The last time Cathi saw me, I really wasn't lookin' my best. It's amazing how many pounds her video camera took off me this time.
If you could professionally alter, shrink, or augment any part of yourself, what would it be?
so different, yet so similar
At our first reunion, I discovered I have more in common with Cathi than I ever would've imagined. That was reinforced even more this week.
Now if only I could remember what our similarities actually are...
Wow. I wish I could speak whale.
just what i needed
Yesterday felt like a long exhale. It felt like a warm blanket. And the first day of spring. I spent over nine hours with a wonderful friend. She's a friend I can be talkative with and also sit in comfortable silence with. And we did plenty of both. She held my hand as we shared hearts, and made me feel completely loved when she hugged me.
And the best part was: We laughed till we cried. And then we laughed some more.
If the still-shots don't prove it, maybe this will:
As I drove home at the end of my perfect day, my mind settled on one thought: My heart feels strengthened.
It was just what I needed.
bear hug me
I've got something for you to watch. If you're like me, you might shy away from immediately watching videos as you quickly breeze through the blogs you read. I assure you this is less than two-and-a-half minutes long. And it sums up the prayer of my heart just right.
I dug all I could and this was (sadly) the best video I could find. So apologies in advance for the poor quality. Mostly I want you to hear what's being said, so the yucky video shouldn't matter too much.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMeySMME6Dg&fmt=18]
How does that resonate with you?
the love of a friend
I've spent four of the past eight New Year's Eves with my best friend. Not too bad of a track record considering we've lived on different continents for the majority of that time. On New Year's Day, Kitty and Peaberry flew back to South Africa. My heart feels full just thinking of the hugs my friend received at the Johannesburg airport from her husband and son. And at the same time, my heart hurts because she's gone.
But mostly I'm humbled and overwhelmed that she even came with me and spent the past three weeks by my side. I hope she really knows how much I love her...
spilling my guts
Now that my self-assigned writing project is over, I'm afraid of the direction my blog may go if I write what's on my mind and heart. So I'm trying to find the balance of being authentic and not letting the Grit morph into something I don't want it to be.
That being said, I know I need to start the new year off with a good dose of honesty. Brace yourself.
Like the earth after a drought, I'm finding I quickly soak up the love that's lavished on me, and then---just as quickly---it disappears. I don't doubt the sincerity of those who love me, it's just that it all rapidly sinks deep into the parched recesses of my heart, and the rest stays cracked and dry.
I guess that means my love tank ran empty. I've been running on empty for a long time.
I feel unloved and unwanted. Worse, I feel unlovable and unwantable. I'm trying to not believe those lies, but nine times out of ten, I do.
I've been advised not to worry too much about battling my fears of co-dependency right now. Because I'm in a place where I genuinely need people and need to allow myself to rely on them. The realization of all those things pretty much overwhelms me.
But deep down, I know this much is true: I was not created to be an island. It is okay healthy for me to crave connection and community. There is nothing wrong with a season of being the care taker rather than the caretaker. (That's confusing, but let that sink in a bit.)
I'm not at all saying any of this to invoke compliments or anything like that. So please don't. I just knew I needed to be honest with where I'm at, both with myself and with you.
Thanks for continuing to care about this gritty heart of mine, and being willing to read what comes out of it. That means a heck of a whole lot.
twenty-nine: gifts
Here's a thought:
God's a giver.
We're called to be like Him.
That means we need to be givers.
29Gifts challenges us to give away twenty-nine things in twenty-nine days. The gifts can be anything to anyone. They don't need to cost you money, but they do need to cost you some heart.
Consider taking the challenge to intentionally give something away for twenty-nine days. I'd love to hear if you do it, and what sorts of things you choose to give.
I'm glad God gave me Himself. And I'm glad God gave me you.
twenty-three: hours to remember
I was in counseling for an hour today. I used a few of the remaining twenty-three hours to look back over some of my previous blog posts. I gain so much insight---and even sometimes get a good kick in the rear---when I take the time to revisit things God has spoken to me. Two old posts really resonated with my heart when I stumbled back upon them. Here are some snippets, since they're worth repeating. (You can read the full originals here and here if you're interested.)
::
Take all of me with Your gentle hands.
Even when I feel I can only open the door an inch, this is me giving You permission to bust it wide open. Even when I feel I’m unable to offer You more of me, this is me asking You to go ahead and take it anyway. Even when I feel I have no words, this is me asking You to respond to my one-word prayers for “Help” with all You know I need.
Be aggressive with me. For I’m not aggressive enough on my own behalf.
::
God’s heart breaks for my broken heart. He loves me that much. His compassion is that far-reaching. His grace is that incomprehensible. God’s heart hurts for my hurting heart.
The King of the Universe aches for me. The God who spread out the expanse of the sky, flung the stars into place, set the sun in its perfect position, and carefully placed the moon to simply reflect a light not its own… This God also reaches out to me, pulls me onto His lap, wraps His arms around me, holds me tighter than I realize I need, and refuses to let me go.
He weeps with me.
He doesn’t say much; He doesn’t need to. He certainly doesn’t feed me ridiculous clichés: “Smile, I love you.” “I work in mysterious ways.” “When I close a door, I open a window.” “Let go and let Me.”
His tears say enough. They tell me He understands. He cares. He sees my hurting heart and He holds it in the palm of His hand. And He holds it ever-so-gently.
::
I am so glad God promises to be close to the brokenhearted...
nineteen: words
"I am always here for you. You can call me anytime---even if it's the middle of the night." I've said something along those lines a handful of times. One stands out in my mind because it was the most recent. I remember hanging up the phone and thinking about the people I know would be there for me in that way. Including some who've never uttered those nineteen words (or anything like them). And it got me thinking about how I know I can rely on them if they've never spelled it out.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this...
Have you ever had someone say something like that to you?
Do you know someone who'd be there for you in that way but hasn't necessarily said it? How do you know?
thirteen: steps to counseling
I walked into the office with a red cup of non-alcoholic liquid courage in my hands and two people next to me for moral support (or maybe to make sure I didn't turn and run). As I sat in the waiting area, I swear the pterodactyl-sized butterflies in my stomach had babies. I'd been anxious about this appointment since I boarded the way-too-small plane in DC, bound for Columbus. If I'm honest, I'd been anxious about this appointment since the moment I decided to come to America for this very reason. He stepped into the waiting room to introduce himself and "collect" me. As we exited together, I turned my head for a last glance at my smiling friend. I heard again her words from not thirty minutes before: "I am so proud of you." I smiled back and I'm sure it looked tentative and apprehensive. I don't have a very good poker face.
It was thirteen steps from that door to the couch in his office where I found a seat and spent the next hour. For me, for whom trust is paramount and yet not easily given, it was a daunting thing to bare my soul to a complete stranger. And yet, at the same time, I felt completely comfortable. I walked out feeling like a weight had been lifted: the weight of simply starting this thing. And I felt proud of myself.
Hi. My name is Alece. I'm a missionary. And I go to counseling.
eight: years and counting
Eight years ago I married the man of my dreams. I couldn't believe my luck---cause you know I believe in that sort of thing---I found a man of God who loves me and loves the people of Africa. It doesn't get much better than that!
Our marriage has never been easy. I blame that on the fact that we work alongside each other in ministry every day and are from completely different cultures. And because I'm not the easiest person to live with.
Our marriage has always taken work, but so does everything else that I love. Every passion I have takes effort. My marriage is no exception.
And it's worth every ounce of relational sweat.
Right now, Niel and I need to work extra hard. For reasons that are unnecessary to share, we're in a place of needing to dig our heels in deep, and fight. Not each other, but together. For our marriage. And we're both committed to doing whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.
We looked each other in the eyes and committed to put our marriage first.
four:th of a nation
They say that one in four South Africans has AIDS.
And I know it's true. I see it all around me: In the funeral tents that dot the horizon, in the sunken cheeks of a woman my age, in the lifelessness of the eighteen-month-old boy in my lap...
He says that there is hope.
And I know it's true. I see it all around me: In the faces that light up when they hear---for the first time---that there's a God who loves them, in the signed commitments to save sex for marriage, in the smile that spreads across the face of the lifeless toddler in my lap...
Sometimes it's easier to see the reality of what they say. But if I look closely, I can't miss the reality of what He says.
Lord, give me eyes to see...
this is YOUR post
What's that mean to you?
four-minute friday: do me a favor
Go. I've been contemplating my four-minute post for a few hours now and, with no clear topic in mind, I finally decided to just start typing.
Last night was my last intern class of the year. It was overwhelmingly incredible, to say the least. But I already blogged about that over on the Field Blog.
This afternoon I'm taking the interns for their last visit to Hope House. I know it's going to be emotional; they've poured themselves into these kids for an entire year...
We leave Monday morning at the ungodly hour of 4:00 to drive to Cape Town for a week of debriefing. I'm looking forward to one last hurrah with them. And I can't wait to see me some jackass penguins. (I'm serious! They exist! And they live in Africa!)
I talk often about the revolving door of my life in ministry --- how I tire of the constant turnaround of people. I must confess: I've grown to dread this time of year. All the goodbyes and the need to reopen my heart to start over? Man oh man, it's hard for me.
So will you do me a favor? Every time you drink a hot frothy beverage in one of those gloriously divine red to-go cups, remember me and say a quick prayer for my heart.
Done.
straight talk to men
Men---all few of you who read my blog---can I talk to you for just a minute? I'll be quick, I promise. The way you love your wife shows her the way Christ loves her. What?! Too much pressure for a fallen man?! I didn't say it; God did. "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the Church..."
Your wife will believe and experience Christ's love for her only to the degree that she believes and experiences your love for her. God can miraculously work in anyone's heart and life, and women with very ungodly husbands can certainly still experience intimacy with Christ. But God puts the responsibility on you to show your wife how much God loves her.
Help your wife believe that Christ thinks she's valued, treasured, and adored today.
late night scribblings
Penned in my journal on my night in Naples---
: :
I played at a park today with little Alece. She had me running and tagging and laughing until I was fully out of breath. Catching a glimpse of her smiling face as she went down the slide, I was struck again by an overwhelming thought.
Here in Italy is a four-year-old Alece. Back in South Africa is a four-month-old Alece. And there's even a seven-year old Ayrton Alece in Iowa and a twelve-year-old Arianna Alece in Florida.
Four young girls, peppered around the planet, all given my name. I can't keep my eyes from welling up at that thought. The honor of it. And at the same time, the responsibility of it.
I want to live a life worth naming a child after.
30 hours
While we were in Sicily, I bought a last-minute ticket to Naples to spend a night with a friend I hadn't seen in a few years. Bonnie and her husband Brian minister to American military youth at a naval base in Italy; last time I saw them was three years ago, when they were doing the same thing in Germany. We'd gone to visit them because it was their daughter's first birthday. And their daughter's name is Alece.
Being so close to where they're currently living, we couldn't resist the chance for me to see them again. Little Alece turned four the week before I arrived. She's absolutely beautiful! I couldn't get over how grown up and independent she is. One of my highlights of the whole trip was hearing her belly laugh whenever something really funny happened.
Bonnie and Brian had two more kids since I'd seen them last. They don't any waste time! Bella and Cal are adorable, and I loved every minute with them.
We only spent about 30 hours together, but it was wonderful to catch up with my friend, attend one of their youth events, play with my little namesake, get leg-hugged by a toddler, and hold a cuddly infant.
forrest gumping
Niel and I basically Forrest Gumped our way around Sicily, literally stumbling into some amazing things that we probably wouldn't have discovered had we even tried.
: :
- Like an incredible restaurant for our anniversary dinner. With a Dustin Hoffman lookalike as the manager, excellent service, and the best cannoli Niel's ever tasted, this was hands-down our favorite place to eat.
- Like ancient ruins in the middle of a vineyard. We couldn't resist exploring the old abandoned buildings, surrounded on all sides by row after row of grape vines.
- Like one of the best wineries in Sicily. We managed to get in on a tour and tasting, even though they're not open for walk-ins!
- Like amazing pizza at a podunk bakery in a tiny village that we really only stopped at because my bladder was screaming profanities.
- Like a restaurant that's been around since 1890. They serve the best homemade ravioli---we went back another night just to eat it again!
- Like an outdoor market festival in the village closest to Europe's largest active volcano. The market was abuzz with locals buying and selling crafts, honey, jam, etc. At one of the meat and cheese stalls, Niel sampled a gelatenous cow tongue concoction that wobbled like an overgrown Jell-o Jiggler gone bad.
- Like a small trattoria where Niel told the chef, "Surprise me!" He ended up with a whole fish (head, tail, and all!), several large prawns, and a stomach ache!
- Like a wine shop where you bring your own empty bottle (of any variety) and they fill it with wine from an oak barrel (using a glorified gas pump nozzle).
: :
I love that we saw and experienced the less-touristy side of Sicily. Which goes to show, there are real benefits to not having a clue where you're going or what you're doing!
burden of leadership
I've been pondering the burden of leadership. Let me explain...
A lot of people have come through the revolving door of our ministry in the past decade: interns, mission team members, staff. Many others are tied into us through their support. All in all, we have a huge spiderwebbed network of people that are connected to Thrive Africa. And that makes them connected to Niel and I.
While I don't personally stay in touch with every single person in the Thrive spiderweb, I correspond with as many as I can (and as many as want to write back!) and we pray often for our entire extended family.
The past few weeks have unraveled some heartbreaking things that are going on in our family members' lives. It culminated this morning with the news---before 8 AM, mind you---that two people had just lost loved ones.
And it's left my heart feeling heavy.
So I'm wrestling with this whole burden of leadership thing. I know I'm not responsible for people, only to them. I know I can't carry the burdens that others carry in their lives. I know that allowing myself to get "emotionally involved" with even a fraction of the thousands of people that are connected with Thrive is more than I could ever handle. I know that I can't be everyone's fixer, that I can't always have the answer, that I can't always be there for people. I know all of that.
But that still doesn't make it any easier to hear that people I know and love are facing
- the deaths of two family members within 9 months
- sexual abuse at the hands of someone they should've been able to trust
- unceasing physical pain
- emotional scars and hurts that have festered for years
- inexplicable health problems
- a long road ahead due to horribly wrong life decisions
What are your thoughts on the burden of leadership? Where's the line between compassion and an unhealthy taking-it-on-yourself-ness? How much caring is too much, and how much is not enough?
saying goodbye (again)
As we explored my Grandma's hometown, I saw her all around me: in the expression on an old woman's face, in the butcher shops and bakeries, in people's mannerisms, in the abundance of food and wine. Knowing that the city looks totally different now than it did in 1926 when Gram left for America didn't at all take away from the sense that I was walking where she walked. While the streets and buildings aren't the same ones she saw, the mountains are. The ocean is. I smile even now, just thinking about being where my Gram spent the first thirteen years of her life. I hope she was smiling from Heaven at the sight of Niel and I, hand in hand, walking the streets of her beloved Palermo.
Our last day there, we walked along the pier with a dried rose in our hands. At my Grandma's funeral, Niel saved the rose that was intended to be tossed atop her grave along with the rest of the family's. He brought it back to Africa and then to Italy. We stood together on the pier for a long while; I cried as I held the rose in my hand.
And then I let it go. I tossed it gently into the water. Niel held me and we cried together.
In those moments I was so overwhelmed by both how much I miss my Gram and how much I love my husband. Niel's thoughtfulness to even think about doing this made me feel so loved, and seeing tears stream down his face left me confident of how deeply he loves me.
Walking away from that pier, I felt more peace than I had in a long time...