i want normal when i'm in the miracle

(This is an honest account of what I'm going through right now. Please bear in mind that I'm a messy work in progress. Walk with me and pray.)

I long for normal. I actually crave it.

Last Friday night I was depressed. I longed to be somewhere where I could be going out to dinner with friends or watching a movie with a "big gulp" in hand. What sounds like the perfect day to me is walking around a shopping mall sipping on a hazelnut latte, maybe even 2. I want to see families in the play area, a mom and a dad doting over their children.  I want to take Nede to a park. A park without rusty, sharp edges. I'd like to order food from a restaurant and expect to get what I ordered not just hope for the best. I want to put on high heels and my best jeans and blow dry my hair. I want to drive a car without having to dodge dogs, goats, bicycles, motorbikes, women carrying wood piles on their heads, children dashing across the street, by themselves. I even wish I could get a mosquito bite without thinking, "wonder if I'm going to get malaria. We'll see in 7-10 days." I want a cell phone that I can count on working and friends in town that I can plan a spur of the moment trip to Starbucks with. I want to speak to and see best friends and family that I haven't seen for 2+ years. I want a Chipotle burrito.

Yes, I know the Bible says we're not to be of "this world", we're to be "set apart" not longing for these things-- these meaningless things.

But, I still do.

I want to hear a language I understand completely and to be able to express myself with a larger vocabulary.

Yes, I know, I do know without a doubt that I'm in the center of God's will. I'm where I'm supposed to be. But, who forgot to tell me that this isn't always as glamorous and "feel good" as you think it's going to be when you're saying "Yes" to God with arms raised in a mega church with hundreds of voices crying out to Him? In the night after night of sitting in the now cold, without any heat and just adding more layers, this God adventure doesn't "feel" too happy and warm fuzzy. Yes, yes, I do also know that my feelings aren't where decisions are to be made from nor the source in which truth flows. But many times I ask, "Really? How long? How long will I battle with finding peace, contentment and even joy in this situation?" It seems like if I could ever just "get it" everything would be a lot more manageable.

Yes, it's a miracle I've been sustained-- in all areas of life. It's a miracle things work out when my bank accounts are sucked dry, like the Sahara. It's a miracle.

It's a miracle that I have one amazing kid I've been asked to be responsible for. It's a miracle.

It's a miracle I drive on the left side of the road and it now feels "normal". Miracle.

I function in a Portuguese speaking Nation. Miracle.

I have faced meeting after difficult meeting. Miracle.

Stress. Tears. Loneliness. Heartache. Headaches. Miracle.

Someday's I just plain old don't want to be living the "miracle" any more. I don't want my faith to be stretched so tight that I feel like a rubber band about to be flung across the room with the risk of injuring an innocent bystander.

What choice do I have though? I don't have any other. Because, bigger than ALL I'm feeling and all that's "abnormal", I KNOW this is where I need to be. I KNOW this is the heart of my Father God. I only wish that this could one day start to feel like my "normal". Because if what I want to be "normal" is at the cost of child slavery to get my coffee, sweatshops to get those favorite jeans, wars to fuel my car and ignoring the poor to watch my movie and drink my big gulp, I don't want that either.

I wish I were changing more than I am. Because I still want to go shopping with that latte. A LOT.

I guess the miraculous journey I'm on is just that isn't it? A journey. It's about far more than what I'm doing and more about what He's doing in me. It's a time for me to find ways to give glory to Him, trust Him and rejoice in Him when sometimes it's the last thing I "feel" to do. Life is about the here and now. But that seems to be one of the biggest things that can't cross this great divide between my head and my heart. Because now, if I'm really honest with the world, I don't want this.

I want to be normal.

(The miracle.)

(Applying ice to her forehead post hulahoop accident to the forehead. Nothing slows her down.)

PRAYER PLEASE: Please pray for me to "get it". To trust in my Father's love for me. To be content. To have joy, now.

i think i feel angry too

Amen, my friend!
A must read: http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/07/the-1-thing-you-really-have-to-know-about-your-family/

milk, good for your health

This morning Nede was eating her breakfast, corn flakes with UHT milk (I'm not sure it's milk at all, I don't quite get the idea that milk doesn't need to be refrigerated until after it's open. Long-life milk, I'm not a fan). Then she said, "Mom, my teacher says milk is good for our health. It makes our teeth strong so we can chew bones."

At first I thought I misunderstood her and she was saying milk is good for your teeth and bones. Then I realized she hadn't misspoken at all. Eating ALL of the chicken (or goat) is the normal procedure in most Mozambican homes. Nede's already Americanized and doesn't do this but...it would be what she would do if she lived with an African mom.

So kids, drink your milk so your teeth are strong and you can eat those bones! No reason to waste anything.

we believe in adoption, do you?

Sometimes I feel crazy. Then I read my (new) dear friends blog and I'm grateful to be reminded that I'm not. Read on:

http://www.themozblog.tk/ (click blog and read "loving our neighbors")

3 single moms, 3 great kids

where is Jesus

Thursday night. 10pm. Phone rings.

"Hi Dara. Sorry to call so late. How are you? Dara, are you busy tomorrow morning? If it's not a problem can you help me with something? One of the street kids I work with lost his mother today. When we found them they were taking down the door to their house to build a coffin. They have nothing. Could you drive our truck to bring the coffin to the cemetery and bring people there and back to their house again?"

"I would be happy to help."

Friday morning, 9am, I drive a full-size extended cab pick-up on a trail I didn't know we would fit down. I maneuver around praying I don't bump a mud hut which is no bigger than the car I'm driving. I back up as close as we can to the home who's had the loss. I walk over to the house and feel ashamed. I feel ashamed because I live less than a mile from this house and have forgotten what life is like outside my wall. The children who've lost their only living parent are filthy, wearing only rags that I wouldn't even use to clean my house with. The door is indeed missing from the front entrance. There are people around but in my cynicism I think that they're the ones that come out of the wood work at this time for the food and to pay their respect to spirits that drive the fear that runs, and ruins, their lives. Where were these people when the children were living on the streets? Who was here when the mother was dying? I didn't get the answers to these questions. It doesn't matter, but I want to blame someone for the situation. When really there's a responsibility that I could take in it. There's a history that my culture, the church, human-kind can, and must, take responsibility of.

I was shocked at what I found at the cemetery. I knew of these rituals but again, I've been away from them for some time. On top of every mound of dirt were suitcases, bags, purses, pots-- belongings that I couldn't help but think people in the homes of the deceased could be using. I'm not sure of the culture beliefs behind it but it's something with the after-life and spirit.

And then there's the cultural wailing and crying; the griever collapsing to the ground, body limp and then being abruptly and  harshly hauled away to minimize the scene that's created. I know it's all the cultural norm and different worldview that disturbs me. And that's exactly what I was, disturbed.

At one point I was so overwhelmed by the tragedy all around me that my body didn't know how to respond. I couldn't cry, I couldn't speak. My body was numb with a subtle urge to dry heave or wretch my guts out.

And then I saw a butterfly and was reminded. There's still life. There is and always will be new life.

At one point I just lifted my head to feel the sun on my face and worshiped God, trusting that He's here. He feels the hurt and knows the helplessness. I prayed and asked that I, and others here, live as salt and light to this oh so dry and dark land. That somehow our presence is pushing back the darkness. That somehow in the rub of the back that I gave a newly orphaned child, love was felt. Because what is this life even about if it's not about love? Love to our neighbor. Even if our neighbor is in the farthest corner of the world, we understand nothing of their culture and our worldviews couldn't be much different. We must find a way to know them, and love them.

Most days I don't understand, or know much, but most days I do know, that this is where Jesus would be.

nede antics

Nede is a hoot! I really think she is. It may just be a motherly love kind of thing but maybe not. I think she really is clever.
She still asks a lot of questions. I mean, A LOT! Isn't it Mom? Isn't it? (She says that ALL the TIME often folllowed by "even me." "Even me.")
Here's the dialog we had last night at bedtime after reading from her Bible the story of Esau and Jacob.
"Mom, what if we see someone that's really hairy?"
Me: "Then I guess we could say he's like Esau."
Nede: "And what if someone has hair on their legs and they shave it off?"
Me: "Umm...I don't know."
Nede: "Then they're like you!" BA HA HA!!!!! We both burst into stitches of laughter.
That's pretty clever isn't it?

* * * * * * 

Nede also does everything (EVERYTHING) with a lot of effort. She never does anything only half-way as you'll see in her recent mastery of the hula-hoop...she is FULL of gusto! 

She keeps me on my toes. :)