Five Minute Friday-Present

Once again, my 5 minute Friday is more like a 5 minute Saturday. . .but I promised myself I would do this and I don't want to let myself down!!  I need to show up. . .for myself.   Which is the perfect tie-in to Lisa Jo's word this week- Present

Present

Last month, my Dad turned the big 6-0, and my sister's ministry turned three years old.  Since she was back stateside visiting, the fam decided to throw a huge part-ay to celebrate.  It was so wonderful.  There we were, in my parent's backyard, in our childhood home, with live music, home cooked food, home brewed beer and decades and decades of people who showed up to celebrate.  So many friends and family, from so many phases of all of our lives were present to celebrate my dad's big day and honor my sister's amazing work.  At the end of the night, our heads were all spinning from the number of people who were there. . .the hugs, the laughs, the conversations. . .we'll be reliving it for years.  At one point I thought to myself, I feel so bad!  So many people came and I didn't have the time to talk to each one.  But in reality, that wasn't the point, and it wasn't why they came at all.  They came to be present, so show their faces and their smiles and share the meal and support the ministry and their mere presence alone was their symbol of love.  Presence.  It is the greatest gift we give our friends and family.  We keep showing up, year after year, at the birthday parties, baby showers, housewarmings, hospitals, funerals, on the doorstep with casseroles, on the phone with a listening ear, on the couch for a cry or a good laugh.  It takes love to show up for people, and it is the best way you can express to them your own caring.  I'm here for you.  Physically present, emotionally present, spiritually present. . .and that's the greatest present.  Thanks for the present, friends. It was the best kind!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Real.

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real, you don't mind being hurt."

The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

It was a part of Emily's ministry that I never expected. . .when I thought of her loving orphaned children until they found their forever home, I wasn't really thinking that would so often mean their Forever Home. Yesterday, Sweet Zuena went home to the arms of Jesus, taking a piece of Emily's heart forever. 

Sometimes, I just shake my head and wonder how she does it. How does she lose a child she has loved so freely and so well, and have the courage to open her heart again to the next child who comes to her gate? The need in Uganda is so great, the neglect of those with disabilities so staggering, that the reality is that no matter how much the women of Ekisa are hurting over the loss of their sweet and sassy little Zuena more children will soon come. Needing love just as much as Zuena did, whether anyone's heart feels ready yet to provide it or not. The scar of losing a child might not show on the outside, but I can only imagine that the pain is as real as any physical wound someone could afflict, and stays for far longer than the rest of the world could see or understand. Being Real hurts.

"Does it happen all at once, like being would up," the Rabbit asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real, you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

When we love a child, and a child loves us, we are doing exactly what we have been called to do on this earth. Love means we try again. We forgive. We give second chances. We keep vigil by the bedside. We share laughter. We give hope. We leave the light on.

And like the threadbare Rabbit, we let ourselves be loved, hugged, used, wrinkled, stretched- literally and figuratively, dragged, prodded, snuggled, and kissed. 

Changed forever.

It can be glorious, and it isn't always easy, and yes. . .sometimes it hurts, but when you're Real, it's just a part of the deal. Being a parent means letting your heart live outside of your body, and if anyone understands that, it's God. He gave His son up for all of us, and when Jesus rose to heaven to join His Father again, He rose up. . .scars and all. Signs of the greatest Love. And at the end of our lives, when we go to our Forever Home, won't it be good to know that we chose love- that we have loved and loved well? We can know that all the scars we bear, both seen and unseen, are a sign of love. 

My whole family hurts today because Emily is hurting. It's hard to think about it or even talk about it. I can't even tell the boys yet because then it will feel too real. I wish that we could jump on a plane and give her big hugs and help her through this loss, but I know that God will send just the right people, right there, right now, to be with her and her staff and comfort them as they mourn.

So, Em, just think about the Velveteen Rabbit- I know Mom read it to you, too. :) Even when it hurts, keep loving. Love until your hair rubs off, and your eyes fall out, and your joints are loose. It's worth it. Eternally. We love you.

"Every time we make the decision to love someone, we open ourselves to great suffering, because those we most love cause us not only great joy but also great pain. The greatest pain comes from leaving. When the child leaves home, when the husband or wife leaves for a long period of time or for good, when the beloved friend departs to another country or dies ... the pain of the leaving can tear us apart. 

Still, if we want to avoid the suffering of leaving, we will never experience the joy of loving. And love is stronger than fear, life stronger than death, hope stronger than despair. We have to trust that the risk of loving is always worth taking." - Henri Nouwen

Ekisa.

   My 22-year-old sister, Emily, is the founder and executive director of Ekisa Ministries International in Jinja, Uganda.  She doesn't like to talk about herself, but since I am her sister I get to brag as MUCH as I want!!  Basically, I want the whole world.  . .or I guess the anyone who would possibly visit this little corner of the internet. . .to be inspired.  God created my sister extra-special.  He did not make her a straight-A student, or a star athlete, or a dancer or musician.  I mean, she played sports, took dance, played the flute, and mostly showed up at school (right, sis? :).  But her heart wasn't into any of those things.  Once, I even remember her telling me how sad she was that she wasn't really "good" at anything.  It broke my heart and it was totally not true, but you know how our society measures success-  ribbons, medals, grades, perfection.  If you aren't the "best", then what are you?  Fortunately, we were blessed with parents who didn't really give a darn about ribbons and medals, they just wanted us to be nice people.  And that is something my sister is blessed with to the extreme.  When God made her extra-special, he made her six feet tall, sassy, witty, goofy and with the most sympathetic heart of anyone I know.  She's the best at a lot of things that society doesn't measure, and I feel so blessed that she has found her calling to share her gifts with the world.

Em first visited Uganda on a mission trip before her senior year of high school and I am not sure if any of us imagined it would turn into this!  But on that trip, the seed was planted for a lifetime of service to the people there.  On her first trip to Uganda she volunteered in an orphanage and met several handicapped children who touched her heart.  Not only did these children have little or no chance of being adopted, they could not stay at the orphanage past a certain age.  Their future looked very bleak.

Being handipcapped in Uganda is considered a curse, and not just society but their own families often reject those who are disabled.  From that moment, my sister was determined to make a difference for these kids, and not long after she came home her quest to found Ekisa began.  When she moved to Uganda to open Ekisa in October 2010, she was only 20 years old.  I think of my priorities when I was 20 and I feel a bit like the Snooki to my sister's Mother Teresa.  People thought she was crazy, or brave, or a little bit of both, but everyone can agree she has a God-sized dream.  When she arrived and began to lay the groundwork for Ekisa, she realized the need of the disabled children there was far greater than she had originally imagined.   The children who were being brought to my sister were not only orphaned and disabled, but simply put- on the brink of death.

Children like Zak who was neglected by his family because of his mental handicaps.  10 year old Zak weighed less than 30 pounds when Ekisa took him in and started showing him love for the first time.  Or baby Natasha- physically handicapped and very ill with pneumonia, abandoned in a hospital by parents who could not afford the $13 medical bill for her care.  Selina.  Nam.  Walter.  Their stories have kept me up at night.  They touch the hearts of everyone who hears them.

The children who have been welcomed into my sister's home have disabilities ranging from Down's Syndrome to Cerebal Palsy, Hydrocephalus, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, Epilepsy, Autism. . .but those things don't define them at Ekisa.  At Ekisa these children have hope.  They have love, they have care, food, medicine, physical and occupational therapy. . .they have grace given to them freely every day.

Here's the amazing awesome-super-amazing-big-God thing about this.  Ekisa has no corporate or government grants, their work completely depends on the donations of regular people.  The fact that so many people have answered the call in their hearts to help Ekisa and keep them running shows me every day how good He is, and how his goodness is so alive in so many people who hear His call.

If you want to find out more or donate to Ekisa, please visit here.

Sister.

A comment I have been getting a lot lately as people find out more about my sister's ministry is. . .

"Wow!  That's your only sister!  She lives there? In Africa???  You must REALLY miss her!"

And I surprise myself with the answer that comes out of my mouth

"No," I say, "not really!"

Then, the person usually nods knowingly and says something about Skype and Facebook and I nod back and we continue the conversation. . .but I have been pondering that knee jerk response and feel the need to explain.

No, I do not miss my sister.

Not the way I miss our old Graham Avenue neighbors, not the way I miss my late grandmother, not even the way I miss having a Gap in the Washington Square mall.

That sounds harsh, so maybe I should clarify.

I cannot say I miss my sister because the alternative is unacceptable. In my mind, "missing" means longing for something and wanting it back.  If I had the Gap in the Washington Square mall again, I could knock out all of my shopping in one totally uncrowded mall that has a Target attached to it.  Yeah, I long for that!  If I had my sister back from Africa, I would not have my sister back.  Emily's heart and soul are in Africa, with the children and women that she serves and ministers to.  She is absolutely the happiest I have ever seen her in her entire 22 years.  God has transformed her, her spirit has been awakened, she has been filled with grace, her entire being overflows with joy and service.  She is more fully present now than she ever was when she was in my physical presence, because the Lord is so alive and present in her.  She has become the hands and feet of Christ, living the Gospel, and serving the least of His people.  Her heart has found its home.  It was never really here to begin with.

Now, if they rephrased the question, I might answer it differently.  Do I miss watching Jersey Shore with my sister?  YES!!  Do I miss our Target runs?  YES!!  Do I miss the funny way she blows her nose and the way she leaves half empty water bottles everywhere kind of like that girl from Signs and my Dad following her around with a Sharpie to identify them as hers?  YES!!!  Do I miss the hilarity and excitement she brings to our family gatherings. . .like giant stuffed birds, homemade underwear, crazy socks and random kittens in baskets?  DEFINITELY YES!!!  But that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.  Of course, I cry (or bawl) when we say goodbye to her at the airport.  Or when she casually Skypes me and informs me that she has malaria or some strange lump and gets my mind all in a tizzy.  But those are selfish tears.  Those are tears based on fear, and one thing I have learned from Emily is to not let fear grip your heart.  I have to trust the One who called his daughter home to Africa to guard her and protect her.  I have to know that He will provide for her needs while she serves His people, heal her illnesses, comfort her heart, and give her the grace and strength she needs to serve the children of Ekisa.

She's not mine. . .she's theirs.

 

She's His. 

It is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. This life that I live now, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave his life for me.