Ministry is more than a few hours a dayIt is more than teaching 7th grade between the hours of 9 and 12.So much more than playing soccer from 3:30 to 5:30.Ministry is buying new pens when yours are taken and followed by the words “thank you. We really needed new pens.”It is playing Simon Says with the kids outside my gated home. It is kicking a soccer ball with our ministry host at home when real ministry gets rained out.It is buying new shoes when his old ones break in the rain. Ministry is more than a few hours a day, ministry is a lifestyle

Ministry is more than a few hours a dayIt is more than teaching 7th grade between the hours of 9 and 12.So much more than playing soccer from 3:30 to 5:30.Ministry is buying new pens when yours are taken and followed by the words “thank you. We really needed new pens.”It is playing Simon Says with the kids outside my gated home. It is kicking a soccer ball with our ministry host at home when real ministry gets rained out.It is buying new shoes when his old ones break in the rain. Ministry is more than a few hours a day, ministry is a lifestyle

I start every morning and end every day praising God. I never had done that before, but when I truly think about it, I should be praising Him continuously. He is the reason air escapes my lungs, the reason for the endless rain hitting the metal roof of our concrete Zambian home, the reason for the laughs of children through the chain-linked fence, or the way my teams’ faces light up when they can tell another being about the love of Jesus, and what He did for us.   As I awoke this morning, I escaped my mosquito net and took a deep breath. I smell the sweet scent of rain, thanking...

I start every morning and end every day praising God. I never had done that before, but when I truly think about it, I should be praising Him continuously. He is the reason air escapes my lungs, the reason for the endless rain hitting the metal roof of our concrete Zambian home, the reason for the laughs of children through the chain-linked fence, or the way my teams’ faces light up when they can tell another being about the love of Jesus, and what He did for us.   As I awoke this morning, I escaped my mosquito net and took a deep breath. I smell the sweet scent of rain, thanking...

And that’s when I remember. It comes on an overnight plane to South Africa after a day spent dancing the streets of London, that’s when I remember that he never loved me the way I deserved and that the way he held me never was with a sense of forever, but a sense of need. That he wouldn’t have ever been able to give me this. What I gave myself. This kind of love that holds me when the plane rocks my ruby red seat and a baby balls in the background. The kind of love that soared between London sunrays for the street musician spinning a tune that spoke to my soul. The love that...

Dear Kubu Cafe, Your wifi sucks, But your milkshakes could cure any dreary day. I love your mismatching pink and green walls, The comfy leather couches that beat my bunk bed with the thin mattress any day, The dark wood table, And the way the large window in the front lets in just enough light, but not too much as it gives me snippets of the lives of people walking into the Shoprite next door. I like the random assortment of tribal bowls and banners on the walls… They kind of remind me of the pattern I have been living in. But its not you Kubu Cafe that makes me smile today. Its the faces...