It’s been two weeks to the day since we returned from South Africa. I have been trying so hard to eloquently describe what the trip has been…what it has meant to me…and I feel as though I have failed. Because you and I both know that the experience is beyond comprehension, let alone articulation. But I feel as though I must try…so I did…and while this is incomplete and a mere watermark, I hope it brings you some joy and clarity, and ultimately gives glory to our Daddy.
“You should come to Africa!” Stephanie had squealed. “You should totally come, it would be AMAZING! Applications are due soon, so you should fill one out.” I smiled at her and in my polite way and said, “Maybe!” all the while knowing that there was no way under heaven that I would go to Africa.
I still don’t know how I ended up packing my bags on March 13th, hands shaking in angst, passport in tow, and malaria medication prevalent in my system. I just know that it was God. Because I had completely dismissed the thought, discarded it on a pile of disposed opportunities. But for some reason, God didn’t let this one go. He picked it up, dusted it off, and handed it back to me in the form of a chapel announcement the day before Thanksgiving: “South Africa trip needs a guitar player…we’ll take pretty much anyone.” My heart faltered. And I knew. I just knew that I had to go. I begrudgingly grabbed the opportunity in God’s outstretched hand and bit my lip and asked him, “Do you know what you’re doing?” He just pat me on the head, shot down every excuse in my mind, and sent me to Blair. Because for some unknowable reason, God wanted me there.
And that was the only thought I took refuge in. My mind would sprint in a billion different paths…what if my team members hate me, what if the plane has to make an emergency landing, what if I get raped while I’m in Africa, what if the ministry flops, what if…
There is something beautiful about the shattering of expectations. Before I left for Africa, I formed a little glass box, filling it with doubts and desires, but mostly doubts, clamping it closed with the unknown, fearfully holding it in pensive hands, praying only that it would survive, or, rather, that I would survive.
But God kindly took my box and hurled it against the ground. I looked up in alarm to see ten other faces standing around me, staring at the rainbow of fragments that now lay in the African dirt. You see, we each had our own glass cage. And each of us surrendered those fragile expectations over to Him.
God crouched down and picked up the shards of glass one-by-one. He dipped them into life and tears and laughter and purpose and community. And with great care, he constructed a mosaic of stained glass that illuminated in his light, each piece unique and deliberate, fused together by His love and will. And I see now how much more breathtakingly beautiful we are after we had been broken and reshaped together.
Africa.
Africa is every color imaginable in their richest forms. Nothing is pale, nothing is pure; it is all warm and deep with character. It is sunsets that are splashed in the sky in rose and tangerine, promising God’s protection through its immaculate light show. It’s the cacophony of the hues of the trash being nibbled on by goats that meander slowly through the streets. It’s the vibrant colors of the tin buildings and the laundry being hung outside and the people themselves.
It’s the feeling of dirty, wiry fingers working through my hair and the unintelligible crooning that accompanied it. It’s soft, unblemished chocolate skin of the children that are still bathed in innocence, and the laughter that bubbles out of them when I mispronounce Tswana words. It’s the hands that stroke my pathetically pale arm, and the pressing of my palm between theirs, a double-stuffed Oreo of delight.
It’s the feeling of rhythm, the rhythm of life and the spirit that pulses through our veins as we dance unashamedly before God and each other. It’s the movement of a generation towards a life that follows Christ against a pounding current of moral destruction. It’s the warm light that permeates from their souls, the light of hope that beckons others to come and see.
It’s the sounds of hearty voices singing, voices of velvet and rubies. It’s the sound of the breeze whipping our hair as we drive down the left side of the street under Vince’s steady control. And the sound of laughter spilling out unchecked as we face each other around plastic tables. It’s the sound of prayers lifting up together, various languages intertwining, crafted into a weaving of thanksgiving to our God and the cries of a people that are desperate for Him.
Africa turned my life, our lives, upside-down. Instead of pleading for survival, I cried out to God what a blessing it is to truly LIVE.
Because we discovered a glimpse of what we were made for. We came with the leeches of dissatisfaction and complacency and we didn’t even know that they were sucking the life out of us. It was there, in that beautiful place of rolling hills and simplicity and fellowship, that the burdens fell and we found ourselves naked and unashamed in spirit. And God filled us.
How I wish you could have experienced the joy we felt there, could have contributed to the conversations that were had deep into the night, could have laughed with us as we feasted in each others’ presence.
Because it was there that we felt genuine community. We had been told it existed, but none of us had truly discovered it to its fullest potential, so we passed it off as urban legend or a hope for heaven. But…it exists. We found it. God revealed it to us, and we’re still so stunned that we don’t quite know what to do with it. The only thing we know is that we are hopelessly addicted to it.
And I am beginning to wonder…is it the place that did it? No. Was it the people? Not exclusively.
Africa isn’t life. God is life. Africa is just the place where we finally rid ourselves of distractions, of prejudices, of fear and allowed God to seize us, embrace us, and whirl us around in his arms and teach us how to truly live through loving him and loving others.
Often when the Morutis talked with the people, they noted, “There is no black, there is no white, there is only God’s children.” The Body of Christ is beautiful…so beautiful… He created it so rich with diversity that we ought to rejoice in it always. Praise God that my weaknesses are your strengths, because you see, now, how I am created to depend on you? I am so grateful for all of the times that my mind was stretched and strengthened by the mere existence of others who are unlike me. How much you have taught me, how much you have influenced me, how much you have come along side of me…
And yet the blood of Christ is so unifying…it transcends borders, culture, personalities, and preferences and draws us all together…and it is in Him that we can love each other not for what we can get from each other, but simply for who you are as our brothers and sisters in Christ. How beautiful...
I don’t know why I doubt God. I wish I didn’t. He continually reveals himself in his goodness and faithfulness to me, and I weep at the realization. There was no reason why I ought to have been blessed by this trip. I remember asking God to do whatever he wanted with me because I know how incapable I am of doing anything myself. And he took my stupid, stupid self…broke me…and recreated me so that I may become a part of a stained-glass masterpiece. I cannot understand it. I don’t know why he chose to bless me, I don’t know why he wanted me to go, and I may never know how he attained glory through my being there. But I do know this: I am greatly humbled and grateful more than words can say.
And I know that you all, you other parts of that kaleidoscope window, know how I feel. I don’t need to fumble in my purse for appropriate words to hand out; I can just look at you and see the love and understanding in your eyes. And when I wake up and wonder if I have dreamt it, I see your face and I see the wisdom and light of God in there and I know that we really did experience heaven on earth. And I know that we can close our eyes and sing together, “One love, one heart, give thanks unto the Lord and everything will be all right.”
And everything will be all right…
Beloved team members: Amanda, Blair, Chris, Drew, Ian, Jenni, Lesly, Kim, Lauren, Steph…
“I wish you could put your ear up to my heart and hear how much I love you” (Mineral). I cannot say how often I feel moved to tears when I think about you all. I have such an appreciation for each of you, one that I cannot express adequately in words. But know that I am so inspired by seeing the work of God in you, by seeing each of your beautiful, beautiful people interact with others and have the blessing of existing and experiencing this with you… Each of you has impacted me deeply and I have learned so much from each of you. I can’t thank you enough for opening your hearts to me and allowing me to continue to love you. You are my family.
Oh, dear Father.... We are so unworthy of your blessings. We are so unworthy of life.
And yet you give, and you give, and you give…and you take, and you take, and you take. But you are still so, so good…
Beloved, we still must turn our eyes to him, for it is only through him that we can be fully satisfied, that we can fully experience life. Let us not forget what we have learned, seen, and experienced, but let’s also not forget that God is God there and here. And he has a vision for us that we cannot know or understand…all he wants is for us to follow him, and love along the way.
South Africa 2009…Soli Deo Gloria.
