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…