MozamWeek

I ended the title with an exclamation point! It is a hopeful gesture more than a show of exultation. This week marks a full two months since we moved back to Sweden as a family. A church friend asked yesterday if we are here to "recharge our batteries" before returning to missions. I sort of laughed. Yes and no, would be the answer to that one. I was reminded again during the sermon yesterday that we have to live COMPLETELY where we are at the moment. We will miss opportunities to thrive and grow and bless and love if we constantly dream and hope to be somewhere else! We can get lost in that mentality: I'll get to that once I'm ____________. We can fill in the blank with a place or a circumstance: "once I'm back in Africa" or "once the kids finish school" or "when I've finally reached that certain level of spiritual maturity." Honestly, we'll never really get "there" so lets just live the life we are in now! In o...

An important page from my passport December 7th 2017. We left Mozambique There were tears and hugs and lots of luggage and lots of notes about who will take what where and how all of our Earthly possessions have been dispersed. We have very good friends who we trust. We also depend on each other when things get tough or weird or even exciting! I love you guys. You are Jesus' hands weather you know it or not.  December 10th 2017.  We arrived in AMERICA!!! There were hugs and tears and all that luggage! We spent Christmas with my family in Birmingham AL area. Cousins were reacquainted. Sisters were reunited. Brothers-in-law were reminded how it feels to watch the flurry of activity created by the addition of the 1st sister and family to the bunch. It was a wonderful stop and just what we needed. We took the kids away from Grandma's house as little people 5 years ago. They are now full-fledged teenagers and all bigger than Grandma. It was too long to be a...

Usually at this time of my "leavings" I am becoming more and more irritated by my current country and culture. I remember times of temperamental impatience as someone took too long to find a price for my can of tomatoes... or a car managed to perform a particularly common irrational moving violation in my immediate vicinity... or a beggar asked just one more time...   I've not felt that this time. This last time. I am more filled with understanding and nostalgia. I'm much more gracious than usual. This can only be the grace of God, I think, as I pack another box and say another goodbye. Tears are always close. I well up at the slightest inclination... crossing the Zambezi at sunset... waiting for cows to get out of the road... sweating in the heat as the kids come out of the school... remembering him or her or those other ones. I sigh a lot. I've heard it is good for you. I hate crying, but my grandma warned me it gets worse with age. I'm proving her r...

I know it is hard to accept that you might be the answer to a big problem. I know it is hard when I am the answer to a need bigger than I can meet alone. Before you reject a Syrian neighbor, I suggest you meet a person who is from another home than yours. I suggest you consider what it means to be hopeful that you can start somewhere safe. What is it like to leave everything crushed behind you. People you knew and cared about are just gone... Then you show up in the "Land of the Free and Home of the Brave" and find the doors locked and the neighbors trembling because you are there and you are different. You long for safety and you are stared at from behind closed doors. You look different. It is hard to communicate. You don't know anyone. They don't want to know you. I am grieving here in Mozambique, far away from my homeland. I see post after post shared by people I love declaring they have no place for Syrian resettlement. They "hate Obama" and they...

I'm always amused by differences in culture. After all these years, I still have moments of surprise thrust upon me. A day last month was a shocker. We laughed out loud at each other. Teacher training events all over the world throw loads of women together. I'm an "along-side" adviser to the presenters. I edit some slides and make sure concepts are getting across to our teachers. I connect projectors and click through the PowerPoint presentation. I'm pretty recognizable and they mostly remember my name since it isn't a hard foreign-sounding one- they are "Djeni" or "Geni" or "Jeny" around here. Dancing with the teachers... the fun part of the job! Lunch hour. I stepped in mud and took off my shoes to clean them. "Formadora Jeni, give me your hips!" A younger teacher around 40 or so is admiring me. Her friend proceeds to tell her that she doesn't need mine since hers are big enough. They giggle and want me to tu...

Inventam uma realidade daqui e fazem os planos sozinhos.  "They invent a reality, and then they make the plans alone." Let that sink in for a while.  My actual description of a road to a real place we are going to visit in the next few weeks.  She is right. I am guilty. I am so glad for this blast of wisdom when I least expected it. So much of what we do on the ground in development or mission work is based on an "invented" reality. How patient are my African colleagues who do not shout at my stupidity! How kind they are to say, "ok," and then kind of ignore my missteps and good intentions. We are careful to collect all the facts. Data is important. But background is difficult and hidden and messy and we don't even know what to call it or how to calculate for it. So we fill in the blanks with something that makes sense... to US... from where we stand and all that we know. We process it all very neatly...

Dear friends, FACTS (as I see them from here): Missionaries do jobs in places where the people they actually work for cannot pay them for what they do. Missionaries sometimes have jobs that can earn a "regular" salary. Missionaries often are paid according to what they need to cover expenses in the country where they work. Missionaries are vulnerable to international economic fluctuation. Missionaries can get a "pay raise" if the local economy fails or the home economy surges. Missionaries are viewed as poor and dependent from one side, but ss rich and responsible for everyone around them on the other side. Missionaries have to pay taxes... sometimes, somewhere. Social Security in USA,for example. Missionaries can drive cool cars and live in exotic locations. Missionaries have house-help... maids or gardeners or watchmen; often they contribute jobs to the local economy and avoid looking "stingy". Missionaries often cover all medical expenses ...