A Happy Story

In a world of accidents, typhoons, sickness, wars, cancer, and unimaginable suffering, sometimes I need to stop and be reminded of the beauty of love.  So today, I will share a happy story—Marijane’s (however you just pronounced his name was probably wrong) story.

Marijane is from Pemba Mozambique, and I met him at Maputo’s public hospital.  For all of my American friends, that is about the distance from New York to Florida.  However, due to poor roads or lack of roads entirely, you and I can only imagine what ends Marijane and his father went to in order to finally arrive in Maputo.

When I arrived in Mozambique in September, Marijane had already been at the hospital for most of the summer waiting.  What was he waiting for?  Heart surgery.  Unfortunately, however, the public hospital does not have professionals who are able to perform such a surgery.  Yet, a group of surgeons from Europe were scheduled to arrive in Maputo and perform heart surgeries at one of the private hospitals free of charge for those in need.  Now, I don’t know about you, but this really warms my heart to hear of people using their talents to bless others! 

While Marijane waited at the public hospital for the surgeons to arrive and his surgery to be performed, he rapidly fell in love with me.  Naturally, I fell in love with him too.  This little seven-year-old is so full of life, and he has a smile that will absolutely melt your heart!  At first, I think Marijane and I bonded over our lack of ability to speak Portuguese.  We have both come a long way since day one, and now both of us can be heard conversing in our broken Portuguese.  It is funny to think that I probably taught him some of the words that he now knows.  What an accent he will have…

 

Finally, after months of waiting and one false alarm, Marijane finally had his surgery.  I had the privilege of visiting him at ICORP (the private hospital) and watching him recover.  Remarkably, he was recovering during the same week that I was also frequenting the same hospital for my stitches.  This provided me with many opportunities to stop by and see him after my foot checkups.

Now, Marijane is back at the public hospital once again waiting.  This time, however, he is waiting for the public hospital to provide him with tickets to fly home to Pemba.  His eight-year-old little friend Roquia is also in the same situation after having a heart surgery as well. 

Sometimes, these two little ones make me and everyone else at the hospital want to pull out our hair as their energy and antics are endless.  They are stir-crazy and making us all a little crazy whether they are flooding the hospital bathroom as they did yesterday or stalking me, clinging to me, and begging me for candy as they do every day.   Yet, even when these two have hit my last nerve, I can’t be upset with them.  Instead, I am filled with overwhelming joy that these two children have been touched with love and as a result have been healed.  To see them so full of life is a cause for infinite joy. 

What a beautiful, happy world it would be if we all used our God-given gifts to reach out to someone else in need.  We have all been given something that provides us with the opportunity to give to others.   I am feeling inspired to discover my gifts and allow God to multiply them so that there may be many more happy stories as God provides. 

Room # 4 / There's Always One More: A Poem

Room number four at the end of the hall

Three little children lie and with cancer they do brawl

While three stoic mamas sit to answer each call

Of these children whose cancers are the worst of them all

Drawn by compassion and curiosity

Into room number four enters Tia Abi

The suffering she can easily see

And she knows that this is where she is meant to be

The pain and the sorrow she cannot end

Nor the broken hearts and deformed bodies can she mend

All she can offer is to be a friend

Where there is devastation, she prays to be a Godsend

 

Hugs and kisses everyday she will bring

While she holds these children, sometimes you can hear her sing

Other days, she causes the moms’ laughter to ring

Her hand is offered for the moms and children to cling

Some days the agony is very bad

Blood, vomit, rotting flesh--enough to make you go mad

Tears fall because this all makes us very sad

Sometimes we wonder if there’s any hope to be had

Yes, of the misery I do tire

Yet finding and bringing hope is my heart’s sole desire

This passion burns inside me like a fire

To faith, hope, and love I will forever aspire

Now, three empty beds in room number four

Because three little children suffer no more

As wide open for them has been thrown Heaven’s door

And I can see them dancing on Jesus’s dance floor

Rosalia, Luciano, and Ana

I love you so much!

In your memory, I’ll never give up.

Again and again, I will give all my love.

I will laugh and I will cry…

And I will hold the one who suffers close until the day that I die.

Because even through tears, to love and be loved is bliss,

And there’s always one more. 

"Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'"  --Matthew 19:14

 

 

 

Stories, Stitches, Scars, & Peach Pits

I have never had stitches before—not until today that is…

Today was a day full of the unexpected.  We planned to leave early for a trip across the border to South Africa.  However, due to some political unrest, we decided to postpone our trip.  We shifted gears, and Alice and I planned to spend the afternoon at the hospital with our beloved cancer patients as we usually do.  By 2PM, we were ready to go, and Jorge offered to drive us. 

Maputo is a very windy city; but as the aftermath of a big storm last night, today was exceptionally windy.  When Jorge opened the door of our 14^th floor apartment for us to leave, a tremendous gust of wind came out of “I don’t know where,” causing the glass window of a second door behind me to shatter.  In an instant, I was showered by glass.  Alice with her mother’s heart asked if I was hurt.  Only then when I saw her concern did I examine myself for injuries.  When I looked down, I noticed a slice on my right foot.  Thankfully, it was not bleeding severely, but Alice and Jorge thought it would be best to take me to the hospital and get it looked at.  So, I got another taste of Mozambiquan hospitals—this time as a patient.  The nurses and doctor were very kind, and I ended up with six stitches (give or take a few as I was too engrossed in watching the procedure to count).  While all this was happening, Jorge called to tell us that the car had broken down.  Alice and I caught a taxi back home and once again found ourselves back in our 14^th floor apartment.  Yes, I think we were all feeling like we should have just stayed in bed today.



 

The scene of the accident: note the door missing all of it's glass window pain.

 





 

While Jorge was cleaning up glass and Alice was getting medical supplies, I was sneaking a picture.

 

Stitches!

 



 

Having a little bit too much fun with my super swell doctor.  He was so happy to be treating a future nurse. :) 

 

 

Tada!  All ready to heal.

 

As I was attempting to stay off of my foot as instructed by the nurse, I had time to do a lot of thinking.  My biggest regret of the day was not being able to see and love on my friends at the hospital.  I like to help other people through their suffering and problems, but having others help me through mine is more difficult.  This requires me acknowledging that I have problems.  I came to Mozambique, with a lot of wounds of my own—some that I didn’t even realize that I had because I had been masking, hiding, and numbing them for so long.  Yet, as I begin to truly see others’ pain, I begin to feel.  Then, as I begin to feel, I feel my own pain.  Now, more than ever, I want to heal so that I can also help others to heal.  No longer do I want to shut off emotions or exchange them for more “socially acceptable” ones.  I don’t want to deny the existence of pain or punish myself endlessly for causing it.  Neither do I want to slap a Band-Aid on my wounds and leave a trail of blood as I run around trying to “help” people. 

It is time for stitches.  It is time to accept the grace and care offered to me by God and those who love me.  In the end, I am left with a scar.  Behind every scar is a story of pain, but a scar also tells the story of healing.  I want to allow my scars to enable me to relate to others better. 

Shortly before coming to Mozambique, someone told me that I was like a peach.  “Cute.  Sunny.  Sweet.  But, there’s a pit inside.  Out of that pit comes new life; a tree grows.  From that pit—fruit is produced.”  I think that I am ready now.  I am ready to allow beauty and life to arise from my pit rather than allowing it to rot.  I may need a little watering and nurturing along the way, but thankfully, my life is filled with nurses, doctors, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, and of course there is you.  Thank you for sticking with me throughout this journey.  Thank you for desiring to see me blossom, bloom, and produce fruit.  Thank you for believing in me even when all there is to see is a pit.  Here’s to healing and growth!

I Hope You Will Ask

So much has happened since I last wrote.  Over and over again, I have run the events of the last week through my brain.  I have tried to put all that I have seen and felt into words, but I just can’t.  My heart has been affected too deeply.  The stories of these people whom I love dearly are so very intimate.  These mothers and children that I hold through unimaginable suffering and laugh with on good days are now my friends and not just people that I will try to bless one day and then never see again.  Living life with them and getting a small taste of their worlds has changed my life forever.  Through these people, God is breaking and wrecking my heart and life so that He can give me His heart and life.  Yes, it is painful, but the peace, joy, purpose, and love that ensue are better than anything else I have ever experienced.  I have stories.  Many stories.  Stories of people that I love and have loved until death.  Now that I have loved these people, they have tremendously impacted my story.  While I am not yet able to share these stories, I hope that one day if you desire to know the deepest part of my heart you will ask. 

In the meantime, Casting Crowns song does an excellent job of putting my thoughts, emotions, and desires into words:

The love of her life is drifting away
They're losing the fight for another day
The life that she's known is falling apart
A fatherless home, a child's broken heart

You're holding her hand, you're straining for words
You trying to make - sense of it all
She's desperate for hope, darkness clouding her view
She's looking to you

Just love her like Jesus, carry her to Him
His yoke is easy, His burden is light
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves her and stay by her side
Love her like Jesus
Love her like Jesus

The gifts lie in wait, in a room painted blue
Little blessing from Heaven would be there soon
Hope fades in the night, blue skies turn to gray
As the little one slips away

You're holding her hand, you're straining for words
You're trying to make sense of it all
They're desperate for hope, darkness clouding their view
They're looking to you

Just love them like Jesus, carry them to Him
His yoke is easy, His burden is light
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves them and stay by their side
Love them like Jesus

Lord of all creation holds our lives in His hands
The God of all the nations holds our lives in His hands
The Rock of our salvation holds our lives in His hands
He cares for them just as He cares for you

So love them like Jesus, love them like Jesus
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves them and stay by their side
Love them like Jesus
Love them like Jesus

Loving Luciano

The happy stories are easy to tell.  It is easy to capture pictures of smiles, hugs, and art projects.  My time at the hospital is filled with many happy moments as I try to brighten children’s days and in return they brighten mine.  However, it is the difficult stories that are hard to share and accurately depict.  These are the stories that penetrate my heart deeply.  These are the stories that keep me up and night because my heart is so greatly moved.  The people behind these stories are the reason that I came to Mozambique.  While I desire to love all whom I encounter with Jesus’s love, there are a few people that I know am destined to love.  Jesus’s love in me overcomes my flesh, and I can’t resist loving them.  For these people, I shed tears and dare to feel their suffering.  Yes, these stories are difficult and hard to share because they touch such a deep part of my heart that I feel no one else will understand.  Yet, it is through these pain-stricken and tear-streaked stories that the most beautiful hope, beauty, and redemption can arise.  Here is the beginning of one such story…

Luciano’s story.

I was getting ready to leave the hospital for the day when I spotted a scared mother sitting alone in one of the pediatric oncology’s four rooms.  The fear in her eyes was undeniable.  I could tell that she was far from home and had endured a long journey.  She had nothing with her except the tattered clothes that she wore and a small child secured tightly on her back with a kapulana.  I went to meet her and kissed her cheeks as is the custom here.  Then I got my first glimpse of the child on her back.  The child’s small face was mostly covered by the kapulana, but I could see that it was covered with blood, mucus, and drool.  Clearly, the child was not well.  The mom remained relatively unresponsive to my interaction with her, and I did not linger long.  The next day, I got a closer look at the child.  .  The child’s entire left eyeball was oozing and bulging out of his face and nose in an infected, pussy mass.  Truth be told, it was hideous.  That night, in my dark bedroom, my heart broke for this child.  I so desperately wanted to fix this glaring imperfection, but I felt helpless.  I sobbed into my pillow with desperation asking God to love this little one.  The next day, God answered that prayer.  However, what I didn’t expect is that He would use me to do it. 

Thursday morning, I woke up feeling unexpectedly peaceful and hopeful.  I attended Bible Study with my missionary friends, and finally it was time for me to go visit my loves at the hospital.  From the moment, I entered pediatric oncology, one of the little girls squealed with delight, “Tia Abi!”  Despite the difficulties and hardships, I knew for certain that this is where my heart is most alive and at home.  I began to paint and draw with my little loves, when the mother and child from the day before rounded the corner.  I invited the child to come color with us, and he timidly took my hand.  I gave him a crayon and he giggled with delight as color streaked across his paper.  I am guessing that it was his first time coloring.  However, all too soon, his merriment turned to uneasiness as the other children at the table began to pinch and cover their noses in disgust.  The odor coming from his rotting eye was almost unbearable.  He began to whimper, and I escorted him back to his room and mother.  Then I brought him a coloring book and crayons so that he could continue to color in his room.  I motioned for him to come and sit on my lap, and it became obvious that he would rather be held than color.  At this point, I discovered that neither he nor his mom spoke Portuguese (the national language); they only spoke Shanganah (their native dialect).  I was also told that his name was Luciano which I mistook for Luciana (so, at this point, I thought he was a little girl…oops!)  Nevertheless, I held Luciano in my arms.  Beyond the stench, the drool and snot poring onto my shirt, and the hideous infected eye touching me with its crusty puss, I held a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL child.  I felt his lungs straining for breath against my chest, sang him songs of Jesus’s love, kissed his tiny head, looked into his perfect brown right eye, saw him nod off to sleep, felt his little hand stroking my arm, and I fell unexplainably in love.  Then I saw his mom wiping tears from her eyes as she saw someone love her “outcast” son.  I was so moved by the fact that Jesus holds us so very close despite our glaring imperfections.  When we stink and are completely desolate, He holds us because He loves us and sees the beauty of God’s creation in us.  Then He allows us to do the same for others, and there is nothing better in this life! 

The next day, I had the privilege of bringing Luciano a clean outfit (Confession: I brought him girls' clothes as I still thought that he was a girl; I am glad that his mother was gracious!) and some cereal for him to eat over the weekend.  Furthermore, I got to see smiles on his mother’s face.  Luciano’s story is not over…and no matter what his future looks like, I am grateful to have had the chance to love him.  I wish that I had a picture of him to share, but due to severity of his condition I felt it was better to refrain from taking pictures until more trust is built. 

Luciano.  One life that Love in me loves.  This love is not by my power or my strength but by the Spirit of the Lord of Love. 

Kisses

Here in Mozambique and in many other countries for that matter, when a person meets another person, they greet each other by exchanging a kiss on the right cheek and then on the left cheek.  This is a kiss goodbye to the American custom of shaking hands and safely keeping arms’ length between two individuals.  Yes, at first, it is a little awkward and strange to think of kissing everyone you meet, but it really is a beautiful thing.  It is a beautiful thing to draw one another close without regard to whether or not they are contagious, dirty, short, tall, or have bad breath.  Truth be told, we are all a little different and have at least one quality that makes us “undesirable.”  So, let’s stoop and stretch to draw one another close.  Only then do we get to feel the warmth of their being and share in the gentleness and grace of something as simple as a kiss.  Cheeks are where smiles form and tears fall.  This is a blessed place to meet your neighbor. 

 

Reality Check

I live a life of two vastly different realities.  In one reality, all of my physical needs are met as well as many of my human desires.  I enjoy many luxuries—chocolate, coffee, hot showers.  I have the opportunity to travel the world and the opportunity to attend college.  Physically, I am in excellent health.  No matter where I am in life, I know that I have friends and family who will love and support me.  I am unimaginably loved, and every day I receive proof of this.

Then there is another reality that I also see every day.  In this reality, I see the corpse of a child that died an untimely death being wheeled out of a crumbling, smelly hospital.  I see a crippled man crawling on his hands across a street littered with garbage and shattered glass.  I see the hardened faces of orphaned children and desolate old people who have never truly been loved.  I hold my breath as I walk past the trees that reek of urine from being used as toilets and try not to be overwhelmed by the sorrow of realizing that the people surrounding me are in need of food, clothes, shelter, and love.  This is a reality I would rather not see because it is miserable, and honestly, it sucks.  It is a reality in which individuals strive for self-preservation at the expense of the rest of humanity.  If I were one to cry, I would sob every time I look out of my window.  Since I’m not, I take it all in; and then, I feel it.  I feel it deep in my heart.  I feel it until everything within me screams for a third reality.

 

It is time for a reality in which, I love my neighbors as myself.  As much as I strive to meet my needs and desires, I want to acknowledge and strive to meet the needs and desires of my neighbor.  They are equally precious, sacred, and valued.  There is too much hate, sickness, and pain in the world to multiply it. Instead, I want to cling to every ounce of love that I have been given and spread it.  It hurts too much to suffer and to watch others suffer.  Hate is never the answer.  I want to see even the hardest hearts melted and softened by love—beginning with mine.  Sure, I am just one person, and I can’t change the world.  Yet, if I can touch the person next to me with love, a new reality is discovered that I can live with.   Love is the only answer, and it is one that I am willing to die for.  It is time for me to begin sharing.  It is time for me to see the faces of those who suffer, feel their pain, and offer all that I have to offer.  Likewise, I must be willing to unveil myself before them and allow them to do the same for me.  This is the only way in which I can face my two realities.  The old has passed away; a new way has come. 

 

Life and Death: Questions and Emotions Along the Way

She was only fourteen years old; I knew her for just over two weeks.  From the day that I first met her, I loved her.  Despite here peaceful demeanor, it was easy to read desperation in her beautiful brown eyes from the tremendous burden that she bore.  She was slender and beautiful, but her abdomen was so distended from cancer that it gave her the appearance of being pregnant.  For two weeks, I got to sit with her, hug her, draw with her, and indulge her love for candy.  Around her neck, she wore the necklace with the word “Friends” on it that I had given her.  This past Tuesday, she was very weak, and as I sat beside her on her bed, she whispered, “doce” (candy) to me.  I brought her a piece, and then I began to pass candy out to the other patients in her room as well.  As I went to say goodbye to my friend, she dropped her candy on the floor.  I stooped to pick it up and handed it to her.  As I did this, she reached for a second piece of candy.  Usually, I have to limit one piece per person to ensure that everyone gets some, but I slipped a second piece into her hand.  She smiled up at me, and I smiled back.  Then, I left for home.  The next day I arrived at the hospital to find her very weak.  I saw her step-mother dragging her by the arm to the bathroom.  As a result, my weak friend was stumbling and crashing into the wall.  I rushed to her side to help steady her, and she grasped my hand and leaned on me as we walked the hall to the bathroom.  That was the last time that I touched her or let her know that I loved her.  For all I know, that may have been the last touch of love that she received on earth.  I waited and waited for her step-mother to come from the bathroom so that I could help her back to her room, but she didn’t come.  Finally, I saw two men carrying her limp body back to her bed.  Shortly after this, my sweet friend passed away. 

 

My heart was heavy as I left pediatric oncology to meet Alice (the missionary I serve with) at adult oncology.  I found Alice sitting with a woman who had just lost her husband—her only love to cancer that afternoon.  The woman was overcome with grief and completely devastated.  I put my cheek next to hers and felt the warm tears that poured from her eyes as she sobbed in the arms of Alice and me. 

If ever there was ever an instance to ask, “How could a loving God allow such suffering to occur?” this seemed like the opportune time for such a question.  However, as I thought of these two beautiful women suffering regardless of whether I choose to be theist or atheist, a new question emerged in my mind, “How can there not be hope for these women?”  Suffering is inevitable on this earth, but hope is a choice and always available.  I have found hope from my faith in a loving God, and since I have found it, everything within me wants to share it.  I hate suffering, but my heart is overwhelmed with love for the one who suffers and is not content to leave them hopeless in their suffering.  I believe in a God who has come to give life and life to the fullest.  That life can start here on earth and will ultimately be fulfilled in Heaven.  “He (God/Love) will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Revelations 21:4).  This is the hope that I have found and am devoted to sharing with the broken-hearted.  It doesn't always make sense, but it is all that I have to offer.  I desire that as I touch and interact with people, I show them a new way of life and bring the message of hope--the message of Love who carried all suffering past, present, and future so that a new way of life is available to all who are willing to receive. 

Just me...

Over the last few weeks I have been called an American, a volunteer, a missionary, an angel, “Tia Branca” (the white aunt), Tia Abi, a foreigner, a beautiful woman, the blonde girl, a student, and countless other names.  With each of these names comes an expectation.  Then I meet someone else who has the same title and seems to be living up to the expectation far better than I.  I begin to compare myself to them and focus on my insufficiencies.  Well, guess what?  I am just me—just Abigail.

I am a chocolate-and-coffee-loving female.  My obsessions include running and cooking.  Sitting still is difficult for me; I would rather be moving and busy.  I am serious most of the time, but my sisters bring out my outbursts of hysteria.  Small talk aggravates me.  I desire to go deep with others and hear their life stories, yet it takes me awhile to trust people with my story.  I enjoy observing people and trying to understand them.  When I do something, I want to pour my whole heart into that thing.  Sometimes this leaves me with a broken heart, but I am prone to setting my expectations low in hopes of avoiding emotional pain.   I think that I am tough, but it is the smallest things that make me break.  My heart comes alive when I am holding the hand of a dying individual or cuddling a sick child.  I want to go to places of suffering because I want to be moved to compassion—compassion that just might make a difference or give a glimpse of hope. 

Now, I am half a world away from my home and the people that know me.  The distance has made me question who I really am.  Over the years, I have lived with so many facades.  I desire to exceed the expectations of others, but then I get overwhelmed and find myself suffocating under the pressures of who people want me to be and the reality of my flaws.  Ultimately, I realize that I am just me.  I have only one voice to answer to and that is God’s voice.  He has called me to love Him with all of my heart, soul, and mind. This is not hard to do considering the fact that He is my greatest lover who fills my life with endless blessings. Secondly, He has called me to love my neighbor as myself—not more than myself, AS myself. 

In Matthew 25, Jesus says, “When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink.  When I was a stranger, you welcomed me, and when I was naked, you gave me clothes to wear.  When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in jail, you visited me.”  Jesus’s followers asked when they did this for Him, and He replied, “Whenever you did it for any of my people, no matter how unimportant they seemed; you did it for me.”  I have been given the opportunity to love Jesus—the one who never hurts me and always love me with unconditional love—by loving the broken and hurting of this world.  While this is often contrary to my flesh’s desires, the joy that this brings to my heart and soul is inconceivable.  On the other hand, when I choose to ignore the suffering of human beings, I have chosen to reject Jesus.  I have left Him naked, hungry, thirsty, suffering, and alone.  I have trampled on love and condemned myself as a result.

Jesus has changed my life.  Jesus has given me hope.  Jesus has given me freedom from the expectations of others.  Because of Jesus, grace and forgiveness have entered my life.  I don’t want to live one day in which I do not respond in love to Jesus’s image in others.  To be able to reciprocate a portion of the love that He constantly bestows on me makes my life a beautiful romance.  So, I am just me—loved and lover. 

Mourn with those who Mourn; Rejoice with those who Rejoice

Watching a mother lose her child to cancer is probably the worst thing that I have ever seen.  The child moans and cries when touched.  I hold the mother's hand, and she fights the tears that flood her eyes.  A language barrier prevents me from giving her words of hope, and what would I say anyway?  There we are--both helpless--our hearts broken.  Then I begin to wonder why am I here?  What can I do?  I try to be strong and put on a smile for the other patients who need some joy.  The pain of the suffering mother and her daughter haunts me.  I want to fix it, but I can't.  Then I realize that it is not my job to fix or heal.  Only God can mend and restore broken hearts.  My job is to "rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn."  When it is too much for me to bare, I send heartfelt prayers to God--a God full of mercy and compassion who came to earth to heal the sick and ascended to Heaven to carry those who suffer to a place where there will be no more mourning, crying, or pain." 

Come into the Dirt with Me

For the first time in years, I can honestly say that I like waking up in the morning with a new day ahead of me more than I like retreating to my bed and escaping my life at night.  Truly, Jesus has come to give life and life to the fullest. 

Thursday was one of the most beautiful days of my life.  I went to a Bible Study (in English!) with Alice and about ten other missionary women from America, Brazil, and Portugal.  Even though I am far from my biological family, I know that I have brothers and sisters here.  I loved talking to the ladies and hearing the stories of how God brought them to Mozambique.  As we bowed our heads together in prayer, I knew that I was at home.

After Bible Study, Alice and I returned to the apartment to pick up Mila a Portuguese friend who stayed with us for two days.  Let me tell you a little about Mila.  Mila is a tiny little lady with a strong Portuguese accent.  She is a widow with grown children, and now she comes to Mozambique every year to spend three months living at a rural orphanage/kindergarten in Metola.  Although Mila and I had a hard time communicating, we hold each other close to our hearts.  She could have an exquisite life in Portugal, but instead she chooses a life without consistent electricity, without internet, in the dirt, and with very few material possessions.   She chooses to seek the kingdom of Heaven and see the value of each and every human heart.  Before driving Mila to Metola, we stopped at the supermarket so that she could purchase groceries for the next three months.  Then we were off. 

Clouds of dust arose as our vehicle turned onto the dirt path that brought us to the kindergarten.  When we arrived and stepped out into the African dirt, children charged us.  A little boy came flying into my arms and before I knew it, dozens of children we pressing in to get a glimpse of the foreigner.  I crouched down to give as many kisses as possible, and before I knew it, there were so many children piled on top of me that I fell into the dirt.  It had not been my plan to get dirty as we were going to a going away party for a missionary family later; but as I sat in the dirt with the children, I realized that if the children are in the dirt then that is where I want to be too.  I have never felt more joy than I did in that moment with dust covering my body, dirty fingers combing my hair, sticky hands rubbing my skin, and runny noses dripping snot on my leg. 

 

So often Jesus was in the dirt, and I believe that He invites me there too.  I can choose to tread on the dirt or even build a house on it to shield myself from seeing, feeling, tasting, or smelling it.  Yes, my life might be more comfortable this way.  After all, it is messy, tiresome, and difficult to dig into the dirt; but it is in the dirt that I find the most beautiful treasure.  If I choose not to seek the buried treasure, I risk never seeing the diamond, the rose, or the human being that arises from the dirt.  One day, Love stopped for me and found me in the dirt.  Every time that I fall into the dirt, He is once again there to lend me His hand and pick me up.  Now, instead of considering the pain, the dirt, and the agony, I will strive relentlessly for the one caught in the rubble.  They are beautiful and are worth even my life because by the blood of Jesus they are washed of the dirt and their darkest stains just as I have been.  Then I get to see unimaginable beauty, and I smile.  I have nothing to fear; Love is on my side.

 

Life in Maputo

Ola, meu amores!  My brain cannot think clearly as I am constantly trying to translate my thoughts into Portuguese phrases with my limited vocabulary.  If this note seems choppy and abrupt, please realize that I have two conversations going on in my head. 

Last night, I went to bed early because I was exhausted.  After two hours of sleep, I woke up wide awake.  I am on the fourteenth floor of an apartment building right in Maputo, Mozambique (my first time living in a big city!).  It is very windy here, and the howling wind, the blaring sirens, the barking dogs, and the pouring rain all played a part in keeping me awake.  Every time that I would try to relax and sleep, thoughts would pop into my head, and my brain instantly tried to translate them to Portuguese.  My head hurt, but my brain would not shut off.  As the hours passed, I realized just how lonely I felt and how much I missed my friends.  After four hours of reading, journaling, tossing, turning, and praying; Jesus reminded me to keep my eyes on Him.  I found peace in repeating His name over and over until I fell fast asleep.

Today, I woke up well rested for the first time in weeks, and it has been a very good day.  This afternoon I went to Hospital Central de Maputo and saw all of the children that I met yesterday; but today they were not as shy, and I was not as tired.  All of the children have cancer and carry an IV port in their hands or arms as a result.  They have good days and bad days depending on whether or not they have recently received treatment.  We pull out a table and chairs and spend several hours coloring pictures, writing, and playing together.  I was able to practice my Portuguese with the children as they are very forgiving of my mistakes and excellent teachers.  Learning Portuguese is much like building a puzzle as I am constantly trying to piece together conversation, and I am ecstatic when I find new pieces that fit. 

Today, I found more treasure.  Regina and Florenca are five-year-old little girls and cancer patients at the hospital.  They were shy yesterday but not today.  They kept inching closer and closer to me until I began to draw and write hand-over-hand with them.  Eventually, I picked them up onto my lap, and they began touching my blonde hair and exclaiming over it like it was the most amazing thing in the world.  They took off my ring and began playing the guessing game as to which hand it was in.  My favorite part was when I kissed them saying, “Beijhos! (kisses),” and then they began kissing my cheeks repetitively one after another.  They didn’t want to stop, and I knew right then and there that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.  Loving and being loved—it doesn’t get much better than that.

Living with a Portuguese family in Mozambique has definitely given me a case of culture shock, but I cannot complain as my host family is kind beyond words and simply breathing in the air of Mozambique makes my heart come alive.  I greatly appreciate all of your love, kind words, and prayers.  While it is not always easy, I am very happy to be here in Mozambique and know that this is where I am supposed to be for this season of my life. 

Layover Musings

This past week has been insanity.  After I said goodbye to my job and residents at Joy Givers Senior Home, I thought I would have a quiet week to prepare for my journey to Mozambique.  Well, let me tell you; this past week has been everything but quiet.  However, God has definitely used each and every moment of this week to prepare me for my journey and to shape my heart to allow me to most effectively love and receive love. 

Now, I am sitting at Dulles International Airport awaiting my flight across the Atlantic to my beloved continent of Africa.  I am exhausted from a week of sleepless nights, and my heart hurts for the burdens and sufferings of those whom I have loved so dearly but now have to step away from.  Yet, I know that the exhaustion has brought me to the end of my rope.  God is all I have to fall back onto, and there is no place that I’d rather be than in His arms.  Furthermore, the tears that I fight back remind me that I have truly loved.  While my love fails, I pray that my expressions of love point back to the unfailing love of God.  I find peace in knowing that love is unending, inevitable, absolute, and independent of me.  God is love, and through my brokenness limitless love is poured.

It dawned on me this week that love is not based on perfection.  Love is about embracing the image of God in each and every individual despite their sins, flaws, and mistakes.  Love is about hope, and I am all about hope in a world that reeks with hopelessness.   I cannot promote a religion of perfection when I am so imperfect.  I believe that is hypocrisy.  Rather, I get to dance in the freedom of redemption.  Jesus was and is perfection, who laid Himself down to meet me in my dirt and brokenness.  He came to constantly fill me with love.  I know He’s there; I feel Him.  His love is extravagant.  I only hope that as I encounter people, I get close enough for His love to spill out and splash over them.

Life is a treasure hunt, and the treasure is the person next to me... I found a treasure during my layover.  Yay, for new friends! 

Treasure: Alyssa from Switzerland

The Journey (Part V)

My second semester of college was rough.  I was working two jobs, attending classes full time, and struggling to maintain 4.0's in all of my classes including Anatomy and Physiology.  By the time that I reached the half-way point in my semester, I felt like a living zombie.  I was exhausted and craving support, encouragement--anything.  Then I received a letter from my brother and shortly after that a phone call.  He and my dear sister-in-law wanted me to come visit them.  The thought of getting away seemed marvelous, but the thought of actually getting time off of work and away from my responsibilities seemed preposterous.  However, they kept offering, and finally I decided to take a leap of faith and follow my heart.

Miraculously, my coworkers were willing to cover my shifts while I was away, and the hope of a two week vacation gave me the extra boost of energy that I needed to fight through exam week and even get my 4.0's.  Once I finished my semester, I felt like I could breathe again, and deep within I felt that God was about to show me something incredible on my upcoming journey. 

Several days before I was scheduled to leave for Virginia, I checked my college e-mail account and discovered that the class I planned to take over the summer had been cancelled due to low enrollment.  At first I was aggravated because this was an essential class for me to take in order to keep in line with my plans for starting the nursing program.  However, Jeremiah 29:11 was fresh in my mind, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,'" and I began to ask God whether He had something different in mind for me--obviously, He did!  Instantly, the thought of returning to Mozambique came to mind, but I decided to wait and pray before doing anything rash.

I left for Virginia excited to see my brother and his family and excited to see what God would do.  As I flew through the clouds that dark night, I had an overwhelming peace.  I opened my Bible to Acts and began reading about Paul getting ship-wrecked.  "When a good wind began to blow from the south, the men on the ship thought, 'This is the wind we wanted, and now we have it.' So they pulled up the anchor, and we sailed very close to the island of Crete.  But then a very strong wind named the “northeaster” came from the island.  The ship was caught in it and could not sail against it. So we stopped trying and let the wind carry us."  Clearly, God had a different plan for me beyond what I thought was best, so I decided to stop trying and let God carry me. 

Once I arrived in Virginia and was united with my brother, sister-in-law, and their beautiful children, I was overwhelmed by God's love through them.  I received physical rest and so much spiritual encouragement.  I loved the deep conversations with Josiah and Jenny.  The giggles, hugs, and kisses of my niece and nephew melted my heart.  I began sharing about the recent change of plans in my life and my desire to return to Mozambique.  Also, during that week, I received an e-mail from my missionary friends in Mozambique inviting me to come stay with and work alongside them.  After much prayer and long conversations, I left to return home with an unexplainable joy and a heart ready to take the necessary steps to return to Mozambique.  As an extra blessing, an unexpected financial gift was contributed to my endeavors.  God was opening doors, and I was eager to walk through them. 

Now it is August 24, 2013.  I am vaccinated and prayed up.  I have tickets in my name for Maputo, Mozambique, and visa complications have been worked out.  In three weeks, I will be leaving to spend eleven weeks working with the cancer patients at Hospital Central de Maputo, and you have come to the right spot to follow my journey.  My heart is overjoyed; Jesus is with me every step of the way, and this is just the beginning!   

The Journey (Part IV)

From the moment I stepped off of African soil and onto the plane that would fly me across the ocean and back to my homeland, my heart beckoned me to come back.  I knew that I had to or else my heart might explode.  I had never loved or felt loved as fully as I did in Mozambique, and I didn’t want to live another day of my life without that kind of love.   I took a sleeping pill as I settled into my seat and hoped that it would knock me out so that I wouldn’t feel the aching and longing in my heart.  However, as I look back, I see that it was the heartbreak and longing to do something about it that got me through some very rough times and kept me focused on finding hope.

I returned to the United States to face my senior year of high school, and the prospects of returning to Mozambique seemed quite bleak.  Yet, I buckled down and focused on the task before me.  For the first time, I poured myself into schoolwork and particularly my Allied Health class.  I was so excited to do hospital work experience rotations every week.  While I got to see and learn many things, I was especially drawn to the oncology floor.  I sensed desperation in the eyes of these cancer patients that I did not find in many of the hospital’s other patients.  I was determined to bring them hope.  Being with these cancer patients also reminded me of the many cancer patients that I fell in love with while in Mozambique.  These are the people that many medical professionals have given up on.  Often their families have given up on them, and sadly, many of these people have given up on themselves.  But, I cannot look into their beautiful faces and believe that God has given up on them; I know that God has hope for all of them.  As a vessel of God’s love, by faith, I desire to bring them hope.  I cannot give up on them. 

Senior year flew by, and I was faced with a new lesson.  I learned that in order to not give up on others, I had to not give up on myself.  It was springtime, I was graduating, and I had no idea what my next steps in life should be.  My memories of Africa were still tugging on my heart, but they seemed just out of reach.  I was lost and confused.  I wanted answers, and more than anything I wanted to escape the pressures of life.  My friends from school invited me to their graduation parties, and I began to taste what the world had to offer.  In the moment, I enjoyed the thrills and dangers of the reckless lifestyles many of my friends were living.  I wanted a taste of their world and before I knew it, they were welcoming me to join them.  My life seemed exciting for once with the prospect of boys, booze, parties, adrenaline, drugs, and temporary pleasures.  Flaws in my own heart, my church, and my friends left me questioning my faith.  I felt alone, and I was eager for the opportunity to belong. 

In attempts to find my place in life, I searched desperately for a job as I felt that was the next step for a high school graduate to take.  However, all of my job-hunting seemed to be futile.  By July of 2012, I still did not have a job, so when my mom asked me to volunteer at a Joni and Friends Family Retreat, I decided to do it.  Even though it had not originally been my plan, by the time I arrived at the camp, I knew that God wanted me to be there.  It was one of the best weeks of my entire life.  As I served individuals with special needs and their families, I was reminded of the life-changing difference found in living for love rather than temporary pleasures.  I smiled.  I laughed. I cried.  I prayed.  I loved.  In just one week, I saw how love began to transform lives.  I was paired with a six-year-old little girl that much of the world would have given up on, but together we helped change each other’s lives.  We saw each other’s beauty and gifts and sought to affirm them.  I left Joni and Friends Camp, feeling God’s extraordinary love for me just as I was and seeing that people are vessels of God’s love.  While God can pour out His love in many ways, often it can be found in communion with those filled with His love.  I realized the opportunity that I have to carry God’s love to those I come into contact with, and I realized my need to accept His love from others.  As I left camp, I offered my life completely to God. I trusted Him to lead me and love me no matter what.  I knew that without Him, I had no hope.   

 

The day after I returned home from camp, I got a call offering me a job at a senior home.  I celebrated my eighteenth birthday and began work the day after.  Immediately I fell in love with my residents, and in loving them, I fell even more in love with my Jesus.  Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, anything you did for even the least of my people here, you also did for me.”  To touch Jesus when I clipped toenails, changed smelly briefs, and bathed filthy individuals made it all worth it.  Furthermore, I became a much stronger person physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  I learned so many new practical skills that allowed me to better care for the sick.  I became gentler and bolder.  And most importantly, I learned that I can only give what God has given me.  When I was burnout from caring for others and desperately wanted someone to hold me, I found Jesus’s arms, and they were constantly there to hold me. 

 

“It’s the song of the redeemed rising from the African plain.  It’s the song of the forgiven drowning out the Amazon rain.  The song of Asian believers filled with God’s holy fire.  It’s every tribe, every tongue, every nation—a love song born of a grateful fire.  It’s all God’s children singing ‘Glory, glory, hallelujah; He reigns…’”  A spur of the moment trip in the end of August 2012 found me singing these lyrics at my brother’s church in Laramie, WY.  Suddenly and out of nowhere, I heard God’s overwhelming voice beckoning me back to Africa.  While the prospect excited me as it was the deepest desire of my heart, the idea seemed preposterous.  I was scheduled to start my freshman year at college the following week, and I was torn between pursuing a degree in nursing which everyone was urging me to do or leaving everything and following God out on a limb.  Since I did not sense God’s peace in giving up college at that time, I dove into my studies.  I took two semesters of pre-nursing classes and while some of the subject matter was interesting, I absolutely hated school.  Between being a fulltime college student and working two jobs, some days I didn’t want to be living my life.  I was exhausted and lonely, but then I remembered God’s calling for me, and I didn’t give up.  I pressed on knowing that God had a plan for me and believing that He would bring me back to Africa one day. 

Hands

7/16/13

On my 9th birthday, I received my first bottle of nail polish.  From that time on, I was an addict.  I collected nail polish and constantly had a fresh coat of polish on my nails.  I loved having pampered hands, and I enjoyed giving manicures and pedicures to family and friends.

When I began taking Allied Health classes in Junior year, my teachers were very picky about the lengths of their students' nails.  We began work experience at the hospital, and I began chopping my nails.  I felt proud of my nails.  To me, they became a symbol of my hard work and reminded me of Father March's words to Meg in Little Women.

Within the past year, I received a calling from God to use my hands to serve Him.  While the Lord has equipped me with many talents and gifts to share His love to the world, I believe that He has a special plan for my hands.  Stories of Jesus touching lepers and the sickest of the sick inspire and thrill me.  I love the healing power of God, and I am excited to be a vessel of this power.

For the last year, I have worked at a senior home and have had countless opportunities to use my hands to do the work God has called me to.  From cleaning up feces, urine, and emesis, to lifting, dressing, undressing, showering, massaging, and caring for my elderly residents, I have seen my God-given calling come to life.  Yet, along the way, I also developed the notion that the more abused my hands and self were, the better.

Today, I received my very first shellac manicure in anticipation for being a bridesmaid in my brother's wedding.  Watching my neglected nails and rough hands being transformed into something so beautiful was almost miraculous.  As I went on with my day, I found myself touching everything in a different way.  I felt like a baby discovering the world for the first time.  There was a gentleness in my touch.  Beyond feeling the need to simply get a job done, I feel the need to seek beauty and leave a wake of beauty, grace, and love upon those I touch. 

Whether my hands are calloused, dirty, and bloody or freshly manicured and smooth, God has called me to use them to spread love and point the focus back on Him.  It is not about me achieving a statues of either abused or pampered, it is about me showing the love that has been so richly lavished upon me through my hands. 

The Journey (Part III)

As I began to give pieces of my heart away, there was still a large part of my heart that I was keeping to myself.  In doing so, I only felt my own pain.  However, from the minute that I entered Hospital Central de Maputo, my life was forever changed as I gave away the remaining portion of my heart.  In return, I was filled with passion, love, hope, and joy. 

6/21/2011

Some of us left for Maputo's hospital.  It was so sad, but my heart is totally there.  I got to go inside the oncology building with Alice, Mrs. Mortensen, and Sue.  First, we saw a room of out patients receiving treatment.  Then there was a room of women who were very ill and literally dying before my eyes.  We didn't spend too much time there because they were very unwell and couldn't really handle visitors.  In the next room were three women.  Two of them were younger women probably in their twenties.  I will never ever forget their hungry, hurting eyes.  I took one of the women's hands.  Here name was Nelly.  I could tell that she was in pain, but, oh, how she loved having someone there for her.  I held onto her hand tightly, and she did not let got.  We prayed for the women in the room, and it was truly amazing..  Never in all of my life have I seen people love prayer so much!  It was heartbreaking thought because the one woman actually had to ask Alice to bathe her.  Nobody takes the time to care for her.  Oh, how I would LOVE to take care of these pained people!  It hurts my heart to see, but it also calls my heart to help them. 

In the next room there were some young mothers with their babies who were sick with cancer.  On top of that, one baby contracted malaria in the hospital.  One woman brought her little girl to the hospital because her daughter, Joanna, had a tumor that was closing her mouth almost entirely resulting in Joanna not being able to breathe.  They have been at the hospital for over a month.  The mom is about to have a baby, and they have had no contact with their family at home.  To their family, they could very well be considered dead.  They must be feeling so alone!  This is only one family's troubles too!  

At the hospital:

• Bugs are horrible
• Rats run around
• The babies don't have diapers
• The patients don't have warm clothes for the cold nights
• The medications administered are the leftover treatments from the U.S. and other countries
• The rooms are filthy
• The women have to share the beds with their children

The conditions that these beautiful people live in and are treated in are horrible!  Many of them will die, yet this is the best they have in the entire country...

We went on to another room of women.  They were delighted to receive bracelets and prayer.  Such a meager yet powerful gift.  It was very humbling.  I gently massaged a young woman's back, and she seemed to become so peaceful.  The physical touch that I could offer was enough to light up her eyes and make her feel loved.  Yes, that is what I can do!  Why do I feel like I can do nothing?  Truly there is a mission in this world for me.  I believe it is to tend to the sick and hurting.  Lord, lead me to the place where I can do that best!  Being at the hospital really gave me a feeling of purpose and hope for my life.  I am really interested in going into the medical field.  However, there is something even greater than tending to a person's physical needs.  I loved that at the hospital, I could hug, kiss, and pray for the people.  I desire to tend to people's physical needs, but mostly I want to tend to their heart needs. 

There were men in the next room whom we were able to pray with.  Lastly, we went into a room where there were five very sick men.  There was an albino man who had a very bad infection/tumor.  His whole lip and jaw was open and exposed.  It smelled horrible and it really was as if he was just rotting away.  Another man was emaciated and had fluid flowing from basically every opening in his body.  There was a young guy about my age named Fernando who had to have one leg amputated due to the cancer that was ravaging in his body.  He was so sick, thin, and weak.  In fact, he hadn't been able to move his bowels in three weeks.  He was very uncomfortable!  Alice asked me to pray for these men, especially Fernando.  She cares so deeply for these hurting people, and she truly is an inspiration.  I felt so honored to people to lift these men and women up to God in prayer. 


We went outside where some of the team was playing with the sick children.  I sat with them as they got a snack, and little Joanna sat in my lap.  She had a little port in her hand for receiving treatment, and she held her hand up the whole time because she was in such pain.  With her other hand she grasped mine.  Then she wanted to go back to her mother, so I carried her inside.  When I was exiting the hospital, there was a woman leaving who had just received treatment.  I will never forget her words.  She looked at me with pleading eyes and said, "Pray for us!"  I never ever want to forget these people.  Until the day I die, I want these people to be in my heart.  Forever and ever!
 

 

The best thing happened at the very end of the hospital visit.  There was a young woman standing at the bottom of the stairs to the hospital.  Alice was talking to her, and the rest of us were hanging out in the surrounding courtyard.  Alice left her to go do something else, so I decided to give her a hug.  She was delighted!  I came to find out that her name is Maninha.  She has lymphatic cancer and HIV.  The medicines that she has to take are not mixing well and, as a result, her brain is affected.  Also, her cancer treatment caused a problem with the veins in her wrist, and she had to have a surgery on her wrist.  She is only twenty years old. , and she has a four year old daughter.  As I stood there embracing her, she asked me in Portuguese to pray for her wrist.  I took her in my arms and prayed for her.  Instantly, I had a friend.  I only knew her for a very short time, but I felt like we were best friends.  We did not separate until I left.  We linked arms and our fingers intertwined.  I love Maninha.  Leaving her was so hard!  I started tearing up.  I wanted to take her home with me, love her, and take care of her.  She instilled so many emotions in my heart--emotions I hadn't experienced in a very long time!  That night as I lay in bed, I cried.  I cried for Maninha.  I prayed and cried for the suffering to be taken away.  I cried because I loved. 

 
Why do I feel called to sacrifice myself and live in the dirt with people that break my heart? 

If physical riches and comfort were what make life living, then all of the lives of these beautiful and amazing people would be considered worthless.  In fact, my own life which is filled abundantly with earthly riches would be considered worthless because they never satisfy.  My eyes have been opened--human beings are inexplicably valuable.  I want to devote my life to valuing life.  I will do this through love.  Without fear, I will reach loving hands into the dirt, through the pain, and at the risk of infectious diseases to meet the valuable human being on the other end with love.  It really isn't a sacrifice because so often in lending a hand--a hand reaches back.  Even if I am left standing empty-handed in the dirt and pain, I know that my God (Love)'s hand is constantly extended to me.  Through and because of His love, I will love.  I refuse to leave the hopeless without hope.