New eyes.

As I've said before, when I came to the Lake 5 years ago, I was basically a natural disaster taking the Lake or the opposite. Neither of us quite understood how destructive the other one was or how tormented the other was. Everything felt minimally normal and equal. 

Reading back over my journals over the last year from that summer has granted me new eyes and a new perspective of the healing that began that summer. While it seemed that it would literally harm me in the process, it ended up being a great save of face for me. I had to think of someone else. Since then, I have made it a point to look at people's eyes, to watch their body language, facial expressions and listen to their tone. I can translate (minimally) based on these motions and words alone. 

The kids at the lake were somewhat timid with the "muzungus" around. I looked around classrooms and often when I met eyes, they would look down. Cultural things. They looked at me again and normally still pretend it's not happening and then they would take a third and last glance to ensure I've looked away but with my impeccable staring processes, I just kept looking. And finally, the meeting of our eyes allowed me to see much more than just the deep brown color and it gave me a moment while smiling to look into their hearts a little bit. 

To see a little sunshine combined with nightmares of what seems for many of them to be a fiery, haunting past. To see a little passion where there was once an absence of emotion and feeling. To see myself a little differently and to look at them because of that grants me a new kindness and compassion. New sight. New eyes. 

So thankful that as God grants me a new name, He also (time and again) gives me new sight and hearing for those around me. Definitely not an area that I'm an expert in but I am growing here.

Love, Melis

Some of the sweetest faces and eyes I was able to look into... Modah's little brother, Erick the very smart artist and Modah, who is sensitive and protective. Oh to have new eyes. 

Muzungu... Mulebwelelamo?

Justus walked grabbing my hand. He is a feisty thing. He yells over the other kids and pushes and shoves and mocks me. I can tell he is saying this even though I do not know anything in Lungu besides their words for "Hello, how are you?" He is adamant, refusing to believe that I do not know what he is basically shouting at me. He seemed angry and all at once, he stops and something in his eyes change. He doesn't smile an angry smile but a kind one and he asks the same question he has been asking except this time, his voice sounds more compassionate, more feeling, more wanting. "Are you going?" I walked to the boat and ask Sunday, one of the missionaries here, what he said. "Are you going?"

That's what he said. "Foreign woman, are you going?" I sat on a beach at a local lodge just thinking over this. Yes, little sweet man. I am. 

And I'm sorry. 

I cannot imagine the people that must walk in and out of lives for those children. How neglected so many of them are. How forgotten they are when there are siblings who come along and there's no lap to sit on. No hand to hold. No attention to be given. 

What a heartbreak that so often, we come and go in too many peoples' lives. Way too many. I want to go find Justus in Chippewa one day and ask him, "Who stayed? Who was there? Who walked with you through life?" 

I'm praying for a someone for Justus. A stayer. An "I'm not leaving-er." One who does not come for an hour and walk away. 

And more than even that, I'm praying that you are a "stayer" for someone. A Justus. A high school girl. A foster child. An orphan. Your neighbor. 

Grateful for a stayer who's also my deeply loving Savior and also many stayers in my journey who have loved, mentored, and discipled me. Love, Melis 

More in us...

A few weeks ago when Chandler returned from Thailand, she wrote a devotion for our girls event in November. She wrote about the insecurities she has in the US as compared to Thailand and how they end up being so similar. Insecurity creeps in everywhere. We are not out of it because we are serving Jesus or because we are doing the "right thing." 

I'm sitting in my bunk this morning and not at the school because I feel gross. I have a cold and felt like I had a fever when I woke up. The girls were off down the base while I just laid here. Waiting and praying to just fall back to sleep. I finally did for a couple of hours and it helped. I'm waiting even now to go back to sleep for a bit. I want to shake this cold so I can go to the school too. It's one of the things I'm looking forward to the most in being here at the Lake. I think that one day of rest will help immensely so I'm resting up today to get ready to love all these sweet kids tomorrow and encourage the teachers who are working daily with these kids and fighting their battles with them. 

I keep thinking of my own kids at school. The ones I miss so dearly--- I pray for them all the time. I'm anxious to see what they do over the next year and which ones will stay around for a bit. And as I was praying for one who has a pretty important meeting today, I realized how much more we see in others than we see in ourselves. How much potential I see in the kids I get to have each day. 

And then I realized something give--- God sees so much more in me than I see in myself. I see sick and in the bed. He sees important time to pray for the work here and resting up to prepare for the next few weeks so that He can use me in ways I still can't imagine. He sees me for who I am, knows me best and still sees the very best potential in me. May I walk in the name and story that He has given me more than anything else. 

Praying you see what El Roi, the God who sees me, shows you what He sees in you too. And may it overwhelm you as it does me.

Love- Melis

Airports, English and a thatched roof.

I love to travel. But it is exhausting and you have to adjust and change times and food and how many minutes you have on free wifi at the airport. 

When we left Vegas Thursday night, I felt a deep peace. I slept most of the way to London, which is rare. Usually I'm so nervous and anxious going that I'm exhausted by the time we get there but maybe I was so tired already that it promoted sleep. Desperately needed sleep. 

On the way to London, I sat next to a beautiful Hungarian woman who spoke so little English that she apologized in English for not speaking it. She smiled and said thank you as she was leaving the plane because I had spent a small amount of time using everything I know how to do education wise asking as much as I could. I talked slower, pointed, used examples and smiled a lot. I don't know if I was ever taught that teaching English to a second language speaker requires smiling but I've found that it's quite helpful to increase the confidence and decrease the anxiety of the speaker if they can feel somewhat at ease. 

We arrived in busy London to leave for Johannesburg and there were possibly at least 3 more mission teams flying to South Africa to disperse all over the continent. Again, God is at work all over the world. Reality. I didn't sleep much on this flight but I did watch two movies: "Mandela: A Long Walk to Freedom" and "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty." I definitely recommend both if you haven't seen them. Both are based on the lives of men who seem to have no significance, one who's identity changed a nation and the other who searched out his own identity and found it in Afghani warlords, Icelandic volcanoes and almost drowning in the ocean. Just a reminder that what we see as small is actually massive and has the potential to change us and the world. 

When we finally landed in Zambia, I had a long conversation with the customs officer over my name being Kenya and being in Africa and we met Christopher, who took us to the lodge, and Kennedy, who will be taking us to the lake today. And by taking us, I just want to say we will be on a 15 hour bus ride and he will be with us. (Yes-- you can take a moment to pray for that!) 

So I'm laying in my mosquito net covered bed, staring at the thatched roof and begging God to keep doing the small things in and through me. Because those tiny details create life change, they move me in the direction of dreams, they answer prayers. And they sometimes take me to people and places that I just get to smile with. 

Love you, Melis 

That's my name!

Tonight, James talked through a passage in John 8:1-11 at Hope Students. It's the woman who is accused of adultery and Jesus calls the Pharisees out and tells the woman to leave and sin no more. James pointed out that Jesus writes something in the sand and he thinks that it was a name of a girl that all the Pharisees would have known because they had committed adultery. The same sin this girl was about to be stoned over.

This story messes me up. Because I often feel like her. Called out among the masses (even if the masses are the multiple people having conversations in my head) by the name of my sin. My name doesn't stay Melissa in those moments. It is the name of every wrong-doing, heartbreak, anxiety, stress, mistake, and SIN. ((deep breath)) So many words came into my head as James was telling the story and I just want to share it with you because I think we realize that we are all that woman who was about to be stoned. The rocks were about to hit and kill us but YET, GRACE. Great, great grace. Grace that is greater than all my sins. Go here with me for a minute.

I could hear them. They were coming.
I knew it was me. They were coming for me. 
They were saying my name. 
They grabbed my arm. 
They being these "religious men" I knew far too well. 
Did they really believe that I was the guilty one and they were the innocent? 
I knew I wasn't innocent. I had committed a great crime. 
And now I. I was guilty. And I knew it. I couldn't deny it. 
So, as they grabbed my arm, I couldn't even fight the urge to not be stoned. 
I knew I deserved it. I was deeply embarrassed. 
As they dragged me through the streets, I could hear them. 
Laughing. Moaning. Saying it. My name. The only thing I felt I had left. My name. 

By now, my dignity had been stripped. 
I had no integrity and there was nothing to hide anymore. 
I was in the middle of the square and through tear-filled eyes, I looked up.
I realized that everyone was looking DOWN. 
Deep down at me. 
It was as if they weren't just accusing me of one. But all. 
So many sins. 

My word, will they read it on a scroll to the crowd? 
Will they expose my pain as a healing to their greed of my life? 
Yes, yes, I knew they would. As soon as they were given a chance. 
Because the exposure of my pain would mean.
It would mean that for one seemingly vast moment, theirs would disappear. 
They could be hidden because my name was destroyed. 

I kept looking down. Fighting the voices out loud. 
Fighting the voices in my head. 
And then I saw His finger. It traced through the sand so easily.
So quickly. So fully confident. 
Would He defend me? 
Would He write my name there? 
I had to look away for I was now fearful. 

Their knuckles cracked. They yelled at Him. 
As He wrote, they argued and talked about me. 
They used my name. 

His finger, barely moved, from an earthy dust, upward into the air. 
And He looked. He looked at "those" religious men. 
Straight in the face. 
And then they too looked down. 
For the words written there. In that dry heat was theirs. 
It wasn't just me anymore. 
It was someone, something they knew well. 
And I couldn't read it. I couldn't bare the thought.
I could only hope that it wasn't me. Not my name.

And He began to write again. 
The more intensely He wrote, the more silent the earth fell.
And then I could hear. Much more clearly this time. 
Their knuckles stopped popping. 
The sound of the stone being thrown up in the air and caught. 
Quit. It was as if time stood still and in a moment's notice. 
Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop.
Dirt splashed. Droplets of sand and tiny pebbles hit the hem of my dress. 
And it wasn't on purpose. 

The drops became louder and as I peeked from behind tear-stained eyes, 
I realized the rocks were there. They were on the ground. 
The men who had shouted my name were walking away. 
They were STILL looking down. 
But it wasn't my shame anymore, it wasn't my guilt anymore. 
It was their own. And I wondered. How? Just how am I left? 

Physically unscathed. No bruises or marks. 
Just wet cheeks and red eyes. 
He looked at me. He looked down at me. 
He said my name. 
My name. 
The name that had been shouted and abused in the streets only moments before. 

He grabbed my arm. But it wasn't the same. 
It was gentle and willing and compassionate. 
And He said my name again. 
He looked at my dark eyes and war-torn face and said, "Go." 
Where would I go? To whom would I go to? 
"Go and sin no more." 
He would not stop looking me straight in the face. 
He would not stop loving me with compassion in His eyes. 
He would not stop saying my name with His heart. 

I was shamed. But I was innocent. 
I was forgotten. But I was found.
I was broken. But I was healed. 
I was worn out. But I was redeemed. 
He said my name. For my name to go and live. 
For my name to continue in forgiveness. 
My name. Covered in grace and mercy.
And enough love to willingly die for the entire world. 
And the people who would rebel against Him. 

I could tell He knew it well. And it still sounded brand new on His lips. 
My name. Joy. Peace. Forgiven. Redemption. That's my name. 

He said my name. 


Grateful for a new name. A brand new name. -Melis