The Time for Breakthrough

March 16th  was the day that my entire relationship & intimacy with the Lord changed…, because a woman name Ale Siekmeier prayed for me.

and April 21st was the day the double minded lense over my eyes was lifted & the light over my entire life looked different, because two women took their saturday & prayed over me and my spirit for 3 hours.

Three Years.

3 years, i contended for the ability the feel the Lord. I traveled from Ohio to Mozambique in hopes of finding myself in the center of the Lords presence. And apparently i was; but come to find out- i would be what felt like, the One out of 91 students who couldn’t Feel Him. i sat there, on the african dirt for 3 months, watching my peers around me, basking in what they said was the Lords thick presence. i watched their lives be changed by encounters with a living God & revelation by the Holy Spirit. And i cried.

i just sat, and asked, and cried, for 3 months as i more and more everyday felt like the Lord may in fact, be holding out on me.

I returned home to immediately move to Bethel school of supernatural ministry, where i again, watched people have these amazing encounters and relationships with the Lord where it seemed like He was just rocking everything about them and within them. And i just kept waiting. For the Lord to rock me. and to touch me and wreck my spirit in ways that i couldn’t deny and never could question.

i eventually grew to shove it somewhat in the back corner of my mind, and just resolve to a life of devotion lived unto the Lords worthiness of my intimacy regardless of feeling. i resolved to offer him my private devotion & to just rely on His grace for tasks that required it. But began to really wonder if grace really ever could feel like the tangible touch of the Lord.

Ale Siekmeier was a girl we met on our bethel mission trip to Guatemala. back in 2010 many of you supported my trips to Guatemala and South Africa. on that trip we met Ale as she was living and working with YWAM’s base there and leading ministry to the shunned people of the region; the street kid break dancers, the prostitutes and the transvestites. When i met this woman, my idea of what amazing was, was shattered and expanded. i had never met a person with such a powerful and irresistible spirit. I literally believe there is not  A PERSON on this earth who couldn’t like ale. Long story short, ale ended up moving to the states soon after and has been in the Midwest region for over a year, and i had only managed to visit her once in that time.

On march 16th, she was going to be in Columbus, 2 hours north of me, and i told her i would go visit her. She didn’t know this. but i truly didn’t want to. i wanted to see her. because i always loved being around her. Her spirit was just so big, you feel like you’re closer to the Holy Spirit when you’re with her.

So obviously i wanted to be with her. it was more that i didn’t want to be with ‘where i was’. i was in a dry place and i could feel it all throughout my spirit that i was reaching the end of my rope; after 3 years. asking the Lord to break through and give me a tangible ability to “receive by faith”. They’d always say that in school. “Receive your healing by faith”, “receive freedom in faith”, “receive the Lords acceptance over you, in faith”, “receive your sonship, by faith”…. and i WOULD. or i would try at least. i don’t know the formula’s for this stuff. i don’t know what makes it work at times and what keeps it from sticking at others. i don’t know what sin or hard heartedness i may very well have been working through over those years that was keeping me from the very prayer i was asking. But i know, it was always a mental game i played. And still though, i believe the Lord loved and honored my resolve to do so; even if it wasn’t complete and mature.

Ale and i sat at breakfast i felt like a shadow of a sliver of myself. trying to smile because i knew she deserved my smile. trying to share about the Lords goodness and sweetness in my life over the recent months, because i knew He deserved my praise. But really just wanting to cry. My 3 year dating relationship had just murdered itself, my confidence was revealed at an all time low, my faith was feeling dry and i was reaching a place of not even having it in me to keep Asking the Lord for breakthrough. we sipped our coffee and as we finished, i was preparing to make my easy way out and say “okay, ready for me to drop you back your hotel?”, and call it a day; knowing id done my due diligence and driven to see her & at least done what would be expected of me. “Do you wanna go on a walk?” she said in her beautifully open spirited way with that charming Guatemalan voice.

“Yes!” i lied.

We sat on a park bench and the Lord settled something in my spirit to just be honest with her. i told her of my dryness and how id felt like i was asking and asking and asking the Lord to break through in my heart. I candidly told her how it just didn’t seem fair, that there were people like her, and heidi baker, and bill johnson & others, who just seemed to have this uninhibited connection line straight to the presence of God. That i felt like people like her were just made differently, and that that level of nearness with the Lord just wasn’t made for me, and wasn’t in the cards for me.

She was so tender and she just said to me

“Sophie, You are a Good Daughter”

i could have melted into a puddle right then and there. Daring to imagine that my Heavenly Father might utter those words about me, after all I’ve done and all the moments He gave me discernment and i walked directly away from it.

“Can i pray for you?” she asked sweetly. I never felt judged by her. ever.

Just that she wanted to offer her body up as an avenue for the Lord to encounter me through.

“okay” i said, mostly expecting nothing at all to happen, but secretly, i remember on that sunny march day, with the air feeling so cool and the sun warming my skin, i desperately hoped this would be the moment i felt a shift.

She prayed. i received. like i always had. we hugged, i walked her back and i drove home to Cincinnati.

It wasn’t until some point over the next 1-3 weeks that i felt it in myself; something had drastically been altered…. When i was praying with the Lord now, i actually felt He was HEARING me. not just listening, But i FELT my cries and joys were piercing the heart of God. I FELT “suddenly” that when i was singing worship songs to Him, that i actually connected; not just in my mind, or in my soul or even in my spirit. It felt ….. different than that. If there were a wire that went directly to the uttermost central core of your entire existence; and your whole life it felt like you were working toward engaging yourself fully, and at some point you reached that place, and yet still craved more, but didn’t think ‘more’ existed…. its like i found that ‘more’ place. that place i didn’t think existed, but desperately dreamed, would. something in me was actually receiving from the Lord in faith. and its a breakthrough i cant explain, but that i KNOW is different. 3 years of waiting & finally knowing when its’ come- different.

There were a lot of things the Lord sent us to Sudan for. To fall in love with the people. to love On the people. to hear their stories. to bring Back their stories. to mourn their pains. to be their friends and to laugh with them. to care about their dreams, and most powerfully…to deliver hope.

breakthrough is almost never the answer. breakthrough is almost never the thing we have set our hearts upon as our be all end all joy. it is simply the glimpse of hope that our hearts are crying out for. It is the little glimmer of light that we beg for in what feels like our final hour.

It seemed like the Lord had a mission to bring people across our path who sat in this very place of profoundly needing hope & light , on this trip. Its easy in a country like this to find a million people with heart-wrenching stories. but surprisingly enough (and as harsh as it sounds) its also common for visitors such as ourselves, to be equipped with ample ability to pass by a situation and not feel moved to necessarily take the burden on to ones self. You almost Have to at some point, decide that you wont engage in every story as though its yours to influence. So for this very reason, i know it was the Lords work of discernment placed within us that broke our hearts into a thousand pieces when each of these stories landed in our laps.

One of the many stories we were broken and forever changed by – was the boy named George.

George is the kind of Handsome that makes you feel bad for noticing. Striking jaw lines & an unbelievable smile. you can see Straight to his heart when he smiles. nothing but good bones in this boy, all the way down to his core. He radiates tenderness.

George was one of my students back in 2007 when i idiodically got on a plane for my first trip to Sudan. Found myself in Nimule, and decided to do “war trauma counseling for kids with effects after Kony’s rebels came through.” awesome. dumbest endeavor of my life. BUT it found me George, and a hundred other stellar kids like him.

This year when we returned, i took my ladies out for a walk outside the compound. Someone from the market must have seen us, and word got far enough around that George found out i had returned. On Sunday after our welcome ceremony, someone came to me and said “there is a man here to see you”. Like auto-pilot i walked down towards where they’d pointed. walking into the general vicinity, waiting for the face with its eyes set on me and the kind of smile that says “you’re supposed to know who i am”, even though i was fairly confident i wouldn’t know who it was; even if id known them before.

As soon as i saw his beautiful face i danced and squealed and ran to hug him. He bashfully smiled, and yet held an intriguing confidence. He said he couldn’t stay now, but that he’d return the next day to visit with me.

I hate visits in the states. they make me feel like i have to perform or meet an expectation in a shamefully short allotted amount of time. But in Africa, they’re refreshing and they fit. so i said “okay”.

They next day he returns, and i invite him into one of the very few shaded spots of this treeless compound in the middle of a 104degree day. the nearby little girls scurry to give us their chairs and we begin to sit and talk. He catches me up on what he’s been doing over the last years. He dances over sweet stories from the year we met and reminds me quickly that i remember far less than he and the other students do about the ripple effects of our 2007 summer teams work. He speaks so fondly of us and our work to put them through school. and i feel like an imposter. a fake. i did. i did help them. that one year. and then i moved home. and moved on with my life. and kept spending my own $ to zero like id never heard their traumatic stories.

i shamefully and tenderly asked him… “… George.. im trying to remember… i don’t think i can recall everything… can you remind me of the story of what happened in the war with your family?…”

he nods his head calmly but with strength… “yes. i can.

He begins telling me, and i realize.. oh man. this is one of the heavy ones. must have been one of the ones that broke me that first year.  Just a few minutes into the sharing, i pause him and ask him if he would be willing to share this with my team. I know it will be painful to share it again, and with more people, as he says when he tells the stories, he can see it all playing out in his head like its happening right here right now.  But this is the story i know my girls need to hear; and i feel the spirits nudging. He says again, yes. he can.

It takes about 10 minutes to gather all 6 of us and find a safe quiet place for us to hear George’s story.

Finally we all gather in the library of the orphanage. we can only track down one chair, so we sit on the floor and look up to him as he speaks. He’s humble and nervous, and looks down at me for a nudge of encouragement. I tell him to just share with us who he is, and whatever hes willing to share about what happened with Kony’s rebels…

He’s so beautiufl sitting there. And it kills me to know what is about to come out of his mouth and the pain that is about to fill this room, wall to wall.

He was only about 6… a small small boy. and in the middle of the night, Kony’s rebels closed in on his village. They formed a circle with their armed bodies around the village, and right on time, like clockwork, a bomb was dropped by a hovering plane. (probably a northern sudan army plane; speculations have always been that much if not most of kony’s funding came from the northern government who has LONG been in opposition to S.Sudans stability & has likely if not certainly been plotting and executing its instability for ever). The first bomb drops & the whole village is jolted awak. then the second. terror. the third.chaos. the fourth..

four bombs drop & everyone begins frantically fleeing their homes. sprinting into the bush. but the bush is where the rebels await these unsuspecting, completely innocent Sudanese beauties. The rebels are armed with AK47s, riffles, machetes, crow bars, everything you can think of. The people begin to reach the wall of rebels that was only moments before invisible to them, and shots begin to fire. just like that. down they go. But the rebels aren’t that merciful. they wont just shoot them all from afar. they will torture many unto the death, and leave many of them for dead. George, was only 6 or so. Like i said, a small boy. far too small to hold a gun yet (so worthless for kidnapping to be a part of the army)… so somehow, he gets pushed by the wayside & is never attacked. (aka  a miracle)

But he see it all. His uncle was a main member of that area’s government- and was thus a target for the rebels. George says he can still see it- they took his uncle. threw him down to his knees, set the gun to the back of his head- and right in front of George- blew his face out with one explosive bullet

you only imagine those kinds of things, from horribly done horror films & even then, if you’re like me, you close your eyes for that millisecond so you don’t have to be haunted by it. and that’s even with knowing that its only special effects. … this boy….. literally Saw the insides of his Uncle… blown to shreds & shot through the front of what used to be his face…. and he had to just…………………. keep going….. he had to keep breathing…. he had to keep existing. …

I hate that when i hear stories like this. i automatically separate myself from people like George. Thinking he must be made up of some different type of mental and emotional components and capabilities. knowing i would never in a million years be able to withstand this kind of trauma. As if he can. No. He’s just the same as me. And seeing this was not one ounce easier or more foreseeable or welcomed than it would be if someone walked into my house right now, and shot my sisters face off in front of me. George is No different than me. And it will remain one of my main goals in life, until the day that i achieve it, to get this in my freaking head. His pain is not removed like i want it to be. it is realer than i can imagine.

George’s mother wasn’t killed. She was beaten though. with a war weapon. i couldn’t understand the name he gave to it. but it was the kind of strategic weapon like the cat of 9 tails they used on Jesus; the kind designed for torturous destruction.

He says after killing his uncle, they took his mom, placed her feet together, ordered her to touch her toes.. and then proceeded to pound into her lower back. time. and time. and time, again. Beat her. bashed her, and broke her. Until she could even lift from the ground. they left her there like a puddle on the ground. and once the smoke of the horrible morning had cleared… and the dead bodies were left, and probably nothing but tiny children and old men and women were left to pick up the wreckage… George became the caretaker of his almost dead mother.

Just a small boy. But now hes cooking. hes cleaning. hes fetching water and firewood. not so that they can carry on with life. but just so that they can Survive. For 2 months he says- his mother could not even move. Only then did she slowly ache back into walking, and working. She’s still alive today, and what do you know, he refuses to leave home, and still takes care of her. .. People like him don’t make sense to me. . They’re the most beautiful, and most like Jesus i can imagine.

Today, George tells us that most of the other students who were in our sponsorship program back in 2007, have moved up to the capitol city, Juba, and have become soldiers. Even Jada and Mario… from many of my blogs… its the only job one can find in this area without education beyond high school, which is what our program stopped at. I ask him what he’s doing for work now, to support he and his mother. Just odd jobs he says.

“and you don’t want to move up to Juba to become a soldier too?” i say. holding my breath for his answer.

“no” he says certainly with that same calm.

“good”.

“…………… i cannot. in my heart. become a soldier. … i have seen what these weapons have done to my family. i see it even now when i think of it. And i just cant…….. i cant hold one in my hand. i just can’t”

he pauses and is no longer concerned with telling me a story. He’s just existing in his pain and his resolve.

we ask him what options there are for him. and there are none. not without higher education. and the chances of higher education are non existent. He knows it. its not a secret, and it writes itself all over his face; in his clenched jaws and deep yet empty focused eyes.

We are all in this moment gripped by the Lords heart for this boy; the lords sight over him and how faithful George has been as a son to his mother, and as a man of integrity and faith. it was in this instant, that the lord places it within each of us the desire to deliver God’s hope to George. Its this moment right here where i think human nature. or maybe human nurture, leads you to attempt to detach. to not receive their burden. to not receive their pain. And sometimes its permissible perhaps. But in this moment, is when i think grace and direction fell upon each of us, to Imagine his anxt. I tried to Imagine seeing my mother beaten over the back with a rod, until she was a limp paralyzed corpse on the ground. i tried to imagine as a child, seeing the uncle that id watched joke and laugh and even share serious discussions with my own parents– have his face blown off. I tried to imagine the sheer terror that would fill my bones every single time i see a gun after that day. and the growing repulsiveness the image would take on as it wears itself into my daily sights in this war zone. i tried to imagine the nights filled with memories all tied to that raid, and the hatred that would rise up for violence itself. I tried to imagine this. and then imagine putting on my work shoes. calmly walking over to an ak47, picking it up, and beginning my work day. It cannot be. It can’t be, and i Loved George for not becoming so Numb to this terrorizing pain that he could just shove it down far enough for it not to prevent him from taking up what seems like the only career out there for him. My heart beat became rapid and passionate as i started to grasp what this boy standing before us was standing for. His heart. and his peace.

So many in this land are RIPPED TO SHREDS over the massacres they’ve seen. So many turn to alcoholism to escape the memories and the heaviness of it all. So many do horrible things. But most, just shove it down. Most just put on a brave face, keep trekking, and do what is necessary to exist. & typically, existing only feels possible if you turn off your heart, and run from the choices that give you true peace. because they’re hard, and they’re the road less traveled.

This, is where the heart of the Lord lies.

Hearing THIS boys cry. and answering.

Many of you gave your own $ to send the 6 of us ladies on this trip. most of it was for flights or food or lodging or a pre-designated donation towards the home. But beyond that, we had no extra. We truly went there, thinking we had Just Enough for JUST us. But in our preparations, we prayed, for the Lord to Mulitply Money. We prayed that, and it was one of the handful of prayers that the Lord answered so literally that our jaws might as well have drug on the floor for the entirety of the trip.

Each day i’d come to my room, and do what feels most calming to me…. what i like to call “information organization”. be it, “to do listing” or sorting out my money. Its how i get my bearings. well each day i would recount the amounts of money we had set aside for each need… “water:100, donation:1200, bus back to Uganda $500, Visa:$50,” etc….. and everyday….. it should have been the same, or almost the same. But on this day. When George came. it was the first day we saw a shift. it was the first of several days where numbers started to no longer line up. But in our favor

That night after we sat on the ground beneath George and heard his story and felt the heaviness of the Lords heart and desire to answer His cries, i sat down with the girls and mentioned to them, my financial confusion…..

“So, i’ve counted through all of the money. You guys know how i am. you know im anal. and i think ive accounted for everything we need to pay for, and i have it set aside. and there’s This $250….. and its for Nothing… i have No Idea where it came from… we dont owe it to anything. … And i know its not enough to put George through school. But i really believe that the Lord is saying that He desires to do this for George, at this time. And i feel like we could give this first bit to George as a seed of Faith… and then when we return home… we could pray for the rest…..”

i thought i sounded crazy. they just met this boy and for all they knew, i could have been mistaken, and this could have been their money to get back to Uganda.

They instantly all agreed.

The next day we sat with George in a circle in the church and delivered the $ to him. told him of the Lords heart for him and His desire to answer his long suffering prayers. George, faithful as always praised God as though he never doubted for a day it would come, but in the same moment, became short of breath in amazement that this was the moment of relief he’d waited for for so long. He promised to do his best and thanked us all as though it were some life changing amount of money we had just handed over to him. Just $250.

But it was.

It was everything to this boy. it was the answer to his prayer for breakthrough and fight not to lose hope that his circumstance would again dictate his life’s direction.

That money was not what he had prayed for. school wasn’t even what he had prayed for. it was reason to hope. Agreement in hope, even. That was the breakthrough his heart was after. And Jesus was glad to answer in the way his heart could receive and comprehend it on that day.

one week after leaving Sudan, on April 21st, i sat in the prayer room at my church with 2 women who’d signed up to provide a ministry time for interested participants. “why exactly did you want to do this today sophie? We were a bit surprised you’d have interest in something so intense right after your trip”…

“I just felt like the Lord said he was going to give me a birthday gift here today” i said. in all honesty- half not truly believing anything would happen that felt like a gift from God, but again, secret PLEADING that SOMETHING would feel like an undeniable touch from the Lord; or else i was REALLY going to stop making statements that required faith, like “i feel like the Lords going to give me a gift today”.’cause you KNOW somebody’s gonna ask me, “so What’d the Lord do?” and im gonna have to say, “well… it felt good to pray……..?”……

lame.

The women talked with me, and asked me enough questions to get me crying. (.. well, technically that only took 2 questions to get me there; but it didn’t stop for the next 3 hours really).

They sensed promptings from the Lord and discerned things and spiritual influences in my life that might be worth praying over if i was interested. They ran by me, the things that stuck out to them; checking them with me, to see if i thought it applied.

And then they asked me, “do you know what double mindedness is?”

“uh, No.. But i can guess that its when you know that you know that you know something in your spirit is the right way to walk with God, you know what He’s calling you to and you’ve never been more convinced of Anything in your life, and somehow even so- you manage to live parts of your life that Do Not line up with that place with God, and you somehow find yourself compromising and living out two separate lives out of two separate spirits that are horribly uncomfortably forced to coexist…..?”

“thats it” they said.”lets pray to break that off.’

cool, i said. awesome, lets say a prayer that im gonna have to pray again tomorrow and again the next day, because in fact its Not gonna go away and in reality Im only acknowledging that this thing exists and its my job to combat it and remain aware of its influences. so yeah. cool. lets pray to break it off.

i prayed against the spirit of double mindedness, just like the slew of other nasty spirits i was harboring and agreeing with. i blessed the people in my life that i resented, and i received blessings over myself from the ladies.i cried, more than i anticipated and ultimately just laid my broken little heart at the feet of God because of how painfully aware i was or His worthiness.

i hugged them, walked out. and went home.

i mentioned to my roommates how striking it was that that specific spirit had been called out.

I Did feel like i walked out of there, ready and prompted to make a specific change in my lifestyle that was simply not lining up with the future i felt God was ushering me into. And i did; make that change. And so it wasn’t until, again, after that…. that i realized. SOMETHING HAPPENED………!

Something Happened there in that dimly lit room with kleenex residue all over my face; something had shifted. and it wasn’t a mental game any more. something- the force i had been wrestling with for 3 years that had me jumping between encounter with the Lord and compromise of the Spirit using me as a resting place- was lifted. Something that had kept me feeling unclean, something that kept me under guilt, something that kept my feet from moving and my spirit from soaring. something that kept me from believing in my greatness int he Lord, something that kept me from believing in the Lords plans to finish His works and purposes in me, was peeled back from my eyes. and LITERALLY, my eyes, felt different. literally, things (im not kidding or being cheesy, you know i hate cheesy).. things, looked Brighter.

The Lord GAVE me LITERAL and TANGIBLE BREAKTHROUGH!!!! with TWO of the areas ive struggled MOST with over the past 3 years which have arguably been my most spiritually advancing years yet. things  i had begged and contended for for 3 years—- he GAVE to me. i didn’t do anything differently (at least knowingly), and i don’t know why it came on these two dates and not a moment sooner. And i don’t know why George’s money came on this date and not 3 years ago when he first cried out for it. But i know the wait did Not take away from the Joy he had on the motor bike ride home with the $ in his pocket. i know he was not One Bit less happy on that day than he would have been on the first day his cries went up to the throne room of our Papa. if anything, it was an unspeakably deeper sigh of fulfillment and satisfaction after all these years of hoping. What beauty; to find afterall, that you Are known and heard by the God you’ve cried out to in faith, when no response seems to be coming.

the $ was never the hope deferred of George’s life. my spiritual freedom and breakthrough in those area’s was never the source of my purpose either. Our greatest hope’s were always that we were known by God and could know Him too. These breakthroughs of hope, were just Ways we yearned to see that played out. And were used as confirmations to accommodate the human heart in its hunger & wavering. The Lord is so sweet and does not ever have to give us a thing. he does not HAVE to give us tangible moments of breakthrough we can feel on our skin and in our eyes. He does not HAVE TO send us to school; hes sending us to life ever after, for pete’s sake. He doesnt HAVE to give us a SINGLE glimmer of hope apart from his Son Jesus Christ dying and winning us back eternal life. He doesnt even have to add in all that great stuff about knowing him or experiencing his love or grace of any of that Jazz. But he does. And for that i call him the sweetest one i know. i ridiculously love him for it. and will never love another more.

The Lord knows His children, and He is Dolling out hope. and He is using His children to do it.

This is a season of profound breakthrough. May yours be poured out on your like a rushing wind, and may you have the tenderness in your heart, to be the soft soil that receives it.

((to donate toward the completion of George’s remaining $2000 needed, click the donate button and include “george” in the notes section. Thank you. from George))

A good place to be; In love

When you go on these trips. you often feel like, and (well meaning) people even ask if you if you feel like its just a drop in the bucket sometimes.

Ive felt that way. when things dont seem to break down the impossible walls. and when more death occurs than healing, or more corruption wins out than justice.

but last sunday

The Lord told me

that my “drops in the bucket” were floods in the chambers of hell.

Since i was young, my dream was to be married at 23 and have a kid at twenty five. last year a guy proposed to me, and i said yes. somewhere along the way things changed & so did his mind. Tomorrow my 23rd year closes out, and a few weeks ago i would have thought this moment right here would be filled with depression, regret and wonder. Wonder for why someone gave up on me, why i wasn’t enough, why i’d yet to be chosen. But God knew all of this. He’s known all of my flawed and twisted views & perceptions of myself and all the happenings of my life. He’s known my pain and my need for truth. So He’s provided me with that.

Weeks ago, we headed off to S. Sudan. I, and 5 other lovely ladies.

We asked the Lord for a handful of very specific things. and those things, He specifically answered. This is what im learning: when you’re bold enough to have the audacity [by human terms] to have enough faith in an “invisible” God- so much so to ask Him for unmistakable & distinct things- i think it perhaps tickles his jollies so much- that He seldom can resist. and thus- obliges with exact & literal responses to your daring prayers.

We asked for Money multiplied. And it was. literally. thousands of dollars we can’t wrap our heads around to this very moment- how it became freed up. Those stories will come.

We asked the Lord for heart connections. between us and the sudanese. And in 8 days, i saw the girls connect with kids & staff on levels of depth & intimacy that i hadnt seen some 3month long visitors connect on.The Lord implanted a timeless element of Love within us & the kids that allowed beauty & purity to flow between their hearts. And i was so blessed to watch it all go down.

4 years ago, living at the Home, i fell in love with Aluma. You remember him as the bathing boy with american soap all over him. The one filled with utter joy & laughter.

That one

This year, after 5 years of returning for visits; i finally caught on. and realized that taking photos of them year after year & never returning with copies for them to have of themselves, was no longer going to be a forgivable crime. it was the crime that got me beaten by a drunken ex-soldier in the town. i wasn’t going to do that again. Though i was pretty sure the kids wouldn’t beat me with cane’s, i thought it’d be pretty fun to take them their pics; since few of them have a single photo of themselves.

(one family receiving copies of photos id taken of them from years past)

Well, Mr. Aluma. my little love; who i used to bathe on that rock, and cuddle each day, put lotion on his smooth little skin, rock him to sleep at night, teach him in kindergarten, & overall just love him to bits— still remains my little love. However he’s 4 years less young. and has long since left the childrens home and actually returned home to his mother. He’s one of the kids who Has a parent, but was taken into our care for the sake of a parents inability to properly care for him at that time. in my year at the home, he ended up returning to his mom by choice. His heart was always with her, even despite her neglect and arguable abuse.

Nonetheless, he abandoned me and walked on home one day, never to return to me.

This year, i headed back with photos. lots a lots of photos. 235 to be exact. 2 for some kids, 1 for others, and i believe a record 18 for Aluma. Im not kidding you when i tell you i adore this kid to pieces. ( i have the bathing photo blown up as large a big screen tv and plastered to my wall at home. he’s my heart). Well i returned with all of these photos to give to him. but needed to find him. His mother had since moved & i had to rely on ‘word on the streets’ to locate him & get to him. so who did i call?? all of the other small children. they know a heck of a lot more than they probably should know about what goes on outside the compound. but i dont ask questions. i just smile and nod, especially when their insider knowledge leads me to Aluma.

So we set out into the village on this easter Sunday. The lengthy church service has ended, and the girls are off to the Hospital to pray for patients, and i grab 6 kids to accompany me to find Aluma in the seemingly never ending blanket of Tukuls (mud huts) that covered the hills of this town.

We first found his sisters house, & he was no where to be found. but they said “just down there; you will find him just down there”. I’ve learned not to take to heart the loose terminology granted by the s.sudanese when they flippantly measure distances & time. A 30 minute walk to the nile means a couple hours and an “easy” walk up the mountain means your legs & overall body wont properly function for a day or two. “just down there by the mango tree” meant “girl, get yourself ready to be walkin all over this dang town,’cause don’t nobody know where that child is”. I pursed my lips and squinted my eyes at my 6 little rascals who were all entirely too eager to get a break from the childrens home compound and would say anything to get me to keep walking with them; “i know yall are full of it” i thought. but its ok, i wanna find my baby.

So we walked. And we walked. and we walked some more. “just there”, they kept saying. ‘uh huh” i kept saying.

little farts.

Finally we reached the area. As we walked through the neighboring houses, people warned us that Aluma’s sister Luluwe (13years old) had been married off. As utterly terrifying and infuriating as this would have been, it wouldn’t have been entirely unbelievable. A girls fate in this area is either to get married……… or … well. to be trying to hope for something else, until she realizes there’s no other hope for her, and thus- get married. Many young girls there, Do just get married. We reached Aluma & Luluwe’s home & found this hadn’t in fact been true, and she was not at all married; this made me hug her about 5 times harder and longer when i found her there safely, of course.

And Aluma.

Aluma. Sat there by that tree with his mom and when i came through the maze of tukuls, and saw him and culturally uncharacteristically shouted and screeched his name in falsetto, he smirked his shy sweet smirk and tried to keep from budging almost immediately; as if to show refrain in this emphatically reserved culture. i hugged him and squeezed him and kissed his little face Way too much. and told him over and over how much i loved him. i realized immediately i didn’t know if he even knew any english anymore. I panicked for a bout 3.7seconds & then realized i knew enough Arabic for this to not be a panic worthy moment. “Ana hibu ita! Ita arafo???”  (“i love you! do you know that??), i said, hoping almost desperately on the inside, that the love id developed & poured into him those months he was called ‘my child’, hadn’t been forgotten and the intensity of it hadn’t been erased. i prayed he could comprehend my heart through this arabic

“Yes” he smirked and answered in English.

Ah! my little baby still exists!

I sat with Aluma and Luluwe and about 15 other village kids i didn’t know, hugged them, kissed them and told them on and on how beautiful they were. Aluma just hung by my side quietly. Almost like someone who doesn’t want attention to be brought to him and almost isn’t quite convinced he even deserves it- but its slowly seeping into his spirit that all this love, in fact Is for him. the kids all gathered around as we took photos, and looked at photos. Aluma gradually building up to resting his cheek naturally on my shoulder. i swear i could have swallowed this kids up and kidnapped him a million times over. ugh.

Aluma and Luluwe turned out to no longer be in school. She says they now work at home. Cooking, cleaning & gathering firewood. Aluma probably getting to play more than her, since she’s a girl, but still not even an ounce as much opportunity as they had at the home, to just be children. Its moments like this where i realize the irreplaceable, priceless, and almost incomprehensible value of homes like Cornerstone. We provide a Chance for kids to Be and live in a state of life that they would otherwise never get the safety of experiencing. Mori Luka- dont get me started on that one. His story is soon to come; a child with epilepsy, who suffered years of abuse and starvation as homeless child, and now suffers extensive mental illness as a result of it all- is Completely allowed and able to live in his own little Safe world where tomorrow is not a thought, and today his nonthreatening. He gets to be his corky senseless self, and people get to love him, and not be annoyed by him. He gets to know safety and not have each day be a risk and uncertainty. And kids like Aluma got to be kids. Where someone got to say, “no. you Should be able to eat 3 meals a day, and you Should get to go to school. and we want to give you that. you Should be able to play. you shouldn’t Have to work and take care of a family’s needs at 6 years old.” Cornerstone gives this to over 60 kids, every. single. day.and its moments like this where i thank God for what He does in these kids lives through cornerstone. and then its moments like this where i am completely broken over the reality that we cant protect all of them at every moment for each day of the rest of their lives. 4 years ago, Aluma’s mom came and took them back, because she felt able to now care for their needs. He literally had to ripped out of my arms that day, and now 4 years later i find that, though he says he’s eating, he isn’t going to school. and education is everything to these people. everything when it comes to grasping hope at least. my baby had lost hope.

I begged and convinced Aluma to come and visit me the next day at the home. although “convinced” may be a strong word for the occasion. im pretty sure he loves my affections on him a lot more than he puts on.

He came, and again i just showered him with way too much attention and 5000 more kisses than were necessary, but each one i hope drilled in- that someone was obsessed with him, and hopefully somewhere in his spirit this will someday translate to how much more God must love him. i dont expect this revelation to ring loud in his spirit just yet as a tiny kiddo- but i expectantly keep pouring into that mission, till the day rolls around.He followed me mostly everywhere, and when i had to depart to eat with the staff, i went to beg the kitchen to give him food too, only to find that they had already allotted him a plate from their already rationed food supply for the day. He was apparently still theirs in their hearts too

It killed me that he wasn’t in school and knew that it was only a matter of 50-100dollars that was stealing this dream from them this year.

I told you Papa God answered a number of our bold prayers quite literally. And that one of them was to see money multiplied. Well hold your britches, ’cause amazing stories are to come as to what financial blessings were poured upon us and through us- to instill hope in so many people on this trip. But one of those kiddos- was Aluma. And Luluwe of course From the mysterious multiplication and manifestation of money that popped up on this trip- we were able to not only put Aluma and Luluwe back into school for a year, but we were able to put them in the Best rated school in the town, and completely instill hope and joy back into their hearts. Joy that rightfully belonged there. I didn’t know all of what Aluma needed, and i certainly couldn’t find that out in the few short days we had together again. but i knew i was just overcome with this indescribable desire to give All that i had, for Every single day of the Rest of my life- to make sure that Aluma is cared for, and Knows how utterly, emphatically, and ridiculously Loved he is. All i wanted, and still want to do- is Give My Life to love this child. He’s so worth it. He’s so freakin worth the never ending love of Jesus; and if thats the case then hes CERTAINLY worth the flawed and sometimes failing love of me! And i wanted to give him that. i wanted to give my little body to Jesus and say, fill this up Lord. Fill my body up with painful amounts of supernatural love for this child. may i never stop breaking the barriers within my heart, may you ever be heightening my awareness to new levels of affection for this child. Ugh! God let me be his glimpse of what your furious love looks like on this earth. Father, let me, please let me lay my little life down as a sacrifice that you might raise it up and see it as useful, if for nothing else- for the cause of loving this child. … and maybe Mori Luka too …

And i was thinking over all of this on the plane ride back home.the insane love i felt for aluma and a number of other people, that i realized. …. My God is so good. My God is so good. How has he made my heart tender enough to love like this again? How has he transformed me to be Able to love like this again.

Tonight is my last night to be 23, and unless ryan gossling, common, or Michael Ealy plan on showing up at my door with a ring tonight, its lookin like im not gonna make that “married by 23 fantasy. BUT JESUS. oh! He has been so faithful and So Worth It All. He has made me not miss a beat of His heart and His love. I realized that THIS is what im made for. Love. Loving him, and swimming in the depths of his love. The depths of his love for me, the depths of his love for others that He loves to let me carry from time to time, and the depths of the love He’s implanting within me for himself. He instills it. He reveals it. And i cant think of a better love to know and be the recipient of, at 23. i am blessed and HIGHLY favored to be sitting in this place at 23. and i realized that as i sat in the emotions i felt for aluma. unbelievably, nonsensical, silly love. Love that tears my walls down. love that makes me give everything i have. and love that makes me want to find more ways to express love. This love comes straight from Jesus, and i had to know in these moments that God is in fact Not holding out on me. How could this be “with holding”. No, no.  this was abundance and i was the recipient of its beauty. i am not a victim today of a runaway groom. i am the sought after bride of christ and the apple of his eye. i am the bride who prays “Lord multiply our money”, and my groom answers with thousands of dollars to pour out on the hopeless. i am the bride who prays “Lord, give me supernatural love and connection with this child today” and my groom answers with affections more stirring than any ring, any promise or any commitment. Pure, undeserved love that asks for nothing back. I am blessed and live an irreplaceable life. My role in his story is a rad-daddy one and i wouldn’t change it for the world.

really.

my last moments seeing aluma, i stood by the door and determined not to move my footing until he was out of sight. i waved each time he looked back; each time looking back as if to see if finally this silly wanna-be mama had given up this childish game of waving for minutes on end; but each time, almost hoping i loved him so much that id stand there for minutes. i stood and kept waving as he walked on and on this long path that of course, just my luck, didnt wind its way out of my sight from the door for probably 3 minutes. i couldnt understand nor explain the deep love that gripped my heart for this child as i watched him slowly walk away. But i thanked the Lord in my spirit for whatever he was doing. and whispered to Him to just keep doing it, and keep using me please to harbor a load of his love for His babies.

Yesterday i received a birthday surprise Skype date with the cornerstone Kiddos, set up by my awesome team of ladies.

Aluma was there.and he sang happy birthday to me.

i couldnt be happier. and i couldnt be an inch closer to exactly where im supposed to be. right here at 23.

Thank you Daddy God. for using my drops in the bucket, and for flooding my heart with your love. You are worthy of it all.

sophie

(to give to kids like Aluma & others as old as 24, wishing to continue on in their educaiton, click here & just designate it in the notes as a Sudan schooling donation)

He makes a way, when there Is no way

By now its pitch black and the only thing we can see is the occasional car speeding past us in the opposite direction. I’m on a bus headed for the capital city of Uganda; Kampala. I have a flight at 5 in the morning and the entire city of Kampala has just been shut down. Political issues mixed with Tribal tensions resulted in civil disputes and riots broke out on the streets of Kampala around 1 pm that day—by then, I was already on a 12 hour bus ride from Sudan into Uganda to catch my flight home.

As we drive and approach the town that is by now on the news- we receive calls from friends and family telling us that people are being killed, soldiers are armed and shutting the city down. No cars are allowed to move, and citizens in all the nooks and crannies of the city are catching the rebellion bug as they sense that control has nearly been lost by the authorities- and they begin to take their wildest desires into their own hands. 10 people have been killed already— and that’s just what’s known of.

We finally reach a town which is just two towns outside of Kampala; I’m supposed to meet my driver “Baker”, who works with our Orphanage in Sudan, at the Kampala bus station and ride with him to the airport. But all plans are out the window as I’m seeing a literal uprising unfold before my eyes. My father (who is from the Democratic Republic of Congo) always would tell us kids about how “in Africa- anything can happen. When uprisings happen- there’s nothing you can do and all control is out of your hands”. I always listened to him, and believed him, but it wasn’t until this very instant, that his words finally took on life for me.

Our bus was stopped in this town outside of Kampala, like all the other vehicles on the road aiming to reach Kampala by nightfall. The roads were 1) not safe due to possibility of rebel or military attack and 2) were “officially closed down”.  I looked around the bus full of Ugandans and Sudanese- I, the only westerner was becoming very aware of my complete and unarguable terror that was filling my heart.  My heart was absolutely set on making that flight in just a few hours, I had spent almost 4 months in Africa, jumped in and through 6 different countries, 3 different cultures and 3 different time zones. I was worn out, exhausted, and OUT OF MONEY; missing that flight was not an option.  I fought to keep tears from filling my eyes as the fellow passengers told me, “you better just call now and change your flights. You aren’t going to make them. No way. The roads are closed. I know you’re American. But this is Africa. Its literally impossible to go anywhere. We’re all going to have to sleep here on this bus on the roadside till morning or longer— until this all clears up. Sorry. You’re not going anywhere.” I called my driver, Baker, and told him we were stopped in this town and that we weren’t moving.  Told him I didn’t know what to do but that I wouldn’t be able to reach him. I hung up and with the largest and hottest well of tears in my eyes, I clenched my teeth and cried out with silent moans to the Lord to be with me. I’d never felt so alone.

Looking back now, I almost don’t know why it was so important to me to make that flight. From this point of view I’m almost certain that even if I had ended up missing the flight- even though I had no money to buy new tickets home- God could have and WOULD have put money in my account to be able to do so— maybe it was just all the shock of actually standing in the midst of a political uprising, and being completely alone and “completely helpless”.

Ten, maybe 20 minutes pass and im still trying not to have an emotional breakdown here on this bus.  And out of nowhere I hear, “sophie.”

I look up and its Baker.

Little did I know, and I only found out later, that for the past hour, baker had been trying to get TO ME. He lived within Kampala and when he got in his car to try to come to me, crowds surrounded his car and began beating on the windows and fighting to jerk the doors open to get him out and most likely beat him.  He turned his car around, parked it at his house and snuck in the dark to find motor bike drivers ( a common method of transport/ taxis in this culture) to sneak through back roads and get to me. Finally he did, and “before I knew it” he was dropped off there on the roadside where all the busses were stopped and he searched them until he found me.  He told me to get off with him and that we would find a way to get to the airport ( which is directly through kampala and can’t be reached without going through it). We got off and as he spoke with the conductors to get my luggage from underneath the boot- – a young lady with the most terrified look in her eyes said to me from the bus window, “please, miss….. ! please give me ONE second of your time. PLEASE! ONE SECOND! Please.” Confused I stepped back onto the bus and fixed my eyes on hers wondering what she was going to say. “please miss. Don’t go!…. this is AFRICA. I know you know this man and you trust him. But trusting him is not the issue. In Africa when things like this happen- people go crazy! They do whatever they want. Look at you! You’re white. I don’t care if you’re with this man. 5 men can see you- jump him, and take you and they can do whatever they want to you. Please maam. I’m begging you, please do not go!”  She nearly had tears in her eyes and I knew instantly that she was entirely genuine in her plea. But I wondered if this was the spirit of fear speaking or a sign from God that I was to stay…..

As I stood with more tears welling up in my eyes, my heart stood still and I’m pretty sure I unconsciously held my breath for an unhealthy amount of time. Baker motioned for me to come and tell him which bags were mine, and just as I apprehensively stepped off the bus to do so— the bus started up, and quickly began to make a u-turn as if to be headed AWAY from kampala now. My bags were still on the bus, and so in a moments glance, I had to leave baker and run and jump onto a moving bus.

(instant number one where I get cuts and bruises lol )

Somehow baker catches up just in time, and as soon as he hops on, the driver takes off and we’re now Speeding in the Opposite direction of Kampala. I ask the conductor what was happening and he says that the riots were spreading and that area was even too dangerous and risky for our bus to be sitting in.  As we sped away from the very place that I was aiming to get to, I was filled with mixed emotions of being ripped away from my goal- and the emotions of “holy crap!…… im in a movie….. this is a freakin movie about African uprisings, and I’m in it.” I looked at baker and his face was stone cold.

Finally we reached a town now several more towns away from Kampala, and the bus pulls over, and passengers begin to situate and prepare for a night of sleep there on the pitch-black roadside. Baker leans over and quietly whispers “stay here ill be back”, and stands up and leaves the bus. For the next 20 minutes Baker stands on the roadside, stopping every car and bike that passes, begging them to take us BACK towards kampala; and he does this at the cost of every onlooking Native passenger shaking their heads at his “stupidity”.  Finally he quietly re-enters the bus and discretely says, “come on.” I follow my spirit and don’t even look up to see the eyes of that girl who I know is looking at me-at this point, I can’t stand to have one more ounce of fear in my spirit. We get off and tell the conductors, yes we want our bags. He shakes his head and gets them out for me. We cross the street and throw my bags into a car and hop in. This car- had been headed in the OPPOSITE direction when he flagged it down, and he convinced them to take us BACK into the “danger-zone”.  The driver of this car- was a suited Soldier. (…. Terrifying!!!)

Terrifying… but a blessing.

Over the next 30 minutes. We drive up to, and through army blockades- and the only reason we are able to pass through- is BECAUSE it’s a soldier driving. He nervously rolls his window down as we pass over roads covered in shattered glass glistening from our prohibited car lights, and he puts on a facade of humor- shouting out the window and joking with soldiers as they hold their AK47s out since no one is supposed to be driving- but we are. He jokes at an obnoxiously flamboyant volume to ensure that they take note that he is a soldier and thus will let us pass. We pass through Burning piles of tires and rocks and dirt and desks and chairs that either civilians have thrown around or soldiers have placed to stop cars from moving.  And all the while, all I can think to myself is, “is this REAL?!….” I’m about 2 seconds away from a culture shock induced Shut Down, and intense internal prayer is literally the only thing keeping me from breaking.  We finally pass through all of the “Riot Like Scenes” that you see in movies and foolishly my heartbeat calms for just a second, thinking all the suspense is over.  Just then a man comes up from the side of the road, frantically waving his arms to stop our car.  In that moment, everything in my spirit said “no. keep going don’t stop”. Our driver stopped and slowly rolls down the window. They’re speaking in Buganda and the man is saying that someone has been shot “just nearby” and they need someone to take the person to a hospital. As the man tells us this, 5 or 6 other men just appear and begin to surround the car…. My spirit is screaming “go!” by this point, and the driver senses something here isn’t right- and he puts the car in drive and takes off.  We drive the next stretch in silence because unbeknownst to me, this stretch of the road is the most dangerous of our drive- Baker does all he can to maintain a stressless face so that I might be comforted and not “lose my cool” ( which by the way I had lost long before that) . Finally the driver pulls over, and says this is as far as he’s willing to take us and that we have to get out.

……

Baker and I step out of the car with my one small rolling suitcase and my one LARGE backpacking backpack- and stand there silent on the roadside.

….. lol….. what are we gonna do from here?

Hahah. Its all very funny now. Looking back.

Across the road we see a couple of bike drivers sitting and talking. Baker waves them over and in Buganda, convinces them to take us by backroads a little further into the city that is shut down. So there in the middle of the night- we hop on the backs of motor bikes  ( of course with no helmet or protective gear) with our oversized luggage and Now- I tell you- I have officially NEVER been more scared in my life. I – hate fast moving vehicles. Even more- I hate fast moving vehicles with no walls and no seat belts with me on them. Further more- I do not appreciate Ugandan roads that are apparently incapable of being flat  or smooth. No. no, of course- they’re bumpy and pot-holey and TERRIFYING by nature.

This- was, I’m convinced, an exercise from the Lord, to —- develop and deepen my use of praying in Tongues. I have never in my life prayed so vehemently and passionately. Im sure the poor driver was wondering what the heck I was chanting in his ear- but it was the only thing I could do to keep from shouting “PLEASE!SLOW DOWN!!!… I LIKE MY LIFE!!!”

Soon enough- we crash. Yup- we crashed. The weight of the luggage shifts and our bike runs off into a ditch and the bike tips over and the two of us fight to break our falls. (instance #2 of cuts and bruises. ha.) This all happens without Baker and his bike driver noticing so they continue to speed off along the badly beaten back path— and there I was- alone- in the dark in some Ugandan town— with a stranger- in the night. That’s when I said to myself….”yeah, this is really happening”

We get back on the bike and speed- even moreso-  (awesome) – to catch up with baker, and for another 10 minutes or so we bump and speed through the paths, leaving me with More cuts and bruises from gripping onto a heavy bag on a tight-fit ride. Finally we pull up to a house- and baker motions the drivers to stop. Its Bakers house and he calmly tells me- like nothing had hardly just happened- to come inside and have some tea before we continue our journey.

Before all of this broke out, sweet Baker had planned to pick me up in the evening from the bus station and bring me home to meet his daughters where they would have a hot bath ready for me, and dinner cooked for me before my flights home. But with all of this- we only had time for tea and noodles. We sat in complete silence at the table and finally I said, “ I’ve been in Africa a lot. And I’ve seen some stuff— but I think this is the first time I’ve ever known culture shock like this”. He smiled and continued sipping his tea. I asked him nervously if he thought we would realistically be able to reach the airport that night. And he honestly answered, “… I really don’t know.” As soon as I finished my tea- he calmly said- we should go.

So out we went again. This time, hopping into his car. We didn’t know what stops we would reach along the way. What rebels or rioters we might encounter. We didn’t know if the police would stop us and harass us for illegally being on the road. We didn’t know if this 1 hour drive would take all night, or if we would even make it. But Baker was determined to give it everything he could possibly give to try to get me to my flight and he had been showing that all night in his ceaseless efforts to fight against the seeming doom of helplessness. For the next hour we rode in this car with tension and suspense in our bones, only breaking the silence to exchange what was probably premature words about “how scary the night had been”. Baker, still holding back a bit for my sake- shared that he all night had been more scared than he had let on. He was so beautifully committed to protecting my heart and my spirit that he, all night, took the burden on Himself and maintained this “onward” mentality… for my benefit.

At several point during the night, it struck me so hard the risk that he was taking for me- a mere American he’d met only once before. He had a daughter. He was a single parent. He had dreams and goals and passions… and he was literally laying it all on the line- to get me to my flight. Now I know we could all argue about whether I should have called it quits and played it safe and stayed on that bus possibly for the next few days and just prayed for the money to be able to get new flights later- and I’m sure I could join some of you on both sides of the debate. But the fact is- we didn’t call it quits, and whether or not that was the wisest  thing to do- even if it was the MOST STUPID THING  in the world to do and God was looking down like, “what the HECK is my daughter doing?! I sent her that girl on the bus so she’d know not to go!…” EVEN IF all of that…— —- …. Baker and I did that night what we felt led to do in our spirits, which was to keep going.  And we may or may not have missed God in what he wanted us to do. But even if we did- God was so pleased in us doing what we THOUGHT we were picking up from His Spirit, and so pleased in our Faith to follow Him into the darkness- that His Grace came down in the form of  mercy and protected us all the way to the doors of the airport, and covered over all the mistakes in decisions we may have made along the way.

What I’m saying is, I’m pretty positive that we didn’t miss God that night, and that we were supposed to keep going for the airport. And I’m pretty sure that the reason wasn’t because it was so important for me to make that flight and get back to the states earlier than later- rather, I’m pretty sure it the reason we felt led to keep going- was because God wanted to show me, that His hand is on me always and I’m always on His mind.  And EVEN IF anyone wanted to argue that we did the wrong thing that night and should have stayed back and said so-long to my flights—that’s okay! Because all that says is that God is even MORE gracious and LOVING and protective of little old me, the idiot from time to time— and that’s pretty darn comforting!

I arrived at the airport hours before my flight and because of all the shock- over the next 2 days of travel- didn’t sleep more than 5 or so hours- but as soon as I touched ground in Cincinnati and hugged my friends and family awaiting me at the airport- the shock left me- and it became a funny and exciting story that I now had to share about the visible goodness of the God that I serve.

The Impossible

The Lord had been building me up to this place for years now. Pulling me out of my happily isolated, independent, solo lifestyle. For years i’d traveled to sudan & back & elsewhere, and thanked God that i didnt have to “deal” with “other people” and could just go about my business & speed in the airports; that i didnt have to worry about any stupid americans on my team doing something dumb and giving “us”, or me, a bad name. I liked doing it alone.

“But then God”.

He’s been doing a mighty work in me.And maybe it all started that day on the 5hour flight from Sierra Leone to Kenya when i got food poisoning & threw up all over myself & my seat mates who loved me oh so very much; and then laid on the concrete ground of the kenyan airport until i could stand up & carry my 50pound backpack. Maybe it was then- hating that i had to take care of myself & never had anyone in the flesh to lean in when i had a weak day.

Maybe it was the trip interrupted by a Ugandan uprising and riots. Driving terrified through city streets covered in broken glass & lined with AK47 armed officers; feeling my life at risk- and wishing i had someone there with me to pray in tongues along side of me.

It may have been any of those dramatic things.

Or it might have just been the tender working wisdom and love of the Lord on my heart.

He’s been doing this thing in me where im only now seeing the value in community and relationship- but even more- i DESIRE it. and thats. crazy talk.

I’ve been taking my twin nieces on individual dates the last few weeks. (not because im super sweet & want to make them feel special- more because i cant handle them in doses of more than one at a time) just kidding…. a little.

Last weekend, i was with Elayna. She’s my name-sake (elayna layla Sophie Beya). And shes awesome. She’s energetic, kind, bold and free. i hope i have some things in common with her. One thing i know we dont have in common though- is her adoration for animals and the outdoors. I took her out to eat, and to graeters. after, we went to the park. i planned to sit on a bench and let her take out all of her harmless energy on the innocent unexpecting bistanders/ kids on the playground. I was excited to sit off this “food-itis”.

That lasted for about 2 minutes and 47 seconds.

“let me show you a secret hole i found one time, aunt sophie”. ok, i said.

i followed her. and soon enough we were in this path that i literally didnt know existed in woods i didnt know existed, in an area of my city that i am very familiar with.

before  i knew it, we were standing under unfathomably tall tree’s that were split & toppled over what felt like the expanse of the woods. we were carefully walking down hills and marking our way as we went- in case a 7 year old and i got lost in the middle of cincinnati

i was walking behind her, in awe of her spirit. She excitedly noticed and pointed out the Moss on tree stumps, the fungus growing here and there. The insects, the vines. Things i never would have noticed. As she called out attribute after attribute, i noticed how intricate this thing called a forest was. How much detail there was within it, that almost always went unnoticed. I wondered if this is what people talked about when they said they loved nature.

She walked along, captivated by every little detail she was seeing. I walked behind her like a fish out of water. trying to seem comfortable, but all the while trying not to get my boots dirty. I fumbled over my feet every few steps, as i wasn’t paying full attention. i was trying to steal photos of this little angel on my phone. i wanted to never forget her innocent beauty & love for discovery. She was so vibrant and alive inside that forest.

The next time i looked up. i heard the sound of trickling water, and it was like i was a freakin kid in the candy store. only i wasnt a kid, i was an Egyptian from the desert who had never seen flowing water before. Something amazed my heart in the most childish way, and i felt like we had just discovered a hidden, never before seen beauty. Though i was sure in the back of my head that hundreds of cincinnatians had pass through this park path- for now- It was ours to enjoy.And that felt so special.

My little niece held my hand and helped me down the steep slopes, and led me across the stones that popped up above the water of the creek, and she danced bravely from side to side. stepping on shaky spots, jumping farther than i thought she could, and sometimes splashing accidentally into the water & mud. she was so beautiful. She just kept smiling and kept trekking. she didnt even notice the mud that slowly crept its way onto her shoes, inside her socks, and up her legs. I laughed until i had to double over, i loved watching her. and i couldn’t explain why.

Not too long into it, i was tired, and was urging her it was time to turn around and head back to the park.

she obeyed and turned back around. choosing once again, the hardest paths & steepest slopes. the creek crossings with the least stones to rely on. I laughed, and said, not me, im going this way. i took an easy 3 steps and was up on the higher cleaner well beaten path. and she was down below dancing bravely through the experience.

we were walking and she looked up, and she said to me “…. you know what…. i dont think you want to do the impossible.”

I scoffed in amazement and a little bit of shock at what she so boldly said to me.

…. “….. because you think its messy. and you dont want to get messy….. “

i stayed quiet..

..”well…. it is messy!” she said. …………… “but at least its more fun! and its a test of skill..”

i was amazed and i knew she had just said something profound. my spirit was convicted even before it had full understanding of what wisdom she’d just laid down on me.

For 3 years the Lord has been working on my heart to be in a place of desiring to take, lead and share a trip with other laid down lovers of the Lord. And everything has all come down to this time. this season with this particular group of women. The lord hand picked them each, i believe that with all of my heart. And i knew as soon as i sat down at the table with the 5 of them- that this trip was going to be a move of Love.

23 days out from the trip, we still need $8700, and dont even have flight tickets yet. People are thinking we’re crazy. and we’re starting to feel the anxiety setting in. a lot has to come together in a short time, and yet we’ve EACH almost completely heard that we are supposed to RECEIVE the funds for this trip. specifically instructed within our spirits, that the Lord wants to knock it out of our heads that we can do or come up with anything that is going to earn us this $. Past ways of holding fund raisers & events and creative ideas- didnt sit right in our spirits and the Lord kept saying “you need to know that I provide. you need to KNOW that its me, and its not some great fund raising idea you came up with that i put my grace on”, “you need to receive from me as your Father”.

So we’ve been contending. Praying and interceding. responding in obedience when we felt led to anything. And just aiming to keep our Hearts in a place of BELIEVING in receiving.

“bring in the $ Lord”, i’d pray “open the floodgates”, “we receive the donations”, “put it on someones heart lord”, “free up what we need” , “multiply the supply”.

Never did my mind leave the realm of the typical ways of “fund raising breakthrough”. I was looking for a good fund raising idea. And “breakthrough” in donations. I was walking safely on the well beaten, clean, clear path within the woods that ppl could have applauded me for venturing into; people do- give me undeserved credit for “being a missionary”; and im grateful for the encouragement. But id ultimately hope that no matter WHAT im doing- missionary work, or running a fortune 500 business- that im delving deeper & deeper into faith & His love & character each day.  There are steps & beliefs each day, in whatever your walk of life that can either be safe & clean & “honorable enough”. you can take a cute walk with your neice & get called a good aunt. or you can dive in, and get your leggings muddy, and soak your sunday socks– and have the FUN that was intended in the venture for you, and ultimately- test & develop the skill that God all the while intended to instill in you. i wasnt truly sledging through the mud & mystery of it all with Joy; not this walk- and not my missions journey. I was walking out the path that i knew existed. the expected way for missionaries to get by- and that was the prayer path that i pursued.  Never did it TRULY land on my heart that i wasnt just serving the holder of all $. I was serving the Author and Perfecter of the Universe.Never did it occur to me that perhaps our Father, is the kind of Dad who desires His daughters to walk out of fears & strongholds of Rejection- and to boldly approach His throne and ASK for impossible things to happen- that we wouldnt be afraid of disappointment or rejection from the Father. but that we would boldly receive the opportunity to get our hearts a little messy- jump fully into the journey of awaiting provision.

so, Last night, i heard from my travel agent that she wasnt finding anything less than $1900 for the flights. we had budgeted only 2000, and really, we drastically needed it to be less than that. as vaccinnations and medications were adding up to be more than i’d thought, and other factors were adding up and i was doubting my calculations as a leader- and feared i had gotten my team into something more costly than they’d agreed to & i felt defeated as a leader of them.

Well the way i see it- the Lord led me around the internet. to a random site. that i wondered whether it was even real. i put in our dates, and waited for the $1700 to pop up that i’d seen on other sites each day before that day, and even minutes before this moment.

The icons stopped scrolling. and up popped $1152.

roundtrip. ideal travel hours. tax included…. no catches. no cons. no nothing.

The Lord up & changed the reality of the situation we were facing. Which we thought he would do. but we had no idea how he would do it. we thought he would change our reality by providing us with the means to meet the needs of the projected budget we had set. And instead he planned to change the needs entirely. Today, the Lord knocked $5000 off of our expenditures by giving us those flights. In my 6 years, and countless trips to sudan or any other African nation for that matter- i have NEVER seen a single flight that cheap. And i almost believe in my heart that if i were to go back to the site now- they would not be so low anymore.

My God is so Big. So Strong and so Mighty. There’s Nothing My God Cannot Do.

My God is calling my faith to pull me into the deeper things of Him. to wish for the bigger signs of him. the miraculous works & shiftings from Him and Him alone. He’s looking for me to trust in Him, to ask of Him. To shatter the mental boxes i have around Him and His goodness. He’s asking me to believe in doing the Impossible through him. He’s asking me to not be afraid of things getting messy or mysterious or trying at times. He promises, it will be more fun that way.

Because ill come up leaning on Him. My beloved.

We bought 6 tickets to Uganda today. And now we can spend the next 2.5 weeks, planning, packing and emotionally preparing for this trip. we do not have to wait until the last nail biting moment, wondering if we will even be able to go. Because the Lord is a Good Dad. And he does things like that sometimes.

Half of our team had little money, Half of our team was almost finished raising. To receive this blessing of the marked down flights (before they disappeared)- we threw it all in a pot & said- Lord we believe that the Full amount will still come in.Today we know that we will be getting on a plane. all 6 of us.Now we dont know if we will be eating while we’re there, or if we will have $ to actually get into the country. but dangit- we’re going to get on those 24hour flights

We still do have $6,950 to raise as a team. We’re each still aiming for $3000, and thankfully becuase of the 1/2PRICED flights, the unexpected costs that have been arising- are not going to cost us EXTRA $ over what we’d projected to raise. the $3000 will cover us!!! and leave us with possibly extra money to leave behind with the kiddo’s. HALLELUJAH!!

We bought the flights in faith that we wouldn’t regret it & be left with no $ for anything but flights & not be able to pay for the rest of the costs. And just like last night, we have NO idea how this much $ is going to come into our hands. But i know that going to bed last night, i didnt expect or “project” what the Lord was about to pull out of His sleeve. So even in the mystery of this new night and new awaited amount- — i remember again that ive seen, the good faithfulness of our Father. And He does the impossible. Because he loves us, and its more fun that way.

And I’m excited for God’s kind of fun.

be blessed. Receive it.

THanks for reading;

should you feel led to donate toward our team needs … click here to give whatever amount you feel moved to give.

This is Sarah

Its Sunday today & im feeling sick in midst of an ultimate irony. It’s constantly hot here, even in the rainy season– and i manage to catch a ‘cold’.  A ‘cold’ ive realized has nothing to do with being caused by the conditions of cold weather. More like- the effects of sharing air, love, and space with 60 kids whose cute little noses run and whose tiny little hands are probably all too rarely washed.

I’ve got a cold, and i feel lousy. That indescribable feeling that takes over your head and wipes out all of your energy? Yeah, that one.   Well im sitting in church and i realize that the level of fatigue im feeling….. is NOTHING like any cold fatigue id ever felt before.  NO cold had ever made it feel physically IMPOSSIBLE  to sit straight up, or smile, or move, or think.  No cold had paralyzed me so painfully before. I mean… i had so little energy in my body, that it hurt to be in that church.

This didn’t feel like a cold.

But this feeling did feel entirely familiar. i filed through my memory bank.  Inquiring where the memories of this feeling was stored….

I know this feeling all to well……… when……………..when…………….when………….?

This church.

This church held 8 months of painful Sundays for me. where i sat weighed down by a sudden and incomparable fatigue that failed to appear on any other morning of the week. Each sunday would be a battle within myself. struggling to stay awake and maintain composure as my body literally felt it would spontaneously collapse within itself giving way to the weighty feeling of lacking a single ounce of energy to uphold itself.

I’d began to believe over the course of 8 months that i in fact was just lazy. needed too much sleep that no realistic day would supply.  Accepted that this painful effect was due to something simply wrong with me.

But then i thought back to yesterday morning. when i had that same cold, and sat with kids and felt sick, but — still fine…………. no weighty pain. For the first time, i wondered—- if this was ‘spiritual oppression’ manifested……

A song began to play and we all stood to worship. my rise occurring many moments behind the rest of the congregation. i fought to make myself clap and barely sway back and forth with the rhythm. i forced tiny smiles to my face as members filed in and greeted me with handshakes along the way. the pastors beautiful wife came and sat beside me. i secretly felt loved and honored.

Moments later, in walked Sarah; and a years worth of memories all flooded back to me. She greeted me with that smile of hers that occupies most of her beautiful face and a handshake more firm than most men. i pulled her in for a  hug and decided to hold her awkwardly longer than is normal so she’d know i’d particularly missed her.

Sarah is a remarkably vibrant woman with an unforgiving strength and bluntness.  I can’t tell you the number of times ive been scolded for returning to her country without a gift for her. Most likely she’s not liked by many. shes unabashed, outspoken, and harsh.

Sarah has HIV/AIDS

i met her years ago and was far more intimidated by her at that time.  Her already big eyes stuck out ever further from her skeleton-like face structure. this once beautiful face turned alarming and unfamiliar to the point of discomfort. her skin tugged at her frail bones and was covered in lesions.  It was my first time seeing the stereotypical “face of AIDS” smiling back at me. Sarah was awkward, loud at all the wrong times, joking when unexpected. harassing me and others in languages we did not know.

She was an absolute delight.

No really.

Something in me- so much liked her. Even with her twisted interest in/bitter entitlement to me.  I liked her.  I liked the way she seemed to live as if she didn’t know she had this death sentence of a sickness. the way she seemed to enter your personal bubble as though she didnt carry a disease surrounded in both myths and truths that made people’s skin crawl.  the way she put a demand on the world around her- to still interact with her and encounter her existence REGARDLESS of its desire or lack of comfort.

She was Sarah- she had AIDS and she still was herself.

she’d come hours early to church to sweep cobwebs from the walls. she’d sit in the children’s section to maintain the impossible “order”. she served just as she always would have before the days of AIDS. as though she were just herself.

I’m seeing, she was.

When i knew her then she was possibly reaching her worst. Her weight slumping down to about 90 pounds. she was literally nothing more than skin and bones.  I remember hearing those years ago that during a rain storm Sarah was caught outside in wind.  With its gusts and blows she could hardly stand- let alone walk against it to reach the safe guarded space within the walls of her home.  she would have to give up that fight and accept defeat to the storm.  getting drenched in what probably felt like a hopeless beating against her fragile body.

In these days, Sarah’s family had shunned her.  They would no longer pump water for her at the water hole, and though she could possibly muster up the strength to pump a 20 liter jerkin of water (probably 7 times slower than what it normally takes) she then would in NO WAY have the ability to CARRY it from the water hole, to home; let alone to then bathe, wash clothes and cook with that water.

So instead, now shunned and still driven not to give way to the disease that’s designed to steal your life- she would take little bottles. fill them up. carry them home- since she could those carry. and walk back again and again until she’d collected enough water to complete a menial task required for a day in Sudan.

In response to her family’s rejection- she acted out in love. She would cook for them. use what little money she had and prepare the best dish she could for them. Only to be refused on those days. They said they didn’t want to catch ‘that thing’ she had.

 they Refused to help her. Refused to receive her. Refused to love her.

That was Sarah.

Now its this sunday and im sitting all oppressed and exhausted trying to muddle through this particularly painful 3 hours service. Finally its reaching the end. only worship songs to close. I’m almost out. can almost go rest.

And here comes Sarah.

Forces her way ungracefully though the aisles and the people pushing her way into my arms. she forcefully pulls me from my seat- like only Sarah can do and pulls me against my resistance toward the front and center space of the pulpit to dance with her.

She begins jerking my hand and arm into a traditional dance they do on Sundays. I’m far less than excited since i not only have no idea how to make my body do whatever it is that needs to be done to do this dance move- but i also don’t have the energy to do it even if i did know how.  I’ve already reached a point beyond annoyance before ive looked up into her eyes.

And then i see that smile.

Shes so happy to be dancing.

Sophie- she’s making you worship.

I made up my mind in that half second to let go of my committment to feeling sick and the entitlement that came with it to not have to do anything— and i danced.

Probably not well. but i danced. I hopped when i knew not what they were doing, i laughed when i looked at Sarah and i praised the Lord for a group of Sudanese beauties that were able to stand and dance unto God after all the war and trauma they’d been through.

For that- i danced.

The song ended and Sarah proudly grabbed my hands and held them tightly close to her body as she led me back to my seat.

I smiled at the thought of her brass nature and almost didn’t realize that the sick feeling didn’t come back to that seat with me…

And as i sat- i thought and realized…….

“Hm……………..that Sarah……………………….. She Danced The Sick Right Out Of Me”

Our enemy is a weak and twisted deciever. And our illogical praise of a Father who is good above all else- sends this enemy shuddering out the door in defeat. In the face of spiritual attack and oppression, whether noticed or unnoticed— Decide- to Praise the Father, with MOre than you feel you have to offer there at His feet. It will do 3 things. Win one for the Kingdom in that moment; send the enemy crawling with his tail between his legs; and third- It Will Free You from his grip, into Papa’s arms.

thanks for reading.

soph

Sometimes, So Much More

12 months ago I was in a Ministry School, and one of our speakers challenged us to begin writing a list of our Top 100 Biggest Dreams. He said it would show us two things. One: That we’d see how small and little we dream; which I found to be painfully true as my list wavered at a mere 30something dreams; and Two: that it would show us how intricately God pays attention to our dreams and how astonishing it would be to sit back and watch God guide a course of checking off one by one the dreams on our lists.

This time last year I was sitting on a yellow bus in Guatemala on a Mission trip talking with some of my most cherished and inspiring friends of the time. I had realized by this point the Lord was soon taking me home to my own city, to learn ministry in my own back yard; to love the people in Cincinnati, like I fly thousands of miles to love on Africans. I had realized I had a passion for love relationships, and my friends were tossing around ideas of professions I could seek out upon moving home ; interning for a wedding/event planning business etc. One friend on the bus was giving me advice to ‘go low’ and don’t be afraid to start at a grass roots level. Offer to clean toilets, do whatever- get in there, and learn from the ground up. She spoke and her voice faded in my head and I began to dream.

Around her neck hung a beautiful camera that cost more than my next 5 months wages could pay; in all my trips to Africa, id developed a lofty love for photos and had a strange passion for finding moments and frames to capture beauty in; so much so that my kids in Sudan would always laugh at me for my shameless camera antics- running across the compound at 5 am to catch a sunrise shot before morning devotion. This friend on the bus, at only a few years older than me was running her own booming wedding photography business. She was living the dream. Using her talent to fund her missions life. I would never tell her- because I couldn’t imagine looking at Michael Jordan and telling him, I want to set some of my own records too in this basketball thing. But inside, my heart was pumping at the idea of doing this grassroots thing for a photography company. I tuned back in as she continued with encouragement and suggestions. I smiled and played along with the idea of this event planning deal. And the conversation was over at that.

Fast forward 5 or so months, and ive moved home to Cincinnati. My church asks me to share a bit of my story on something and has some pictures taken of me to go along with it. At the end of the quick & fun photo shoot, as we’re getting into our cars- the photographer pauses and says, “hey, do you clean??” I said “yyyes…”. “Do you babysit?” he says. “why Yes I do,” I said enthusiastically- I was pinched for money and was elated at any open door to make a few extra dollars.

Like that a contact was made. And in a matter of another month or so I came over to discuss working at this husband & wife photography teams’ house to help them make sense of all the chaos. My first day I ran up and down 5 floors spraying and scrubbing and laundering until I was beat. And my first day turned into my first month –and before I knew it I was in part time employment by one of cincinnati’s best wedding photography company’s doing far more than just cleaning and babysitting:). i Actually get to dive into the photography side of their work What a perfect example of ‘going low’ with No Intention of promoting myself- Then God promoting me. Somehow, folding someones underwear can form a sense of trust

Its been 7 or so months now. And in one week I go full time with this company. On that dream list a year ago I wrote that I wanted to own a “real-deal”, nice, expensive camera; ‘like a thousand dollars’. Ha. Only to come to find out id be lucky to find a legit one for $1500. Well that dream was quickly and easily shelved as I knew it was currently financially out of reach. I quickly moved onto pursuing otherdreams through action and prayer. Learning instruments, expanding my depth in worship, seeking the fathers face; all dreams I could imagine attaining. Well here I was! A dream I shelved. A dream I said I cant have right now. And a dream I didn’t see as important to God. A dream I saw as less than his focus. But His focus proved to be right on my heart. Here I am now- getting inexplicable insight and training in a realm I never thought id be able or allowed to explore. Here I am being built up in an area I thought was too lofty for a ‘poor missionary like me’ wasn’t allowed to dream for.

Well the dream answered didn’t stop there.

For years I have been dreaming of the season to come when I would be able to live in my own nest. My own haven. My own space, my own refuge. Missions and schooling and money all contributed to years of not so much that- and now- in His perfect timing- the desire of my heart is blessed..My new bosses own a renovated the house next door to their own; and the inside is a complete surprise and delightful treat. Gloriously high ceilings, hardwood floors, new and old, new kitchen appliances, DREAMY bathroom with my own washer and dryer right there, a Waterfall Shower! With stone slate tiles, and a stone seat in the shower—- yeah- it’s a dream. And I never would have thought I deserved it- or have prayed to be gifted it. And the best part is- they’ve lowered the costs so that its all within my means; they called it “a Jesus discount”

Papa, once again has shown himself to be a Good Dad, and a better one than I daily choose to acknowledge. The day I moved into this dream place, my devotional read: “I am a God of both intricate detail and overflowing abundance. When you entrust the details of your life to me, you are surprised by how thoroughly I answer your petitions. … Your faith is strengthened as you see how precisely I respond to your specific prayers. ..you need not fear that I will run out of resources. Abundance is at the very heart of who I am. Come to me in joyful expectation of receiving all you need- and sometimes much more!…” For my first night in this new place of worship and home of mine, I know that I am at this very moment- Swimming in His Abundance. I sit- at my gifted glass kitchen table; crying. And crying. Thanking him, and sipping on my chai green tea. Engaging my senses, but mostly the ones that go unnoticed- my spirit- is alive and a mush puddle at his feet. He is good. And his goodness in all its intricacies, simply won’t go unnoticed.

Are We Missing the Feast….

Four hours from the city of Pemba- in a village named Okua- we sat in the dirt, with all the women from the village who were willing to hear whatever we had come to say.  A fellow missions student, Uta, from Germany, had stepped up as a leader and was speaking to the women on all of our behalf. I watched their faces as she poured out words of truth to them- and it almost seemed as though they weren’t hearing anything at all—as though nothing was ‘getting in’.  But when the time came for individual prayer- one by one- each and every women stepped forward and placed themselves humbly before us to receive prayer.   Uta would ask them if there was anything specific they wanted prayer for- and from Makua, to Portuguese, to English it would be translated back- the issues of their hearts.

In great humility- they shared great stories of anguish – from being haunted by dreams of people dying, and then the next day , those very people actually dying—to being unable to have children for all the years of their marriage- the huge embarrassment that this is in a culture where a woman’s very value is measured by the number of children she can birth for her husband (often in competition with her husbands other 2 or 3 wives).

One by one- we laid hands on each Mozambican beauty and waited upon the Lord to speak words of revelation to us for each specific woman.  One by one the Lord gave us Higher Eyes and Spiritual Insight to see into what was going on in the Spirit Realm- and to speak in authority against the lies and demonic spirits over their lives.  One thing I’ve learned this season of my life, is that – literally- every thing, IS spiritual.  Everything in this world is spiritual- and agrees with one or another spirit.  Every thought, every word, every feeling, every action- emits a scent- a color, an auroa—in the spirit realm- and joins you with darkness or light there in that moment.

So one by one, Holy Spirit revealed to us the spiritual reality over each woman and the issues they brought to us- and we spoke words of truth and freedom and restoration into their lives.

One of the last women who came and sat before us- was small and beautiful in stature. Her body was young but her eyes and spirit were aged.  As she sat down- Uta got up and left to go to the bathroom.  For a moment I panicked and wondered who would lead us in prayer and usher in words from the Holy Spirit.  It was then that the Lord said- “You.”

I asked the woman what she wanted prayer for- she spoke back to us that she had a condition-

I prepared myself to hear a story of a health issue like a heart problem- or a stomach issue.  Or even a demonic condition like thievery or deception. I had heard before of witchdoctors cursing and possessing villagers to steal things or to cause division in the villages through lies and deception.  So that was the kind of condition I was expecting her to explain— but I was wrong.

“All the time,” she says, “I am always feeling like to eat dirt”…………

….”all the time, I am having this feeling to eat dirt. And I eat it. It is all I eat. And I cannot stop. And it is causing my stomach and head to hurt”…..

WELL YEAH?!…….

For about 4 or 5 seconds I honestly thought to myself, “this woman cant be serious right now… is she seriously talking to us about this…. Don’t eat the dirt then!…. duh.” We asked several times for more details, and clarification from the translators- but sure enough- the womans problem actually was- a compulsion, a possession to eat dirt.

We all looked at each other with blank faces- and confused minds- probably a lot like a lot of you reading this right now—the idea/problem just seemed so far off and completely culturally unrelateable- like it obviously had to come from “another world”.  And then just like the flip of a switch, Holy Spirit spoke to me about what was happening in the spirit realm in this woman’s life.  This problem- this almost forced compulsion to eat dirt for meals- to eat the very dirt we walk on, sit on, and in this culture pee on….. for that to be her very nourishment— this was now so clearly a spiritual issue.  The Lord gave me quick flashes of visions of this woman kneeling to the dirt floor of her house, scraping up pile after pile of dirt, and shamefully shoveling it into her mouth with painstreaked tears running down her cheeks- an inner confusion and self-loathing.  God revealed to me as I stared into her downcast eyes- the lies that were attacking her in the spirit realm and literally possessing her to treat herself as ‘nothing’ in the physical realm.  With what the Lord was showing me, and with Uta still nowhere around, I spoke up and gave words of truth to her and prayed against lies from Satan that lessened her to the likeness of the insects on the ground.  By the leading of the Holy Spirit, we interpreted this compulsion that her mind didn’t understand, but spirit fully felt the effects of.  The Lord put it so strongly on my heart to tell her that she was worth an unfathomable amount to Him; and that there was a feast specifically for her.  Satan wanted her to believe that she was only worth being fed the dust of the earth- But her Father- the very One who created her, said she was worth a feast , a feast on His provision, a feast on His untouchable love for her.  A feast on the freedom given to her through the work that was done on the cross. A feast on the fruits of the spirit that he wanted her to supernaturally encounter- even in this desolate corner of the Mozambican bush.  As this was all being translated, Uta came back; she asked me what the woman’s prayer request had been- I told her the woman was possessed to eat dirt.  Our eyes held onto each other for a moment and I could feel that the Lord was revealing to her the depth of the lies that Satan had been feeding this woman about her self worth.

As Uta came closer to me, with a smile on her face, I noticed a cup and piece of bread in her hands that I hadn’t noticed when she first walked up.  Her spirit smiled from within her and she whispered in my ear that when she got up to go to the bathroom, the Lord told her that we needed to take communion with the women… Now.  So she went and found a piece of bread and pulled out the water coloring that she had felt God tell her to take along to the bush when she was packing for outreach.  There we sat in the dirt, and shared communion with this beautiful prized daughter of the Most High King, and explained to her that Jesus’ very body and blood poured out for us- was the very link for us to receive a never ending feast- on all of the Lords Goodness— and that it belonged to her. That whenever the enemy came into her mind with lies that she’s worth only the nourishment of dirt- that the truth is that there is a never ending, life giving, joy providing nourishment—just for her.  A feast upon the body and the blood of the man who lacked nothing, and gave it all to reconcile her back to her Father, so that she could sit  at His table- and feast on His goodness.

Oh how wonderful it is when bible stories become real and something in you finally and truly grasps the beauty and grandness of what really happened way back when. It all made me wonder— was I missing out on the feast in my life that He had prepared for  me? ~Not only had He prepared a feast for me- but He let Himself be killed— for me to never live under any identity of self worth other than that of a Son of God.  What areas in my life was I settling for dirt, settling for the lies that I am not worthy of ALL that God has in His spiritual storehouses.  What fruits of the spirit was I depriving myself of by believing a lie that there was something wrong, or something lacking in me- that I didn’t deserve His fullness—how much of His presence had I never come to His table to receive?—- how much of the Feast, was I missing out on too….

It really did seem so ridiculous for this woman to actually eat-dirt and wonder why it made her sick…….. but really….. how much more foolish is it then—to turn to anything but the Feast of my Fathers presence for nourishment— and then wonder why I’m not fully satisfied and complete from day to day..

Love, Sophie.

The Man We Found On the Brink of Death

Another night-  another village; an hour further into the bush.  Power lines disappeared and house structures grew more and more indigenous.  It was the most real and beautiful picture of Africa I had seen.  No excessive greenery, or mystical bodies of water.  No exotic animals, or enchanting African music- just His people. His children, far far out- completely isolated- left to their own devices- without influence, without interaction or interruption. Just His people- waiting to be reached.

After setting up camp, a few of us wandered out into the village just to sit and talk with people.  Little did we know we were approaching a divine appointment-
Somehow we came upon a family who needed prayer for a brother- Vitorine.  We stood outside their hut as they prepared the inside to be presentable for visitors.  Soon we entered in to a bare bones- completely essentials only house.  It was dark and dreary, but the air was light.   There in the corner, laid a body, curled up and completely covered by a blanket.  A faint yet feverishly dissipated breath sent almost unnoticeable movements from beneath the blanket-
Across from this mass on the floor, sat 4 family members- all silent and emotionless.  We began to speak- and found out that the man under the covers had been deathly sick for a year.  He couldn’t speak, could hardly move, and had over time, lost the ability to eat.  All he could do, was drink water.

In a painfully extenuated conversation of translations from English to Portuguese to Makua, and back- they admitted that in desperation they had turned to witchdoctors for help.  We told them who we had come to represent, and his incomparable power for healing.  They said they wanted it- and we spoke back and forth telling them they had to take out anything the witchdoctors had given them- that Jesus wouldn’t share his glory, and that we wanted so desperately to help- They all hesitated and glanced at each other nervously- almost as though they truly didn’t know in their hearts whether they could let go of their emotional attachments to their witchcraft idols.  But as they looked over at the heap of pain lying under the blanket in the corner- finally, they said yes.  They agreed- they would take the witchcraft items out for one day- we would pray- and if they saw healing- they would burn the items completely.  Before we could even stand up to pray for him- a weak voice came out from under the blanket.  One of the women- maybe an aunt- quickly moved down to the ground beside him to hear what he was saying.  He wanted his lawyer, he said.  We straightened up and looked at each other blank faced—he wanted his ‘lawyer’? We looked at the dirt floor beneath us and grass roof above us and couldn’t believe what we were hearing.

His family translated that he wanted his lawyer to come and make the decision of whether or not they should take out the witchcraft items from the house.  They sent for his lawyer, and as we sat waiting- the woman knelt down beside him, and pulled back the blanket to pour water into his mouth.  His bright round eyes were startlingly beautiful and his cheek bones protruded from his face like nothing I had ever seen before. There literally was nothing to his face but skin and bones, and his lips were layered in a white filmy substance from the painful coughs we had heard all throughout our conversation of translations. God revealed to me as I looked at him, that this is the very kind of deathly illness that we will only find tucked away and hidden in the forgotten places and homes of the earth- and that His heart is so greatly burdened for His hands to reach to all of the Vitorine’s- sick and hidden from any real help.

He took a few sips and they covered his face back up.  My heart wondered if he always laid covered or if they’d done it in shame in our presence.  I wanted nothing more than to see all of him, and lay eyes on his broken body.

His lawyer came in and we explained it all to him. We appealed that their witchcraft dependence had done nothing for them in all this time- and that this mans life was literally in his hands.  He sat in contemplation for some time, and then said- Okay.
And like a swift movement of the wind, the two women stood up and began taking down and picking up items prescribed to them by the witchdoctor- and taking them out of the house.  And it just continued & continued & continued- it was like, from the woodwork’s of this bare bones house- with nearly nothing at all to live off of inside- they just kept pulling & pulling & pulling out ALL  this stuff. And it was just stuff!  Three wooden bowls. A stick with a stone hanging from it by a string, a feather in the window, old batteries tied together with sticks and ropes, rocks & stones, a pot full of dirt—it was all NOTHING, and there was so much of it! My heart began to break for the emptiness and nothingness that filled this place and that they had been selling this mans life to. Soon I couldn’t hold it in any longer, and I fell under a holy weep and I cried out- “what IS this Jesus? What IS this?” At that moment I knew I felt what Jesus felt for just how lost and deceived not only just they had been- but so many of US are too; so lost and misguided in our lives filled with emptiness that never does the trick- when he- Jesus, has it all.

Finally it was all out of the house, and we began to pray.

I laid down next to his grass matt and buried my face in the red dirt.  Tears streaked down my face and the dirt swallowed them up as I sent out broken pleas for the lord to show himself in this barren hut.  My fingers reached all the way around his leg and came back to touch my palm.  Tongues from the spirit flowed off my lips as I knew no words to describe how desperately we needed Jesus to come through for this man- we needed to see the same power and love and spirit- that raised Jesus from the dead- to come and show how alive and real that same power and spirit is today- here- for him- for his family- for their faith- for their lives.

We cried out and prayed until a spirit lifted.  We sat up and brushed the dirt from our bodies as they poured more water into his mouth and recovered his face.  As we stood and left the house, I think we all couldn’t help but wonder if they’d have the courage to not bring their items back into the house.  As foreign as it all seemed to us- our spirits understood the deeply rooted false soul ties they’d formed with these rocks and sticks and pots of dirt that they’d placed their faith in.  And how lonely that night would be without the mental comforts of a power greater than themselves, protecting his fragile life from slipping away. My heart was breaking for them as I ran my fingertips over the door posts of the hut pleading the blood of Jesus over the family in their lostness and loneliness. ..But Joy hit my soul as Jesus reminded me that he’d meet them there in that lonely place and reveal to them true comfort.

I prayed feverishly all night, even as we continued with another healing and prayer outreach to the masses.  And had I not been hours and hours out of phone reception- I would have sent urgent prayer requests to you all that night- for the burden of this mans life and restoration was so heavy on my heart.

The next morning after a 6 am baptism celebration- the few of us trudged back down the same village path as the night before, in anxious anticipation of the miracle at hand.  It probably wasn’t even until the very moment that we approached their house, that my mind wandered to the thought of ‘what if’. ‘What if’ God hadn’t shown up and what if our chance was lost to dispelled one more family’s reliance on witchcraft and claim their lives back for Christ.

We all slowly stepped out of the sunlight, into the dark cool air of their hut.  There in the corner on the grass mat, was the same starved man.  Only he was Sitting Upright- leaned back on a relative who sat against the wall to prop his body up.  Half uncovered we finally saw the shape of his body and I for the first time wondered the age of this man.  If I looked long enough at his face and just imagined it without a years worth of starvation and physical deterioration- I could feel he was probably in his 20’s or 30’s.  But the volume of his body, was literally that of a 9 or 10 year old’s.  In all of my time between South Africa, Sudan, and here- he was the only person who I wouldn’t have ever dared asked to take a picture of.  Even in the past, in the face of immense malnutrition- and with pure heart, and intent to only document and relay the message of the brokenness on this earth- Never had I reached a place like this before where I wouldn’t have dared.  This was almost off limits; sacred ground.

As we sat again on the ground, the same woman from the night before, knelt down at this side and timidly lifted a spoon from a cup of porridge.  She put it to his lips and for a frozen moment in time- it was like all of our spirits took notice of the greatness of what was about to happen.  With our hearts frozen, he separated his lips and lifted his chin and took his first bite.  With ease he swallowed and she filled the spoon again.  Over and over- she fed spoon after spoon, after spoon, into is beautiful mans body as we all quietly prayed prayers of supernatural restoration through each bite; prayers of praise and prayers of awe.

Finally- he shook his head ‘no’- and she put the bowl down.  We all sat in awe, and his family had a new light in their eyes.

‘When was the actual last time he ate?’ I asked—- ‘…… We can’t even remember,… but this is the first time.’

Such a spirit of joy filled the room with each minute that passed as we waited to see if he’d be able to keep it down, and we saw that he in fact would.  A new reality and possibility was settling in all around his family and it seemed the atmosphere of their existence had literally shifted.  That morning- before we left- their entire family accepted Jesus as God in the flesh who’s power was alive and real, not just in the world but in their very own lives.  They told us with amused smirks on their faces that this ‘doctor’ they’d been going to for all this time- couldn’t even save himself from sickness when it hit him- and that they wanted to tell him they’d found a new doctor- Jesus Christ.  They all shook their heads in firm agreement as they shared that they were going to tell the witchdoctor himself to come and remove all of the meaningless foolishness from their house so that they could turn their eyes to the living power of Life.  And finally before we left-

Vitorine himself testified to the change he felt in his own body- closed his eyes, and bowed his head- as he prayed a prayer of his belief in Jesus Christ the Messiah sent to bring us complete and total restoration.

That day was one of the most beautiful days of my life- and I truly pray ill never forget the joy that seemingly was continually poured out inside me as my spirit wrapped itself around the beauty of what Gods mission in this world is- to bring good news that there is power and presence that transcends all spiritual barriers, and life circumstance, and has the grandness to reach out to every single tribe & village and bring it LOVE, and restoration.

Until Next Time,

Sophie b.

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The Power of His Touch

We hopped off the flatbed truck with stiff legs after a four hour ride into the “bush” of villages unreached.  The sun had set behind the stereotypical African trees & mountains and night was setting in.  So its no surprise looking back, that as the ‘natural’ darkness set in around us- so too did the supernatural darkness.  We set up our tents in the pitch black as groups of children stood behind invisible lines only inches from us- staring at us- hardly whispering a word.  I thought to myself how funny it was that we placed our flimsy tents between hundreds of village huts, trusting that this single layer of vinyl and a zipper- would keep us safe from all that lurked around us.

As the night went on- Heidi and her team arrived at the village to help in the nights’ ministry- And  before we knew it- we were thrown out into a crowd of over 500, who’d gathered to find out what the pale people with loud speakers were there to say. Kids, mothers, teens and grown men gathered in tight-  Some pressed in excitedly to hear what Heidi was saying while others stood with arms crossed and resentment for our presence jumping from their bones.

Heidi called us Mission Students to go out into the crowd and pray for anyone with pain who wanted healing- Without a thought, out we walked, squeezing through hundreds to get to the one- praying for anyone who would have the courage to raise a hand and admit they needed help they hadn’t found in their own cultures of Islam and witchcraft.

As I walked toward a group of women with raised arms- a line of 5 men, all with Muslim caps on- stood and glared at me with deep dark eyes.  A glare that could have shot straight through my soul to the deepest parts of my being. I stared right back at them and continued on praying. The desperation for ‘something more’ sent the masses pushing towards each of us mission students. I stood completely surrounded by boys, men and women, pulling at me- pointing to parts of their bodies, shouting words in Makua that I couldn’t understand.  And it would take everything inside me to zone out all the chaos- and press into prayer for the one within my hands. A desperate young man squeezed his way through the crowd and fumbled his way up to me- he was so incredibly desperate for prayer. He pointed to his head- and so there I laid my hands and began to pray- On the microphone, Heidi shouts out something in Portuguese- the whole crowd responds “Si!!!” She shouts and rejoices in Portuguese still, and the whole crowd goes wild.  Still praying, I look up to see what was happening- just then she translates that the whole village testified that this man standing with her had been deaf as long as they knew him- and that he was now hearing!  The lord was taking His ground.  And as the hours went on- and healing was entering in – the enemy must have become irritated- and a spirit of mockery and chaos set in to distract the crowd from the actual works of the Lord that were taking place before them.

The men standing beside me as I prayed- were nearly bent over, shaking with laughter.  I could feel the spirit of mockery all over them.  For a split second my spirit flirted with succumbing to intimidation and fear of the hate I could feel radiating from their bones for what we were doing. They didn’t believe at all- in the power of what we were doing-

I could feel as I prayed over his head that their incessant laughter and mocking was bringing shame and doubt into the heart of the one I was praying for.  The laughter got louder and they literally started knocking into us as their bodies broke out in demonic mockery.

Before my mind even made the decision to- my spirit took my hand and stuck it to the forehead of the one closest to me laughing-  Instantly, his body went still, his face fell calm- and his laugh slid away.  His friends around him went silent in confusion- as peace took over his every inch.  With my hand pressed firm to his head- I prayed against the spirit of mockery and distraction.  I prayed peace to overcome doubt- and his whole body went calm.  I was probably almost as shocked as them that just my hand on his skin had had this enveloping affect on his whole being.  If you’d asked my brain what reaction I thought my gesture would bring- it would have said I might have gotten hit or pushed down. But Jesus laughed as he showed me the kind of dominion we really have in every circumstance- even in the enemy’s territory.

As I prayed for the spirit over the crowd, through this one man- he finally moved from stillness- to a holy receiving  posture- and outstretched his arms to receive prayer for himself.  A literal spirit and weight lifted as his arms and palms raised up, and his friends standing by, stepped back silently, in reverence of a spiritual breakthrough which they could not understand.

thanks for reading

sophie b.

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feeling cannot dictate Truth.

So im here in Mozambique- and im at this amazing Missions School with all of these amazing speakers and literal amazing world changers— and i came here with all of these expectations for expanding my realm of encounters with God—— and here  I am….. and– I just cant feel Him. I cant feel him at all.  Not even in worship. And that’s usually where I feel Him most. For the first two weeks of this missions school, I was literally tormented because I could not feel Him.  Certainly not in the new and supernaturally extravagant ways I came here expecting to feel Him.  But also not even in the simple ways I had in the past. And suddenly in this drought, those “old simple ways” of feeling the Lord – seemed so wonderful and a luxury id now give anything for.

Being in this place where everyone is so spiritually charismatic and everyone is so demonstrative with their emotional encounters with the Lord, I felt so deprived. So lacking, and so hungry for what I so clearly wasn’t attaining; His Presence.   And so, for weeks I toiled and toiled with what it could be that was blocking me from feeling God like I wanted to; like I used to; in the ways that helped me know He was real. I toiled with what I could “do better” or “think better” to make Him want to be descend down upon me; what I had to sacrifice to make myself “more fitting” of a landing place for His presence.  I just fought and fought and agonized over why I wasn’t getting what I came here to get!?

Then One night, after a quite charismatic meeting- and after nearly everyone else had stumbled back to their rooms drunk in the spirit or high from a prophecy that had been spoken over them—I… sat still on the wall. With a straight face and hard heart.  I told the Lord that I wasn’t going anywhere until I felt Him ( actually at this point I think I was still under the naïveté that getting my “baptism of the Holy Spirit” was something I could YANK from the heavens, and so I think my actual terminology was – “God im not LEAVING this place, until I get my baptism!”) Anyways- it didn’t come. No one had noticed me to lay hands on me, or prophecy over me. Or even just PRAY for me. And so with the numbers dwindling- the heartbreak set in that my chance to receive His presence had been missed for the night. And just then, a man from our class walked over to me in deep deep prayer.

“Oh! Good! Good!” I thought in my heart, “Now he’ll pray for me and petition with me, and call down the Spirit to finally be in my presence.”

He didn’t though. He didn’t even touch me. He seemed to pray over me, for a minute and then walked away.

“What God?! What?! I told you! I wasn’t leaving here until you came! Doesn’t this show you I’m hungry for you? Don’t you like that? Why don’t you want to come down and be with me?!”

In just another moment, the man came back over with a woman. He said to her, “Right here. Put your hand here.. Don’t you feel that?”

They moved their hands slowly thorough the air as if they were brushing their fingers through something. But they weren’t even touching me. “yeah”, she said, and a look of wonder came across her face.

“Yeah… its all the way from here at her toes- up to her head!….. Never have I felt one like this..”

I had no idea what he was talking about

“This angel is covering her entire body. I’ve never felt an angel like this” he said, and walked away with a peaceful smile on his face.

Now I had never heard of “feeling angels”, and even though I couldn’t feel God at all and the only feeling I felt if anything- was the feeling of emptiness and neglect, even though all of this- I knew in my spirit that he wasn’t a wacko.

And for the first time in Mozambique, tears filled my eyes until I could no longer see. And my heart sunk in the painfully beautiful realization that even though I couldn’t feel Him at all, and I’d been spending all this energy on getting him to just finally come down and be near me- that all along- he was just inches from my skin- so uniquely and completely covering me in His presence from head to toe.

So finally, I picked up my bags, stood up, and left- because I knew that even in the midst of feeling nothing- he had come down into my presence.

Humbled by the truth,

sophie b.

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, love and thanks!!