A few things are staple occurrences for me post-Ghana: One involves buying out the produce section at HEB and eating everything in sight. God help me when that eating happens to also include Grub burgers and fries followed by vats of Blue Bell (cheers to my juice-cleansing friends). The other involves a bombardment of cold air. Now I know it's wintertime and all, but what is this icy/snow business that has everyone running for cover? And for the love, can we turn off the air conditioners in the airports and restaurants and office buildings? Can't. Get. Warm. Yet truly, the physical adjustments aren't a big deal anymore. Two days of waking up at 4am and wanting to crash by 8pm, a few extra layers and bowls of ice cream, and I'm good to go. It's expected now, and life goes on. Except there's also this:
Much of our work involves "high points": annual fundraisers, world records, sold out races, moments in Ghana of walking out of villages with formerly trafficked children, watching them go to school and reunite with their parents, reading letters from those children a year later, the partnership of a new village, taking cage-raised fish to market, etc. I dare say few people get to experience things of this nature in everyday life like we do. God has been so faithful, and we want to shout it from the rooftops – so we do! These are the moments we proclaim and share; nothing brings more joy than telling the ways that God is bringing the Kingdom through Mercy Project; it's why we do what we do. The Lord has shown up and invited us to participate in His work time and time again. There's no greater gift.
But I, especially, tend to forget that the high points do not come without moments from the opposite end of the spectrum; I rarely confess that portion of the journey in as much detail. I've been dwelling on grace since the beginning of this new year, desiring to practice more grace for others in my life, wanting to better understand the ways the Lord is gracious to us all. Yet sometimes I forget that I need to allow myself some grace as well, that I need to name the times when I am far from the perfection I seek, when I can't do all and be all and need to just say that THAT'S OK. It's ok to admit that this work is hard, that the path isn't easy, that sometimes relationships are hard and change is hard, that there are days when it feels like I'm getting nowhere fast.
Yikes.
Perhaps that's a terrible thing to admit immediately following a rescue trip – the pinnacle of high points – but let's be real: the pressure to succeed and measure up is often greatest in the wake of jubilation, and I've felt the weight of it this week. To be clear, this is a pressure that I place on myself, fearing failure and incompetence. I don't want to admit it, because it makes me feel weak. I've needed to ask for a lot of grace this week, and I'm so grateful for those who have walked through that with me. The problem with pouring your heart into something so fully is that only the Lord can fill it back up.
What I'm learning is that it's okay to ask for help and ask for grace, even if it’s embarrassing, even if you disappoint people, even if in the process people find out (gasp!) that you’re not a super-person, but just a regular person, a person who gets. . . emptied out sometimes. -Shauna Niequist
And so.
I'm learning, and He is filling.
I continue to believe that in many ways my own story of rescue and redemption is tied up in the lives of these children in Ghana. That I don't "save the day" for them more than they save me – through their dreams and hopes to be teachers and doctors and futbol players, through their carefree dancing and singing and sheer joy, through their wild abandon for living life to the fullest each day regardless of what they've been through. Over and over and over, they save me.
So I have to start these stories with that honesty, that reality. Because if we don't let our stories change us, they are for naught.
And those high points from last week? Friends, there were so, so many. Without further ado, meet the FORMER trafficked children of Sabonjeda. Aren't they beautiful? Oh, how God is breathing new life and redemption into us all.
(click photo to enlarge; and if you're better at math than I, you'll notice there's only 21 in this photo. our friend Clifford had a rough morning as all little boys do from time to time and joined in for a later shot. keeping it real. :)
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