flotsam and jetsam

Have you seen the Spring Update post on the One Word 365 site? I wanted to make sure you didn't miss it, because I'm really looking forward to reading how everyone's word and year are taking shape...

Maybe you've written an update in the past several weeks that counts as your Spring Update, or maybe you need to force yourself to stop and write one.

I'm in the latter category.

Although I'm feeling overwhelmed by more to do than time to do it in, and honestly don't know when I'll get my update post done. But hopefully the fact that I'm putting this on my blog will motivate me. (If only that could stretch my time and my energy too. Hmm...)

Anyway...

Please help spread the word and direct people over to the Update page on the One Word 365 site. Let's rally our global community and actively encourage each other to keep on keeping on.

Also -- in completely unrelated news -- I had the incredible honor or writing for Prodigal Magazine this month. You may have already seen it (if you follow me on Twitter), but if you haven't...

I shared a piece of my journey I've never shared before. On getting tested for HIV...

Things here in Africa are going well. My days have been very full and busy, but lots of work is getting done. I am really enjoying and appreciating being back in a team work environment again. It's been so great to have amazing people to brainstorm with and work alongside.

Thank you all for your amazing encouragement, prayers, love, and friendship. It is definitely making being on the other side of the world a bit easier. And I am so grateful...

Okay, your turn.

How about you leave me some flotsam and jetsam of your own. (I've spent about 7 minutes trying to determine if that's a question or a statement — my own personal crisis of punctuation!) (Okay, all my rambling is clear evidence of how exhausted I am...)

What are some random thoughts and happenings going on in your world?

healing in the heartache

I flew to Africa over the weekend... I'm here for 5 weeks. I am spending a month in Maun, Botswana—the place that stole my heart for Southern Africa when I was only 15—to help Love Botswana Outreach Mission develop communications policies and strategies. Then I'm heading down to Cape Town for a week to work with Bridge for Hope on some project development possibilities.

That's what I'm doing now.

I consult with non-profits, assisting with communications and development—translating my 13 years of leading a ministry in Africa into ways I can strategically help other growing non-profits.

It feels like a natural fit and like I'm in way over my head all at the same time. But I am beyond grateful for the chance I have to do this, and the opportunities I have to still be involved with what God is doing through ministries around the world. Such a tremendous gift.

Bittersweet at times, but still a priceless gift...

I forced myself to find words for what's going on in my heart being back in Africa again. About the unbelievable timing of this trip. About healing in the heartache.

And I'm sharing them over at Deeper Story today.

... ... ...

Fourteen years to the day since I first moved to South Africa, I arrived there again. On Saturday. My first time to return since I had to close our ministry and move back to the States.

Fourteen years.

To. The. Day.

The irony coincidence full-circle timing is unavoidable.

As if I didn't already have a kaleidoscope of emotions wrapped up in this first-trip-back, I go and do it on my Africaversary.

A big hot mess.

That's what I've been. For weeks now, leading up to the trip. On the entire (ungodly-long) flight over. And since my feet touched the ground.

The landscape of my life looks incomprehensibly different than it did 14 years ago. I'm no longer 19, chasing a dream, following a call... heart brimming with hope, expectation, and excitement.

Instead I'm exhausted inside and out... broken... still trying to locate and pick up the shattered fragments of my life... bearing what feels like a permanent scarlet letter... returning to a place that was home for so long, but doesn't feel like home any longer.

In fact—and I'm only realizing this now, as I'm typing it—it doesn't just feel like Africa is no longer home. It feels like she's betrayed me. Cheated on me. Hurt me.

But I know it wasn't her. I know I can't blame her for the heartache my ex-husband caused. And yet, there is heartache here nonetheless.

And there is nothing to do but face it and feel it, and trust the Healer to heal it.

To heal me. Through her.

Because while I don't feel drawn to live in Africa full-time again, I know I will be here often. And no matter what, at some point there needed to be a first-trip-back again, the hardest trip yet.

So these next 5 weeks in Southern Africa will be filled with old and new memories, heavy and light moments, grief and restoration. And then there won't ever be another first-trip-back.

The hardest will be behind me.

That's the joy that's set before me right now. Not sure if that's good, bad, or otherwise, but that's what's helping me keep breathing and keep going.

While she no longer feels like home, Africa still has my heart. She captured it when I was 15, and she will have it for always. Firsts, lasts, and everything in between...

So I'm trusting asking Him for the courage to do it afraid, to seek the healing in the heartache, to show me parts of myself I've lost, and to reveal parts of Himself I've never seen.

Originally posted on Deeper Story. Read the comments there >

On Getting Tested for HIV

I was the all-American good girl growing up. I turned my homework in on time, studied for tests, and got straight A's. I never drank or smoke or did drugs. I went on mission trips. I never dated. (I was, after all, part of the "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" generation.) And I saved myself for marriage...

I never even kissed a guy till I met my husband.

We fell in love as missionaries in his home country of South Africa. We got married and pioneered a ministry in the poorest region of the country.

It was the thing of fairy-tales...

So I never in a million years expected I'd ever have to get tested for HIV.

But I did.

Because my husband was unfaithful. And because we lived in the country with the highest AIDS-infection rate in the world.

He was with her for over a year-and-a-half before the truth came out. And when it did, he chose her. Over me. Over the ministry. He walked away from it all, in pursuit of a new fairy-tale all his own.

With my life crumbling all around me, I was forced to face things I'd never imagined.

Like an HIV test.

I couldn't hold back the tears as vial after vial of blood was taken.

My heart hurt far more than my arm did. I sobbed over the fact that I even needed to get tested. And I wished I had someone there with me. To hold my hand, literally and metaphorically.

My HIV test came back negative (for which I was—and am— overwhelmingly grateful), and I was given some heavy-duty antibiotics to kick any possibility of STDs. So all is well.

Physically.

But, even two years later, I'm still trying to process the reality that someone who professed for-life love put me in this vulnerable position.

And I wrestle with feeling that saving myself for him was a waste. (Even when I know it wasn't.)

I wish there was a pill that could cure my heart of distrust, fear, and insecurities. But there's no quick remedy for broken trust, a violated heart, and a deep-seated fear of rejection.

All I can do is trust the Healer...

Even when it still hurts.

Originally a guest post on Prodigal Magazine. Read the comments there >

fragile

Fragile. Like the costly alabaster jar broken at His feet.

Like the rickety contraption lowering the cripple through the roof.

Like the woman crawling through the crowd for her healing.

Fragile.

Like the tears of two sisters for their brother who didn't have to die.

Like the nakedness of the man in chained torment of his mind.

Like the interrupted desperate plea from a Centurion for his deathly ill daughter.

Fragile.

Like the dull ache of a lifelong thorn in the side.

Like the embers of passion and calling being fanned into flame.

Like the vapor of dreams dissolved.

Fragile.

Like the hope for a Messiah shattered by the strikes of a hammer on a hillside cross.

Like the silence of the Saturday that sealed the tomb more tightly than the stone door.

Like the gasps of fear and hope in discovering an empty grave.

Fragile.

Like the tentative faith of a hand outstretched to feel the scars.

Like the can't-believe-my-eyes belief in a resurrected Savior.

Like the obedience to follow transformed into an obedience to go.

Fragile.

Like my (in)ability to find words and use them well.

Like the fears, uncertainties, and loneliness of my sojourning soul.

Like the weight of self-discovery: momentary mirror glimpses of who I really am and how far I have to go.

Fragile.

Is my heart.

Asking Him

and you

to hold her gently.

5 Minutes with Discipulus

I'm being interviewed over on the Discipulus website today. My friend Moe asked me some killer questions. Like:

• Having served in Africa for thirteen years, what is the greatest lesson that you learned?

• You have gone through so much in life, and yet, you choose to love. What is the driving factor behind that love?

• Jesus asked His disciples, “Who do you say that I am”? Who do you say that He is in your life?

So to hear me unpack discipleship, soapbox about "avoiding the appearance of evil", and speak courage to fearful hearts (including my own), link over and read through the interview.

You are invited to ask questions in your comments there on the post, so if there's anything you wanna know about/from me... feel free to ask!

Hope to see you there...