impossible

A happy girl made happier?

Impossible!

Possible!

i will (try) to praise him

It's right there in our wedding vows, "May we always praise Him in all circumstances..." Shoot! I've been remembering that lately and wonder why sometimes it's just so hard! The vows probably should have said, "May we strive to Praise Him..."

Sometimes I'm just too tired to praise him. Lame. Sometimes I can think of a few things to praise him for and a whole lot larger list of things that I'm not feeling like praising him for. Seriously!

Or, I get the itch to judge what's praise worthy and then I'm in a real mess, focusing on the injustice, noticing the negative, fixating on my molding home with no electricity. Sometimes it's just hard. And I'm missing it.

The mere fact that I'm writing this would tell most that I'm talking myself into praising him.

It's that internal battle again, the day I need to go back to my good friend Ann Voskamps blog (ok, well, I don't know her yet but I wish I did http://www.aholyexperience.com/) and start counting gifts again. Counting the small blessings and praising him...

Like the opportunity I to live in a beautiful, foreign land...

And to know a creator that gave us this to enjoy... 

And to enjoy the rain that falls, rushing waters washing away the soil except for that which is under the weight of a small stone whose foundation is strong-- a reminder of how I want to be built on solid ground... 

And a child who can imagine she's a giant in this "village" left as wash-away from the rain...

And through these stalagmite type formations I'm reminded how small I am and how big He is...

 

And to have loads of family (and friends) both near and far who love us, pray for us, support us...

 Yes, I have much to praise him for. I am reminded. We will strive.

speaking to my heart

On my way to the clinic today I heard this song again, the first time in ages.

It's all around me, 

It's speaking to my heart. 

I'll call her Courage

There's a little girl that comes to the clinic. I'll call her Courage because that's what she is to me. She's 7 years old. Ill. HIV +. Lacking spunk and vitality. She comes every week with her mom. When she walks into the clinic my heart aches. I could hardly stand to see her walk, no bounce in her step because she's being robbed from her childhood by the most disgusting disease I have ever seen. Her legs are swollen with fluid, causing her to limp. Some days her face is ballooned up, full of fluid. Even her forearms have been puffy with fluid retention. One day I heard her talk. Once. When she saw some bread that she thought would quench the hunger inside of her.

I hadn't seen her smile. Not at all. Until...

The day when I had her in my chair and I pulled out a dress to give her. Nede had been going through her clothes and had found a beautiful white, red and black dress that she was no longer wearing. She said, "Mom, can I give this dress to someone who needs it?" Immediately I thought of Courage. Then Nede started asking me some question about her. I told her that she was about her age and she was sick with a disease, her legs hurt and she couldn't run and play like most 7 year olds should. Nede thought it was a great idea to give Courage the dress.

So, on Thursday when Courage came to the clinic she sat at my desk. She was unwell. Very unwell. As usual her mother had taken her to the hospital-- doing all she could. The treatment? Amoxicillian-- an antibiotic for a chest infection. And Tylenol. Again, I wanted to scream. Yell and scream. This little one, struggling to breath, coughing, gaining weight due to fluid retention alone, not because of added nutritional support. She needs a diuretic, a water pill. Her little heart is failing her so she's not excreting fluid as she should.

I never went to medical school so I don't really know what's wrong with her but I do know she has a heart and/or kidney condition. She needs a diagnosis and treatment. I can't make that diagnosis. I don't have the skill. Neither does anyone in our area. And if we did have the diagnosis, would we have the treatment available? Unlikely.

What kills me the most is my 5 years of working as a hospice nurse, knowing and believing in a philosophy that says you don't have to suffer. Death is difficult enough, I believe that one should not, and is not meant to suffer through the dying process.

What could I do for Courage? Well, I told her about my daughter. I told her that she had this dress that she wanted to give to her. I showed her a picture of Nede on my camera. I said, "My family and I are thinking about you. We're going to be praying for you. My daughter is about your age and she would love to play with you. How about next week when you come on Thursday I'll bring my daughter here with me so you can meet her?"

Upon hearing those words it was the closest thing I had ever seen on Courage's face that approached upon a sparkle and little bit of zeal, a bit of joy.

"Would you like to meet my daughter?"

Indeed.

So, the following Thursday after missing work at the clinic all week because Chad and I had both been in bed with malaria, we made a plan to go to the clinic to see Courage. Nede would soon be returning to school and not be able to come with me to the clinic. Nede brought a stuffed giraffe along with 3 strawberry candies to share with her friend that she had been praying for. We waited at the clinic for sometime but Courage and her mother never showed up. We stayed in the area so we could quickly run back if Courage and her mom arrived. They never did.

Up until this point Courage's mom had been quite dependable about going to the hospital when we asked her to. She typically would return to us with medicines and paperwork so we would know what the treatment plan was for Courage. Days passed, still no Courage.

I had a sinking feeling each day that slipped by. Again, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to go looking for Courage but, I myself not feeling well, didn't go. Another one of the nurses did-- she checked 2 hospitals to see if Courage had been admitted. No.

I asked our colleague to try to check in on her, she promised to get her mother's phone number. I felt like I was doing what I could but really it was nothing and in the deepest part of my heart I knew it wasn't enough. I felt convicted.

And then Friday, when I was again unwell and laying on my bed I got the message. A small girl had been sent to our colleagues house at 5am to bring the news. On Saturday, January 18, Courage had died.

I wept. I cried and cried for this little one. I wanted to remain in my fetal position because I was so angry. I was maddened that a child had to die like this. Not just die but likely suffer in the process. Nede didn't get to give her her giraffe or give her a hug.

I hoped Nede wouldn't ask about her.

Fat chance. Nede's in tune. Nede's heart is one of compassion. She asked, shortly after coming home from school, she asked, "Mommy, did Courage come to the clinic today?"

"Lord Jesus help me to know how to talk to my little girl about this!" I crumbled to the floor, wrapped her in my arms as she said, "What Mommy, what? What is it?"

"Nede, Courage died last week."

Silence. Aching. Pain so deep I wanted to run to my happy place of dancing in a field of daisies, forgetting about HIV and children dying.

Then Nede, in her sweetest voice of deepest concern said, "Mommy, I wish I could have met Courage and been able to help her before she died, then maybe she could have been healthy."

"Oh, sweet girl, you did all that you could, you prayed for her and you opened your heart up and loved her. You did all you could and I'm so proud of you and now it hurts badly, doesn't it?"

"Mommy, do you think she wore her dress?"

"I'm sure she did Love! I'm sure she was so happy when she did!"

Throughout the weekend we had several tears for Courage. My heart is sore again. Through God's grace I'm not a broken mess all the time, if I were I wouldn't make it here very long. For some reason this one embedded herself into the deepest chamber of my heart and I, along with Nede, am grieving the injustice. Thankfully I take comfort, and shared with Nede, that I believe Courage is dancing in that field of daisies, with her red, white and black dress on, holding Jesus's hand, smiling and laughing with more vitality than she ever felt on this earth. She finally gets to be a child and isn't sick. This brings me much peace.

But...

I ache that she got there through deep suffering.

happy new year from the 3 vanden bosch's

I've contemplated a lot over the last 2 weeks as how I can express my gratitude and praise for the Christmas miracle we received this year. I've wondered how I can even scratch the surface to offer the praise I feel for the entire year of 2013. My words fall short, I'm too wired most the time to settle down to write, I'm just so overjoyed! The burden is lifted and we are just what He created us to be, a family rejoicing together--thankful for a little one in a manger and beyond grateful for a great year past and hopeful for a new year to come. 

I think this song and these photos sum up our praise quite well.

Lots of Christmas love, huge new years blessings and all of our love as we praise him for our many gifts! 

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!