Sundays are very special to me. I love Sundays.
I love Sundays in South Africa as well. When there, I visit Harvester Church at least once. It is just like a "NewSong away from Irvine." I love the openness, and the pastor and his family are very dear to me.
This year was different. Before leaving, the pastor had asked me via email if I would share the message one of the Sundays that I am there. My immediate response, you want? Honestly? "Not no, but hell no" was whispered under my breath a few times." That's not "my thing." After the initial shock and pants-soiling moments, an immediate conviction rushed over me. I knew I had to do this. The problem-solver in me kicked in and immediately asked "What do you have?" or "What is in your hand?" I knew it. My story. It's all I got though it is riddled with pain, mistakes, doubt, and prejudice but yet redemption, hope, love, blessings and surprises. It's all any of us have. I was reminded of Esther and "such a time as this." You see, part of me knew this day was coming. Bits and pieces have come to me over the past few years but I was never ready or it just wasn't the right time. I felt that affirmation as I reread his email and the words that followed the statement that I have been there many times: "it is time."
This isn't a big deal for many, but for me, it's REALLY not "my thing."
I spent days pushing aside the anxiety and feelings of inadequacy to ask: What part of my story will I tell? Would it be relevant there? How could I do this to not put undue glory on me or highlight myself?
Driving home from NewSong a week later, "it" began as soon as I sat in the car. It was like a download. On the way home, I told my story to myself as the words came to me. It flowed [as much as it can being a raw draft]. I walked into the house, turned on the laptop, and typed it out from memory in less than 5 minutes. I wasn't sure if it was the perfect message, but I knew it came in a way that it had to be told as given.
On that Sunday, I woke up and was suddenly gripped with doubt: Is it silly? It seemed okay when I left, but now that I'm here, is it relevant? Am I going to look stupid?
I immediately emailed my prayer shield in the States. It was late at night in the US so I worried that everyone may be sleeping but I knew the right ones would be awake and would intercede on my behalf. The emails of encouragement came flooding in. Thank you guys, you know who you are! Because of your prayer, this lamb felt like a lion.
Thank you, April Diaz, who offered these verses that I read over and over and over [and then "over" some more].
He must become greater; I must become less (John 3:30)
My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might not rest on human wisdom, but on God’s power. (1 Corinthians 2:4-5)
Thank you, Mqokeleli for sharing the platform so I could "storytell."
After hesitation, I decided I would post it here.
Vulnerability is hard, but I should "practice what I preach" and share it
in the event that someone needs to hear it in its entirety or part of
it.
Here's my story as I shared it there before I led us into communion:
I wish I could stand
before you and tell you that I have always wanted to be here. That I have
always wanted to visit Africa. That it has been my desire to do missions. But I
can’t. You see, if I could, that would be my story. But, I can tell you that I stand
before you now in love with South Africa. In love with the people. In love with
missions. And that is God’s story. I grew up in the Southern United States
where racial tensions were and still could be high to some degree. I was sexually
harassed by Black men at school and had, I believe, rightfully earned my
prejudices. I had no desire to love or serve that community, and I remember
saying that I would never go to Africa because for some crazy reason I equated
it with the men in my town. Funny how God takes notes to pop those things into
your story later on in life. As my relationship with Christ deepened, I began
to be more open to just be obedient to what he had planned. As he worked
through my own pain through reconciliation with him and others, he also revealed
my passions—passions I could have never dreamed for myself. In particular, my
life forever changed when I came here to South Africa and it was an open door
to so many other revelations and joys that I never would have known. To name a
few, I now have a passion for children in orphanages and foster care, I plan to
adopt, and I have an increasing passion for black boys in foster care and
preventing them from ending up in the prison system when they aren’t adopted. Only
God could have turned my pain into my passion.
I feel like some of
you have pains and you cannot imagine becoming passionate about the group or
the idea that is causing pain. I urge you to pray into that and just be open. God
calls us to use our pain. It is biblical. It is a catalyst. It’s the most human
feeling that connects us to one another.
2
Corinthians 5:18-19 commands this:
All
this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the
ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the
world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has
committed to us the message of reconciliation.
For the past couple
years, God has whispered a theme for my life. Throughout the year, it never
fails that I see that theme interwoven across areas of my life and through
people that I meet, and I’m often surprised just where I see it. This year, my
theme is redemption. I won’t go in to that but am always happy to share further
1:1. Next year’s theme came early and I wasn’t sure why but I think that I’m
supposed to share it with you. Last month, the theme of “storytelling” came to
mind for next year and I shared that idea with some close friends at NewSong.
I’m not sure what it will entail, but I do feel that God will fulfill some
promises that I’ve been waiting for – promises that I’ve clung to in the midst
of a trying couple of years of “pruning.” I’m reminded of my favorite holiday,
Easter. I feel that we go through the same process Jesus did. We experience
life, humility, death, but then there’s a resurrection. I’m excited to see how
God wants to use my story.
Like I said before, I’m
from the Southern part of the United States, which tends to more rural and
people-oriented than some of the other areas. One thing that I love about the
South, is the art of storytelling as a pastime. We convey so much through
stories and that is how we pass information to our children. We spend so much
time sitting around the dinner table telling stories until wee hours of the
night. It is especially common in the black community which is inherited from
their African culture. I’m told that when the black people were enslaved, they
relied on sitting around and telling stories.
This is nothing new
to God. He’s so awesome that he created each of us with our own story. Noone’s
story is the same. Each is filled with tragedy and triumph, sadness and
celebration, highs and lows, and mountains and valleys. (Ecclesiastes 3:1--There is a time for everything, and a season for every
activity under heaven). We love to hear the good things and celebrate
with others. However, it can be hard to relate to someone’s “mountain” when we
are walking through the “valley.” Instead, we connect through the valleys. So
often, we don’t want to reveal the trials. We don’t want to look weak. We are
fearful of exposure.
Through the theme of
storytelling, God is calling us to share the whole story because it is His
story. Pain connects us. Too often, especially at church, we are hesitant to
share the pain or admit our sins because judgment may be more intense in church
than out. As a church community, it is imperative that we create space to share
and remember that there is no condemnation in Christ. If we can’t support each
other and love each through pain “in here,” then we are entirely unable to
share the gospel through our lives “out there.” Remember that your story may be
at a painful chapter right now, but it is continually being written and it will
be redeemed. It’s not over yet. A resurrection is coming.
Focus on God’s glory
through your story. When you are on a mountain, and see someone in a valley
that you recognize, connect. Pray and cancel out fear that may prevent you from
sharing. Keep your eyes above. I’m going
to end with an experience that I had at NewSong that illustrated this reminder to
me a few weeks ago. I was seated at the front in the 2nd row. We
have this space between the stage and the first row. The band was playing and I
noticed a small girl around 4-5 go into that open spot and start to dance. She
caught my eye because she was cute, especially as she twirled with arms out,
with pure abandonment of any awareness that anyone else was in the place. I
could not take my eyes off of her no matter how much I tried. She occasionally
went back to her father to hug his leg at which time he would pat her. She
would return to the open area to dance. She never took her eyes off of him. Had
she looked around, she may have stopped when she saw that hundreds of people at
service that day. At that moment, something inside me clicked. She showed me
something that I had been missing. We must dance as she knew how to. We must
only keep our eyes focused on our heavenly father. At times, we will go to him
for comfort and assurance and then we will dance again.
This
also brings Hebrews 12:2-3 to mind: 2 Let
us fix our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set
before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right
hand of the throne of God.
So I beg you to
dance. Twirl in His presence. Keep your eyes on him and dance with all
abandonment. I had never seen Luke 18:17 like this before (“I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom
of God like a little child will never enter it.")
One of the most
beautiful acts of service to me is to serve communion to each other. I love
communion because of what it represents but also it is a visible reminder of
the family that we are in Christ. We are all brothers and sisters who have been
adopted into a great kingdom. I remember attending harvester during one of my
first trips here and being absolutely overwhelmed by hearing you sing,
listening to different languages, and seeing different skin colors but knowing
that we are one. I thought to myself, “This is a glimpse of what heaven will
look like.” So as we take communion today, I’d like us to serve it to each
other. Look your brother and sister in the eye and just take in the beauty of
the family we share.
Grateful for all those who have written my story,
Danielle
