated for a year, too afraid to even get tested because of fear, now here she is full of joy shaking her pill bottle proudly. This is also the Grace who introduced Magdalene to the program. She is radically changing the face of AIDS in her community. She chatted on about learning to make a cake in the program in one of the skills training. She told us how they would heat firewood to heat sand in a bowl and put all the ingredients in a different bowl and cook it on the heated sand. She couldn't wait to sell her cakes. Grace is a story of the power of community, breaking the chains of self stigma, and physically and spiritually loving your neighbors as yourself. As I looked at Grace, I realized I was the one in poverty. I lacked this beautiful picture of community that she has. In America, we don't need to depend on others for our very lives sometimes, we also rarely reach out to our neighbors, draw them in, tell them they are loved, and walk with them side by side through trials and joys. Grace moved me. 

The story of Jen
I was curious of what meeting Jen would be like. She had graduated the Care for Aids program almost a year and a half previous. Her house was a modest wooden shed type in the hills near Limuru. As we hiked up the terrain to get to her home we passed a wood slatted outhouse and six chickens and a young cow. Jen arrived a few minutes later, her smile beaming from the back of a motorcycle taxi. She quickly ran up the hill to us and greeted us each with a huge hug and high fives. She unlocked the padlock on her home and invited us in. Inside she awoke her two 1 year old twins and sent them out to us. Chickens roamed in the house as she settled herself and us around the couches in the main room of the home. She talked of being on her deathbed a few months before the program. She had found out her HIV diagnosis and her husband left her with 3 children because of it. Now her source of income was gone. Time passed as her condition worsened and times grew desperate and then she heard from her husband again. He explained how he wanted to get back together and rebuild, however she was used for his advantage for a night and she became pregnant with twins.Through the 9 month program she learned skills of how to take her medicine, how to raise chickens, how to be a part of a community again, how to find strength in the most hopeless of situations and how to find strength in Jesus. In her words, Jen explained that through all she learned through CFA "God has taken me from Dust to a palace" as she talked of being bedridden before and now raising chickens, selling potatoes and providing for her family as a single mom of 5 children aged 1-15. We asked her connection with CFA currently and she said "I am now courageous to tell people my status because If they don't know from me how will they know how to heal?" 
She goes back frequently to empowerment sessions in the program and teaches other clients how to raise chickens for eggs and income. She also invites others to embrace their status instead of fearing stigma. She shows them her strength and the success and life hat still remains after an AIDS diagnosis. As we sat around the small living quarters, she beamed as any mother would as she told us about how one of her sons has been ranked 1st in his class for 6 years. Potentially beating the odds of coming from a single AIDS infected mother in poverty. You could see the hope she had in her son. A cycle of poverty that would stop in her children. Her smile and positivity was so inspiring. Her spouting of scripture and the source of where she draws her strength was encouraging. She sent us away, having filled our cups with her joy and strength. It was a privilege to have met Jen, to see how she has risen above a statistic. She has become a beacon of hope in her community. It is such a privilege for our family to see people like Jen, that Jesus brought from literal death to life through the program of Care for AIDS.

Kenya downloading

It is hard to take a 12 day trip and boil it down into a one concise page description. So many people ask, 'how was your trip?' as if i could shorten it down into a 30 second sound byte of our experience. And as I process "how was my trip" I realize it is more about the people I met and the stories they shared rather than my "experience" in

Kenya...these precious Kenyan people that asked me to return to America and share their story. So I will. As weeks go on I want to share with you the stories of death to life, strength in turmoil, and beauty from ashes. The temptation is to overlook someone's story because it is such a foreign comparison to our own, but then we all miss out on the experience of Kenya and the way God is moving there. And in my own way, I did find my own story wrapped somehow inside of theirs, a single mom of 5 in the slums, a woman who is an overcomer of her HIV status, a man who went against his family history in Islam and found Jesus as a boy on the streets. Somewhere tucked deep inside I saw myself in each person, or someone I want to be. Africa has a way of resetting my heart on what is important. I have truly experienced the joy of the verse in Matthew 6:21, For where you treasure is, there your heart will be also. It is hard to explain how my heart came alive as I looked around a room of 90 graduates, raising their Bibles and journals in the air and waving them with accomplishment, pride, and triumph. I run the risk of you thinking it is because of our family or community, which it is not. God would have brought this center to life with or without our involvement, but I wouldn't have gotten to see it play out. God didn't need me to do this, I got to be a part. For those of you who faithfully gave to our center in Sinai, thank you, and please read on in the coming weeks and hear about the lives transformed and community impacted. As I looked around that room on graduation day and I saw so many children running in and out of their parents legs, sleeping on chairs next to their mothers, or babies wrapped around their mama's backs, I thought of what their future would have been if their parents would have continued down the dark path of death that AIDS usually brings in their community.

These kids now have moms and parents strengthened in the word of God, strengthened in their health, and empowered with a skill that will bring income to their family.  We sat in the homes of these graduates and heard about their excitement to be selling soap, peanut butter, beaded items, eggs, charcoal, etc. All skills they never had before, now they are sending their kids to school with their income. My words do not do this transformation justice.
When we go to Kenya, it is not a "short term mission trip". We have no project, no building to build, no well to dig. We go to be present, to show someone they have value, to hold a hand, to be a friend.

"Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody. 
I think that is a much greater hunger, 
a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat."   Mother Theresa

Our schedule while we were there revolved around being. Being with people in their homes, people who previously have been shunned from their families and communities. Homes that have been marked with an invisible red X to their neighbors not to enter because of fear of AIDS. We go and hold hands and pray for people, people that their spouses no longer want to touch because it has become a blame game of who gave it to who. These were the favorite moments of my trip, which I will expand in more detail in days to come. Jesus meets you face to face when you enter in to someones pain, when you hold the hand of a diseased woman He has brought to life. These are the most beautiful moments.

 

Back to Kenya...

In less than 2 months we will be setting foot on the red dirt of Kenya. I cannot explain how that lights me up inside.  Our kids have cried and begged to go back and now our sweet Maran will have her turn to come along.  This trip is especially meaningful to me to take her along with us, back to her birth continent. She will go back to a very similar culture from which she came, she will walk through the slums of Nairobi and visit houses very similar to the one she describes growing up in.  The pain and the beauty that comes along with returning to Africa for her is amazing.  She has begged to go visit. She asks frequently after dinner if we can put our leftovers in a backpack and send it to the people in Africa because she acutely remembers being hungry. I am already praying for her heart for this trip. She will get to serve the very culture she came out of. She will get to play a part in orphan prevention. A previous orphan serving those who would have become orphaned. The magnitude of that is not lost on me. I am praying God prepares her heart in a mighty way to be touched and healed through going back, through seeing the poverty and pain, through serving the least of these. I pray he uses this trip to unearth hidden places in her heart, there will be memories surfaced and pain brought back to mind, but what I told my husband is I would rather walk through more grieving together than leave those dark places covered. Full healing probably won't come until heaven but this just may be another step in the journey toward wholeness for her. I will not glorify it, I am sure she will be tired, confused, whiney, and maybe even selfish. But my prayer for her is that she radiates the joy and love God has given her and allows him to show her more of who He is through this trip.

In addition, our 7 and 8 year olds will be going with us too. They have prayed this center into being and are excited to see what God has done when we stepped out as a family and said yes to God. 90 families will be forever changed as they have received health education, empowerment on how to make an income and how to use it wisely, trained in a skill to earn a living and break the cycle of poverty. I am elated to go watch these 90 clients walk across and receive their certificate of completion of this 9 month journey of healing, and another 90 to begin shortly thereafter. We are taking some friends and family with us as well and I am so excited to watch them experience the work Care for Aids does so well in Kenya. Please join us in praying for our trip. If you want to join in on a part of the trip, please consider writing a letter of encouragement and congratulations to a  graduate. You can get more info of how to do that here.
I am so grateful to venture overseas again. This is a gift I don't take lightly. This is a sacrifice we will continue to make as a family. I pray our kids see the joy that comes from serving. I pray their eyes are opened to a Big God and a big world. People so often ask where is God when people are struck with AIDS, dying, war, orphaning millions of children. I wonder instead, why did I sit by in my air conditioned house and focus on my to do list instead of getting involved. I am so grateful to center our family on this mission. Loving Jesus means our lives might not make sense, the way we spend our money might not be logical in the world's eyes. Thank you Jesus for rescuing me from myself, from a boring and predictable life. Every day I have to push against this tension for a comfortable, easy life versus the stretching and exciting life he has for me. I am so thankful God is writing a story I could have never imagined in our family. It is not perfect and I screw it up most every day, but he fills in the gaps where I fall short. I am so grateful for the excitement he has put in our hearts.  I cannot wait to get back to a place that holds such a piece of my heart!

Oh Congo...

A few weeks ago I got to return to Congo to accompany a dear friend visiting her children she is in process of adopting. Due to the governmental halt on adoptions, she cannot bring them home, but wanted to meet the children she has been the parent of for a year now. I was honored to go alongside.

Heading to DR Congo this trip was completely different than the last. The last time I boarded that long flight I was filled with the nerves, excitement, fear and uncertainty of what was to come as we met our two treasures there. I spent 4 weeks in a convent turned hotel, staying put as much as possible while paperwork cleared, passports were printed, and we awaited the much coveted exit letter to leave the country.  The few times we did leave the convent, we were met with opposition in public, in one situation that only God orchestrated protection in because it went violent very quickly all around us. I had small hungry boys outside the 2 inch rolled down crack in my window making gestures of slicing my neck and reaching their small hands through the cracks trying to get in. Our driver was yelled at, hustled, and arrested and a stranger got in the driver seat of our car.  It is only through God's grace we made it out of there unscathed.
The month before this most recent trip to Congo a battle was raging in my mind. Fear vs. Trust in God's sovereignty, my mind trying to find the line between wisdom and recklessness, trying to figure out the vague boundary between not letting safety be an idol and using the wisdom God has given me. 

As we arrived in DRC that June 28 evening God gave me such a peace to be back in a country so sacred to our family. My fear was gone and my heart was flooded with love for a people and place so deeply interwoven into our home.  The next morning we woke up early to attend church with a friend. We wound down unpaved roads, through slum areas where people rode on bikes carrying chickens, motorcycles 3 men full, mothers walking their bundled up babies in the 78 degree weather.

Life in Congo is awe-inspiring. I saw a mother on the side of the road with her 4 children, younger than mine, trying to sell clothes and food to make an income for that day, men carrying 30-40 soda bottles on their head in hopes to sell, little girls carrying bundles of sticks tied around their head in fabric. I saw girls around the age of 5, 6, 7 on the streets alone caring for their younger siblings.  We made our way to the church and the sermon was on Ruth. Through our translator, I was moved to tears through the rich interpretation of Ruth's story.  Here was a pastor speaking to 150 Congolese people about leaving a life of safety, security and potentially trading that in for clinging to Jesus. Over 70% of people in Congo earn an average of 2-4$ a day. This pastor challenged these people not to turn away from Jesus because they are afraid he will ask them to give up something, but instead, to run to Jesus and cling to him no matter the costs. If it costs your job, your family, your financial security. Run to Jesus. Cling to Jesus the way Ruth clung to Naomi. He said sometimes this will mean we need to leave our familiar and venture out to the unfamiliar, serve the least of these, maybe even go to another country to take the good news of Christ.  Orpah made the safe choice, to leave Naomi and return to hopefully find a husband or prosperity without the 'burden' of her mother in law. However Ruth took a risk. He preached:

 Sometimes God calls us to do the uncomfortable, something that doesn't make sense, God pushes us out of our norm, out of our culture, and asks us to follow. Giving up control to our lives doesn't mean we lose freedom, we are set free. This takes humility, God raises up the humble. Ruth didn't ask questions or give conditions to her following. She merely said "Where you go, I will go, where you stay I will stay. Your people shall be my people and your God my God. Where you day I will die. May the Lord do so to me and more also if anything but death parts me from you." What a declaration of reckless faith. 

God used a Congolese pastor in the near slums of Kinshasa to remind me of how he has called me to live, how he called us to adopt, how he gives me far more than I ever "gave up" for him. The following week was a roller coaster of emotions in my heart, reflecting on meeting our kids almost 2 years ago now in this beautiful, tragic country of strength and struggle, hope and devastation. God blessed me in ways I cannot explain in words on a page of this trip. He poured healing and purpose into my heart, He laid out for me another step in my journey of what he has called me to in this amazing country. He put a new chapter in the story of our family and I am completely humbled he would use someone so small, messed up, selfish, and insignificant as me. I am also reminded of the beauty in the adventure of following God. If you would have told me how our story would have ended up 3.5 years ago when I filled out that application to adopt I would have laughed and thought, not me. 

God also allowed me in those 10 short days to enjoy a country in a way I couldn't when I was there before. Not only did I get to witness a new mom meeting on and loving on her two Congolese children and watch the bond of unconditional love begin, but I got a fresh look at my own story, a new heart for a country I had only 'wanted to get out of' the last time I was there. 

My challenge to you is to put your yes on the table. Put your "anything" out there for God to use. Pray to him, "God I will do anything you ask!" And see what he does when you surrender your everything. He will change how you spend your life, your money, your time. Holding our stuff close only keeps us trapped in the life of the predictable, the mundane. Live recklessly like Ruth, trust he is real and live like it. He sees us and he made us and he put you in the story he is writing for you. I guarantee he will move, he will call us out, he will use us, we will live in the freedom we were intended for. We, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us,  to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. Ephesians 3:18-21

Thank you Jesus for giving me a small part in your huge story. May I steward it well,

Covered in Dust

So over a year and a half ago I heard Jen Hatmaker speak on the disciple process in the time of Jesus and for some reason it still sticks with me. I think about it at least weekly and have been processing it for quite some time. The freedom found here is unreal. Below is my paraphrased notes:
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"We price ourselves on the education of our children. Under the age of 6 we do not accept a child as a pupil. Above the age of six we stuff him like an ox" Josephus.

The stages of discipleship in the time of Jesus
Stage 1: Bet Sepra (house of the book)
This group was age 6-10 and included both boys and girls. They gave them a stone tablet at the beginning and put honey on it and let the children lick it off. This was a delicacy in this time. They would say "May the word of God be like honey on your lips"
The purpose of this phase was to memorize the Talmud (Genesis-Deuteronomy) Can you imagine a 6-10 year old memorizing hundreds of pages of the Bible?
After this phase, all girls were released to learn skills in the home, a percentage of boys that were not excelling would also be returned to learn their father's trade.

Stage 2 Bet Midrish (House of Learning)
This was the top tier boys age 10-14 who would continue to learn the Hebrew scriptures and learn higher level thinking skills in regards to the scriptures.
Jesus went through these stages of learning, Jesus was 12 in the temple practicing asking questions of the Rabbi and fleshing out the scriptures when his parents couldn't find him.
Rabbis were the most honored and revered people in society. They were traveling teachers who went all over.

Stage 3: Bet Talmud (House of the disciple)
Again the upper tier of the boys from previous stage. These 15 year olds and up would approach a rabbi and request to be his disciple and they would quiz the boy and decide if he could be trusted to carry out the Rabbi's ministry. Many were rejected again at this stage and sent home to learn the father's trade. If the boy was selected it was a huge honor and he would leave everything (family, fathers future business) to follow this Rabbi and learn everything he does.

*This puts a whole new spin on Jesus calling his disciples. He was the Rabbi. Yet he wasn't selecting the cream of the crop of boys who had been educated and passed all tiers of the discipleship training. He sought out the 'failures' and rejects of the process. These men he called were counted as unworthy so they had returned home to follow in their father's footsteps of fishing. Jesus gave these men an opportunity to study under the best rabbi and of course they would drop everything and follow.

Disciples would mimic every single word, rule and teaching of the rabbi they were following. The point was to be exactly like the rabbi that selected you, not evolve into your own teacher. They wanted their teaching to be preserved from generation to generation. Each Rabbi had a list of rules in regards to dress, speech, what you are allowed to eat, Sabbath rules, etc. This was called that Rabbi's "Yoke": the weight of his rules. Like an ox you had to attach yourself to that Rabbi's rules. Yet Jesus said Matt 11:28-30 'Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light'.

As Jesus and his disciples went on their way and came upon Mary and Martha in Luke 10, Mary sits at the feet of the Rabbi instead of helping prepare (skill of the home). This was considered a waste of time for women in that culture. They would have never had the opportunity to sit at the feet of the Rabbi because they were sent out of the program at age 10 to be home makers. Mary (the same Mary that would pour her inheritance of perfume on her Rabbi's feet) knew the weight of this honor, Martha was so busy plying her trade she missed the opportunity.

It is supremely important that we drink in the words of God Almighty. How can we mimic someone we don't know? Discipleship is an unbelievable honor and unbelievable task.

There was a quote back then that said "May you be ever covered in the dust of your Rabbi's feet". This implied you were following so closely to your rabbi you were always covered in his dust from the journey. This also meant you spent so much time at his feet you were covered in the dust from his feet.  We need to be listeners, learners and doers of Scripture, not out of duty but because it is our honor. He has chosen us, failures, sinners, rejects, to be in a place of such honor- at his feet and following him closely. Yet we are too busy doing our trade that we miss the opportunity to sit at his feet. How I spend my days quickly becomes how I live my life.

Where did Jesus go? Go there. Who did he love? Love them. Where did he spend his time? Invest there. Who did he commit his kingdom to? Pour out there.

Follow so closely behind Jesus you are continually covered in his dust.
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This changes everything for me. I am the disciple, the failure that Jesus called, not because he needs me but because he wants me right there with him, learning from him and finding rest. Being a disciple is not drudgery, it is the highest honor. Of course I should drop everything and follow. But how can I follow him if I don't know him. Jesus loved the orphan, the widow, the hungry, the failure, the screw up, the prostitute, the broken. He said if you want to find him he will be at the bottom of the pile with who the world calls the least. So why am I not there? Why do I resist following him there?
This changes everything. My mission is to follow so closely I am covered in his dust. But not to just take on the weight of his rules, because Jesus reversed that. He took on the weight of the law and we got freedom. But why do I settle for deliverance- just being saved- and not live in freedom? I can cast the burden on him and live in the benefit of his freedom. This should free me up to love who he loves, live in grace, walk in love. These truths pour over me frequently, yet sometimes I still get trapped in the monotony and weight and yoke of life. May I ever be covered in his dust.

Day 3 part 2: Care for Aids home visits

This one has been hard for me to write. God used this one afternoon more than any moment in the entire trip to rock me. To challenge me. To call me closer. To ask me to look at my life and see where I am missing out. To let me taste community in a way that I have never experienced.

We met up with a few Kenyan care for Aids staff off a dirt road in a more rural village. We meandered down paths past people drawing water, crowds of kids laughing as they chased us, muddy paths with chickens crossing and people selling vegetables. Home visits are just meant to check in on people in the 9 month program for Care for Aids, encourage them, hear their stories.

Care for Aids is a vision to meet the marginalized, the lepers of our time, to bring healing body and soul.  It is a 9 month program run through the local church in the area that will serve 80 families at a time. Its vision is to equip the church to be more than a place of worship, but a house of healing, a place to receive medical care, spiritual counseling and health counseling on how to thrive with a disease that normally kills. It gives the clients access to ARV medication, health counseling to make good choices, hygiene, diet. It also addresses the spiritual needs, Gospel sharing, affirmation and love despite HIV status that normally ostracizes them from family and community, discipleship, marriage counsel. It also empowers them with self care skills, trade skills such as farming, animal tending, soap, jewelry, wood making to provide sustainable income. It is not only changing these 80 families life in 13 centers a year but also changing the church that would normally shirk its responsibility of loving and serving these "least" and training them how to actually be the hands and feet of Jesus to the sick, the outsiders, the broken.

As we approached the first home, there was something not quite right. I first saw a lady walking away with her 2 year old son, crying, holding her face. The spiritual counselor with us went towards her as we entered the home. We sat down in this 10x10 home and met Amos, who shared with us his story of finding out he was infected, the brokenness that came with that, and how Care for Aids had introduced him to Jesus and he was now living trying to be a child of God. He talked about how things had changed for the better and life was so much better now with Jesus. He had recently lost his job laying tile and talked about the struggles with that. And with piercing truth, as Amos' wife re-entered the home, the Kenyan staff John (pictured above with the kids) looked at Amos and we then witnessed the most beautiful display of truth and grace, a call to honesty and change like nothing I've ever seen.

John said (to the best of my recollection). "Amos, my child, I begot you in the faith just like Paul begot Timothy, You are my son, I want to charge you with this. You are the priest of this home. You are the one calling your family to the feet of Jesus. You have to go to God with your anger. It is not right for you to hurt your family, your wife. Your situation is hard, but Jesus is strong. You can lean on him for control of your emotions, your anger. You are the priest of this home."
Amos began to cry, his wife, Tabitha began to cry, we all teared up. It was a beautiful moment. Kenyans are strong, they see death and poverty every day. Tears are not something to show. You stuff it and only show your strength. So this was a sacred moment and you could feel it in the room. A piercing moment of vulnerability and accountability. I honestly felt like I was intruding on such a beautiful moment, but yet equally so grateful to have witnessed it. It was the most beautiful intervention of grace I have ever seen. It was done with such love and tenderness. It was as if I could see how God speaks to me and sees me in the midst of my sin. He is not a wrath-filled father looking down on my mess thinking "seriously? Again Kylie? I've had it with you!" No, he is a tender father, looking down on his daughter calling me to more, reminding me of who I am in him, my value, and that this is not what I was made for. He sees me right there in my sin and says "you are my daughter, my daughter I have paid for with my son, You are a child of the king, you are the one shining my light on this earth. You have to come to me with this. I don't want you experiencing this pain. Your circumstances may be a lot to bear but I am bigger, I can handle this all, your anger, your emotions, your pain."
Seeing John approach Amos in such truth and grace has changed me. It was the pinnacle of my trip. It allowed me to see the community we were intended for, how the body of Christ can actually function in the way God designed it. It made me desire more of Jesus, it made me want to be closer to my Father who will correct me with such value and love and tenderness.

All this and the day was still not over...
We then hugged and prayed over Amos and Tabitha, and walked on to the next home where we would spend the remainder of the evening. We next met Grace, she had to be a little younger than me, with her 7 year old son Marvin and husband James. Grace is HIV positive and in the program now. Grace opened up her home and we sat in perfect plastic lawn chairs on the dirt floor of her home together and cut vegetables, laughed, sang, and prepared dinner together. Grace taught us how to make chipati, Reese kneaded the dough and we all took turns rolling it out into tortilla shapes as they laughed at our meager attempts and faulty rolling abilities.

 There is something about just being in the home together, sharing stories, learning about their culture, that bridges every gap of difference between Grace and I. Truth is, Grace is HIV+, living in a dirt floor home, desiring desperately to get pregnant again. Here I am, an American, Grace's home was a little bigger than my bathroom, I am healthy, I don't really "want" for anything of value. But in that moment we were the same. Moms of 7 year olds, daughters of God, laughing about the way I cut vegetables and couldn't roll out dough. Listening to her praise as we sang Amazing grace as we rolled out dough and cut carrots. In that moment we were just both daughters of God in need of Him more than anything else. The ground is level at the cross. I don't see myself as better than Grace, or having more than her. If anything, she has more than me. A dependence on God I have not known. An intimacy with him I long for. A hope and a freedom that I want to feel more tangibly.  Those moments are so holy and dear to me. As we prepared dinner, the kids were running off together, at some points I didn't even know where they were. At one point, Reese was teaching Marvin how to take a selfie on my phone, they laughed as she tried to get him to make a silly face or smile for his picture.

Another moment, I found Reese trying successfully to build a fire with some of the boys that lived nearby and climbing piles of rocks and just being kids. Again, level ground at the cross. Community done right is such a picture of Jesus. We dined together and laughed as we sopped up the stew with our imperfect chipati Grace had entrusted to us. There were 10 of us crammed in the room, some standing, some on the floor, all around the bowl of stew and pile of bread. Jesus was palpable in the room. We finished the meal and shared a thank you gift with Grace and her family we had brought for letting us in her home. She pulled the fleece blanket out of the bag and covered her face as she cried. She took out the spatula and ladel with such excitement. She then found the box of dial soap and sniffed it in as if it were the finest perfume with the biggest smile on her face. We told her to look in for the last thing, special scented soap especially for her. In a beautiful tin container was some sort of jasmine soap and you could see the value she felt as she opened it and smelled it. It was not the americans who gave the gift. It was Jesus, reminding her of her beauty, her immense value. Her identity is not a poverty stricken woman with AIDS, she is a daughter of God, a treasure of priceless worth. I pray (and I think) she felt it that moment.
We asked how we could pray for her and she is asking God for a child. She also asked God for chickens. We prayed for her, Marvin and James, her infertility, and her desire to provide for her family, and the night was over.
A beautifully exhausting day seeing the face of Jesus so clearly.

Day 3 part 1: Uhuru school, Uhuru farms, and Jikaze

Monday morning we headed on a journey over the Rift Valley to visit another ministry called Uhuru. 

Through connections at church and friends here in RDU we were made aware of Uhuru Child. Uhuru (which means freedom in Swahili) was developed out of a need seen. From post election violence in 2007 a tribe was burned out of their homes, forced out of their villages. They settled on some land in a place near the Rift Valley called jikaze. I believe it means hard work. These people put up tent villages and were starving and barely surviving. Uhuru came in and set up sustainable businesses for these people to regain dignity and be able to work the land and make money and be able to send their children to school. They put up greenhouses and the people there grow lettuce and tomatoes to sell in the city.

They've seen such growth over the last few years and have since started a girls high school. In Kenya primary schools are funded and provided by the government. There are many. Once the children pass primary options diminish. Government doesn't fund high schools. There are far fewer and all are private with exorbitant fees that the lower class cannot afford. The lettuce sales provide scholarships for girls of jikaze to go to high school as well as quality education that attracts girls from wealthier families in Nairobi to offset the cost for other sponsored students.

The school is run so differently than other high schools. Critical thinking, leadership training, intense spiritual discipleship. These girls are getting the best education and opportunity to make a difference in their community!

We also met a lady, whose name slips my mind, while walking through jikaze. They've now built mud homes and are no longer in tents. But this girl, maybe 19, is paralyzed from being dropped as a child. When the violence broke out in 2007 they had to literally flee running. Her mother had to carry her teenage daughter over her shoulders as they ran from their home and traveled for miles to a safe place. This girl was full of grace and joy. She was a beautiful sight.

We also visited their chicken farm, which was a kid favorite, where the people of Jikaze raise chicks for a Kenyan poultry provider and provide jobs and income for jikaze people. Reese was ready to take a few home.

Another highlight in Jikaze was meeting a shepherd boy named Joseph. We had brought two soccer balls with us and bumped into him in jikaze as he was grazing his fathers goats. We threw him one of the balls and he was so excited. He couldn't have been more than 12 walking miles to graze his families herd through the hills of the Rift Valley. His independence, responsibility, humility, joy and excitement was striking and refreshing.

As we walked off I turned to see Joseph one more time as he walked away and caught this amazing moment. 

Matthew 7:11  If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!

Day 1: Paradise lost and Ruiru vbs

We eased our way into the trip with a free morning. We had our sweet driver, Martin, take us to a place called paradise lost. It was just a few minutes from where we were staying and ended up being the perfect opener for the trip. We walked the coffee farms, watched some locals play a soccer game, tried to feed some donkeys and camels and walked down to a waterfall there.
You could walk behind the waterfall into some caves. The guide was telling us in the war in the 60s hundreds of people would hide in these caves from rebel attack. I cannot imagine hundreds of people piled in these caves, at some points ducking and squeezing through to get to the next opening to wait it out in the pitch black, hungry and afraid. The beauty juxtaposed with the pain always rocks me.

We picnicked and discussed getting our hearts and attitudes ready for the trip and what our hopes and prayers were for the week. It was a restful and recharging morning after a long 20 hour journey.

Then we headed straight to Ruiru, a lower income suburb of Nairobi. The church VBS was expecting 100-125 kids and 200+ showed up. Chasing our van in with excited waves and bangs on the window. At first I could see the discomfort in Reese as she realized that these kids were going to storm her once we got out of this van. It was awesome to see her stretch out of her comfort zone as her shyness began to melt away after a few minutes as they rubbed her hair and kept saying soft! And scratched at her skin as if maybe the white was just painted over someone who resembled themselves underneath.

She finally broke out of her shell after the lesson and grabbed a jump rope and got in with the girls. We got some hand games going in a round and there was laughter and exchanged lessons in different songs and languages.

 I pulled a few girls aside as we played and spoke with them about their family situations, who they knew Jesus to be, and what they enjoy doing. The strength of the children is probably what amazes me most. Some orphans living with grandparents, some abused at home, some with scars all over their body from who knows what, some who's parents have AIDS, etc.

They rarely tell their stories looking for pity but instead tell them just as their story, that they find enjoyment in school, washing dishes, taking care of siblings. I asked a girl named Janice about who Jesus was to her. "The one who died on the cross". Yes. For you Janice. She told me how she talked to him throughout the day when things are hard and when things are good. Then back to jump roping and racing relays. It was soon time to go. I think it always surprises me how resilient my own kids are too. I remember taking Reese and Wheeler to Brazil and seeing them jump right in to a camp that was with kids not speaking their language in a country they weren't familiar with. I can push them far more than I do and they are not bound my the obstacles I am. They can adapt, adjust and jump in. Skin color, language, culture is far less of a barrier for them than it used to be for me. It blesses my heart more than anything else to see my kids embrace other cultures, people who have far bigger struggles then they could ever comprehend, and remind them of childhood, laughter, just being a kid. It was a beautiful day.