MERRY CHRISTMAS

From Mozambique to your heart-- Merry Christmas from the Vanden Bosch's! 

We're overwhelmed by the prayer support and love we've felt over the last many days (and years!). We can't keep up with the emails but we must say thank you to all of you! More importantly we're praising the Lord for all He's done in 2013-- more than we ever dreamed of. Thank you Jesus! 

christmas this year

I've been thinking a lot about Christmas, as we all have been.
This year I'm thinking about what I want it to be as we start traditions as a family of 3.
I love traditions. I even love the ones that may have totally fallen away from Jesus-- like shopping and wrapping and cookies and lights.
Each year I try to "be" different but I'm not sure any year if I am at all.
We've been busy-- we've baked cookies.
We've decorated trees (2 tiny artificial ones, our farangipani outside).
We have lights and there are presents!
And I'm loving it. I love sharing in Nede's anticipation as she takes down a link each day from our Christmas chain, I love all the hope and wonder and miracles I expect this time of year (this year especially!).
I also can't help but think about what this time is like for many of the neighbors around me.
For many this is a time of hunger, not cookies and hams.
For many this is a time of malaria, malnutrition and chronic disease, not joy and rejoicing.
For many it's a time of heat and humidity, rain and leaky houses not a white Christmas and sleigh rides.
Theft and burglary increases, not giving and receiving.
For many it's not "the most wonderful time of the year."
There must  be more Jesus in this somehow.
Where do we find it?
What does it mean for us?
I wish I knew.
I haven't figured out how to do Christmas here, or anywhere for that matter.
I love the anticipation and hope that builds up in my mind and heart this time of year.
All I know to do is to search those hopes, to analyze them and make sure that I'm trying, in all things, to give glory to God in the highest for EVERY good thing I have.
--To worship Him for being my savior and pouring his amazing grace over me. Every day.
Every moment.
This is Christmas this year-- watching where I put my hope, worshiping him the best I know how, wondering how to share Christmas with my neighbors here and watching for Jesus while we enjoy some traditions.
What is Christmas to you? Where is Jesus in it?

please go buy him some fish

There's been a handful of times, things I've experienced here, where I can honestly say, "that is a miracle."
Nothing more, nothing less-- an act of God that could not be explained by any human efforts. No medicine in any social-economic class could heal so quickly, no best surgeon could restore to "normal", no amount of money could buy wellness and no genius intelligence could dream up a solution. God did a miracle.
Remember the little guy that I wrote about a few weeks back? Weak as a newborn, small as a toddler? Almost the same age as my boisterous Nede.
We sent him to the hospital; he and his aged granny. All we could do was hope he got care that was adequate-- to give this little fighter another chance.
Much to my surprise, a week later we went to the hospital to visit him, he had been transferred to Beira, to the larger, more equipped hospital 4 hours away!
Right then we started praising the Lord because this boy had been forgotten. This boy, previously I felt, had been forgotten and left to his own devices (which was nothing.). And this granny, knowing nothing but war and hardwork, to you and me=suffering. She had nothing to bribe with, nothing to give but somehow it worked this time-- they received CARE! The system was helping.
Fast forward about 4 weeks more and our little friend was back on the veranda of our clinic. WALKING! Granny smiling P-R-O-U-D!!!! He gained 3kg while he'd been away. His swollen, inflamed jaw/cheek/whatever that was, approaching normal. SMILING!
Despite his grim diagnoses he's on the proper medication. He's getting the treatment that his body desperately needed. He is no longer forgotten. He is helped and THAT is a MIRACLE.
Before he left I slipped Granny some money, "please go buy him some fish" I smiled.

her aspirations

If you need a reminder that God is alive, doing wonders and giving gifts, remember back with me to one year ago. Nede and I had finally made it to America. I had met someone that I had hopes would become more than a penpal. 

Fast forward to December 2013, I head to Nede's end of the year program but this year, not by myself, not as a single mom. We're complete, we're a family. And then, I read the end of the year report and see this...

"When I grow up I want to be a bibale recorder to teech peepale like my Daddy to teech peepals about Jesus." Nede Portani Grade 1
Tears well and I realize again, Lord, you were worth trusting, in my darkest place you were there, with a plan, with a good gift, wonders in the works, may my heart never forget...

happy thanksgiving

First thing this morning he said, "Happy Thanksgiving!"
And, for a moment I stopped to listen to my mom cooking in the kitchen, expecting to hear the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV, Dad'll be in his recliner. Oh, nope, not this year. And, a few tears are shed. I miss so much.
I head out with Nede to bring her to school because no one knows it's a holiday here. I greet my British friend and say, "Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Oh, it's Thanksgiving? Happy Thanksgiving Dara, what are you thankful for?"
And, faster than a race horse out of the gate I say, "MY HUSBAND! And the past year, and my daughter, and, and...." I could have gone on and on.

Because this year is full of Thanks. Two trips to America, one to marry the man of my dreams. So much to be thankful for.
To start our own traditions I spent the day busy, wanting to make today special when Nede gets home from school.
At the beginning of the week we asked Nede if she knew what Thanksgiving is and with attitude on her face and a wrinkled nose, you know the look, she says, "You eat TURKEYS!"
Well, not here we don't.
Tonight we'll grill burgers. We'll eat bacon wrapped green bean bundles, potato salad and three bean salad and finish it off with pumpkin pie and cinnamon roasted almonds, maybe even a pumpkin spice roobios latte! And, I know He hears but just to make sure He sees, we hang a banner that says, "THANKFUL!" Because, God, you need to KNOW this year, we are SO THANKFUL!

we're taking a poll

I was told marriage wasn't going to be easy. And I guess it's not. We're having some disagreements here.
It was all going fine and dandy until Chad has brought to my attention that apparently I sleep in, according to him, an impossible position. Now, unfortunately this isn't the first time that it's been brought to my attention, Deanna, as my college roommate made it clear to me as well. Apparently these 2 are convinced that it's absolutely impossible to sleep, comfortably and restfully, on your back, both knees bent forming a perfect isosceles triangle. Yes, they're supporting each other in the air. And, yes, I sleep soundly in this position. There is no need to announce, when I'm in a dead sleep "You're knees are up again!!!" (Thanks Deanna!) Or to be tempted to push them over, thanks Chad!

Another challenge in our marriage came the other day when Chad mentioned something about a "flock of mongeese." What? "That cannot be right", says Dara. "It most certainly is mongooses." Google agrees. Chad doesn't.

And, this one I have resolved, thank you very much you can see Orion's belt in the southern hemisphere!

So to help smooth over these 2 items of contention please comment  #1: whether it's absolutely humanly impossible to sleep comfortably with your legs in the position of an isosceles triangle (I strongly disagree with this) and #2: Mongeese or mongooses?

We're taking a poll. (And these are our biggest arguments, we're doing okay;)

"rice and fish please"

After about 11 months of bliss, butterflies and falling in love, I'm now back to working at the nutrition clinic. And yesterday, it was a bit too much. Yesterday life wasn't all as if I were wearing rosy glasses. Yesterday felt like an overdose of reality. Not "normal" reality in America. Not even "normal" reality of Mozambique. A typical day at the clinic usually means 2-3 of us nurses see 40-50 children who's mothers have died, or children who are HIV positive, special needs or are (or have been) malnourished.

Why did we see 4 severely malnourished children yesterday?

Upon my first arrival to the clinic I walked over to greet one of our workers. As I passed the baby weighing station I was stopped in my tracks when I saw a naked, wobbly-legged child standing helpless. A severely malnourished child. I walked into the clinic and shared with one of the other nurses, "There's a new child about 4 years old, SEVERELY malnourished waiting to be seen."

And then starts my internal battle, I hope that one doesn't end up in my chair. Mostly because I don't know what to do and what I can do doesn't feel like it's enough-- it's not.

He didn't end up in my chair, he sat in my dear friend's, and, as it turns out, he's not 4 years old, he's 7! Seven YEARS OLD! Immediate emergency siren ran in my brain. He's almost Nede's age. He is SO NOT NEDE! He weighed in at 12.4 kg (27lbs). Half the weight of Nede. And what got me the most? His eyes. His eyes!-- maybe because they're like Nede's, that of a fighter, a survivor-- his eyes still had life! His legs didn't have strength to ambulate him but his eyes had life! His sweet voice spoke in a whisper, "I'd like rice and fish now." His only request, "rice and fish please."

But, have I forgotten to say that his left cheek/face was severely swollen? Inside his cheek was severely necrotic tissue of some sort. Teeth/jaw bone/I-don't-know-what-was-going-on inside there-- infected, cancer, tumor, I don't know? No rice and fish today my little friend, sorry. And plus, we better treat your malaria too...

I was again, afraid. I didn't want to look inside his mouth for fear I wouldn't know what to do or it surely wouldn't be enough. But yet, I approached my fear and greeted him and rubbed his knobby little knee and asked if I could see in his mouth, he, without a grimace, kindly opened his mouth. And then, it was his eyes again. It was one of those that when I looked deep within, my breath gets caught, I almost chock, dry-heave. This happens to me periodically when I allow myself to feel, to be part of the situation, I see Jesus. I'm helpless and can't do anything but say, "Jesus help". And it's in these moments I know I'm right where Jesus says we should be, "Among the least" (Luke 9:48). And even though I know I'm with Jesus in those moments it's also those moments that I fight to not want to just turn my head, pretend it's not there and run away. I'd rather just stay behind my wall with my happy  family. It's the dirtiest, sickest, stinkiest situations in which I have to talk myself into not turning my back. Sometimes I even have to verbally encourage myself to "go on hold him even though he's soaked in urine and will likely wet you, he needs some love."

Of course I'm not at all proud of this initial, instinctive response, it just reminds me of how far I still need to come, how far from Jesus I really am. What hurts me the most about the boy yesterday is that he is old enough to know and recognize he was being neglected. He knows he wasn't being cared for and he's suffering. And there was a community around him somewhere that let this boy live this way-- malnutrition doesn't happen over night. And for this to still be happening, yes in a desperately poor country, but there is food around, there is access to help and food. This boy knows he'd been left for nothing and that's so absolutely not acceptable. So, even when my spirit wants to be like his neighbors were, to pretend I don't know this is happening would be utterly shameful and contrary to the very heart of Jesus. It is happening, it is reality and they need to be held.

(Out of respect and to maintain dignity for our little ones I don't feel comfortable posting pictures of such desperate situations. Hold them in your heart.)

you're going to be okay

(I wrote this about a month after our wedding, when I was reflecting in Belize, feeling an amazing sense of relief as I now share parenthood)

Of course I always dreamed of being married.
Yes, it was a desire since I was a little girl.
I worked through giving up this desire when I returned to Moz in 2010.
The desire had never left but the reality of the dream being fulfilled did.
So now, of course I'm ecstatic.
What I didn't know was the hidden blessing that was being fulfilled.
I'm no longer a single mom.
Yes, of course Chad is a magnificent blessing to me personally but to Nede and me collectively?-- PRAISE JESUS!
It's quite something what one can/does do when forced to.
I was a single mom-- a role I never imagined I'd be in and never want to be again.
My heart aches for single moms-- now more than ever.
It's SO hard.
It's the hardest and scariest, most important job anyone has.
As I look back, we made it, only by clinging to Jesus.
There were days when I would cry and my own Nede would hold my face and say, "It's okay Mom, we're going to be okay."
And we are.
I don't know the journey of all single moms' but I know "you're going to be okay".
We're with you and if I could (or can) hold your face and say "You're going to be okay", I would.
And, until then, I hope you're little one is.
YOU'RE GOING TO BE OKAY!
Cling to Jesus!!!!

(If I can be of support or encouragement to any single mom, there's nothing I would like more than to walk with you-- please email me.)

a year of celebration

Just over two months ago we had our wedding ceremony at Chad's church in Michigan.

Just about 6 weeks ago we had our 2nd wedding celebration at my parents house in Minnesota. 

Three weeks ago we had our 3rd wedding celebration here in Mozambique.

Because when God takes a young lady from Northern Minnesota to fall in love with a little lady in Mozambique who then quickly (well, eventually once they meet) fall in love with a young man from Michigan--it's worth celebrating! 

Because when you give up your dream of getting married to pursue adoption of this little lady and when you give up dreams to follow where the Lord is calling (to what seems like a no mans land)-- it's worth celebrating!

Because when you have family and friends all over the world who walk with you, pray with you and support you-- it's worth celebrating!

Because when God gives 2 people back a dream they had laid down and then blesses it tenfold-- it's worth celebrating!!!

Yes, this is the year of celebrating because one year ago today Nede and I headed to Maputo and were rejected a visa, devastated, we then met the man of our dreams and because of that, we're still celebrating! 

the colors of poverty

One of the first things that stole my attention upon my return to South Africa, which I've never taken note of before, were the clothes I saw hanging on the clothes lines in the townships.

They waved in the breeze, gingerly expelling their moisture as they showed off their colors. The dye was still present, the colors still radiant. There was red, there was bright pink, magenta and blue. This simple observation tells me that these clothes are new, new enough to maintain their hues. They haven't yet been washed in the stream of dirty water, been manipulated against a ragged rock to mimic an agitation cycle and they surely haven't been wiped overhead beaten on a rock to wring the water out; they haven't been worn and washed until the threads are bare and the holes out number the amount of covering surface area.

Conclusion: there's enough money around these parts to buy new clothes--periodically at least. The color is still in.

It doesn't take long once you get off the beaten path a bit, walk down a dusty trail and there's very little color. The mud huts are just that, mud. The children are dirty, from mud. The clothes are torn and dirty, from mud. The color of almost anything is the color of the dust of the land. The washing's been done in muddy waters in dirty places. In some areas there is no color left. No pretty pinks for your daughter to dress in. No baby blue to bring out your eyes. No red leather shoes to perfectly accessorize those favorite jeans. No color, just brown and worn.

These colors don't flap in the wind, they lay on top of rocks, on tall grass or on top of small bushes. No summer breezes of radiant color catch your attention in these parts. The colors are stripped, as are hopes and dreams. The colors of poverty represent the hard life-- a life stripped, of much.

This is what I noticed.