Decidedly Absent

Well, the time has come to fully embrace and admit that I am completely uninspired to blog.

For months, I've been trying to make excuses for it - it's summer, I'm just busy moving and settling into a new house, yada yada yada. The reality is if I keep blogging it is simply to keep something fresh on the page and not because I have anything worthwhile to say.

So, dear friends, it's time for me to say...I won't be around much anymore.


However, facebook (the place for connection with little profound thought needed :) has become a guilty connection pleasure...so, please, friend me and say hello.

September 11, 2007

Every time I saw the date today, I couldn't help remembering that day with melancholy. The remembering has led me to reflect on just how much my thoughts have changed since then.

On that morning my mind was consumed with getting seventh and eighth graders to put together inspired, creative ideas in coherent written form. The incomprehensible news that a plane had flown into the twin towers turned the rest of the day into a balancing act of dealing with shock and keeping a reasonable amount of "business as usual" in order to help young emotions from spiraling out of control. I remember people questioning the meaning of it all and wondering how my actions, skills, or will power could convey hope to lost souls.

Today, I was pondering the importance of Christ's redeeming grace for InterVarsity staff as I worked on our National Staff Conference. I was also considering the source of Truth by reading articles on sola scriptura and the inerrancy of the Bible as I prepared for the theology class I'm auditing. I could never have imagined space, context, or time for these kind of thoughts to fill my day before. But, after being steeped in an environment of Christian truths, I'm beginning to fully comprehend that my actions, skills, or will power will never be enough - it is Christ's sacrifice alone that brings us hope.

Considering sudden and unexpected life changes has made me grateful for the ways God grows and stretches us...for the blessings and struggles in life that lead us towards considering our complete dependence on His love and providence. May His grace and sovereignty continue to inspire and amaze!

The pictures I wish I could have taken

Africa seems so far away again. I've been back in "real life" for several weeks now, and I must resort to looking at pictures to even believe I really made the trip. But there are so many pictures I wish I could have taken...the images that are the true experience - the moments that went too fast or were too personal to pull out a camera. In order not to forget the moments, I'll share my "snapshots" with you here.

(Hope you don't mind the long stories as I show you my slides on the sheet in my living room after dinner).


Here is the moment when I got off the plane and realized I was in a truly foreign place:
Speeding down the left side of the "paved" road in a vintage Fiat (the taxi from the airport), I look out on the cracked sidewalk where people are everywhere selling various items on top of plywood boxes - sitting on the curb. I see a woman in a bright yellow skirt carrying a large bowl of oranges on her head. (Behind my "camera" I smile and can't believe I really see her - that I'm not watching some Hollywood dramatization of Africa).











(this is not that street, but the same city - in a much nicer part of town)


Waking up the first morning in Tete where my friend lives:
The sun is casting an orange glow into the window and the digital travel alarm says it's 5:45 am local time. Outside, three roosters are crowing and I wander out to the kitchen. I hear a strange song over distant loud speakers - it must be the Muslim call to prayer. The rooster crows each time the canter pauses. Later in the day, I look out the kitchen window past the courtyard and see African men walking in the street on their way to work with their white button shirts and dark pants or ladies carrying various loads on their heads with bright colored skirts. The enormous rooster is still crowing as he stands looking over the world on the tree branch overhead. Occasionally I can hear a truck going by with people singing, Mary tells me they are on their way to a grave sight (I hear at least one of these each day).

And this is a village outside of Tete:

Behind me is a cluster of round clay huts with grass roofs. In front of me is a garden where the kids are learning to farm and a song bird has just flown away, flashing its brilliant blue striped wings. About ten feet to my right is a mother goat with her kid munching on falling leaves. I am listening to my friends speaking Portuguese to the village elders who smile at me (the foreign "amiga"), pat their hands together, give a slight bow with their head, and say "Bom Dia" in soft melodic tones. I can hear the laughter and splashing of these kids at the well. They are making their Saturday morning chores a little more fun; however, when they pose for the picture they must present a serious face.

Sitting in a deli having lunch:

I watch two adolescent children out on the sidewalk holding out their hands to people passing by. Standing with them are two women - the women are stooped over with a hand on the child's shoulder. The children run up to people and the women stumble along. Mary explains that the children's job is to beg for these blind women - "I wish I could get the kids in our school." On our way out Mary pats the young girl's shoulder and places a coin in each of the out-stretched hands.

On the road to Beira:

• A boy about the age of six, maybe 3.5 feet tall, carries a silver pail full of gravel on his head. He's covered in dust and his cloths are in rags. My friend says, "That's childhood labor. The people over there on the side of the road are making gravel by hammering stones."
• Several young boys (entrepreneurs) are standing on the side of the road throwing dust into the air. Mary says, "those boys are fixing the potholes in the road for us. We're supposed to stop and pay them. Of course, they'll take the dirt out of the hole once we pass by." The sound of indignant shouts blow into the open windows as we pass without paying the toll.
• Up ahead is a white minivan (cross country transportation) piled inside with people - piled on top with cargo - including a live goat strapped on its side. The goat lifts its head every once in awhile to look around.
• On the side of the road as we pass through villages, people are holding up live chickens by the feet - in case we want to buy them for our dinner as there are no restaurants for miles and miles.

On the beach in Beira:

The Indian Ocean stretches in front of me as my feet dig into the brown sugar sand. The stray dog who ran up to us with his ribs and tail wagging is showing us the way as he walks us down the beach.

Men are rowing out in their hand carved wooden boats to check their nets while still more men are walking the rope up the beach - hauling in their catch of the day. Close to the waves is a beautiful white crane - his white feathers blowing in the wind as he fishes, then there's a flash of yellow feet on the end of black legs as he flies away (even the sea birds are graceful here).

In the eyes and smiles of the Mozambicans I meet:

I see love and hospitality and hardship and pride. And I am honored to have seen images of immense beauty, struggle, and lives that are survived with plenty of love and laughter and by living each moment as it comes.

Photos taken by Stacey in Mozambique.

Life in the fast lane

Just a quick note to say:

I LOVE DSL - It's so good to be back with my laptop and fast internet. I'm so excited to be able to lurk daily on all my favorite blogs and post a little more often.

Post to come soon: "The pictures I wish I could have taken"

Last Sunday

Last Sunday...
I woke up in Hotel Ibis in Maputo, Mozambique
to the sound of the Muslim call to prayer
I went downstairs to a breakfast of scrambled eggs, hot dog like sausages,
and a fresh baked french role.

Last Sunday...
I looked down with embarrassment at my travel stained dress (the only skirt in my suitcase)
as I waited in the lobby for a Mozambican saint named Engracia who
(full of grace as her name portends)
kissed me - a complete stranger, simply a friend of her American colleague - on both cheeks,
loaded my suitcase in her SUV and drove me out to a village church in Matola
Where she assured me that no one would mind my soiled clothing
and suggested I put on a sweater as it was a chilly African-winter morning.

Last Sunday...
I was welcomed by strangers with beautiful dark skin and shining eyes.
They were dressed in honorary church clothing (blue skirt, white shirt, red collar and blue hat).
They called me the guest of honor
Sitting me in the front row
Having a translator tell me from the front what was being said and done

Last Sunday...
I couldn't stop a few tears from crawling down my cheeks
As the deep rich praises poured out of the throat of the song leader and were echoed
by an angelic chorus that found lines of harmonies far beyond the usual four
My heart weeped as the adult and youth choirs
Shuffled and danced up the aisle crying out to Jesus
As Engracia whispered song translations of the strong truth of the Spirit in my ears.

Last Sunday...
I cried out for revival in my own spirit
As the pastor told these people - who have suffered so much death, disease, poverty -
to look to Jesus who will bring healing and hope.

Last Sunday...
My bladder wished to dissuade my concentration as the service passed through one hour,
than two, than three
Until I finally dared to inquire about a toilet when people stood up to take communion
I was guided to a pit in the adjoining yard where gunny sacks hung on ropes for privacy
I went back in to join in the Eucharist with my brothers and sisters from across the world
Where I prayed for protection
as I drank kool aid made with unpurified water from previously used cups .
And I considered that there could be no better way for me to understand
the purifying blood of my Lord.
And I cried for the pain and suffering of the beloved souls around me
And for the lost souls of the ones I love and the ones I don't even know.

Last Sunday...
I learned what faith and fellowship and love truly is
And my heart yearns for the day when I can join with all the saints from all of the world
And sing out praises to the one on the throne who has given all
to us weary travelers with soiled skirts and broken hearts
Who are longing for our true home.

Photo from UNITED METHODIST REPORTER PHOTOS BY NANCY KRUH

The other side of the world

From the moment I stepped off the plane in Maputo, my senses were stimulated by sights and sounds like no other. I can't wait to begin the process of etching my experience onto my brain by crafting my reflections into words that I'll share on this page over the next weeks.

Strangely, my most poignant moment of realizing I was on the other side of the world came towards the end of my journey after a long car ride through amazing Mozambican country.

Let me tell you the story:
As my feet prepared to elevate themselves
on the brown-toned, flowered bedspread of our Mozambican hotel room
(a double with 2 inches between the single beds),
My friend insisted those same soles
must again slip into my road-weary-red-dusted sandals on the tile floor and make haste outside
where there was something I simply had to see.

It was then that the whole world flipped upside down!
My feet, for the first time, trodded on a round globe instead of solid flat ground.
It happened right there on the crumbling sidewalk with holes that could swallow a small car.

I looked up into the dark night sky of the African city called Beira
(yes, I could see the stars & moon even on a city street)
And saw THE MOON STANDING ON HER HEAD.

She was wearing a black beanie on her white face
like she had just come from an artistic day in Paris
and wanted to say "Bom Dia" as she started her day before we went to sleep.

She also showed me that the stars that she was wearing on her head
Were all the latest rage that I had never seen before -
large brilliant designs with Venus (or some such gal) straight over head
(truly not her traditional place to be).

It was all too much -
I stood looking in awe with my mouth agape uttering silly phrases like
"Oh, that's so amazing...so weird...how can this work?"
As my feet flipped out from under me
Leaving my mind to stand on its head.

It's all OK now though as I can clearly see
the moon is again sitting right side up -
Shining in the brilliant blue of the sky outside the airplane window
as we approach the Great Lakes and my home.
Her white crescent hat is raucously tilted on her mysterious dark face.
She's a little confused about the time of day,
but that seems to be the mood of the day (night time? morning? hmm?)

Somehow, though, my feet are still trodding in far off places
On a newly rounded globe.

No Harry Potter spoken here, but maybe a little Portugeuse

While I would love to be giving a pithy review of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I'm afraid I have not yet read even a whole page (the first paragraph was intriguing though). So PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT TELL ME ANY PLOT DETAILS

Instead of reading this weekend, I have been in the midst of packing my apartment down three flights of stairs (yet again, sigh) so I can get rid of my horrendous commute and live closer to work. I'm also getting ready to hop onto a plane going to Mozambique, Africa (wahoo). One of my best friends is living in Mozambique working for the US government doing education against childhood labor. I'm going to be spending two wonderful weeks tailing her around her town and absorbing another part of God's creation and people. I CAN'T WAIT!!

Cursos felizes! May your travels in the next weeks be joyous and inspiring.