my africa
I painted a portrait of my beautiful Africa.
my kids
I scooped up Nkosi as soon as I saw him. (He’s “my” little two-year-old at the local orphanage.) I was relieved to find him much healthier than he’d been. As I held him in my arms, I prayed and spoke blessings over him. Nkosi’s name means “Little Warrior”, and that’s a promise I love to remind him of.
I got to do Peaberry’s bedtime routine with her. While she was heavier in my arms than the last time I rocked her, she still fit perfectly. I sang my go-to song for her, snuggled her close, and whispered sweet nothings everythings to her. She is more beautiful than ever, and I love her more than I could possibly explain.
I had a play-doh date with my Siloh. We sat on the floor making penguins and pancakes, and though he’s grown up a lot, it felt like no time at all had passed. “I missed you so much,” I told him again. He looked up at me and whispered his reply: “I was at work.” I couldn’t help but laugh as my heart melted even more.
Dang.
I really missed my kids in Africa…
i hate being cold
I’m Africa-bound today. And hoping I can sleep through most of the 15-hour flight. As usual.
I’m not sure yet how much I’ll be able to blog while I’m there. I’ve got a few posts scheduled to go up this week, but beyond that… I don’t know. I’m gonna try to still post as often as usual, but … no guarantees. It depends on a lot. Like if I’ll even have internet. Or power.
Or if my fingers are too cold to type.
Because I’m leaving the summery sunshine to go back to winter. And if you have doubts, believe me it gets cold where I live in South Africa. We get snow. And we have no indoor heating.
Here’s to seeing my breath in my bedroom when I wake up in the mornings!
Ugh.
I hate being cold.
But rest assured. If I have power and internet and non-frozen appendages, I’ll be blogging.
Oh! And please add warm weather to your prayer list!
[If you haven't yet, let me know what you've chosen as your prayer prompter. Then when I see/do/think about those same things, I'll be reminded of how you've come to Africa with me through your prayers.]
my corner is full
“I told you a long time ago that we’d support you every month you’re in ministry. I still mean it.”
Jim and Debbie have been supporting me monthly since 1996. That’s a whole lot of checks. That’s a whole lot of money. That’s a whole lot of love.
And even though I’m not in active ministry right now, they are continuing their support of Thrive (my ministry in Africa).
My eyes filled with tears when he spoke those words to me at lunch today. And they’re filling again now as I write about it.
I get overwhelmed when I look around and see all the people who are standing with me in my corner. I am so, so grateful.
Thank you. All of you.
i choose hard
I only pretend to be brave.
I’ve been known to say that. A lot. But a friend helped me see how untrue that really is.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve desired to follow God courageously. While I’ve never been very self-assured or confident, I’ve often made decisions that fly in the face of all logic. I’ve chosen not to play it safe.
I’ve always known that God’s called me to hard. I knew it when this suburban girl spent two months in rural Africa as a teenager and loved it. I knew it when my passion to return there seemed illogical to everyone else. I don’t like extreme temperatures, bugs, or even the outdoors… and yet I wanted to live in Africa!? It didn’t make sense; it still doesn’t.
My own pastor told me that being a missionary was the worst thing I could do with my life. And yet, at 19, I up and moved to Africa. I’ve been told over and over again that I’m too young, not educated enough, lacking experience. But I’ve shrugged it off and just kept right on going.
I’ve chosen hard over safe.
And if that’s not brave, I don’t know what is.
I don’t say that to pat myself on the back. I say it simply to acknowledge the truth that I’ve exhibited more courage than I ever realized.
I needed to discover that about myself. Because as difficult as this past season has been for me, this next one isn’t going to be any easier. And seeing past courage more clearly helps steel my heart for what lies ahead.
Once again, I choose hard.
And even though I still don’t feel brave, I’m gonna do it afraid.
And trust that He will be faithful to carry me through it.
Just like He always has.
something is stirring
On Sunday, Mma Impo received word that her father passed away. She and her daughter were planning to leave Botswana later that day to come to Qwa Qwa, South Africa to attend our women’s conference. The news that her father passed away shook her, but did not deter her. Her daughter arrived, assuming they would have to cancel their plans and go to their home village to make funeral arrangements. “No,” Mma Impo said. “Going to Mahalapye will not bring him back. God comes first. We are going to Qwa Qwa. God has something for us there.” So they came.
Their expectancy was evident. The look in their eyes said that they were expecting an encounter with God. It was visible in many others’ eyes as well. The women were hungry. Eager. And God did not disappoint. The sessions were powerful, the ministry times were sweet, and the women’s lives were changed. They were challenged, inspired, encouraged, motivated, and stirred. They left with a clear vision and sincere passion to be used by God in their communities.
One of the women was visibly suffering from advanced stages of 
AIDS. She was emaciated to the point of skin and bones, her cheeks were sunken and sallow, her gait was strained and slow. When she came forward for prayer, I had the opportunity to minister to her. My heart broke. I began to weep as I hugged her; it felt as though I was hugging a skeleton. She pressed through her pain and discomfort to attend the conference, longing for a touch from the Lord. I believe she received one; her face, amid the suffering, radiated joy from within. Her presence at the conference also provided me a touch from the Lord, as He gripped my heart once again for this beautiful, precious woman and the countless like her who are dying across South Africa.
From Botswana to Qwa Qwa, a revolution has begun. Brace yourself. Something is stirring in Africa.
[originally posted this day three years ago. i needed the reminder.]
loneliness
I realized something today. I have a hard time admitting I’m lonely. Considering how loneliness seems to have set up camp in my life, I should be able to talk about it more freely than I do. Sigh.
Loneliness has been a companion of mine for a very long time. It was with me even before I lived an ocean away from friends and family. In high school, my closest friends were those I met on mission trips—which means they were spread out all over the country. Back in those pre-email days, I was quite proficient at writing letters and sending care packages. But even back then I didn’t have an everyday friend to simply do life with.
So I sit here wondering what the big deal is now. Why’s it weighing down my heart like it is?
Those closest to me are always the farthest away.
And I’m just tired of it.
crawling back onto the altar
“To live a life of prayer, of sacrifice, of surrender to God.”
Twelve years ago I penned those words as my life mission statement. I wanted to be intentional about making my life count for something greater than me. I wanted to be deliberate about leveraging my life for His glory. And everything I could see myself doing boiled down to that simple statement.
I said simple, not easy. ‘Cause it’s been anything but easy.
Those words have been ringing in my ears this past week. Prayer, sacrifice, surrender to God. Do I still mean it?
I want to say I’m willing, even when I don’t know what He’s asking me to do. I want to follow Him even when I don’t know which way He wants me to go. I want to serve Him even when it means giving up my own notions of how I can best do that. I want to honor and glorify Him with every breath, every word, every step.
The only problem with being a living sacrifice is my tendency to crawl off the altar. When I can’t see what’s next, when the flames of uncertainty seem too much for me to bear, sometimes I climb off. I choose to follow fear instead of faith. I long for the certainties of Egypt over the uncertainties of freedom.
But I’m done. Today I’m climbing back on the altar.
The Lord Himself goes before me and will be with me. Among all the unknowns and uncertainty, He is already there. He knows. He is certain. So if I remain in Him, I can have confidence and peace even when facing more uncertainties than ever before in my life.
As I’ve ruminated on it and wrestled through it, I know this much is true: I still want each moment of my life to be one of prayer, of sacrifice, of surrender to God.
Use me however You want, God. However You want.
i packed hope
I don’t remember much of what I was thinking the day I arrived in Africa. I was only 19.
But I do recall feeling tired and skudgey from my way-too-long flight. I’d crammed everything I thought I’d need into two suitcases—I hoped I hadn’t forgotten anything crucial. I was surprised and disappointed to see who was there to meet my flight. The drive to my new home seemed long, and yet passed all too quickly.
I was nervous. Excited. Scared. Happy. Overwhelmed. All mixed into one.
But mostly I was hopeful. I felt confident I was where God wanted me to be, and I hoped He would somehow use me to make a big difference. I had no clue what that would look like. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do; I was just there to serve.
And while I know God was clearly calling me to Africa, I’d be lying if I said it was solely my faith in Him that got me there. I think it was a cocktail of faith, naivety, passion, and foolishness that landed me in Africa that day. And I’m absolutely okay with that.
If I’d known how my life would unfold, would I have still boarded that flight? If I’d known all the trials and heartaches I’d face, would I have still followed in faith? If I’d known how many times I’d have to say goodbye to people I love… if I had any clue how the AIDS pandemic would touch my own life… if I foresaw the droughts, fires, and tight finances… if I really knew how big the responsibility and weight would end up being… would I still have been obedient to His call to “Go”?
I’d like to think I would have. But I honestly don’t know. My passion and faith may have easily gotten swallowed up by fear and doubt.
Some times more than others, I am grateful He only gives me enough light for the next step.
thirteen: steps to counseling
I walked into the office with a red cup of non-alcoholic liquid courage in my hands and two people next to me for moral support (or maybe to make sure I didn’t turn and run). As I sat in the waiting area, I swear the pterodactyl-sized butterflies in my stomach had babies. I’d been anxious about this appointment since I boarded the way-too-small plane in DC, bound for Columbus. If I’m honest, I’d been anxious about this appointment since the moment I decided to come to America for this very reason.
He stepped into the waiting room to introduce himself and “collect” me. As we exited together, I turned my head for a last glance at my smiling friend. I heard again her words from not thirty minutes before: “I am so proud of you.” I smiled back and I’m sure it looked tentative and apprehensive. I don’t have a very good poker face.
It was thirteen steps from that door to the couch in his office where I found a seat and spent the next hour. For me, for whom trust is paramount and yet not easily given, it was a daunting thing to bare my soul to a complete stranger. And yet, at the same time, I felt completely comfortable. I walked out feeling like a weight had been lifted: the weight of simply starting this thing. And I felt proud of myself.
Hi. My name is Alece. I’m a missionary. And I go to counseling.
