Tribute: a story to learn from

This is a story to shame the world. A story that we read about in 1990 and one that shouldn't be able to be written in 2017. It shows the brokenness of this village, the destruction of Mozambique and the failure of mankind. We witnessed the failures of the church, the bitterness of a soul, the destruction of a family. No, it shouldn't have been like this.

A young mother of two. Sick since last year-- with a diagnosis which has treatment available in her country. We gave her money repeatedly to go for help. We educated, we pleaded, we gave incentive and, if nothing else, we asked, "do it for your daughters." We prayed for her for nearly one year. We spoke to her about her bitterness, her need to forgive, we shared other difficult stories because, really, each one of us walk a hard life. Life is NOT easy. Each visit we walked her path and said, "please Lord, we need breakthrough."

Then last week, what we knew was inevitable without treatment, was a roaring fire. It was getting too late. Would the treatment even help now?  But, the bigger issue was this, her family was so angry with her that they weren't even willing to take her to the hospital. Too weak to go on her own-- her burned bridges left her with no options but to lay there, on her grass mat, preparing to meet her maker. The pain in that bamboo house was almost tangible. Her decisions were too late, no one was repenting and compassion was absent. What could be done?

I guess we'll all be there one day, laying there with the past as past and staring into our eternity. How much better it would have been if she was laying there in the arms of love rather than hurt. The amazing thing with our God is that it's NEVER too late. So, I turned to my little evangelist colleague and said, "Okay, the physical body decisions have been made, we can't change that but she can say the words she needs to to her daughters and she can still clean her heart before the Lord." This is her eleventh hour. She needs Jesus!

We prayed, we prayed with all the faith that we could muster and we told her we loved her. We hoped for the best.

I wish I was concluding with a miraculous recovery story or a huge conversion testimony. I'm not.

We then heard, 3 days later, she died. We don't know if it was peaceful. We don't know if she repented. We don't yet know how her children will live without her. This is not an easy story to share. It's the saddest of all because we never knew if she found hope-- if she was ever able to push past the darkness of this world and  choose light, love and the salvation through Jesus. We shared it but yes, life is hard. We must all CHOOSE to see it better. We must learn from this story.

Tribute: just a teen

At 16 it was really hard to accept you onto our program. We're not a program of giving up, actually, the team does a great job of living this motto, "we must never say there is nothing we can do." And though to some it may seem that we are doing nothing...we cared about your holistic well-being when it may have seemed that others in your family didn't. This broke our teams hearts. The girls wanted to help you and they did all they knew how. Of course we would carry you  on our back if that's that what you needed.

What I think you need the most was a safe place to talk-- to allow you to say that you didn't want to get married at 16, to allow  you to say that you didn't want to keep running to the hospital to endure further suffering, and to ask your questions about Jesus and what was to come. Maybe that looked like nothing but in the end, I think it was the best health care you could receive. Your spirit was sweet and your situation was dreadful. We have the hope that all is better now. And, thankfully we got to share that with you. What a privilege to share in the most intimate days.

We remember...

Tribute: our tiny friend

Sometimes, no matter how much time I wait, the words just won't come.  All I can say to honor this one is....

WE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER. 

YOU WERE NOT FORGOTTEN.

WE WILL TELL YOUR STORY.

YOU WERE LOVED.

AMEN.

the night that changes everything

I love Christmas. I love it something fierce. I love the prep-- baking and planning, decorating and wrapping, praying and hoping. I love the time with family and friends. I love that people don't work and they're "present". I love the songs. I LOVE the songs. I love the food. I love the giving. I love the lights. The smells, the smiles, the movies, the shopping. I LOVE CHRISTMAS! (I was even referred to as the "Queen of Christmas". And, I LOVED THAT!)

And each and every year I expect something magical. I hope for the nostalgia to penetrate my heart and for some deeper understanding of all the busyness to grip me. My soul knows that there's SO much, so much to "get" in this celebration. There's so much more than what I say I LOVE. Because, after all, this is the celebration of the night that changes everything. It's GOT TO BE DEEP!

And so, this year, what has struck me, is how Jesus, instead of making a grand entrance in a triumphant way, he came in the MOST humble of ways. Now, living here, I visit some humble homes. Some homes have nothing. Like a nothing that most American's can't imagine. Like-- some mud bricks, some plastic and some dried grass. As I think about it, those would have likely been familiar things in Jesus's entrance. Humble.

Also, the angels spoke to the shepards-- the lowliest of people. In that time, the forgotten- neglected, mistreated. The lonely. Well, in my blessing of an amazing job, I visit some forgotten people. Some "low-li's" in the worlds view. And lonely. I'd say some of the loneliest. So, in this, I feel blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Because, I believe that, the joy that's deepest in my heart is because I get to be with those who Jesus came for. And I get to share the love that I have because of Jesus, with them. And sometimes, it seems, we're the only one who cares about them. Sometimes they don't even know how to value their own life. I get to be Jesus coming to the "lowly". (Wow! If that's not humbling.)

May this not be mistaken, no matter where you are, who you are, what you do-- don't be so sure that you're neighbor isn't thought of by the world as a "lowly", or treated as one in your community. And, loneliness? How well it hides behind "stuff"? Or snuggles it's comfy way into busyness. What about you? Are you lonely?

Last week I got the privileged to give out many gifts, at times I was disappointed for the lack of joy that seemed present. But then, I was reminded-- some just aren't used to receiving anything. Imagine that?! And it was then that I also got to experience the joy that it is so much better to be the bearer of gifts than to receive more stuff. I love when I get to give my love, to give of myself--to be present and give.

And so, can my soul actually "get this"... can my simple mind "get it"?

In that night that changes everything, a baby was given-- in a humble way, announced to the lowliest but given for all. Because, you and I know that our bank account balance, our "status"  and our land of origin has no value in keeping us from experiencing loneliness or from being lowly to the world (because really, we all are). Nothing else matters if we don't "GET" the night that changes everything. So, the rich, the prosperous, the American's, the one with lots of initials behind their name, the subsistence farmer-- we all need this Savior and the free love that came on that night. And, in freely receiving and embracing this humble night we get to give and get so much more.

What an honor to celebrate the night that changes everything. And though there's still much for me to grasp, my soul knows and celebrates that there's GREAT value, worth and much to share in knowing what I do know.

Merry Christmas wherever you may be, whatever you may do and however lonely you may feel, He came for you! The most beautiful story. It is magical. It is wonderful.

Merry Christmas!

the thanks starts here

Over the last few weeks it's been building. The sun has been scorching. We've watched the green that remained, wilt and fall to brittle brown. And, more importantly than my sweat, is seeing, hearing, and watching the people's anxiety level raise as they await the rains. Which, at the end of the day determines if/when they'll have enough food in their bellies again or the opportunity to feed their children.

Last night it happened. We watched the clouds build throughout the day, then we enjoyed the lightening dancing across the sky showing a better display than the finest on 4th of July. And then, then the heavens opened, our windows shook and the tin roof of our "tiny" house screamed! We could no longer hear each other to talk. We were guaranteed no sleep if it kept on in this fashion. The sound of heaven throwing all it's marbles on our house deafened-- Nede in my arms, all of us praying in our hearts.

I felt insecure through this storm. Still not confident of the screws holding on our roof, unsure if water wasn't going to start rushing in. But, soon after, you start to realize-- our house is sound, we know SO MANY whose houses are not. My mind then went to our little one who's not in our arms. I think of all my patients that I care deeply about. Then there's our friends and workers who live in the village in mud burned brick homes. Their roofs may have a bit of black plastic covering them, then, if they're so blessed they may have a bit of dried grass holding that on. That's it. That's all that protects them from the elements-- next to nothing. They are getting wet and I'm sure they wish they were in a home like we're blessed with. I can't help to feel a bit guilty and very concerned.

Eventually, it did let up. We did get sleep and we praised the Lord for the nourishment to the earth but we waited to hear how all our friends held up.

The next morning our workers arrived. I greeted "the boys" (two brothers that work regularly for us doing agriculture, cutting the grass, helping wherever they can). I asked with concern how their night was, how their houses held up?  And, almost before I could finish I was interrupted by one of them saying, "We were worried about Nede having to climb into her loft bed with all that noisy rain" (only a couple feet from the ceiling).

There is great magnitude in this dialogue.

Do you get that? Do you realize that this young man, in his mud house, was laying there on his grass mat with his wife and children thinking about Nede who was safe with us, in our well constructed home. He was concerned for her comfort being near the roaring tin ceiling. (Which by the way, she wasn't in. We let her fall asleep on a lower bed.)

And that, dear friends, that is where my gratitude starts this Thanksgiving. For the people I know and work with, the place I am blessed to call home, and with the people God has given me to be my family because of his GREAT love for me. I am grateful beyond words.

My heart sings thanksgivings.

Tribute: a princess on His throne

Sometimes I'm long overdue on my Tributes. Mainly because I can't find my words. And then sometimes I realized that the words will never come because the injustices are so vast that there just won't be words. Ever.

Ever.

Dear One, what a privileged it was to know you. Being able to love you made me feel close to God. We don't know how you got sick, why you got sick or why it took so long to try to get you help. We were saddened that the help you received was too late. The loss of your life hurt us something deep. We know it was no mistake that we got to know you for a few weeks. We know that when we loved you we were expressing a fraction of the love that our Father has for you. We trust that being able to share Jesus with you was just the first step into your healing and your entrance into eternal greatness.

We're sorry, we know you didn't ask for the life you received. You deserved so much more. Now, we pray you are a Princess sitting on the throne with your Father!

We loved you Dear One and we thank you for letting us love you and for the privileged it was to see my team love you well!

loving life

Sometimes life doesn't turn out how you expect it to, sometimes it's so much better!!
Happy Birthday to this life changer! We are beyond blessed with how she's changed our lives-- and many others!

 (We're not sure which one of these little butterflies had the most fun?)

(Or was it mom preparing the party?)

We love our life!

Destruction of a woman's soul

A new heaviness has leeched itself on my back recently. One that I've known about here from the beginning, but lately I'm wearing the weight of it. Purely out of empathy. "It's what they do here" we say, but as I stare into the eyes of women I'm getting to know, I feel for them. My heart breaks and I imagine.

This is the destruction of a woman's soul.

Polygamy.

Imagine being a young woman born into extreme poverty, maybe you lose a parent or two, death and disease is all around you. All you do is work to have food in your tummy, to make a few cents and then, willing or not, you might be married off. Could be young-- 12 or 13 years young, as soon as you "become a woman". And then, to make it worse, maybe you're not the 1st wife of the man chosen for you. Maybe he's a few years older than you, maybe the gap's 25 years! Maybe you're the first wife but when you don't fall pregnant quick enough, he takes another to speed things along. Could be he takes yet another. And then to pour salt in your wound, you're forced to work along side these very women you share a man with. The one who's meant to be yours. If there's love there or not, I wouldn't even know. It's definitely not written on their faces, not the woman's.

No one would pinpoint it. No one  identifies it. But I think I know-- that emptiness, that pain that bleeds from their pours, is a direct result of the

destruction of a woman's soul.

My heart weeps. The Lord's hurts more. "It's what they do here."

I don't care. It's not okay and who is helping the woman whose soul has been destroyed because no one comes home and says, "Hi Love, how was your day?"  Who knows what it's like to be held by their soulmate? the one who teaches that you're cherished, beyond any other.

My only hope....may they find Jesus and learn the love that they well deserve.

They may never be loved as they ought to be on earth but oh, how I pray, one day they know what love is.

I don't accept "It's what they do here."

Your soul was meant for so much more dear, Precious Ones, I'm sorry.

her soul is well

We have a patient on our program that has a mass on her face-- one that's deforming her face, forcing her left eye further and further from it's intended position.

Last week we arrived earlier than normal to our usual meeting point. I was afraid we'd miss our chance to see her this week. We asked the neighbors how she's doing. Their response was, "Worse. She's getting worse. The mass is growing and her eye is worse. It's not good."

Of course, this made me want to see her all the more. My thoughts were that maybe she's now having systemic problems and she's not able to make it up the hill to see us. Next week we'll have to trek down the valley to find her at home, were my thoughts.

As we were leaving someone came running to stop us. Wait! Our patient had arrived. She came scurrying over to us. She apologized to us for being late. She was busy preparing a gift for us. She gave us a bag of, still warm, maize (corn on cob) she had boiled for us. She emptied a bag of sugar cane before us and gave us a whole bucket of flour which she had ground herself.

We thanked her endlessly then asked how she was, with the mass noticeable different from the week prior, she joyfully responded, "I'm doing great. I'm getting so much better!"

Oh, bless her! Her friends see it, her neighbors are talking about it, we see it. The mass is growing rapidly. She's not getting better. And, I can't BELIEVE that doesn't hurt. It must.

But you see, there's just one thing that keeps her positive, one thing that is a blessing she doesn't have.

A mirror.

She hasn't seen that her face is becoming more dis-formed every week. She's not watching it grow. She's not looking in her crooked eye and hoping for a visual change.

It's an example of when I think her lack, is really, her blessing.

When I have a pimple, in my vanity, I'm in pain and constantly worried about my appearance-- what other's might think. Over a pimple! (And sometimes it HURTS!)

It makes me wonder, makes me think how much added pain, suffering and distraction our culture has by the simplicity of a mirror. How much does that shiny glass change my self-image? How does that affect how I feel? What changes about me-- mentally, physically, emotionally, accepting myself spiritually? All because of looking myself in the eye. Regularly.

I wonder. I wonder what would be different, for me to not have a mirror?

I wonder what would be different for our patient TO have one.

Her smile is still beautiful. She came bearing gifts for us. Yes, her SOUL is WELL. Praise the Lord no one is telling her differently. Her quality of life is perfect-- without a mirror.

The Lord bless her and keep her this way for as longs as we can, is my prayer.

Swedish Fish and hard lessons

When the Swedish Fish are gone, I begin to panic, slightly. You see, there are few things that we bring from the US that I save for a bad day (or week). I had one bag of Swedish Fish from April. In July, Chad asked how long I was going to keep them. My response, "There's probably a worse day coming, I'm keeping them for that."

Well, my friends, they were opened recently. And polished off very soon after. There were some bad days. Not bad like "poor me, get me on the next plane out". Just hard situations, hard stories that hadn't been personal until recently. Difficult things that you think, "wow, what people go through!"

Now, as I reflect on the last few weeks, with the bitterness of brokenness still fresh on my tongue, I'm grateful for having to be forced to slow down. Maybe being in bed with malaria was a sweet thing? I was made to stop, remember the beauty, I was refreshed by the Word, and reminded that in our weakness then He is strong (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Even more, I was grateful for the hard of life here. Because, in America, I rarely was brought to this point-- to where I am forced to say, "Oh Lord, help! In and of me, I can do nothing right now. I need you Lord." When 911 is a call away, the clinic is there to properly diagnose, every baby is, or can be, delivered in the hospital, etc, etc, you just don't find yourself in the position often of saying "Oh, Lord, I need you". It's because of this I'm grateful.

Oh, LORD, I need you... has been a common cry these days. And in that, He's there. He helps. He whispers, "All will be well again. Come my daughter, stand, we'll walk together and my mercies are new every morning."

He promises..."weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5

And it does. And sometimes, it's a blessing to weep. And to know that, in and of myself, I'm nothing and I know it. And it's okay because He is and that's a beautiful thing to really learn and grow through. 

And, it's also nice to eat Swedish Fish while learning these lessons. :)