MERRY CHRISTMAS

Merry  Christmas one and all!

I've been waiting to send this message because I wanted to have something profound and wonderful to write. But, the truth is that it doesn't feel like Christmas. I've tried baking, I've tried listening to Christmas music for weeks now and even watching movies with snow. It's just not the same. My heart longs to be with family and friends in a cold place (I know there's no snow in MN this year). I don't want to be sweating when I try to sleep on Christmas Eve. I don't want to try to figure out how to make Christmas dinner because there's no gas to be bought in all of Mozambique. 

But, this is where I am and no matter where I am it's the time to celebrate the birth of Jesus. The very reason I'm here. So, I hope between now and Christmas day I can claim that peace in my heart and experience that peace that surpasses all understanding and, celebrate with real joy, even in a difficult time and place. 

Maybe next year we'll be home.

It does bring me much joy knowing how many people are standing with Nede and me here and how much we're loved. We love you, more than I can express from such a distance. xoxo 

VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, may the joy of the LORD be OURS!

(conserving gas while baking Christmas cookies)

christmas cards

In an attempt to show some gratitude and appreciation to many of you who have been so supportive I decided to send a little Christmas greeting this year. I made Nede sit down with me on numerous occasions to do her part in this American tradition. Thankfully I had a friend returning to the UK who was able to bring the completed cards to mail from London. Unfortunately, there were about 15 that I wasn't able to finish before my friend left. 

This week I had another new experience, trying to mail something from the Mozambique postal system. Let's just say it took 2 conversations on 2 different days before I made up mind to give it a go. After I had paid my money (too much) I then found out that they only had 4 international stamps. But, I was reassuring that, "of course when the 'Cheif' (boss) comes he'll bring more stamps and the other 10 letters (that they're securely placing in this folder) will most definitely" be sent on to make the big journey across the pond.

I'm not so sure. 

So...here it is. If you've been one of our faithful supporters I did write a personal message and try to have a variation of this card sent to you:

You never know, you may be in for a treat and get a Christmas card around Easter or 4th of July or, just in time for next Christmas. Or, never.

Either way, know that our thoughts, thanks and love are being sent your way.

the seasons

It is litchi season--

We love litchis and have bought approximately 20kg of the sweet, juicy goodness--

Nede thinks this dress was made only for litchi season. 8 litchis fit conveniently in the front pocket--

 
With the rainy season also brings flying ant season--

Mozambican's like to eat fried flying ants--

Nede came exuberantly in the house saying, "They're sweet ones!!!" I wrinkled my nose and took a look. I accidently dropped a few on the floor and put them back in her container and she responded with, "Mom, I can't eat those, they were on the floor. Gross!"

I like that it's Christmas season best. 

happy thanksgiving and bid in the auction

It seems terribly odd to think that this will be the 3rd of the last 4 Thanksgivings that I've been in Mozambique, away from the holiday cheer and the familiarity that this week used to bring. I find that I try not to think about it because it may hurt. Too much reflection will likely lead to tears, homesickness, and, if not careful, further exhaustion. With all that being said, I've committed myself, with a friend, to preparing a Thanksgiving feast on Friday this week for about 20 of my "family" here. We've been laughing as we've been drawing up the menu because we don't know if we'll be able to find 1) TURKEY 2) PUMPKIN 3) SWEET POTATOES and definitely not 4) CRANBERRIES! We even Google searched for alternative options for turkey on Thanksgiving. Thank you Mr. Google but we are not vegetarian. I think what that really meant was there's no alternative for turkey on Thanksgiving. But, in Mozambique, chicken (AGAIN!) may have to do. It promises again, to be a different Thanksgiving.

While my Thanksgiving is different in Mozambique I want to share what a Minnesota friend is busy adding to her holiday hustle and bustle. In honor of November being National Adoption month in the States my friend Carrie is having an auction of hand-crafted items that she and friends have made. And, much to my surprise, yet delight, Carrie has decided to hold this auction on behalf of Nede and me! Please, even if only just for fun, check out Carries website to see what she's doing, you'll see a familiar face. Her specialty is cloth baby diapers but she has other things available as well. Take a look http://hyenacart.com/stores/mudbuttclothdiapers/ She'll be donating 100% of the money earned to support Nede and me. I KNOW! Isn't it amazing all we have to be thankful for??? So, go ahead, make this click http://hyenacart.com/stores/mudbuttclothdiapers/, go crazy bidding for fun things and...tell everyone you know!

There's bound to be more Thanksgiving stories as this week unfolds.
Until then. Be thankful.

abundant life

Nede + Love of Jesus = Abundant life

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. John 10:20

Holding on to truth here!

another proud moment

I'm taken back again about what it feels like to be a mom and to feel so proud when your child does something new. It's really quite something to experience. My new favorite thing is watching Nede wobbling around on her bike trying to avoid that bloody spill. As you'll see, she often doesn't even know where she's going. She is so out of control. Shame. Doesn't help that her mom gives her a bike with NO brakes of any sort! 

I'm so proud of Nede...

Children are a gift from the Lord;

      they are a reward from him.- Psalm 127:3

AMEN!

where am i?

As would be expected after being in a place for coming close to 2 years my surroundings are feeling pretty familiar. Even though it's familiar to me I'm reminded many of you probably have no idea what it looks like here. So, I thought I would send a few pictures to give you an idea. Many places it's not the greatest idea to stick my camera out the window so this no fantastic photography. 

I live in Chimoio, Manica province:

This is the road to my house:

This is the gate into my house:

This is our property:

And the entrance to our house:

This is Shoprite, the grocery store. If you continue up this road our house is less than 100 meters to the right, off this very bumpy road:

This is La Plaza, the best cappuccinos in town. I usually drop Nede off at school on Monday mornings and meet some friends here to start off the week:

And this is Nede's school:

This is the post office, corrieos, where I love to collect my packages. Most things get to me unless something enticing is written on the outside of the box, someone else then chooses to help themselves: 

This is the market where I buy all my fruit and vegetables:

Right across from the market is Vapor, the best pizza available for miles:

 That's all for now. As familiar as this all is I am far too often reminded that I am not at home here. I will always be a foreigner. No matter how well I know the language, not matter how much cultural understanding I think I have, I will never know what it's like to be born and live my life in a place like this. I wish it weren't so but, I don't fit. I'm often frustrated by the different world-views that I try to conjoin. Impossible. I guess culture is culture no matter where I am, the only saving grace we have is to try to live in a Kingdom culture. This can and should be my attempt no matter where I find myself. And I guess, this is part of my journey where I continue to find out what Kingdom culture even is. Nede and I will always have a different culture, won't we? It's my desire that the culture we represents most is a culture that Jesus would smile upon-- being part of "thy kingdom come..."

And when I look at this airplane building that's being constructed, I have no idea where I am!!!! It seems like it belongs in Epcot, not the outskirts of Chimoio. 

 

 There it is. It's seems like I'm in a very strange place.

aspirations

"Mom, when I grow up I want to be a doctor and a princess."

a husband

Last night Nede and I read the Creation story in her new Children's Message Bible.
We discussed it and tonight at dinner she said,
"Mom, why don't we just take out a bone (as if to grab one of her ribs) and make a husband?"

i wanted to be like dad

I'm always surprised by the things that Nede is teaching me.
Today was another one.
I've just recently got the courage and motivation to start exercising more. I've found a safe place to run and have remembered how much I do have a passion for it.
Because Nede has heard me say that I go running after I drop her off at school she's been asking to go with me.
"Mommy, after my nap can we do running?"
"Oh, Nede it's so hot after your nap!"
"Hot doesn't matter."
"We'll see."
Well, today when she woke up there was an obvious storm rolling in and, with Nede's fear of storms, I knew going too far from the house was not an option.
"Why don't we just jump rope for exercise today Nede? It's going to rain."
"Okay. But I don't have running clothes?"
"Oh, yes you do. You can use any shorts and a tank top."
"But I don't have like you."
"Oh, yes, how about these shorts, this tank top? Look it's similar to mine. And put on your socks and shoes."
"Look Mom these socks are short like yours!"
Off we went to jump rope. Nede soon got tired and started running laps around the yard. "Look how fast I am Mom." (She really is fast, I think and has quite the endurance.) The we did go outside our fence and ran around the neighborhood for quite awhile.
I started thinking. WOW! Just because this is something she knows I do and enjoy she is SO interested in it! Is that where my desire for running came from? Well, YES! I wanted to be like my dad. Of course I did. I learned much from my dad. A whole lot more than just pacing myself. I learned stick-to-it-ness, I learned about positive thinking, I learned about the power of positive thinking, I learned discipline, I learned to push through the pain, I learned to not give up, I learned to fight, I learned the benefits of caring for my body, I learned that hard work pays off, I learned to work as a team, I learn to encourage, I learned to set goals, I learned that little that is worth it, comes easily.
Hmm...it seems all these things that I learned as I admired my dad are coming in handy now. Before I returned to Mozambique I remember a dear friend saying to me (although I didn't really want to hear it), "Dara, I think that you have to go as if you're prepared to run a marathon."
I'm now brought back to more words from my dad from when I ran my marathon, "At mile 22 you may hit the wall and it may feel like you're starting over, the last 4 miles may feel as difficult as the first 22."
Again, how right he was.
I am running another marathon. I may have hit the wall hard but I'm still going. I can't give up. And boy, is it going to be worth it.
And all from wanting to be like Dad-- a pair of running shoes and Dad.
I'm still putting on those shoes and wanting to be like you, Dad. Thanks for teaching me more than how to run!

birthday

The last three days have been filled with blessing. There has been so much excitement and energy around this house that I wouldn't doubt if you felt it from where you're sitting. Today was Nede's 6th birthday. This girl has been singing "Happy Birthday" to herself in the bathtub for the past 360 days. When it came her time to sing how old she was, she was ready!  Again, I have these emotions that I continually am shocked by, I don't anticipated them and they grab me out of nowhere! Yesterday was another, when she sat in front of about 20 of our friends and her little voice sang, "I'm 6 years old now, I'm 6 years old now, I'm 6 years old now, my friends, I'm 6 years old now" I was stinking proud of her. This child who a year and a half ago I was worried about because she was not talking and withdrawn, now exuberates confidence, has a heart of compassion and as we were getting ready for bed this evening she sincerely said to me, "Mommy, thanks for my presents." 

I'm not sure whose life has changed more since 2008 when I first met this little girl in a ragged yellow dress. 

One of the highlights of the party yesterday was when this little girl confidently (and innocently) stuck her donkey tail on another girls party hat!! She was so determined that I couldn't even get her facing in the right direction.

Nede's biggest disappointment of the weekend may have been that the wings of her "pharaoh" (confusion with "fairy") dress don't actually make her fly.

If there was some sort of meter to measure the happiness of a child, Nede would be off the charts! My prayer for Nede's life is the promise that Jesus gave when he said,  "I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of." (John 10:10, The Message). 

It's no wonder Jesus also says to be more like these little ones. How much different would my life look if I lived in the now and didn't worry? Finally, as Dr Seuss says from one of the gifts Nede received, 

From sun in the summer,

From rain when it's fall-ish,

I'm going to protect them, 

No matter how small-ish!

Amen Dr! 

If I Give to You My Love

I don't think I totally understand this song but I think it's how I want to live. I'm sure it's what I believe. I'm confident it's what I'm called to. I struggle with it. I share the song with you because... I think it's beautiful.

Thank you Kate Hurley for giving me something to cry out.

we, we're dying like the chickens

I started writing this last week sometime and never finished it. Mainly because I didn't know how to. Here's what I had written and I'll try to conclude it after the happenings of the last few days. I still don't know how to properly conclude it 'cause I'm one confused girl, in one difficult place:

I had a conversation with one of my guards today. As per the usual news, someones baby had died. My guard explained it as a "bad spirit". When I inquired more he said, "Senhora! The baby was fine one day and died the next! That's not a bad spirit?"
I don't know what it is but I know that it's one of the many things that makes Mozambique so difficult.
Our conversation then moved to the population that is dying from malaria, and then I brought up the words that I've never heard my guards speak, HIV.
"OH SENHORA! HIV!"
Then he said it, "We, we're dying like the chickens."
I didn't really understand this analogy at first so I brought it up later. "What do you mean you're dying like the chickens?"
I still don't understand completely but the gist of it is that people go buy, or raise, a chicken with the sole purpose to kill and enjoy. The life of a chicken is short-lived and not valued.
I see what he means. Human life, like the chickens, is held quite loosely too. A death is usual conversation.
My guard also shared of a woman who was hit with a car just by my house. She, the baby on her back and the young child in her hand, dead.
Three more, gone.


This is where I ended because I didn't know what to say next. And then, on Friday evening we had a bad hail and wind storm. Thankfully I and 2 friends were safe in my huge concrete house. And, though it leaks like a sieve and a window got cracked and a number of other things were damaged, we weren't in danger. My house isn't made of mud with a grass roof. I don't have tin sheets of metal moderately secured as my roof that could fly off and detach someones arm (apparently that happened). I wasn't walking with my baby on my back in the market with no place to get away from the pelting hail which would bring both to their death (apparently that happened too).

I still don't know how to end this message. I write out of my own confusion sometimes. What I don't get is  why is it okay that so many die around the world to things like AIDS and malaria? Why, for 28 years of my life, did I not know about this? I didn't even know to care. They don't show this on the news in America do they? Not often, that's for sure. It makes me crazy that just because we in America aren't "dying like the chickens" that we ignore this, or are too afraid to face it and make it personal.

I may sound angry but I am, I'm mad at HIV and mosquitoes and the lack of the worlds response. This isn't how it's suppose to be. This isn't what the Church is supposed to be doing. We're called to more, much more.

It makes me sad that my guard compares the value of his life to that of a chicken. He's worth more. They all are.

child development

Since taking in a child at 4 years old I've obviously missed observing a number of steps in child development (and my mind is a little groggy in recalling nursing 211). I often find myself wondering if what Nede is doing or how she is acting is appropriate for her age and development. I'm often fascinated. Below is an example. Nede has tried jumping rope periodically and then, all of the sudden, she's doing it. It seems a bit manic if you ask me! Is this normal? 

tonight my light melted on my wall

Tonight when I went into our bedroom to get Nede ready for bed, after a bit of tickling and out of control giggling, I smelled something. As if something was burning. I was quickly led to the light that I had clipped to a nail above my bed. During Nede’s nap time today I had tucked the mosquito net on the light to keep it out of our faces. Not such a great idea. This evening Nede had gone into the room and switched on this light to find her pajamas, as she does every night. I still don’t quite get it but, whatever happened it’s not good, the lightbulb obviously was too hot or the electricity was too strong and the plastic of this clip on lamp had melted, a lot. I’m afraid it was only a matter of minutes more before the mozie net would have gone up in flames. I’m told that none of the electricity is “grounded” in this house and, apparently that’s not good, I’m learning that it sure isn’t! None the less we’re praising God tonight that this story didn’t turn out worse. If you’re now wondering how I survive on my own out here-- there’s only one word to explain it. Grace.

3 years ago

I remember you so young, 
so frail.
So broken,
inside
and out. 


You shattered me like none other.
But the heartache you experienced was like nothing I'll ever,
in your 20 young years.


I saw you in the death of an elderly American.
I turn my head to the lives of young Mozambicans.
Your suffering can never be 

                             changed.

I heave at the INJUSTICE. 


Your legacy is held in one beautiful child.
One strong child.
His precious ONE. 


We're fighting for life here.
Abundant life.
Her's WILL BE different.
Her's IS.


I'm sorry yours wasn't.


I'll kept fighting.
Because His grace is sufficient.
I pray.

she are!

Nede: “Mom, are you sad?”

Me: “Why do you ask?”

Nede: “I’m just asking, Mom, are you sad?”

Me: “Yes, Nede I’m a little sad today.”

Nede: “Why?”

Me: “Well, I wish I felt like Jesus was a little closer to me.”

Nede: “He is. He lives in your heart.”

Me: “You’re right Nede. You’re right. But, do you ever just wish that you could feel a hug from Jesus?”

Nede: “But She are. She is hugging your heart!”

Me: “You’re right Nede. He is!”

xoxo

know it all

Conversation with Nede while hand washing bedding in the tub this morning:

Nede: “That’s not how you do it Mom. Do it like this!”

Me: “Nede do you think you know everything?”

Nede: “Yes!”

Me: “Nede what is 10 + 10?”

Nede: “Washing.”

Me: “No. See Nede you don’t know everything.”

Nede: “Ma’ma, what is washing?”

Me: “The process of making things clean.”

Nede: “No! It’s Kupadza. See you don’t know everything too.” (Kupadza may actually be the word in Shona. I don’t know.)

Me: “Nede you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Nede: “Me either, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

monrovia, liberia, 2007

I’m reading a book right now about a families experience with adoption.

As I read tonight I was taken back to a place in my memory that I haven’t visited in a long time.

Monrovia, Liberia, 2007. I was there being a nurse but nursing did not facilitate my life change. This came on my day off. This particular day I chose to visit an orphanage.

It’s still fresh in my mind. Too fresh almost. I went with a group. That part I don’t remember well. What I remember is that I was somehow left along in a room. Well, not alone. I was alone with babies/children. That was exactly where I didn’t want to be at the time, alone with crying, orphaned children. What I particularly hate about this memory is that I didn’t want to hold that one child. I can still see her sitting there. I wanted to not see her. I didn’t even want to touch her. I was extremely uncomfortable with her physical appearance. Her pencil-thin limbs surely could not support her body and, although not certain, I am sure she was far older than I would have pegged her. I remember thinking/hearing/knowing/feeling (whatever that was), “Dara, that is the very child you NEED to hold. You need to love that ONE!”

I responded. I went and held that child on my lap, against every desire of my own, I did it anyway. I sat, uncomfortable, holding this smelly child whose abdomen was enormous and her affect was flat. She lacked any spark of life, hope or fight. It was hard for me to show love to this child. Because I couldn’t do anything to change the situation I would have rather not been exposed to it. I felt to helpless.

I only held that child because I knew God wanted me to, because I KNEW HE adored her. He loved her and I was supposed to also.

Fast forward a few months and I was back in my bed in my Arizona apartment and I woke from dreams numerous nights in a panic. I would find myself sitting up in bed anxiously thinking, “Who’s holding the children? Who’s loving the orphaned?”

Now that I think about it tonight, that’s part of what started this all.

I have no idea whatever became of that child. I never even knew her name but she and her environment is etched in my mind.

I knew then and I know now that because HE loves them, I need to too.

Grumpy turned Miracle

Last October when I moved into my house in Chimoio I used to refer to one of my guards as “the grumpy one” (totally not nice but it was true). There was a time when I thought, “can I really have this guy ‘guarding’ me, my family, and my house?” Little did I know how unwell he was.

This afternoon I was sitting inside trying to enjoy a cup of coffee and reading a book. I kept hearing this strange noise outside so I went out to see what was going on. It was nothing, just the neighbors doing something. But of course, just showing up outside Nede’s always convinced that you stepped outside just to see her and spend the next hour being bossed around and playing a game according to her rules only. Today was different though, my grumpy guard was sucked into the game too.

At first he was rigid, awkward and maybe even nervous as Nede told me where to stand and him to stand in between us. She was ready to whip a basketball at him as she prepared to enjoy a great game of “Pickle-in-the-Middle.” (No wonder he was afraid, he had no idea what we were doing and she had a big ball). I had a difficult time explaining the game in Portuguese so I decided to be the first “Pickle” and show him what to do. It took about 3 seconds (of me being a total clown in the middle as Nede flailed this way and that trying to fake me out) for Grumpy to start laughing, a real laugh. A belly laugh that tickled my ears as it's so unfamiliar to hear such a sound from a Mozambican man! This went on and on for almost a half hour as we took turns being in the middle. The simple joy that this game brought each of us seemed like such a gift. It’s taken 10 months for this sound of laughter to billow over my fences. I think it was music to the ears of God. It felt like a really special miracle.

I then brought out Nede’s bubbles and started blowing a few. Of course  Nede scrambled around like a wild woman trying to pop each and every one. Pretty soon my guard was reaching from the chair he was sitting in trying to pop any that came his direction. My mind then drifted from were I was. I was brought back to when I was in college and Deanna and I had bought bubble guns from Walmart. We used to drive down University Avenue blowing bubbles out the window. It was those carefree moments where just a simple bubble brought lots of joy and laughter, leaving behind the stresses of life.

Since knowing Nede I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the significance and simplicity of the Scriptures that encourage us to have “child-like faith.” Today playing ball and blowing bubbles with my 2 friends (who couldn’t be more different from me) I realized, “this is it! This simplicity of joy, laughter and unity is what it’s about. This is life. Delighting in the simplest of things as if there’s not a care in the world.” Yes, I’m sure God was laughing and smiling down upon us, pleased to give us this miracle. I felt pure joy and the presence of God more than I have for a long time while I was the “pickle-in-the-middle”. Former Mr. Grumpy was able to leave his worries outside the fence and be a kid, the child he probably was never able to be. And, my own kid me got me out of the house and, in her childish ways, brought me to my faith, noticing God again.

And I would say, it was one of the best hours I’ve had in a long time.

It was simple, yet, profound. I wonder how much happier I could be if I allowed myself to see and enjoy more simple miracles? I want to try.

field trip

Nede has never lacked enthusiasm. Throw the first “field trip” of her little life into the picture and we had one early morning and one busy day!

I told Nede she looked ready for her first field trip and she responded, “I’m ready to fight the cold!” (It is chilly now).

After one kid got scared and threw up, we were off to the Chimoio airport.

I wasn’t quite sure we would even see any planes but we saw this one…

and watched this one land and take off…

Enjoyed a snack…

And saw a 4 wheeler and fire truck…

And, I’m the nerdy mom who takes pictures of everything. I was never going to be this! :)

And then, I turned my back to the runway and saw this… 

 

I’m again reminded where Nede comes from. I’m confused, disturbed and saddened by the contrast. Yet, I’m overjoyed by what a simple trip to the Chimoio airport offers.

A nice day.

a village

I parked my car under the shade tree just 10 meters off the road. For about 100 meters both sides of this busy road-- which connects trucks from the port in Beira to Northern Mozambique, Malawi, and Zambia--is lined with small buildings. There are a couple of picnic tables and a few bright colored buildings advertising Vodacom, Mcel and the ever present, Coca-Cola.

We were greeted by a small crowd of church folks that were obviously expecting us. We were quite quickly ushered into a small room, maybe a “dining room” for the local cafe? We were joined by our faithful pastor friend and the local community leader. This man was dressed in his pristine uniform—each shoulder bearing the seal of Mozambique as well as his soldierish hat. We visited briefly with him explaining why we’ve come, who we are and what we want. We asked him a few questions and he proudly shared information about his community of about 2,000 residents. In response to our reasons for coming he states that there are many orphaned and vulnerable children here, many children who’ve been abandoned and patients, yes, there are plenty of patients.

As if we were on a tight schedule we were then shuffled off to go have a pastors meeting in one of the 20 local churches. We walked along the dirt path passing a number of children, greeting those who moved out of our way as others accompanying us carried wicker chairs for this next meeting.

Inside the dark mud brick church were gathered about 10 pastors and church leaders. I was instructed to sit in the front while my African counterpart sat in the first row. I tried to say I didn’t wanted to but they insisted. When it came time to move our meeting forward I was joined by my friend and the pastor.

We spoke for quite sometime about our hearts, what would bring us to this small village and why we came. We asked many questions trying to get a sneak peak into the life here. My friend focused on and challenged us on the words of Proverbs 31:

⁸ Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves;
      ensure justice for those being crushed.
⁹ Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless,
      and see that they get justice.

After long enough my head was spinning as I tried to take in everything in this language I continue to battle, today’s my first day with no translator, I’m managing.

We concluded and exited this cool thatched building to start walking in the community to “see” what they were talking about.

My mind keeps thinking about HIV/AIDS. Everyone seemed to chuckle when I tried to fish for information about how this community deals with the devastation. Being the 8th highest country in the world with HIV/AIDS prevalence I can’t believe that they didn’t mention it as a significant issue.

We started walking on the small dirt paths visiting different homes, hearing their stories. I continue to be bothered how upon our arrival to each home the facts are just blatantly given as if we’re talking about used cars or something.

“So and so was orphaned to his mom and the father abandon them. He's now living with his grandmother.”

“So and so’s father was killed in a car accident on the road and now lives here with his aunt and her 2 other children.”

“This woman lives here with her husband and 3 children and 7 orphaned children. The pastor says, ‘this house is crying. They have nothing.’ “

Anita and Annabelle touch my heart. Anita is 8 years old. She goes to the local primary school but after this year, if she wants to continue her education, she’ll have to walk 7km one-way to the nearest secondary school. She’s just bigger than Nede. I want to cry at the vulnerabilities she’ll face if she even wants to choose to continue her education. Her mother reminds me of the woman/child who has changed my life forever, leaving her child in my hands.

We prayed for a few people who were sick and again I try to understand what life must be like here. The nearest hospital or clinic is 15 km up the road. It costs 30 mts round trip by public transport, equal to 1 USD. Who can afford even this?

Despite the fact that I practically could do nothing this day, I walked away feeling encouraged. As I’ve been reflecting on my time I realize that really, all I can offer is my faith. I have to come back to why I believe what I believe, why I’m living in Mozambique and where I put my trust. I’m encouraged when I look at the number of times in the Gospels that the “answer” to the hard thing is your faith.

“Your faith has made you well.” Matt 9:22

“Because of your faith it will happen.” Matt 9:29

“Your faith is great! Your request is granted.” Matt 15:28

“Your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Your suffering is over.” Mark 5:34

“Go, for your faith has healed you.” Mark 10:52

“Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” Luke 7:50

“Your faith has made you well. Go in peace.” Luke 8:48

“Stand up and go. Your faith has healed you. ” Luke 17:19

“All right, receive your sight! Your faith has healed you.” Luke 18:42

Sometimes I’m not sure I have much faith left but when I’m stripped from everything and feel like I’m left naked before the Lord I’m reminded that my faith is all I’ve got to give. And, it’s enough.

the first year

This past year has been terribly difficult, but all the joy makes it worth it, YES, 100%!

anger

I’ve always known I’m an emotional being, sometimes I’m highly emotional (a bit out of control maybe:). Over the last year I’ve experienced a new emotional. Well, if not a new one, a fairly unfamiliar, uncomfortable one.

Anger.

I never knew how to deal with anger before. Well, I couldn’t deal with it. In the past, if I was angry I would just cry. I won’t be able to confront, I would just melt into a pile of tearful sobs.

Something happened the other day where my anger raged again. I knew I needed to respond, not have a meltdown. I needed to act. My heart raced with that conviction I get, only occasionally, from the Holy Spirit. I knew if I ignored, I would lay in bed sleepless that night.

Nede and I were walking to the grocery store. We were having the usual Nede, Dara conversation as we walked hand in hand. Up ahead where the semi-trucks unload their produce for the grocery store I saw a small girl talking with a man who was about my age. The girl was standing with her arms embracing her own waist. She looked threatened. She looked scared. My mind raced as to what kind of conversation could be being exchanged. I knew it was worth trying to intercept this encounter. My anger was rising up. I said a prayer that I would be able to muster up enough Portuguese to say what I needed to say.

I stopped when I reached them. I greeted them- good afternoon, how are you…

I knew that I wanted to stay there just long enough to make this  man go away from this little girl. He did.
I then spoke with the girl a bit more. She continued to look guarded, eyes darting back and forth. I asked if she knew this man. She said something about it being her uncle and giving her a job. I didn’t believe it.
I then ran out of things to say and thought I’d just continue on to buy my groceries as I had simply set out to do. We walked away with Nede’s millions of questions firing.

I wasn’t settled though. I kept looking back. The girl stood there watching the trucks, stone-faced.

I couldn’t keep going. I had to go back.

I called the girl to come closer to me.

“What’s your name? How old are you? Do you go to school? Where is your house? Do you know this man?”

She was 12 years old, yes she goes to school, she lived near, no she doesn’t know this man.

I then just said “you are a beautiful young girl. You need nothing from this man. You need to go home right now. Do not stand here waiting for this man. Go home Beautiful!”

Her face eased. She gave me a little smile and we almost made eye contact. She agreed and I watched to make sure she headed home.

I don’t know what happened next and I don’t really know what was about to happen when I walked up, but I can imagine. I hear the stories here. I know the statistics.

The injustice. Innocence being stolen from a child and the devastating after effects make me rage.

I then held Nede’s hand a bit tighter and had a little chat with her. I was reminded that day what Nede’s been rescued from. And I was also reminded how many other young, innocent girls have not been. It makes me so angry; it makes me want to do more. It makes me want to put my anger into action. I can’t just sit and cry anymore.

“no, i saw them walking around”

Each morning when I bring Nede to school we have our little route we always take-- into the city, over the railroad tracks, left at the police station, right at the Catholic church, until the road turns to dirt, left, school’s straight ahead. The simple route is usually busy and filled with something that turns my head. Or, quite often it’s Nede that grabs my attention.

For example, a few weeks ago as we passed the Catholic church she said, “Mama, did you see that small house with that Lady holding baby Jesus?”

I responded, “Oh, no Nede, I didn’t see it. I think it’s just a statue though. Do you know what a statue is?”

“No but the o--ther (intonation rising indicating it’s been a few days…more like aaaaaaaaaaaather) day I saw them walking around. Yes, I think so.”

My thoughts: OH! Wow! Well! I don’t want to argue that. You never know what these little faith-filled eyes see. She could have. She’ll learn soon enough what a statue is. Jesus is alive. We’ll leave it at that.

Nede wrapped it up with, “Yes, I think so. I don’t know. Maybe.”

She’ll learn soon enough. I wish my faith was more like hers. I’m called to be. I’m learning from her, growing with her, trying to be…

just sitting there in the gutter

I took this picture today because of all it represents.

It may not say much to you but let me try to help you tell its story.

Nede’s been home, sick with malaria for 2 days now—no school for her.

Today we got up, I asked her to get dressed. She chose her pink, frilly princess dress. I made her put on a sweatshirt. She chose a pink one, with hearts on it. She asked to go outside and play. I said, “For a little while. Put your shoes on.” She chose her pink rain boots.

Pretty soon, I looked out the bedroom window to see Nede and my guard, Jose, washing their bicycles together.

This man loves my child. This is not the Mozambican norm.

I don’t know what happened next but soon I noticed that Nede’s bike was parked in the gutter with Mono Jose’s, in his usually parking space.

The bikes sat like this together, all day.

These bikes tell two drastically different stories.

One represents a multipurpose vehicle, necessary for livelihood.

One represents laughter and an imaginary land of dreams and hopes.

One represents struggle.

One represents carefree days.

One was an investment.

One was a gift under a Christmas tree.

One will break one day and be grieved over with no means of repair.

One will break and be disposed of, likely to be replaced in no time.

Not only do these bikes represent young and old, new and worn but they seem to be symbolic of too much of life here.

Few are given such hopes and dreams; many are plagued with struggle and challenges.

I know they’re just pink and a black metal (plastic) objects but as I look at them, they tell such a story. A story in which the owners are both intertwined into my heart.

Both with their different lives, their different stories, their different futures.

A hardworking Mozambican man.

A joyful Mozambican child.

Their bicycles say a lot sitting there in the gutter.

kumbaya

I've been thinking about different seasons in my life. Reminiscing about times when I've prayed and sang different songs. Songs I used to sing when I went to the little church situated among the pines. Songs I sang in the church connected to the mall. Songs I sang at the million dollar church in the desert. Songs I sang more recently as a stranger to a new church in St Paul. There are also countless memories and songs I sang while driving in the car. Driving across the desert belting out, " If You ask me to run,  And carry Your light into foreign land, If You ask me to fight, Deliver Your people from Satan's hand" I'll go...

I remember laying on my Arizona living room floor crying to the words of the song "God of Justice."

I all to well remember aching where I was and aching for where I wanted to be. It seems I'm doing the same now. Aching where I am, aching for where I would like to be. 

If I can be blatantly honest, and why not because God already knows, I question myself if right now I would honestly be able to sing out, "I surrender all" with a pure heart, before the Lord. Over the last months I have said to the Lord, "If I knew it was going to be this hard I won't have come back God." Sitting in a church pew singing sacrificial songs was a lot easier. Learning to give up my life for another-- Nede yes, but ultimately Jesus-- is a lot harder than I wish it were. 

I miss a comfortable couch. I miss multitudes of family and friends available on the other end of my cell phone or waiting at the nearest Starbucks. I miss hugs from those who love me most. I miss comfort and I miss a language I understand. I'm terribly homesick (and I plead for prayers to find a way for Nede and I to be able to go home sometime). 

All of this said, in vulnerable honesty, I have to keep convincing myself that it's worth it, and I know that it is. As I held Nede tonight, contemplating the origin of her fever-- malaria or another bug? I thought about where she would be if I weren't here. Then  I thought about all the other kids out there that don't get held when their temperature is elevated. I thought about how I still want my mom to hold me when I have a fever. 

And then, I sent Nede to brush her teeth to soon find this...

I was then reminded that I WANT to want to "surrender all." I WANT to want to "go where He asks me to go." I WANT to give up my life more willingly. I WANT to praise Him in every difficult, perfect situation He puts me in.
My soul resonates with my five year olds Kumbaya. Lord, we're calling. Lord, we're praying. Lord, we're singing. Lord, we're dancing. COME BY HERE!

(All of this said, do not worry. It's a glimpse of where I am, what I've gone through and am working through in my own heart. This is what God is doing in me, writing my story...)

hey diddle diddle

I hear it every day but Nede's voice still makes my heart happier than almost anything. She awes me as she continues to grasp 3 languages. As she learns English from me, her Zimbabwean teachers, Nigerian and Burundian school friends, and our South African, Swedish, British, and Irish friends, some things, to many, are unintelligible. Sometimes she even sounds Italian! Nevertheless, it's good for lots of smiles!

Story 2: it was the size of my head, red eyes, fangs…

Saturday night Sarah and I got chased away from our cribbage game early to escape the hungry mosquitoes, who, we were assured, are NOT malaria carrying! (We’ll see about that in the next 7-10 days!) After 3 days of playing in the sand and sun I thought I was just going to crawl into the sanctuary of my mosquito net and fall fast asleep. For some reason, once I got into my net, which I was sharing with Nede with our 2 single mattresses secured beneath, I got a bit ambitious and thought I would read for a bit. I started on my back but then my arms got tired from hold my book above my head. I wanted to lay on my left side but then I knew the light from my head lamp would shine in Nede’s face so I turned on my right side. Positioning myself this way left only a few inches between me, my net and the wall. Not the most comfortable but that’s how it is. Shortly after, Sarah came in and was settling herself in her bed on the other side of Nede’s. All was still, tranquil, relaxed when I let out a HUGE scream as a RAT raced next to my head about 6 inches from my face!!!! I FLEW away from the wall, landing on Nede’s leg. Sarah startled, obviously, and said “What’s wrong???” To which I screamed, “There’s a RAT INSIDE MY MOSQUITO NET!”

Sarah then said a few choice words on my behalf as I reached over Nede trying to untuck the mosquito net from the far corner of the foot of Nede’s bed. As I tugged unsuccessfully the rat jumped up against the net in it’s own attempt to get out of the prison he put himself in. I continued to be unsuccessful in trying to get this critter out of MY personal space. It then ran up the length of Nede’s bed RIGHT next to her head! I repositioned myself to make the reach across Nede to free the intruder from the far corner of the head of Nede’s bed. I was finally successful and in a split second he was gone. Where to, we never found. We were pretty sure he had gone out from our net but we never saw where he went.

Sarah and I then, after some time, got out from under our nets (I felt safe NO WHERE now) to move EVERY item in the baraka to make sure he wasn’t still hiding somewhere. We lifted every sheet, every mattress put ALL our bags outside and over an hour later felt somewhat confident to retuck our nets back under our mattresses and climb back into bed.

Nede slept through it all.

And me? I have been traumatized. The security of the mosquito net that I have put my confidence in for greater than 2 years is now gone. And now I have been having visions in my head of a rat the size of my head, fangs and red eyes that looked into my soul…

I didn’t sleep well that night.

Story 1: his name is much?

One day while at the beach Nede and I walked together to ask the staff to turn on the hot water so we could take hot showers. As we walked away Nede said, “That man is coming? His name is Much?”

I responded, “What Nede?”

“That man? His name is Much?”

“I don’t know the man’s name who is going to come turn on the water.”

“But his name is Much?”

“Nede! I don’t know his name? Why are you asking?”

To this she frankly answered, “Well, why did you say ‘thank you Much’ then?”

the beach

Nede, Sarah and I just spent the last 4 days at the beach! It was fantastic!!!

This is where we slept…

This is where we played… 

This is what we ate… 

(Yes, those are ants. I opened a BRAND NEW sealed package of cheese and these busy friends were securely added under the plastic label. Unbelievable!)

And this is how we celebrated our first outing together!

REJOICING!

(to be continued…2 stories not to miss to follow;)

prayers of a 5 year old

For several months now I was blessed by friends who allowed me to borrow a car as I pursued the seemingly impossible search to buy a car. Finding a car was something Nede and I prayed about together for quite awhile. One day a few weeks ago before Nede went to school she asked if when she got home we could draw pictures of Jesus. I promised her that after her nap we would draw pictures of Jesus. It turned out that I drew the below picture of Jesus, Nede and me. Then I asked her if there was something she would like to pray and write on this picture (I know, it looks like Nede drew it!!! I’m no artist!!). These are honestly the exact words from Nede’s mouth that I wrote on the picture that day:

Dear Father, I need to buy a new car, one that goes very fast. Please help with money for a new car. AMEN

On Saturday we drove this car home!!!!

It was provided for us differently than we expected and my dread of such an experience was as pleasant as it could have been in Mozambique. I even think the woman from the car “dealership” is going to become a friend as she already mentioned inviting me to her Rotary Club meeting next week:)

We’re ever so grateful for how the Lord provided this car for us. Perhaps not what I thought I originally needed but I trust that it’s just what HE knows we need.

Thanks to those who made this a reality! I didn’t realize the burden I was carrying in borrowing and being without a car. I feel a new sense of freedom having my own, low gas mileage wheels!