when you’re weary and burdened and simply need rest

My family and I are on Hilton Head Island in South Carolina. The sweet tea is sweet, the island breeze glorious, and the Southern sun has branded itself right into my skin. (Why is it that sunburns always seemed sort of romantic in my head? I’m a silly girl. In reality all they are is sore.) I was sitting on the beach and I felt the sand squishing between my toes and the sun was beating down on my shoulders and I was not so secretly hoping my skin was quickly turning a shimmery golden glow (because on the swim suit ads all the girls have amazing golden skin) and suddenly out of nowhere my 3 lb. brain was bombarded with thoughts.

Why is there an ocean of water surrounding me when in Rwanda I walked with children for hours to get only one small bucket of water? Why am I thinking about tanning when there is world poverty to solve? Why do I have the audacity to sit here on my multicoloured beach chair while my African friends are wondering how they will feed their children their next meal? Why am I still feeling sad inside? Wasn't home supposed to be comfort and contentment and sheer satisfaction?

And why is my heart tired? Why is my heart so, so tired?

Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

Yesterday we went on a family bike ride because my dad had dubbed it "Adventure Monday" and apparently on Adventure Monday you go on 4 hour 15 mile family bike rides.

I flew.

I took my shoes off and placed them in my basket, and with my bare feet on the pedals, I took off.  I could feel the wind going through my hair and it brushed against my cheeks and the sun winked at me through the sleepy mossy trees. I pushed my toes as hard as I could against the pedals and pumped and pumped and pumped and then I coasted, the wind propelling me towards South Beach. My brother called to me to slow down, but I didn't want to slow. I wanted to sprint ahead and soar.

And then all at once I grew tired. My body grew so, so tired.

Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

Oh dear Lord, give me rest. Give me rest.

I often find myself trying to sprint ahead. I want to get to the destination and I want to get there fast. But my dad reminded me the other day: sometimes when you're rushing to get to the destination, you're simply missing the unforgettable journey.

In my heart of hearts, I feel as though rest seems terribly and completely unfair after being in Rwanda for 2 months and seeing their lives and hearing their stories. But tonight I must break down and ask for rest. I'm afraid without it I will never be able to continue on.

My Jesus, give me rest. And give my friends in Africa rest, too.

Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

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26 things Rwanda taught me

I have learned to constantly strive for a bold, authentic faith. I have learned that Milo, brownies and cheesy broccoli are absolute  staples.

I have learned that there is a time to speak and a time to stay silent.

I have learned that our God-given purpose is to embody love.

I have learned that the largest frustrations can be as simple as awful  internet connection.

I have learned to French braid.

I have learned that my heart has gotten much, much softer.

I have learned that sometimes I can be very feisty...particularly when  I’m feeling a bit moody and some silly motorcycle taxi driver tries to  charge me more simply because of my skin colour.

I have learned that Fanta fiesta’s are extremely delicious!

I have learned that vulnerability and fragility are not necessarily bad things at all.

I have learned that I am terrible when it comes to budgeting.

I have learned that I would be perfectly alright with having a bunch of little black babies of my own. (Though I suspected this before hand.)

I have learned that life is a process.

I have learned that most Rwandan kids seriously can dance.

I have learned that some Rwandan kids seriously can’t sing.

I have learned that wisdom can come in the form of a six-year-old.

I have learned to sort of play the ukelele. Sort of.

I have learned that having friends who live in Australia is a VERY good thing.

I have learned that strength and independence can sometimes transition into an unfulfilled need for protection.

I have learned that the extraverted Aliza in Canada can be become an introverted Aliza in Rwanda.

I have learned that language barriers can be broken with a smile.

I have learned that I take communication, water and love for granted.

I have learned that we can all take steps towards changes. With those steps comes a difference. And a difference is a difference, no matter how small.

I have learned that writing is my worship.

I have learned that sometimes what Jesus asks of us, the world will think foolish. I have learned to do it anyway.

But above and beyond all these, I have learned that God can do anything.

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mountain top moments

One of the things I’ve learned in Rwanda is that our life is made up of moments. We have our favourite: our mountain top moments. Our exciting, adventurous, daring, blog-worthy moments - the moments that take our breath away when we’re in the middle of them. The moments that fill us with a joy so deep we feel as though we may just erupt from happiness. Yes, those moments are sweet indeed.And then we have our valley low moments. Our moments where we stare up at the mountain just beyond us - one that seems to grow bigger and taller as each minute passes. And as we stare up at the crumbling rocks that are sure to fall and bury us at any second, we wonder how on earth we ever got from the mountain top behind us to the valley we are in now. And then there are the moments where we begin the slow climb back up the mountain. Though I haven’t had many low valley moments in my life, I think sometimes these slow climbing moments may be the hardest.  They can be long, and tedious, and hard, and we can slip further back and feel as though we’re not making any ground up the mountain. I feel as though these are the moments in life where we feel forgotten, without purpose, or feel as though we’re unable to be heard. Yes, I think our life is made up of moments. Small moments, big moments, hard moments, incredible moments. Moments where we feel bliss and moments where we wonder if we’ll ever be able to continue on. I think what I’m learning is: what do we do with our moments? How do we let those I’m-about-to-either-burst-into-tears-or-throw-something-against-a-wall kind of moments not control who we are? Do we allow our small, infuriating moments to overshadow our larger, sweeter moments? And how do we make sure our moments teach us to be kinder, more patient, more loving?

How do we make sure our moments make us more like Jesus?.

practicing forgiveness

I’m not quite sure how to put into words what I am feeling. I’m grieving a loss I’ve never known. 5000 losses, actually. I just got back from going to a church memorial, about an hour outside of Kigali. It’s in a smaller village, and 19 years ago the church was a thriving Catholic sanctuary. The doors were open as I got to the front of the church, and they seemed to beckon and welcome me in. I couldn’t shake the fact that those black barred doors that invited me in were the same doors in which greeted five thousand Rwandans to their grave.

As I entered the church, I saw rows of pews and benches that were flooded with the clothing of the people who died there. The mounds of shirts, pants and shoes stacked on to one another filled the entire church. I stood still and thought to myself, “Many people died right where I am standing.” There was not much room to walk around because there was so much clothing.

I wept.

Tears streamed down my face and it was hard for me to see through my blurry vision. I glanced up and saw many holes in the roof. Small bursts of light gleamed through, creating pockets of sunshine along the dusty clothing covered benches. The cheerful light seemed so wrong in that place of sorrow. The holes in the ceiling were produced from grenades that were thrown through the windows. I looked behind me, and the glass from the windows were broken. As I looked down the stairs I saw shattered sculls that matched the shattered windows.

I sat on a stair and looked out at the altar. The room smelled like mold and dust and death. A statue of Mary with her hands folded together gazed down at the disintegrated bodies. A place that was once supposed to be a shelter of safety was suddenly turned into a killing field. It made me feel physically ill to think that a room expected to be used to worship the God of the universe was instead an area used to destroy His creation.

I made my way outside and entered a mass grave. I walked down the stairs into a long narrow hallway. It was dark, and tall and had brick walls with cobwebs covering each corner. There were rows of shelves, and on the shelves there were skulls, bones, and coffins. Hundreds of coffins. I came to a shelf with smaller coffins and it dawned on me - that row was for the babies. I couldn’t breathe then, and I had to get out of the grave because I was beginning to suffocate. I thought that surely the door of the grave would close in on me and I would be locked in there forever. It was eerie and awful and I felt terrible for feeling creeped out, but I couldn’t handle the fact that 5000 bodies were lying in their death beds beside me.

I appreciate how Rwanda doesn’t cover up their despair - instead leaving everything the way it happened, completely raw. I think we can learn from this. We tend to cover things up, sugar coat them, making them pretty and pristine. But perhaps this only hides our grief and our sorrow. Perhaps true healing comes from the raw brutality of the situation. Perhaps once we accept that rawness, we finally begin to heal. But then again, I truly do not know and I almost hope I never do.

That was only one church. Only five thousand people out of the one million who were killed. My question is: how do they forgive? How do you begin to forgive someone who killed your family? or raped your mother? or hacked your father into pieces?

I talked with a missionary the other day about this, and she told me she asked a Rwandan man if he has forgiven those who killed his family. His response was, “I am practicing forgiveness. Everyday I choose to practice forgiving those who killed my loved ones, and then someday I know forgiveness will come. If you practice something long enough, one day it will be perfected.”

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saying goodbye to fear

Today I watched my fears fly away.I wrote them down on scraps of paper, tied them to balloons, lifted my hands and gave them to Jesus. As they fluttered from my fingertips, I watched as those fears soared higher and higher til I could see them no longer. I released them from the tight hold they had on my heart and handed them over to Jesus. It’s amazing how freeing it is to let Jesus take away your fears. It used to feel like those things would swallow me up and eat me whole. Though writing them on a piece of paper and tying them to a balloon string doesn’t automatically take them permanently away, Jesus can. And He will. If you ask Him. Today my steps feel softer, my heart feels stronger, and my shoulders feel lighter. Because today, I watched my fears fly fly fly away..

I am sorry

Today, I need to apologize.

I have grown up in a wonderful home, with two incredible parents who love Jesus, and me, with the entirety of their hearts. Jesus has never seemed strange to me. He has been the topic of more conversations then I can remember at my home growing up. I went to Christian private school as a kid, and learned Bible verses once a week that I ever so perfectly recited to my teachers. As I grew older, I went to youth group, led the worship team, and said all the appropriate answers in small groups.

Fine, I’ll admit it: I was a goodie-goodie.

But today, I need to apologize to you. I need to apologize to anyone whom I have ever spoken to. Anyone who I have ever been friends with. Anyone whom I have ever been unkind to, and I know there are quite a few in this category.

Though I have grown up in a wonderful home, surrounded by people who love and adore Jesus, I have never been like Jesus.

And though I told God I was ready to truly follow Him almost nine years ago, I didn’t truly surrender myself to Him until this year.

You see, for so long I believed that I had to be perfect to be like Jesus. I had to be the girl who had it all together, who knew all the answers. The girl who grew up in the perfect Christian home, with two perfect Christian siblings, and two perfect Christian parents who were and are amazing examples to the people around them.

It turns out that girl is so terribly annoying.

After I grew very tired of trying to be perfect, I tried to be real with Jesus. But I had put on an act for what seemed like such a long time, that I wasn’t quite sure how to just be myself with Him. I was worried that though Jesus may love me, He might not like me. The art of attempting perfection wasn’t working, but the thought of being my lame self was too terrifying to try. So I began to push Him out of my life. I filled my life with a million other things. I tried to get my life to be as busy as humanly possible, so I wouldn’t have to face Jesus. It’s a funny thing - filling up a Jesus-shaped hole with things that are no where near as beautiful or fulfilling as Jesus.

And then, this past year happened. The year of what felt like to me: nothingness. The year I finally allowed my Lord and Saviour to truly take up residence in my heart. I “took the year off”, a phrase in which I have grown to hate since the majority of people assume you are taking a year long vacation. It was my year of sacred solidarity. I came to a screeching halt because I realized I had no idea where my life was going. A lightbulb of recognition flickered on inside of me and I knew my life could go nowhere without Jesus.

I finally realized: perfection is not how people see Jesus. An act of “being good, being right, being righteous” is not how people see Jesus. In fact, I think most people took one look at me and ran away. And hiding is not how people see Jesus, either. Hiding is simply a gesture of cowardice.

People see Jesus through indescribable love, all-powerful peace, and never ending grace.

I didn’t have true love or make true peace or offer true grace to anyone. I just acted the part. And no one can ever see Jesus through a fake, in genuine performance.

So I need to apologize to you. I am so sorry that I did not show you Jesus. What you saw in me was not Jesus. It was just selfish me. Jesus is so much better then that. He is the definition of Love, the authentic Peacemaker, and the perfect illustration of absolute Grace.

This year I fell undeniably in love with Jesus. Most days I still don’t show love, peace or grace to anyone, but I’m working on it. And I’m not perfect and I never will be. But now I’m not striving towards perfection. I’m striving towards being like Jesus. And it turns out, He loves me and He likes me. And He loves and likes you, too. He actually likes you quite a lot.

Now I’m holding Jesus’ hand instead of locking him out of the doors of my heart. Let me tell you... it’s so much better when you don’t have to figure out life on your own.

“Real, true religion from God the Father’s perspective is about caring for the orphans and widows who suffer needlessly and resisting the evil influence of the world.” - James 1:27

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trivial success

What determines a person being a success? Wealth? A fancy degree? A steady job?To me, this is the world’s formula: university + marriage + a good job + kids = success. That’s what society has fed me my entire life. The world is spewing out kids with degrees in their hands, and a load of debt in their bank accounts - kids who end up switching majors and jobs because they don’t really know what their purpose truly is, or if they actually want to pursue what they thought they wanted to pursue the year before. It is not fair that the world tells us that our only means of success is that formula. We are meant for so much more then what this world offers us. Success is subjective. It’s an idea made entirely from humans, since I know the God of the universe does not measure us based on our accomplishments. I have “taken this year off” (a phrase in which I have grown to hate since the majority of people assume you are taking a year long vacation), and I am not currently planning to attend a school this upcoming fall. The world tends to give kids a one year grace period. They can understand that not all high school students know exactly what they want to do after they graduate. But not having plans to attend a school after you’ve taken a year off? Gasp! Well that’s horrific. Automatically it is assumed you have no life, no future, and no way of ever, ever being successful. Well, I have decided to take a stand against this worlds view on success. I’m not saying I’m never going to school. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. If I don’t, I don’t think that’s the end of the world - or the end of my chance of succeeding. This year there have been many times where I have sat on my bed and felt worthless. My oh my, that is so wrong. My success does not determine my worth. My education does not determine my value. What I do does not determine who I am. I am meant for so much more then what this world can offer me…thankfully there’s Jesus. And he offers me everything..

be slow to anger and rich in love

…just a quick note on this post. I was misinformed on the child that was killed. Unfortunately, that was a heartless hoax, and the child was not running in the race, as children are not allowed. However, there was an eight year old boy killed in the sidelines waiting for his father to cross the finish line. I am so quick to judge. I am so quick to write off this world, and to write off the people that populate it. Yesterday’s tragedy made me sad, and angry, and frankly, furious. I was enraged at the fact that someone (or someones) would go out of their way to hurt innocent people. I was shocked as I watched the news and saw the bombs go off, but I was absolutely seething when I found out a faultless little eight year old child was killed…a baby who was running in the marathon in honour of the Sandy Hook kids. It disgusted me. I walked around yesterday, really mad at the world. Really, really mad. I asked Jesus, “Why do we live in such a broken world? How come there are stupid, cruel people in this world who would do something like that?” Jesus reminded me that He loves those people, too. He also reminded me that this world isn’t just full of broken people… and that some people are good. I am in the midst of raising money to go to Rwanda. Last night, I was emailing a few of my friends, and asking them for spiritual and financial support for this upcoming trip. To be honest, I didn’t really expect anything. Well Jesus showed me last night how there are really GOOD people in this world. One girl told me she didn’t have anything to give me. But, she could sing. (And boy, oh boy, can this girl sing!!) She decided that she was going to busk for me. She told me she wanted to help me, and she decided to use her beautiful voice as a vessel to help me get to Rwanda. Now, I ask you, is that the quality of a cruel, broken girl? No. Probably 10 minutes later, I received another email. It was a girl from my old high school, and this is what she sent me:

     “I know this is going to sound crazy but I went to the bookstore at my school today to get a school hoodie…looked a the price tag, decided against it. I was thinking, that money could go to something much more valuable than that! So I want to give you the money I was going to spend on that sweater.”

I started to cry when I saw that message. It was as if Jesus was sitting beside me on my couch saying, “See Aliza? Yes, this world is broken. Yes, this world is hurting. But not every person you see is cold and cruel.”

I am a huge work in progress. I am working on not judging, or making assumptions or writing people off. I am working on being slow to anger, and rich, rich, rich in love..