We really can't blame the men for all this; I think the poor guys don't know what the heck to do. Success for men means financial success, business success, fame and fortune. The men that are hero's in our society are in truth, most times moral idiots...professional athletes and Hollywood celebrities that may be dripping with wealth, but are completely lacking in character, and actually what I consider more sad little boys, then men!

Then, we have what I consider "real men", like the man that I am married to, and the man that raised me. A real man, is often an un-sung hero.  The world does not celebrate the men who day in and day out choose to do the "right" thing. The men who are faithful to their wives, the men who never abandon their children, the men who work hard to provide for their families, these are the only real hero's that I know of. 

From Gary's Blog:

Last week the Gazette Telegraph, our local paper here in Colorado Springs called me and asked if they could interview my family about how the drop in the US Dollar affects our mission efforts around the world…

As we continue to raise personal support – work a few jobs and raise money for Nsoko and our other work around the globe; it’s good to know that people are aware and that we are in this together.

Pray for the missionaries and organizations that send them you know around the world today; there are some great people doing what they have to do to “Go”.

Of course they didn’t get it all right, and they left a lot out I wish was in the article; but they did get the World Race and Adventures in Missions in there and the picture of the BlackTribe is not bad!

You can read the article here – Life: The Missionary Challenge

Sitting in our home office, reading the blogs of the World Racers, going over all our travel plans for the next six months to teach and counsel all over the world. All of this for one purpose, to raise up a generation of broken, humble, men and women that want the Kingdom of God to come to earth. 
Suddenly, I am interrupted by the sound of our seventeen year old daughter screaming, “Mommy, Mommy” as she burst through the front door of our home. I knew something tragic had occurred, I knew Alexis was in a state of shock and hysterics. Her body was rocked with sobs, finally she mumbled a broken sentence of pain….all I heard was “killed himself last night”….Alexis and Tyler were informed before there shift today that their friend and co-worker had taken his own life last night.

 As Alexis goes from tears to disbelief, Tyler’s eyes are wide and wild trying to comprehend. I feel, guilty, devastated, and nauseated. This young man, in a word was adorable. Our whole family loved him, I think most that knew him loved him. Tyler and Alexis marked how fun work would be that day based on his presence alone. In is mid-twenties, tall, handsome, popular, funny, and full of life and energy. The kind of guy that flirted with old women and for the time made them feel young and beautiful again. The kind of smile and charm that made you giggle when you saw him from across the room. This sweet boy just a week ago was concerned for my recovery, and shared with me in a most casual way about his addictions and pain of his past. At least it appeared to be his past, cleaned up, back in school, in love with a pretty little girl, with loving parents by his side.

What went wrong, and how did we miss it? I feel as if I have been punched in the stomach, and I am in no hurry to numb the pain. The reality is, someone was dying right in front of me, and I missed it. The generation I am called to just lost a warrior, a young prince. The enemy stole from us a son, and we missed it.

Several years ago I was working as a counselor, at a center that I loved. My supervisor approached me about revamping one of our programs, and made me the project manager, along with a ‘wink, wink’ from her that said, “This will likely be a promotion to run this program as well.”  I worked tirelessly, every spare moment I invested into this project, it was truly a labor of love. They accepted all my ideas, thanked me for all my hard work, took my proposal to start implementing it immediately…Perfect! Except for one thing, the board decided to put this program under a different department that they thought was a better fit….not mine. As I opened my mouth the words “But that is MY program” came out, at the same moment I felt as if I had been picked up off the ground and slammed down on my butt. A nearly audible voice said “Excuse me Lisa-Marie, whose program is that???” It was the voice of God, a verbal spanking, reminding me that all the inspiration, the ideas, and the favor came from HIM, and it was His not mine.

Almost ten years later, I like to believe I have learned that lesson, and in many ways I have matured a great deal in this area. I really don’t care about recognition, I really just want the Lords Kingdom to come….but this week I am struggling with a bit of pain, and it is not just from the incisions due to surgery. 

While in Africa the Lord downloaded several ideas that I was honored to dream into being that would serve the community of Nsoko. I was so excited about this vision trip and have been planning it for months.  I could not wait to show our participants, my people, my friends, and my community. I couldn’t wait to hold a two day workshop with the Go-Gos and the teachers, wash their feet, minister to them, bless them and feed them a special meal in their honor. I knew exactly what I was to teach on to encourage them and have had my notes ready, once again, for months. I was most excited that after a year of battles and set backs we would finally use the “I AM” boxes as a form of therapy and healing for the emotionally and spiritually wounded of the community.  I had started these projects, and now I would get to see them come to fruition…
It was not to be. My health had decided I would instead have major surgery, and be on pain meds and bed rest, not traveling, teaching or ministering, not doing what I had planned.

A call from the field made it abundantly clear that Gary, Pastor Gift, Seth and Karen were more than capable of making this vision trip a raging success. They are moving, building, ministering, and working hard. Things are happening, and all of it is very good. It turns out I had little to do with the success of this trip, it is all HIM. These are HIS people, HIS orphans, HIS widows…these are HIS children. He will accomplish what needs to be accomplished for His Kingdom to advance, He does not actually need us, and He just loves us enough to bless us by including us in HIS glory…pretty cool when you think of this that way, really…

Gary always says, “It is as it is supposed to be” and I do believe he is right, yet again.

This past week I have my precious friends bringing dinners, and I have had time to catch up with people I love, and laugh until I think my stitches will pop. My children are treating me like a queen, caring for me, checking on me, and serving me.  My husband is desperately missing me, which can only be good! Kisses on my forehead from my sons, and snuggling with my daughters watching a chick-flick. Noah even sleeps on his dads side of the bed to "Batect" his mommy.  I have had a house full of teen agers until late into the night  which has been my favoriate form of entertainment,  and in turn I have gotten to know my children’s’ friends at a deeper level. I have had time to write, and time to read. I am missing my friends in Africa, but have loved every moment of this recovery with my kids, my parents and my friends, (okay not every minute, pain is well, PAIN!) Tomorrow is Tyler’s birthday, and we will be celebrating all weekend long, I am glad I am here for that, and so is he. Once again, I am glad I am not in control, I would just mess things up anyway!

The resent and tragic death of Steven Curtis Chapman's daughter brought me to my knees.  Not because this family is considered celebrities, or because their little girl was an orphan. The simple reality that this accident could have happened to any of us, brought that familiar "punch in the gut" feeling, followed by prayerful tears.

Just two weeks ago we sat down as a family for a quick reality check, brought on by a re-occurring nagging maternal instinct I could not shut off.  Living in the suburbs now, with two teen age drivers, constant visitors or houseguests, and two more "permit holders" just a few months away.  We have a minimum of 4 cars in front of the house at any point during the day, and a street full of little ones playing. 

      I kept thinking of the rush of life we are now in again, the sports, the jobs, the meetings and the appointments, the constant rushing in and out of our house, in and out of the garage, up and down the driveway.  Meanwhile, our favorite neighborhood child is our own 5 year old Noah, riding his bike, running around with is buddies in front of our home.  "This is a perfect set up for a stupid accident", a voice kept whispering to me for several days as I unpacked boxes, and between my daily runs to Wal-mart restocking the simple necessities of life. 

And so Daddy called everyone for a meeting.  We sat around our kitchen table as a family, like we have a million times before, the same kitchen table that has Michaels 3^rd grade history project accidentally carved in the wood.  The same table that Caleb and Emilie sanded and painted with me a few years ago when we were snowed in and needed a project.  The same table that I attacked with a screw-driver on Christmas Eve in 1996, over-wrought with grief after the death of my first husband, frustrated, exhausted and angry trying to assemble gifts for little girls to open the next morning.  This same table has changed colors, changed rooms and houses, but has a history that makes me want to protect it like a precious family heirloom. 

       Our meeting this day was simple, back to basics, defining who we are and what we stand for.  We are the "Blacks"; we are family first, ministers of the Kingdom in everyday life, no matter where we live or how busy we get.  Dinner is at six tonight, and almost every night a home cooked favorite. Bible study and prayer is how we start our days….PERIOD.  We pray together, we eat together, we protect each other. No radio blasting while you are driving, no talking on your cell phone without an ear-piece, and absolutely no text messaging while you are trying to drive.  We will ALL identify Noah's whereabouts before we climb in our cars, even if you are running late,especially if you are running late. 

        Life has dealt us enough tragedy and pain, lets not willingly sign up for more, if we parish defending our country or our God, so be it.  Let's not loose precious members of this tribe in the rush of life, over things that do not matter, over appointments and sports that may or may not be there, no matter what we do.

      All the family agreed we need to slow down, refocus, and protect the vulnerable under our care, cherish everyday…and remember who we are, and what REALLY matters. 

This horrible accident broadcast over the radio and internet confirmed it all to us again, the price is just too high.  I cannot even begin to imagine the grief, shock and desperate pain this family is in, we must all pray for them to be bathed in Grace during this season.  Their unspeakable tragedy is a reminder to all of us to slow down, take a deep breath. 

      Make love to your spouse, you have no promise of tomorrow, trust me, I know.  Hold your babies, look them in the eye, listen to their hearts, teach them the Word of God, it is the best preparation they will ever receive to handle life.  Make a meal, and sit and talk, turn off the TV, un-plug your I-Pod, and for the love of God turn off your cell phone.

The most interesting, fascinating, and important people you will ever meet are right in front of you….

Ever left your crying toddler in the Church nursery, or your kindergartner on the first day of school, or even a pre-teen at a summer camp? They look up at you with "Please don't leave me, Mommy" tears brimming, lower lip protruding, arms reaching out to for you to pick them up. You know there is nothing you can do; the time has come and you have to leave, but you feel a little nauseated. And the second you get to your car, you let the hot tears flow.

My last week in Nsoko felt just like that. I did not have a choice; I had to leave these precious little ones. They didn't understand, and in many ways, neither did I. They tried to crawl in my car after my final goodbye. I kept explaining over and over, that I was coming back, but everyone says that to them, and most never do.

Maternal instinct is a powerful thing; I still check on my all my kids in the middle of the night (even the ones that are taller than me!), and I think about the Children of the Dirt all the time.

I will be back with them in the middle of June, with a group of people broken for them and willing to give up time and finances to come and see them. In the meantime, the Nsoko Project fund has run dry, and my mothers' heart is racing for these little ones. I know God will not let them starve; I know He will provide like He always does, but they are so far away.

The same way I awaken with a start, wondering who in my home has kicked off their covers and might be cold, I awaken several times a night, and wonder what the community of Nsoko is facing today.

I wonder if Pastor Gift feels alone and overwhelmed. I wonder if Jumbo is beside himself with work, all of us knowing he will never give up, because he truly loves the kids. I wonder if the children are getting cold at night now that it is nearing winter in Africa. I wonder if anyone will check to see if they even have covers to kick off. I am counting the days to be with them, and praying for the floodgates of Heaven to open up over them.

My last meeting with the GoGo's, the elders, the Chiefs, and the teachers were also filled with tears and goodbyes. The one thing they all asked before Gary and I left was: "Please, don't forget us."

Back in America, I see the economy feels less than booming. I feel the stress as people strive to maintain the American dream, and I know that "giving" is down more than ever. I also understand that people feel overwhelmed. I am struggling with that myself since returning to this great and wonderful nation. I know my feelings are stronger for these little ones because I have held them, and I know their names.

I am blessed, I know. I am also selfish. I do believe that what we reap is what we sow. I often think we are so arrogant to think that our children would never be in that situation. Sometimes, I think "what if..." What if something did happen in our country: a plague, a war, a catastrophic event. What if we were all gone, except Noah, the baby of our family, or the baby or your family? What if our five year-old prince was suddenly alone on this earth? No parents, grandparents, brothers or sisters, just little Noah walking around vulnerable, alone, searching for food, exposed to the elements, scared, and prey for predators.

Would someone who didn't know him take him in, feed him, love him and protect him, simply because God commanded them to? Would a stranger make a sacrifice to save my baby?

See, my motives here? They are all someone's babies; they could be yours.

This is from Gary's blog today... will you please fight with us, this community is living and breathing because you care... James 1:27 - we are living it!

I have had many people ask me for specific ways in which they can tangibly help in Nsoko, Swaziland, and many have sent money for clothes (see my blog).

Here is a list of what we need urgently and what will help us start educating the children and producing our self-sustainability projects...

Most of Phase One is done - the church is planted, (see video), the community center is built and paid for (we are feeding hundreds everyday, doing workshops on AIDS and teacher-training five days a week in the community center), the security fence is up, and the ground is graded.

Our immediate needs are:

• Drilling of bore hole and pump - $7500 ($5000 raised; need $2000 more)
• Electricity for whole village - $2500 (ready to be installed)
• Pastor Gift's house - $12,000 (He will be managing on site)
• Transport to get food and medical - $375 per month (to reach all 7 care points)
• Clinic built and furnished - $19,125 (doctor has donated all med equip)
• Church building, open steel plan - $7000 We have already out grown the center!
• Sewerage $588
• For $350 a month we can provide a package of Maize, Maltabella, (porridge), Beans, Oil, Sugar, Salt and Soap for 120 kids!
  
  Think about that: for $350 a month, 120 of our "Children of the Dirt" can eat nutritious food once each day - this has not happened in this area for a long time!

The eight orphan homes where we will house six to eight double orphans (a double orphan is where the mom and dad are both deceased and the child has no other family at all) are ready to go up now as we have the construction teams waiting. A church or a business could sponsor a home for $22,589. We have the mothers ready to move in.

Then soon after, we have to start working on the market place in front of the village. The locals can sell all of their goods to help with the self-sustainability of the project. Then the vegetable gardens, the essential oil fields, and the fish ponds will need to be in place to produce income on a monthly basis. Each double orphan will be in charge of her own 10 meters of garden. They can sell it, buy more meters and become their own entrepreneur. We are helping orphans to build life skills and deinstitutionalizing them!

Remember, you can come and see all of this happening right before your eyes on our vision trip this June!

If you want to make an online donation, please click on "Give to the Nsoko Project" or click "Support Me!" and get the mailing address to send a check. Make sure and note what you are wanting to give to.

Over 300 brand-new outfits, complete with underpants, and sandals,

This last week has been one of the most memorable ones of my life thus far.  Alexis, Emily and I along with three team members, Heather, Caitlin, and Becky lived in the bush to handout all the clothes to the children at 6 different care points in Nsoko.  My instructions to my team of beautiful young women were this:" take your time, pray constantly, and listen to the whisper of the Lord."  Africa does not need more humanitarian efforts; any celebrity can show up for that, what these children need is a very real, very tangible touch of God.  So, we patiently set up our stations, in the dirt, with the flies, and the cattle dung, our packages of baby wipes and lotions, nail clippers, and bags of new clothes.  One by one, for days, we wiped down, clothed, prayed for and prophesied over the children.  Little babies to young teenagers, we took our time, despite the heat, the crowds, and towards the end, our own fatigue.  I would do it again tomorrow if I could.  There certainly is no lack of children that need help.  Many times, as I would look into the eyes of the little ones that stood before me, the Lord would show me who they were.  I saw the future pastors, teachers, warriors, mothers and fathers.  I saw tender hearts who knew the Lord; I saw broken spirits that were on the verge of losing all hope.  When we first arrive, the children are unsure and quiet, even if they know me and my daughters; they are not sure about the others we have with us.  They do not fight, and rarely cry, they just go along with what ever is happening, this, I always find disturbing.   It is almost as if they have surrendered to the fact that they are defenseless and vulnerable, and there is no use in fighting.  We speak gently to them, and they start to relax.  Removing their rags from their little bodies is something that still amazes me.  Many times it is hard to tell the girls from the boys, since their hair is all the same length, and they wear whatever is available, little boys with pink flowers on their shirts, it is their only option. Several times at one care point I removed "shorts" from little girls that were actually cut up old sweat-shirts, their legs going through the arm holes.  Many 3 and 4 year old children were squeezed into t-shirts, the tag reading "6-12 months" size, their malnutrition tummies, boated and pushing out of the too small shirt. As I wipe them down, I pray over every inch of them, I speak softly and smile while I smooth lotion over their dry skin.  Their skin soaks it up quickly and evaporates, as their spirits soak in the truth of whispered prayers.  All the while in the background their stories are reported to my team by the GoGos, "mother dead, father dying, lives with grandmother"  or " six years old, both parents gone, head of house old, caring for 2 younger siblings"…hard to comprehend, hard to walk away.  Although we sat with hundreds, all special, all precious there are certain ones whose faces are burned in my heart.  The sisters, 3 and 4 who giggled in shear delight during their "spa" treatment, looking at each other, eyes sparkling, princesses in new white dresses.  The little boy with knees like a camel who let out an audible "ahhhh" when I rubbed in the lotion, and then threw his little arms around my neck.  The beautiful little angel that stood before Alexis, only 8 years old, they looked nothing alike, but they had identical hearts…I saw my own sweet daughter pray the gift of purity that she so gracefully flows in over her new friend.  She dressed her in a yellow sundress, and the little angel, still shy, began to glow.  I saw each of our own six children in the eyes of the little ones we touched, I saw Caleb's tenderness, Michael's depth, Tyler's warrior, Emilie's determination, Alexis' goodness, and Noah's wild and intriguing character.  These children are not different than ours; they are not different than yours.  The deserve food, health, clothing, education, a fathers protection and a mothers tender touch….and just like all of our children, in them lies the truth, the hope, and the future of the world.

When the process is over the children are transformed.  Their heads no longer hang, but their posture is straight.  They are no longer ashamed, but proud.  Their former sad faces are full of life, and smiles.  The girls prance around in their dresses, their feminine spirits brought to life, and the boys, look like young men, walking taller and more sure of their masculinity.

This clothing drive was so much more than new clothes for orphans, it was hope and dignity and a touch of God in a tangible way….

For all who sacrificially gave, I hope you understand the depth of the gift you gave….all those who received it certainly do…..Thank you…..