A friend sent this to me in the bottom of an email the other day, and I've been pouring over it ever since. What an incredible and gracious God we serve.


I waited patiently for the Lord;
he turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the Lord
and put their trust in him.

Blessed is the one
who trusts in the Lord,
who does not look to the proud,
to those who turn aside to false gods.

Many, Lord my God,
are the wonders you have done,
the things you planned for us.
None can compare with you;
were I to speak and tell of your deeds,
they would be too many to declare.

Sacrifice and offering you did not desire—
but my ears you have opened—
burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require.

Then I said, “Here I am, I have come—
it is written about me in the scroll.

I desire to do your will, my God;
your law is within my heart.”

I proclaim your saving acts in the great assembly;
I do not seal my lips, Lord, as you know.

I do not hide your righteousness in my heart;
I speak of your faithfulness and your saving help.
I do not conceal your love and your faithfulness
from the great assembly.

Do not withhold your mercy from me, Lord;
may your love and faithfulness always protect me.

(And so we reach the end of the Ghana saga... this time around; here's the start of the series and more pictures can be found here. Cheers!)

The door bangs open and a flurry of color and giggling girls fill the space – eyes wide as they take in the room and choose their new bunk beds. They are theirs. "Have you ever had a bed like this before?", Chris asks through the shelter manager who translates. "No, never" comes the answer. And in unison, "We love it! We love it!" rings out, reverberating pure joy from the walls. It is life-giving.



I am watching Ruth.

She was wary when we first left the village, caution and anger in her eyes. What was she thinking about... Who am I to be handed off to now? Where are we going? Who can I trust?

I hear her voice over and over saying "Thank you, Madame" as she runs through the rain and darkness next to me that first night; as the oldest girl, she has assumed a caretaker role over little Jacob and is grateful for my carrying him through the storm. She remains cautious, but her guard is slowly coming down. Though we cannot exchange words, I see the anger in her eyes meld into a shy smile for the first time.

Then I catch her in this moment on her new bed, the prized top bunk, and all inhibitions are gone as she flashes a "thumbs up".



Ruth is interviewed at the shelter before we leave. Her story is utterly heartbreaking. She tells of abuse and watching a friend drown in the lake among many other horrors that we suspected but had not been able to confirm with this particular group of kids. And though it matters not how well these kids were treated; a human being as a commodity is wrong any way you spin it, our purpose has come full circle. Every moment has been worth it for this one. Every moment has been worth it for Ruth. She says she wants to be a nurse, and God is redeeming her life before our very eyes. He is rewriting her story as one of hope and freedom and future.

We play clapping games next to the futbol field and the girls attempt to teach us their dancing game. They laugh at my failed attempts at coordination and switch to teaching us words in Twi. I struggle to make the right sounds, much less the right words, but they think it's absolutely hilarious. Out of the corner of my eye, I am watching Ruth. She cannot stop smiling and laughing and hugging us.

And so I leave with an insatiable desire for more. More children, more freedom, more stories of rescue and redemption. It occurs to me later: this is technically near the end goal of our overall process and the time we've worked towards for two years. It felt so much like the ending until now. Now I see that it's truly just the beginning.

These precious 24 are the most beautiful beginning to this journey.

(Start here if you're just now checking in on the Ghana trip recaps.)

No pictures with this one, just a story worth telling. I'll finish the series out with a final post by this weekend. Thanks for reading along!


I'm bouncing around in a bus full of excited children as we search road after road for the temporary overnight shelter, where we will stop for the evening before making the long drive south the next morning. In true Ghanaian fashion, no one seems to know where the shelter is, and it is nightfall when we finally discover the unmarked building hidden inside a high wall behind several abandoned buildings. It is hidden for a reason, and we are actually grateful for the secrecy of the location, grateful knowing the children will be safe here for the night. It's down-pouring rain as we traverse the muddy road that we likely will never get back down, and then the power goes out in the entire village. Darkness redefined.

It continues to pour and thunder and lightning, and we have one flashlight (or "torch", as the Ghanaians like to call it) between the 24 kids and the 10 of us, which has been taken on ahead. We cannot drive up to the shelter and so must brave the storm for a bit. As the kids stumble off the bus, I snatch up little Jacob – piggy-back style – and start running through the mud and rain and dark, slipping and sliding and trying to see and follow the child in front of me. Impossible, except when lightning lights up the path. We are instantly soaked through and through. Having a new found "healthy fear" of lightning, I am on edge, but the kids are laughing and having a grand adventure like it's another typical day. They are used to being outside in the elements, used to the darkness.

After navigating a maze of rocky, muddy ground, we huddle in a cramped office space, and the guys take the "torch" to set out sleeping mats for the children in another room. I stay behind with the only other light we have – a 2" video camera screen that happened to still be in my pocket – so that the kids will not be afraid. I hold the dim light over my head (which happens to shut off every 30 seconds!) and see rows of smiling white teeth gleaming back at me; the 24 are talking and giggling excitedly, far from being scared. As we get ready to leave for the night, they are dry and safe and jumping around on their sleeping mats, settling in for one massive sleepover – the first like this in their lives. They put my own anxiety and doubts to rest and teach me so much in that moment about letting go of unfounded fear.

We arrive back at the shelter the next morning to begin the long drive. The children are running around playing, drawing up water from a courtyard well, and bathing. It's another day in the life for them, and I am amazed at their instant adaptation. No American child would behave like this. They care for each other – the oldest making sure the youngest bathe and are ready for the day. As we wait for a travel permit and to give the children breakfast, there is so much dancing and laughter, I can hardly believe my eyes. In less than 24 hours, they are already being transformed; their longing to simply "be a child" is realized, and they are soaking it up drop for drop.


So am I.

(If you're just joining the conversation, you might want to start here and here.)

I'm kneeling in the sand, and it's eerily quiet all around me. Final words have been exchanged with the villagers, and the children are ready. We are ready. Nicole and I have come out to the shore ahead of the group, hoping to capture and freeze this "walking out" in time. Much discussion has evolved around this very moment – what will it look like? what will we feel? will it be all we hoped for?

I hear noise, and they are coming. I holler at Nicole, and we get to work. And though perhaps slightly anticlimactic in reality, it truly is all I hoped for. It happens in less than three minutes, but I'm shooting as quickly as I can as a million thoughts run through my head. As they pass by, I watch the expressions on Chris & Stacey's faces. It is sheer joy. The testimony these two are telling with their lives is bringing His Kingdom on earth; I am grateful beyond words to witness and be apart of something of this magnitude. Chris passes by and jokingly says something like "stop crying and grab a hand"; I'm wearing sunglasses – how does he know?! It's just one of those emotional times for us all, as we anticipated it would be. I fall in next to a little boy of about 8. In that instant, I think... every bit of struggle and question, every sleepless night, every personal sacrifice – it was worth it, a hundred times over. This is "thin space" as it's been described to me – where the space between Heaven and earth is but a sliver.





I'm knee-deep in cloudy water, just as we are about to leave the Adovepke shore. The kids are clambering in the boat, huddling in a group at the very front as the villagers line the shoreline to see them off. They have been gracious, dressing the children in their best clothes, some even slipping money for the journey into their fingers as we depart. I watch the faces of the children as they settle in, wondering what's running through their heads. I see every expression on their faces – excitement, trepidation, resignation (where are they taking me now?), perhaps a little fear in a few. I think, if they will but wait and see, just one more day, and then they will know. They will know they are loved and chosen and called by name to a hope and a future. I hop in the boat before it gets out too deep, letting out held breath. 24 children are now in our hands. And they are making their final journey across the lake for a very, very long time.





My friend Chris C. does some incredible mission work at With One Hope in Honduras. He writes, "I believe there are moments in life that mark us. Moments that stretch our hearts and push us to the brink emotionally, spiritually, physically. There are moments that leave such an impact that they become a part of who we are – good or bad – and help define who we are going to be. We all react differently to these moments. Some of us harden our hearts, others weep, others are filled with determination, and still others fall to their knees in prayer. We are all different and experience these moments differently. But one thing remains true for us all: after we have lived through such a moment we can never be the same again; we are forever changed."

I could not have said it better myself.

Well, I had this naive notion that life would stop, or at least slow down, in time for me to write and read and rest up and regroup before continuing on full-speed ahead. You'd think I would have learned my lesson by now! But, the week wrapped up rather nicely, and it's finally time to roll out some trip posts.

As I said before (start here if you've no idea what I'm talking about), this journey is best summarized by moments. Moments that were pivotal and meaningful to me, even if I didn't realize it at the time. That's what photographs are, right? An instant of time, frozen so that we may remember it just as it was.

***

We follow the villagers into their little mud-brick church. They've clearly already discussed and organized a system, and the kids are sorted according to the list of trafficked children. We are grateful for the preparation that has already taken place before our arrival. By the time I catch my bearings and figure out what's going on, there they are. Lined up on a wooden bench – hesitant, uncertain, questioning. Our first group of Mercy Project kids sit right before us. And they are beautiful.



Moments later, I'm standing in the corner, watching as village masters, one right after the next, come forward to sign a contract handing over their children. The "emancipation" as Chris refers to it. And so it is. Many of the masters cannot sign their own names – they've never been taught to read or write – and so they ink a fingerprint signature on the contract. I am reminded that we are indeed in the far remote of Africa. I am also reminded how important an education is for these children. It is essential to breaking the cycle of slavery in this country. Then the village Chief himself comes forward to sign away two trafficked boys. And I know in that moment that these people really do understand what's at stake, what we're all about, what this means for the future of their village and their own children. And it is so good.







The following morning, I'm standing on a plastic chair under the mango tree, gazing down at a group of 23 children. They have been called by name and separated for counting. Some of the women leave to gather the few belongings they possess. But wait, there's one more. He's no older than 6 years – smaller than my nephew of the same age – and little Jacob is pushed forward to join the group, making 24. 24 faces who stare at us with wide eyes, unsure what is to come. Likely questioning why on earth that white girl is not only snapping pictures of them but doing so perched high up on a chair. And it is for this:





And I think "Yes!" – this is the first of many, many more to come.

True to my compartmentalizing self, I seem to have put my thoughts and feelings from last week in a box, placed it high up on a shelf, and tucked into the to-do's of the week. I'm not really an emotional person, but I find that I either err on the side of just listing facts or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, am a complete wreck and can't choke out anything coherent. I feel very inadequate.

There are no words to explain the feeling of seeing over 2 years of work culminate in a single moment, the laughter heard on a bus ride – the first full day of freedom from the lake, the realization that "I get my very own bed" for the first time ever, the pride in a 15-year-old's eyes as he stands and counts to 30 all by himself.

But as I sort through pictures and journal entries, I'm starting to see these moments as glimpses of the Kingdom, little excerpts captured in my heart; they cut to my core and change the very essence of who I am. So I'll share a few of those over the next week or so. And perhaps slowly, that box will come down off the shelf to be opened.

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Here are the "nuts and bolts" of the trip for those who wonder what the week looked like. (Granted, it looked nothing like we initially planned.) We discovered before even leaving Houston that Satan was very much working against every single travel plan; we truly had to fight for this trip and these kids. We had major issues getting out of Houston and nearly missed our flight leaving; Nigeria proved to be... well, Nigeria, but we arrived in Accra safe and sound Thursday night. Planned to fly to Tamale (up by the lake) the next morning but got to the airport to find that "all flights are cancelled; they are working on the runway today". Three flight inquiries later, we hopped a plane that would get us halfway to the lake and then had to drive the rest of the way. 3 miles from the lake we came across a roadblock of protesters and had to take an alternative route. About that time, we had a discussion on spiritual warfare!

Finally made it to Adovepke much later than intended, but were blessed in having things already set into motion with the villagers. Each master signed a contract for releasing their trafficked children, and more interviews of the children helped solidify our final list. A few of our crew stayed the night in the village; others of us took a boat back to Makongo for the night. Saturday morning: rescue day. We intended to not get the kids until Sunday, but there was a funeral to work around. Of course. But Saturday went so smoothly, and the village was gracious and generous in sending off the children. 24 former child slaves were called by name and loaded into our boat.

We took the kids to an overnight shelter after the 2 hour boat ride and a brief bus ride. Sunday was the big bus day as we traveled 8 hours down to the rehabilitation shelter. The children were so excited and their faces lit up as we finally arrived and showed them around: running water, toilets, their own beds, schoolrooms, a futbol field, and a place for eating together. We spent Monday watching them transition into school classes, new friends, and routine. Interviews were conducted as well. So many stories to tell.

We left Accra for the airport but the flight out was 3.5 hours late, which made us miss our connecting flight in Nigeria. Long story short, our best option was to remain on the flight and take our chances in Nigeria. Not a very good option after all! We spent 22 hours in a Nigerian airport lounge until we could get a flight out the following night, this time routing through Germany. 7 more hours to Frankfurt, a 7 hour layover, and a 12 hour flight into Houston. Couldn't make all that up if I tried.

********

Needless to say, we're so happy to be home. But no doubt we would do it all over again for those 24 sweet faces... and hopefully soon, we'll get to with our next group of kids.

After 60ish hours of airport/flight mayhem, our weary group of travelers has returned from Ghana. It's so good to be home. It always takes me a bit to process and readjust after these trips; I think that is only heightened by the significance of this particular journey. So I'm *hoping* to spend a good portion of the weekend sorting through pictures and thoughts and figuring out where to even start in sharing those.

For now, a song. (Ross King. Incredible songwriting and worship-leading talent.) This was running through my head last night, and as I type out the lyrics this morning, it speaks to my heart in a powerful way. There were many, many moments in which we felt Satan's hold and attacks on this trip – on travel arrangements and roadblocks and hurdles that are simply "this is Africa". But greater than that were the moments in which God prevailed and provided a way out. Because of that, meet the 24 children who were given new life this week (click for a larger view). Praise God!





More Than Conquerors

Your faultless blood has washed our sin-stained hearts
Your living word is changing who we are
Your endless grace runs deeper than our faults
Your true relentless love has conquered all

Nothing can prevail against the power of the Lord our God

In everything we are, more than conquerors
Because of who you are and all you've done
And everything has changed, and death has lost its sting
Because you died and rose again for us

Your perfect life restores us from the fall
Your nail-pierced hands reach out to heal us all
Your empty grave has broken Satan's hold
Your Spirit now renews and makes us whole

Nothing can prevail against the power of the Lord our God
Nothing can prevail against the power of the Lord our God

In everything we are, more than conquerors
Because of who you are and all you've done
And everything has changed, and death has lost its sting
Because you died and rose again for us

The story of my life will be, Jesus crucified and resurrected, He's resurrected.
The story of my life will be, Jesus crucified and resurrected, You're resurrected.

In everything we are, more than conquerors
Because of who you are and all you've done
And everything has changed, and death has lost its sting
Because you died and rose again for us


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More to come!