Monday, July 8, 2013

The Glory in Green Weave, Blue Flip Flops and Fish Heads

Glory.
I had set in my mind this afternoon that I would simply stop by my friends in the village houses for a quick visit and then come home and work on my computer in the afternoon. But, as we all know, nothing is “quick” in Africa. I walked down the narrow dirt pathway to my favorite little area in the village. Hanging laundry hit me in the face as  I walked there clumsily, tripping over rocks and speaking broken KiSwahili to the people I passed. We rescued three of our girls from this area. Their birth families have now become some of my closest friends.
About an hour later after sitting with some of my friends, kissing many snotty babies and speaking even more broken KiSwahili I found myself sitting in the home of a new friend, Mama ke Katzo. I sat there in the mud hut surrounded by the smell of local beer, men shooting heroin next to me, a gorgeous baby in my lap and I looked down at my lunch. I love how the poor always feed me even when they can’t feed themselves. Lunch was sima (a stable food in many countries, its white soft stuff you eat with your hands), a nice pile of salt, and a one small fish. Even in Mozambique this was one of my favorite meals… minus the pile of salt of course.
I started to eat. One of my small friends (she is three) was eagerly dipping her dirty hands into my plate and grabbing handfuls for herself. She was hungry and this was likely all she would eat all day. I was happy because they always serve me huge portions that I never want to finish, so I was glad to have some help. At one point she dipped those dirty hands into the fish bowl, yanked the poor fish’s head off and carried it across the tiny room to our friend Kelsey. Kelsey is a baby, not quite one years old. Kelsey happily grabbed the head and before stuffing it in her mouth she held it out and laughed with such joy! It was as if the head was a trophy or a gold medal she’d won! I couldn’t help but join in on her laughter which made Mwanajuma (the three yr old) start laughing and Kelsey’s mother was quick to follow suite. We all laughed joy filled laughs from our bellies. Light and joy filled the room.
Soon after we got up and my friend walked me to the road. I looked back at the dirt house, the heroin addicts completely toppled over by this point, the old mamas sitting outside and selling potatoes, and I thought about little Kelsey and the fish head. I smiled. I laughed. I walked away with a new pep in my step. What was so glorious about a dead fish’s head? Well, nothing really. But the simplicity of me and my friends, sitting and loving and laughing, and holding dead fishes heads-the simplicity of the gospel- well, that was absolutely glorious!
I smile as I think about the simplicity of the gospel, the simplicity of love, because our daughter, Serah, should be the poster child for it. She has definitely got it down. When out loving the poor I often just step back and watch the love and generosity of Jesus flow so purely from her little heart. Our family took a little vacation for the girls’ spring break last week. We went to visit a friend of ours who is starting a new ministry base in the bush. One afternoon Serah asked me, “Mama, can we go visit some houses”. I told her of course we could, and before we left the house she wrapped a leso ( traditional piece of clothing kind of like a wrap you wear at the beach) around her waist and slipped her light blue flip flops on her feet. We walked through the bush and found a few little mud houses we stopped at and greeted people. The last home we visited had many children. We sat and talked and played with them. As we were walking away we noticed we had a small crowd of sweet little ones with bare feet following us. We continued to walk along, the kids followed with shy smiles on their faces, Serah went on and on about how we must come back to this village and give all of our stuff away to the poor. I listened and smiled as this, our little princess in the dirt, poured out her heart for the poor. When we reached the house we were staying in we had to say goodbye to the kids. But before we did Serah took off her blue flip flops and gave them to one of the barefoot little precious ones following us. The girl smiled and said shyly “asante” which means thank you. Serah smiled and walked toward the house with a new pep in her newly barefoot step. Glory. There it was again. The gospel is simple. It looks like bare feet and blue flip flops.
Joy and I went to see our oldest daughter (the one who left Bella House) on Tuesday afternoon. For two hours. Not long enough. I guess some things are quick in Africa.

I was looking down at my phone while waiting for her to arrive at the bus stop when I heard that sweet voice say excitedly “Mom!”. I looked up to see her. My heart melted. The familiar feeling of home washed over me. She had braids. Green and black ones. It made me happy because green is her favorite color. Two hours later after hugs, kisses, and deep conversation about Jesus, life, and prostitution it was time to say goodbye. I held her as she laid her head on my right shoulder and wept. Her green braids were in my face and her cold tears fell onto my arm. I held her and I just prayed “Jesus, Jesus….”. As she walked away she looked different. I felt sad, yes. But I smiled because I felt happy at the same time. Because glory, His glory. It’s still there even when the story hasn’t quite reached its happy ending yet. And even when we are at the part of the story when our daughter who we rescued willingly went back to a horrific life, when its easy to focus on the night clubs and mini skirts and johns, I have to remember to look where the glory is. In this case, the green weave. She still has a favorite color. That hasn’t and never will be stolen from her.  Glory!

Christian Girl Rehab? I Feel Very Amy Winehouse About That (June 20,2013)

Can you believe I’ve been back home in Kenya for almost 3 months now? That’s so crazy to me. Time is flying!
Lots have happened since I’ve returned and lots have stayed the same. Jesus is still good. He’s still hangin out up there on the throne and down here with us at the same time. You know, the usual. My daughters are alive and well and just as crazy as ever. I’m sittin here like, “when is my next Honey Nut Cheerios shipment coming in?”. The prostitutes are prostituting. The preachers are preaching. The missionaries are…. missioning? So yeah, everything is pretty much the same here in Mtwapa. Except the fact that apparently, i’m crazy now.
I know what most of you are thinking, at least those of you who know me. “Brittanie, you were already crazy”. I know, I know. But I always thought that my craziness was kind of a secret. Like, before I thought that what I did would be big enough to cover my craziness. So I used my “identity” as an actress to cover up my crazy. “I’m not crazy, I’m an artist”, i’d say to myself. Hey, all good artists are crazy anyway right? Then I tried to use my age as a cover up for my crazy. Back then I thought, “Hey, I’m 21 years old. I’m not crazy. I just have more shots of tequila in me than brain cells”. Hey, all 21 year olds are crazy anyway right? But then both of those phases of my life past and so I tried to use my habitual hopping between two continents as an excuse. At that point it got more aggressive. “Shut up! You’d be crazy too if your life and your heart and your work were divided between two continents!!!” I shouted in defense to my own accusatory “you are crazy” thoughts. But then that phase of my life passed too. And then we reached the point of about 3 years ago when I fell in love with Jesus. “YES!!” I thought, “Jesus is DEFINITELY big enough to cover up my crazy!!!” Well friends, I’ve got some bad news. I love Jesus, but i’m still crazy. The only thing is that now, everyone knows it. (WARNING to all secretly crazy people who may potentially fall in love with Jesus in the near future: even if you love Jesus you can still be crazy)
No, but seriously. What i’m saying is, like most people in the world, I had some pretty messed up crap happen to me when I was a kid. Problems that I help girls here work through are anything but foreign to me. But the thing is, according to all the real Christians and all the real missionaries, those things have made me crazy. So crazy in fact that I need to go to rehab or what real Christians call “a season of inner healing” or “time alone with Jesus” or “a season to be poured into with out having to pour out” or any other really loving Christiany phrase that has the word “season” or “Jesus” in it. Christians are really good at loving and coming up with gorgeous sounding phrases. I really need to step my phrase game up.
Basically the thing is, my daughters are survivors of sexual abuse and they need me to help them walk through the process of healing and recovery from that trauma. The thing is, I never walked through a process of healing and recovery from my trauma, so that’s where it gets sticky. I need to do that first.
The other thing is that I kind of became a mom of 6 basically overnight. I wasn’t expecting that. So apparently that whole thing also kind of traumatized me. And, my own mother is amazing. But there are lots of things I just have never had the courage to bring up to her and work through with her and so those wounds are affecting the way I parent my own children. So, in order to be a better mother I need to work through those things with my own mother and in my own heart with my Jesus.
Speaking of my Jesus and my heart, I experienced a bit of heartbreak a few weeks ago. Our oldest girl decided to leave home and go back to her old life. It felt like having one of your limbs cut off. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk to anyone. It was so painful. I felt like such a failure. I felt like it was my fault. But I know all of those were just feelings. I can’t take responsibility for her actions. I did the best I could to lead her down a better path. The truth is that i’m not the savior. Jesus is. I can’t save these girls. Only He can. So I have just put her in His hands, where she belongs and i’m trusting Him to continue to pursue her and be her Perfect Mother.
All of these things I’ve been writing about are just reminders of how dependent on Him I really am. I don’t know how some people do it. This work that we do, to be honest, it’s so hard. I literally can not make it through five minutes of the day without asking for His help, without talking to him or leaning into His heart. It’s also complicated for me because I was working in Africa before I knew what a missionary was. I was just helping people because I knew it was the right thing to do. But now, you add on this “missionary” title and it just adds a whole new component to life like Christian girl rehab, and real Christians who you feel so inadequate around, and failure that involves life or death, and having to deal with all of your own junk in order to do a good job. It makes me crazy! And that’s the problem in the first place!
I feel very Amy Winehouse about it all. I dont want to go to Christian girl rehab. And i’m afraid to deal with my own crap and I’m freaked out  because my leadership has told me that they want to hire a married Kenyan couple to move into the house with us and help us take care of the girls. Big red button of insecurity! Then what will I be needed here for? Gahhhh thats ugly! And the more ugliness I see in myself the more convinced I am that they are right and I do need Christian girl rehab which really pisses me off and makes me want to lock myself in my room and eat cheerios but I can’t because I finished my last stash which causes me to lean into Jesus’ heart and bury my face in His neck and then all of a sudden everything is ok and if Christian girl rehab is really what I need then sign me up.

Like, I said I knew I was crazy the whole time anyway.


I Don't Want to Change the World Anymore (May 11, 2013)

My classroom is hot and the lessons are long. Who signed me up for this? I've never liked school, and every time my teacher turns her back I sneakily check my facebook on my fancy iphone a missionary here blessed me with. Why, Daddy God? Why am  I sitting in this hot classroom struggling to get the simplest Swahili sentence out? I'm so frustrated I could cry. I sound like a two year old. I'm embarrassed.  I don't want to do this.  I can't speak this language. It's too hard. Do I have to? I'm supposed to be changing the world. I'm supposed to be rescuing sex slaves, feeding thousands, adopting abandoned children, being a world famous actress doing plays all over the world. Why, God? Why am I in this classroom?
"Daughter, you can get up right now and leave and I would still be proud of you. You can go and change the world, honey. You can go feed thousands. I'll bless you. I'd be so pleased with you, still. You could even go do plays, make music. You could go into every bar, every dirty hotel in this village and find little girls to rescue. I'd be so pleased. It's up to you my love, what do you want?"

"Daddy.... I want you. I want to be with you."

"Brittanie, well, I am here. I am right here in this classroom."
I got a huge shock when I arrived back from America. While I was away I made so many plans. I was going to start so many projects. I was going to reach so many people. I was going to do so many things when I got back. But after being home for about three days the Lord spoke to me. He spoke to me so simply and so sweetly. He just said, "stop". He said, "stop and be with me". This was so confusing because since I arrived in Kenya my most intimate times with Jesus have been as I was doing ministry. I encountered him in villages when I was feeding people or in night clubs when I was loving on prostitutes and strippers. I saw Him there. I experienced His love there. And it felt good. It felt really good. It felt so good in fact that I forgot the first lesson God ever taught me. I forgot about the simplicity of His love. I busied myself so much with trying to go out and love others that I never had anytime to just sit and let my Jesus love me. At some point I stopped thinking it was important....

But over the past few weeks God has reminded me. He basically told me to lay everything else, all the other projects and dreams of my heart, down before Him for a season and focus on two things. Being a daughter and being a mother. I ignored Him when He first said it. I had too many big plans. Too many amazing ideas. But, He said it again and again and again. So gently, so sweetly. Like a lover inviting me into intimacy with him. So, like I always do when He speaks to me like that, I said yes.What does "yes" look like right now? It looks like sitting in a classroom and learning to speak Swahili.
After returning from the States I realize that this whole motherhood thing is not just a cute little thing that i'm going to do for a few years. It's not just some missionary project that I'll do until I get over it. I have six children. I am a mother of six children. Six children here in Mtwapa believe deep down in their hearts that I am their mother. They crawl into my bed in the mornings when they wake up just to cuddle for a little bit before they start their day. They use my last name. They fight over who gets to sit next to me at dinner. They show me off to their friends. When they are hurting or in need they scream "Moooooooom!!", and they expect for either me or Joy to come. They think i'm perfect, not because I do everything right, but because I am theirs. I didn't fully understand how deeply they felt this until I left and came back. The director of our organization, my good friend Cassandra, called me while I was in the States and tried to explain this to me, but I didn't see it. Well, now I do. And wow.....
It was honestly a huge shock and pretty scary. Why? Well, because I have no flipping idea how to be a mother. I have absolutely no idea. Even though i've had a lot of practice over the past 8 months, there is still so much that I don't know. Thats where the whole focusing on two things comes in. In order to learn how to be a mother I first have to learn how to be a daughter, His daughter. He told me that if i just stop... If I just stop and be His, that He will teach me everything I need to know about being a mom in Mtwapa, Kenya. He will teach me to speak the language. He will teach me to ride a motorbike to get around. He will teach me how to discipline my kids. He will teach me how to cook Kenyan food, and do it well. But in order to do that He needs me to stop... just stop, and be His.

So this season looks a lot different than I thought it would. I now know that I'm not here to try to change the world and end sex slavery or shut down a brothel town through amazing projects and working really hard. I'm not even here for ministry. I am here for family. Daughters and mothers are not parts of ministry. They are members of a family. I'm not called to a children's home or a rescue home. I'm called to mother my children by being mothered and fathered by my God. I'm called to being His daughter.

It's funny because I look at Joy (our other mom) and I laugh because she does this with such ease. It's like she was created for this. And then I look at myself and I am such a mess. I'm so desperate for Jesus to teach me how to do this.... But maybe that's why He chose me... because He loves to choose the least likely, the biggest messes, and make them beautiful.