Anger and Hope: Processing our time in Africa

My family and I will never be the same after this year. I wonder how we will process all of it? Thank you for your faithful prayers for us. We have truly been “wrecked” in a wonderful way by the incarnate Jesus. The following is from my wonderful wife Lisa:

Gary
and I met for coffee in town to discuss the numerous text messages
coming to us from our team in Nsoko…each one more serious than the one
before. I had already been feeling heavy for a few days, and finally just cried, HARD. The abuse, disease, abandonment, and poverty these precious children face everyday, is just too much. After an hour or so of venting, praying, and weeping I pulled myself together. Gary kissed me on the forehead and left in our car, I started walking towards the gym, hoping a good run would clear my mind.

Through
my puffy eyes a saw a small boy approach me, he wasexactly the size of
our Noah. He had no shoes, no shirt and torn shorts. In the sweetest little voice I have ever heard he whispered something to me. I bent down to him so I could hear him:

“Please,
Make, (pronounced Ma-gay meaning “Mother”), I want you to give me some
money, please.”

I started to ask him questions about where his family
was, and if he was alone.

It was my intention to buy him food and sit with him. When I failed to reach into my purse to give him money he glanced over his shoulder, to a man sitting about 15 feet behind him. I locked eyes with the man, and the little boy was gone. I knew that the child had been sent to me for money, and his man would be the one to collect it from him.

The look I received from him was one I can only describe as intimidation and lust. Only I was not intimidated at all. I glared right back at him and marched past him as close as I could, willing him in my anger, “please say something to me buddy, please try to touch me”…..I dare you! He was every bit of 6 ‘1 and 220, but I was, and am still sure I would have left more damage on him than he would have on me. Rage is a powerful emotion, it can produce superhuman strength.

He wisely did not take the bait, so I ran 10 miles, and cried the whole time, taking my rage out on the treadmill. The
sad little TV in our smelly and sweltering little gym flashed images
from Hollywood in my face, as my iPod pumped worship music in my ears.

I wish I cared if Branglina was pregnant again, I wish I cared about the award shows, and what the stars are wearing. I don’t, and I never will. I
will never see life the same way.

Nor will be able to get lost in a
Mega-church and fool myself that it is impacting the culture, or
discipling my children, never again.

I
do not know what life in America will be like for me when I go back.

I
only know that if I did not believe in eternity, I would get swallowed
up in all this pain.

But I do believe.

I believe
one day all these little ones will spend eternity with Jesus, whole,
healed, complete…

Forever, I will keep believing, and until that dayI
will keep fighting for them. No matter what the cost.