can you hear Him? I just wanted to jump on here quickly to celebrate how He whispers sweet nothing's into my ear when I need to hear Him most and I fall head over heals in love with this God of ours in brand new fashion each morning.
I've been struggling again as of late and obviously as you've all witnessed too busy to tend to my blogging and my African heart. I look at my African heart placed on the shelf, as the dust collects so do the tears, for I'd rather my heart beats for Africa than for American chaos most days. I have one of the most important stories of our entire journey to share next and I'm procrastinating again, until I can find a silent moment to revel in the memories and be consumed by emotions. I want most of all for this blog to do justice to the one blessings that God used to gloriously ruin my heart and kick start my passion for ministering to Rwanda's beautifully precious people. Time is short these days both at home & work so I haven't had a still moment in many weeks. But I will share soon....for now, I give you this preview and hopefully by the end of this week you'll know just how precious this answered prayer is to me.
On my journey into work this morning I was feeling bogged down, carrying a heavy load of unnecessary garbage again and feeling the exhaustion that comes along with trying to fight the good fight all on my own. So I told myself on my extended morning commute (which I had been previously GRIPING about for the past week thanks to construction delays) that maybe God is giving me extra time to call on Him each morning and realize I'm not supposed to be fighting the good fight ~ ON MY OWN, darn control issues! Now that my commute extended from 20 minutes to 45 minutes, I finally gave way to my stubbornness and welcomed this revelation on this morning's drive. When I jumped in the car this AM crabby, late, rushing and in a complete fluster I told myself to stop in for a hot chocolate and demanded I learn to enjoy this 45 minutes instead of racing in frustration like all last week. See for a busy fool like myself, often my car ride to & from work is the ONLY time I dedicate to Jesus, singing, praying, rambling on and on, whining, whatever...just good ole Maria + Jesus time...no cell phone, no garbage news, no kiddies hollering, no distractions. This time has grown more & more precious to me every day and on days when life is so busy I can barely catch my breath ~ I live for quiet moments in the car that can not be avoided no matter how crazy my day is...it still takes at least "20 minutes" to drive from point A to point B when you live in Buckman.
These days I've been struggling to find that connection and that dedicated time just for God ~ I long to feel the intensity and beauty of knowing God is with me always and feel His touch on my life in magical butterflies in my belly kind of ways. Today I put my foot down on my pesimitic attitude and said "Maybe God is giving you extra time to call on Him since you so obviously need it to work outta this funk you have going on, girl!"....and on my way to work this AM it took me all 45 of those minutes to get to my "good place" and stomp out the negativity that was ruling my mind. Once I reached that good place a thought crossed my mind and I pondered the ultimate gift I could receive from God this morning and as the thought came to me my heart instantly giggled with delight; I dreamed of an email from my Rwandan friend Jean Claude who I have not heard from in 2 weeks. I thought, if only I could hear from him, I could drift back to Rwanda again and God can help prepare me for my big, big, big Rwandan presentation to our Sunday School kids coming this week and my ever-so-important blog post about Jean Claude and his amazing life.
Know what I found this morning when I checked my email, an answered prayer! A greeting from Jean Claude, yet another amazing Rwandan soul that has changed me from the inside out. He cherishes me(and my family) as if I hold the world in my hands while ministering in the tiny, little, very miniscule ways I can to him and his "Best Family" back in Rwanda. Little does he know how he truly ministers TO ME with each beautiful, prayerful, simplistic, scripture filled, broken-english, God sent email. There's not one single doubt God uses Jean Claude and "The Best Family" to nourish my soul just as he's using me, Donny and our family to nourish their kindred souls. It's quite the beautiful woven thread of hearts, homes, families and faith when God stands in the gap.
Our latest correspondence was Jean Claude asking to know more about my family so His prayers could certainly include my WHOLE family. (These Rwandan's are PRAYER WARRIORS let me tell you!) So two weeks ago I shared my family dynamics in Rwandan fashion ~ including my parents, siblings, in-laws, grandparents and of course precious two boys. I sent pictures of Boston and Zach as Jean Claude eagerly requested I share photos. His response today was sharing more information about his own family:
Here I send you the pictures of my mother, my young brother(Adolfe) and I. Another of some of my Best Family children. Adolfe was very happy to see his brothers(Boston and Zach). Greet them, adolfe said.
And in a second email shortly thereafter he began with this:
How are your PARENTS and Adolphe's brothers(Boston and Zach) and your church family and the children of your church? my GOD leads their life as I wish deeply! and we greet them so much. Adolfe was very happy to know you (I explain to him). Greet his brothers and the children of your church. adolfe said.
And my heart danced because of this answered prayer ~ the best possible medicine I could've received God delivered a mighty dose just in time!! I am blessed!
Soon you will know all about Jean Claude, this "Best Family" I speak of and how God used them to gloriously ruin me!! Soon!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Mr. Dimples
This entry is a hard one for me to write, so I have been procrastinating. Mostly because I’ve come to a place of exhaustive grief and my heart is building up walls of protection against my painful memories putting distance between my heart and this unparalleled day that took place in Rwanda. A day that haunts me every moment of my existence, if I don’t purposely shut it out. So it takes a lot of strength for me to willingly go back here now to share this with you all.
We began our Saturday morning, July 12th, by visiting the Mother Teresa Orphanage in Kigali, Rwanda. We were under the impression this was a very hard place to receive an invitation from so only 2 or 3 of us were going to “tour” and the rest would wait outside. As I prepared to wait outside, I decided to capture some of these great images around us:
Since I felt I had no personal ties to Rwanda, I declined the opportunity to give others a chance that had deep desires to experience this orphanage. As we arrived at the entrance of the Mother Teresa Home to our complete surprise the Sister invited us ALL to come in. Here was a divine appointment unfolding before my eyes and I didn’t have any clue at that moment, when I stepped inside their steel door that this single experience would be THE ONE that would totally annihilate my tiny world, devastate my naive heart and completely break me. Mostly because I wouldn’t know this until I had to leave Rwanda and even-more-so when I returned home.
We were informed we would not be visiting the tiny babies in the nursery for fear of germs, so we marched down the cold, dark, cement hall following our ‘tour guide’. The first room we were ushered into was the infant room where all the babies from about 6 months – 12 months slept. My eyes instantly wanted to shrink back into my skull, my lids wanted to slam shut and not look, it hurt to see so many indescribable sullen expressions, desolate eyes, heartache and pain plastered across their dirty little faces, these were babies with no smiles. The room was overloaded with tiny iron cribs shoved in as tightly as possible reminiscent of a child’s prison, up to 4 sweet babies crowded into each 2’ x 3’ rusty, iron crib. It took all the power I had inside not to lose my composure and just weep from heartache so profound it stung my heart with each beat like a hornet’s piercing stinger. I was overwhelmed and unprepared to witness what devastation was staring back at me, so I did the only thing I could do. I started at the first crib and began to pick up every lifeless baby body and hold each one trying to pour out this love from my heart so they could at least for a moment be cuddled, nurtured, treasured, cherished and loved like God had intended when He created their beautiful lives. When I reached the 4th crib or so, I immediately connected with an amazing face. A sparkling glimmer in his infinite brown eyes reached right out and grabbed my undivided attention. He reached up to me (as every child did ~ desperate to be chosen for a moment of love, desperate to be held) and I picked his chubby little body up and I was greeted with a warm magnetic SMILE. I have no clue what his actual age is but he was comparable to the size of my own sweet baby Boston, around 6-8 months old would be my guess for American standards (so he was probably over a year old). He had the brightest smile that could drown you in happiness just from a shared grin. He had the most indescribably captivating dimples that pierced his chubby cheeks with perfection and lured my heart in like a baited fishing line. Beyond his physical beauty that was mesmerizing me, was his unspeakable charisma that truly did me in. I gave my naïve heart to Mr. Dimples and I spent every remaining second I had basking in my love affair with this sweet little man. I could not bare to break away from him. All I have of my sweet child is the memories he gave me of his gorgeous smile and raspy giggle. Images of him mimicking my movements as I shook my head in a ridiculous fashion making silly noises ~ he instantly copied my head shake back & forth as if we were saying “no no” to each other. I blew raspberries on his cheek and he wiggled with delight in my arms. He carefully inspected my lips as they were puckered up ready for another raspberry attack. His tiny fingers would run across my lips so softly then he’s burst out in anxious giggles flashing those to-die-for dimples again, yanking on my heartstrings with all his might. He caressed my cheek with tenderness. He held my finger tightly as if to assure me never to let him go as we interacted with one another. He would gracefully shift from a pondering gaze inspecting every ounce of me to a spontaneous smile stretching from ear to ear in which his eyes would just radiate with joy. He embraced me with the same love my own sweet baby would. I barely had the strength to let him go and I didn’t know I’d give my heart away to a sweet chubby devilishly handsome dimpled little man at the Mother Teresa home in Kigali, Rwanda ~ that was never in my ‘plan’. Still, in this moment, I didn’t know I had completely abandoned my heart and left it behind in his cramped little crib for him to keep, I didn’t realize this in its entirety until it was too late. I fought to hold back my tears and a few slipped by me as our time together came to an end. We were quickly ushered out of the baby room as it was time for naps. I ache from a place so deep I can’t find words to describe it nor the physical ability to stop it when I remember the only moments I had with Dimples.
The Sister hosting our tour wanted us to ‘move on’ to spend some time with the older toddlers that were just outside the doors enjoying some play time on the cement slab. These children were all of “walking age”, I’d guess from 2-5 years old. The moment we stepped foot out the doors a stampede of desperately abandoned children erupted. I have never experienced anything similar to this physical of an encounter with the heartache of an emotionally neglected life. The children clung onto us as if their grasp was for dear life and they refused to let go at any cost. I was holding a child in each arm, while I had one clinging to each leg crying out to me to be held too. I can tell you the heart of any human sinks into depression in the face of such a massive tragedy, but the heart of a mother is trampled beneath the feet of these desperate souls as they stampede upon you aching for attention. I lost my mind when trying to fathom how I could truly love each one of these children as they needed to be loved in the mere minutes I had to do this. The kind of love and affection, attention, compassion and relationship they were grasping for at any cost, was beyond my capability and it broke my heart. I tried to be as equal as possible reaching to hold every single dirty, clingy, crying, urine soaked little body I could possibly pick up. Two little boys caught my attention as they desperately gripped each other shrieking in terror. I sought out Nyanja for help thinking these poor boys must have been scared to death of white people. I asked Nyanja to try to sooth them, as she approached them they screamed with fright and cried even louder from utter terror. They held onto one another so tightly, it was the absolute most heart wrenching sight to see two innocent babes ranging from 2-3 years old absolutely frozen from fear and knowing there was no way to ease their painful terror. Nyanja asked the Sister about the two boys and she shared that they had just been “found” a week or two prior to our visit and they spent all their time clutching one another and crying EVERY SINGLE DAY since their arrival. My heart just sank, falling onto the cement floor and breaking in agony. Before long it was time for us to move beyond this section of our “tour” and we were forced to part ways with the children. This was not an easy task. The children instantly knew we were leaving and they all flocked to us, I had about 5-6 trying to climb onto me all of them frantically crying, gripping my arms, legs, clothes whatever they could hold and refusing to let go. I pried them off of me best I could while trying not to lose my composure. It was my deepest heart ache in this moment to push these children away, peel them off me, pry their fingers away from my clothes and leave them behind physically denying them of their pleas for love and affection. I was not strong enough emotionally or physically to accomplish this and I ended up asking for help from the Sisters to take the children off me. It was simply too hard.
Next we were led down some cement stairs into an area where the mentally ill, physically handicapped and elderly were all grouped together eating lunch. It was an indescribably hard sight for me to articulate with words. I’m choosing not to indulge any further on this portion as it mostly just made me uncomfortable to see human lives treated with less dignity than our pets. It was nearly the breaking point for me inside the walls of this Mother Teresa home to take in all of this at once.
As our visit was coming to an end I had the chance to engage in a conversation with the Sister and Nyanja and for the first time I learned that the children here WERE adoptable. I presumed they were not and just thought that to be a fact of all Mother Teresa Orphanages. Instantly my heart skipped a beat as my lil Dimples raced through my mind like a spinning record. I wanted so badly to find out more about him, realizing I never EVEN ASKED HIS NAME, so I had no way to inquire about whether he was adoptable or not. I wrestled with my mind and my heart thinking I should demand to know more about my baby and yet I told myself not to let my heart get ahead of me. I had not spoken to Donny about the possibility of adoption, I thought for certain my next child would be a little girl, I thought I never had an interest in adopting from Rwanda and I surely didn’t want to give false hope of future adoption interest to this Sister when in fact I had no clue what was going on inside this tornado in my brain. YET, it bothered me deeply that I didn’t know anything about Mr. Dimples and he was just feet away from me inside the building napping!! If only I could TURN BACK TIME! I told Nyanja I wanted to ask about the baby I held when we first arrived, I asked if I could go back and show the sister which baby I was speaking of to learn more about him ~ at the very least I need his name. I don’t know if Nyanja didn’t translate my URGENCY or what happened but the conversation was blown off, we were escorted out the door and I just sat back passively and let that be the end of it. As if that was my “no” and I could go about my way content in the fact that “I tried” and it just “wasn’t possible”.
When I came home and held my baby Boston in my arms is when it truly hit me with full force as to what I had done ~ or “not” done for that matter. While in Rwanda I rationalized in my mind that I fell for Mr. Dimples because the way he looked at me reminded me of my own baby at home. Whereas I told you many weeks ago when I posted the video of the song about Rwanda; the line from that song splashes my pain all over the floor like spilt milk:
“I saw my son in a little boy's eyes”
What you don’t understand though is that those words ring true for me in all possible context. When I came home and looked into Boston’s eyes I seen Mr. Dimples staring back at me. Within days of being home Boston began to learn the same mimicking trick of shaking his head “no” and I immediately lost my composure as I cried in pain over Mr. Dimples. As I rock Boston to sleep at night and he touches my lips with the same tenderness of Mr. Dimples, I silently weep, my heart aches at the realization of the fact that was MY baby in Rwanda. Just as God led me to Zachary and Boston, my two sons ~ He led me to Mr. Dimples. It explains why my baby’s remind me of one another, for they are both meant to be my children ~ a mother always recognizes her own child’s eyes. God was calling to me and I was ignoring him, my brain was fighting my heart and my heart lost. So now I’m faced with another lesson that God has graciously helped me embrace. The grief of a mother who had to leave her child behind. In essence I have come to terms with this grief as best I can and realize I have been given a rare opportunity to see through the eyes of a birthmother. Which in all honesty is how God took my disobedience and turned it into a gift. I have learned to love my two sons at a different depth and honor their birthparents much higher than I already was because I see and share their pain to some degree. I grieve the loss of Mr. Dimples every day, not one day goes by he doesn’t find his way into my memory. It’s a loss that I chose to have and so I wrestle with the emotions that come as a consequence of a hard decision. A choice I felt I had no other option in making. Now I can love my two children knowing and feeling the sacrifice that was made for me to be gifted the role of motherhood. I no longer have to imagine their birthmother’s pain, for a moment in time I shared the shoes of a mother who had to say goodbye to her child even though her heart cried out in love to keep him close. Don’t think for one second I don’t fantasize about returning to Rwanda to find my dimply man as I know without doubt I will recognize his eyes if ever I’m gifted the opportunity to see him again. This wish upon a star dream is what keeps my hope alive and prevents my grief from consuming me. I find solace in praying to our Lord for a second chance and I await for God to open the doors and let this miracle unfold. In reality I know it would take an all out miracle by the hand of God for us to find Mr. Dimples. Yet, I reminisce about the miracles that have already unfolded in my life leading me to my sons Zachary and Boston and I have faith that anything is possible. So I’m left with my pain, grief and heartache over the child I lost, but I’m also left with my gratitude, humility and honor for the children I have been gifted. I don’t truly know how to end this post because I sincerely hope this story doesn’t end here, I hope one day to finish this memory with the miracle that Mr. Dimples deserves to have ~ a family, our family. So until God speaks, this story is “to be continued”.
We began our Saturday morning, July 12th, by visiting the Mother Teresa Orphanage in Kigali, Rwanda. We were under the impression this was a very hard place to receive an invitation from so only 2 or 3 of us were going to “tour” and the rest would wait outside. As I prepared to wait outside, I decided to capture some of these great images around us:
Since I felt I had no personal ties to Rwanda, I declined the opportunity to give others a chance that had deep desires to experience this orphanage. As we arrived at the entrance of the Mother Teresa Home to our complete surprise the Sister invited us ALL to come in. Here was a divine appointment unfolding before my eyes and I didn’t have any clue at that moment, when I stepped inside their steel door that this single experience would be THE ONE that would totally annihilate my tiny world, devastate my naive heart and completely break me. Mostly because I wouldn’t know this until I had to leave Rwanda and even-more-so when I returned home.
We were informed we would not be visiting the tiny babies in the nursery for fear of germs, so we marched down the cold, dark, cement hall following our ‘tour guide’. The first room we were ushered into was the infant room where all the babies from about 6 months – 12 months slept. My eyes instantly wanted to shrink back into my skull, my lids wanted to slam shut and not look, it hurt to see so many indescribable sullen expressions, desolate eyes, heartache and pain plastered across their dirty little faces, these were babies with no smiles. The room was overloaded with tiny iron cribs shoved in as tightly as possible reminiscent of a child’s prison, up to 4 sweet babies crowded into each 2’ x 3’ rusty, iron crib. It took all the power I had inside not to lose my composure and just weep from heartache so profound it stung my heart with each beat like a hornet’s piercing stinger. I was overwhelmed and unprepared to witness what devastation was staring back at me, so I did the only thing I could do. I started at the first crib and began to pick up every lifeless baby body and hold each one trying to pour out this love from my heart so they could at least for a moment be cuddled, nurtured, treasured, cherished and loved like God had intended when He created their beautiful lives. When I reached the 4th crib or so, I immediately connected with an amazing face. A sparkling glimmer in his infinite brown eyes reached right out and grabbed my undivided attention. He reached up to me (as every child did ~ desperate to be chosen for a moment of love, desperate to be held) and I picked his chubby little body up and I was greeted with a warm magnetic SMILE. I have no clue what his actual age is but he was comparable to the size of my own sweet baby Boston, around 6-8 months old would be my guess for American standards (so he was probably over a year old). He had the brightest smile that could drown you in happiness just from a shared grin. He had the most indescribably captivating dimples that pierced his chubby cheeks with perfection and lured my heart in like a baited fishing line. Beyond his physical beauty that was mesmerizing me, was his unspeakable charisma that truly did me in. I gave my naïve heart to Mr. Dimples and I spent every remaining second I had basking in my love affair with this sweet little man. I could not bare to break away from him. All I have of my sweet child is the memories he gave me of his gorgeous smile and raspy giggle. Images of him mimicking my movements as I shook my head in a ridiculous fashion making silly noises ~ he instantly copied my head shake back & forth as if we were saying “no no” to each other. I blew raspberries on his cheek and he wiggled with delight in my arms. He carefully inspected my lips as they were puckered up ready for another raspberry attack. His tiny fingers would run across my lips so softly then he’s burst out in anxious giggles flashing those to-die-for dimples again, yanking on my heartstrings with all his might. He caressed my cheek with tenderness. He held my finger tightly as if to assure me never to let him go as we interacted with one another. He would gracefully shift from a pondering gaze inspecting every ounce of me to a spontaneous smile stretching from ear to ear in which his eyes would just radiate with joy. He embraced me with the same love my own sweet baby would. I barely had the strength to let him go and I didn’t know I’d give my heart away to a sweet chubby devilishly handsome dimpled little man at the Mother Teresa home in Kigali, Rwanda ~ that was never in my ‘plan’. Still, in this moment, I didn’t know I had completely abandoned my heart and left it behind in his cramped little crib for him to keep, I didn’t realize this in its entirety until it was too late. I fought to hold back my tears and a few slipped by me as our time together came to an end. We were quickly ushered out of the baby room as it was time for naps. I ache from a place so deep I can’t find words to describe it nor the physical ability to stop it when I remember the only moments I had with Dimples.
The Sister hosting our tour wanted us to ‘move on’ to spend some time with the older toddlers that were just outside the doors enjoying some play time on the cement slab. These children were all of “walking age”, I’d guess from 2-5 years old. The moment we stepped foot out the doors a stampede of desperately abandoned children erupted. I have never experienced anything similar to this physical of an encounter with the heartache of an emotionally neglected life. The children clung onto us as if their grasp was for dear life and they refused to let go at any cost. I was holding a child in each arm, while I had one clinging to each leg crying out to me to be held too. I can tell you the heart of any human sinks into depression in the face of such a massive tragedy, but the heart of a mother is trampled beneath the feet of these desperate souls as they stampede upon you aching for attention. I lost my mind when trying to fathom how I could truly love each one of these children as they needed to be loved in the mere minutes I had to do this. The kind of love and affection, attention, compassion and relationship they were grasping for at any cost, was beyond my capability and it broke my heart. I tried to be as equal as possible reaching to hold every single dirty, clingy, crying, urine soaked little body I could possibly pick up. Two little boys caught my attention as they desperately gripped each other shrieking in terror. I sought out Nyanja for help thinking these poor boys must have been scared to death of white people. I asked Nyanja to try to sooth them, as she approached them they screamed with fright and cried even louder from utter terror. They held onto one another so tightly, it was the absolute most heart wrenching sight to see two innocent babes ranging from 2-3 years old absolutely frozen from fear and knowing there was no way to ease their painful terror. Nyanja asked the Sister about the two boys and she shared that they had just been “found” a week or two prior to our visit and they spent all their time clutching one another and crying EVERY SINGLE DAY since their arrival. My heart just sank, falling onto the cement floor and breaking in agony. Before long it was time for us to move beyond this section of our “tour” and we were forced to part ways with the children. This was not an easy task. The children instantly knew we were leaving and they all flocked to us, I had about 5-6 trying to climb onto me all of them frantically crying, gripping my arms, legs, clothes whatever they could hold and refusing to let go. I pried them off of me best I could while trying not to lose my composure. It was my deepest heart ache in this moment to push these children away, peel them off me, pry their fingers away from my clothes and leave them behind physically denying them of their pleas for love and affection. I was not strong enough emotionally or physically to accomplish this and I ended up asking for help from the Sisters to take the children off me. It was simply too hard.
Next we were led down some cement stairs into an area where the mentally ill, physically handicapped and elderly were all grouped together eating lunch. It was an indescribably hard sight for me to articulate with words. I’m choosing not to indulge any further on this portion as it mostly just made me uncomfortable to see human lives treated with less dignity than our pets. It was nearly the breaking point for me inside the walls of this Mother Teresa home to take in all of this at once.
As our visit was coming to an end I had the chance to engage in a conversation with the Sister and Nyanja and for the first time I learned that the children here WERE adoptable. I presumed they were not and just thought that to be a fact of all Mother Teresa Orphanages. Instantly my heart skipped a beat as my lil Dimples raced through my mind like a spinning record. I wanted so badly to find out more about him, realizing I never EVEN ASKED HIS NAME, so I had no way to inquire about whether he was adoptable or not. I wrestled with my mind and my heart thinking I should demand to know more about my baby and yet I told myself not to let my heart get ahead of me. I had not spoken to Donny about the possibility of adoption, I thought for certain my next child would be a little girl, I thought I never had an interest in adopting from Rwanda and I surely didn’t want to give false hope of future adoption interest to this Sister when in fact I had no clue what was going on inside this tornado in my brain. YET, it bothered me deeply that I didn’t know anything about Mr. Dimples and he was just feet away from me inside the building napping!! If only I could TURN BACK TIME! I told Nyanja I wanted to ask about the baby I held when we first arrived, I asked if I could go back and show the sister which baby I was speaking of to learn more about him ~ at the very least I need his name. I don’t know if Nyanja didn’t translate my URGENCY or what happened but the conversation was blown off, we were escorted out the door and I just sat back passively and let that be the end of it. As if that was my “no” and I could go about my way content in the fact that “I tried” and it just “wasn’t possible”.
When I came home and held my baby Boston in my arms is when it truly hit me with full force as to what I had done ~ or “not” done for that matter. While in Rwanda I rationalized in my mind that I fell for Mr. Dimples because the way he looked at me reminded me of my own baby at home. Whereas I told you many weeks ago when I posted the video of the song about Rwanda; the line from that song splashes my pain all over the floor like spilt milk:
“I saw my son in a little boy's eyes”
What you don’t understand though is that those words ring true for me in all possible context. When I came home and looked into Boston’s eyes I seen Mr. Dimples staring back at me. Within days of being home Boston began to learn the same mimicking trick of shaking his head “no” and I immediately lost my composure as I cried in pain over Mr. Dimples. As I rock Boston to sleep at night and he touches my lips with the same tenderness of Mr. Dimples, I silently weep, my heart aches at the realization of the fact that was MY baby in Rwanda. Just as God led me to Zachary and Boston, my two sons ~ He led me to Mr. Dimples. It explains why my baby’s remind me of one another, for they are both meant to be my children ~ a mother always recognizes her own child’s eyes. God was calling to me and I was ignoring him, my brain was fighting my heart and my heart lost. So now I’m faced with another lesson that God has graciously helped me embrace. The grief of a mother who had to leave her child behind. In essence I have come to terms with this grief as best I can and realize I have been given a rare opportunity to see through the eyes of a birthmother. Which in all honesty is how God took my disobedience and turned it into a gift. I have learned to love my two sons at a different depth and honor their birthparents much higher than I already was because I see and share their pain to some degree. I grieve the loss of Mr. Dimples every day, not one day goes by he doesn’t find his way into my memory. It’s a loss that I chose to have and so I wrestle with the emotions that come as a consequence of a hard decision. A choice I felt I had no other option in making. Now I can love my two children knowing and feeling the sacrifice that was made for me to be gifted the role of motherhood. I no longer have to imagine their birthmother’s pain, for a moment in time I shared the shoes of a mother who had to say goodbye to her child even though her heart cried out in love to keep him close. Don’t think for one second I don’t fantasize about returning to Rwanda to find my dimply man as I know without doubt I will recognize his eyes if ever I’m gifted the opportunity to see him again. This wish upon a star dream is what keeps my hope alive and prevents my grief from consuming me. I find solace in praying to our Lord for a second chance and I await for God to open the doors and let this miracle unfold. In reality I know it would take an all out miracle by the hand of God for us to find Mr. Dimples. Yet, I reminisce about the miracles that have already unfolded in my life leading me to my sons Zachary and Boston and I have faith that anything is possible. So I’m left with my pain, grief and heartache over the child I lost, but I’m also left with my gratitude, humility and honor for the children I have been gifted. I don’t truly know how to end this post because I sincerely hope this story doesn’t end here, I hope one day to finish this memory with the miracle that Mr. Dimples deserves to have ~ a family, our family. So until God speaks, this story is “to be continued”.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Phenomenal!
I was so excited to have an email awaiting me yesterday about the live drill in Ethiopia ~ oh how my heart sings and my sould dances whenever I see the sights and hear the sounds of Africa!!
Check out their progress and first video of their first Ethiopian drill!! AWESOME!
http://www.charitywater.org/birthdays/livedrill.htm
Check out their progress and first video of their first Ethiopian drill!! AWESOME!
http://www.charitywater.org/birthdays/livedrill.htm
Friday, September 5, 2008
I wish I had a September BIRTHDAY!
This is AWESOME and I just ABSOLUTELY LOVE this man's way of thinking! So fun and so AMAZING! I have September-envy...wish it was my B-day month so I could join in FULL FORCE, this would be the greatest b-day present I could think of receiving ~ a gift to "re-gift" and feel PROUD about it! For now, I just donated $33 to show our support and honor the Scott in our life with a Sept. birthday!!!
The September Campaign Trailer - www.borninseptember.org from charity: water on Vimeo.
The September Campaign Trailer - www.borninseptember.org from charity: water on Vimeo.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Computer Illiterate!
I wanted to post this on my side bar, but as always blogger is fighting with me and I can't get it to work.
I have high hopes to set up a function on here where I can display all the ways I'm feeling called to help, just in case it sparks a fire in your heart as well.
Today's donation was one that I just couldn't hold back from sharing with y'all too:
Go to this site to learn more about the devastation the hurricane has caused for these orphans:
www.handsandfeetproject.org
I have high hopes to set up a function on here where I can display all the ways I'm feeling called to help, just in case it sparks a fire in your heart as well.
Today's donation was one that I just couldn't hold back from sharing with y'all too:
Go to this site to learn more about the devastation the hurricane has caused for these orphans:
www.handsandfeetproject.org
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
We need revival!
Being “new” to this side of the tracks, I will immediately confess my extreme skepticism and doubts in anything that falls under the title of “revival”. I’ve seen the snake charmers and people convulsing on the floors of road-side tents and the Dateline special where they prove all of it to be an intricate hoax, a smoke & mirrors act of supreme nature with evil intentions of embezzling your hard earned money. That was where *I* formed my opinion of what a “revival” must be.
Well, on our first evening in Rwanda, with new eyes to see from, new ears to hear from and a new heart that beats with intensity from God’s almighty love I had the chance to truly embrace my trust in God and stretch my faith yet again! As “luck” would have it while we walked up the long hill to Nyanja’s house to be greeted for the first time by the amazing Josephine ~ QUEEN of hospitality and the painfully shy Samuel ~ a young man after God’s heart, we heard this rumbling from a sound system off in the distance. Amanda immediately announced “there’s a revival going on down there” we could see the people gathered and lights from where we were walking. The words of worship to the Lord boomed through the air, crystal clear as if the night was completely silent, all of creation had paused to hear the good Word. I immediately became giddy with excitement I could NOT BELIEVE it, a revival ~ honestly, a true blue revival ~ in RWANDA no less ~ oh dear Lord let’s NOT MISS THIS!!! Just moments earlier I was starving and couldn’t wait to get to Josephine’s home cooked Rwandan feast but now my hunger for the Lord appeased all human cravings for food and there was nourishment from a much greater source that my body and soul ached for from the depths of my bones! We proceeded to Nyanja’s home, ate our delicious meal and enjoyed the remarkable company of Josephine and Samuel for the very first time. Like a kid in a candy store, I could not get that revival out of my heart (although my mind was off on its own tangent), it didn’t help that we could hear everything perfectly radiating from the loud speakers at Nyanja’s house. I BURNED inside with anticipation, I had to find out some way to get my butt down to that revival to just be present! Before I could even muster the courage to ask some others were proposing the idea to walk down there…I jumped on that band wagon immediately and Nyanja sent Samuel with 7 of us to be our guide.
We walked down one steep hill after another, washed out roads like you have never imagined (comparable to the feel of a cliff), stumbling through giant potholes that could eat you alive, meandering throughout the pitch black of night. There are no street lights or yard lights to brighten the path, it’s a stumble and fall kind of blind walk through darkness! A bit symbolic wouldn’t ya say. So I guess it was the perfect journey to reach our destination
We reached the revival, ‘the place was packed’, it looked like an open soccer field or something of the sorts was the host of our heavenly festival. Lights were bright, a big ol stage and a huge sound system, and of course a flawlessly, perfect night. A preacher was going to town lost in the heat of his passion with a Rwandan man translating in the local dialect called Kinyarwanda (a language I’m told is nearly impossible to learn and native to Rwanda). As he translated the words seemed to transform into rhythmic beats that saturated my heart even if I couldn’t comprehend on a conscious level. The passion birthed from the preacher electrified as it rolled off the tongue of the local man to his desperately hungry Jesus fans who responded eagerly with hoots, hollers, cheers, smiles, tears, praise, and all out physical worship. A sight you have to see with your own two eyes to comprehend.
Here again I learned yet many things about myself, but more importantly many things about my God as well! I learned I’m a very reserved worshipper who is secretly dying inside to just abandon my reservations and shout with reckless joy like Africans do so gracefully. I was burning up inside to just “LET GO” and dive into the middle of this sea of ebony beauty. I felt at home with my God and more comfortable here with Him than the church pew I regularly visit on Sunday mornings. I thought I was content in my life just too finally know God, I had no clue I had been designed with a little bit of African flavor in this heart of mine! I found that out beyond doubt dancing in a dirt field of Kigali, Rwanda on July 11, 2008. I learned God is present in all situations no matter what your personal connotations may conjure up in that brain of yours ~ or as my grandpa says the limitations of “stinkin thinkin”. When God is called upon or when He plans a divine appointment He comes through, it doesn’t matter if us little people doubt or support Him. My previous assumption of “revival” limited my interaction for no less than one nano-second as I immediately FELT GOD’S PRESENCE and I realized it didn’t matter the legitimacy of this church body who was running the revival ~ the politics behind the organization did not matter one ounce to God so why should I waste one moment of my time pondering this unnecessary detail, just forget that Dateline special already and dance, girl!!
Why not?
God was there sporting His finest smile, singing with Kinyarwanda rhythm, dancing with African soul and vibrating through the vocal chords of English words. I learned revival is soooo real, God wanted me to know this and He gifted me a once in a lifetime opportunity to be front row with VIP seats to His magnificent concert in Rwanda. What sealed the deal in my heart is when a man was called to the stage to offer his testimony and he shouted with relief that God had touched him during this week long revival and for the first time in 14 years he learned how to truly embrace forgiveness. He trusted in God and he was blessed with the courage to forgive the neighbor who murdered almost his entire family during the genocide. A neighbor he still lived next door to 14 years later. He described torturous moments of his long survival by hiding in the swamp under the piles of decaying bodies. In the moment my eyes transfixed on this man I had a personal encounter with God, time froze for a second or so then with a heart beat I found myself staring at the reality of my shattered, broken soul laying on the dirt floor before me. Just hours before I was inside the genocide memorial so this man's words hit me hard on many levels. The magnitude of God’s grace is indescribable and something I wish we could all physically feel the presence of. This man shouted with relief and thanksgiving to have found the gift of forgiveness in his life, he finally felt free. I too knew that freedom of forgiveness, undeniably incomparable to the huge level this Rwandan man was experiencing, but I knew of God’s powerful grace in my own life. God knew beyond doubt I’d be whole heartedly “on his team” enjoying His revival after that testimony. And I was! So I mingled my way into the swarm of kids just at the closing of this revival when the preachers were pumping these kids up through the roof! Saturday was going to be their last day and they had all sorts of special activities planned for the children, so of course they proceeded to tempt them with all the heavenly bliss they could before these children were to go home!
Within minutes I realized all the “white folks” had packed up and left for the night and I peered around to see our 7 faces as the last remaining albino’s around. Instantly I found myself SURROUNDED by 20-30+ children. They were arguing and fidgeting with one another just at the chance they might touch me. And the chaos commenced with an earth shattering hug from one special little boy. He walked right up to me as the crowd of little ones was beginning to cluster around and he grabbed a hold tightly around my waste as if we had known one another our whole lives, a bear hug of grand proportion. Immediately he looked right up at me. His piercing eyes consumed me with this intense stare, deep, deep, deep into and right through me. I hugged him back and returned his gaze until I felt uncomfortable and inept in returning the passion from my own eyes. I truly believe this was another intimate moment with Jesus, yet in the present time I didn’t know it and the power of His eyes left me feeling overwhelmed by not knowing how to return the depth of love within and through my eyes. I broke away from the moment feeling that my gaze was empty in comparison to what was stirring inside of me from his engaging eyes. And in a split second the boy ran off, boisterously joining his friends who were leaping around on cloud nine, just as all little boys do.
Then God granted me another moment with Jesus, if I couldn’t handle the love from His eyes, maybe He should just reach out to touch me. A girl somewhere in the preteen to teen age range suddenly appeared at my side and nestled her little body into my shoulder before I could even catch a glimpse of her face, hugging me in the most weakened, broken manner I have ever felt another human body all but collapse into my arms. I rubbed her back and gently hugged her as she just held onto me as if never to let go. I felt so inept in consoling her and had no idea about what I should do so I just hugged her for as long as she wanted. Without ever making eye contact with me, she let go after what seemed to be a very long but I’m certain very short few minutes and she slipped away through the crowd and I never did get the chance to see her eyes, or her face or her again. I thought long and hard about this girl after that moment and I realized why I couldn’t let go of her. She symbolized me on my own journey coming to Jesus for the very first time asking for His love, shy and unsure if He’d hug me back, I wrapped my broken arms around Him too ashamed to look His way and I just melted into Him for as long as I could possibly soak His love into my heart and when I physically felt His love it gave me the strength to let go and stand on my own two feet again. This little girl was me not too long ago and I hope she found the refuge she was seeking in my arms. I think of her often and I am in awe that God takes the time to teach me in such physical ways. I couldn’t possibly deny his hand upon my life.
As I looked around to find the others from our team that were with me, Donny included, I realized we were all engulfed in a sea of excited children! Donny was pulling out some crazy white-boy dance moves and the children were dying from laughter as they tried to imitate his horrendous lack of rhythm and to my surprise THEY WERE DOING IT WITH EASE! I laughed from the depths of my aching belly, gasping to catch my breath at this golden sight before my eyes! WHERE WAS MY CAMERA! I fell a little more in love with Donny in this moment, seeing him abandon his dignity for the joy of these children touched my heart deeply. He didn’t need words to communicate he had his own humiliation that could connect and join us all in laughter! Whenever I reminisce of those few prized moments, my stomach muscles just ache in memory of the never-ending hilarity.
The long walk home was comparable to a red carpet event in Hollywood. We attempted to walk back to Nyanja’s house but we were literally imprisoned by an arguing wall of anxious kids all bickering for their chance to hold our hands, touch our arms, hug us and walk near us. I felt like a movie star and had NO CLUE why these kids thought we were such hot stuff. With the obvious language barrier we had no idea how to rationalize or communicate to them we were just nobodies! Eventually they managed to drift off one by one as I imagine we passed by their homes. Samuel was trying desperately to free us from the clenches of the mob of children’s eager hands, but he wasn’t having any luck. We all were alive with excitement; the faces of Amanda, Simon, Chris, Evelyn, Nate and Donny were glowing with the same joy I was feeling. It was a phenomenal moment to be a part of, and absolutely nothing that we could have tried to plan! This was a God moment and I'm so thankful I didn't miss it. The most miraculous of all was that the only way we could connect with these children was the mention of Jesus, that English word they DID know. Before we’d even finish the second syllable they would erupt with laughter, excitement and cheerful giggles. On that walk home we worshipped our love for the Father, Son and Holy Spirit with each step, breath, heart beat, smile and song. These children taught me so much about faith in a short walk up a dirt hill, they were brilliant little role models! It was completely surreal to be almost drowning in love from these children desperate to smother you in it (physically!). Here was my final lesson of the night ~ this is how much God loves us, this is what His love feels like in living color, in tangible form, surrounded by a sea of desperate, happy, enlivened, spiritually charged hearts just aching to embrace you and physically connect to you with one big massive hug, so much love inside their bursting hearts they couldn’t control themselves ~ this is the magnitude of God’s deep love for each of us. How blessed we were to be taught this lesson through the souls of 60-70 vibrant little children. This is the way God loves each and every one of us. This is how I draw the conclusion that “WE NEED REVIVAL”! Amen!
Well, on our first evening in Rwanda, with new eyes to see from, new ears to hear from and a new heart that beats with intensity from God’s almighty love I had the chance to truly embrace my trust in God and stretch my faith yet again! As “luck” would have it while we walked up the long hill to Nyanja’s house to be greeted for the first time by the amazing Josephine ~ QUEEN of hospitality and the painfully shy Samuel ~ a young man after God’s heart, we heard this rumbling from a sound system off in the distance. Amanda immediately announced “there’s a revival going on down there” we could see the people gathered and lights from where we were walking. The words of worship to the Lord boomed through the air, crystal clear as if the night was completely silent, all of creation had paused to hear the good Word. I immediately became giddy with excitement I could NOT BELIEVE it, a revival ~ honestly, a true blue revival ~ in RWANDA no less ~ oh dear Lord let’s NOT MISS THIS!!! Just moments earlier I was starving and couldn’t wait to get to Josephine’s home cooked Rwandan feast but now my hunger for the Lord appeased all human cravings for food and there was nourishment from a much greater source that my body and soul ached for from the depths of my bones! We proceeded to Nyanja’s home, ate our delicious meal and enjoyed the remarkable company of Josephine and Samuel for the very first time. Like a kid in a candy store, I could not get that revival out of my heart (although my mind was off on its own tangent), it didn’t help that we could hear everything perfectly radiating from the loud speakers at Nyanja’s house. I BURNED inside with anticipation, I had to find out some way to get my butt down to that revival to just be present! Before I could even muster the courage to ask some others were proposing the idea to walk down there…I jumped on that band wagon immediately and Nyanja sent Samuel with 7 of us to be our guide.
We walked down one steep hill after another, washed out roads like you have never imagined (comparable to the feel of a cliff), stumbling through giant potholes that could eat you alive, meandering throughout the pitch black of night. There are no street lights or yard lights to brighten the path, it’s a stumble and fall kind of blind walk through darkness! A bit symbolic wouldn’t ya say. So I guess it was the perfect journey to reach our destination
We reached the revival, ‘the place was packed’, it looked like an open soccer field or something of the sorts was the host of our heavenly festival. Lights were bright, a big ol stage and a huge sound system, and of course a flawlessly, perfect night. A preacher was going to town lost in the heat of his passion with a Rwandan man translating in the local dialect called Kinyarwanda (a language I’m told is nearly impossible to learn and native to Rwanda). As he translated the words seemed to transform into rhythmic beats that saturated my heart even if I couldn’t comprehend on a conscious level. The passion birthed from the preacher electrified as it rolled off the tongue of the local man to his desperately hungry Jesus fans who responded eagerly with hoots, hollers, cheers, smiles, tears, praise, and all out physical worship. A sight you have to see with your own two eyes to comprehend.
Here again I learned yet many things about myself, but more importantly many things about my God as well! I learned I’m a very reserved worshipper who is secretly dying inside to just abandon my reservations and shout with reckless joy like Africans do so gracefully. I was burning up inside to just “LET GO” and dive into the middle of this sea of ebony beauty. I felt at home with my God and more comfortable here with Him than the church pew I regularly visit on Sunday mornings. I thought I was content in my life just too finally know God, I had no clue I had been designed with a little bit of African flavor in this heart of mine! I found that out beyond doubt dancing in a dirt field of Kigali, Rwanda on July 11, 2008. I learned God is present in all situations no matter what your personal connotations may conjure up in that brain of yours ~ or as my grandpa says the limitations of “stinkin thinkin”. When God is called upon or when He plans a divine appointment He comes through, it doesn’t matter if us little people doubt or support Him. My previous assumption of “revival” limited my interaction for no less than one nano-second as I immediately FELT GOD’S PRESENCE and I realized it didn’t matter the legitimacy of this church body who was running the revival ~ the politics behind the organization did not matter one ounce to God so why should I waste one moment of my time pondering this unnecessary detail, just forget that Dateline special already and dance, girl!!
Why not?
God was there sporting His finest smile, singing with Kinyarwanda rhythm, dancing with African soul and vibrating through the vocal chords of English words. I learned revival is soooo real, God wanted me to know this and He gifted me a once in a lifetime opportunity to be front row with VIP seats to His magnificent concert in Rwanda. What sealed the deal in my heart is when a man was called to the stage to offer his testimony and he shouted with relief that God had touched him during this week long revival and for the first time in 14 years he learned how to truly embrace forgiveness. He trusted in God and he was blessed with the courage to forgive the neighbor who murdered almost his entire family during the genocide. A neighbor he still lived next door to 14 years later. He described torturous moments of his long survival by hiding in the swamp under the piles of decaying bodies. In the moment my eyes transfixed on this man I had a personal encounter with God, time froze for a second or so then with a heart beat I found myself staring at the reality of my shattered, broken soul laying on the dirt floor before me. Just hours before I was inside the genocide memorial so this man's words hit me hard on many levels. The magnitude of God’s grace is indescribable and something I wish we could all physically feel the presence of. This man shouted with relief and thanksgiving to have found the gift of forgiveness in his life, he finally felt free. I too knew that freedom of forgiveness, undeniably incomparable to the huge level this Rwandan man was experiencing, but I knew of God’s powerful grace in my own life. God knew beyond doubt I’d be whole heartedly “on his team” enjoying His revival after that testimony. And I was! So I mingled my way into the swarm of kids just at the closing of this revival when the preachers were pumping these kids up through the roof! Saturday was going to be their last day and they had all sorts of special activities planned for the children, so of course they proceeded to tempt them with all the heavenly bliss they could before these children were to go home!
Within minutes I realized all the “white folks” had packed up and left for the night and I peered around to see our 7 faces as the last remaining albino’s around. Instantly I found myself SURROUNDED by 20-30+ children. They were arguing and fidgeting with one another just at the chance they might touch me. And the chaos commenced with an earth shattering hug from one special little boy. He walked right up to me as the crowd of little ones was beginning to cluster around and he grabbed a hold tightly around my waste as if we had known one another our whole lives, a bear hug of grand proportion. Immediately he looked right up at me. His piercing eyes consumed me with this intense stare, deep, deep, deep into and right through me. I hugged him back and returned his gaze until I felt uncomfortable and inept in returning the passion from my own eyes. I truly believe this was another intimate moment with Jesus, yet in the present time I didn’t know it and the power of His eyes left me feeling overwhelmed by not knowing how to return the depth of love within and through my eyes. I broke away from the moment feeling that my gaze was empty in comparison to what was stirring inside of me from his engaging eyes. And in a split second the boy ran off, boisterously joining his friends who were leaping around on cloud nine, just as all little boys do.
Then God granted me another moment with Jesus, if I couldn’t handle the love from His eyes, maybe He should just reach out to touch me. A girl somewhere in the preteen to teen age range suddenly appeared at my side and nestled her little body into my shoulder before I could even catch a glimpse of her face, hugging me in the most weakened, broken manner I have ever felt another human body all but collapse into my arms. I rubbed her back and gently hugged her as she just held onto me as if never to let go. I felt so inept in consoling her and had no idea about what I should do so I just hugged her for as long as she wanted. Without ever making eye contact with me, she let go after what seemed to be a very long but I’m certain very short few minutes and she slipped away through the crowd and I never did get the chance to see her eyes, or her face or her again. I thought long and hard about this girl after that moment and I realized why I couldn’t let go of her. She symbolized me on my own journey coming to Jesus for the very first time asking for His love, shy and unsure if He’d hug me back, I wrapped my broken arms around Him too ashamed to look His way and I just melted into Him for as long as I could possibly soak His love into my heart and when I physically felt His love it gave me the strength to let go and stand on my own two feet again. This little girl was me not too long ago and I hope she found the refuge she was seeking in my arms. I think of her often and I am in awe that God takes the time to teach me in such physical ways. I couldn’t possibly deny his hand upon my life.
As I looked around to find the others from our team that were with me, Donny included, I realized we were all engulfed in a sea of excited children! Donny was pulling out some crazy white-boy dance moves and the children were dying from laughter as they tried to imitate his horrendous lack of rhythm and to my surprise THEY WERE DOING IT WITH EASE! I laughed from the depths of my aching belly, gasping to catch my breath at this golden sight before my eyes! WHERE WAS MY CAMERA! I fell a little more in love with Donny in this moment, seeing him abandon his dignity for the joy of these children touched my heart deeply. He didn’t need words to communicate he had his own humiliation that could connect and join us all in laughter! Whenever I reminisce of those few prized moments, my stomach muscles just ache in memory of the never-ending hilarity.
The long walk home was comparable to a red carpet event in Hollywood. We attempted to walk back to Nyanja’s house but we were literally imprisoned by an arguing wall of anxious kids all bickering for their chance to hold our hands, touch our arms, hug us and walk near us. I felt like a movie star and had NO CLUE why these kids thought we were such hot stuff. With the obvious language barrier we had no idea how to rationalize or communicate to them we were just nobodies! Eventually they managed to drift off one by one as I imagine we passed by their homes. Samuel was trying desperately to free us from the clenches of the mob of children’s eager hands, but he wasn’t having any luck. We all were alive with excitement; the faces of Amanda, Simon, Chris, Evelyn, Nate and Donny were glowing with the same joy I was feeling. It was a phenomenal moment to be a part of, and absolutely nothing that we could have tried to plan! This was a God moment and I'm so thankful I didn't miss it. The most miraculous of all was that the only way we could connect with these children was the mention of Jesus, that English word they DID know. Before we’d even finish the second syllable they would erupt with laughter, excitement and cheerful giggles. On that walk home we worshipped our love for the Father, Son and Holy Spirit with each step, breath, heart beat, smile and song. These children taught me so much about faith in a short walk up a dirt hill, they were brilliant little role models! It was completely surreal to be almost drowning in love from these children desperate to smother you in it (physically!). Here was my final lesson of the night ~ this is how much God loves us, this is what His love feels like in living color, in tangible form, surrounded by a sea of desperate, happy, enlivened, spiritually charged hearts just aching to embrace you and physically connect to you with one big massive hug, so much love inside their bursting hearts they couldn’t control themselves ~ this is the magnitude of God’s deep love for each of us. How blessed we were to be taught this lesson through the souls of 60-70 vibrant little children. This is the way God loves each and every one of us. This is how I draw the conclusion that “WE NEED REVIVAL”! Amen!
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