A Lesson from Bananas

If any of you knew my Papa you might say that he was strong, stubborn, stoic. A real man’s man. He was fiercely protective of his family and worked hard to provide for them with everything they needed. He enjoyed life and although he was in a wheelchair for the latter part of his life, he was on the go more than anyone you ever met. Who else do you know that would go for a ride around the neighborhood in his wheelchair in the middle of an ice storm just because he refused to be cooped up in the house any longer? You might even say that he was a man that you never wanted to make angry. Take it from the girl who would burst into tears at the thought of being told on to him for misbehaving (although I never actually heard him raise his voice at me, let alone give me any real form of discipline), he was a very intimidating man.

But if you were to ask me what the single most descriptive term I could think of for my Papa would be, I would say that he was kind. This headstrong, stubborn manly man is the key to my very first memories of learning what it means to show kindness to others.

Growing up everyone knew that my Papa adored his granddaughters. People tell me all the time about how they remember him riding around the neighborhood showing my sister and I off tucked securely in his newspaper bag on his lap. And seeing as how he was friends with all of our neighbors, we made plenty of stops along our route. It seemed as though my Papa never met a stranger.

One of my fondest memories of my Papa was when I would go to the nursing home with him to visit either my great grandma or grandpa. It’s common knowledge that for many people a nursing home can be a sad and lonely place. Often times, people are dropped off and are visited seldomly by family members. My Papa was not this type of family member. He visited every single day, rain or shine. However, he didn’t just visit his own family. The man knew just about everyone in that nursing home by name. It would take us forever to make it to our family member’s room just because he had to stop and talk to people. My favorite stop to take with my Papa was to Mr. Roger’s room. I never saw any of Mr. Roger’s family come visit. He would usually just be sitting in his chair looking out the window. Every time we would stop in his room my Papa would sit and chat with him for a while and before we would leave, he would reach into his bag and pull out a couple of bananas and hand them to Mr. Roger. They were his favorite.

This is the first distinct act of kindness I can remember. It was the first time I had seen someone go out of his way to show love to another. This story may seem trivial to you, but it has paved the way for knowing what kind of person I would like to be.

It’s what got me here.

My name is Kaci. I am 21 years old. I am a girl.

This is Thaban. He is five years old. He loves to be held and to play. His eyes sparkle when he smiles, and so many of us on our team have fallen completely in love with him. Thaban can't speak. We are told that he does not swallow properly. Because of this, Thaban constantly has a tremendous amount of drool dripping out of his mouth and caked all over his clothes. Thaban teaches me how incredibly selfish I can be. It's often so hard to pick Thaban up when you are hot, soaked with sweat, and the last thing you want to do is have drool all over your clothes, hands, and hair. I have to say that God is definitely using this sweet little boy to show me what it means to die to myself daily. He constantly reminds me of what I must look like in comparison to God. If I could only see how I really look in relation to God, I would see so many similarities that I share with Thaban. How many times do I run to God with open arms, filthy and smelly in my humanity, and every single time God bends down, lifts me up, craddles me in his arms, and cleans me off? No matter how disgusting I am, God is never afraid that my uncleanliness will diminish his righteousness. I am so thankful for Thaban, and it is my prayer that i will no longer be too selfish to bend down, lift him up, craddle him in my arms, and clean him off.

Your Love is Extravagant

I was listening to this song during our down time the other day and this one line really struck me. I have found in my short time in Swazi that it is virtually impossible to get my hands and feet clean. No matter how many times I make an attempt to wash them, my nails seem to be caked with dirt and there is a stickiness that appears to be permanent. It would seem that our living conditions here are anything BUT extravagant. However, I have recently discovered the real meaning of extravagance. It appears that every time we pray over our day as a team, we ask God to let us be his hands and his feet to minister to his people. I am almost certain that while Jesus was on earth, he must have had filthy hands and feet. He went to the lowliest places and spent time with the dirtiest of people, and yet, he was never offended by their uncleanliness. Here was the very son of God. He was the light of the world, the hope for all of humanity, and he chose to share his extravagance with the most helpless of people. He became unclean so that we could be made pure. During our short time in Swaziland we have had the opportunity to come into contact with so many orphans. They are covered in dust, some have snot and left over food caked on their faces, some are smelly, but all are the beloved children of God. If we really want to be like Jesus, if we want to be his hands and feet, we must be willing to meet the children in their dirtiness. We must be willing to be caked with dust, snot, and odor in order to show them love. So now when I look down at my hands and feet, I don't look at them in disgust. I look at them with awe and wonder that God would use them to bring him glory. By earthly standards my hands and feet may seem to be soiled, but I believe whole heartedly that when God looks at them he smiles. He smiles because they are covered with the extravagance of his love.

Passion

So, it’s been almost an entire year since I’ve last written. It’s one in the morning, I can’t sleep, and maybe some of these thoughts floating around in my head might be worth putting out into the world…

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Passion. In looking up the definition of the word, I came across its origin…

1125–75; ME (< class="ital-inline">passiōn- (s. of passiō ) Christ's sufferings on the cross, any of the Biblical accounts of these (> late OE passiōn ), special use of LL passiō suffering, submission, deriv. of L passus, ptp. of patī to suffer, submit; see -ion.

How incredible?!

What I’ve come to believe is that God created each one of us to be passionate about something, meaning that there is something on this earth that we were MADE for. There is something that when the sheer thought of it makes it way to our minds, makes our hearts go wild.

How often do people go through life without ever having a moment where they can stand before some thing and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that God engraved this thing deep into their hearts, long before they were born? How tragic to miss it.

What an incredible honor and privilege it is that the maker and sustainer of the universe would let us in on the miraculous things he is doing. Even more so, how silly it is that He would use us in all of our brokenness to make beautiful things happen for his Kingdom?

Look back at the origin of the word Passion. Christ’s sufferings on the cross. Sufferings? This means that our Passion is going to cost us something. Perhaps it is our comfort, our security, or even our very lives. However, I think it is safe to say, that the pursuer of the passion would say that the costs to him are nothing compared to the JOY that comes from standing face to face with his passion…to realize his part in this thing that he was created for.

Please believe that you were created to do BIG, BEAUTIFUL, CRAZY things in this world. The very same power that raised Christ from the dead is in you.

"You make beautiful things out of the dust. You make beautiful things out of us."

Swaziland: Take Two

Well, I'm at it again. In just about a month I will be headed back to the place that still holds a piece of my heart from last summer. This time I get to stay for three months! I am so incredibly excited and so incredibly terrified! This time I will be with a group of college students working with a local pastor at different care points to minister to orphans who come our way. We will get to love on them, provide them with food, and help educate them. THAT is the exciting part. The scary part is that the other part of our ministry involves going on home visits to people who are in the last stages of AIDS. I recently read some of the blogs of people who have been on the trip previously and they said that these home visits are extremely difficult, but also extremely rewarding. Basically we will go into the homes of people who are literally on their death beds and do whatever it is that God wants us to do for his precious child. Whether that be to hold their hand, sing a song, or just sit and talk so that they know they are not alone...I am up for the challenge. The scary part is that I have been in that position before...twice actually. I came home from school every day for about 2 months when I was 16 to watch the strongest man I ever knew fight a losing battle with cancer. I know what it is like to stare at someone's chest for hours and pray that I will see it rise and fall with new breath. I know how to tell when death is coming from looking at someone's fingernails. I can also still hear the echo of what the hospice nurses called the "death rattle." My Papa loved me....on the night that he found out his cancer was terminal, his mind was on his girls (my sister and I) I heard a quote once that I feel is applicable to what went on in his mind that night.

"Oh dry the glistening tear that dews that marshal cheek. Thy loving children here in them thy comfort seek. With sympathetic care, their arms around thee creep. For oh they cannot bear to see their father weep." -The Pirates of Penzance

I loved my Papa. He made my world safe...and when he left, the monsters of life came. That is why I am afraid of going on the home visits. I'm going to be face to face with death again. I am going to see its sights, smell its smells, and hear its sounds. But maybe that is it....God allowed me to go through that so that now I can have the courage to go through this. It won't be a foreign thing. God chooses us to be his hands and feet....and with those hands and feet he wants us to tend to his sheep. If God chooses me to be his hands and feet that can bring comfort to those I come into contact with in Swaziland, then that will be an honor that I can never comprehend. We MUST remember that he who is in us is greater than he who is in the world!!!

"...If you only knew the greatness inside you. You must trust me; I will draw out of you what the world needs to see. Here is your gift. Use it wisely..."

Untitled

So... A lot of people have asked me when I plan to update my blog (considering it has been a month since I went on my trip) and truth be told, I honestly didn’t have the nerve to begin to try to put into words all the things that I saw and experienced while on my trip. And if I want to continue to be honest, even now I do not feel as though anything I can write can do justice to the amazing (see, that word even seems so weak) people I met along my journey. Even though I realize the inadequacies of my words, I will try to write about my trip in appreciation to those friends who I met while on my trip, and those who were back here thinking and praying for me along the way…

 

“The highest and best use of anyone’s life is to do exactly what God leads them to do in the places where He leads them to do it.”

 

Let’s go back to the train ride in the Atlanta airport…Picture me terrified and white knuckled, hanging on to a pole surrounded by too many people (which if you know me, you know how I feel about random people touching me). The whole time on that ride I was thinking “God, how am I supposed to find my way around a foreign continent if I don’t even know where I am supposed to go after I get off this train?” Nevertheless, the train stopped and I followed the herd of people to my gate. Standing in line, I had my first “God moment” when I saw two people walking towards the end of the line with our team t-shirts on (Amber and Allen, it was all I could do to stop myself from hugging you). Luckily, someone else, Drew, stopped them and said he would be joining them tomorrow. I quickly thanked Jesus and told them I would be too. Immediately a peace swept over me and I thought, “Ok God, I’m ready to roll.” After a 15 hour plane ride (which yes, sucks just as bad as you think it would) we landed in Johannesburg and Drew was nice enough to let me follow him to the shuttle for our hotel.  I slept a good 9 hours that night and felt great the next morning. That morning our team of about 30 met in the airport in Johannesburg and began our extended trip (it’s a good thing to have a bus that can make it up hills without over heating when you are going up in the mountains) to Bulembu.

 

Let me stop here and just tell you how great of a God we serve. It completely blows my mind that before any of us had even heard of Bulembu, He knew exactly who he wanted to go on this trip and what exactly He wanted to teach us along the way. I must admit that upon first meeting our group in the airport I was extremely skeptical about how this group of people, who were all at different stages in our lives, were supposed to come together and live, learn, and work beside one another. This shows precisely how human I am. As the trip progressed each and every one of the people that were on my team became my heroes. The strength that I saw in my teammates made me push harder, the passion that I saw in my teammates made me feel deeper, and the love that I saw in my teammates made me smile wider. We worked, cried, laughed, learned, and grew together. I truly feel honored to have worked beside these men and women, and I feel even more honored to call these people my friends.

 

You know, before I went to Bulembu I tried to prepare myself for the sadness that I would see. I had in my head that I would come into Bulembu and offer strength to the people there. Little did I know that this town would be the most breathtaking place I had ever set foot on. This is where I have trouble finding the right words to describe just how amazing this little town is. Although we did see our share of heartbreaking things, I was quickly overwhelmed with the joy that filled that place. Never in my life have I seen people’s entire faces light up with a smile quite like the way the faces of the people in that town did. It became quickly evident that few people smile there halfway…and the group of people that had the brightest smiles were the children. These smiles are the things that pop up into my head everyday. On our final night in Bulembu our director asked us to share what we would be taking away from the trip. I knew immediately the answer to this question. I was simply amazed that these children, who have been through so much in their lives, could smile the way they do. The only reason I believe these orphaned children could wear these smiles was because they know that, although they may have no earthly father, they have a heavenly father who loves them dearly and holds them in the palm of his had. He cares for them and knows each one of them by name…and if the children of Bulembu know that God cares for them, then I can know that God cares for me too. It is almost funny to think that I thought I was going to be the one giving the orphans strength when really they were the ones who lifted my spirit. Now it is my prayer that one day I will be able to smile the way the people of Bulembu do. When we started off the week we were challenged to take a piece of Bulembu with us when we left, but we were also asked to leave a little piece of ourselves there. At the time we were asked, I wasn’t quite sure what was being asked of me. I mean, sure I was going to help build some playgrounds and play with the kids, but I wasn’t quite sure what they meant when they asked us to leave a piece of ourselves there. I later found out that God was going to take care of that. He took a piece of my heart and gave it to Bulembu…and even if I can’t express to you all I would like to about my trip, I can tell you with certainty that in the short time that I was there, I fell madly in love with that little town in Africa. J

8,437 miles

A few nights ago as I was trying to go to sleep, it finally hit me. The realization that in a week I would be traveling 8,437 miles (and 7 hours into the future) to a foreign country, BY MYSELF. I'm not going to lie, a major panic did come rising to the surface, but it eventually resigned to a more bearable feeling of anxiousness coupled with excitement. I must say it is an odd feeling to come to realize that you are sitting right on the cusp of a dream coming true. For years I have had the heartfelt desire to go to Africa, and it was faith that kept that dream alive. To believe that I, something so small, could cross an ocean so big, and be a part of something so marvelous, is a miracle in itself.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true”

The day after the I had come to my somewhat scary realization, another realization came to me. It came right after I splashed water on my face at the pool to cool myself down from the heat. After I wiped the water from my eyes, I became overwhelmed by the thought that, yes, everything was going to be okay. The very same thought that I hated so much hearing from other people, was the the thought that suddenly became the equivalent of cool water to my scorching soul. Although the strength of that thought has since faded, the sheer intensity of it in the instant that it came washing over me left an imprint right where it stood. And even if I can't think that thought at this moment or in moments to come, I can feel the imprint and be reminded of its truth. After all, the thought may not have been my own. Perhaps it was the very whisper of God, who spoke when I least expected it, but at the very moment when my desperate soul was finally able to hear.