We had the opportunity to host our team leaders for a week of blessing this past month. The Jacksons are just such a wonderful family and we’re thankful to have gotten the chance to share our normal with them. They were overflowing with grace at our early rising crew and Karla made quick friends with our little ladies, distracting and playing away the morning while Matt and I were in language. The girls got used to their consistent hugs and the house just felt too quiet without them. Hannah ask 2 days after they left, “When’s Karla coming down for breakfast?” before she thought about it. =)

Cheers, Karla! =)

We got the chance to do some fun things that week too, enjoying pizza at the restaurant down the road, going to a local park and even taking a whole day off of school and language to go play at the beach. We also enjoyed the normal together: picking up the girls from school, running errands, Friday night pizza and a movie night, skyping with one of the Jackson kiddos (if that term is even applicable once their “kid” in in college. hehe), and family worship song time.

 

Karla and Steve were beyond gracious to smile through the kid interruptions, convince Titan that he doesn’t need to use his teeth to play (*sigh* puppies), and the realities of toddler tantrums. But I’ve got to tell you, friends, the sweetest time by far for me was after the kids went to bed. I loved just sitting around the table playing ticket to ride together and sitting out on the couch talking about God’s work in our lives. I loved the randomly placed times throughout the day when we got the opportunity to absorb wisdom about future ministry and laugh about Portuguese confusion. Karla and Steve are just such a blessing and we’re so thankful to have had the opportunity to do a week of life together. We can’t wait to work closer together on the team down south once we complete our training here.

Thanks for being just another part of the family, Steve and Karla.

 

She stumbled through the crowd toward the truck. We hadn’t seen her yet. She was lost in the sea of people.

People were everywhere! Sitting, standing, repeating the same Shwabo chorus. It rippled through the crowd, taking on its own identity. A quiet, heart-moaning song.

We were standing for the service before the sea turned in our direction after the pick-up truck pulled up. We could tell the body was being transported to the truck with the oncoming wailing. Such brokenness. Death has such a sting.

But then I caught a glimpse of her and I instantly had to wipe away tears. She buried her face in her shawl. Our sister… our precious sister… was completely overcome by her grief. Oh how face to face changes the story…

She wasn’t shrieking in the usual Mozambican fashion, but her body trembled and heaved as she was overcome in her goodbye. Such a contrast from Monday when her stone eyes hit the floor as she made the report. Her brother whom she had spent years helping to care for. Her precious brother who took her in when she became a widow at so young. Her precious brother whom her young daughter calls “Papa”. He was so, so sick…

It was a quiet walk to the cemetery behind the truck. The exhaust hot on our ankles. The African sun burning into the backs of our necks. As we approached the cemetery the songs began again. Lead by a church. Eerie words hung in the air speaking of burial being the end result. Hopelessness stained on faces in the crowd. Sung against the background of her sobs. Her family stumbling through tears and gravestones until they reached their beloved’s resting place.

We couldn’t hear all that was said from the man standing in front of the community’s sea as the graveside service commenced. Swarms from everywhere. This brother’s legacy was far-reaching. The community was embracing this family in their time of need. Face to face changes the story.

I couldn’t find her in the crowd. I wished I could have done more. Could have said more. But then what could I say? What should you say? What really can I say in Portuguese beyond what I have already said? The language wall stings even more in times of grief. In times of heartbreak for such a precious friend.

I remembered the hug we shared the day before. Her clinging to me and sobbing on my shoulder. All I could do was repeat her name tenderly and hug right back. Language is so important but right then I couldn’t find any extra words. Just her name. Oh just her precious name… And yet face to face changes the story and changes me.

So much is still so foreign. But I knew one thing for sure on that day in the cemetery. So I just stood there in Matt’s shadow and prayed for our dear sister. Prayed over her.

…Precious Jesus, comfort like only You can…

And then the crowd began to slowly swell back toward the road.

She led the line out. The sea parting for her and her family. She was now completely silent. Now carrying the burden privately. As culture dictates.

Another’s words burned into my mind as I watched her walking: “So many missionary wives and Americans have said that they think African women are so strong,” A friend spoke from years of language classes with Westerners. “But we’re not strong, we’re just stuck in great suffering. It is just as devastating as it is to Americans. We just live with it more.”

These words repeated over and over as she took each step. She stared straight ahead. No one spoke to her as she returned to the house. No one reached out their hand to her. They just moved aside so she could go. Returning to the house. Because… what else do you do?

The time of public pain was now complete.

His body was in the ground.

 

I found her back at the house and waited my turn to hug her.

Our precious sister. She was so stiff and slow. So calculated, but sincere.

I gave her the pictures and cards the girls made her. They wanted to show their love for her even though they couldn’t be there. She smiled that familiar smile, and a little light of the tension released from her body as she asked about “our Eden” who only wanted her on that Monday. Eden had woken up with a slight teething fever and found her place comfortably on our sister’s back. Eden lay her head on our sister’s shoulder blades and they both just smiled. Such comfort for them both amidst a challenging day. We all didn’t know it would be his last day here. We didn’t know he would take his last breath late that night. And then when I went to take Eden so our sister could finish her work, Eden just cried and cried to be back on her dear friend’s back. “I can’t let the baby cry,” she swaddled Eden back in place and Eden was instantly happy again. Such a smile that came from our sister as she brought such peace to Eden. That same smile on her face as I stood there with our sister outside of her brother’s house. Our sister graciously received the girls’ paper love with genuine gratitude. Face to face changes the story.

And then our dear sister returned to the house, washed up and put on new clothes. The eminent pain now over. Hope still found in a new start.

Hope amongst the sorrow.

 

Praise the Lord that her brother in no longer in pain.

But more importantly, praise the Lord that she will see her brother again when she sees her Jesus face to face.

Because face to face really does change everything about this story.

 

It was a long few days of waiting. The timing wasn’t right to go. Though our hearts longed to see her again, we waited for the right time. Prayers were constantly lifted up. And we missed her so. She’s just our normal, friends and family. It has nothing to do with her carrying the workload for us, we gladly shouldered the load without her. But it has everything to do with just her personality. She is always missed when she’s absent.

The rain hit as soon as our feet hit the soil outside of the car. We all broke out in laughter with the neighbors, graciously sharing their closet-sized road-side shack as the rains down-poured. We laughed and greeted everyone as they offered us chairs because Africans know how to do hospitality like no one else I have seen.

And she came running through the down-pour, all smiles and hugs for the girls. We all laughed about the rain and then made a dash for her house between shower waves. The whole family came to life during our visit. There were so many smiles as the girls snuggled our sister, Rachael shared stories in Portuguese and we laughed about getting soaked to the bone the other day when the big rains hit in a crazy storm. Oh how the people here celebrate the rain. Rain brings forth crops and is much to be thankful for.

It was SUCH a blessing to see our sister laugh and Eden absolutely sank into her, putting her arms around her precious friend and holding her tight. Eden sat there completely still for 10 minutes, just holding onto her precious normal. Our sister’s relatives were all smiles at Eden’s affections. Even the spouse of the deceased was all smiles as she shared in the visit. Praise the Lord for children. They are for sure a helper in hard times.

After a week of missing our sister and walking this hard road with her, it warmed all of our hearts to see so many prayers at work in her life. She absolutely glowed in the middle of the harsher realities of this world.

Jesus is healing her and her family one day at a time.

Oh how face to face has continually changed this story.

Thanks be to God, for the face to face.

I am forever thankful  and forever changed by the face to face.

It catches me off-guard sometimes.

Those moments that capture such beauty.

Drinking in another’s normal.

A glimpse of the sky through a deteriorating grass roof.

Delight can be found anywhere.

Language cannot deter her quiet, delicate curiosity. Friendship is not hindered by words.

It’s all amongst the raw,

That beauty that has no boundaries.

 

First of all I just want to say THANK YOU. A huge, resounding THANK YOU to all of you dear friends and family whom have sent us your love, your prayers, your encouragement and your curious questions about school. So whom better to share an update with you, than my lovely little ladies themselves?!

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So as you can see and hear for yourselves, school is going well. We have fallen into the habit of school normalcy and while there are still moments of growing pains here and there, Rachael and Abi are doing REALLY well with school and continue to be excited and ready to go. Even if my carefree Abi-girl would rather be catching frogs and lizards, she is a trooper who is growing by leaps and bounds as she settles into the realities that “we can’t play all the time – even if homeschool Math felt more like play”.  😉

I know two girls, though, that have an even greater appreciation for doing language arts in their pajamas on the couch. 😉 We laugh about the irony in cultural differences and hug through the “I can’t wait until next year when we do homeschool again” growing pain moments, but these little ladies are doing incredibly wonderfully and rising to the challenge of school.

Thank you all so, so much for your prayers. And thanks be to God for His continued grace poured out on two little foreigners swimming in the sea of natives.

We are all riding the waves well. =)

I just wanted to share a few normal commute videos with you all just for fun. They’re nothing special, just a little bit of our normal.

Here in Mozambique we drive on the left side of the road and the ride side of the car, which is completely backward to the way you drive in the States.

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Here many families have a bicycle for their commute. The girls always enjoy discovering what creative things are carried and strapped onto bikes here. Here the largest car has the right-of-way, but bicycles kind of ride everywhere in the road so, as a driver, you always have to be on the lookout for bicycles, pedestrians (who do not have the right-of-way here), motorcycles and obviously other cars. Also, something new to us here is that you also need to make quick judgement calls about the size of your vehicle, the width of the street, low hanging branches, turn-around locations, puddle depths, and even bridge construction. Hehe. It’s all just a part of the fun of driving here. =)

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You know there seems to be a lot written and discussed in mom circles about the strong-willed child. How to live with them. How to teach them submission. Should you break their stubborn ways? The best way to obtain a more flexible and obedient kid…

We’ve all been there with that two-year old determined to humble us as we pass the candy aisle in the grocery store. We’ve all dragged that three-year old to the car as she screams about how bad her life is while still clutching her ice cream cone you just bought her from the restaurant that she didn’t want to leave. We’ve all looked into those sarcastic eyes of that “older kid who should know better” who is still clinging to their selfish platform. Oh, dear friends, we have so been there.

And the question looms; how do we teach the locked-jaw, stubborn among us?

I’ve had many years to ponder this very question and have yet to come to a firm conclusion in the heat of the moment, so feel free to look elsewhere if you think I’ve found the magic ten steps to freedom. But what I have learned I am willing to share. I’ve learned that I am asking the wrong question.

Things began to change around here when I started telling my girls through many different avenues that “It’s ok to be stubborn, you just have to be stubborn about the right things.” See, I realized that I really do want them to be stubborn afterall.

I want them to be fiercely stubborn about compassion. Unwaveringly clinging to justice. Uncompromising on commitment and purity. I want them to look in the face of the divorce rate and broken homes and lock their jaws in stubborn rebellion. I want them to brace their strong-willed backs in rebellion to the human trafficking numbers which are ever rising. I desperately want them to be unbreakably stubborn about their devotion to Jesus, compelling them into His Word and into the fields ready for harvest.

I hope every single one of my little ladies is terribly stubborn.

 

We’re still learning stubbornness with respect, kindness and gentleness. We’re still learning which battles to be stubborn about. It’s a lifelong lesson that they will carry on without my guidance in the future.

But it’s time to stop seeing strong-willed as a bad thing. I don’t want to break them. I want to train them to appropriately apply that passion and that zeal and that burning fire in their eyes. It is truly a gift. A God-sent gift. And I am praying for their opened eyes at how God would lead them to apply that stubbornness to this lost and dying world.

Stiffen your back, little ladies, and fight the good fight until we see His face.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made for that very purpose.