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