CHAPTER 6

GIVING BIRTH TO A DREAM

If you’ve never had a God-sized dream that scared you half to death, then you haven’t really come to life. If you’ve never been overwhelmed by the impossibility of your plans, then your God is too small.

MARK BATTERSON

I RETURNED HOME a different person. I knew what I had experienced demanded a response. And a new normal. The next few weeks I felt disoriented, trying to navigate my way back into my family after experiencing such a radical change. What would normal look like for our family now? I didn’t know what God wanted from me, but I knew He had set me on a new path.

That first week home I was so emotional. Tears would come while I was cooking dinner because I would remember the children who had no food. I would weep while I ran my kids’ bathwater because I had seen how a widow in a remote village had carried water for miles. I would disappear into my room and kneel down next to my bed and sob. I cried for the people I had met, and I cried for me.

I was so relieved to be home again with my family, but home felt different. Long into those first new nights home, Terrell would hold and comfort me. He reminded me of what I knew to be true: if my traipsing across the globe had changed one life, it was enough. He was patient and loving, trying to understand the new woman he was holding.

“Nothing makes sense,” I would say. It was so hard not to compare how others lived with how I lived. I was trying to make the two fit together. I had taken so much for granted, and I had so much. I knew God loved me, but I also knew He loved the people I’d met who had nothing.

“Let’s start with what does make sense, okay? Let’s just take a small step. What feels right today?” he gently asked.

I had just seen the behind-the-scenes operation of Compassion International, and I told him how proud I was to work with them. “I believe in what Compassion is doing. When I met Ephantus and Makena, two of our sponsored kids, and saw the letters we’d written them, some of their most-prized possessions, I knew this organization was the real deal. Honey, sponsoring kids makes sense to me,” I said. And for the first time since I’d returned, I felt excited.

In the weeks after I returned from Kenya, I started to sort out my thoughts in my blog posts.

MARCH 14, 2010

I keep thinking about Vincent. I cannot reconcile his lack of every basic need and such fullness in his heart and life. The two don’t mix. In America, in my town, in my home and heart, I complain about a dirty house, yard work, needing a “break” from cooking, or my children. Every basic need is met, PLUS more luxuries than I can count. With so much, how can my joy be incomplete?

How is it that I can see true peace in one of the largest slums in the world, where the smell of death is prominent, and it’s rare in the most blessed nation? I’m not sure how to mix these worlds together; how to show my spouse all that I’ve seen and all that my heart holds, or parent my kids without guilt.

I don’t know how to find myself again. I don’t know how to return to my everyday life while children still need to be sponsored. But I’m trying. I am so thankful for this place. Although foreign and uncomfortable, I’m not alone. God is right here with me, leading me into new places.

I may be out of Africa, but it will never be out of me.

MARCH 20, 2010

I can see clearly that I’ve become like my culture, living for myself, my family. Wasting a lot of time and money on things that simply don’t matter to me anymore. Choosing ignorance over truth. Pretending poverty isn’t my problem or my responsibility.

I’ve asked God to reveal a new normal, to take this personal revelation and my everyday life and mix them together, creating something entirely different. And I’ve given Him the heavy burden that comes with such a revelation. His burden is easy and His yoke is light, so it’s a pretty good exchange for me.

Terrell was a mess while I was in Kenya, letting God do a good work in him. Turns out we just make a giant mess together!

What does all this look like practically? Well. Less for us, more for others. We had a family meeting and talked openly with our kids. We asked their opinions and talked about Matthew 25:31-46 and what that might mean for our family. (It’s also probably not a coincidence that after working diligently to be debt free, as of this week, we don’t have a car payment anymore. We just didn’t know God already had plans for that money.)

Children are amazing. They voiced their own ideas and concerns and thoughts. I think they naturally want to give; they just usually follow the lead of their parents. Ouch.

APRIL 30, 2010

I’ve been home from Africa for nearly two months. I probably should be “over” my trip now, back to my old self. Living the life I left.

But I’m not the same. I don’t ever want to be the same again. I don’t really know where God is leading me (and my family), but it’s far away from the person I was two months ago.

I’m discovering that my materialism is layered like an onion . . . layer one has been removed, but I think I’m just getting started on clearing out the stuff (in my home and heart).

I thought I had stuff; turns out, it had me.

I want Christ. He is much greater than all the riches of the world. He fills empty places. And cleans up cluttered hearts.

Just weeks before my trip, we had requested an international adoption packet from America World Adoption Association. My twin sister, Kara, and her family had adopted a precious little girl from Ethiopia the year before. We had fallen in love with her and seen the beauty of adoption firsthand. It had my children urging us to do the same, and many of our friends had grown their families in the same way. We knew we wanted to help orphans in extreme poverty, and honestly, this seemed like the only real option to do so.

But then I went to Africa and met Susan outside of Nairobi. She was an orphan who lived with her grandmother and four other orphaned cousins; she was fortunate to be part of one of the Compassion projects. Compassion, with the help of the child’s sponsor, had helped Susan’s grandmother start a business that not only provided for this unconventional family, it kept them together. Even in the midst of extreme deprivation according to most people’s standards, Susan seemed happy and whole. I couldn’t get her smiling face out of my mind. Deep down, I wanted to see this kind of orphan care flourish, and I longed to be a part of it, even though I had no idea what that meant. It was a scary and exciting idea at the same time.

Susan and Kristen

Susan and me

Don’t get me wrong. I admire people who adopt children from other countries. It is the right choice for many people (my dear sister included), but it is expensive. Is this what you want our family to do, God? As we prayed and asked hard questions, I knew one thing for sure —for the same $45,000 we were willing to spend to bring one child into our family, we could sponsor ten children through Compassion International for the next twelve years. At a time when nothing in the world made sense to me, that did. And so less than a week after my trip, we sold our little pop-up camper, withdrew money from our savings account, and paid off our minivan so we could free up monthly money. The five of us gathered around my laptop and chose seven more precious children to sponsor, adding to the three we were already sponsoring, many of them orphaned or in HIV-affected areas of the world.

When we began the application process for an international adoption, we had shared the news with some family and friends. It was a huge decision, and we wanted the support of our community. But after we had decided as a family to use the money for sponsoring multiple children instead, we knew we would have to announce we might not adopt after all. Awkward. Because who does that? When we closed the international adoption folder on our desk the night we sponsored seven more kids, we grieved (saying it out loud was extremely difficult to do). It felt like we had lost a child, but we knew we were following our hearts.

“I feel like this is just the beginning,” I said.

“Me too,” Terrell agreed.

He stood up and started to walk away, but he turned and said, “What else feels right?”

I’ll never forget my answer: “Africa feels right. It feels like we are supposed to do something there to help a lot of people.”

And as vague and crazy as it sounds, that was all we had. But it was enough. My loving husband smiled and peace filled my heart. “Okay. Let’s pray and ask God for the next step.”

We didn’t have any other clues or leads, but there was one saving grace: Terrell and I were in the same place. He was excited about the unknown and believed God had sent me to Africa so that when I returned we’d be on the same radical page —ready to wake up from the American Dream.

I continued to write and process on my blog.

JUNE 9, 2010

I like plans. Carefully laid plans that go perfectly, um, planned.

I work hard at organizing my home, the budget, my blog, my life. When I’m at Point A, I define Point B and take the best route there. Lately, nothing has gone as planned. And I know that’s how life is at times.

But this time it’s different.

Africa happened and I changed, my life and plans right along with it. I don’t even know what Point B is anymore. Our family is on an uncertain journey and I don’t know where it will lead.

This week, we’ve pushed aside our organized life, and we’ve opened our hearts and future to the possibility of something we would have thought insane six months ago.

Getting to this point hasn’t been easy. I’ve fretted and worried money into reserve, and now I just give it away. I’ve hoarded and decorated, and now I don’t care. I’ve tried to make sense of this new, unexpected journey.

The other night as I soaked in the tub and tried to clear my mind, crowded with thoughts of an uncertain future, I heard these words:

enjoy the journey

Enjoy The Journey

ENJOY THE JOURNEY

Point A and B are destinations; it’s the getting there, the place in-between, where we grow and live. It was exactly what I needed to hear: enjoy the journey. . . . I am.

Deep down I knew God was calling us to something radical. And even though radical terrified me, I was more afraid of not following God. When I had followed Him into Kenya, I’d never felt more alive or closer to Him. Radical was an unknown, and we had no idea what it might look like.

Over the next few days, an e-mail I’d received from a fellow blogger two weeks after I’d returned from my trip kept running through my mind. It contained a link to a CNN article about one of the slums we had visited in Kenya, the one where God had spoken to me. The reporter had interviewed the mother of a young teenage daughter named Beatrice, who had tragically died from a botched abortion. When her father died from AIDS, Beatrice became a prostitute to provide money for her family. Her mother was unaware of what her daughter was doing. And then the teenager got pregnant. She was afraid to tell her mother and decided to take matters into her own hands. Abortions are illegal in Kenya, but backstreet solutions are easy to find in the slum. Beatrice found someone to take care of the problem with a knitting needle. Not long after, the young girl, whose mother described her as such a happy child, died of an infection, one of many girls just like her who prostituted themselves for food and died from abortions gone wrong.[9]

This was the first time I’d read the article, and I cried as I read the words. I traced the picture of the alley with my finger and wondered if I had walked that same dirty path. I couldn’t sleep. I had to know if this is how some girls really live in the country I had fallen in love with.

After a sleepless night, I thought of Maureen, the only person I knew in Kenya. I sent her a message on Facebook with a link to the CNN article, and I asked her if it was true. “Is this really what happens in the slum?”

She responded the next day, “Oh my, yes, this article is very true. It’s a terrible problem. I even know some former classmates who are living this way.”

Without thinking twice, I said, “Can you find someone —a church or group —who helps girls in this situation? I’d like to send them some money.” Maureen told me she would.

I’d like to say the next step for our family was clear and direct and easy. But we were about to enter four of the hardest months of our lives. We were in that in-between place, desperate to say yes to God but not knowing the exact question. With the help of Google, we researched organizations and pursued every open door we could find that pointed us toward helping people in Africa. None of them seemed to be what we felt God was calling us to do. We read When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert and began to educate ourselves on the culture we felt called to. We wanted to help, but we were so fearful of making mistakes in our ignorance. Corbett and Fikkert address not only physical poverty but being poor in spirit —that’s why it takes much more than handouts and donations to alleviate it. Terrell applied for jobs with nonprofits while I searched mission-based organizations, which is all just a fancy way to say we had no idea what to do.

After a couple of months, we had narrowed down our options to Mercy Ships, an amazing organization that operates large floating hospitals. We applied to live on the Africa Mercy, which visits ports along the coast of Africa and performs life-saving operations for impoverished people. Volunteer missionaries live and serve on the former cruise ship. Terrell and I applied —my husband as a chaplain and me as a writer —and spent a week going through the orientation process to see if this was what God was calling our family to do. There wasn’t a family cabin available and they told us it could be six months until we heard from them, so we returned home and back to square one. Weeks turned into months, and we were still waiting on the open door.

And then I got an e-mail from Maureen that simply said, “Kristen, I have searched and looked and asked many people, but I cannot find anyone who is helping pregnant girls in my country. It is a very big need. We need to pray and ask God to send someone to help.”

My heart sank as I read her words. I got an uncomfortable feeling. I may have even said out loud, “Um, no, God. I can’t start something.” I put Google to work again and searched for someone —anyone —to help these girls. Maureen and I prayed that God would send someone. Here’s a word of caution: be careful what you pray for! Although Terrell and I continued to search for open doors, praying and beseeching God to reveal His plan to us, I couldn’t stop thinking about those desperate girls in Kenya.

Maureen was coming to the United States for the first time! We were as excited as she was with the news. She would be arriving in a month with a Student Life group, an interdenominational ministry that helps people know Christ through ministering at conferences and summer camps. Maureen’s group was staying at a camp in Oklahoma, just an hour from my in-laws’ farm. I had told my family so much about Maureen that when I suggested detouring our planned summer camping trip so everyone could meet her, they were excited.

I was still sharing my heart on my blog, looking for ways to make a difference. Through a friend, I met Dinah Monahan, founder of Living Hope Women’s Centers, and wanted my readers to know what she was doing.

JULY 7, 2010

I can’t explain it, but I know in my heart that God wants to use my blog to mobilize mothers to do good things for Him. I don’t have time for a catchy logo or cute graphic —there are hungry babies in Ethiopia right now and there is a baby formula shortage.

My dot was connected with Dinah, one of America’s greatest pro-life leaders. Besides setting up more than thirty maternity homes in America and her first in Africa, she is using her pro-life warehouse to ship formula into the suitcases of people traveling to Africa. It is saving the lives of precious starving babies in four of Ethiopia’s orphanages, some in remote areas.

Dinah is running low on formula and that’s where your dot comes in: there are hungry babies in Africa, and we can help them.

It is a fact that 30,000 (yes, you read that right: thirty thousand) children die every day from hunger and preventable disease. That number is so large it’s hard to comprehend. But your donation will make a difference to one. Your gift of formula will save a life.

That day we raised more than two thousand dollars for baby formula.

A couple of days later, I actually said these words out loud to Terrell: “What do you think about us helping pregnant girls in Kenya?” The words were foreign on my tongue, but I couldn’t hold them in.

“I think that’s crazy.”

“You mean as radical and crazy as selling all our possessions and moving onto a hospital boat with our young children?” I had him there.

He began firing hard questions at me —like how would we do this and where would we get money and are you nuts?

“We could hire Maureen,” I blurted out. “When she goes back to Kenya at the end of the summer, she’ll be graduating and will be looking for a job. We could open a maternity home patterned after ones here in the States. It’s not a common practice in Kenya, but I’ve been doing some reading, and there is one in Ethiopia.”

Terrell cautioned me about my enthusiasm, but he didn’t commit me to a mental facility, so that was a good sign. I hit my knees and began talking to God about this crazy idea. “God, show us what to do. How do we help these girls in need?” I knew what we were considering had to be God’s idea. I clung to Ephesians 3:20: “God can do anything, you know —far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us” (The Message).

I e-mailed Maureen and got straight to the point: “Would you be willing to help us help these young girls?” I hit “Send” and immediately jumped into educating myself on this global problem and possible solutions.

A few days passed, and Terrell and I were in the kitchen cooking dinner together when I heard my phone ping. An e-mail from Maureen! I read her response silently. I read it the second time aloud to my husband, and I nearly dropped the phone as the significance of her response hit me. I gasped, got pale, and gripped Terrell’s arm.

Yes. Maureen said yes.

I was terrified beyond belief but relieved to have an answer.

A few days later, we pulled our rented RV into the Student Life Camp in Oklahoma. We had gotten special permission from Compassion International and Student Life to spend time with Maureen. We saw each other from across the room and ran to hug one another. It was so amazing introducing her to my family; it was surreal the way my two worlds finally collided. The team was setting up for their busy week of camp. We helped Maureen put together a replica slum shanty in the foyer so students could see the type of home she grew up in. We hung dozens of child sponsorship packets in the display, hoping that each one would be taken during the week.

Later that night, we sat around the little table in the RV and our family dreamed up Mercy House Kenya with Maureen, although it would be weeks later before we came up with the official name.

Maureen with Kristen and her family

Introducing my kids to Maureen

In between Maureen’s e-mail and our RV trip, I had contacted Dinah and asked if she would help guide us through the process of establishing a maternity home in Kenya. Maureen wasn’t familiar with the idea of a residential maternity home, so I explained the concept. It would be a home where the girls would live like a family and we could offer them counseling and medical care.

“I have a new friend, Dinah, who just opened a home like this in Ethiopia. I asked her if you could visit the home and train there,” I explained to Maureen, who was learning the fine art of shelling sunflower seeds from Terrell while we talked.

For the next couple of days, we dreamed and tentatively planned and spoke words that excited us and made us quake with fear. But the more we talked, the more it felt like God was guiding us. We came up with an initial plan to register as a nonprofit in both countries —an overwhelming and intimidating task in itself. I would begin raising awareness and funds in the United States, and Maureen would begin researching real estate options for a residential home and staff job descriptions.

In between dreamstorming, we loved on this very special girl. It’s common in Kenya for younger people to refer to people older than themselves as “Mom” and “Dad” as a way to show respect. Maureen honored us with those names, and it began to feel like she belonged to us. Our kids adored her like a big sister, and she fit right into our family like a daughter. We took her to Walmart and asked her what she needed. We longed to bless her as she had blessed us. I knew she had very few earthly possessions, so we filled the cart with shirts and jeans, a pair of shoes, her first blow-dryer (that would work with an adapter overseas), and a bottle of perfume. We had so much fun!

Maureen and I had a very simple desire: we wanted to help pregnant girls. We didn’t know how we would do it, but we knew that was what we were supposed to do. Terrell and our kids were there for every conversation, interjecting their thoughts and ideas. We asked Maureen what she would be making on a teacher’s salary if she had chosen that route, and I sighed in relief when I realized the small income from my blog would cover her salary. We hired Maureen to be the executive director, not knowing exactly what we were saying yes to, but we understood the magnitude of what we were considering and it scared us to death.

Several times over the course of the weekend, the audacity of this crazy idea hit us. Terrell and I would pass a knowing look over our kids’ heads or he would squeeze my hand in reassurance or just whisper the name of Jesus in my ear. We wavered between extreme exhilaration and total nausea, but we simply could not deny that we felt the presence of God in our conversations and the Holy Spirit leading us.

When we hugged good-bye, we made promises to talk regularly over Skype, and this time we knew we’d see each other again. In the meantime, we had a lot of work to do. In my kitchen that day with heart pounding, I knew opening a home in Kenya to help pregnant girls was in direct response to what I had seen and experienced there. And while I still had more questions than answers, I knew our labor was birthing a God-sized dream.

UNPINNED FAITH

Birthing something new is a painful, hard process, but most good things are. For us, saying yes was the first of a thousand unknown steps, but it was also one of the hardest. There’s a loss of control when you lay down your will and pick up His.

Do you have a dream today? Perhaps you’re wondering if it’s your dream or His dream for you. Here are some characteristics of a God-sized dream: