The best in life...

We have been in Mozambique a bit over 3 weeks now...celebrating Christmas. A time where family gathers, there is a refocusing as we head into the new year and we indulge in the best life has to offer...

The best life has to offer...hmmm...have you ever really stopped to think what "the best" really is? When I was a little girl the best for me during Christmas was the evening before when my dad would come over and we would open gifts with him. My parents had divorced when I was four and life was confusing for many years after that but goodness Christmas Eve was the best when we would gather as a "family" for a couple hours and exchange gifts. Then the best continued the next day as we woke up to stockings stuffed with Life Saver candy books and coloring books from Santa with the price tag still on it...Mama said Santa had to make a last minute stop at Kmart! ;) Then the day continued with family, food and something good on television.

Now lying in bed...over 30 years later, I weep.

The worst life has to offer...as moments flash in my mind of those last moments with my dad...he suffered, he struggled. I remember the invitation he gave to me just two weeks before he died in March..."Sis, you should join us for Christmas." He knew there would be no more Christmas times together here on Earth but the invitation was an extension of his love, his repentance, his forgiveness as he knew he was heading into eternity.
                       
                                                   
                                                             

I took a few minutes to refocus, process the grief, feel the emotion and listen for His voice...

The best life has to offer...He met me in my grief as I wept...Holy Spirit brought me comfort and Abba extended His invitation as He always does..."Daughter, you should join Us for Christmas." I am quickly reminded that there will always be Christ and times together into eternity...I remember His suffering, His struggle. An extension of His love which lead to my repentance and His forgiveness. I indulged in His grace, His mercy and His wonder. He was born to show us how to live, then He died to give us opportunity to live forever! Death for Life! An exchange occurred through my tears...the worst life has to offer in a memory for the best life has to offer in the reality of my Savior.

A great exchange...His best for our worst!

To be heard...

I want to rewind a bit in my story…the world’s recent events here in Mozambique and America have brought to remembrance wounds in my own life and as I struggle some days to parent my boys well I realize more and more the importance of being heard, having a voice. I think that is why I have always had a deep desire to write and have found blogging to be therapeutic at times because I can tell my story and have a voice in some way.

In the last few months I have really struggled with knowing how to come along side Tobiah as he is going through so many physical, emotional, mental and spiritual changes at 12 years old. I am also seeing it in Jaidan at 9 and Gideon at 7. They were not born in Moz and they have only lived here a bit over a year. We live in a community with mostly singles, we live an area where most families have raised their children in Africa, but the reality that I struggled with the most this past week was that my sons are being raised in a country with no voice.  They are being raised around the vulnerable that want to have a voice but when they speak they are not heard. Children will sit at our fence for hours yelling Tobiah’s name until someone hears them. Some days they will continue to yell until someone actually acknowledges them, has a short conversation with them…hears them.

The ongoing lesson for me this past couple months as a parent is that when you are around a dinner table, in a community, after 5pm, after hours of work and ministry and many days death, when fatigue begins to set into not only your body but your mind, your emotions, your heart…the reality still is my own 12 year old boy needs to be heard. He has had his own struggle lately with what is appropriate to discuss at the table with others, what tone to use, what volume to use and when to just sit in silence. I, out of what I think is protection, try to silence him too often. I give him the look only a frustrated mom can give, have a tone that cuts like a knife, and project my own insecurity and fear of…oh my they will never want us to eat dinner with them again! After many tears, prayers and discussions with Ian this week, I realized I had failed at truly protecting Tobiah and even my other two boys. I decided I needed to own my own junk, let the Lord burn it off as the dross it was and ask Tobiah a simple question…why are you having such a hard time? A question many failed to ask me in my own childhood, a question I failed to ask many even in recent years, a question many fail to ask each other day after day because it requires vulnerability.

Tobiah was not slow to communicate his feelings, his frustrations…he now had a voice and it was my choice to let him be heard. He said…”Mama, it is difficult to say what I am feeling or say it the right way and with the right tone. I am trying but sometimes I do not know how to say what I am thinking when others bring up things…they bring it up and I am just trying to say what I feel about it. I don’t mean to be rude or sound bad.”  Wow…that was it, pretty simple, huh?! Days, weeks, months of not being able to communicate in your own language with your own friends and then add not being able to communicate well to parents and adults that many times expect “more of you”.  I really heard him thankfully to Holy Spirit for giving me the deeper understanding in his emotions and words. When children are not heard they will act in a way that will get attention even if it is negative and yes they will become overwhelmingly annoying, loud and eventually defiant. Sad thing is that will carry into their adulthood if parents, caregivers or others do not take the time to stop and hear them…to let them have a voice.

What I have seen many times with parenting is when there is an issue that your child is struggling with that makes you more frustrated, angry, helpless, defensive, and some days just plain irritated…it is because there is something in what your child is struggling with that is penetrating a wound in your own soul as a parent. You feel irritated and defensive as that “something” begins to rub against a scar and irritate the unhealed tissue under it. You become defensive as you go into self-protection thinking you are protecting your own child when really you are harming him and empowering those around you to harm your child as well. The enemy wants you to feel it is easier to continue to ignore the real issue and be a peace keeper instead of being a peace maker by exposing the deep root of your own wound as it may be uncomfortable for more than just you, it may be uncomfortable for those around you. I often wonder if many people just cannot believe what Jesus did for them because after all it was just too uncomfortable…the isolation, the anguish, the names he was called and ultimately the torture and crucifixion. But the truth is if we were always going to be comfortable why did He send Holy Spirit, the Great Comforter?

 

I am choosing to be vulnerable and have peace that this is the right time to share…I believe healing comes in many different ways, different times, whether spoken out loud or quietly to our Heavenly Father. I want to go back to the time when I was 9 years old. A time when I was struggling in my childhood. Struggling in many ways…was not the most beautiful little girl (so I thought), had a horrible gap between my teeth (which if I still had would be a sign of amazing beauty here in Africa), and my foundation in life was broken. My parents were divorced, my mom entered the work force when I was 4 years old and from that day on I was under the care of a babysitter…whether with my older brother or someone my mom thought she could trust with me and my other brother. It was difficult to have a voice during this time as most days there was no one around that really cared to hear me. My mom was working, my dad was living his life elsewhere, my brother got to an age where he did not need a babysitter, and my friends were home safe with their own families after school. I found it difficult to communicate what I was feeling, experiencing. I remember at one time after my dad left we tried family counseling and we were sent home with a punching bag to take out our aggressions on as my brother and I would fight constantly and violently. Of course, that bag broke in the first couple weeks as it was hit so hard and often! We yelled to try to be heard and at the end of the day there was lots of tears, bruises, broken hearts and unresolved issues as not one of us could put words to anything that was going on. My mom was at a loss as her own childhood was engulfed with alcoholic parents sleeping in separate rooms, hurtful words from a mom that could not express love well and a loving dad that was broken in many ways himself. We were a hurting, broken family wanting to be heard, to be loved and to love each other but did not know how to begin all of that in a healthy way. The way we see, experience and engage in communication as children carries over into our adulthood and that is not always a healthy aspect of our relationships. My wounded heart was only beaten more as the unspeakable happened at my babysitter’s house which was only two doors down from my home…I became a victim of sexual abuse. My babysitter was an amazing, loving lady but her husband was not and what he had his son do to me was a manifestation and manipulation of his own sin and evil. After what seemed like years…although it was only months I was told by a friend a block away that the same thing happened to her. I was sad for her but in some way relieved as the trauma made me feel like I was in a bad dream and some days I just wished it was and I would just wake up! But the dream was real… I am an introvert so even at that age it took me a long time to figure out how I would talk to my mom, what would I say, would she believe me, did she even have the time to listen? One day I had the courage and I wrote it in a note…even today I communicate better in writing. J My mom called my dad and they talked…there were phone calls and discussions even with others. At the end of all the talks my mom told me I was no longer going to the babysitter and there would be another plan. From what I could see through my 9 year old perspective…there was no justice and it was not discussed ever again. I spent years struggling in relationships with guys, struggling in communication in relationships with friends and even struggling in communication with my aging parents.

I moved forward and in later years I chose to forgive my parents for whatever had happened…my abuse as a result of their own sin and divorce. Also, I forgave them as I felt I had not really been heard…that I spoke out but not much was done. Some days I struggled to speak up when I saw injustice as I felt I would not be heard. God continued to speak to me throughout the years…He reminded me that He heard me, my cries and that I had a voice. After immense healing I was able to interact with my parents at a much deeper level, able to discuss the deep things of life, of death and because of this vulnerability and healing was able to journey with them both as they took their last breaths…the exchange was life changing.

When I was 39…yes, just two years ago, the Lord woke me in the middle of the night and brought to remembrance the abusers in my childhood.  He said there was no way I would go into the mission field overseas until I really understood forgiveness and what being heard was really about.  I questioned why as I felt I had forgiven…He pointed out a few things and I realized there was more to it all. I went to my computer and looked up the name of my old babysitter’s now ex-husband…I lost my breath and began to weep as I read the news story from years before…man arrested and convicted of sexual abuse…the worst child predator in Arizona history. During police interviews he could not even count the number of victims her had abused, prostituted. His forever home on earth would be a prison cell separated from others. Remind you, this man was not my abuser but his son was; however, I was able to look with a compassion only the Lord can give to realize this son was a victim of abuse in a much more twisted way then I could ever imagine. That did not excuse what his son chose to do under such pressure but I chose to forgive him and pray for his healing that he would someday realize he needed. I struggled instantly with the feelings of I could have done more, my parents could have done more…why wasn’t I really heard?! If I was really heard then why did all of these other children have to suffer and most at an even higher cost then myself!? I prayed, I listened, I leaned into my Father’s chest. I knew He was with me…yes, He was even with me during those times. I knew He was for me, He has always been for me. Sometimes healing comes in part and in later years in full. Sometimes it comes slowly and sometimes in an instant. The Lord showed me again that Jesus died for not only my sins…but He died for the shame I carried because of others sin against me. In that instant I realized I was carrying shame for the sin that was done to me and in the moment the shame was immense for what the enemy wanted me to embrace…he wanted me to embrace the idea that all those children were abused because my voice was not enough…my story was not enough. That lasted for all but a moment as the presence of God just consumed me, my heart, my soul, my spirit.

Yes, I have a voice and I was heard. Yes, I have a story. What is the point of all this? Parents, slow down and listen to your children, hear their stories, their frustrations. Respectfully quit worrying about what others think and please stop projecting the expectations of others on your children. Everyone, slow down and listen to your friends, listen to the man you stop for on the street. I am living in a third world country where injustice and abuse are daily events. Where children are sold for sex and body parts. Where you are forced into the military at a young age. I am living in a country that once looked like America did before it “developed”. If people live years and years without being heard, without having a voice, without being able to share their story without offense or fear of rejection and shame…those people will soon self-implode…that nation will soon self-destruct.

 

“The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:17-18

 

“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--when you see the naked, to clothe them,  and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I. If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry, and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday. The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called a Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings. 

We must cry out when others cannot, will not or do not even know what I mean by cry out! We must not only speak justice but live it out each day. There is action that comes with faith and prayer. If we as individuals do not seek righteousness, justice, mercy, love and forgiveness while allowing each other to be heard…well, we can see the results today on the news. We have a foundation to repair and restore for a new generation that is on a journey to their future, to live out their story. Will you let them have a voice, will you let them be heard?

 

 

Continued...Faith in the darkness.

Then we went into the mode many people go into…how do we survive? How do we make ends meet? How do we self-preserve because sometimes God just does not feel like enough?

This began countless nights of Ian up, not sleeping, in pain…many nights of me getting up to see him lying on the ground…on his stomach, on his back…whatever position to relieve the pain but the one constant was the sound of worship and praise playing over him as he was battling to hold on to the promises of the Lord.  To this day when these nights are brought to remembrance, my faith is strengthened by the unwavering faith my husband sowed in tears over our household, over our family, over our future. Ian was a young dad, a young husband, a young business owner that could no longer provide consistent income for his family...he could not run around with his little boys and toss them over his shoulder. When we finally got him into one of the best spinal surgeons in the state he was told…you need to rest, do not lift anything. Yea, you can imagine how we walked out of that appointment full of hope!? NOT! How does a father of two and soon three rest and not lift his own children as his wife struggles to lift her own shoe off the ground with her big belly in the way! We knew God’s ways would have to be greater than man’s ways at this point…ONLY JESUS!

We prayed, we cried, we were silent in the struggle of decision making…but then it was decided…I would return to work at the hospital, to one of the toughest medical floors known to a nurse, 12 hour shifts…in my third trimester with only God as my security at this point. I continued my weekly OB appointments, my weekly ultrasounds but my self-directed bedrest was now a thing of the past and yes, Ian had to lift our boys up each day to help bath them, dress them and care for them. And...God provided…He provided abundance of energy, health, rest, compassion, grace, assurance and assistance through all the amazing people I worked with, through our friends that loved us. His Spirit rested upon me and in me…He reminded me of His promises as I was caught between the crossfire of fear of man and the revelation and wisdom of my Abba that sometimes a mama can only understand. There is risk in many decisions we make, but I have learned that the risk of disobedience and not following the peace of God is greater. We followed the peace although it looked like insanity and yes even stupidity and neglect to others…and yes I know some of you reading this now will think and feel again those same emotions and judge me so I am thankful for grace and identity.

During this time Ian began to seek some relief through medical intervention and pain specialists as we discovered Ian had two herniated disks. We decided to try steroid injections as surgery was not an option and any type of pain medication would put Ian into a partial coma! We had learned this lesson during his hip surgery when the nurse came out to the recovery room and explained to me about his lack of breathing during surgery as he was so naïve to sedation and then again when his blood pressure dropped to almost nothing when given morphine and nausea medication at two separate times. Yea, you could say the Lord has watched over Ian better than any doctor! Scary times, but God was good, is good!

I worked until the last few days of my pregnancy…had some complications getting the stitch removed from my cervix. Crazy…all that concern over the stitch not holding up, preterm labor and so much more and now it took another hospitalization to get it removed! Then still no labor…so I was induced and Gideon was born…healthy, full of fight and joy! Gideon, our mighty warrior!

 

 

We moved forward, although most days felt as if we were crawling forward…I worked some part-time, Ian managed to get through appointments on his good days. We were able to always have one of us home with the boys which was always important to us, to me...as I was a survivor of sexual abuse during the years of my childhood at a babysitter’s home. God was faithful…He knew our hearts’ desires but we still struggled knowing that there was even more He had for us…there was a fullness in Him we were not living in. There was healing, tangible healing we knew we needed, our marriage needed, our hearts needed…but most days we were feeling around in the dark trying to get our balance just to take the next step.

Then in His grace, when we asked...He again lit our path.
 

But to my surprise, there was no longer a path but a cliff, and my tired, bloody feet were at the edge of it…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Caught in the crossfire...

So many times we take risks…actually every day when we get up and our feet hit the ground we take a risk. We risk taking a wrong step and twisting an ankle, we risk taking a sip of water and it going down the wrong pipe, we risk saying too much when asked how we feel, we risk not saying enough when fear sets in…we risk over and over. Then as we go sometimes the risk grows greater. We risk heartache engaging in another relationship, we risk losing a friend when we challenge truth, we risk our lives to give life…we get caught in the crossfire.

One of my cherished memories of time with my dad was a discussion we had about life and bringing life into this world. Ian and I lost our first pregnancy in a miscarriage and because of hemorrhaging Ian thought he was going to lose me. During my pregnancy with Tobiah, I became high risk and was hospitalized with complications including preterm labor with an incompetence cervix. At the time, we had four friends living with us that needed a place of respite and by the time I was able to work again, we managed to have $50 in the bank! God was our sufficiency and provider during that time. During Tobiah’s second year of life, we suffered another miscarriage. My mom had suffered with infertility and the same cervix issue. Many do not know but there was a beautiful little girl born before me, months too early into a world with little knowledge of how to care for such a delicate life…her name was Lana Marie Springhower.  Yep, I have a sister! She took her final earthly breath 3 days after she took her first. She was to be my parents’ last child…it was very stressful for my mom, and I would soon learn my dad.  Two years later I was born.

 

 

My dad was forever changed by the death of his daughter and also the birth of his second daughter (me), so much so that after our second miscarriage he chose to go to that uncomfortable place and be vulnerable with me…to talk about death, life and the risk of it all.  He had lost a child, gave up a marriage, he had survived Vietnam and such horrific loss of so many of his colleagues and friends…he spoke from a perspective of deep loss, grief, regret. During the war he had been asked to take a respite to see my mom while most of the others went on an assignment…there were many lives lost during that assignment and my dad’s respite actually saved his life. My dad was one of nine children…my grandpa was around long enough to get my grandma pregnant is how my dad worded it. When he spoke to me that day, he chose his words carefully and I could hear the sorrow, the fear, the wounding and the concern behind each word, each pause…his love was palpable…and I knew then I was caught in the crossfire.

I was caught between his loss of life and my hope for life as he asked the question…”Are you and Ian planning on getting pregnant again?” My heart sank for a minute, tears welled up…not out of fear but out awe for my dad’s concern. A dad that chose to leave me and our family when I was four, a dad that was now choosing to take a risk and speak into my life…he then began to speak out of the grief he still carried from losing my sister Lana, the risk it placed on my mom’s life. I was caught in the crossfire of his perspective of a safe, wise decision and my own journey of decision making with my husband and my Abba Father.  After many intimate words, reassurance of the risk, and respect for one another he understood and respected my choice, Ian’s choice to move forward with having more children. From that day forward he supported me and it was never discussed again. I was pregnant with Jaidan shortly after and survived another nauseating, exhausting, cervix stitched up bed rest pregnancy while caring for Ian as he recovered from an unexpected hip surgery…then Jaidan was born and I hemorrhaged, I recovered…we recovered. Then 23 months after Jaidan was born…we were pregnant with Gideon…the first months full of nausea, another stitched cervix and bedrest. By this time, my specialist trusted I knew my body well enough so I was allowed to gauge my own activity and bedrest which was a blessing as then life took a turn as life does…Ian had been experiencing ongoing back pain, debilitating back pain, after an automobile accident and the fact that one leg was shorter than the other along with the discomfort that the bone graft in his hip and metal plate brought. We had our own business at the time and he needed to drive to appointments to make ends meet…we had survived this during my pregnancy with Jaidan as he was on crutches for several months but on modified bed rest I could at least drive him. Ian called me one evening as he was out on appointments, he was short of breath from the pain he was in as he slowly said…”I just can’t do it anymore, I have to stop driving every few miles because the pain is so bad. I don’t know if I can make it home” I was into my third trimester of pregnancy, me and the baby were doing well. The stitch in my cervix was doing what it was meant to and supporting our pregnancy to term…only a couple more months and then the season of child bearing was over as Ian and I had clearly heard from the Lord that this would be our last pregnancy…we sometimes laugh as I think I heard clearly as I vomited daily into the toilet and then Ian agreed when only at 3 months into the pregnancy I asked if he could schedule a vasectomy! ;)

Ian made it safely home that night by the grace of God. However, we were about to be caught in another crossfire…one that could take life, even our marriage if not brought before the Lord each day.

To be continued…

 

 

What can I say...

Ian challenged me this week with the question, “If you could tell one story over and over to describe life here in Moz, what story would you tell?” I am one of those true introverts, also gifted in mercy and the prophetic, that usually needs time to process my answer as I pray, dialogue in my head with the Lord, myself…or there are days when you can catch me when the exact state of my heart, soul, spirit comes out in a quick, piercing word. These are the days when the injustice is just too much for one human to describe.

How do I move people to love, to acknowledge, to comprehend, to have mercy, to walk in justice, to stop for the one? The reality is there is nothing that I can say or do to move the world, a country, or you. There are days I choose not to move…I grow weary, I grow content, I choose self-preservation over faith. I choose to be busy, to look down and avoid eye contact…avoid heart contact…avoid a life changing and life giving interaction. How do I move a country that looks at an aborted baby and proclaims that it was never a life? Where rape is seen through the eyes of racism? Where war seems like the answer? That proclaims…”my land”, “my country”, “my border”, “my body”.

I can tell you story after story of death, abuse, neglect, starvation…I can also tell you story after story of life, protection, abundance, hope…will you move? Will I continue to move? Maybe.

“Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another. Do not oppress the widow or the fatherless, the foreigner or the poor. Do not plot evil against each other.’’ Zechariah 7:9-10

If you read further you will see they refused to pay attention, stubbornly they turned their backs and covered their ears…they made their hearts as hard as flint and would not listen…they were scattered, they made the pleasant land desolate. God spoke but they chose not to listen, God sent messengers but they chose self-preservation, God moved and they chose to dig their heels in deeper.

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8

Today, I am again reminded there is truly nothing I can say or do to move myself let alone you…BUT I, you, we can choose to move with Him, in Him…for He is not far from any one of us. The words resound again in me today… “For in Him we live and move and have our being.” Acts 17:28

Will you move? Will I continue to move? Today I choose to move. Tomorrow I may not. Today I choose to be still and hear His voice, to stop for the one, to look the least of these in the eyes, to sow life, to speak life and to exchange self-preservation for faith and freedom. Now that is what freedom of choice was truly given for…to be life, to give life and not to take life! I vulnerably ask you to walk along-side me, to co-labor with me and my family on this journey we know as life. Sometimes the road is broken, dry, caving in and there seems no way forward…BUT GOD! You may not even know this God I speak of but I know He carries you, He holds you, He is for you just as He is for the unborn with no voice, the young man so hungry he will fight in a war against his own people for a piece of bread and the one dying alone in the darkness of the night. This God I move with rains down His blessing on those that believe and yes even those that do not believe. He calls us not only to Himself but calls us to love mercy, act justly…we were made for Glory. He is calling us…calling us into a deeper place…He is calling out my name, your name. He has actually given you a new name, me a new name. A name only He knows, a name He will one day whisper to us. You have been chosen to walk humbly with this God, your God.

Will you move?

 

 

 

 

 

When culture and love collide…love wins!

 

 

We live in a world of culture, many cultures. We are taught to be culturally sensitive, respect culture and sadly many times we begin to bow to culture in idolatry. There continues to be a great shift in communities as we get farther and farther away from life in community as we see in the Book of Acts. Don’t get me wrong, I will be the first to tell you understanding one’s culture is very important, vital to establishing and living out life together; however, what I see more as years go by is culture becoming identity, culture causing isolation and culture becoming tradition. We live a certain way because that is what has always been done, we believe a certain theology because that is what our families have always believed and we eat/drink/dress certain ways because that is what is honoring…well I mean that is what I have been told. 

BUT! What I have witnessed in many years living amongst my Hispanic friends, the homeless and the least of these and now in Mozambique, Africa is this…when culture and love collide…love wins! I cannot tell you how many times I have sat on a thatch mat incorrectly, asked the direct question about someone’s sexual relations with their two husbands, explained how condoms do not cause HIV, asked a father to take his adult daughter and her three children in after he had sold her off to her abusive husband as it was after all his actions in the first place that brought her to this moment of pain and suffering, forgot to clap twice or three times when food was offered before taking the lid off, asked the witch doctor why she would actually think her chant would heal, wore the wrong dress, wore pants when I should be wearing a wrap like a dress, forgot to offer a basin and pitcher of water to wash my company’s hands before we ate, held a dying man’s hand as he was shamed by his community, sat at the feet of the drunken grieved widow, stopped to talk to the town drunk, gave money to the city beggar, asked to pray over a government official in the middle of the community, taught that when you commit suicide and you believe in Jesus of course you do not go to hell and especially to purgatory, forgot to say Mano before greeting one of our guards Alberto, watched a Madea movie with my Mozambican friend, payed way too much for the pig I ran over and did not even take the pig home to eat…Day after day I look physically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally broken Mozambican men, women, and children directly in the eyes as I hold their hands and tell them that they are loved, cherished, valuable, and loved. I live my life out of love while making what some would call huge cultural mistakes some purposely and some by accident. I choose to be vulnerable, I choose to be intimate, I choose to be rejected, I choose to be uncomfortable, I choose to make them uncomfortable knowing that the Comforter is present…the atmosphere and environment is His and He is our audience, our advocate and He will be our culture, He is our new identity…and amazingly each time there is no offense, no rejection, no broken relationships. There is grace, tears, relief to be acknowledged, understanding without speaking the same language, laughter, joy, friendship and most of all love wins!

The Lord brought me back to an amazing testimony in His Word this week as I was meditating on my life, how He has always given me the grace to enter in and alongside people’s lives no matter what their belief or culture. He took me back to the story of Jesus being anointed by the sinful woman as told in Luke 7:36-50.

This woman lived a sinful life…some assume prostitution but as we learn from culture it could be many things from a child out of wedlock, multiple affairs or she was a victim of sexual abuse as a child.

Jesus enters a Pharisee’s house as he accepted an invite to dine there. In those days he should have had his feet washed upon arrival from his travels on a dirt road, his head/hair would have been anointed with olive oil and he would have been greeted with a kiss on the face. His host did not seem to have followed these customs, but Jesus still graciously lies back to dine with him. As he is reclining at the table, the sinful lady enters, approaches him…she carries with her an alabaster jar of perfume that is worth more than she may make in a lifetime and tears fall from her cheeks as she weeps. She weeps…she approaches as a rejected, shamed woman…she approaches knowing she may be rejected and shamed again. She begins to wet his feet with her tears…then she does something that in her culture is only done when you live out a life of prostitution…she lets her hair down…hair that is meant to be kept up, clean, a sign of self-worth in her day and never to be let down in public. She begins to wipe his feet with her hair as the dirt of His journey mixes with her tears…mixes with her rejection, her shame. Then she kisses them and pours the perfume over them. The journey of a broken, sinful woman collides with the journey of a healed, sinless man. What a risk!

The audience around her is horrified but her Audience of One is seeing her as His Father sees her…He reminds them of how they did not follow culture by providing water for His feet, kissing Him, anointing Him. Then He speaks these words…”Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown”…Jesus also then says…”Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” No offense, no rejection, no shame! In fact, rejection and shame is gone and He is her defense! Culture collides and LOVE WINS! Why you ask? Risk…she risked it all for healing, to be whole, to be seen as she really is.

This same Jesus resides in me, in us if we choose…I choose to take risk in Love. I believe when He asks me to step out and forward to do something or speak something or to kneel and weep at someone’s feet that in that obedience the result is not offense, rejection, shame but the result is Love…Love is our identity and our culture. His tears become our tears, His perspective becomes our perspective, His life becomes our life, and His heart becomes our heart…Risk in exchange for healing, for life. LOVE WINS!

 

 

 

 

Simple words, big heart...

I always have so much I could share...some day I would love to write a book, or two, or three...but today I want to allow my 9 year old son to share. We all want to be heard, have a voice...this one paragraph from Jaidan in his own words can change your world, your perspective. May Jaidan's simple but deep faith, attention to relationship and love compel you...it is really a simple Gospel.

 

 

 

I bet you want to know what this nine year old thinks about Mozambique? Well where shall we start, let’s start with what I feel about Mozambique. It’s hard to see all the suffering, pain, and drunkenness. People are starving and it’s hard for them to provide food. But the Mozambique people are sweet people, and the kids are fun to play with. Well what have I done so far? Well there are children over the fence and we made friends with them. We’ve known them ever since we got to Mozambique. We used to go over there to their houses and play ball in this giant area to play in, but now they come over to our house and play. They come over almost every day. My dad has started a Bible school called Arvore da Vida (Tree of Life) and does it at a place called Tiqui Tiqui. He goes there on Saturday. Our friend Antonio comes to our house every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday for Portuguese lessons, and he goes to Tiqui Tiqui with my dad. My mom works with our friends, Rebecca, Becca, Mariana, and Dara. They are nurses and one of their patients, Modesto, was very sick and he was the only patient I met and he’s a sweet child. I prayed for him and later he was better. He’s going to be two next month. Tchau for now!

When death grips...

Some days death is physical here…actually many days.  Then there are other days when death is spiritual, mental, emotional.  When childhood dreams die before they take their first breath. When HIV roots in a young man’s core and tells him to hide, to give up.  When a struggling mother lashes out in physical abuse as fear torments her and she panics at the thought of losing her fourth child to disease. 

What do you do when death grips? I have to choose daily when it grips…to release.  I hold things loosely as I realize I have no power to grip life and death the way the enemy would like me to. I choose to encounter my Father in each circumstance, to exchange what was in my grip for what He now gives, what I now hold loosely…that is what it truly means by He gives and takes away!

Job 1:21…”Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave  and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.”

 

He exchanges death for life! Suffering, grief, sorrow, and struggle for eternal life…for eternal hope. I struggle when I advance with violent effort or contend with an adversary that has already been defeated. I hold life loosely while I stand firm and choose to release what does not belong to me.

1 Corinthians 15:58…”Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourself fully to the work of the Lord. Because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.”

 

 

I can tell you...

“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter- when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.”

Isaiah 58:6-9

This has been one of my favorite verses and promises in the Bible for a long time and it quickly became what some would call a life verse for Ian, myself and the boys. For several years I have meditated on these verses and asked the Lord to manifest His words into a reality for me, for my family…manifest Himself in us; the Word made flesh.

When missionaries are “evaluated” by their supporters or organizations, they are usually asked some of these questions: How many have you lead to Christ? How many souls have been saved? How many children are on your program? How many programs have you started? Understandable for those supporting you with their hard earned money…some sending what little extra they have to support the Kingdom through you and your family.

I do not have huge numbers to report to you all this past month…I can tell you that for me it was a month of death, struggle, hunger, pain, heat, and political unrest. I can tell you that one of the men we were caring for, advocating for and praying with hung himself from a tree as he could no longer bare the shame and rejection cast upon him by his father. A shame he knew on most days was already taken care of by his heavenly Father and crucified with Jesus. I can tell you people still have HIV and people still seek healing in the darkness of witchcraft and human sacrifice. I can tell you crops are not sufficient as the intense sun has scorched and stunted their growth. I can tell you a woman killed herself as her child had starved and she bore the responsibility for what this physical earth could not provide them.

BUT! I can also tell you that there are three Mozambican ladies that love Jesus, love their community, and walk miles in the heat to sing and pray with those taking their last breath…they bathe the rejected and outcast. I can tell you that a loving wife used all that was left of her clothing to bath and care for her husband, and we were able to provide her with five blouses and two new capulanas. I can tell you a little boy and his mom were rejected after an HIV diagnosis but now cared for by the local pediatrician as well as the nurses at the milk clinic and after meeting with him, her dad took her in from an abusive husband after marrying her off at a very young age. I can tell you we supported a single dad and his four sons with food provision. I can tell you people find comfort in listening to their audio Bibles and hearing songs of praise in their own language. I can tell you that there is HOPE. I can tell you that when you call on HIM, the Lord will answer and He will say HERE AM I. I can tell you He answers the Mozambicans’ prayers through us but really it is through your prayer, your support and your Hope that He will do what He says He will do. Why? Because He is a good, good Father and He loves us, He loves Mozambique. Because this is what we work towards…as reminded by a dear friend this past month…Revelation 7:16-17…”Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat down on them, not any scorching heat. For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” I believe this promise…I believe we change communities one life at a time. I believe the Giver of Life has conquered death. I believe there is EVEN MORE for the people and land of Mozambique…I am thankful to co-labor not only with Jesus but with all of you. I am thankful…