a night in Detroit

We have been lifted up by the amazing affirmation that only being in God's family brings. Our visit to Sam and Luz Jackson in Detroit was nothing short of incredible. We met three of their precious daughters: Maris, Joana, and Victoria. (Their first daughter lives not far from us in IL, believe it.)



We were literally embraced the moment we reunited and felt the love of Jesus all evening long. We were fed--we were heard. We listened to exciting stories of their church plant in Detroit. What fun it was to share our "intercultural" stories. Sam's church is tri-cultural, with everyone else welcome. Hope we can see the whole church next visit.

Am thinking about what it means to serve God. Seems there are two types of service: a special assignment or ongoing obedience. These thoughts are fundamental to what it means to discern His will.

traveling again

Took a blog-break when we arrived in the States. A month in Texas, now a month in Illinois, with visits to various states in between. Now it is May and tomorrow we are heading for a trip to the East coast: New York, Vermont, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Ohio, and Indiana.

It has been a good return home. "Home" is one of my favorite words. And yes, though I have spent precious little of my life in the States, it is home--my passport will attest. Listening to many friends who live here all the time, I learn some of the shortfalls of this magnificent country. I've noticed a couple myself.

But right now the things that stand out are the contrasts from rural Africa. Here are some of the things I like about America:
~ nice smooth roads with lots of lanes
~ street name signs
~ plenty of gas stations with coffee and travel mugs
~ mile after mile of neat, tidy, litterless stretches
~ helpful, friendly policemen
~ polite drivers on the American roads
~ eating m&m's when the mood strikes (as long as it doesn't strike too often)
~ very fast internet
~ church
~ church choirs, church organs, church pianos, church cellos, OK, church music
~ coffee and goodies while you're talking to friends at church
~ having coffee or tea with a friend in an atmospheric little place
~ Borders books and Barnes and Nobles and Half Price books
~ seeing my Mom nearly every day
~ doctors who listen and nurses who are considerate (we had our medicals)
~ people who walk their dogs in the morning and evening
~ communion at church
~ plays: we have seen "Juliet" and "Confessions of St Augustine" (both gratis)
~ the Metra into Chicago
~ Dallas Arboretum and Morton Arboretum
~ beautifully landscaped yards, not surrounded by cement walls

Perhaps I should save the next 90 for another time, but you get the idea: it is so good to be back.
We look forward to seeing as many friends as possible on the continent.
I'll be adding insights and adventures from time to time.

We have so much to be thankful for, not the least of which is our incomparable country.
Amen? Amen.

heading back home

It has been a busy month. Packing, jettisoning, organizing, saying good bye.

Now we are "on the road". We left last Monday and drove for two days. Here in Maputo we wait for the second leg of our trip. Once again, guests of Restrick's incomparable hospitality, we enjoy their home, peace and quiet, and the chance to regroup. On Tuesday Dave and Rhoda will drive us through Swaziland and all the way to Joburg where we will catch our flight through Senegal and DC and finally arrive in Texas on Wednesday. How does that work?

When I think how long it took us to fly or float to and from Korea when I was growing up, this seems phenomenal.

This ten month home assignment is going to be one of change. We leave 18 years of work not knowing where God wants us in the future. Are we to be redeployed to Quelimane? or head somewhere else? When we started we didn't know. We still don't. When we think we do, that is when we should be wondering.

I am so grateful that God is in control and as long as we seek His face, we can be sure that we won't head in the wrong direction. His will is a mystery. I just want to be right smack in the middle of it.

Zambezia witch hunting

We can’t say that we’re having a drought here in eastern Zambezia, after all, we have had some rain. But it hasn’t been enough to keep the seedlings alive. When it comes, it spatters and leaves.

In the developed world there are many theories about such freakish weather, not the least of which might be global warming, that scapegoat catch-all. But Africa is different. When things go wrong in Nature, people start looking around for who is responsible.

Yesterday as the rain clouds threatened, and thunder rolled, I waited in the heat for the release of cloud buckets and the smell of wet earth. Instead, the weather toyed with our expectations, promised, and withdrew. Disappointment. At least I hadn’t gone out and transplanted seedling flowers like Jacky had.

You know, I was nearly tempted to complain to the Lord; He is in charge of the weather, after all. But I found out why it didn’t rain later in the afternoon. An outlying village, also hard hit by the dryness, went on a witch hunt and decided that a widow with an elderly mother was responsible for the drought. So they caught her and beat her “to a pulp” were the words used to me. Two timid police on a motorcycle came and reluctantly took her away for her own safety. The crowd turned on her mother. Their house was destroyed and belongings smashed.

I don’t know how either woman is doing. My heart goes out to them. How sad to live where you can pay the price for something all reason would tell you was out of your small control. Why did they pick on her, I wanted to know. Apparently, as a widow she is supposed to accommodate whatever man in leadership wants accommodating. But since she would not hand out sexual favors to the leaders, she was the scapegoat for the community.

I just talked with a well-educated Mozambican friend who has confirmed this story and added that there have been a variety of incidents like this: some scapegoats have not had police assistance and have died at the mob’s hands. Makes me wonder: what type of mind would think that a person who could control or influence the weather would still be weak enough to be victim of a hostile rabble?

There are well-meaning non-government organizations who disparage mission work because it interferes with the local belief system and challenges the culture. “The people are perfectly happy in their own milieu,” they insist. Ask the scapegoats, I want to say.

Anyway, now I know why it didn’t rain yesterday. And today clouds promised and wimped out, too. And hot as I am, I’m glad.

simplicity

One of my life goals is simplicity.

And George Herbert did it again in my QT: this poem just stood out (the last quatrain of "The Wreath.")

Give me simplicity, that I may live,
So live and like, that I may know Thy ways,
Know them and practise them: then shall I give
For this poor wreath, give Thee a crown of praise.


He just gets right to the heart of life. The poem starts off declaring that he wants to offer a wreath of praise to the Lord, and as he ponders the crooked windings of his life, he realizes that the detours are more like death and life should be a straight bee-line to the Lord. Simple, direct, no deceit. And he finishes with knowing and practising "Thy ways"--and the wreath becomes a crown.

Makes me realize how much more I have to learn about this complicated process of living. Simplicity still seems the avenue of choice.

the end of the trip

Well, it was a longer break than I expected, but here I am.

After five conference days of more food than we needed at each meal and many opportunities to reconnect with friends one-on-one, it was Saturday morning and time to retrace our trip back north.

The South African border was a breeze this time: leaving is much easier than getting in. The border official told us to "have a nice flight." The atmosphere changed radically on the Zim side of the border: the lines were listless. Many desks were empty and we were shuffled from line to line, regardless of the sign above the person's head. Once through we hit the road and we were stopped at even more police checks going north than we had been coming south. We didn't count, but I would guess around 20 police road blocks, just to check our vehicle import permit, driver's license, etc. They can get picky enough to match your engine numbers with the ones on you car papers, but we weren't subjected to such scrutiny. Why? They are hungry and they want something: nearly all asked what we had brought them from SA.

We spent the night near the border with friends, Les and Doreen, who willingly open their home to traveling missionaries. They were a blessing and their pool was refreshing after a hot day in the car.

Sunday we started home after daybreak. No trouble through the borders, no trouble in fact, until about 150 km from home: then we hit the MotherLode potholes. There were lots of potholes that day and we missed all but two of them. But those two in quick succession blew out our two right tires. See the photo in the post below. Fortunately we were within cell phone coverage (most of that road isn't)l and we called for help. Good friend Brian came out with son Philip and our son Luke with a second spare tire. Phil had already changed the first. Then continuing on home, another pothole did in a third tire. So began the long and tiresome attempt to find a place to fix one of the flat ones: all 3 rims were bent, however, We ended up going back to Q, getting another spare from our friend who lent the first one, and hauling it back out again.

I stayed in town with Bell and enjoyed dinner at Hilton's house while the guys went back out on their errand of mercy. Friends are indispensable in Africa--something Africans have known for a very long time. As I mentioned, the guys finally got home around midnight. It was strange, being within an hour and a half of home (at 3:30 p.m.) and then not getting home until late.

We were blessed to have cell phone coverage, friends willing to drive literally hundreds of kilometers, a neighbor who lent his car's tires, and plenty of water to drink on that hot and dusty road.

Much to be thankful for. Much indeed. And now we thank Him for rain because this land has been parched while we were gone. The little rice seedlings in our garden withered and dried up. We hope this is not reflective of the whole province. But the rain is blissful. Amen.

return through Zimbabwe

Sunday around midnight, after the weekend in the car, the last members of the family finally arrived home. Let me back up and tell you how we made it.

On the 4th we started the two day trip to South Africa through Zimbabwe, once the bread basket of southern Africa. Sounds like a painfully trite expression, but it is true. Seeing the current situation in Zim first-hand was painful. We used to go there to stock up on goodies we couldn't buy in Mozambique. One journalist described hundreds of dead donkeys (roadkill of the semi trucks shipping goods through to countries north of Zim), we only encountered three--and one cow. She also mentioned people begging along the roadside, we saw none. She warned of cholera victims with their IVs at the border crossing. We missed the melodrama. But Zimbabwe is on her knees nonetheless. Anything we wanted to purchase including the many taxes we pay at the border: (visa $45 per person, road tax $10, carbon tax $21. bridge tax $20, gov't "insurance" $30) all had to be paid in US dollars or SA rands. Zimbabwean money has no value and most shops will not accept them.

It was heart-breaking to see the normally jolly, extroverted Zimbabweans listless and exhausted from the toll of their brutal dictator. Believe me, the relief of entering into South Africa was palpable. Also noticeable was that we were charged no taxes and other trumped up fees to support a gov't in free fall. But we did wait several hours in the noonday sun (and have the burns to prove it) in the lengthy line of people eager to leave Zim behind. The line meandered out the immigration door, around the courtyard, through another leg of the building and out into the parking lot where we began the vigil.

Late Monday afternoon we arrived at where we would enjoy the four days of conference: a resort with warm baths. Aahh. But better than the pools was the fellowship with our Zimbabwean missionary friends who have been through many crises this past year.

More later. Must post this and get going on lunch. (Had an interruption I wasn't expecting.)