my altogether different africa

The Gypsy Mama and I have been living each other's lives. Well, kinda. I've lived in South Africa for 12 years. Just about as long as she's lived in America.

She's a South African married to an American. I'm an American married to a South African. Or at least I was. But that's a whole other story for a whole other day.

South Africa has become home for me, although it was certainly an adjustment. Things are just different. Like the common practice of not refrigerating condiments. And grown men grocery shopping in their bare feet. And the fact that jam means jelly and jelly means jell-o.

We drive on the wrong left side of the road in cars that are more ladylike than they are in the States. They have bonnets and boots instead of hoods and trunks.

There's no central heating (even though we get snow where I live!) but I've learned to build fires in my fireplace the old fashioned way. I'd make Bear Grylls proud. The windows, which are permanently open in summer, have no screens. And I hate bugs. ::shudder::

I'm still trying to understand the difference between the South African phrases now, just now, and now now. Because they basically all mean I'll get to it when I get to it.

Speaking of... Things happen slower in Africa. Which often causes a flare-up of my Kinko's-quick American impatience, but has taught me some valuable lessons: Faster isn't always better. God cares more about the missionary than the mission. Relationships matter.

Nuggets of wisdom lace every contrast between my here-home and there-home. And I love that. There is a unique joy in discovering more about God and myself in the tapestry of cultural diversity.

I love my altogether different and altogether beautiful Africa.

In all her grit and glory.

[originally a guest post on The Gypsy Mama's site...]

the double standard of my heart

For months I've been praying for my husband's heart to return to the Lord. For Niel to feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit.

For the consequences of his decisions and actions to open his eyes to how deceived he's become.

For him to hit rock bottom.

For God to do whatever it takes to get his attention.

But if I'm being most honest, I wasn't as concerned with Niel's repentance as I was with him feeling the weight of what he's done.

The reality is that I sometimes still want him to hurt like I've hurt, more than I want him to live forgiven and free.

I've had to come face-to-face with the double-standard of my heart.

Because my struggle to genuinely pray not only for Niel's repentance but also for his forgiveness really only means one thing---

I don't realize just how much I've been forgiven for.

I want to accept the work of the cross for my sins, but not for my husband's.

As if my sins have been lesser.

Or even fewer.

When they are neither.

"...God's kindness leads you toward repentance."

I remember gasping out loud when I saw that verse as if with new eyes.

And I've wrestled with Him long and hard over the implications of it.

It has taken me a very long time to get to this point, but I've begun praying---with tear-filled eyes still---for God's kindness to lead Niel to repentance.

I've started asking God to smother him with His goodness and grace and mercy.

Some days it's easier to pray that way than others.

Some days I can't at all.

On those days, I just sit in the reality of what it truly means.

And I pray for God's kindness to lead me to repentance.

Originally a guest post over at In Progress >

are you tired?

As we started this new year, I became mindful of my tendency to wear myself out for all the wrong things. You see, I was reading along in Isaiah when I tripped over this phrase: "You have not wearied yourselves for Me, O Israel." I knew exactly what God was talking about. And I knew I was just as guilty as Israel was.

After over eleven years in full-time ministry, I know full-well what it's like to weary myself. I've put in the ridiculously long hours. I've juggled an impossible schedule. I've reached the point of burnout and lived to tell about it.

And as I fall in bed exhausted at the end of a long day week month year decade, my heart sighs, "I'm weary..."

If I listen closely enough, I hear God's voice, ever loving and gentle. "But you haven't wearied yourself for Me."

Without even realizing it, I've been wearing my exhaustion like a badge of honor. My demanding schedule and ever-growing to do lists became my identity. As if fatigue is the mark of an accomplished missionary.

If I'm most honest, I wearied myself because I thought my value lay in my productivity. I mistook accomplishments for significance. I bought into the lie that busyness is the telltale sign of successful leadership.

But while I was getting stuff done, and even---by God's grace---impacting lives, I was ultimately toiling for the wrong reasons.

The work of discipling young leaders in Africa is worth every ounce of my effort and energy. I want to tire myself out doing what I love. But I need to keep the motives of my heart in check. Wearying myself for some self-serving purpose is just plain tiring.

So as I look out over the horizon of 2010, this much I know is true: I want to weary myself only for Him.

Is this something you've struggled with? What are some practical ways we can keep this in check?

Originally a guest post on Catalyst's blog...