My Life as an African Gypsy

The other night I did my Jillian Michaels' work out video at 11:45pm... finishing after midnight.

I could not help but think that it was ridiculous. I am too old for this. Phew.

Right now is the African Cup for soccer. It is a big deal. Africans love soccer. As a ministry, we have been showing the games almost every night in the neighborhoods outside the city. During the half times we show testimonies of Christian players and then pastors of nearby churches say a short message.

Because of the times of the games and the work involved in set up and tear down, we do not return home until about 11pm or after. Then we don't get to sleep for awhile later due to showers and checking email... that means we end up sleeping quite late.

It is a strange schedule. I feel more tired.

I shouldn't because we sleep the right amount of hours, but I am off.

I am happy to do it though. It is only for a short time, and then I hope to be back to normal. Exercising at normal times. Sleeping at normal times. Eating at normal times.

And posting blogs more normally. =)

My husband loves adventure.

Me too I guess, as long as you catch me in the right mood... but isn't that true of every statement? Ha! Anyways, Jon found a beach on Google maps and decided we should check it out. We marked the coordinates in the GPS, packed some lunches, and off we went!

We knew we probably needed to off road a bit, but according to the images we saw online, it looked as if most of the way was paved. After about 10 minutes we were on a dirt road. =)

It is fun driving through different villages and seeing how they build their houses and just operate everyday life. What they sell. What they carry. Things like that.

Finally we got to the turn off road towards the beach. It was a big low lying field that looked as if certain time of the year could be a marsh. Here we go! For the most part the little two tire track was no problem, but then we came onto some mud. Jon hopped out and switched us to 4-wheel drive and for the first couple sections, the Bison (our vehicle) took it like a champ.

We were almost through the field when we got to a bigger puddle. There was a Mozambican standing on the other side who kind of waved up in the direction we should take. We held our breath and went for it.

Opps.

We were stuck.

One tire got spinning and we were going nowhere. The guy who had waved us on came to help, and right behind him about 6 more boys from the village came running. Suddenly we had become the entertainment for the day. I didn't mind much, at least we had help! I stayed in the car while the guys tried to figure it out.

It was decided they should go get some branches for traction. Jon and one of the guys left, and I stayed chatting with some of the boys. They were quite shy at first, as I don't think they have much interaction with white people out there.


After a bit some women came up, and I decided I should get out of the car, otherwise I would look like this prissy white lady having everyone push me around in the car. I took my flip flops off, opened the door, and stepped in the mud. As I did this, the women gasped as if they were thinking, "Why would you do that?" Ha! They were standing there in the mud, but for me to get my feet dirty was strange to them.

With the branches and everyone pushing, we got out. As the car began to move, there was cheering from all of us. I started walking to where the car was now, and the women were sure to tell me where to walk so I wouldn't fall. Too funny.

We made to the small beach and observed a neat fishing community and trade area. All in all it was a great day full of adventure.

This evening as Jon and I were listening to the football game we heard what sounded like beating and moaning outside. We jumped up as quick as we could to look out off our balcony. What we saw was terribly disturbing.

A boy of about the age 10 was tied up at the hands and feet, and a group of three or four men were beating him with the soles of shoes. They were hitting him over the head and on the body. I could hear the slaps from 6 stories up. They stood him up and knocked him down.

Jon put on shoes and ran downstairs. I started yelling from the balcony, "Para!!" "Stop!!" "NO!"

My heart was racing; I was nauseated.

Finally, before Jon could get out, a woman ran out to stop it. She was quite upset and made sure the boy was untied. Jon got out there, and I decided I wanted to take water to the boy. I threw on jeans and ran downstairs... filled with furious rage.

Some adults had taken the boy by the time I got there. I went after them, but I didn't get to them in time. He was safe though. For now.

We stuck around and talked a little with the crowd. The boy, along with friends, were stealing lights and mirrors from cars. We figured. Their idea is that if they beat him bad enough, the other children will catch wind of it and won't come around to steal. The police won't do anything so they take it into their own hands.

I get that. I know they cannot just get away with stealing... But as I told them, you do not tie him up and do not beat his head. Jon argued well that we pay guards to sit in front of our building to protect our vehicles and building. Why didn't they not stop them sooner? The boys were in the light right near the guard. Jon said, "Beat the guard for not doing his job, not the children."

We felt good that we were not the only ones who thought it was wrong. We were joined by a few Mozambicans. I know we probably do things different in America, but there is a line. This was wrong. Everything, Christ in me, said it was wrong.

I am still flustered and bothered by the whole event.

When I kissed his head, I knew it would be the last time...

I had only known Joaquim for three weeks or so, but his gentle smile and warm heart made a lasting impact on our lives.

You could tell right away this man was smart; he was educated. Here, that could be cause to demand respect, something to lord over other men. But not with him. He was humble. He had his opinions on matters and was not intimidated or scared to present them, but he did so with grace, and calmly listened to the others.

Jon had the opportunity to share in many such discussions with him. I think he really enjoyed his time with my husband. The conversations they had were more stimulating than day in day out routine at the hospital. I think those moments let him shine.

He used to be a teacher... and it showed. He was eager to help with our Portuguese, and wanted to make sure we understood what was being said. I am sure he was amazing in the classroom.

Joaquim had previously lost two children. In my heart, I like to think he was joyously reunited with them, and now they are living pain-free, running and jumping without limitations.

I honestly do not know where Joaquim stood with the Lord. It is hard to know sometimes here... or really anywhere. When we talked about the Lord he agreed; he hadn't become embittered toward the Lord for his current situation. He always eagerly welcomed prayers. I just don't know. Guess I don't have to.

I was chatting with the Lord yesterday, and I told Him that I fully believed He could heal Joaquim. Jon and I had just read about Jesus raising Lazuras from the dead, and my soul was full of faith. But at the same time, I told Him that if Joaquim knew Him and would be going to heaven, then let him go. Let him be released from pain. Let him quit fighting.

This world was never meant to be our home.

I was blessed to know Joaquim, and I thank the Lord for his time on this earth.

It's been cold! Okay..."cold" may not be the word you would use, but for me, it has been cold.

The past two days were cloudy, rainy, and in the 70's. I pulled out my long sleeved shirts, sweaters, and pants, as well as walked around the house with a blanket wrapped around me. We also decided we needed to pull out our slippers!

(Yeah, yeah, now that I uploaded the picture, I realize I am in a tank top, which defeats convincing you that it was cold, but when I was on the couch, I had a blanket on. Promise!)

I am a little sad that the sun is back out today and I think it will be in the 80's. Boo. Better than 90's though!


Tomorrow we leave for South Africa. We can only get 30 day visas at a time here in Mozambique, so we must leave and come back. I kind of feel as if it a forced vacation. Ha! We also have a interview with a potential partner for Angola on Friday in Bethlehem, South Africa. Hooray! Please pray with us, and we'll update you soon.


Anna, and others, my hubby now added a place where you can subscribe to my blog and receive an email when I post. Look to your right, and simply put your email in where it says "Subscribe". Thanks Jon! You're the best!

Spending time in the Oncology ward has stirred up something in me. Changed me.

In many ways it is good. I have discovered a new found compassion and love within myself, a strength that can only come from the Lord. I normally do not do well around blood, shots, pain, etc. but in there with those ladies, I am okay.

The other day I held a woman's hand as she got a pain injection that puffed up the skin on her arm. It reminded me of the TB shot I had a few months ago where I had to lay down in the office and nearly passed out. (Ridiculous I know, but it is how I am.)

But this time, with her, I was okay.

These women have stolen my heart. In just a few weeks I feel attached. I told Jon, "If this thing works out and we go to Angola soon, I think I will have a hard time leaving them."

One lady is in a lot of pain. She has been there for a year now, had both breasts removed (quite grotesquely, not like would happen in the States, and is still not healed), and one of her arms and hand has swollen so big she cannot use it. They don't know why, and have given up trying to find out. The only reason she is still there is to receive pain injections. She has been left to die. Her 3 children will be left without a mother.

That is one story. There are many. So many.

The Oncology ward is being remodeled, so they are in a "temporary" location. "Temporary" meaning it has already been a year with no end in sight. It is hot. It is dirty. No private rooms... or even semi-private. There is one big room for women, one for the kiddos, and one for the men. They all share a bathroom and washroom. Men, women, children... all of them.

Just imagine being so sick from Chemo. Vomiting. Diarrhea. With people you don't know. Of the opposite gender.

I know God is good. I just do. I trust Him. I trust He has not forgotten these hurting people. I have to.

But what do I say? What do I do? When the lady who has been left to die begins weeping uncontrollably... when I can only hug her head because every other part of her body hurts. I am at a loss. When I pray my words come up short. What do I pray for? Honestly, I think sometimes dying would be better for them. What do I pray?

I don't know.

For now, I will keep going. I will take their faces in my hands and kiss their cheeks. I will have conversations with them about their families, about home. I will hold their hands when they get shots. I will will pray... whatever comes out.

There is just something about having pictures on the fridge that makes a place feel like home. Am I right?

Well, thanks Mom for the magnet photo holders you gave me a year ago! I loved them in Arizona, and I knew they were an item I should consider priority for my bags coming over. Turns out they made the cut... or better said the cuts.

And now they have done their job. It feels much more "homey" in the kitchen.