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.

a little girl died yesterday

A little girl died yesterday and I saw it. 
I don't know her name, but there is One who knows it most deeply.
In His image he made her. For beauty. For life. She was made to reflect who He is to the whole world. She was made radiantly. Just like you.

She looked as old and as young as my little girl.
Every scenario playing through my mind for what happened on that road is unfair. We were created equal. She and my daughter just as beautifully, thoughtfully and wonderfully made. 

But there was no equality for those two girls yesterday.

I came upon the accident scene moments after it occurred. I was on my way to visit the Noonday/Umucyo women who can now (barely but with dignity!) afford to send their young children to school instead of let them roam the streets. These women were noticed by Him and her, offered training for a potential job and then saw provision. They work hard. Their children are benefiting. I wouldn't say life is "just" for them... but it is much closer than it was. 

I was on my way with a friend to look them in the eye, greet them with a hug and rave over their recent work. They make such beautiful things and work so hard! But on my way there was an accident.

My celebration of the progress and success of some of MLK's dreams and Jesus' blood-purchased promises of fullness of life and hope and equality was interrupted by the reality that we still have so far to go.

My car was only third or fourth in the traffic line but the foot crowd was already forming. Her lifeless body waiting by the road.

Waiting for assistance. Waiting for attention. Waiting for arms to tenderly care for her. Waiting for medical emergency behavior and urgency.

Moments before the accident, though, her full-of-life body was waiting too. The details of her and her family's wait are not known to me:

- but if the world was just and people were experiencing true "shalom," that six year old girl would have been in school.

-if the world was just and people were experiencing true "shalom," that six year old girl wouldn't be walking alongside a dangerous road carrying dirty water for miles for her family.

Because of where my daughter was born--here or there--she would have received emergency medical care immediately. But that beautiful little girl, without apparent urgency, held lifeless in the arms of a man in the backseat of a car, was driven in the opposite direction of the nearest hospital. That hospital was less than a mile from where we were. But she would have been turned away because you have to have funds upon arrival even for a life-or-death emergency.

Martin Luther King Junior, whose birthday we celebrated the day this little girl tragically died, famously said "the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice." Oh friends, the arc was too long for that little girl and we can't just wait for it to improve. We're meant to be active as we await a Savior from heaven to make things fully right. 

MLK also said this:

“Time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to work to be co-workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right.”

This little girl and her family were waiting on the slow arc of justice to keep moving in their favor. But her death shows we aren't there yet. Don't fall asleep, friends. Your gifts, your strengths, your varied forms of prosperity are useful for bringing about justice and peace in this world. You have much to offer! 

We have made so much progress that's worth celebrating. The women at Umucyo have the opportunity to send their children to school. 

Several of the projects Hunter's team has been working on have made a significant impact in the lives of hundreds of people, giving them a hope for the future. (THAT'S MY HUSBAND!!) 

And 4 years ago this Thursday my family got to hold our son for the first time

"I have a dream that one day little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers." MLK

We have seen lots of progress.


But a little girl died yesterday and I saw it. And no scenario imaginable about it was fair. 

"Speak up and judge fairly, defend the rights of the poor and needy." Proverbs 31:9

please don't skip right to "Joy to the World"

I love Christmas. 

I love the “holiday” of It, with all the American nostalgia: the “chestnuts roasting” and “all I want for Christmas is you” music, the cold weather, the presents, the family gatherings, the cookies.

And (differently but necessarily simultaneously) I love the Christian’s celebration of it: after many years of waiting, God did what He promised. He sent a Savior for the world! The Messiah was born! And how surprising and awe-inspiring the details of His birth and life and death were.

I LOOOOOOOOOOVE Christmas.

But it isn’t Christmas yet. And that matters to me.

This December, Is there room left in your decorated home and is there space left in your rightfully excited and expectant heart for “Come Thou Long Expected Jesus?” and “O Come, O Come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel?”

Because now is the time for Advent. A time of waiting. A time of remembering the longing of the Jews for a Messiah to come. In advent Christians (on this side of Jesus’ birth/death/resurrection) are invited to reflect on how much we ourselves and our world is still in need of a Savior and that helps us to both celebrate His birth and to anticipate and ache for His second coming.

We live in a world that’s still broken, that’s still very much in need of a Savior and when with songs (but worse in reality with how we engage our broken stories and those around us) we skip right to Joy to the World all the time, we miss out on really valuing His coming and really loving each other.

I love the line in Joy to the World that says “He comes to make His blessings flow…far as the curse is found, far as the curse is found, far aaaaas, far aaaaaaaaaas the curse is found.”

That line invites us to WEEP AND CLAP ALL AT THE SAME TIME! He really promises to do that? That’s why He came? That’s what His birth meant?! But I think many of us are out of touch with the joy available to us when we sing that song because we’re out of touch with knowing the sadness and ache of the curse.

Would you be willing to let yourself imagine what you’re waiting for? Areas in your life that feel disappointing, broken, incomplete, still longing. Is it your job that still feels unfulfilling despite promotions or career change? Is it your relationships that feel distant despite desire for more? Is it that deep wound that still feels so far from healing? What is it that makes you ache for more than this? What if allowing yourself in those spaces to cry out for a Rescuer would allow your heart to make room for His arrival? It opens you to longing that might not go away until He returns—no doubt—but at least then you’re alive and honest! And I believe then it accesses some of the deepest truest parts of your own need of a Savior.

Or if you don’t want to go there, would you be willing to imagine what the world is waiting for? What kids in the inner-city of Richmond are waiting for? What wealthy lonely friends might be waiting for? What kids at Home of Hope are waiting for? The more you deeply engage the real darkness and sadness in this world (and in your own life), I believe, the more you’ll see your insufficiency and the need of a Savior to really rescue and heal and make things right.

My dad and his 8 siblings lost their mother when he was in elementary school and his whole life he has felt a deep sadness for all of December (the month that has both her birthday and the anniversary of her death). You could see it coming at Thanksgiving. My dad is always a teddy bear wearing tough guy skin (he’s not fooling anybody…but he did have to raise 4 girls so he couldn’t always wear his tender emotions on his sleeve). But December was different than teddy bear. Without fail, right before or after Thanksgiving there was a tenderness, a sadness, a deep ache and sensitivity to everything for him. And it lasted through Christmas.

I used to only feel so sad about it for him. And I still feel sad. But I also feel a real thankfulness at his achy heart that happens to be during Advent season every year. He knows what it is to cry out and ache for more. He knows what it is to agree with something deep inside that says mommy’s shouldn’t die when their kids are babes. Yes he knows that Jesus came and that gives him hope and joy, but every December (in particular) he is in touch with the truth that we are still waiting people, needing  a Savior to come. Come Thou Long Expected Jesus!

My mom lost her mama this year (and she already lost her dad). She and I are in agreement that having someone live a relatively long life doesn’t mean that we don’t ache, mourn and cry out against death. We weren’t made for death! Apparently she isn’t decorating for Christmas this year and isn’t doing some of our typical celebratory pre-Christmas traditions. I don’t know if she’s named it this, but I have a real respect for her Advent-like attitude as she mourns and aches for a Savior to come and return and make all things new. To take away death once and for all. She’s waiting with hope and longing for a Savior who has promised to wipe away every tear. Far as the curse is found.

I’m thankful for both of their Advent examples, though perhaps you could see their behavior as merely putting a damper on the excitement of Christmas. Instead I see it as instrumental in helping me prepare for the real Christmas.

I believe that when Christians have underdeveloped Advent hearts they also have underdeveloped Christmas and Easter hearts. Yes we wait and ache and grieve as those with hope of a Savior who actually came! Who took the curse on himself and was raised from the dead whose power is at work in the world! Yes, yes, yes! But I find when I’m in tune with the sad realities of a broken world, it doesn’t make me less joyful or hopeful, it makes me more appreciative of a Savior and makes me long for His reign to come in fullness.

Come Thou Long Expected Jesus.