Our White Picket Fence

I normally have a rule that I don’t write until a day or two after our bush trips as I’m usually too raw and unprocessed if I hit the keys to quickly.

But this time I’ll just put up a caution sign as I wrote this as a means TO process the everyday while on the ground and in the dirt…

I can feel a few drops of rain. First on the top of my head, then my face. They start falling faster but I don’t flinch. None of us do. I’m with my Pastor in the bush and we’re speaking to a man who’s son we rescued from the army. The father’s eyes are sad. So sad. And hopeless. I tell him how much we love his boy and a few stories to try and make him smile but nothing works.

“All of our boys in the village are joining the army. Maybe mine was rescued but our village has lost it’s sons.”

The rain continues to fall but the weight of the mans words stops us on the street. Immediately my mind gets thinking… How do we rescue them? All of them. Or at least give them an alternative.

Many of the boys in the village join the army out of “lack of vision” or “restlessness”. In our area many boys, aged 10-18, are not in school. They have long days and sleepless nights due to running from conflict and rebel attacks. Soldiers often come into the village by day and the young boys are forced to be porters for them, carrying water or artillery etc. With nothing better to do, they watch a power struggle of gun=authority.

With no real vision for their own life and a confused version of “life to the top” they often willingly join the army. It’s not long after they often confess their regret but it’s to late, enrolment is hard to break free from.

We have a primary school but we haven’t yet finished our 3rd school block that will move us into secondary schooling and a vision for the idle young men…

We’d just arrived in the village maybe 15 minutes before the stories had started saturating our hearts.

And so the week began and it was on to making dinner in the smoke filled kitchen, when two men interrupted our program to greet us.

The one had been abducted with his wife and children the Saturday before and had escaped. With hands tied behind their backs, they couldn’t risk the unknowing fate of death or rape so the man and his family ran and ran and finally hid all night in the river. The flowing, gushing, powerful river. They now live thankful to have made it through that raid but the man confessed utter hopelessness and suicidal thoughts.

Maybe it’s a tad heavy. But sadly, this isn’t the half of it.

The entire village has story after story and we catch a small window into their lives Monday- Friday.

How can we let them live like this?

I was asked the last time I was in the bush, “Where are all the missionaries? Does your country not send them out anymore?” Uhhhh. Heart drop.

You are not forgotten! You are not alone!

That night I zipped up my sleeping bag and pulled the cover up to my eyes. More often than not the rats crawl on you at night and I don’t mind them getting my feet but my face— bleh, that’s when it becomes a bit much! (Did I mention we’re calling all those missionaries? ;) )

Every night, though believing for peace, we semi plan for a raid. You carefully pack up your stuff and memorize where the importants are: flashlight, skirt, bra, protein bars.

Nights are the biggie here. I’ve fallen asleep many times to the sound of gunfire, but I’ve never been in a night-time raid. I couldn’t imagine anything more inconvenient.

All week, once again, we slept soundly and are always happy to wake up in our beds and not under a tree. Most of the village fled to the bush, but this week like last… our team stayed put. However, this time, so did our Congo family. “We feel safe with you here.”

Keeping a constant ear out for safety reports, they’ve said there were outbreaks of conflict yesterday and this morning just outside the village, everyone’s on deck, as were we. Our version is slightly different though… Conference time! It’s such a humbling and beautiful time calling the village for “War Prevention/ de-traumatization” classes. Haha. Aka: “Bringing heaven- 101” or “Developing Authority to Stop Wars” We’re just as much students as we are teachers.

In these classes though, reality hits. It was a good idea in America but it’s life and death here. They NEED Jesus to come. They’re sick, starving, severely traumatized and in NEED a savior. So glad we have the perfect one. You could feel the hunger in the room.

We got rocked, they got rocked. Everyone got fed. It was great.

By the end of the week I’ve more than come up with a strategy for the boys. Through prayer, conversations, more conversations and interviews, we’ve put together a new prevention program for the young men of the village.

The “Leadership League” we call it.

What better way to give boys a hope and a vision then to empower them with the opportunity to do what they love most. And what do they love most? Futball (AKA: Soccer)

That’s right, we’ve started a soccer league.

Every boy enrolled will get a jersey, shoes and a super water bottle. Along with a guaranteed dream team, they will be required to learn basic reading and writing (as we keep putting together plans for secondary school) and attendance to discipleship courses.

We may not be able to stop them from being abducted but we can give them a reason to hold off being enrolled.

We already found our captain who couldn’t have been more excited. “You want to hire me to play futball?!?! This is the best idea you could think of” –haha. Of course it is.

So now! If you’re interested, we need two things: One, obvious sponsors for jersey’s (We’ll buy the immediate ones in Congo) BUUUUUT, if anyone wants to sponsor a team!! When I’m back in the west I would LOVE to get our boys awesome looking jersey’s and soccer bags!! Including shin guards, socks—the works.

“Without vision, the people perish” Literally.

Help our boys get balls, not guns!

Well, still working on a tag line ; )

This young boy holds his gun and a photo of a chimpanzee he wants me to buy from him. The bizarre moments in life…

(Along with that, though not quite as sorted is a girls Volleyball League we’ve started developing on paper. It will have a similar goal, though rather than gun prevention we aim to decrease rape and abduction/recruitment of girls to be young wives or sex slaves.)

Caution: FB posts aren’t always as they seem...

So it’s been a while since I’ve blogged. A long while. To be honest—I’m in one of “those” seasons. Yeah… the ones where you want to nod your head, shut your eyes and “I dream of Jeannie” your way out of it. But rather, with my eyes so tightly shut, nervous to peek, papa came in a while back and whispered (not so quietly), “This season is setting you up for every dream in your heart to come to pass.”

Uhhhhhh. Fine. 

And I know you’ve all been there. At the mercy of a good God, who is working his butt off to give you his best, knowing that the only way forward is OVER the mountain.

Sometimes pioneering is hard. Let’s just be honest. And pioneering as a leader? Sometimes extra hard. Paving new paths at one point seemed glamorous as I pictured a hunky young Harrison Ford. But a few dozen twigs in the eyes later… I can sometimes second guess things.

Even just the emotions that come with the dodgy jungle paths!

In Congo hearing stories of our Freedom boys (child soldiers) who have indeed been rapists, to Kenya working with our sweet Bella girls who have been raped. Emotional yo-yo.

But then I exhale. And you know what? There’s an absolute beauty in these learning seasons. Or “growing season”……“Self development” anyone? Whatever language you can relate to most, this season is stretching me.

The beauty though.

First- when you are thirsty, and water is scarce, you will dig deeper and more ferociously for proper hydration than ever before. You will stay up late, wake up early, you will fast when you haven’t fasted in… a long time, and you will posture your heart, doing whatever it takes for just even a smidge more of Heaven. Then, alone in those secret places, he will always, always, always come in crazy extra amounts. And for these extra times with my sweet papa God, I wouldn’t trade a minute of this season for another one. (not that I still wouldn’t want the acceleration button pushed… 

Second- you’ll do things you never would’ve have done before. It’s that desperation thing. I have no clue how to handle some situations that we’re in with our boys and girls. But instead of just casually inquiring about an answer, I’m reading everything I can get my hands on, I’m having non-stop Skype dates with anybody who’s gone before me and I will not stop until I get the answers I’m looking for. This awkward, persistent, focused passion, probably wouldn’t be there had I not been placed in this “position”.

So it’s weird, but I’m thankful. I’m learning again, the absolute beauty of my papa. Rivers flow to low places, and you can’t go wrong with going low and letting him refresh you. And what I keep seeing, is while I’m weak, this whole “I am strong” thing he mentions—TOTALLY TRUE.

While in Congo last week papa opened some… pretty fabulous doors with the army. I can’t go into details on the internet, but it was everything I’ve been dreaming for. The kind of stories I used to lie awake in bed asking God to bring about. Yup, and in my moment of exhaustion (with a cherry on top that I’d been sleeping on a cement floor with no pillow) my beautiful papi showed up in the jungles of the red zone and gave me one of my greatest hearts desires.

Cause he’s just that good.

So, sorry I haven’t blogged in a while. I am still alive and well, enjoying the simple moments of life, just with fewer words than usual.

(PS- Extra massive thanks to all my beloved friends, family and stunning mentors! I am blown away beyond words at how you always stand with me, support me and love me better than I could have EVER dreamed for.

I say this to anyone who wants to impact the world in any way—invest in relationships! Fly, bus, walk through the rain at night uphill both ways, whatever you have to do (!!) to get lasting deep covenant people to do life with. Worth it for every message I received this week alone 

.Hope. is to Brothels as Chocolate is to Cookies

We walk into Lollilop, our favorite strip club on the coast, and immediately all heads turn. Cries ring out from around the room and whether from a pole on the stage or from the lap of John, the girls greet us with smiles and the whole room welcomes us for the night.

“Just a minute,” One of the girls says to her client and runs over to me for a hug. I hold her close, she’s perfect. A young vivacious girl with dreams that seem to slip further away from her with every lap dance.

I love hope. I love how quickly a situation can be turned when Jesus walks into the room. We laugh, we chat and we reawaken hearts that seemed frozen in time. Then we arrange coffee dates, tea times and plans for “church”- our upcoming venture for working street girls before they start their nights with clients.

I love how hope finds us. One night while sleeping in a shady hotel room, (you know the ones that make your stomach turn as you lay on it’s dirty sheets) it woke me. We were overnighting in the brothel and as most of the team worshipped in our beautiful Nevaeh Center, I slipped away to crash for a couple hours. Most find it hard to sleep here. Closing my eyes I heard at least 3 different clubs BLASTING music and I swear something was crawling on every inch of my body. But then I heard it. Between my dreams, hope called out: “Let it rain, let it rain… open the flood gates of heaven, and let it rain”

The most beautiful unexpected sound erupting through the streets and into the hourly rate rooms. And there it was. Through my exhaustion - I was reminded that I’d been found.

I love how hope pursues us. We have a million stories, from girls searching us out during Nevaeh worship sets and begging us to pray for them, to Jesus walking into rooms of women as they service clients and in an open vision he invites them to leave with him. He’s after their hearts. I’m undone. Absolutely undone time and time again at how tangible it is. How real his pursuit of them, of me, it’s perfect.

Every girl we speak to says the same thing, “I feel so unclean, how could he stop for me?” And every single time, it never gets old when they meet him and realize he sees them as flawless.

I love my busy crazy life in the brothels. It’s been such a treat to share it with a couple dozen visitors this month from Bethel students to Iris Alumni to YWAM friends and so on. It’s been a blast!

The time is quickly wrapping up for a minute and I can feel my heart shifting as I prepare for the Middle East. Only a few days now and I’ll arrive in Jordan, ready to see hope manifest itself in another war zone! My heart comes alive at the thought!!

I hadn’t had as much prep time as I would have liked, so last night I stole away to a hotel room on the beach. In the silence of crashing waves and praising palm trees, I processed our time in the red light districts and got my heart ready for the next venture. Thank you for those who gave for “me” and let me value REST and take a moment for my heart. The hotel had hot water and in my 13 hours off I took 4 showers. :) Jesus is goooood.

This blog feels rushed as I could go on forever about the beauty that’s being unveiled here. Maybe another time though. Please be watching out for posts on my time with IRIS Relief in Jordan, loving on Syrian Refugees. (April 14th-May 4th) I still can’t believe all that’s going on there and consider it the biggest honor to be apart of a small group responding to history unfolding.

(If you want to still give to the work in with Syrian Refugees see the “Contact” page or see the IRIS relief page on the Iris Global site)

Mother May I and the Middle East

So… raising teenagers huh? I now have a new respect and appreciation for all you parents out there as another one of our girls seems to have reached adolescence overnight!

There are so many sides to every story. One side of this story sounds romantic. Heroic almost. Rescuing young girls from prostitution or boys out of the army. I had dreamt of it for years. Busting down doors, sneaking down back alley’s and while I never imagined Kumbaya by the fire, I did probably have a few more rainbows and quiet nights in there.

And though at times, that may be a part of the story, I’m learning that a large part is quite different. A 5:15am alarm clock wakes me from my short night’s sleep and calls me to make breakfast for our sweet daughters. Suddenly my life, is no longer my own.

Time is rushed doing homework checks and though I’m absolutely obsessed with loving our girls, I breathe a happy sigh when we finally get them all out the door with school bags and uniforms together. Any other mother’s relate?

(Photos with our youngest babe on what we affectionately call “Afro Sunday”)

I know my life is different and I have the privilege of seeing them raised alongside a few other ‘house parents’ who carry it year round. They are amazing and I am SO grateful for them! I love the adventure and am very aware that I am learning A LOT. Wow. A lot about love and truly laying your life down for someone else. A lot about patience! And understanding adolescent girls, especially those with harder backgrounds like our own babes.

It’s been a beautiful time and I’m so thankful for every moment I have with them.

Along with everyday life in Bella House, things are also growing and developing here with new opportunities, not only in Kenya but also…the Middle East.

A large part of my passion is war zones. It’s bizarre sometimes, as I can spend hours dreaming of the transformation to be had in lands of war lords and grenade explosions. To places where my purity, not to mention my very breath can be on the line, yet somehow something draws me. Like a renewed version of Sirens calling; “There is hope. There is transformation available. Who will go for me to bring home the desolate and the dying?”

It was in November that my heart got really wrecked for what was happening in Syria and area. I started praying “God, let’s do this thing, let’s shift atmospheres. I’m not sure how but if I can be apart the answer to my own prayer, please send me!” In December he finally answered with: “For your 26th birthday, I’m sending you to the Middle East.”

I was in Nashville during a worship set and I couldn’t even respond, I could only laugh. See, Jesus and I LOVE exchanging gifts, always trying to “out give” the other. (I’ve learned the best way to love Him are two things - Quality time, and sitting with the poor aka: Matt 25) So this felt absolutely about right. Trumped again! ;)

The funny thing is I had utterly no clue how I’d get there. Just thrown into one of those “trusting gigs”. Days passed and eventually turned into weeks and soon two months had gone by, but then at the end of January the beautiful Skype call came. I connected with others from Iris Global and a relief team was forming with an extra extended portion into the most needy places we could find. I now leave Mtwapa, Kenya for Amman, Jordan April 13th and return to Kenya May 4th (My 26th birthday being May 5th. Sweet right?!)

Here are some articles on Syria. There are currently over 4 million internally displaced people in Syria. FOUR MILLION. And over 1 million displaced internationally. Currently they’re predicting over 3 million refugees by the end of the year!! I can’t even imagine that.

Syrian Internally Displaced Reaches 4 million

 http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-21676542

Immediately my pioneer heart hears this and switches to: “Ok, after years working throughout African war zones I’ve seen what works and what doesn’t, so let’s go in and develop education programs! They can be partnered with counseling, art therapy and sponsorship. We can scout now, implement by the summer and have something launched by fall!!”

And then he spoke again. “Just listen. Love. And let’s get a little dirty. For now.” I watched a TED talk (God LOVES to speak through TED) about dead aid and the power of actually listening first. (By Ernesto Sirolli) Ok God. Agenda’s aside, let’s go in, hearts on the table and without reservations, love the Syrian people in Jordan!

The team plans on bringing in relief supplies and therapy programs, I’m excited.

I hope to tweet as often as I have internet. Hashtag #hopetosyrianrefugees Follow

If you’re interested in donating to the costs of this trip, to supplies or to my ground fees, you can donate HERE and sow into the refugees.

If you’re interested in helping Justice Rising Projects in the Kenyan brothels, we have a new venture!! “Pads with a Purpose”. Start collecting new Always Pads and we give them to young girls in the brothels who are normally kept out of school when they have their period. (Making them vulnerable to sexual abuse) Brilliant right!? We then take them back to Africa with us and give them to a sweet young girl that we work with here. :)

Transition! And a road-trip across Kenya...

I took 5 showers over the course of two days, a manicure, pedicure and laundry in a real washing machine and dryer to finally feel clean. My hair feels so soft again and the funny rash on my arm is already starting to fade.

I’m back in Kenya!!!

It’s always a funny transition from DRC to Kenya. The deep far out places of Congo are a world all their own. Though, I was completely happy and loving life when I left Congo but it was as soon as I reached Kenya, my heart started having what I call “emotional contractions”. Tenderly sorting through the stories of our sons and the reality of child soldiers. The ones we’ve rescued and the boys that have yet to be rescued. We hope to have them at the end of the month and once safely relocated to the city, I will feel much more satisfied.

I would often refer to myself as pretty sensitive. (Annnnnd all my friends laugh) Possibly an understatement. Every story, every teen with a gun, every young girl with a baby, my heart aches. It never gets easier.

But it does get more beautiful. I’m so thankful for our sweet munchkins. But every rape story is still a blow to the gut.

So I’ve been in process mode! Lots of tears. Lots of laughter. People often ask me how we handle the stories. Well, I’ve learned over the years that my Papa God has big shoulders. REALLY big. He can handle every breath stolen by injustice and in his ridiculous amazingness, replaces it with joy. He’s patient with my process. The times I want to talk about it and the times I want to put on a TV show and zone out for an hour.

We’re also patient with ourselves (we have to be) and take time to recover. My recovery this time… Nairobi!! My favorite. One of my closest friends also came from LA to spend a week with our family on the coast! YAY! She’s a professional designer who has a heart to bring creativity and beauty to areas of injustice. And through revamping the atmosphere, help create a place of safety and a better area to recover and have restoration. She’s amazing and owns her own business with her husband. It’s called Disregarden (check it out here)

It’s been perfect. We shopped, got our nails done, ate half the sweets she brought me from the west (So much for pacing ourselves—shout out to Easter “mini-eggs”!) and laughed and talked ‘til all hours.

From here we’re heading to Bella House to be with the girls and decorate the home and Nevaeh Community Drop-In center. Continuing to add a little more beauty to the brothels. 

The only quirky thing about her time here is it’s also election week… Quick lo-down as this is important!! Last national elections of Kenya there were what they call the “Clashes”. A political uproar that cost hundreds of lives and thousands of others displaced from there homes. There was looting, fires, riots. A very painful time in Kenyan history. Now Monday March 4thwe revisit elections again. There is much fear surrounding the week and we’ve been advised to store up enough food, water and candles to last up to a MONTH, incase of house arrest.

From Congo to this. I laugh as I believe we carry Heaven’s perfect peace, so it only makes sense that we would be in places with the most danger and chaos! It is my first time in situations like this where my staff and I are parents to so many. Ha. Please be praying for safety in Kenya, particularly the hot spots on the coast and our young little family of muffins. We’re believing that by being here we will be the atmosphere shifters and not subject to the environment around us. HOWEVER, we did by enough water for a small nation. 

Be watching for future photos of the physical transformation Jessica and “Disregarden” bring to our home and projects!!!

Love in a time of... Warzones.

We learn a lot about perspective when we open our eyes.

Our complaints of not having running water, a toilet in our house or the nagging cravings that pull at our stomachs during mealtimes, are easily silenced by a woman’s rape story. Every woman’s rape story. Our beautiful Pastor explains: “It’s no longer a question of ‘if’ she’s been raped, in the villages it’s ‘how many times’?”

He provides the best kind of perspective.

This November war broke out in the provincial capitol where we’re based, worse than it had in years. In the chaos and confusion of gunfire and explosions in the sky, our Pastor opened up his home to 18 orphan children and half a dozen adults. His 2 roomed house, the living area smaller than most American kitchens, was turned into a displaced persons lodge: “We took all the furniture and put it outside. It was body on top of body, piled on another body.” Our measly bit of war relief sent during this time fed them all for the month they were there.

Perspective. It’s hard to communicate life here sometimes. The horror and the absolute beauty. The fungus that crawls up my arm in little circles, itching more and more everyday and sweet child that I embrace, again, though they were probably the one that gave it to me.

Every Saturday is “Sleepover Saturday” with Justice Rising projects. In the brothels, we have slumber parties with rescued child prostitutes. In the war zones, it’s a party with rescued child soldiers. The biggest difference, I vote, is the smell. Ha. Oh yes, even with the smelly soaps and lotions I give to our boys, somehow our girls always smell MUCH better at the end of the day…

This last weekend during some “art therapy” with our beautiful boys, we asked them to draw our little family in a garden, with an elephant. (Yes, I somehow sneak elephants into all of our art projects.)

A normal plan, so we thought, until perspective shows up. Machetes and guns in blue and red crayon. Perhaps an easy thing to draw? We ask our boys to explain. Their faces are sweet and I can rarely describe them in a sentence without slipping in the words “perfection” and “adore”, but deep in their eyes, still hidden in their memories, it makes sense.

Though our family is full of love, the picture shows a gun pointed at a stick figure with a blonde ponytail. Dang it. Everyone in the picture is either killing or running from conflict. Our heart aches for our sweet muffins and the things they’ve seen. The lives they lived.

Last week while in the bush we met quietly with other young boys we hope to rescue and began the process of helping them get out of the bush and into the city. (Our program is not one of 24-7 care but more foster sponsorship and extensive discipleship. With this we can see more boys restored with less money and still be able to love on the armies and not have them want to “get rid of us”… haha)  While sitting with one of the kids, perspective was made clear when he stated “I have no life outside of the army.” It was either he joins our family, or he stays fighting in his current one.

Little boys with big guns. Everywhere. On the street we ask their names and they get fidgety. You try to gaze into their eyes with all the love you can show while still glancing at their finger to see it stays far from the AK’s trigger.

Perspective is a funny thing. Especially in a war zone. And you have a choice. Sometimes it hurts more to see. Ok let’s be honest, it almost always hurts more to see. That’s why not everyone does it, and war and famine persist. But in the end, opening your eyes and getting some perspective on someone else’s reality is so so worth it.

For in that moment of choosing to do life with them, the vulnerability expressed is what opens yourself up to truly experience love.

Love is nothing like I thought. Or probably even now what I think. Love is ridiculously and incredibly beautifully, while utterly heartwrenchenly painful yet always 100% completely worth it. Love is what  stands with the broken, with the raped victim and the hungry and says “You’re not alone”. Love chooses to look deep into heart of the war lord and say: “I see you. I see you for not what you’ve done, but what God’s done for you” And love is what says to the little boy who’s been given a gun instead of an embrace: “I will stop for you. No matter what it costs me” Because love, in it’s purest form, always costs you something.

I feel like we’re forever learning here, continuously shocked at how little we know! But more now than ever, as I become increasingly obsessed with our sweet little princes, I get inspired to figure it out. Love in a war zone. In a brothel. It’s purity and power able to transform even the toughest area. It’s brilliant. Ridiculously and absolutely brilliant. And suuuuch a blast. We’re so excited as every minute here feels like the greatest honor ever. It’s just sometimes taking the perspective and the courage to really see it. The journey we’re foreeeeever learning. : )

I Should Have Shaved My Legs...

Sometimes it’s the red nail polish on the tips of your fingers and ends of your toes that remind you to smile. An element of girlish beauty that recalls simpler days. But other times, in the middle of it all, it’s the squeeze from a child who without education in our primary school would have a gun in his hand rather than a pencil.

We arrived in our beloved Congo on Monday afternoon and were greeted with the usual: No electricity or running water and pending threats of war. “I should have shaved my legs my last morning in Rwanda!” Is all I could think of. A warm shower and a hot breakfast?? I should have cherished that moment a little extra too as I now grab a handful of nuts from my suitcase!

It’s funny because for some people, those things aren’t a big deal. Well… I don’t think I’m “some people”. When I was younger many told me: “If you don’t like spiders or being dirty, you’re probably not called to be a missionary. It’s only for ‘some people’” Haha. Hm. Like I said, I think I missed the category of those “some people” though somehow it works. I hate being dirty, I adore washing machines, and if I could have a chai latte in my hand at all times, I would be a happy girl. But it’s more than that.

Chatting it up on the playground with one of our Freedom boys (rescued child soldier) I congratulate him on passing his exam and in the moment, could care less that the dark tan on my arms is really just dirt. I love this. I love that we get to stand in the middle of so many uncertainties and have a blast!! I love seeing transformation, even if it means that some nights my feet turn blue during the cold bucket bath. It’s so worth it!

Sometimes the transformation is instant. *Joseph for example. His smile is massive and sticks to his face like a fly to the wall. His scarred hands remind us of his past but his joy overwhelms the situation and I’m absolutely amazed by his hope.

Other transformations take a little longer… Micheal. My boy. Oh how my heart adores him. And he knows it. About 11 years old now, any time we’re in the same room, I don’t care what the rules are, he’s the exception. My shadow, and he has been for years. But still, “Micheal what’s wrong?” I asked the other day as I saw a long look that pulled him down. “When was the last time you ate?” Two days… Three days… “We are in famine.” So often this is the case and we’re constantly working to change the fact. Yet still so many days I hear him echo: “We are in famine.”

Bah. Congo’s the most interesting place to work. Because no matter the difficulties, the pain of sitting with them in their reality, the love pulls you back in. The kindness in the people, the passion in our papa’s eyes as he longs to be united with his favorite warlord or violated mama. Uhhh the mamas. How many times is too many times of hearing of a woman’s destroyed vagina due to rape? That’s where the similarities lie in our work in Kenya and Congo. Someone always seems to be getting raped. A brothel and a war zone. Where purity is a rarity and targets seem to be painted on most young women’s foreheads.

I know. For some people that may have been a lot: “Did she just say vagina!?” But it’s a reality to so so many here. And our response? What if we choose not to be “some people,” dictated by how it’s been done in the past. But what if we write the history we dream so much about changing? How can we create a new normal so someday this is only legend? Rape, war, starvation. Everyone with their own piece, no matter where you are. This is our constant conversation on the ground. Haha. I know… and a repeat topic in many of my blogs ;)

I look down at my painted nails again. Red. And I smile. Sometimes it’s the simplicity of a manicure and sometimes it’s the joy in changing the world. Either way there’s something in the smile. Loving what you do. And though life here may not always be perfect, our team is definitely LOVING LIFE in our beloved DRC. Off to the bush next week! So excited! (If you want to get involved in rescuing child soldiers or building a school as a “justice piece” to prevent war for future generations– be watching for more chances!!! Or give by clicking on the ‘donate’ page)

Abolition Requires Movement

I woke up this morning to a blasting alarm. Opening my eyes, I looked out the window to see it was still pitch black outside. I usually hate waking up when it’s still dark, however today and most weekdays lately, have been an exception. I walked down the hall to a room where our sweet princesses were freshly showered and getting ready for school. Though still wiping the sleep from the corner of my eyes, a massive smile spread across my face as I took each girl in my arms. We are obsessed with loving them.

Later it’s breakfast and backpacks and then the bus takes them to school, no longer facing a day of hunger and servicing of clients, these girls adore their studies. As I grab a few more cups of tea, my team and I make the plans to visit another one of our little princesses. This situation is different though.

This daughter does not live in our home. Her, like dozens of other girls we’re committed to, still stays in the village as we work with her and her family in sponsorship, mentorship and attempt to shift a culture with education and a lot a lot of love.

Her story takes a few more deep breathes to conquer as she is still in process. Her sister is a prostitute. Night after night the woman brings men home, wakes up our beloved and tells her to switch beds. Our sweet one then gets up and climbs under the covers with her siblings, trying to fall back sleep as her sister satisfies customers in the bed next to hers. She hears everything. She sees everything.

Our young, beautiful one’s raw environment seemed to paint a target on her forehead that eventually traffickers appeared drawn to her and had started pimping her out. Uh, our hearts. How do you deal?  Just barely 13 years old, her story is not just of one but dozens. In a culture where “children and sex” share the same phrase on a normal day, we take a moment to refocus our gaze and remember it’s not impossible.

Today our schedule was sitting with her in a waiting room after she was screened for STIs. (Sexually Transmitted Infections) Her tests came out clean and we tried to convince her again of the dangers that lay in sex with strangers.

Later that night we heard more rape stories. More accounts of abuse and more brothels that bind young women in a sexual nightmare. But as we discuss the rounds of exploitation we can’t help but start to shift the conversation.

It’s who we are. It starts with a brothel and grows to a dream. Freedom! Liberty! Love’s perfect invasion! We start to hear the cry of heaven screaming louder than the threats of injustice:

“Ask for it. Ask for the transformation…”

Soon where tears had just rolled, a laugh escapes. It starts out small but then followed by a sequence of others you can’t hold it back. We win! We will dream for more and we WILL see girls rescued and brothels shut down!

And so it doesn’t end there. It can’t. Later on we stuff some cash in our pocket and our phone down our shirts and while others climb into bed, we climb onto a motorbike to head to the strip clubs to bring action to the dreams.

So often we talk about “abolition” and sex-trafficking or slavery. But sitting with our sweet princesses, talk isn’t enough.

Walking into the clubs we’re looking for children. Looking for the babies who are hidden under thick make-up and short skirts.

We sit with a beautiful girl named Cecelia and she starts to cry as we share what love really looks like.

In the moment it feels so ordinary.

Nothing is impossible. Nothing is too big. All it takes is love and action. That we would be a generation that moves from great ideas and discussions to the dirty bars and packed out street corners. Love in action. The unqualified, now qualified by love!

At home our babes lie peacefully in bed. Success. Tomorrow we’ll wake up and do it again. Giants taken down with simple stones. Love. Justice. ACTION. Never underestimating the power of our “yes” and the simplicity of a child with a slingshot.

Back in Action

It’s a beautiful night. A canopy of stars light up the dark black sky and the sweet breeze, smelling of a mixture of coconut and wild flowers, refreshes me from the sticky heat.

Mmmm I’m home.

Our beautiful Kenyan house is unusually quiet for this hour. After a busy day of family fun field trips, (pic of some of us above) our Bella House girls now sit around their desks in the living room finishing up homework for the manic Monday that waits them in the morning.

Is this really my life? The other missionaries and myself just had this talk. What!? We literally get to go into brothels, find the worst situations and rescue them into our beautiful family. Several months after taking in our first girl, a young woman trafficked from Nairobi; it’s amazing to see the transformation that’s almost unrecognizable from when we first met.

“I’m taking snow [ice] in my water because Sandra is taking snow. I will do what she does,” she boasts at the dinner table.  Oh how good it is to finally be back after months of furlough!

Not that the transition didn’t come with its drama… I still can’t believe how much I traveled in the last two months. Thank you to everyone for being so amazing and hosting me and supporting me and partnering with the dream to shut down brothels. We have a house of girls who thank you as well.  :)

Their process amazes me. Both their growth and also the constant stories from their past. The more we learn the tales of their little lives, the more we cherish their laughter and every hug that we hold onto for just a few seconds extra.

Snuggled up with one of our girls, this precious one asks me every time we’re alone: “Why did you start this home? What made you come? Why, why did you pick me?” This girl has had more abuse then I can comprehend but her smile now says it all and I think to myself : “You! I came because Jesus is here. And if he is who we say he is, this passionately obsessed God who is the very nature of love and goodness… It’s easy to give it all away and see transformation.” So to her question, it makes me think: “How could I stay away??” Oh to move as heirs of a big God.

This year is ridiculously exciting. Our family loves the process of growth with various projects and businesses and teams here on the coast! Our holistic model “Prevention. Intervention and Rescue” to shut down brothels has been so fun to develop! Sometimes, though my days are filled with long hours and often way too many rape stories, but in the midst of it all I feel I’m just along for the ride as the ease of life is so beautiful how it all unfolds!!

Presently I’m with my growing team in Mtwapa, Kenya and will move at the end of the month back to Congo! We’re so excited about life there as well!

In short, my little schedule:

January-USA /Kenya

February- DRC

March- Kenya

April- Kenya/DRC

May- DRC/Kenya/USA (for a super dear friend’s wedding)

I’ll be sitting down and sending out a real newsletter, maybe when life slows for a second. Until then… This is my first blog back, trying to get into the swing of it again! And I’ll continue to unravel the everyday living of a “normal life” between war zones and brothels in weekly blogs to come. (Normal AKA: Living happy, passionately and doing exactly what you were created to do. Stopping for the poor and tackling the impossible all the while. Course.) I plan to be back and forth a lot this year, focusing more and more on overseeing and delegating projects to the on sight project managers and directors rising up!  To follow more of that process—check out our project site: www.justicerising.org . It gives a few more daily stories from other team members and an overview of what we do!  :)

So until inspiration strikes again! …

Half the Sky

Soooo, in case you haven’t guessed it, sometimes I can be a little passionate. Just a little ;)

Standing up for the rights of the downcast, the oppressed. Being a voice for the voiceless; my kids and the ones with stories just like theirs.

I say it all the time but, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice EVERYWHERE.” -MLKJ

So powerful.

So in the quest to changing the world… Not just covering an issue, but going to the root. Finding the DNA of the injustice and decoding it and rewiring it to stand for love and honor and freedom… We find others are on the same journey!

Here’s one of my absolute fav’s, Nicholas Kristof  and his wife Sheryl WuDunn and their documentary that’s an incredible mark against injustice. A PBS special gone movie. Order your copy Here

And then come back and join us as we dare to go after transformation in some the darkest regions, among the most needy…

Rebel Raids to London Lattes

(Written last week, posted this week… C’est la vie in transition!)

For a moment, a beautiful, awkward transitional moment, I close my eyes and purse my lips, and I’m back in Africa. I remember holding one of my girls as she sobbed in my arms– she’d been raped for a living and desperate for some love. Or I listen, almost holding my breath to determine the location of the bomb blasts of active conflict and I see the faces of my sweet boys who’ve gone from the front lines of battle to the front rows of a classroom.

Opening up my eyes it’s a different story though. The English country side. Scones and tea in the gardens of an old castle, as deer frolic past us and swans play in the brook. What?!

I hold the moment as there are few in this life quite like it. Straddling two completely different worlds, yet still having my heart forever rooted and grounded in the lap of my papa. It’s in these moments I feel the richest.

I left Africa last week, just as our first girl moved into Bella House. A girl who’s been sex-trafficked, oh how honored we are to be trusted with some of papa’s most absolute favorites! Out of respect for our girls, we don’t share too much of their stories on blogs but watching life play out, I feel SO SO privileged at who God has brought into our beautiful Bella House family!!!

I chat with my Kenya team frequently and my heart gets SO excited at all that’s happening.

Right before I left, our “Can’t be Bought Campaign” was launched. (YAY!) This is our prevention side to working in brothels. Yes, I absolutely ADORE Bella House, but reaching a dozen girls is a pretty small drop in the ocean. If we REALLY want to take down this giant of sex slavery, there NEEDS to be justice along with mercy. PREVENTION.

In the first week we reached several hundred kids and hope to be reaching a few thousand per week by the beginning of the new year.

With this campaign, our team goes into public schools and teaches kids about prostitution, sex-trafficking, their value and worth and that they are created with purpose and can truly change the world! It’s amazing, our first class I stood at the back taking pictures and almost cried as the kids rang out a cheer “I am not for sale… I cannot be bought! I’m valuable… I’m powerful… my body’s mine…” In a place where sex with children is normal, this felt ground breaking.

It’s been a journey… choosing to “see” can sometimes be the most difficult part.

Imagine being in the 5th grade and because you don’t sell yourself for sex, you are a minority.

Imagine wanting a snack during recess, so for your bag of popcorn it’s acceptable to find a man who will violate you for it.

Imagine growing up knowing if you don’t get the luxury of education, you will most likely be forced to sell yourself for sex.

And imagine knowing not much else. Your mom is a prostitute, your grand-mom is a prostitute and your aunty is now forcing you to be a prostitute.

This is the life of SO many in our community here.

It’s so… engrained in a culture, and we’ve had our shirts stained with too many tears of child prostitutes to do nothing about it.

With the curriculum of this campaign, we hope to use it as a foundation in brothels around the world. Entering public school systems and empowering kids to protect their body, stay in school and dream for a better future. I’m excited!!

So now I go from rescuing kids on the ground to being their voice abroad. (As of now, I’m officially back in N.America!) They say children exploited in sex-work or conflict are the most voiceless population in the world. So for my babies and family in another world—it’s time to speak up!!

Exciting times we live in! That we would get the opportunity to touch so many lives! Amazing really! Change the world, and now get hot showers too. Life just keeps getting better 

If you want to join us in rescuing child sex slaves and hopefully, well, shutting down brothels : ) you can donate today and be apart of the journey of writing history! Donate