Friday - A Day in My Life

The newly designed Green Door house going up.

Domingo is an AIDS orphan.  He lives with his grandmother.

Often Domingo is sick.  On Friday I found him sick with a fever.

"Missionaries," comments Jonathan, "never know when to slow down."  I laugh at his observation. The morning had started early at the local pop store. Coca-cola statues around Beira are shrines to the fact there is no shortage of pop in this country. We had bought a case for the activistas' meeting to celebrate Jonathan's departure back to Germany.  A young man of 20, Jonathan showed up in Dondo a year ago with a single pack on his back. He had come to Mozambique seeking God's will in his life.  He will not return the same man; walking among the suffering embeds a deep footprint in the heart and soul that perpetually changes the course of one's compass.  I agree with him and continue to teach the weekly Bible story enabling the activistas to teach in the bairros next week. We finish the celebration so Jonathan, my translator and I can walk to the hospital to serve soup.

We greet the mothers and babies first. One baby is almost comatose lying in her mother's arms. Another mother rushes to us thinking we are nurses asking for help with the IV that has quit dripping into her child's arm. We explain that we have brought soup and a heart to share something more valuable than soup or medicine. We gather them together and share our spiritual manna, free for all.

In the other section of the hospital is a young man dying in the corner of the room.  He can't be more than 18, abandoned by his family. I note two lemons by his bedside.  I question the woman sitting next to her ill husband.  She explains that no one cares for this boy or brings him food.  She left two lemons picked from a local tree for him to eat because that was all she had to give. I wonder how long it has been since he has felt anyone's hug.

In the last room we find an elderly woman in her 80s.  She is missing an eye and her other eye clearly has a cataract.  It is so unusual to see the elderly here in Moz so I ask her age.  Without hesitation she says, "39." We ask again.  She confidently nods her head and repeats, "39."  We look at each other in amusement. Many older Mozambicans do not have any idea when they were born.  Records were not kept during the war. I nod my head in agreement, 39 is a nice age.  We pray, give the last of our soup and leave.

It is lunch time and some American friends stop by our new rental in Lusalite.  I can see they are tired so I offer to share our lunch - matapa and masa.  We discuss the world's happenings - bits of information we obtain from the internet.  Soon it is time for the afternoon's activities.  I have set aside Friday afternoon's to visit people in their homes.

I stop by Luisa's mud home.  I have brought some coats for her children as winter is almost here. She is dear to my heart.  Her son Tiago used to scream and run when he saw me coming.  Now at three,  he adores me because I have a car; he likes to play with the gearshift. His sister Ana is at the scream-and-run stage but her wide grin reveals the excitement of having something new.

Next my translator and I stop by the market to buy food for a church plant leader.  He has been out of work for some time and recovering from a very bad bout with malaria. But before we go there, we stop by to pray for one of our activista's sons who has cancer.  Paulo is a sweet boy with long eyelashes. Maria Luisa said he had been waiting patiently all day for our visit. I pull out the promised small bag of homemade peanut butter cookies with Hershey's chocolate chips.  I sadly appraise his rotund belly that encompasses the cancer.  There are no cancer centers in Dondo. We pray, asking God for a miracle that only He can provide.

Close to Paulo's house is Domingo, the AIDS orphan who is receiving a Green Door house.  It is satisfying to see the progress on this new cement design.  I notice that Domingo is covered up and asleep on the ground. His grandmother explains that he continues to be sick.  I pray in earnest for God's intervention.  She promises to take him to the hospital in the morning.

It is getting close to dark but we stop by and visit the church plant leader's family.  He is not home, but his wife and four children greet us.  I had named the youngest when he was born and now he is old enough to know who I am.  He crawls up in my translator's lap and falls asleep. I am so thankful for God's provisions to help this family. The happiness in their eyes to receive the food completes the day. We leave as my translator is late for his high school and I am not supposed to be out at night by myself.

Later that night, I lay in my bed thanking God for the day's opportunities.  I just pray that I have made the most of them.