the white haired woman in blue

Yesterday my dad and I were walking to the bank, enjoying the crisp, breezy, warm fall weather. The white haired woman in blue saw us. We didn’t see her, but she saw us. 
Her hair was tucked at the nape of her neck in a messy braid, and wisps of white framed her face. (I remember her braid because I hope to someday have long white hair in a long white braid. I think it’s so beautiful.) Her light blue cardigan bordered on grey, and her face held years of living.

She whispered for some spare change. Later, we realized what she asked us. In the moment, we weren’t sure. Her lips formed words that were hard to understand as result of the teeth that were absent from her mouth.

So we walked away.

We walked away from the white haired woman in blue, leaving her to fend for herself, to ask someone else for a quarter or dime or dollar.

We walked down the street, quiet for a long moment, until my dad turned to me and said, “I can’t help but wonder when that happens... if that could be Jesus.”

I didn’t tell him, but I highly doubted it. Jesus wouldn’t be in the small little sweet town of Dundas. Jesus would be in Africa, or Thailand or India. Jesus would be in the slums, in the homes of the prostitutes, in the hut of a dying man.

But surely... not in Dundas.

I couldn’t get the conversation to leave my head. And as I was lying in bed last night trying to find sleep, I felt a whisper on the edge of my heart.

You shall be richly rewarded, for when I was hungry, you fed Me. And when I was thirsty, you gave Me something to drink. I was alone as a stranger, and you welcomed Me into your homes and into your lives. I was naked, and you gave Me clothes to wear; I was sick, and you tended to My needs; I was in prison, and you comforted Me.... I tell you this: whenever you saw a brother or sister hungry or cold, whatever you did to the least of these, so you did to Me.

Guilt felt like it was going to swallow me up. I didn’t feed you, Lord. Or welcome you into my home or life. I left the white haired woman in blue alone.

I left Jesus standing on King Street yesterday. And I only wish I could run back to that woman and press the dollar that was weighing heavy in my wallet into her withered hand. photography by Tobias Clarke

(Matthew 25:35) .

gather me

Since being home from Africa, I have found I cringe every time I hear the words "I need" come from out of my mouth - as I've come to the realization that I don't need nearly as much as I thought I did. Those two words have made me really reconsider what I do need in my life. So, I wrote a song for Jesus. The only one I need.

all I need please come gather me you're all I need

when everything's fading and this whole world's a dream you carry me home and you're all that I need

your hands held the stars that covered your sky now your hands bear scars and I'm the reason why

all I need please come gather me you're all I need

you say, "daughter, I love you" I say, "Father, I love you, too" you hold me tonight and I cannot live without you

thoughts run around aimlessly in my head I can't contemplate the love in which that you bled for me

you bled love for me

all I need please come gather me you're all I need

all I need, I need, I need

I need you with all that I am you're the air that I breathe and without you I'd rather be dead

I need you like morning needs light like mourning needs joy and praise and delight I feel you now and I know that I will be alright

all I need please come gather me you're all I need

all I need please dear Jesus, come gather me all I need

forever.

the captivity of praise

I never liked myself much as a kid. I thought I had to be loud and energetic to be noticed, and as an eleven year old girl being noticed was my deepest desire. Then one day I heard two girls whispering about me. Their hushed voices breathed unkind comments and words like "obnoxious" and "annoying" and "a try-hard" shot down the yellow hall like an arrow that was intended on stinging my heart. I remember walking past them and staring into their eyes, wanting them to know that I heard their thoughts, wanting them to see that I could still be brave, even though knowing they would never accept me. I looked into their eyes for a long moment, and then escaped to the bathroom, sat in a stall and cried.

Oh, the power of a few mean words.

Two years ago in my grade twelve year I was cast in a lead role in the musical, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I loved every moment of it. I loved being on stage; loved having big, hot lights shining on me; loved learning lines, smiling big, singing loud - but the thing I loved most of all was the praise. Oh baby, did I ever love when someone would shower me with praise.

It was about a month after the musical had finished and I was at the movie theatre with my friends. I was buying my ticket, and the girl behind the counter was staring at me with a funny expression on her face. Smiling sheepishly, she asked me if I had ever been in the musical Joseph. I almost shrieked I was so excited. I practically felt like a celebrity. Someone I didn't know knew me! It was a high school play - so really it meant nothing to the rest of the world. But to me, I was really something. I walked into that movie with my head held high - a little too high, if you ask me.

Oh, the power of a few sweet words.

I realized just a few days ago that over the course of my short lifetime, I have allowed criticism and praise to hold me captive. When someone uttered something about me - whether kind or unkind - I allowed those words to define me. If it was something cruel, I felt as though I was entirely worthless. When it was lovely, I evolved into someone who believed she was better then the people who surrounded her.

Both held me captive. But Jesus sets me free.

He told me that it doesn't matter what people believe of me, as long as I believe him: the freeing truth that he loves me and cherishes me and wants me.

We can either allow ourselves to be held captive by praise and critique or we can choose to be freed by the Father.

I do believe in compliments.

I do believe in critique.

But I do believe that at the end of the day, when praise and glory have washed over our souls, when a wounding comment filled with a hurtful word has enveloped our hearts, or when no one in particular has said nothing at all, the only perspective that matters is Jesus'.

And he loves you, and he cherishes you, and he wants you. Just as you are.

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you don't need to be in Africa to change the world

It's been almost one month since I've been home from Rwanda. I can hardly believe it. Some days it feels as though I was just there, but more often then not, it feels like Africa was forever ago. On those Africa-feels-so-far-away days, I have a tendency to start feeling down and sad and slightly depressed, and like I'm doing nothing here in Canada.

My new challenge for myself (and possibly for you, too): Find a way to change the world - no matter where you are.

For me, there were some days even while I was in Africa, where I felt like I was doing nothing for the world. And I'm learning that rest and relaxation and regenerating are important things, but there comes a point where we have to ask, "How can I change the world - right from where I am?"

My point is, you don't have to go to Africa to change the world. Or to Mexico. Or to the Dominican Republic. Or anywhere, really. I would strongly encourage everyone in this whole wide world to visit Africa, or Mexico, or the Dominican, or Haiti, or somewhere, if only to step outside of our little lives for a small moment and see what's happening with our friends around the globe.

But you don't have to be in Africa to change the world.

I don't think Jesus has called every single one of us into "missions" - and by missions I mean going to some far exotic land wearing khaki pants preaching the Gospel. (There are a whole lot of other ways we can use the word "missions".) But he has called us to make disciples. Every one of us. No matter who we are. Or where we live. Or what school we go to. Or if we go to school at all. No matter if we have a billion dollars in our bank accounts or one penny in our pockets.

Let's change our world while still at home. Let's be a generation who thinks outside of ourselves, and inside the hearts of others. Let's be a people who loves so fiercely, the entire nation will somehow know they are loved.

You don't need to be in Africa to change the world. You just need to change the world..

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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my tuesday morning prayer

Lord, instill in me new dreams. Instill. Implant. Ingrain. Impress. Infuse. Inject. Imprint. Inspire.

Fabricate dreams and weave them into the stronghold of my heart. Secure them tightly insuring no room for me to run away.

Bestow upon me the desires You have for my life. Desires to create, to impact, to glorify.

Fasten in me sacred ambitions. Make them seem so entirely impossible that when they transpire the only thing left will be to give You the glory.

Give me goals. Give me purpose. Give me joy.

Instill in me new dreams..

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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holy holy friends

I’ve never been fearful of goodbyes because a see-you-later was always closely linked behind. But now see-you-later seems deceitful, and goodbye seems permanent, and thank you seems hollow and empty and not nearly enough. Today was the dreaded day…the day I had to say goodbye to the ubuzima women, the group of women who I visit multiple times each week. To be honest I wasn’t actually dreading the visit at all. I figured it would be easy. Pop in, give each woman the normal cheek kiss/cheek kiss/cheek kiss/handshake greeting, stay for awhile and pop out.

Well oh my word, was I ever wrong.

I brought my nail polish so I could paint their nails for the last time, and I truly cherished each moment of holding their withered, rough hands and feet in my fingers. We smiled and laughed and they began their Bible study as I continued to paint, and it felt completely normal. Just like our usual Tuesdays.

Mama Deborah is the one who began ubuzima as a way of making sure the women know that they are loved and treasured by Jesus. She is a beautiful lady. I know I use that word to describe people a lot, but I don’t know how else to sum her up quickly. She’s beautiful - one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met in my entire life. She was talking to the women about thanking God, and they went around and talked about what they were thankful to God for. I told them that I am thankful to God for them. I told them that they have shown me what faith looks like.

This is the truest thing I have learned from my time in Rwanda. I have learned so much, (I am trying to write down everything that I have learned and perhaps someday I’ll share those things with you) but the truest thing I know that I have learned time and time again, is to have BIG faith.

I tried to explain to the women that in Canada it’s very easy for me to make God small. I have this tendency of thinking that I can do everything by myself and only when something really bad happens that is humanly impossible for me to take care of, do I allow God to take over. And I have another issue. I love praying for others - it gives me great joy! But for some weird reason I never would pray for myself. I felt as though my problems were very little in comparison to others and it would be wrong for me to pray for myself when people in Africa were dying. Well those people in Africa taught me that that way of thinking transforms the Lord of heaven and earth into a very teeny tiny God.

Great faith, big faith, bold faith, mountain moving faith is what I’m striving for. And it’s what these women have! I told them how thankful I am that they have taught me to long and yearn for that kind of faith.

They asked me to pray for them. They told me their requests and I did my best to pray for them, but I’m afraid words will never be enough to describe to Jesus how I feel and what I want for these women. Thankfully Jesus sees past my words and looks into my heart.

And then they prayed for me. They gathered me into a circle and each placed their hands on my body. And then they whispered foreign, rich, beautiful prayers to God about me. I’ve never had that happen before and it was entirely overwhelming and when Mama Deborah breathed an Amen I fell into her arms with tears in my eyes.

“Thank you.” I whispered to her. I kissed her cheek. And I went around to each woman and thanked her and kissed her and embraced her. I got to Malita, Judith and Francine. My friends. I cried very hard as Malita held me in her sweet arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She told me. I told her it was going to be okay. Francine cried when I hugged her. She is the one with very sore feet, and I would occasionally massage them for her. Judith brought us all napkins to wipe the tears and the three of us hugged.

I said goodbye. I said thank you. I did not say see-you-later.

Looking back on my day, I regret not saying see-you-later. I decided it’s not actually a lie. Yes, on this earth I may not see them again. But let me tell you, I cannot wait to run and embrace my friends in Heaven. My holy, holy friends..

Ashimwe-sized faith

There’s a little boy named Ashimwe, a six year old from camp, who has taught me more about prayer then any book or pastor ever has. Ashimwe is an orphan. I know his mother was brutally tortured in the genocide, and later died of HIV aids. I do not know about his father. I know that he has many other siblings, and that the incredible ubuzima women (a group of amazing women who either have HIV aids or have a family member with HIV aids) took in Ashimwe and his siblings so he could have a home, protection, food, and a family.

This tender little sweetheart who held my hand and laid his head in my lap, has been through more then what most people ever go through in their lifetime. And yet he smiles and sings and dances, carefree and innocent, having full faith that since God has taken care of him so far, He’ll continue to do so.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone pray with as much passion and vigor as Ashimwe. When he prays I have no idea what he’s saying, but I’m enthralled by him and can’t even focus on the prayer. Instead I just have to stare at that little six year old boy who prays with everything that he’s got. It’s incredible to me.

You may think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. Ashimwe has so much faith I feel as though he puts me to shame. And he’s six. And he is beautiful. He’s the kid I picture in the beginning of Matthew 18 when Jesus talks about having faith like a child. Having faith like Ashimwe.

This is my new challenge: to have Ashimwe-sized faith. He’s a tiny little boy, (I thought he was 4 years old) but his faith is larger then the Rwandan hills that surround me. "Jesus said, ‘This is the truth: unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. In that kingdom, the most humble who are like this child are the greatest. And whoever welcomes a child, whoever welcomes the weak and the friendless, the small and the frail, the mute and the poor, the ugly and the disfigured - whoever welcomes those in My name welcomes Me.’" - Matthew 18: 2-6

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85 dreams

In my hands I hold the dreams of 85 children. These papers feel quite holy. Last night when I was semi freaking out (that’s an understatement) about what to preach on this morning, (my topic was God’s purpose for their life) my good friend had an idea. He suggested giving all of the children a piece of a paper and a pen, and asking them to write down their dreams. I am so thankful God has put wise people into my life!

After I told the children about how God chose David to be king, even though he was a simple, ordinary, typical boy, I asked the kids what their dreams and their desires were. I handed out the pens and papers and told them that they could draw or write what they wanted their life to be. It took about a half an hour for them to complete the exercise, and I watched as their eyes grew wide with anticipation, as some of the younger one’s hands clapped with excitement, and as they carefully uncapped the pens and wrote their heart-filled ambitions on the yellow card stock in front of them.

I think Africa is making me emotional or soft or something. As the minutes passed by and the papers started to collect in the palms of my hands, I fought to hold back tears. Here I was, in the center of a concrete room, watching children who were allowed to freely dream. Who were allowed to think beyond the scope of imagination, even for a few brief moments. One by one the papers piled, the pens were put away, and a circle of children was formed.

I sat in the center, the stack of papers beside me.

"We’re going to pray." I told them. "Because we believe in a God who can do the impossible. We believe in a God who can fulfill each one of these dreams."

I prayed in English, though the translator did not translate, and they did not understand me, they were beaming as I looked up at them after my prayer. I asked them if they wanted to pray over their dreams too. The littlest one - I think he is 4 - jumped up, ran over to me and placed his chubby little four-year-old hand on the pages. He prayed over those dreams like there was no tomorrow. I learned that four year old’s can fervently pray. Again, I fought back tears (I seriously am becoming a cry baby), and I encouraged more kids to come pray over their dreams. More came and more prayed. And I was blessed to be in a room with 85 children who believed with such passion that God has given them dreams for a reason.

These are their dreams:

4 dreams to be soccer players 3 dreams to be rich 1 dream to be an artist 1 dream to work in an office 8 dreams to be teachers 1 dream to be a business man 6 dreams to be pastors 11 dreams to be pilots 14 dreams to be doctors 5 dreams to be soldiers 9 dreams to be nurses 1 dream to be a bank officer 1 dream to be a parent 1 dream to be a minister in government 1 dream to be a construction worker 2 dreams to be engineers 2 dreams to be mechanics 1 dream to be a carpenter 4 dreams to be singers 6 dreams to be drivers 2 dreams to be superheroes 2 dreams to be kings 4 dreams to be the President 3 dreams to be policemen 1 dream to help the helpless 1 dream to be a queen 2 dreams to be policewomen 1 dream to be a cashier 1 dream to lead others in industry 1 dream to be a captain of a ship 1 dream to be a defender of human rights 9 dreams that are still nestled inside of their hearts

I told these beautiful children that I will take their dreams, go home to Canada and pray over them. I told them I would ask my family and friends to pray along with me. I hope you choose to walk with me in this.

I, for one, am a huge believer in dreams. And I think God is too. Are you?

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