Because He came...I didn't have to go

I would have flown across the world for 3 nights this Christmas, probably toting 7 month old Eliza along with me, to be at my grandmother's funeral. My grandma was really special to me and the closure of being at her funeral to honor her and to hear the hope of the gospel for her life and for mine would have been so good. 

No question: because of my love for my grandma the crazy trip would have been worth it.

My daddy and I have always been really close, and being there with and for him, to support him as he grieves the loss of his second mother--the same day he lost his first mother 49 years ago-- was super important to me. 

My love for my daddy absolutely meant the crazy trip would have been worth it.

I didn't even realize the choice had been passively made until Friday afternoon and I was on a run and, doing the math, I knew it was too late. The whole week had been a blur, both here and back home, and the details weren't confirmed until Wednesday...that the service was Saturday. I wasn't going to be able to go. 

If somehow it all hadn't come together in a way that felt out of my control and power, I probably would have seized the moment anyway. I would have paid over $3,000, flown across the world just in time and flown straight back to not miss out too much on time with Hunter's family who are here. I would've made that decision without batting an eye, because finances and difficult logistics aren't the way to make choices like that. My love for my grandma and my daddy means it would have been worth it.

But thank you Jesus that somehow it didn't work. 

I finished my run where I realized it was too late and I freaked out (I had already been crying the second half of the run). I told Hunter I was trying not to blame him but felt mad at him anyway. I felt so, so sad and desperate. I looked at flights even though I knew it was impossible. I started desperately brainstorming what I could do to try to "be there" in a meaningful way (like sending flowers or a thoughtful gift somehow?) 

But there was something about my desperation and anxiety that stopped me. I have come to know this feeling. What I felt was different than only sadness or only disappointment, there was fear. There was shame. 

And those things run deeply in me.

By God's grace I took a deep breath and I stopped and in the middle of my anxiety and sadness I sent a text to some best friends around the world telling them of my sadness and fear, and one wrote back that night:

"questions I would ask you in person over wine and a couch:

How might Jesus be trying to show you more of Him while you are so far away? Why is it so hard in the midst of your family story?..."

All advent long I've been asking Jesus to help me to see Him and to help me to wait on His salvation. And if I'd had it my way I would've missed him completely. I think I would've thought I saw Him as I got to spend time with my whole family, got to snuggle my niece Harmony on her first Christmas, got to tell daddy with my physical presence that he means that much to me. I would have loved each any every one of those moments, but He wanted me to see His love for me.

You see, I could've gone back to the US with all the crazy details of it because I loved my grandma--and I did--or because I love my dad--and I do--but the real tipping point would have been because I'm not sure I'm lovable if I don't go. I need to go, because otherwise I don't know who I am. I don't know if people will love me. What will people think of me if I'm not someone who comes through no matter the cost?  

My need for people's approval and my desperate need to not let people down can make me do life contortions that would impress the most flexible acrobat. But there doesn't leave much room for a Savior, for me or for others. 

By God's grace I saw Him as soon as I read her questions in the middle of the night. And my mourning and fear turned into rejoicing. He loves me! Don't you see it, He loves me! And He rescued me! And He is with my family too! 

And I wanted everyone to see it in this way. Because if He loves me like that, then He loves you like that too.

Romans 5 and Ephesians 2 tell us that it wasn't when we got our act together that Jesus came; it was when we were still far off, still dead in our transgressions, still enemies. It is only by grace.

Because I didn't come through this time--because this time in my heart I knew that I had fallen short of what I thought made me lovable--I got to be like the undeserving shepherds in the middle of the night who heard the declaration of his coming. I got to be the little girl who needs her Daddy to rescue her not the strong one who tries to save but doesn't really have the power. 

I got to see Him come.

Can you see His commitment to helping me knowing His crazy love for me that he would set up such a brilliant scenario: quick turnaround dates, me across the ocean, Hunter's family here, comparatively crazy high cost, dependent on me baby, etc. I balk at limitations like an ocean for moments like this. But it literally felt like He made it impossible for me to get there. He set the table before my enemies and showed me how He anointed my head with oil. And my cup overflows.

And to top it all off, my family graciously found a way to FaceTime me during the service and I heard every word. It was an enormous gift to hear stories of my grandma's life, to see faces of all my loved ones as my sister Stephanie focused the camera on the communion line to see everyone go through. But the biggest gift of all was to hear the gospel. The good news that "it is by grace you have been saved,"

And the best moment?

During the middle of the service we sang the old hymn that goes:

"Come home, come home. Ye who are weary come home. Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling, Calling O sinner come home. Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading, pleading for you and for me? Why should we linger and heed not his mercies, mercy for you and for me." 

And as we sang those words my dad reached for the phone and sang them to me. 

screen shot while we sang together

Surely the congregation was singing about my grandma and Jesus. But I know Jesus was moving towards me, too, inviting my weary anxious heart to receive his rest and grace. 

Northside Church, our home church, is doing an advent series called "Because He came." They've filled in the blank with some thoughts like "I can have joy", I can resist envy and so on.

Here's my contribution: Because He came... I didn't have to go. 

my grandma

If there was ever a time that crying "didn't make sense," it was when Jesus knew that He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead. But the Scriptures tell us "he wept" and that as he approached the tomb he bellowed in his sorrow. Even though he knew he was about to bring him back to life. What a Savior!

As we drove into the parking lot of church today I received a text from my daddy:

My grandma died this morning.

I barely knew my grandma (and pappy) while growing up--they lived in North Carolina and we lived in Pennsylvania. They had somewhere around 25 grandchildren so it wasn't like we had the corner market on their time when they visited, either. They had a lot of special people.

But it wasn't just their physical distance that made me know them less. The stories we heard of them were intimidating: home late for curfew meant walking up and down the stairs 100 times; another punishment was picking up clothespins around the yard with your teeth. I think of those stories with laughter and a glimmer in my eye now--knowing their great love and affection for their kids-- but growing up those stories made me nervous. 

But then I went to college in North Carolina and all that changed. They lived 45 minutes from me at Wake Forest so I had the opportunity to visit quite often. I remember the first time I went to their house for dinner; I was shocked at how yummy everything tasted--biscuits, fried chicken, mashed potatoes! I didn't realize that when my dad told me Grandma wasn't the best cook, some of that was because yummier foods were more expensive than they could manage when he was growing up. Devastatingly, my dad's mama died when he was 10 and when Pappy remarried my Grandma, together they raised 12 kids. It's tough to serve biscuits, fried chicken and creamy mashed potatoes when you're just trying to make it.

My Grandma loved kids. She raised a dozen of 'em and then opened her own childcare center. And then at points she brought more kids home with her who needed extra love and attention. She had a marked patience and slowness with which she responded to the chaos I felt all around me. She managed to live with tenderness when life didn't offer her circumstances that would easily produce that fruit. She knew hard work. She held the loving gaze of her husband who adored her. She softened him when she was in a room and he often told me of how "she saved him." She was really, really proud of my dad and told me about it regularly. I was always a welcomed visitor in their home, whether I brought 10 of my girlfriends or showed up alone at 11 pm. My grandma always made time for me. 

Her love for me wasn't because I was special, it was because she was special. She wasn't impressed with wealth, education or fame, she was a servant of whoever walked into her home. I was the beneficiary of that love for a time, but there are many others who know her routine, whom she showered with attention, quiet space, meals, baby snuggles, and a listening ear.

My grandparents didn't live grandiose lives. Their names won't be written in history books for the things they accomplished. But they were earnest, steady, God-fearing and God-adoring, firm in their convictions, tender in their relationships, servants of all. I'm proud of who they were and I will continue to miss their presence in my life. 

The more I've studied what Jesus was like when he came, the more I've noticed and appreciated the kind of love and humility my grandparents had. And in light of advent and my grandma's death it feels appropriate to dwell on Him. **

My grandma wasn't perfect, but like Jesus she loved people whether they were shepherd-like or king-like; like Jesus she didn't demand a beautiful place to lay her head or for people to make a fuss about her, instead she served; like Jesus she consistently loved and welcomed broken people (including me); like Jesus she didn't wait for people to earn her love before she offered it--she went after the ones who would never show as much kindness to her as she showed them (including me). Like Jesus' love, you were never too poor or messed up for my grandma (maybe that's why my mom liked her so much. she's like that too). Like Jesus she welcomed little children and delighted in who they were. 

My heart is broken and my tears steady today because she is gone and because I didn't say goodbye.

This advent:

• I worship a Savior who (from a worldly perspective) irrationally wept because someone he loved died. Yes my grandma got to live many years, but that doesn't offer me consolation in light of her death. Jesus' tears comfort and compel me.
• I worship a Savior who surprised us all with his humble lifestyle; who surprised us with whom he pursued and identified, whom he served and protected. I'm thankful for a grandma who modeled that kind of love.
• I worship a Savior who paid for my sin and my shame because I did not love my grandma as I should have. I'm sorry, Pappy that I didn't love and honor her the way I should have. Please forgive me. 
• I worship a Savior who forgives her, because she, too, sinned and hurt people and wasn't a perfect mom, step-mom, grandma, friend. 
• I worship a Savior who died lonely--rejected and denied by many to whom He gave himself. My grandma was not loved by me the way she deserved but I hope she somehow felt companionship with her Savior in that loneliness or rejection. Lord forgive me.  
• I worship a Savior who promised to wipe away every tear from our eyes.

There's no other Savior for me. 

I love you grandma, I'm sorry I wasn't there to hold your hand and to whisper my and His love. I wish I had been. Give Pappy a kiss on the cheek for me and ask him to please not to wear an NC State sweatshirt to greet me one day.  

****
Here's one of the texts I try to read each advent, and one that I read this morning as I thought of Him and of them. It is from Philip Yancey's The Jesus I Never Knew:

I remember sitting one Christmas season in a beautiful auditorium in London listening to Handel’s Messiah, with a full chorus singing about the day when “the glory of the Lord shall be revealed.” I had spent the morning in museums viewing remnants of England’s glory—the crown jewels, a solid gold ruler’s mace, the Lord Mayor’s gilded carriage—and it occurred to me that just such images of wealth and power must have filled the minds of Isaiah’s contemporaries who first heard that promise. When the Jews read Isaiah’s words, no doubt they thought back with sharp nostalgia to the glory days of Solomon, when “the king made silver as common in Jerusalem as stones.”

                The Messiah who showed up, however, wore a different kind of glory, the glory of humility. “God is great’, the cry of the Moslems, is a truth which needed no supernatural being to teach men, writes Father Neville Figgis. “That God is little, that is the truth which Jesus taught man.” The God who roared, who could order armies and empires about like pawns on a chessboard, this God emerged in Palestine as a baby who could not speak or eat solid food or control his bladder, who depended on a teenager for shelter, food, and love.

                In London, looking toward the auditoriums’s royal box where the queen and her family sat, I caught glimpses of the more typical way rulers stride through the world: with bodyguards, and a trumpet fanfare, and a flourish of bright clothes and flashing jewelry. Queen Elizabeth II had recently visited the United States, and reporters delighted in spelling out the logistics involved: her four thousand pounds of luggage included two outfits for every occasion, a mourning outfit in case someone died, forty pints of plasma, and white kid leather toilet seat covers. She brought along her own hairdresser, two valets, and a host of other attendants. A brief visit of royalty to a foreign country can easily cost twenty million dollars.

                In meek contrast, God’s visit to earth took place in an animal shelter with no attendants present and nowhere to lay the newborn king but a feed trough. Indeed, the event that divided history, and even our calendars, into two parts may have had more animal than human witnesses. A mule could have stepped on him. “How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given.
                For just an instant the sky grew luminous with angels, yet who saw that spectacle? Illiterate hirelings who watched the flocks of others, “nobodies” who failed to leave their names. Shepherds had such a randy reputation that proper Jews lumped them together with the “godless,” restricting them to the outer courtyards of the temple. Fittingly, it was they whom God selected to help celebrate the birth of one who would be known as the friend of sinners.”

dark, dark had been the midnight. but dayspring is at hand

I spent my birthday week crying. 

On more than one occasion that week I demanded that the weather act in congruence with my heaviness, my groaning. One of my best friends was visiting (twice now I’ve hosted her poorly in Rwanda, the first time with a newborn and pneumonia).  Anyway, she had purchased a card for me in advance…with a loud, glittery “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” on the front. But recognizing my aches she set it aside, found a plain grey card and told me she’d limp with me through these days and not demand that I move faster or act chipper. She wasn’t spiritually worried about me: my joy wasn’t gone: the purchased-for-me joy and hope won on the cross and "found" in an empty tomb makes room for a steadiness despite circumstances. But my joy and faith weren’t light those days, as sometimes they are. They were deep. And weighty.

One of my best friends back home lost her sister 12 years ago tomorrow. Another best friend lost her sister 4 years ago this past summer. A few people I love dearly are going through unimaginable difficulties. The world is broken, and as God’s children we groan as we await a Savior to return. Why do we stop one another from groaning and grieving as if it isn’t taught to us in Scripture? Grieving without hope—that’s a different story well worth listening to—but stopping someone from simply grieving/groaning when we live in a world that is deeply broken?

“Look at Jesus. He was perfect, right? And yet he goes around crying all the time. He is always weeping, a man of sorrows. Do you know why? Because he is perfect.”- Tim Keller

The book of Romans tells us that those who have the firstfruits of the spirit (the spirit that Jesus gave us that reminds us of the resurrection and our hope)--those people--"groan inwardly as we wait." Not people who don't know Jesus and don't know hope--the VERY people who do know him. Who have his spirit living inside them. Just let the people groan, k? 

annnnd jumping off my soapbox.

A friend sent me these words about poetry this week and they fit so well.

BY LISEL MUELLER

When I am asked   

how I began writing poems,   

I talk about the indifference of nature.   

It was soon after my mother died,   

a brilliant June day,   

everything blooming.   

I sat on a gray stone bench   

in a lovingly planted garden,   

but the day lilies were as deaf   

as the ears of drunken sleepers   

and the roses curved inward.   

Nothing was black or broken   

and not a leaf fell   

and the sun blared endless commercials   

for summer holidays.   

I sat on a gray stone bench   

ringed with the ingenue faces   

of pink and white impatiens   

and placed my grief   

in the mouth of language,   

the only thing that would grieve with me.

That’s what the past month has felt like to me. EVERYTHING should stop because of the grief in the world. (unlike what the author above says, I find good company in the Bible because Jesus will grieve with me. I don’t often write my own words, I read them from throughout Scripture. So much groaning. So much asking “how long”. Tears becoming someone’s food. A weeping Savior. I’ve learned to grieve. And I am so thankful for friends who will stand with me in it.)

Despite the heaviness I’ve tried to sing Hallelujahs every day because the Savior came and promises to restore. But I’ve sung them while most things around me looked and felt dark.

But then today came.

I took a dear friend shopping at one of my favorite co-ops in town. As a result of poverty and the cards dealt to these women, 100 women in a nearby neighborhood were unable to feed their children enough. Some waited a while. Some were forced into the "choice" more quickly. But one of the things that unite these women was that in order to feed their kids and even consider education or healthcare, they “chose” to sell their bodies for pennies. That was their daily work until a woman and then women saw them, heard their stories. Those women knew that if God noticed even a sparrow fall to the ground, how much more must He see them, value them. And these women found ways to teach these 100 women new skills. 

It has been a tremendous amount of work. And faith. But today these women sew. And make jewelry. They make beautiful things that remind me of the hope we have.

So today I took my friend to buy some Christmas presents for people who support their family's work in Rwanda. She happened to need 250 of something. I waited while she picked out 250 “sparrow” ornaments to give as gifts this Christmas. You know, Christmas, the day we celebrate that the Savior really did come. A Savior whose life, death and resurrection means He really will make everything the way it was meant to me. And as I waited I listened to the women worship. I listened to them pray. And laugh. Their beautiful and hopeful--but sometimes with a song more like a bellow--voices were already speaking life to my achy spirit.

And then, as I walked up the steep steps to leave their property, I heard the announcement in Kinyarwanda (the language here). The woman who helped us with the purchase told them how many we bought. How many of their beautiful items made with dignity and skill we selected. How many of their beautiful items we purchased that would mean food in bellies, kids in school—all without having to sell their beautiful bodies that God fearfully and wonderfully made.

And they screamed. They shouted Hallelujahs and sang out their joy to the One who saw them.

Dearest friends who grieve. I don’t know which day today is for you—is it a day where you wish you could command nature to obey your aches and pour out rain on the world? There is room for your groans. They are not too much. 

Or is it a day when you’re seeing or hearing reminders that He really did come?

Today I heard a RESOUNDING hallelujah from women who’ve groaned and waited. And I felt Jesus' promise and hope of resurrection. I felt the promise of Jess.  I love you friend.

2 “Write down the revelation

    and make it plain on tablets
    so that a herald[b] may run with it.
3 For the revelation awaits an appointed time;
    it speaks of the end
    and will not prove false.
Though it linger, wait for it;
    it[c] will certainly come
    and will not delay. (Habakkuk 2)

Eliza Iranzi Thompson: What's in a name...

For those who have yet to hear, on Sunday, May 18th at 6:35 p.m. we welcomed Eliza Iranzi Thompson into the world. Her birth, which I hope to write about at some point, was a gift and incredible experience. We can't say enough great things about our midwife Jocelyn Jelsma, who made us feel medically and emotionally safe and secure in our home in Rwanda while we prepared for and as we birthed our fourth child into the world. We're so thankful for her and to the Lord.

We chose not to find out gender and I was so exhausted after pushing the baby out that I just held her for about five minutes before Hunter finally convinced me to hold her up to see if she was a boy/girl. My dear friend Tiffany caught the moment on camera:

Yes, it was a water birth. In our home. Guys it was amaaaaaazing. Until transition it felt like a spa treatment with candles, white lights all around, soft music, people bringing me drinks and offering me anything and everything. Those were my famous last words though..."this is kind of embarrassing, this feels almost like I'm at the spa"... on one of the next contractions my water broke and transition began. Spa treatment over. 

But this post isn't the birth story; it is the story of her name: Eliza Iranzi. Naming each of our children has felt like a big responsibility. There are lots of ways people name their kids, one of them not better than another (okay I know someone who named their kid 7. not seven. 7. I guess I do think some ways are better than others). "Our way" has been to pray for vision for their lives and give them names that reflect that. Names that are prayers and hopes we have for their future. The kind of people we hope, pray and will intentionally seek to shape them to be (though of course the Lord is the One who will give them their identity, their "name", purpose, gifts...we feel like God has also given parents a role in speaking life and vision into children, naming being one of many opportunities to do that.)

Lucy means "bringer of light" and she knows it. She proudly tells people what her name means. We want her to be the type of person that brings general joy and light into the world, and specifically the light and hope of the gospel. Lucy Pevensie is one of the children in the Chronicles of Narnia series. Lucy can see Aslan (God) in difficult/scary situations even when others cannot. And she points Him out to others to follow and learns to bravely follow Him even if others don't. We pray that for our little girl.

Isaiah means "Salvation is from God." Adoption is a beautiful part of a broken story. I feel so sad about the brokenness in the world that leads to adoption even as I celebrate our own family's dearly treasured son through adoption. But even in his name we wanted it to be clear that our salvation, his salvation--all of our salvation is from God. His name's meaning has even been a part of Eliza's story already, which I'll mention below. We also love and respect the Old Testament prophet, Isaiah, who wrote hard, bold and beautiful truths from God whether people listened to him or not. Whether he was hated for it or not. He had a strong voice to speak for the LORD and many of my favorite passages come from his records of what the LORD spoke to him. We pray our son will listen to God and always speak His truth, whether that makes him likeable or not.

Micah is another Old Testament prophet whose most known verse says: "do justice, love mercy/kindness, and walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8). We pray Micah will be a man who will continually hear that call from God and point others to it, like his namesake. My pregnancy with him also came at a time when learning that--especially the last part "walk humbly with your God"--was something that God was teaching me, even in becoming surprisingly pregnant again when we thought we would probably pursue adoption here on out. My zeal for children having families was becoming something that made me "do justice and love mercy"...but I was not walking humbly. I was self-righteous, pushy and sometimes arrogant. And the LORD in his kindness was working that out in me.

And now our sweet Eliza Iranzi. "Iranzi" is the kinyarwanda (language here) word that means "God knows me". A big question I asked (out loud with lots of emotion) when we found out we were expecting a baby--just 2 months into living here--was "does God see/know us?" The gentle and scared accusation in my question was multifaceted. Does he see me? I've prayed and longed to live in a place like Rwanda for so long...but my thoughts about what I would do when I live there didn't really include a nursing/not sleeping well aged child. I had been humbled and kindly but firmly shepherded out of that through the past several years of the Lord's pursuit of me...but I still wondered, am I really not going to get to serve Him in the ways I feel so guttorly and emotionally called and wired? "Does he see me?"

"Does he see Hunter?" His job takes SO much out of him most days/weeks--how can we love and raise another blessing of a child starting from scratch in the midst of that?

"Does He see Lucy/Isaiah/Micah" who have already handled a huge transition where their worlds were blessed for sure...but also turned upside-down when we moved across the world? They need a lot of shepherding and care from us at this point in their lives...and now we're dividing that attention up again. Does He see/know them?

But the biggest question of all was really related to my Isaiah. Oh Jesus don't you see him? Are you sure? I cried on the phone with a dear friend with those exact words (I think) when we were sharing the news. It wasn't that I was unhappy or ungrateful for the gift of life in my womb. I was just confused and concerned. We had hoped to be able to have four kids (we thought but weren't sure) but we had hoped to be able to pursue adoption again at some point. We hadn't pictured our family being bigger than it was and continuing to have Isaiah be the only adopted one, the only one whose skin tone is so different than the rest of ours.

And I realized it that day. I think we can line up the cards for our kids. Get them most of the way there when it comes to an easy life. Yeah, yeah "salvation is from God" like his name says...but let's help em along the way. God slowly showed me that yep--Isaiah might be the only child in our family through adoption and whose skin will be so different...but if that's "his big issue" as he grows up...having 17 other kids more like him in our family wasn't going to be enough. Salvation is from God. There was an appropriate ache and prayer for Isaiah that came along with this pregnancy, but over the 9 months of pregnancy with Eliza I feel like God has confirmed that indeed He sees and knows each of us. He knows better than we do what we need and how to weave our life story together. And he is helping me to yield to him.

Iranzi: God knows me.

Eliza means "God is my oath" or "God is my vow." As I've thought and prayed about that name I've thought of all the things I've wanted to stand on as my credibility in this world...all that I've thought I can do to justify my existence in this world (as if I'm on the stand in the courtroom of this world where my oath is where I stand) and for so long it has been "if I only do enough" then I'm justified. If I love people well. If I do enough good deeds. If I'm funny enough and smart enough. If I please enough people. But as the Gospel slowly and continually pursues and changes my heart I know and believe that really it is all from God. He is my oath. I stand because of Him alone. I can't do anything to make myself lovable in his sight--I've blown it but He has provided salvation for me through Jesus and so I don't even need to try. I can do lots of things that are beautiful and pleasing to Him, but none of them are necessary and none of them are enough. There's a passage in the Old Testament where God is making his covenant with Abraham but Abraham sleeps through the whole covenant ceremony. And God is the One who doubly puts himself on the line. The covenant didn't rest on Abraham's shoulders. And nothing rests on mine. God is my oath. And He is Eliza's. We want her to know that's where she will stand firmest. Where she'll never be shaken.

Living here in Rwanda in a place that is most tempting for me to pursue the kinds of means of self-justification that keep me from allowing God to be my oath, I love that we have a child's name that will continually point me and us back to the truth of the gospel.

As she was born (and as Micah was, too) the song Rock of Ages played quietly and repeatedly in the background:

"Not the labor of my hands
can fulfill Thy laws demands
Could my zeal no respite know
Could my tears forever flow
all for sin could not atone
Thou must save and Thou alone

Nothing in my hands I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling
Naked Come to thee for dress
Helpless look to Thee for grace
Foul I to the fountain fly
wash me Savior or I die."

Eliza Iranzi: God is my oath and God knows me

a friend not knowing her name or the story of our pregnancy gave this to me as a gift at our baby shower. See, God does see and know me.

on bearing witness and why I believe

I'm talking to myself here for a second. You know what isn't cliche or trite? Writing, reading, watching or saying something today about the 20th anniversary of the genocide in Rwanda. It doesn't bother me (and I hope it doesn't bother you) that all of my friends living in Rwanda (or caring about Rwanda around the world) have said something in relation to the massacre that started 20 years ago today and didn't "end" until 100 days later when over 800,000 people were killed.

I know those of you reading this are far away. I know what that's like--to feel far away from the kind of suffering going on in Sudan, Central African Republic and elsewhere--and to not know how to engage. I know what it is like to ask yourself the question of whether it is appropriate to consume information about something knowing that real lives are affected and you probably will do little more than read the article and move on. I know that sometimes it is so much easier to click on a story about the latest diet, the biggest celebrity news, etc. But today, would you be willing to let your heart engage Rwanda, even for a few moments?

Here's a concept that helps me. It is a biblical concept and this quotation comes from a woman named Meg Wheatley, from her book Turning to One Another:

 "A few years ago I was introduced to the practice of bearing witness'...a simple practice of being brave enough to sit with human suffering, to acknowledge it for what it is, to not flee from it. It doesn't make the suffering go away, although it sometimes changes the experience of pain and grief. When I bear witness, I turn toward another and am willing to let their experience enter my own heart." (86)


Reading isn't nothing. Giving yourself 20 minutes to let your heart go out to true stories of grief and hope isn't nothing. 

So, please. Embrace the divine image-bearing dignity of letting your heart move because of something that has deeply wounded so many people who are still alive today.

 I'll provide you with one little picture here, but please go to:

www.kwibuka.rw/shortfilm,  NYtimes.com, bbc.com, etc. and read/watch/engage.

This summary was written by my friend, a political officer here in Rwanda:

On April 6, 1994, an airplane carrying the Rwandan president was shot down over Kigali. On April 7 - twenty years ago today - extremist Hutu government and militia leaders began executing one of the fastest and most devastating genocides in all of history, killing one million Tutsis and moderate Hutus, or about 20% of the country's population, in just one hundred days.

Unlike genocides perpetrated primarily by governments, Rwanda's leaders twenty years ago called upon Hutu citizens to slaughter their Tutsi neighbors, friends, and family members. Many who opposed or resisted the call to genocide were also killed, regardless of their ethnic group.

On April 10, ten thousand Tutsis from Nyamata gathered in the Catholic church, seeking safe haven from the wave of death engulfing their village. The church would become their final resting place, as the interhamwe militia and neighbors breached the fortified walls, first throwing grenades into the sanctuary and then entering to kill survivors with machetes, spears, and blunt force. Babies and children were not spared, as the attackers smashed them against the wall of the sanctuary.

Today, Nyamata church and the 45,000 people buried there remind us of the horror of genocide which began 20 years ago and continued for 100 days, ending when the Rwandan Patriotic Front defeated the forces of the former government, military, and genocidal militias.

Today, Rwanda's people have not allowed themselves to be defined by their past, building a nation that is a beacon of peace, stability, and growth in an often troubled region. Rather than seek vengeance for the crimes committed during the genocide, Rwanda has undertaken a process of national reconciliation, seeking to set aside the ethnic labels that divided the country in order to move forward as one nation and one people.


In closing (this is me again), because looking at these images, thinking about these true stories can and should be so jarring, emotional, too much to bear, I want to share with you why I believe in Jesus in the midst of such suffering, sadness and pain. John Stott summarizes it in a way that feels most appropriate today (and as we approach Good Friday and Easter):

"I could never myself believe in God, if it were not for the cross. In the real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it? I have entered many Buddhist temples in different Asian countries and stood respectfully before the statue of the Buddha, his legs crossed, arms folded, eyes closed, the ghost of a smile playing round his mouth, a remote look on his face, detached from the agonies of the world. But each time after a while I have had to turn away. And in imagination I have turned instead to that lonely, twisted, tortured figure on the cross, nails through hands and feet, back lacerated, limbs wrenched, brow bleeding from thorn-pricks, mouth dry and intolerably thirsty, plunged in Godforsaken darkness. That is the God for me! He laid aside his immunity to pain. He entered our world of flesh and blood, tears and death. He suffered for us. Our sufferings become more manageable in the light of his. There is still a question mark against human suffering, but over it we boldly stamp another mark, the cross that symbolizes divine suffering. 'The cross of Christ ... is God’s only self-justification in such a world” as ours....' 'The other gods were strong; but thou wast weak; they rode, but thou didst stumble to a throne; But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak, And not a god has wounds, but thou alone.”

I prayed and cried out much of Psalm 3 yesterday, wondering about why this testimony (in Psalm 3) wasn't true for the thousands of kids (just like my Lucy, Isaiah and Micah) killed in the genocide. Crying out, "Why Oh LORD didn't you shield them, why didn't you rescue them? Some of their last words were "Help me God!" WHY, LORD?!"

Psalm 3: 

O LORD, how many are my foes! How many rise up against me! Many are saying of me, "God will not deliver him." But you are a shield around me, O LORD; you bestow glory on me and lift up my head. To the LORD I cry aloud, and he answers me from his holy hill. I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me. I will not fear the tens of thousands drawn up against me on every side. Arise, O LORD! Deliver me, O my God! Strike all my enemies on the jaw; break the teeth of the wicked. From the LORD comes deliverance. May your blessing be on your people."

And yet in the midst of my crying out WHY?! from me (which, I don't think is a problem to God, by the way),

God's answer from His holy hill was to send his Son to die, to turn his face and ear away from Him on the cross and to pour out his wrath on him instead of us, thus satisfying the punishment for sin and his holiness (taking out his wrath on His son) and being merciful to us (those who "hide" in Jesus receive credit for his life and death). Without the cross I have no hope, no joy as I engage stories like the Rwandan Genocide. Without the cross I probably would stand at the genocide memorial with (arrogant and wrong) accusatory glances to the heavens. 

But because He died for us and because He lives, I will follow Him wherever He leads. And I'll do it with joy and great hope, knowing that what He purchased for us with his blood will one day come to fruition and every tear of every genocide victim and every shameful, repentant tear of every genocide perpetrator and every tear of those who witness will one day be wiped away.

from Isaiah 65:

"Behold I will create new heavens and a new earth. The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create, for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy. I will rejoice over Jerusalem and take delight in my people; the sound of weeping and crying will be heard in it no more. Never again will there be an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his days...They will build houses and dwell in them; they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit... 

from Revelation 5:

"And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming in a loud voice, "Who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll? But no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth could open the scroll or even look inside it. I wept and wept because no one was found who was worthy to open the scroll or look inside.

THEN!  one of the elders said to me, "Do not weep! See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals."

Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne, encircled by the four living creatures and the elders...And they sang a new song:

"You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation. You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God and they will reign on the earth." 

Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they sang: "Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!"  

on not changing the world in a year...

Hunter:

A year ago Sunday you officially began your work in Rwanda for Karisimbi Business Partners. The "should we take the job?" discernment process weighed heavily on you for many months (years, really)-- I mean, the potential result this go-around was carrying 3 kids and a wife across the world--very far from the comfort of people who know and love us, and without some significant folks' blessing and approval;  I guess it makes sense that it felt heavy. 

on our flight to Rwanda when Hunter moved there last March

I want you to know that throughout that process I found you to be humble, wise, brave and faithful. Here's some of why:

1- How you decided we should go. You are still learning of course, but you knew God's Kingdom doesn't measure things the way the world does. You could have said our "yes" was so we would have greater impact on more people because of your skills...but you reminded me and others that we serve a God who taught us to (sometimes) leave 99 to pursue just 1. How could we know? You could have said our "yes" was because God has great concern for the poor--which He does. But you've consistently reminded me and others that when He walked the earth He drew wealthy and powerful people to himself too. His love and pursuit doesn't discriminate and so your time (and others' time) working for places like your old employer in our former country of residence wasn't somehow automatically "less" of a faithful vocation or calling. Why are you so (annoyingly) able to see both sides of things and still make (good) decisions? 

Sigh. If I'd had it my way, you could have said a "yes" was because of a lot of things that sound passionate, rallying and inspiring (and sadly sometimes shaming and self-righteous). But in the end, those passionate and inspiring sound bites aren't what move people towards a faithful, steady life of listening to Him and following Him. 

See, steady me while you were interviewing in Rwanda and I was about to burst with hope, fear, excitement, longing

And of course you could've said "no" too--for about a bajillion reasons: because you had 3 kids in important years developmentally, because we were deeply involved in things we're passionate about (well, God's passionate about and we borrow it) in Richmond, because we own two houses, because you had a great job that you enjoyed that paid us really well and allowed us to do a lot, etc. But those weren't automatic deal breakers to you, though certainly worth consideration.

So instead, you carefully considered your skills and story, the make-up of the family God has given you, what you've learned about the Bible and how to look for and sense the direction of His leading. You humbly asked people who've walked closely with us for their prayers, their input, their concerns/cautions and encouragement (and at the same time you somewhat awkwardly (socially) chose to NOT include too many people in that process for fear of pride or attention on our story. You faithfully steered us really clear of the always tempting "look at what we're thinking about doing" acclaim). Oh, love, you've sharpened me by your faithful steering in that way. Thank you.

And after a number of months of consideration and prayer...well...it seemed like a "yes." So you said it. It wasn't much more dramatic than that. There wasn't shouting (well, I did. In fact I think I sprinted around the house in circles, maybe? but I'm always louder and more dramatic than steadfast you)--it was more of a trembling, obedient and brave "yes." Obedience is what it felt like we were pursuing, much more than a passionate world-changing calling (okay it still felt like that a little bit to me because I was (am) just so stinking proud of you and the work. But it was obedience first). 

I respect you so much for how you went through that process and for how you led me (and the kids) through it.  

And 2- I found you to be humble, wise, brave and faithful because of what you told me/others you thought our "yes" might (and might not) mean.

Before taking the job you talked to one of your best friends who runs a company having (what many perceive and commend as) significant impact on the lives of folks in Honduras. And you listened to him when he said: no matter how comparatively "inspiring" or "impactful" the job might seem right now...it wasn't actually going to feel like you were changing the world, even if you were doing a great, faithful job. Most days it wasn't going to feel like you were having any impact let alone significant impact. And he urged you not to take the job imagining (or me imagining) that it would feel like that. He warned us and you listened. He didn't say the job wasn't a good fit for us or that we shouldn't do it (much to the contrary, really)...he just didn't want us to have naive and harmful expectations. Your job wasn't going to mean you feel inspired everyday when you come home from the office. Your job wasn't going to mean that we were going to have sex twice a day instead of our normal once because of how energized about and proud of your work I am now. (He was SO wrong on that one. high five. guys I'm joking. good grief.) You get what I'm saying, though. We weren't suddenly going to feel everyday like it wasn't "work"--like somehow the toilsome part of the work curse gets extracted for you/us because we're following God into it.

You listened. You absorbed. You repeated to anyone who would listen who was tempted to "pollyanna" the work, or put your work on a pedestal, or who has similar aspirations. We probably weren't going to have a super significant impact on anything (by normal measurable standards), and even if we did...it probably wouldn't feel like it most of the time. But we were going anyway, hoping we could be helpful offering our little bit. You deflated many a balloon with words of wisdom.  

And so one year ago you went in, and helped me and the community around us go in with eyes mostly open or at least more open than they could have been. The way you made the "yes" decision and the way you listened to his (and the Bible's words about unseen fruit, working unto the LORD regardless of accolades or seeming effectiveness, or passionate excitement etc.) has made all the difference for us this year.

Because...well...we really haven't changed the world. At least a few parts of every week we wonder if what we're doing is even going to have much of an impact on the teeny part of the world in which we serve. Lots of the work has felt more like herding sheep while swimming upstream (yes this time I'm intentionally mixing metaphors) instead of transforming one or ninety-nine lives. Many days this February and March--along with everyone in the east coast of the US--we've wondered if "spring" is ever going to come (in the work).  

But, in part, because of the way you walked us through the discernment process and the way you talked me through moving here, I'm not confused. I'm not shaken. We're here because He called us here. We're here to work hard and to do so unto the LORD regardless of seen fruit or certain long term impact (though surely we ought to aim, strive and hope to see lots of it--He was raised from the dead after all and can do anything, and He made YOU in His image for this work. I mean we have SO much hope because of true things). And we HAVE gotten to be a small (but who isn't small?) part of some amazing stories of redemption, hope, transformation.

But, at the end of year one I'm more in step with you (and the Bible) in a marathon pace--thanks for shaping me towards that. For us to continue to do this well we'll surely need the LORD's help to endure with patience and joy. But we have a God who isn't short on supply. These verses are my prayer for us as we enter year two:

Hebrews 12:1-3 Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. 

and

Colossians 1: 10-12 "And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience and joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light. 

Hunter, I respect you for how you've walked with the LORD in taking and doing the job. I honor you (and your maker) for your gifts and skills that help bring about beautiful Kingdom impact in the work/our lives here. You being here (in particular) matters! And I respect you for your faithfulness over years of walking with him and submitting yourself to his care, correction and leading.  I love you and am in this with you. Your people will always be my people. 

indefinitely yours,
Adrianne

PS. FYI, other people are reading this and I don't want them to think work stuff isn't going well just because of all this talk about a better reason to come being obedience not impact... or the fact that I'm telling folks we need endurance and some of the grittier things God promises to provide us with when going through difficulties. As you know, both of these versions are true: the work is so hard and we don't feel super impactful much of the time...and your work is actually really impactful and inspiring and you're (along with the team) kicking some ass.

Ahem. So, lest you people think we should just come on home because of all this less inspiring sounding "steadfastness regardless of results" "please pray for endurance and long suffering for us" stuff...and because telling (allowing ourselves to think them through) impactful stories nourishes US too...

here's just one amazing story from a long list of ones I'd love to tell you over coffee or at a party this summer where we'll share with Richmonders about how it's going. 

This is one about Lilian and Hunter's work.

Verses that have been important to us throughout our married life (coming up on 10 years this September!) are Jeremiah 29: 4-7. Verse 7 in particular: "seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers you too will prosper." 

That was (is) our prayer in our neighborhood in Richmond and it has become our prayer here in Rwanda--it is how we'd like to live wherever the LORD carries us. We long for the deepest forms of peace and prosperity for people here. And we believe the LORD when he says that our own shalom (translated prosperity here) is caught up in others. 

So last month the President of Rwanda, Paul Kagame, requested a site visit to one of the projects Hunter's firm has been working on. I'm not super into celebrity things, but it was a pretty big deal and I was excited for them. 

The project itself is working with a large international fashion company based in NYC. Through their joint efforts over 100 women have been employed to make high end fashion products (not ones that look like African crafts) to be sold around the world. They'll publicly launch in May and I'll be happy to proudly tell you more specifics. But for now: 76% of those women weren't employed before. Consider the implications of that statement in a place where unemployment means not enough food for everybody in  your family, no education for your kids, no ability to pay for medical care or emergencies should they arise. And now all those women who weren't employed have a steady job. The fashion company is quietly investing into the whole community in which they've built the co-op. There are so many individual stories of hope and redemption. And Hunter's firm has been pivotal on the ground in making it happen (so says the VP at the fashion company). Without them there isn't a chance the project works. 

Some of the women at the graduation ceremony for their training. Graduation was a BIG day. So much excitement and dignity and honor.

The definition of flourishing (shalom/prosperity in Jeremiah 29) I like the best comes from Cornelius Plantiga: 
"… In the Bible, shalom means universal flourishing, wholeness and delight – a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as its Creator and Savior opens doors and welcomes the creatures in whom he delights. Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be." Guys we should be clapping! That's the kind of effect this project is having! natural gifts fruitfully employed. natural needs satisfied. PEOPLE!!!!! 

And to top it all off, the fact that President Kagame was coming to check out the work meant we needed Lilian (who works for our family and whom I DEARLY love and respect) to work a bit of a different schedule that day to help us. The conversation went something like this:

me- "Lilian, tomorrow I'll need you to come a bit earlier than I thought. President Kagame is coming to see one of the projects Karisimbi is working on..."

Lilian (interruping and SHOUTING and jumping): HAAAAAALLELUJAH!!!! HALLELUJAH PRAISE YOU JESUS!

me (way less enthusiastic than apparently I should have been): yes! it is really exciting.

Lilian (still uncharacteristically shouting and jumping and now pumping both fists and arms over her head) HALLELUJAH! YES! PRAISE YOU JESUS. YES! EVERYday--EVERYDAY I pray for you: dear God help family Hunter. bless Karisimbi. bless family Hunter. YES! HALLELUJAH PRAISE YOU JESUS.
....
Gosh words and descriptions just can't do it justice. She was overwhelmed with joy and gratefulness to God for our good news, knowing the President's visit was a good sign of our flourishing.

There were a lot of beautiful things happening in that moment related to shalom and interwoven lives. One of them is definitely the TRUTH that our shalom here in Rwanda has been tied up with Lilian. We've certainly been seeking the peace and prosperity of Rwandans in general, clients and the women in the project the President visited...and all at the same time Lilian has been faithfully working and praying for our peace and prosperity. She has been one of the biggest gifts from the LORD to our family in enabling us to flourish (not just survive) here. Praise you Jesus for the gift of Lilian. Please bless her and her family. Hallelujah.