never once.

it was a rainy morning. pretty perfect for the mood of the compound as I had my bags packed and outside my door.

the kids were quiet. not the typical morning we were used to. they didn't talk at breakfast. and they certainly made no jokes.

the sound of the dirt made an extra crunch as I walked to the shop one last time.

one last time to hear "ivy, ivy. ivy" screamed from all the neighborhood children.
one last time to hold Shima's hand. interlocked. white and black. exactly how He envisioned.
one last time to hear I love you's.
one last time to memorize every line of their face.

one last time happened a few hours ago. and I am most confident that I will never be the same.

airports give time to think. flying alone gives moments alone. just by yourself. alone. praying. crying. crying. crying.

it was a hard morning. but it's not so much the "lasts" that get me. it's that this whole journey is over.

when I left djibouti...another country was stealing my heart. but now I am mourning my leaving DJ too. my heart is for those people. for my kids. for the babies.

I am not so naive as to think Satan will not take my weak heart and try to tell me lies. I am confident this week will be the toughest back home.

he has started. "you didn't do anything worthwhile." "why go back?" "no one was even saved."

but he seems to ALWAYS froget that my God already won. and always wins the war.

He has my heart. and though it may be shaken, it will not fail.

so as I sit in this airport alone waiting for Amsterdam. I will praise Him. confident He is at work. confident that He is holding my heart. and confident His very hand is the one drying my tears.

there have been scars (I have MANY physical scars). there have been struggles. there have been battles. and bad dreams. there have been children that have died. there have been people who rejected Him. but.

never once.

He never left. He never will.

never once.
have I realized His love more than I did in Africa.

haye aan ammaanno!

{let us praise Him!} (somali)

never once. not one time.

i could get arrested for this.

it was warm outside. a dry, hot night that caused me to spend my evening sitting outside my room. taking in Africa for the last week. soaking in the sights and smells.

the boys had just used my soap {the one that smells like sunflowers} and the showers were filling the compound with a sweet aroma. they were wet and tired after a LONG night of soccer.

i have come to learn when teenage boys get tired, they get mad. and when they get mad they act stupidly.

a rock thrown on the hard ground startled me and caused me to look up. and there it was.

the boys. the boys without parents of their own. the boys who call each other brothers. the boys who are desperate for love and affection.

the boys were on the ground. fist to fist. face to face. tirelessly shoving one another. hitting one another. kicking one another.

quickly the adults ran to seperate them while i was alone. in my thoughts. and severely praying for peace among them.

tears flowing. hot tears kept flowing and i couldn't make them stop.

they were screaming things in amharic. hurtful things. about how they were both unwanted. that their parents threw them away. that even the food they eat was not theirs.

these boys fought. why? because hurt people hurt other people.

and then. it hits me.

why am i sitting here in tough, hard, exhausting spiritual warfare for one more week?
why am i missing home like crazy and killing mosquitoes every minute of every day?

love. the reason is love.

i love these boys DEEPLY. God loves them even more. and He wants them to know that.
to feel His presence. to feel secure in His love. to know that He is their defender when no one else is there to defend them.

so desperately, i wait.

i wait on the day to leave. i anxiously await seeing my sister's face. but more importantly i cover this country in sweet prayers, desperately wanting THESE kids to be the change. to be the ones to bring Him fame here.


love. love is always the reason.

And let us consider this: may we spur one another towards acts of LOVE. Hebrews 10:24.

leaving on a jet plane.

i took it all in today. holding back tears. and drinking in the sounds of the sweet ville.

the orphanage was hard.

kissing my Abdourman...knowing it could be more than a year before i check on him again....was almost more than my heart could handle. i cried. and i cried hard. the hard, warm tears that overflow when you aren't expecting them. coming just around the time the line "red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight..."

oh, that he would realize how special he is in the sight of the King. for him to understand that i would take him home to be mine in a second. that he would know he is special. his disability does not mean he is worthless but rather gives our Daddy the opportunity to show off a little bit more.

but all of the sentimental came to a screeching hault when....the typical day in the life happened....the newest addition threw up all over me. almost spoiled milk on a dress...in the 120 degree heat. let's all take a moment and realize how disgusting THAT is.

i wouldn't have wanted my last day there any other way.

my bags are packed....okay, almost. and they are overweight. i know, so typical. i earn the worst packer award. you think i would be good at it by now.

and my ticket is ready for tomorrow.

a new adventure. a new stamp in my passport. and new kids to love. new people to meet. new everything.

while all of that excites me, it is still hard to leave. with not a lot of pictures being permitted here...i am trying to ingrain their faces in my memory. every line. every scar. every little piece of hair out of place.

so tonight i took a walk. bought the kids some stuff. and said goodbye to my students.

the hope we have is that every child i loved. every student i poured into. He was there. He is here. and He continues to work even when i am gone.

Ethiopia, i'm coming for ya!

no blogs until i arrive back home to the states. it's illegal there.

see ya on the flip side :)

on leaving. and loving. and hospitals.

walking by the used clothes market I smelled it. the smell of sweat. old tshirts. dirt. and sheer desperation.

it took me back to about 2 weeks ago. that same smell was in a small hospital room only lit up by a window right beside my bed. i was queasy. i was burning up. i was sicker than i realized.

it was in that room. in that moment. smelling all the smells of this place within a hospital full of dying people. it hit me and it hit me hard as the doctor freaked out over my fever that had gone WAY down over the course of the night before i arrive. He saved me.

not the fairy tale kinda saving, knight on a white horse, riding off into the sunset. but the kind of saving i needed. our Heavenly Daddy touched me. in the hot room of my house. alone. with a tear stained pillow. and pain like i have never known.

He.saved.me.

i am not naive. {well, i am...but not for this} that night my fever was so high. with no medicine. that my body could have went into shock. i could have had a really bad story but i don't.

i have a story of grace. and mercy. and pure miracle-working power.

most people don't go into a hospital in east africa and come out well. they leave dead. or close to death. but my story is different because He lives. so i can too.

so as i look at the calendar and see the days winding down here. i am certain that my being here was no mistake.

i was not forbidden to enter somewhere else because of chance. i was not randomly chosen for this work. but instead it was divine intervention. one that should forever be remembered and praised.

He makes these incredible stories out of the literal dust. and that is all i saw when i arrived.

a house in the worst neighborhood. no water. people screaming and throwing rocks at me. dirt. sewage. sweat. dirt. rocks. dirt. sweat. and for a minute...i wanted home. but i did not realize that He was preparing this place to be my home.

it happened so quickly. and so discreetly. that i cannot tell you the exact moment or day {seeing as i have LACKED on journaling..} but it happened. and one day...it was just HOME. where my heart was. where my people were. where i wanted to be.

i saw a place full of joy even though every place i looked i saw sorrow.
i saw a place full of peace even though chaos existed everywhere.
i saw a place full of hope although desperation was sitting on every corner on a cardboard box.

i knew this place was ready. it is ready. for seeds to be buried. for watering to happen. for love to take ACTION.

you see....this place is a dot on the map. no one cares about it. THE largest organizations for this business do not even have people here.

but He cares. He loves them. He. is. here. and He will be here...even after i hop that plane Tuesday.

am i sad to leave? you betcha.
am i scared to leave? yes.
do i know that His stories turn out the best? of course.

so i will leave.

the babies i adore. and the kids who call me hojo.

i will leave the neighborhood that kisses my hands and brings their naked babies for me to bless.

i will leave my students knowing that they are on the brink of learning EXCELLENT english...with a Southern accent.

i will leave the dirt. and the sewage. and the hottest weather on earth.

i will leave the veils.

i will leave my broken bed...knowing it is a representation of the very thing He did here. took those white knuckles of mine and broke them free.

i will move on to another place in need of love. and give a love that cannot be contained.


i.will.never.be.the.same.

white knuckles in the middle of the desert.

it was a long drive from the city to the bush. miles upon miles of desert. rocks. dirt. repeat.

i talked some. but some of the time i found myself quiet. sitting. staring. wondering what this whole thing could turn into.

{don't panic yet. wait it out, sweet people. keep reading.}

days spent in the bush. alone to talk with our Daddy. to see what His plan is for this place i call home. and it turned into something i wasn't expecting.

He shook me up.

He. shook. me. up.

i mean...let's be real...i am already shaken. stirred. all that jazz. i mean for Pete's sake....i am living in Africa.

but here is the deal.

i live here with white knuckles. it's a regular occurence in my life. probably in yours too.

we know He has control. He writes the story. but goodness...i like to hold on to what i THINK should happen. where i THINK i should go. how long i THINK i should be there.

He loosened my grip. held my hand. and eased my fears. all in the middle of the desert.
but not without standing firm in His endearing, stern Daddy voice...the one that makes me stand at attention and not question His plans.

so i am sure of a few things. He is good. His plans for me are good. Africa has STOLEN my heart. the Somali people...are for me to love.

so i will come home. for a while. {no freaking out, please}. spend time with family. get a big girl job. spend every waking moment with people i love more than life.

learn to drive a stick.
look at somali. prepare to learn it once i get back somewhere.
get credentials.

i am confident that He has it together.

 and that means my no running water needed, Africa loving, baby holding, moutain climbing man of a husband too. Africa has made my prayers for him increase to new heights. and i am pretty sure he is a baller.

so a long blog post to say what could be said in a sentence.

He writes beautiful stories. sends us to perfect places. lets us love an imperfect people. and helps losen our grip in the middle of a dry land.

mungu ni muema.

stranded.

i currently am living in the country that makes the ellen show and is in the funny crossword puzzles. djibouti is a country famous for one thing...sounding like your booty.

it's a place plagued by disease. stolen by poverty. and hurt by greediness. and i never want to forget it.

i want to remember what it feels like to walk down the street and feel rocks under my feet. to feel the sweet hands that grab mine and walk with me. to remember the way the dirty, wet kisses feel on my cheeks at least 30 times a day. to remember having to jump over puddles of water that stinks in the worst way possible.

i want to take in everything. and save it. to bottle it up.

the way the incense smells in the street. the way my students look when i teach them a new concept. the way the market looks early in the morning before everyone gets out. the sounds outside by window after the sun goes down.

i never want to get used to it. never. i want it to stay new.

for the rumble of the bas-yar going through town to remain a little sketchy. for the immense amount of goats everywhere to still startle me a little bit. for the smell of food cooking mixed with exhaust fumes to always remind me of this sweet place that i call home.

and the current question on my heart is...will i always feel so stranded? stranded between countries and people that i love so much?

stranded.

wanting the people i love most to experience it all. to see His power in ways that i can't describe with measely words on a computer screen. to see the beautiful people He created. to feel the way the babies tug on your heart. the way you learn that they don't need you as much as you need them. to see the bigger picture. to realize it's not about us. ever. to hear the mix of 4 languages coming together.

stranded.

missing the people at home. but not wanting to even think about leaving. wanting to bring pieces of this place home. preferrably in the human form.

stranded.

seeing the faces of poverty. holding the ones who have no father or mother. feeding those with swollen faces and bellies. touching those with diseases. loving those who are unlovable. blessing those who curse me. and walking with the lonely.


who would have thought living a life without water most of the time and the smell of sewage everywhere would have COMPLETELY captivated me? it reeled me right in.

i was a goner from the very beginning.

it's like a disease. with no cure. it has taken over.

i am in love. the good kind of love. the best kind of love. the kind you don't ever want to live without.

and it will remain like that. inshallah....(if G wills it).

Romeo.

one of my biggest fears before I came wasn't that I would be injured. or kidnapped. or killed even. I didn't really concern myself with how dirt I would be all hours of the day or the fact that I wouldn't have a lot of water. but I did worry about coming in vain.

coming across the world for no reason. for no purpose. leaving without one life changed. without hope given to at least one. just one little life is worth it all.

well, our Daddy takes care of these things. He is the only one who can. and He knows my love language unlike any other. and He speaks it everyday.

today that love language and easing of fear came after a day of relying completely on Him. long hours spent wishing I was home. in my bed. in my house. in my comfort zone. with air conditioning and good clean water. He didn't give me those things but He was here with me the whole time. and that was evident. through a tear stained pillow. phone calls from home. and verses that reassured me that "my sweet darling, it is just for a little while." that little while felt like forever. and I am still getting over a bacteria/water/stomach issue that only Africa could deliver so horribly. but He is here. He was here. and He will be here. even when the moments of "uh, what did I get mysef into?" arise again.

so today was a day of faking the happiness. acting like I was feeling AWESOME while teaching. smiling at every person I see, because I believe that is a little way He eases in to shine. and it may be a way He eases me into their hearts. into a place where He can take control.

I have 18 students. most of them show up everyday. and they are all precious. but there are a few who have stolen my heart. Amal is one of those. her english is very good but she wanted a class with her peers. and she has picked up quite the uh, may I say....Ivy accent. today she could not come to class. so she sent a note by a classmate that read.

"Dear Ivy,
I'm Amal. I want to tell you I can't come this afternoon at class because I have some problem in my home and I have a problem in me. You can't understand because you are not in my heart but please give me a little time to arrange my problems. Thank you too much. Amal"

oh, my heart. how precious is that. maybe I am just reading into this...but I know someone who likes to start working on broken pieces...putting them back together. nzambe malamu.

I went to check on her at the store. she is well. smiling like always. and said she will talk my with me tomorrow about her problem. loving on them is my favorite part of teaching. FAVORITE part.

as I left the school and headed for the "french" side of town. I get to be a little more at ease .take off my veil. which feels awesome after a fever and temps way above 102. my kiddos usually recoginize me in my hood. of course...hojo ivy. but today they were on the wrong side of town. but that did not stop them. running. screaming. clapping. the whole nine yards in the middle of downtown. it was a parade of sorts. overwhelmed? yes. tickled? yes.

now, I do not speak Somali or Afar. (but I will soon. even if that means studying in the 229) so our language barrier means I dance, I smile, I laugh, they laugh, they point, I look, we high five. we act like we could understand each other, but we can't. it's really the coolest thing I have ever experienced.

I might have taught one of them the slick hand move where you slide it on your hair...grease style....when somone goes to shake your hand. he pulled it on me today. and laughed so hard he fell down. then there is Romeo. who after seeing his friend's move, he took my hand and kissed it. then kissed my other hand. then my first hand again. he got a little carried away. and giggled the whole time. then said thanks, hojo ivy. my heart.

these are some everyday evidences that He indeed is working among me. stirring up a revolution, one of love, compassion, mercy, and hope. let's believe in that HOPE. for He is able.

shine on.