My Life as an African Gypsy

When I want my hair done, I normally want it done right then... not a good habit.

I had been pondering it a bit, whether I wanted to keep my hair long and just add layers, or if I wanted to go back to having short hair. Now that we will be in Mozambique, I will have a blow dryer and can have that option.

After lots of thinking, I decided I wanted to keep the long hair.

Still feeling the need for change; however, I wanted more layers. I have cut many people's hair, and I feel like I have a decent idea of what I am doing. So in my confidence, I told Jon to help me cut my own hair. (Jon had no choice and can take none of the blame.)

I started pulling my hair this way and that and telling Jon, "Cut here, like this."

Initially it was going well and I was thinking I would like it, but soon I realized the layers were too short for the amount of hair I still had pulled up... trouble. I began to panic, realizing my desire for long hair was vanishing.

Gripping the sink, I looked in to the mirror, my eyes filling with tears. Jon tried to calm me, reassure me that maybe we could do something. I said we needed go to a hair dresser now.

Unfortunately, they were all closed. I cried some more.

We got home, Jon ran to the grocery store and I had a good look at my hair. Schmullet. I took the scissors and whacked it all off. (I should have taken pictures, but I was crying and couldn't bring myself to it.)

The next morning we hunted for a salon. 3 misses. Finally, over the phone, I made an appointment. We jumped in the car to attempt to find the place. Place = shady.

Jon asked if I wanted to stay, and in my desperation I said 'Yes'.

I was the only white person in there. I got my hair washed and then was seated, only to wait for 20 or more minutes for someone to finally come to me. During that time I had to calm my nervous vain-self saying that it is only hair.

There was a sign hanging on the wall that said "God is good" or something like that, so I chatted with God and told Him I was believing for His protection over my hair. Ha! Ridiculous, huh? But girls, I bet you could relate.

Anyways, the lady did a good job.

I went home, only to cut on it about 3 more times, layering here, thinning there. In between, I had a nap with Jon. He looked over at me, and I was crying again. He asked if I was okay, and I replied threw sobs, "I thought of my ponytail!" =)

In the end, I like it; I really do. I am getting used to it and will fully embrace my short haired self soon.

After waiting nearly two years, the time has come for me to buy permanent things for my home... and it is just as fun as I thought it would be.

While waiting on doctors and tests results, we figured now was a good time to shop and compare prices on long term items for our upcoming home. I have scoured the shops, notebook in hand, comparing prices and quality, and I believe I am close to making purchases.

From red casserole dishes, to stainless steel pots and pans... from a toaster, to silverware... it's all too exciting!

Finally I am going to be able to express my own style in my own space. Soon I will have to opportunity to host people in my own home. When I get situated, I am going to take you with me on a small tour. Get excited!

Isn't it funny how one bad experience can shatter a person's confidence?

Over the past month, I have not been able to use my Portuguese like I would like to. Because of this, I felt it slipping, yet had no idea how badly until I was sitting in front of a group of girls at the youth group trying to share my testimony/short message off the top of my head.

My verbs got tangled; I could not think of the words I needed... it was awful. I felt like running out and crying. The nerves didn't help the confusion in my head, nor did the blank faces of the teen girls present. I felt judged and inadequate. Humiliated. I pushed through, managing to painfully get my point across. Honestly it probably wasn't as horrendous as I felt. Nonetheless, I felt that way, and my confidence went down the drain.

In my pride I wanted to tell them, "I am an English professor. I am well educated. I actually love speaking. I am good at this... in English. I am!" Oh how it hurts to fail.

When I had to speak after that, even in small ways, I could feel to doubt whispering in my ear.

Just before Easter I was invited to preach the Easter service. Though nervous, I said yes, feeling like passing up this opportunity would be stupidity. I struggled with immense fear up until the night before. I decided to plan a bit more and not go with my usual English way of "a couple of bullet points and winging it". I had come to a certain peace with things, trusting the Lord for his help, but then I got very sick and was unable to have a go at it.

It was small victory though, the fact that I was putting myself out there again, being willing.

Today I had my chance.

Today was the start of a young girls' craft/Bible study that I am supposed to head up. Though a little unsure, I went with it thinking it would be a small group. There ending up being fourteen girls between 8 and 15. Praise the Lord I had such a good time, and I must say that I think my Portuguese was just fine. I will get more and more comfortable with time. I feel ready to take on anything.

Isn't it funny how one good experience can surge confidence within a person?

Just because you have one bad experience... or two or three, doesn't mean they will all be that way. Keep trying. Don't lose hope.

During my time in Angola I have been struggling to find my purpose, my 'reason' for being here. The days seem to come and go and I am left thinking, "What have I done?"

While in Mozambique I felt used by the Lord on a near daily basis, for sure on a weekly basis, so why oh why would the Lord take away? Just when i feel like an opportunity is presenting itself, I feel like it is snatched from under me.

Last week I found myself sitting in my little mud house with the doors shut and the windows closed in tears. I turned on my Beth Moore video, which I should have watched about a week ago, and tried to focus.

Do you know what it was about?

Waiting on the Lord.

What timing! How the Lord knew what I needed! He is good like that. =)

She talked of the scriptures in Isaiah 40 verses 28-31 that say,

He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;

but those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.

Doesn't this seem contrary to real life? In real life, when we are waiting for something, it is draining! It takes forever. We lose strength. But the key is that we must not wait for things, for dates, or for opportunities, we must was for the Lord.

Before Jesus died, he told the disciples that they were to go to Jerusalem and wait for the Holy Spirit. The disciples waited in the upper room until the day of Pentecost.

(Can't you imagine that the whole they were waiting they would look to each other and say, "Did you hear that? Was the the Holy Spirit? Has he come? Did you feel that? They had no idea what it would be like!)

In some ways I feel like this time for me is a time of waiting, a time of waiting for the filling of the Holy Spirit. I find myself sitting in this little mud house, waiting.

At the end of the lesson she talked about balancing passion with patience. If you know me, you know I have that passion part covered. I am ready! But sometimes the Lord asks us to be patient. Sometimes He is going before us, preparing the way. Sometimes He is working right inside of us, preparing us for the work ahead.

No matter what the cause, when we wait upon the Lord, when we wait on Him, we will be strengthened. I don't need to focus on being "used" or "doing", I just need Him and His power at work within me.

I had an idea in mind to post. I was waiting to give people time to post about Emilia. But then I had a moment with the Lord this morning and wanted to post about it too. So here we go... two completely unrelated bits from my life. I'll start with the not so serious, as I think it is easier to transition from there.

Since being here in Angola Jon and I have been itchy.

Seriously, there are so many bugs and so many unidentifiable bites it is crazy. I believe our bed has fleas, or something of the like. I have tried washing them. They come back. Seems to be a usual problem with the missionaries here.My husband has decided he would rather itch until he has a scab because it feels better. Not me. I try slapping. I don't want scars.

I get these weird red bites that are flat, not raised, not itchy, just red. They only stick around for a few hours. I guess it could be worse. Jon's tummy is covered in little red bites. Sometimes he goes at it, itching and itching. I tell him to stop.

The other day in the shower I noticed a tiny bug. I thought it might be a flea, but when I tried to brush it off there was no jumping. No coming off at all. I ended up having to pick the bug out with my finger nails. Sick, huh? That night it happened about 5 or 6 times. I would feel a little bite, and sure enough I had to pick another little bug out. Thankfully it has not happened again.

One night Jon and each had a light and we were examining our body, looking for bugs and bites. I had to laugh. I told Jon, "Never in America."

(Must say that just as I was writing this, I picked a little flea-ish bug off my arm. Lovely.)

Now how should I transition to Easter from this?

I've decided there is no possible nice transition. Sorry.

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This morning during our regular meeting, we sang the song "Hosanna"

It got me thinking about that day when Jesus came into Jerusalem, riding on a donkey, as people threw down their cloaks, shouting 'Hosanna', preparing the way for the Lord. That is one place I wish I could have been; I can almost feel the energy of the people.

It actually says that 'the disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen...'. Interesting, huh? Never noticed the miracles part.

I also believe that people did not own many clothes back then. To throw their cloaks to the ground to be trampled by a donkey was probably more of a sacrifice than we think.

This was and is my prayer:

That this week I would throw everything important to me at the feet of Jesus. Everything I deem "worthy" in myself, I would lay it down in front of Jesus. That I would prepare the way inside of my heart for the Lord to come. And at the end of it all, I would be left crying out, "Hosanna! Hosanna in the Highest!" for all the miracles He has done.

After hearing a few stories from people, I realized that Emilia’s final days of life: her suffering, her courage, her cries to our Savior, they not only touched my life, but the lives of many around the world.

In order to honor Emilia, to honor her suffering, Jon encouraged me to ask you guys to take a moment and to post how her story has impacted you, whether small or large. I thought it was a great idea.

I would ask you to focus on her, not my actions during those days. I truly believe her death, the very way she died, had purpose in the kingdom of God.

I will post mine here, but feel free to write in whatever form you wish, even just one sentence.

To be honest those three days have changed me forever; I feel like I different person. Every few weeks I stop and dwell on those three days; I do not want to forget. The tears are good; no longer questioning or full of pain.

My passions: Seeing Emilia die in such discomfort has made ministry to the sick and dying a priority to me. For as long as I am able, I plan to give a portion of my time to those approaching the end of this temporary life.

My awareness of the temporary: Those three days seemed so long. In those moments I could not imagine how God could allow suffering to continue like that; my soul anguished at the sight. Now looking back, it was temporary. Emilia made it; she finished her race. Her temporary life was over. Everything on this earth, good and bad, is temporary.

My view of suffering: I found a rare beauty in suffering, a fellowship with Christ that is unable to be attained in any other way.

My trust in God: Emilia forced me to rely on God. The things her death demanded of me were not possible in my own strength, yet as her needs surfaced one by one, the Lord enabled me.

The greater good: Emilia suffered for the greater good. She suffered to teach me, to change me. Now that I am changed, more people will be impacted by the love of Christ.

I've said how I love African fabrics...

When I have a permanent home, I plan to make curtains, pillows, table cloths, place mats, etc. The prices seem so reasonable to me! (All but the blue fabric cost less than $2) For now I wear them as wraps... as most of the women do.

Aren't they pretty?