Persistence Is Not Love

               Love Is Not Necessarily Persistence

          So often women attribute persistence with love. 

          Persistence, the idea of not giving up, means love.  

          Ironically a synonym of persistence is stubbornness. 

          I so terribly want to grab every woman and yell at her This is not the truth!

            

            Love is not a man who requires contact at all times, or on the contrary, a man who sends you degrading messages if you do not respond immediately.

            Sweet young girls, Love is not a guy who for months convinces you your virginity in honorable enough for him. Love is not a man persistently trying to convince you he deserves that treasured emotion. Love is not a man repeatedly convincing you this act will make him stay.

            Love is not the man who remains in your life for multiple years as your best friend but will never truly commit.

            Love is not a man who consistently makes an effort to work it out after cheating.

            Love is not the effort he puts in after you have caught him in a lie.

            Love is not when he forces himself into your life when you are trying so desperately to distance yourself.
            Love is not necessarily found in numerous lavish gifts. 

 I could go on and on...

On the contrary,

            Women it is not love if you persistently are questioning your worth, however this may look.

Just as his persistence is not love, your persistence will not make him love you.

            Stand true to who you are, and look forward in courage. 

For one day you will be loved in the healthy respectful manner that God intends for you. 

Applying Love

Our twenties are hard. Our twenties are really hard.

I am sure when I am in my thirties I will think they are hard.

My forty-year-old friends are laughing and going to tell me forties are hard.

            I feel twenties are the first time it is hard. Hard for reasons other then your brother stealing crayons, or waking up too late to eat cereal before school. More importantly it is the first time people in our classes or in the halls at school do not have to be our friends. It is the first time where building relationship truly takes work. Relationships not solely directed at the opposite sex. We catch yourself asking girls for their numbers in bars, or over a lab desk in hopes that she becomes our next Bestie.

Right out of high school I found myself endowed with community. I find so much joy in some of the relationships I have with powerful women over the years. Most recently though, I found myself in a place where I was seemingly alone. Yes, my best friend was a text away, but I sat alone on a Friday night without someone to spend time with. I had no numbers in my phone for the new area code I resided in. For me this was after transferring colleges. For others this may be following the loss of friendships, a new marriage, or the ending of a relationship. Whatever the precursor, I believe we all have stood at a place where we feel alone. Sadly we so quickly associate that space with the idea what we are unloved.

This is NOT the case.

For me it was countless times over bible studies, or coffee with encouraging women. For others it may have just been a wall hanger from the craft store. Either way I feel like many women have heard the words.

“Love is patient, love is kind…”

We all have found support and motivation in the,

“Love does not envy, it does not boast…”

Maybe some of us have used it as an excuse to stay in an unhealthy situation. We have used it as a reason to NOT stand up for ourselves with:

“It is not self seeking…”

        A few months ago I found myself reciting to myself:

            “If I give my all to everyone else, but do not love MYSELF, I gain NOTHING…

For the first time ever God was telling me to look at this scripture in terms of my own self-worth.

LOVE YOURSELF

So for all those days in our twenties that are hard, and the ones that are easy, I have promised myself to put every word of this scripture into practice:

Love is patient

I promise to go slow. I promise to wait and remain calm through the seasons that I do not favor. I promise to not take life as a race against those surrounding me.

Have you not gone to college yet, but others your age are graduating?

Are you single, while your high school best friend is pregnant with her second child?

ITS OK

Love is kind

            I will not let the guilt, shame, and lies that fill my head define me. I will carry my head high. I will not allow others opinions to shape my actions or decisions. Instead my actions and decisions will shape their new opinions. Instead of waking up in distraught and pity, I will do EVERYTHING it takes to encourage MYSELF. I will spoil myself. I will do what is necessary; whether that be roses on Monday, or a hike on a Sunday and a message on my mirror daily.

Love does not envy

I REFUSE to look back on old skinny pictures and wish I had that past figure again. I will not regret college because it leaves me without more then $75 in my bank account and thousands of dollars in debt. I will not greedily wish for my past bank account. Instead I will promise to change who I am if I am unhappy.

Love does not boast,

 Love is not proud

I refuse to find pride in the person I am today in comparison to who I was. The past woman I was helped shaped me to who I am today. I needed her, just as much as I need who I am now. I will love all facets of who I was, am, and will be.

Love does not dishonor others

I promise to speak kindly of those around me. I promise to love them even on the days I feel so unloved. I promise to encourage, support, and grow those around me. I promise to enact the same ideas on others that I am working so hardly to do for myself. Just because I am working on myself, does not mean that I can ignore the world happening around me.

Love is not self-seeking

I promise to begin to look forward to my future and who I will be then. I am at an age where I have to make sacrificial decisions in order to positively impact my future. I promise to make wise decisions on money, health, and education. For those who are not yet in my life (my future husband, kids, and friends) deserve the support and protection these decisions will provide. I want the people in my future to have the best version of myself. I want to not act out of selfishness but out of hope for a better, ever changing future.

Love is not easily angered

‘Stay calm baby girl; stay calm.’

I promise to think before I act and not react out of my initial emotions. I promise to take time to process, think, and speak with kindness and grace

Love keeps no record of wrongs

I promise to forgive myself and those surrounding me. I am changing and learning just as they are. I will give second chances and not be discouraged when that also proves to be abused. I will then again, forgive and move forward.

It always protects

I promise I will not let a situation from my past affect my future unless it is positively. I will never let myself continue to be affected by people or things that I feel are seeking to destroy. I will move forward, and not look back. I will release the things and people who slow this process. I will guard my heart. I will stand for what I believe and fight for what I want and stand true in Gods will. I will not make decisions for others that will build them up, but in turn bring me down. That is not how selflessness is defined. You can protect and still provide.

Love always trusts

I am the only one who has heard Gods plan for me and I promise to act upon what I believe is his guidance. I will be joyful in His plan, and my unknown.

Always hopes

There is so much more ahead. I promise to dream. I promise to keep moving and continue to strive for the best version of myself.

Most importantly, I promise to always love myself.

“These three remain: Faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

1st Corinthians 13

Eating Alone

I am sitting next to a little Ugandan child named Lydia. Her mother adopted her last year after being encouraged by her little boys to 'save a child'. At almost two years old Lydia weighed only 19 pounds, now she ‘has three years’ and weighs probably more then some five year olds should weigh. Last night immediately after we got to the church, she picked my lap to crawl in and fall asleep. Her constant discomfort and subtle shifts made me giggle and brought me out of a state of exhaustion into pure joy. The past few days I have had many times where God whispers, 'This is how it is supposed to be'. 

            The first one came when I knew I needed to post on Instagram. I was laying in a twin bed that was not quite long enough. I was just beginning to sort through my pictures when Asia climbed in the bed with me and in exasperation placed her head on my chest. (I still think the best thing I have taught these kids is what “cuddle” means.) I put my phone away. Once I had asked Asia her testimony, but she wouldn’t share.  In this moment, tracing the word “Africa” on my shirt, she began to tell; 'Sydia, that is my real name. It is a Muslim name'. I did not ask anything, I just listened. She told me when she registered herself for our program she put Asia and never wants to be called Sydia again. She said everyone at school and church knows her as Asia, and “never wants to be Sydia”. I promised I would only call her Asia but said nothing more. We then had a tickle fight and stayed up a little past bedtime taking selfies.

            The next day we arrived at Anderson Mill Baptist Church in South Carolina. Although overjoyed with our new location, I was overwhelmed with a to do list. Being on the tail end of my journey with Africa Renewal Ministries my task list is odd. It includes all the things that fall under “my job” of accountant, then it includes all the small things the kids have asked for like more stationary and prayer time, and finally it has me desperately trying to piece together my future with lease agreements and scholarship applications. I had just pulled out my computer to begin, when Samson and Joshua begged me to let them swim. Before America our kids have never swam so they try to seize every opportunity. This day in particular it was pouring rain and 40 degrees outside. I closed my computer screen, grabbed a glass of water and an umbrella and they dragged me outside. I sat on the pool side attempting to save myself from the definition of soaked as Samson stayed in the shallow end just making sure he knew how to hold his breathe. Joshua dog paddled across the deep end with fear in his eyes. I was wet, but happy.

            Packing to leave The Mill, one of our oldest boys Innocent received hard news, in a way that was not ideal. I am not allowed to share but it shattered my heart and my desires transferred from wanting to be back in college, to wanting to be in Uganda providing for him and any other child that had ever been hurt in their life. I was calmed and brought to reality by a woman named Jena Penner who I admire and respect. She has lived in Africa and has seen it all. After talking to my heart, letting me vent, and encouraging me she reminded me to be ‘here’. At the time ‘here’ was standing in the rain, barefoot, in front of a one-room church in Camden, South Carolina, crying for a boy who at 14 is experiencing pain outside anything you could ever imagine.

The next morning we began worshiping and Innocent was still fighting, I could hear it in his silence. As a whole, our group was ideally "struggling" at worship. We couldn’t remember the song, Charles was strumming too fast, and Susan was clapping way off beat, at all times. After three songs I was caught in such a great heart of worship. We were singing (or speed talking) ‘Set a fire down in my soul, one I cant contain, one I cant control’ and then we all laid hands on Innocent to pray Ugandan style. I was reminded God provides anything but ideal situations and those 20 kids together in worship and prayer was perfect in its imperfections. I cried.

            Fast-forward to yesterday, when I am suppressing giggles during bed time devotion because my life is just right. Callie, a girl I met only a month ago, felt comfortable enough to go through my suitcase and come to devotion in my clothes. I couldn’t be mad because earlier in the day I had snapped at her with lots of attitude about giving me too much ice. We acknowledged this exchange of wrath with raised eyebrows. We are officially best friends. Earlier in the morning, I had taught the kids the story of Jonah. I had used analogies that ranged from Keith doing push ups to Martin needing help eating gold fish. Now, Wini was teaching our hosts Jonah with the same analogies that just didn’t quite sound right the second time. 

            I still haven’t posted on Instagram. My bank account is empty. I don’t have a bed or a car to get that bed to my new apartment. I care more about my kid’s hygiene then mine, and my leg hairs prove it. I started a blog about people and have not yet found time to write about someone.  I have six voicemails I haven’t listened to. I haven’t bought my return ticket from Africa because I am not sure I will ever want to leave. My purse ripped, and my pants are too big in the waste but too small in the hips. I still am writing my Easter cards. Then here I lay, with a Ugandan baby who two hours ago told me she wanted to nap and now we are playing air guitar with my feet, and God is still reminding me, 'This is how it is supposed to be'.

Innocent

 

Asia

Joshua (left) & Samson (right)

 

Callie Giersberg

An Unexpected Connection

            Florence Mutesasira, a 35-year-old woman, lives in the tribe Mubende in Uganda, Africa. She has become my best friend in the time I have spent with her in America. I hope I am half the woman she is and hold a quarter of her humility when I am her age. She will not share with me her story unless it becomes pertinent to my situation, unless it encourages me or teaches me. I have put together bits and pieces. I know someone raised her outside of her blood family. I know she returns this favor by raising children who are not her own. Knowing the culture of Africa I assume this comes from the situation of abandonment or orphan. An orphan in America is when a child’s immediate parents die, but in Africa you're considered an orphan when your whole family has passed. Florence sponsors multiple children through the program. I know she is not married but lives with her best friend.

Every month we receive a $250 ‘Per Diem’, which is intended to buy the small necessities like shampoo or new underwear. During the trip I have seen Auntie Florence spend money only on a ten-dollar tote to hold the kids schoolbooks. I spare her a couple dollars for an ice cream cone or taco bell burrito wanting her to “experience America”. Immediately after we withdrawal the per diems she jumps into my passenger seat and I drive her to wire the money to the boy she raises in Uganda.

“He is a trouble maker, influenced by his surroundings. I pray he finds his way.” She tells me, time and time again. I see her pain and hope for him. Since in America, she has received an email notification of his expulsion from school. In Uganda if expelled from one school in the tribe you are expelled from all schools. She has to pay for him to live and attend a school in another district hours of travel away. Remember, he is not her son.  

Her selflessness is admirable.

In fourth grade, Mwangaza Children’s Choir came to my church in southern California. My parents signed up to be a host family. We were the ones who gave them ice cream on concert days and let them swim when they weren’t supposed to. Following the concert my parents let me choose a child off the wall. Leading this position now, I truly believe God has a hand in the selection process. I once saw a little boy pick a girl off the sponsorship wall. She had tears in her eyes and was wearing an oversized clay covered shirt. I told him she was a she, and was not in his grade, he did not care. He insisted to his father this was ‘the one who needed it’. I do not remember, but I believe I held that confidence when I chose Asiimwe Asifira off the wall in 2004. She was also in the fourth grade and could not speak English. Every two months I received her letter written in Lugandan, as well as a translated letter.  We have recently began to write again. We used to talk about our chores, hers being fetching water and picking crops while mine was unloading a dishwasher. In the sixth grade a letter explained the death of her parents. At the time it meant little to me for I was young and a world away. I responded with an apology and more questions about her culture.

In 2010, again, Mwangaza Children’s Choir flew over the Atlantic to tour the east coast. This time the tour came to our church in Cincinnati, Ohio. Our family was hosting three little boys, one of whom was Asiimwe’s little brother Obedi. My older sister Karen and I became groupies, following the choir around Ohio in order to build a relationship with Obedi. He was a troublemaker. One time he even drummed a speed so fast the choir had to stop mid performance. When I work sponsorship now, a common question asked is “can I write my child?” I tell them about the lasting friendship I built with Asiimwe and the passion I hold for her family and the ministry I work for now. Becoming personable has often helped excite the sponsor on their new commitment to change a life in Uganda. One evening as I was telling the story, Christopher, a young child on the 2015 Mwangaza Children’s Choir tour, interrupted to tell me he knew Obedi. I told him many of the children had shared that with me. I was confused on the idea since it is very rare for kids in different tribes to ever connect. I finally questioned Christopher on the location of Obedi and Asiimwe…

“Auntie, they live with Auntie Florence, everyone knows she has housed them since their parents died.”

With an overwhelmed heart, my mind raced with all the times Asiimwe had told me about the humble selfless woman who raised her. There I stood, in awe at God’s grace and provision. A sister I cherish was protected and raised by Florence. Now I held the opportunity to be led and taught by the same noble woman. I wondered if how Florence rubs my back as I cry in her lap was how she comforted Asiimwe. I am curious if Asiimwe's giggles occur as frequent as mine when in conversation with Florence. I trust that how Florence prays over me for my future holds the same faith and confidence as her prayers for Asiimwe. Asiimwe is now a first grade teacher in depths of Africa. Florence says pictures of my family are in her home as pictures of Asiimwe and Obedi are hung on my fridge. I cry tears of content, silenced by the idea that God’s plans are more delicately woven then I had and ever will imagine. 

I have standing plans to meet Asiimwe in July of 2015. If you would like to know more about my journey to Africa, or details on how you can help please ask! 

Making Reservations

Typing this entry I sit on a curb watching my three boys play basketball on a neighborhood hoop in Alabama. I am not sure where most people write their first blog entry but I am humbled by my location. I have wanted to write a blog for a while. When I was younger I attended a Revolve conference in California where a speaker referenced women’s brains as spaghetti, interwoven and anything but organized. That day forward, I picked up 54 different journals, trying to organize my noodles. I find them now when I am cleaning, with only a page or two filled out.

            A few years ago, I began to get involved with a Christian ministry on my college campus called CRU, where I met Kiley. When I began to share my life with her she encouraged me to write. It was not until Christmas of 2013 that I began to jot my thoughts down in a $2 notepad on a rooftop of an orphanage in Thozen, Haiti. Now I have filled many of those notepads. I continuously buy the same notepad in superstition that it was the notepad itself that kept me consistent in journaling.

            No one, yet, has gotten the privilege to read through my entries. It made me sick to my stomach, when I talked my sister through the pages so she could find the speech I wrote for her wedding. I insisted to “just take a picture, do not take the journal, and I will kill you if you rip a page out”. As people see it grasped tightly in my right hand or spread across my lap they encourage me to to blog. They want to see what is running through my mind, which is so urgent to transcribe.

            I thrive in community. People often comment on how quickly I make friends. Friends joke about how I refuse to skip a “hello”. Acquaintances question why I reference everyone as “babe”. Truthfully, I cannot remember their name. This is where the title of my blog comes from. I hold no hesitation in talking to the person in front of me in line, or sharing dessert with my waiter, or asking my flight attendant how much she gets paid and if she feels lonely. Many days I am overwhelmed, in a good way, by the opportunities I have been given and the relationships I have built. The popular quote is, “life is all about connections”.

            My life is a hot mess, so I am not quite sure if a connection has helped me get anywhere, for I feel as if I have gotten no where. I feel like I am a wanderer who is terribly lost. Nonetheless, I am grateful for the people who have walked through my life. I find reassurance in this today… I sent a response email to a woman who is in residency at a hospital in Sudan, at lunch I missed the friendship of a felon who led an international drug cartel, I started my morning off brushing my teeth next to a nationally ranked power lifter who just had her 19^th birthday, and at night I cried in joy with a mother from Uganda, Africa. My posts to follow will be filled with people and their stories, so I can share with you what they shared with me. 

Please join me, at a table for two.