FIve Loaves, Two Fish

The ominous clouds Sunday almost prevented our trip to the Savane Church plant.  We debated our assessment as to whether the roads would be safe to travel should the sultry sky open up enroute.  Yet, our desire to help the church was greater than our initial hesitation so we piled 200 kilos of food and nine people into our small 2-wheel drive pickup and took off.  Along the way we dropped off Thais near Centro Emissor (another church plant) but not without first attempting to see if the Nissan knew how to swim.  The road had become a river running through a rice field from the rains the night before and we promptly found ourselves worried about another aborted mission. All of us prayed silently as the Nissan gurgled and choked its way miraculously out of the mire.  Two jarring and jolting hours later we reached our destination but not without a shout of unrestrained jubilation.

Our first greeters at the church plant were thousands of red ants swarming the ground all around us.  We purposely had not revealed our arrival since our food was very meager considering the needs of the entire Savane area.  If word had leaked out that we were furnishing food - we would have had a crowd that even Billy Graham might envy.  Instead, we came quietly and found a small group of 16 families dancing and singing in the church fabricated from mud, bamboo and grass.  (I secretly wondered if their vigorous dancing had anything to do with all the ants under their feet.)  They welcomed us in their usual gracious manner but because of the thickening clouds,  Manuel proceeded to preach.  Studying their familiar faces and angular frames filled me with thankfulness contesting any misgivings about the journey. 

The sound of rain against the bamboo structure shifted our attention to divide the food.  Measuring in kilos the bags were quickly filled and dispersed.  Manuel reminded the flock that if Jesus could feed 5000 with five loaves and two fish, then He could be trusted to stretch this provision.  Quickly we said our goodbyes and maneuvered our way back home in time to experience an unbelievable deluge of rain that lasted for hours.  God does provide.

Don't Close Your Eyes in Africa

From the moment I opened my eyes this morning I knew it was going to be a good day. We had spent the day before in Beira buying rice, beans and cornmeal for our brothers and sisters out at the Savane Church plant. The food would give them a relief from eating the food reserved for pigs and other animals. Today I was driving the CRI van because the power steering fluid had been continuously leaking into the crank case crippling my car from performing its duties. Although I looked like a chapa,* I didn’t mind using the van because we needed the room for a return trip to buy food for the people in Project Life.

I picked up Marilene, Simone and Carlos at the church thankful I was only a few minutes late. Shopping in Beira can be long and hot and we wanted to get an early start. After everyone had settled in the car and we were gaining speed, I realized much to my alarm like any chapa we had picked up another passenger. In front of my nose but through the windshield a pair of large beady eyes were staring straight at me! A foot-long lizard was gripping for all it was worth onto my windshield with every ounce of reptile strength. After recovering from the initial shock (doing my best to hide my fear) I reasoned that this uninvited traveler would certainly fall off the car the faster I went. However, the faster I went the more he was determined to stay on the car. I could almost see the G-forces on its prickly green face! Then it happened. In a split second he decided to join us in the car through my open window. I screamed (my fear became greater than my pride) and I began to lose control of the car. My friends started screaming and yelling too but not because of the lizard. Quickly I recovered and pulled off the road in order to get rid of our transient intruder. We sighed a huge relief and eased our tension with lots of laughter. Marilene volunteered to pray for our safety for the rest of the trip - chiding me not to close my eyes while we prayed. How little did I know that in a few minutes my eyes would really be opened.

In front of us a group of policemen were choosing cars to stop on the road. In the past, I had only been stopped once so it was quite surprising when they pulled me over. I mentally checked to make sure my documents were all in order and promptly produced them for the officer. He examined the car and rolled off in Portuguese what offense I had committed. Simone translated that the van had dark passenger windows and it was against Mozambican law. (I was relieved to hear that was my only crime!) At the police station the car and keys were confiscated. We were told to take a real chapa into Beira and not return until we paid our fine. It was sadly apparent that our shopping trip had come to an end. We could no longer drive the van until we scraped off every bit of the black film from the windows.

Phil and Manuel rescued us for the trip to pay the fine. On our return, we couldn’t believe it when outside of Beira the police pulled us over again! The officer examined the truck for any possible offenses. Although missionaries should pray for eyes to be opened we were praying for eyes to be blind. Amazingly, he already knew we had been fined earlier and that we were missionaries. He asked us if we had received the correct paperwork for our fine. Then with a smile, he told us we could leave. My one consolation in all of this is that God never closes His eyes...and especially not in Africa.

*any vehicle - usually a van - that is used here for transporting people. Often we see chapas (hope I spelled it correctly...) full of 30 or more people at one time.

Beira Beggars

It was time to protect our fleet of steel and plastic workhorses so John, Cindy, Phil and I drove four of them along with Jeronimo into Beira looking for the local insurance agency. We were a curious convoy as we weaved in and out of bicycles, people and a variety of potholes. Nothing bureaucratic moves quickly in Moz so we waited outside among the pedestrians, beggars and street boys while Jeronimo negotiated inside. When it became apparent the electricity was off and it would be a while before the paperwork could be completed, I decided to converse with one little waif trying to con me into some metacais.

This young boy, who couldn’t have been more than six, came up to me displaying a perfectly rehearsed theatrics worthy of an Oscar. Admittedly, he was good. His skinny legs supported his tattered shorts and his shirt barely hung on his boney arms. He quickly shoved his dirty hand in my face with great expectation. I looked beyond him and saw an older boy eyeing his friend critically as if he were the director in this five minute drama. Abruptly I interrupted his lines to interject a few of my own. Where did you come from? Where is your mother? Your father? Where do you sleep? He blinked at me quizzically, either because of my bad Portuguese or because he had never been asked those questions by his audience before. He shyly answered that he had no mother. He then acknowledged he had a father but his father had sent him away a long time ago to beg in the streets. The older boy, realizing the script had changed came over to protect his interests in what was apparently a syndicated relationship. I peppered him with the same questions and discovered that although this boy was possibly ten or eleven, he had no idea when and where he was born or how long he had lived on the streets. His mother and father died long ago and he called these streets his home. For a brief moment my eyes envisioned our adopted son at exactly this age nineteen years ago living this desperate lifestyle in Hanoi. It sickened me to recognize how customary this has become. And more so as AIDS continues to spread.

We parted friends a few minutes later but not without my pocket feeling a bit more empty as well as my heart. Lord...please help us to have wisdom to know what to do for these millions of orphans that are trying to find their way on this long and lonely path.

The Reunion

She held on to me and quietly sobbed as I hugged her with sheer joy mixed with total terror. Joy because I hadn’t seen her in six months. Terror for her because AIDS had brought T.B. as an uninvited guest. She isn’t just another person with AIDS. She is my wonderful Christian friend that has walked with me many hours in Project Life. She is a young woman to be admired.

I was in awe when I heard her story of how her husband had left her because her mother-in-law thought she "wasn’t right" for her son. He left her penniless, with AIDS and the job of raising two children. I first met her when I was introduced to Project Life. I had found it ironic that the difference between her extreme poverty and those she served was her rich soul filled with Jesus. It was exciting last year when a donor allowed her to have a Green Door mud house. I still have visions of us laughing together as she was caked in mud diligently working on her first home. Today I found her there too sick to do anything.

I asked my friend if she had been able to eat any food. I wasn’t surprised to find that the only food in her house was corn flour. She is one of thousands going hungry this time of year in Moz. Gratefully, I knew that some donors had left money for the Project Life food pantry and we could bring her some beans, oil, and rice. It will last for a little while. Then to my great delight, because of a faithful team member from the States (thanks Debbie!) growing in her yard was a 10 foot beautiful moringa tree. Cindy had given one to each of the activistas when they were tall enough to be transplanted. (The moringa tree is very nutritious.) Manuel and I explained to her how to dry the leaves and add them to her corn meal. Her eyes began to express some hope.

It is inevitable those with AIDS are going to suffer. It is a tough enemy to defeat. But I am very proud of fellow Christians who are generous during tough times to people they don’t know thousands of miles away... because they want to serve Jesus. And today they served Him well as they reached out to my dear, sweet friend.

Returning To Dondo

They say one of the most difficult jobs as a missionary is saying goodbye. The word comes up often when traveling yearly to the flip-side of the world. Candidly, it is THE most difficult job for me. Right now we are saying goodbye to our children and grandchildren and packing and repacking six-months of living into two overnight bags (the four checked bags are stuffed with a miscellany of treasures for the Ray of Light Project in Dondo :-). It is not a walk in the park to put 10,000 miles between you and your loved ones.

Yet...going to Moz has changed my life. I can't ignore the truth that our Mozambican brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren are hurting. Since we left six months ago, several have slipped away from life to the grave. Right now John says many of the people are starving and eating pig feed that is sold along the road. Many still have not heard that there is a friend waiting for them that sticks closer than a brother.

I have no guarantee that I can make a difference. The problems and solutions grow in polarized worlds. Yet John Ortberg says, "Faith is coming to believe with my whole body what I say I believe with my mind." If I don't take this leap of faith, then I will never learn to soar. If I don't go with the faith that God can help me make a difference, my certificate for failure is signed in stone.

We leave this Sunday. Do you want to go with us? You can by praying for us, supporting us (www.childrensrelief.org), and joining a team going to Dondo this summer. Whatever you do to partner with us, we pray that God will bless your act of faith.