2012 New Year Inspirations

Blonde Hair

Go back to Africa and see my babies!!!

Backpack Europe

Craft

What I Learned From Friends With Benefits…

This is where the F You Mentality comes into play. I’ll be honest, I want a man. And my definition of a man is not someone who goes and works out everyday and is super strong, a man is someone who will fight a war for you. (You can thank Amanda Fordham for that little gem.) A man is someone like my father and two grandfathers who have stuck by my mom and grandmothers through thick and thin. My dad is a man who has always told his daughters that they are beautiful and has treated my mother in such a way that has taught me I deserve to be treated no less. 

That’s when I realized that I, to be a strong woman, needed to develop this mentality. I need to be willing to meet people and be open to new relationships, yet the minute that guy hurts me, or treats me less than I deserve, I need to realize it and walk away from the situation. Guys in the “douchebag” stage don’t deserve my attention or tears. I want to be able to simply say, “Forget you” and walk away. If you don’t see how much I’m worth, that is your problem and it speaks nothing to who I am. For I have been “fearfully and wonderfully made” by a God who “knows the plans he has for me”.

I think if us girls walked in this confidence, we would be much stronger and healthier people. We would not have to rely on flirting and dressing promiscuously to feel loved and worth. These are empty things. 

“Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.” Proverbs 31:30

This is what I call “The F You Mentality”. 

He Has Sent Me.

It’s been exactly 5 months since I left Kenya. American culture has a way of making me forget the things I saw there. Not completely, but they are on a lower level of importance to say….what I’m going to wear today and what grade I got on a paper. 

I find it interesting the things that snap me back to Africa. Quiet time, reading my Bible, writing, praying, and worship. It’s as if God challenges me. Where are your priorities? I have given you a heart for these people, and have asked you to tell my stories, yet you seem to care more if someone doesn’t like your outfit. Wow. It is so convicting. 

When we sing “How He Loves” I am instantly drawn to Mararui slum. Beth is singing and Joby is playing guitar. Children are all around us, clinging to us. Curious mothers peer at us from their perches on the side of the dirt road, behind their vegetable or meat stands. 

Beth belts out: 

He is jealous for me,

 Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,

Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realise just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us so,
Oh how He loves us,
How He loves us all

The children start to repeat, singing, “He loves us, oh how he loves us”

Yesterday was a tough day for me. It seemed to be one awkward situation or conflict after another all day long. I went to bed last night feeling beaten down. But those feelings pale in comparison to this image I will always have of singing How He Loves. My problems are never too big for God. 

Finally, yesterday my mom told me she had been having doubts about returning to Africa so soon. We are asking people for money again, it’s a lot we have to raise. We feel bad. And she was letting these doubts in and questioning God if we really need to go back. She randomly opened her Bible. It opened to Isaiah chapter 61.

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, 
   because the LORD has anointed me 
   to proclaim good news to the poor. 
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, 
   to proclaim freedom for the captives 
   and release from darkness for the prisoners,^[a] 
2 to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor 
   and the day of vengeance of our God, 
to comfort all who mourn, 
 ³ and provide for those who grieve in Zion— 
to bestow on them a crown of beauty 
   instead of ashes, 
the oil of joy 
   instead of mourning, 
and a garment of praise 
   instead of a spirit of despair. 
They will be called oaks of righteousness, 
   a planting of the LORD 
   for the display of his splendor.

 ⁴ They will rebuild the ancient ruins 
   and restore the places long devastated; 
they will renew the ruined cities 
   that have been devastated for generations. 
⁵ Strangers will shepherd your flocks; 
   foreigners will work your fields and vineyards. 
⁶ And you will be called priests of the LORD, 
   you will be named ministers of our God. 
You will feed on the wealth of nations, 
   and in their riches you will boast.

 ⁷ Instead of your shame 
   you will receive a double portion, 
and instead of disgrace 
   you will rejoice in your inheritance. 
And so you will inherit a double portion in your land, 
   and everlasting joy will be yours.

 ⁸ “For I, the LORD, love justice; 
   I hate robbery and wrongdoing. 
In my faithfulness I will reward my people 
   and make an everlasting covenant with them. 
⁹ Their descendants will be known among the nations 
   and their offspring among the peoples. 
All who see them will acknowledge 
   that they are a people the LORD has blessed.”

 ¹⁰ I delight greatly in the LORD; 
   my soul rejoices in my God. 
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation 
   and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness, 
as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest, 
   and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. 
¹¹ For as the soil makes the sprout come up 
   and a garden causes seeds to grow, 
so the Sovereign LORD will make righteousness 
   and praise spring up before all nations.

Scared to Death

Today Pete talked about living without fear. About how our sense of control is really an addictive illusion and is due to a lack of faith. I’m going to be honest, I’m scared to death of my trip to Africa in April. I’m scared that I won’t raise the $2600. I’m scared for my friends going with us, that they won’t raise enough money. I’m scared that if I keep asking for money and receive nothing that it means no one likes me. I’m afraid people won’t understand that the money we are trying to raise is important and giving really is an amazing, liberating experience. 

We had a craft fair on Saturday to raise money for our trip. 20% of each vendor’s sales went towards the 14 of us going to Africa. We advertised it at Cross Point, in the paper, on Facebook. We had so many talented people coming to sell their work. I was pretty confident it would be more successful than last year. 

In the end, we raised only 25% of the money we raised last year. I asked my friends to stop by, knowing they would love the things we had for sale. I sent a huge message out on Facebook. None of my friends came. 

So here I am asking God, well…What are you trying to tell me? Am I not supposed to go to Africa? Only two people have donated to me, are you telling me I’m a bad friend? Do people not think I deserve to go back to Kenya so soon?

We stepped out on faith, and a miracle didn’t happen. Pete’s message reminded me that my fears I just stated above do not define me. They only serve to hold me back from repeatedly stepping out in faith. No matter how many times I fail, He is with me. 

And despite my fears, I am asking for your help to send me to Kenya. 

Hello Friends,

I am writing you to tell you about something really exciting happening in my life. I have the chance to go back to Africa in April of 2012.

As many of you know, I spent the month of June in Kenya. Since coming back to the states and beginning school again I have been haunted by the images I saw in Nairobi. Those faces have inspired me. What I experienced in Kenya changed the course of my life dramatically. I have decided to pursue a law degree after graduating from Belmont. I believe God has a plan for me as a lawyer. I want to work with adoptions and human rights. What the path to that career will look like? I have no idea. I do believe, wholeheartedly that I am to return to Africa.

Walking through a slum is disturbing, especially for an American. Some people just cannot deal with it. For some reason, I can. For some reason, it excites me. Holding hands with filthy children walking down sewage filled streets inspires me. It is images like these that I have carried with me since I was 13 years old on my first mission’s trip to the Dominican Republic. At 20 years old I’ve come to the realization that these images will go with me for the rest of my life and impact my decisions, how I love people, and my relationship with God.  

I am asking for your support. This trip costs $2600. And let’s be real: I am a poor, broke college student. That being said God has opened some amazing doors for me to be able to go on this trip in the middle of the semester. I was able to work out a great class schedule with my advisor and she is also working on getting me school credit for this trip. I can hardly believe that it is all falling into place this way. The only issue is money right now. I am believing in that God will provide.

Which is where you come in, if you feel led. 

Typically I send out letters. And I will eventually. But seeing that we live in a world full of social media, donating online may be easier for some. So I’ve created this donation page:

If you would like to make a tax deductible donation you can email me(lauryn.hewett@pop.belmont.edu) or donate online through Cross Point: Http://www.crosspoint.tv/give

If you have any questions about my trip feel welcome to talk to me!

Want to read more about my experience in Africa?

Healer

A World Where I Belong

Jane

Numb

Beatrice

June 7, 2011

Thank you friends. Your support means more than you’ll ever know. 

Wanna Be Loved

Think it’s true
That we all live and die
Through everyone else’s eyes
That’s why we need to belong

That’s why my heart beats
When the telephone rings
And why I try to say funny things
It’s why I’m singing this song

Cause we just wanna be loved
We just wanna be loved
And when it’s said and done
There’s no one above
A little love

It’s why it hurts so 
When your girl broke your heart
It’s why we want a big house
And nice cars
There’s nothing stronger inside

And we’re no different, woman or man
We’re broken, beautiful and
We only love to get by

Yeah, we just wanna be loved
We just wanna be loved
And when it’s said and done
There’s no one above
A little love

-Ben Rector (click to listen)

At Serving Saturday today a little girl came out of nowhere and leaped into my arms. She clung to me until I had to go. It reminded me of being in Africa and the Dominican Republic, where the children are so incredibly desperate for love that they literally jump on you. They want to hold your hand and walk with you. They want to be in your arms and to put their head on your shoulder. It’s a simple act, but it means so much.

I think back to being a little girl and falling asleep on my mom’s lap and how comforting it was. How my dad just hugged me and held me while I cried. Such a simple way of knowing you’re loved. 

I think back to my first break up. How it hurt so much. Suddenly that person that would walk around with me hand in hand, was gone. I felt the emptiness and loss of that in my life. That simple love. 

That’s why I adore this song. Ben’s song (I’ve met him and shook his hand so I feel that I can refer to him by just first name), reminds me that it is simple. We all want to be loved. We were created by Love for Love. It’s a good reminder not to feel so guilty when I see a cute couple and feel alone. Yet also a reminder of how important it is to love people. To be there for people. Even if you don’t agree with them, even if it makes you uncomfortable. 

Love it will not betray you
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be
There is a design, an alignment, a cry
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be

Sigh No More -Mumford & Sons (Yes, I went there)

Healer

In Africa we visited a hospital. Specifically the pediatric ward. Just a few of us could go because we didn’t know if the hospital would allow us to stay.

 They hardly cared as we walked into rooms filled with sick children.

 It’s hard to put what I experienced there into words. It’s taken me two months just to attempt to write about it.

 These precious babies and worried mothers were stuffed into cramped, dirty rooms. Two to three babies per bed.

 We walked in and you could feel the darkness looming in the room.  The hopelessness. The weariness.

 We introduced ourselves and started talking to the mothers. One by one we asked them what was wrong, over and over we heard: malaria, dysentery and malnourishment.Things that are easily preventable and treatable here in the US.

I cannot escape those rooms. Sitting here in Belmont’s library. On a campus where I pay $30,000 a year to go to and get an education that will insure me a job that will make me money so that my children will never be hungry.

Beth, Jessica, and I ended up wandering around some more while my mom and Brenda took little Beatrice and her mother Virginia to go meet with the doctor. The three of us ended up in a back room. A girl lay there, not moving. She was foaming at the mouth. Her mother explained to us that she had AIDS and Meningitis. Her mother had lost her husband and two other children to AIDS. She had no more money to pay for the hospital care so they placed Jane in a back room and refused to care for her or let them leave until they could pay their hospital bill.

There was such heaviness in the room. Never before in my life had I seen someone dying or in a coma like Jane was. We did all we could do in that moment, we laid hands on her tiny body and prayed. Then Beth started singing Healer:

 You hold my every moment

You calm my raging seas

You walk with me through fire

And heal all my disease

 I believe You’re my Healer

I believe You are all I need

I believe You’re my Portion

I believe You’re more than enough for me

Jesus You’re all I need

Her voice rang out clear and beautiful in that small back room.  I know Jane heard.  

On our way to the hospital that day. 

A World Where I Belong

But I’m not sentimental
This skin and bones is a rental
And no one makes it out alive

Tonight I got to see Katie Davis speak (if you haven’t heard her story check it out here!). I knew going into the service, that it would break me. Africa haunts me. Some days I escape from it into my busy world of classes, work, and friends. But when I least expect it, something snaps me back into that world. 

Until I die I’ll sing these songs
On the shores of Babylon
Still looking for a home
In a world where I belong

Where the weak are finally strong
Where the righteous right the wrongs
Still looking for a home
In a world where I belong

And my heart breaks all over again. Their faces forever engrained in my memory. It is what drives me, what inspires me. What keeps me going. I never want to forget. I know “haunted” sounds negative. But the faces of dying children are not a happy memory. They are a defining memory. One that will shape the rest of my life. My relationships, my actions, how I love. 

Feels like we’re just waiting, waiting

While our hearts are just breaking, breaking

Feels like we’re fighting against the tide

Hearing Katie talk tonight brought me to tears. I wanted to hop on a plane right then and there and move to Africa for good. Forget college all together. But I heard a simple whisper, “Write my story”, He told me. “Obey me”.

I wanna see the earth shaking

I wanna see a generation

Finally waking up inside

And that is what I’ll do. I am always trying to do things on my own. I don’t trust that God knows what He is doing. It’s ridiculous for me to think the God that sets the world into motion each day and still provides for the birds, would suddenly stop caring for me. I am choosing to trust. 

On the final day I die

I want to hold my head up high  

I want to tell You that I tried

To live it like a song

And when I reach the other side
I want to look You in the eye
And know that I’ve arrived
In a world where I belong

{Where I Belong-Switchfoot}