missionary musings

i am only one, but i am one

aids ribbon"I am only one, but I am one.I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do." -Edward Everett Hale

Everyone can do something in the fight against AIDS. Don't let the enormity of the task keep you from doing the something you can do.

Learn as much as you can, discover what you're passionate about, and throw your full weight into that passion.

  • Discover which aspect of the AIDS crisis resonates with your heart. It will be different for different people, and that's okay! You may not know yet what you're passionate about in regards to fighting the AIDS pandemic. So begin by reading about the multi-faceted issues involved. Your heart will be gripped by something as you research. It might be orphan care, or medical intervention, or prevention/abstinence programs. Whatever it is, find your passion.
  • Find an organization that shares your passion. Again, this may take some digging. But there are plenty of solid ministries out there targeting the various aspects of AIDS.
  • Connect as much as possible with the cause/organization you believe in. The more you know and understand about their vision and strategies, the more you can be a megaphone for them.
  • Interact with the organization and its team. Visit their website, comment on their blog posts, ask for specific prayer requests. Passion grows when you truly become part of something. Family members have the same blood in their veins. Join the family. Get the vision coursing through you till you bleed it.
  • Use your voice and influence to promote the cause you believe in. You can do that through blog posts, sidebar widgets, twitter updates, and personal conversations. You could commit to a monthly megaphone day on your blog where you highlight different aspects of what’s being done, what the needs are, and opportunities for others to get involved.
  • Be passionate about it. Anyone can plug something, but passion is unmistakable. People will know how much you really believe in what you’re saying.
  • Pray. Prayer really does change things.
  • Contribute financially to support the work that's being done.
  • Get off your "but" and go. Drop the excuses and go see for yourself. Travel overseas to not only see the work in action but to participate in it. The best advocates are those who’ve been involved. And I guarantee it will change your life forever.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

What are you currently doing to help in the fight against AIDS? What are you going to start doing? What other suggestions do you have for ways people can get involved?

you CAN do something

AIDS is a reality you don’t have the luxury to ignore.

Bono wrote in his book On the Move---

6,500 Africans are still dying every day of a preventable, treatable disease, for lack of drugs we can buy at any drugstore. This is not about charity; this is about justice and equality.

Because there’s no way we can look at what’s happening in Africa and, if we’re honest, conclude that deep down, we really accept that Africans are equal to us. Anywhere else in the world, we wouldn’t accept it. Look at what happened in Southeast Asia with the tsunami. 150,000 lives lost to that misnomer of all misnomers, “mother nature.” In Africa 150,000 lives are lost every month. A tsunami every month. And it’s a completely avoidable catastrophe.

There is a continent—Africa—being consumed by flames.I truly believe that when the history books are written, our age will be remembered for three things: the war on terror, the digital revolution, and what we did---or did not do---to put the fire out in Africa.

History, like God, is watching what we do.

Don’t close your eyes or turn your head away. People are dying for you to do something.

mosquito

What will you do to learn more about the AIDS crisis? What will you do with what you know?

i'm tired

I was reading along in Isaiah when I tripped over this phrase: "You have not wearied yourselves for Me, O Israel." I brushed off my knees and copped a squat right there. I knew exactly what God was talking about. And I knew I was just as guilty as Israel was. After over eleven years in full-time ministry, I know full-well what it's like to weary myself. I've put in the ridiculously long hours. I've juggled an impossible schedule. I've reached the point of burnout and lived to tell about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want to weary myself for Him.

Then and only then am I strengthened.

my beautiful africa

"Ask of Me, and I will give you the nations as your inheritance." I've been asking for Africa since I was 15. And while I hope to have left my His mark on the continent I love so much, I know for sure that she’s left a mark on me.

Africa is beautiful, rich, compelling. She won my heart with her beckoning eyes and captivating smiles. Her laughter comes from deep in her soul, her tears from a place even deeper still. And as deep calls to deep, she reaches the most sacred part of my heart.

Like any true love, when I close my eyes, she is as close as my own breath.

With eyes wide shut, I see majesty in the shape of mountains and elephants and elderly women. I hear spontaneous harmonies, heartbreaking mourning over yet another life stolen away, shouts of praise to a God they deem faithful despite their circumstances. I taste the bitterness of grief and the sweetness of community. I smell the blanketing fires of winter and the matchless fragrance of coming rain. I feel the joy of carefree children, the contentment of simple lives well-lived, and the stirring of God sweeping through narrow unnamed village streets.

And when I open my eyes again, she's still right here---standing tall with her hard-earned pride, holding my hand with her tight ebony grip, and looking forward with an unspeakable hope.

Jesus gave His life for my magnificently alluring Africa.

She is so worth me doing the same.

alecesig small PNG

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fight poverty with hope

Ask any little boy in America what he wants to be when he grows up and you might hear firefighter, doctor, or astronaut. Little girls will say they want to be teachers, nurses, lawyers. Though their answers differ, these children all have something in common: They can answer the question. Ask a child in Africa what he or she wants to be when all grown up and you may be met with a blank stare. Shrugging shoulders. "I don't know." They can't comprehend the question and they don't know how to answer. They don't know, because they don't know how to dream.

I've seen the blank stares. I've watched the shoulders shrug. I've heard the "I don't know"s. Once when I asked a young boy what he wants to be when he grows up, he answered with a statement that has never left me: "I want to be alive."

Poverty kills dreams. It murders hope. It squashes every last ounce of ambition. Poverty impacts the old, but targets the young. It steals more than full bellies and healthy bodies; it suffocates the future and squanders potential.

What Africa needs---what anyone affected by poverty needs---is not a hand-out. Africa needs more than charity, more than money, more than employment opportunities. All of those are vitally important, but Africa needs something even greater. Africa needs to learn to dream again.

Next time you choose to make a donation, contribute your skills, or give of your time for someone or some organization, find a way to also instill hope, offer encouragement, shine a light at the end of their tunnel. As you spark dreams in people's hearts, you're doing the best thing you can do to eradicate poverty.

[originally posted this day last year]

stormy thoughts

It's been raining for days. So tonight's storm is nothing new. But for some reason it totally made me homesick for Africa. It started with me thinking about how extremely different this exact same storm would sound if I were in my house. My home has a tin roof and no insulation. That makes for some ridiculously loud rain. So between that and the claps of thunder and the wild lightning, this would've been one helluva storm in Africa. (Can I say helluva?! Hmmm... I'm leavin' it...)

I miss the sound of rain on my roof.

I miss my kitchen with all her wonderful gadgets.

I miss my Big Easy, the most comfortable corner of my house.

I miss my African Grey parrot, Starbucks, and his comforting way of making everything right in my world with his "Hello, beautiful."

I miss my mountains. And zebras. And star-filled skies.

I miss my staff family.

I miss my Hope House kids.

I miss watching my vision and passion become reality every single day.

I miss my Africa...

And I'm grateful for this rain.

souvenirs from cali

My time in California was bittersweet, and filled with a strange mixture of emotions. But underlying all of that, it was a wonderful gift to be with April for her wedding. Being able to help with last-minute details---from late-night Walmart runs to putting on her veil before the ceremony---made my heart feel full. I've never gotten to help any of my friends with any part of their weddings before. So every moment made me feel very blessed.

Though I don't have children of my own, I think I know what parental pride feels like. I felt it in a thousand different moments over the past few days. I am so proud of April. For her depth of character. Her resolve. Her patience and grace under pressure. Her wise choices.

And while there is a lot about April's year in Africa that I wish I could change---for her and for me---I am unbelievably grateful I had that time to get to know her and pour into her in some small way.

I know I often begrudge the revolving door of my life. But after a week like the one I just had, I can't help but lift my eyes and thank my Jesus for bringing so many people through that door.

My life is certainly richer for it.

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 hiv-beautyAIDS. 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.

prayer

prayer-2

[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.

burden of leadership

I've been pondering the burden of leadership. Let me explain...a heavy heart A lot of people have come through the revolving door of our ministry in the past decade: interns, mission team members, staff. Many others are tied into us through their support. All in all, we have a huge spiderwebbed network of people that are connected to Thrive Africa. And that makes them connected to Niel and I.

While I don't personally stay in touch with every single person in the Thrive spiderweb, I correspond with as many as I can (and as many as want to write back!) and we pray often for our entire extended family.

The past few weeks have unraveled some heartbreaking things that are going on in our family members' lives. It culminated this morning with the news---before 8 AM, mind you---that two people had just lost loved ones.

And it's left my heart feeling heavy.

So I'm wrestling with this whole burden of leadership thing. I know I'm not responsible for people, only to them. I know I can't carry the burdens that others carry in their lives. I know that allowing myself to get "emotionally involved" with even a fraction of the thousands of people that are connected with Thrive is more than I could ever handle. I know that I can't be everyone's fixer, that I can't always have the answer, that I can't always be there for people. I know all of that.

But that still doesn't make it any easier to hear that people I know and love are facing

  • the deaths of two family members within 9 months
  • sexual abuse at the hands of someone they should've been able to trust
  • unceasing physical pain
  • emotional scars and hurts that have festered for years
  • inexplicable health problems
  • a long road ahead due to horribly wrong life decisions

What are your thoughts on the burden of leadership? Where's the line between compassion and an unhealthy taking-it-on-yourself-ness? How much caring is too much, and how much is not enough?

fight poverty with hope

Ask any little boy in America what he wants to be when he grows up and you might hear firefighter, doctor, or astronaut. Little girls will say they want to be teachers, nurses, lawyers. Though their answers differ, these children all have something in common: They can answer the question.

Ask a child in Africa what he or she wants to be when all grown up and you may be met with a blank stare. Shrugging shoulders. "I don't know." They can't comprehend the question and they don't know how to answer. They don't know, because they don't know how to dream.

I've seen the blank stares. I've watched the shoulders shrug. I've heard the "I don't know"s. Once when I asked a young boy what he wants to be when he grows up, he answered with a statement that has never left me: "I want to be alive."

Poverty kills dreams. It murders hope. It squashes every last ounce of ambition. Poverty impacts the old, but targets the young. It steals more than full bellies and healthy bodies; it suffocates the future and squanders potential.

What Africa needs---what anyone affected by poverty needs---is not a hand-out. Africa needs more than charity, more than money, more than employment opportunities. All of those are vitally important, but Africa needs something even greater. Africa needs to learn to dream again.

Next time you choose to make a donation, contribute your skills, or give of your time for someone or some organization, find a way to also instill hope, offer encouragement, shine a light at the end of their tunnel. As you spark dreams in people's hearts, you're doing the best thing you can do to eradicate poverty.

_______________________________________________ This post is part of Blog Action Day 08 - Poverty.

taking my pulse

My head and heart have been tsunamied in recent weeks, which has left me feeling disconnected not only from my friends but also from myself. I haven't been able to figure out how my heart is really doing, much less articulate that to someone else. This much I know is true: All too often in ministry, we want change for others more than they want it for themselves. I'm always left with a feeling of brokenness when I'm confronted with that ugly truth.

We ministered at a local church on Sunday, and before the service we shared a cup of tea and some conversation with the Mamoruti (pastor's wife). She shook her head and said, "You know, sometimes leadership is just so hard." Has she been reading my blog?! Although she and I lead in very different capacities, we both experience similar pressures and challenges as leaders. It felt strengthening to simply be understood.

I'm still not sure how to really answer "How are you?" right now. But I'm reminding myself that He sees, He knows, He cares. And He's holding my heart gently.