my beautiful africa

"Ask of Me, and I will give you the nations as your inheritance." I've been asking for Africa since I was 15. And while I hope to have left my His mark on the continent I love so much, I know for sure that she’s left a mark on me.

Africa is beautiful, rich, compelling. She won my heart with her beckoning eyes and captivating smiles. Her laughter comes from deep in her soul, her tears from a place even deeper still. And as deep calls to deep, she reaches the most sacred part of my heart.

Like any true love, when I close my eyes, she is as close as my own breath.

With eyes wide shut, I see majesty in the shape of mountains and elephants and elderly women. I hear spontaneous harmonies, heartbreaking mourning over yet another life stolen away, shouts of praise to a God they deem faithful despite their circumstances. I taste the bitterness of grief and the sweetness of community. I smell the blanketing fires of winter and the matchless fragrance of coming rain. I feel the joy of carefree children, the contentment of simple lives well-lived, and the stirring of God sweeping through narrow unnamed village streets.

And when I open my eyes again, she's still right here---standing tall with her hard-earned pride, holding my hand with her tight ebony grip, and looking forward with an unspeakable hope.

Jesus gave His life for my magnificently alluring Africa.

She is so worth me doing the same.

fight poverty with hope

Ask any little boy in America what he wants to be when he grows up and you might hear firefighter, doctor, or astronaut. Little girls will say they want to be teachers, nurses, lawyers. Though their answers differ, these children all have something in common: They can answer the question. Ask a child in Africa what he or she wants to be when all grown up and you may be met with a blank stare. Shrugging shoulders. "I don't know." They can't comprehend the question and they don't know how to answer. They don't know, because they don't know how to dream.

I've seen the blank stares. I've watched the shoulders shrug. I've heard the "I don't know"s. Once when I asked a young boy what he wants to be when he grows up, he answered with a statement that has never left me: "I want to be alive."

Poverty kills dreams. It murders hope. It squashes every last ounce of ambition. Poverty impacts the old, but targets the young. It steals more than full bellies and healthy bodies; it suffocates the future and squanders potential.

What Africa needs---what anyone affected by poverty needs---is not a hand-out. Africa needs more than charity, more than money, more than employment opportunities. All of those are vitally important, but Africa needs something even greater. Africa needs to learn to dream again.

Next time you choose to make a donation, contribute your skills, or give of your time for someone or some organization, find a way to also instill hope, offer encouragement, shine a light at the end of their tunnel. As you spark dreams in people's hearts, you're doing the best thing you can do to eradicate poverty.

[originally posted this day last year]

stormy thoughts

It's been raining for days. So tonight's storm is nothing new. But for some reason it totally made me homesick for Africa. It started with me thinking about how extremely different this exact same storm would sound if I were in my house. My home has a tin roof and no insulation. That makes for some ridiculously loud rain. So between that and the claps of thunder and the wild lightning, this would've been one helluva storm in Africa. (Can I say helluva?! Hmmm... I'm leavin' it...)

I miss the sound of rain on my roof.

I miss my kitchen with all her wonderful gadgets.

I miss my Big Easy, the most comfortable corner of my house.

I miss my African Grey parrot, Starbucks, and his comforting way of making everything right in my world with his "Hello, beautiful."

I miss my mountains. And zebras. And star-filled skies.

I miss my staff family.

I miss my Hope House kids.

I miss watching my vision and passion become reality every single day.

I miss my Africa...

And I'm grateful for this rain.

souvenirs from cali

My time in California was bittersweet, and filled with a strange mixture of emotions. But underlying all of that, it was a wonderful gift to be with April for her wedding. Being able to help with last-minute details---from late-night Walmart runs to putting on her veil before the ceremony---made my heart feel full. I've never gotten to help any of my friends with any part of their weddings before. So every moment made me feel very blessed.

Though I don't have children of my own, I think I know what parental pride feels like. I felt it in a thousand different moments over the past few days. I am so proud of April. For her depth of character. Her resolve. Her patience and grace under pressure. Her wise choices.

And while there is a lot about April's year in Africa that I wish I could change---for her and for me---I am unbelievably grateful I had that time to get to know her and pour into her in some small way.

I know I often begrudge the revolving door of my life. But after a week like the one I just had, I can't help but lift my eyes and thank my Jesus for bringing so many people through that door.

My life is certainly richer for it.

my africa

I painted a portrait of my beautiful Africa. Want to meet her?