The extra mile

Back when I was living in DC, I had a babysitting job at a mother's Bible study. Me and a few other ladies, older ladies, all Philippino immigrants, watched 10-15 kids for a few hours while their busy mothers had some time to study God's word and fellowship.

One week, one of the ladies went the extra mile. She had realized that the kids usually had really long fingernails, their mothers were too busy to cut them, so she spent the morning clipping the restless toddlers' nails. All of the kids were well-groomed by the end. She just saw a really small need and filled it, went the extra mile for these kids, and helped out their mothers.

This week at school, we had some extra breakfasts leftover on Friday, and the teacher usually lets each kid take an item at snacktime. I've realized that some of the kids are really hungry by snacktime, so they are all glad to get a bowl of cereal or bagel and juice.

The teacher discreetly put all the leftover snacks after the class had taken what they wanted into one student's backpack. She knows the father left the mother earlier this school year, left her with no job, 3 kids, and two of them are special needs kids, and $200. (what a jerk...) Since the teacher knows this, she often puts the extra snacks in this student's backpack. He comes into school with them for snack often. Not just her, but the other aides in the classroom do it too. She goes the extra mile, knowing there is a huge need for this kid, and helps out.

In Georgia, when I was having a yard sale to raise money to go to Africa, I encountered so many people looking for things for other people. One lady was sending toiletries and clothes to her family and friends back in Haiti, which had just been hit by a bad hurricane.

Another one was a special ed teacher, taught sixth grade, and she was picking up clothes for her students. She knew exactly what they would like to wear and what they wouldn't wear. Wow. That is an awesome teacher. The kids in that county usually lived in lower-class families, sort of country people, and she knew her students needed new clothes, so she filled the need.

I am just inspired by things like this. Seeing small needs right around us, and stepping in and filling them. I know lots of the kids in my classroom have needs, some more dire than others, so I am just looking to see who needs a hug or a smile every day. I want to go the extra mile for these kids and just love them like Jesus would.

Welcome back to "normal"

Over 2 months past Mozambique, I finally feel like I am fitting back into normal life.

I worked at my job the whole week, and I love my job. I'm getting to know the kids in the classroom I'm in and some of the adults I work with. I've learned the ropes of the school, and its good.

Then I'm also meeting new people around here (wait, other people outside of my high school live in connecticut?). I went to a prayer meeting and then we went out and told people about Jesus in the mall. That was fun, and I'm getting to know some people who are on fire for God here. Its good.

I've been taking a modern dance class, too, and so I had that, and just doing completely normal things like hanging out at church and with friends. Anyhow, its 2 months past Moz and life is getting back to normal. Its not that I don't think about the Mozambican babies I love, I do think about them, often, and miss them. But I also have found kids here who are just as needy as them. The kids who get no love at home and whose dads left just this year. Oh, my heart breaks for them just as much as my little mozambican babies.

Portrait of Love

Last night at a church-ish meeting (not really a service, but people who love God meeting together...) we were wrapping up with prayer, but rather than a nice quiet benediction, God came in and we prayed for awhile for those in our communities and cities and around the world who are enslaved by the commercial sex trade, be it in strip clubs, brothels, or those kids who are abused to make porn. I had started to paint a picture of a girl who was sex trafficked awhile ago, maybe last summer, but i lost the photo in the shuffle of moving and africa. so because of that meeting last night, I felt like I needed to paint her, to paint the faceless child who has been trafficked and abused and raped night after night. I just asked God what she would look like, and this is her.

She is young, but hardened after a year or so, she doesn't remember, of living in a very dark world, forced to remain inside the brothel all day, for fear that the authorities might find her and expose her pimps. She looks like she might cry, but is too hardened to cry. And she is scared. She came a long way from her home in hopes of a better life and to make money to send home to her family.

Those dreams faded fast, and so did all her other dreams. She needs to learn how to dream again. She needs to learn how to hope. She needs freedom, she needs rescue, she needs a voice. She needs Jesus.

see www.love146.org for how to help her.

The Junk From America

the junk from America

gets pieced into houses

withering cardboard, splintery wood

as junk trucks haul the land

back and forth

across the river

across the dust

to desire anything else would be treason

contemplating the economics

of frivolous tourist entertainment

because the must

live in shacks of tarp and cardboard

dust flying in their eyes

caked with makeup from the dance

and afterwards

the junk dries up and out

mickey mouse tire heads

leave little trails of sand in yonke

leaving again behind the rest

of everyone I knew down there

The Junk from America Revisited in the Amazon

The curse of America brought upon us

Of smoking and plastic and the things they tossed

Watching for progress from a cheap mp3 player

We’ll never get there

We’re always so far

What took you so long?

They always cried waiting.

Waiting for redemption from the other side.

Waiting for fewer plastic bags

To contaminate.

Waiting for less pollution

The trees filter the air.

Clean and green

We always knew it was here.

The Junk From America The Third: Africa's Story

Piling up endlessly in villages underneath

The reaches of poverty's grasp

Where we don't know what rich and poor are

Where we all have TVs

The ones that we see in the junkyard

the ones we see and scrap

the ones that we eat from

and live from

The junk from America we all are poisoned by

Trash triumphs over animals

Forgetting how the pristine jungle roads used to look

The Coke cans litter the dirt

and we can't understand how

the houses

and brooms

and buckets

are from the earth

but the Coke can lies on the dirt

But it's not theirs, its the junk we all dispose of

That becomes their treasures

Their treasures that they live on

rather than the land

rather than the earth that gives them life

rather than the polluted streams, the desert's reams of paper-like

reeds flowing up over the edge

engulfing the endless bushveld and the dusty hills

The trash that ends up in babies' mouths

eating used batteries

leaking bluish grimy paste

translates to their eyes

their eyes that never go away

haunting the ones who dare to care

How we all turn an eye away

trash disposal we count on weekly

recycling what is toxic, what is toxic here

lives on in Africa, lives on in innocent lives

bombarded with trash, filling homes and filling land

we can't take it away forever, but Africa seems like forever away

we don't seem to know that people live there

People just like us

People who live and die and have children who like to play

With trash we always manage to send their way.

The Junk From America #3 inspired by a news report from BBC in which Greenpeace (i am not advocating for them, it is just news... can we all be grown up and not think i am a greenpeace activist now?) found that TVs that are to be recycled from the UK, actually usually get sent to Africa and fill up landfills there, and people dismantle the TVs, computers, and other electronics, poisoning themselves in the process, to get out certain valuable metals to re-sell for pennies.
The Junk From America #1 is from Mexico, I was in Juarez at that point, and the second version is from being in the Amazon in Brazil, in Manaus.

Failure, Fire, and Facebook

Nearly two months removed from Mozambique, I feel like a complete failure. I am just being honest here, I feel like a failure in so many ways, and I have spent the past 2 days trying to figure out what is going on inside of me that is causing me to act out, to lash out, to be angry again, to be agitated, and annoyed at everyone and everything.

As time passes, Mozambique seems less and less real, sometimes it seems like it didn't even happen. It is too easy to go about my day like "normal" how I used to, and forget to consciously think about Jesus and about His love and about everything that I learned in Moz. It is so easy to forget those things because I am no longer in an atmosphere where everyone is always talking about God, even at church, it seems like we talk about Him like He can't even hear us, like He isn't even there. I miss talking to Him with other people, in a group, where everyone wants and needs Jesus more than anything.

I attended a group at a local church this past Thursday that was so refreshing. My mom convinced me to go, it met during her ladies' Bible study. I have gotten frustrated with their church services because it seems like the people there just want the worship leader or someone else to lead them into God's presence without them actually asking Jesus to come. The worship leaders are anointed, but the people seem too conscious of their surroundings to actually get lost in the Face of Jesus. Anyhow, this group was different.

The Thursday night young adults group was small, about 15 people, compared to the 2,000 that attend Sunday services. We just stood in a circle, some young people desperate to see Jesus, desperate to Have Him. Oh, it was so good, we just prayed and sang some, but mainly prayed, and Jesus came. He came, you could feel His presence, everyone in the room could feel the fire, it was hot, and one girl could see the smoke from His fire, could see Him working there, fanning the embers that have been dying for so long.

This prayer meeting helped me so much, I enjoyed it, I enjoyed being around other young people who are so passionate for God to come, who want Him more than anything, and who want revival to break out here in the cold Northeast. I have been looking for something like that here, as I feel so alone, I feel like there is no one who understands what it is like to have God come when you just ask Him to. People get so dependent on others to ask God to come, no one seems to bother to ask Him to come themselves.

And back to the beginning, why on earth do I feel like a failure? I don't know, haven't figured it out, maybe I won't ever. Maybe I can't even understand myself sometimes. I just know that sometimes it feels like Moz never happened.

In my house, my mom doesn't want to let any change in for anything. So she keeps on doing the same things, acting the same way, and I keep on reacting the same way I always used to. It is bad, it is not her fault, I need to change, but shouldn't she need to change too?

I think everyone should go to Africa. I keep bugging my mom to go with my dad when he goes to Uganda, God willing, this summer. She refuses to even pray about going. Maybe God will have to wake her up on that one, change has to come sometime. Why not now? Why not go to Africa?

I need to feed the fire inside me even more. I need to just spend more and more time with God, more time with Him than online, or in a store, or in the car. I need Him more than anything, and I know that He has changed me, He is still changing me, and if I am open to it, He will come, He will come with His fire again, and burn me up even more. And that is what I want.

And so, in conclusion, I've decided to fast from facebook for Lent. Yes, sounds weird, but last year I fasted from gum, and I really did stop chewing it, it stopped being a habit. Facebook is a bad habit, I go on and check it almost automatically everyday, like I check my email. Usually its just for a minute or two, but sometimes I get on it for awhile, and I should be spending this time doing more productive things. I'm hoping that Lent breaks this habit. Its only 40 days. I did 80 days without it in Moz.

Praying for a little more fire.

The not-so-perfect children

As I read about the Duggar family who have 18 kids of their own, I cannot help but think, "why not adopt some kids?" Why have 18 of your own kids (or 10, or 14...) why not adopt? There are so many kids in the foster care system here in the US, as well as kids in orphanages all over the world who need families, why is it necessary to keep having more of your own kids? Oh wait, they don't want to adopt because what if they got a kid with emotional or behavioral problems. What if they got a kid with a disability, or they didn't discover that they had a hearing problem until a year later? What if the kid they adopted had RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder) or ADHD?

Then their perfect model of a family would be completely blown. I truly doubt the capability of this mother or 18 since she has no special-needs children. Her kids are perfect, they all play the violin from age 4 onwards. Of course she can have more and more and more of those types of kids. But what about what the Bible says about caring for orphans? In the Bible, God says "be fruitful and multiply" once, but God says multiple times, in the Old Testament Law and in the New Testament to care for orphans. The easy thing is to multiply, anyone can have 18 kids, but to take in an orphan, most of the time with some sort of special need (be it emotional, behavioral, or physical) is a bit harder, so God has to tell us quite a few times. Or we might turn a blind eye.

I think of how difficult it was at times to take care of the kids I nannied for, mainly the youngest who had just been adopted when I started working for this family, and I wonder how other families would have coped with that. How would the Duggars be able to homeschool 18 kids if they had a 3 year old who had no communication skills besides screaming, biting, pinching, and kicking? What would they do with a kid who wouldn't sit down and couldn't hear you if you told him to do so? And didn't know what the word "sit" meant? How would they cope?

I think Americans in churches need to re-think how they view families. The "perfect" family of angelically dressed and behaved children may not be what God has called us to do. He has called us to look after the orphans and widows. Maybe that means adopting a kid that is a different race from us or one who is hard to take care of. I admire the parents of the kids I nannied for so much. They knew that God calls us to look after the orphans, and they are doing just that.

Open My Eyes

While in Mozambique, we heard a story from Mama Aida, about how she realized that she was blind spiritually, and so she asked God to open up her eyes. When her eyes were opened, she saw the spiritual poverty in the western church, and now she travels around the western world for 1/3 of the year, even though she would rather just spend time in the garbage dumps and villages in Mozambique.

Praying "Open up my eyes, God" is a dangerous prayer. Because He will open up our eyes to see things that we didn't see before. And once our eyes are opened, we cannot not act upon what we have seen. When we are made aware of needs around us, we have no choice but to act and resolve them, to act right where we are, even if our hearts are crying to be in another location.

Since then, I have been praying for God to open up my eyes. I have asked Him to open up my eyes to the needs around me, here in the US. My eyes have been opened to needs in my own church, from the girl who has a brain injury from an accident a year ago, to the single mom of two preschoolers, there are needs right in front of me, and I know I must act upon them.

My eyes were opened this week, even more. I just found out where the local elementary school is, it is about a mile from my house, and I have lived most of my life right here, I just never knew where it was. And I applied for a job there, and got it. When I went and visited the classroom, I thought, well, maybe it will go terribly and I won't take the job, and still be able to go to Brazil this spring for a few weeks.

The visit went extremely well, and my heart is now breaking for the needs of the kids in the classroom. I will be working with a boy with autism, as well as a few other kids who have special needs in the classroom. My heart is breaking for them, for their hard home lives, and difficulties at school. My eyes have been opened, and I cannot shut them.

I took the job, and have, in turn, given up my desire to go back to Brazil this spring for a few weeks. I realize that I can only go for 1 week, at least, until June, and that I may not get back to Pemba as soon as June. But I know that God has given me the desire to go back to Brazil this year, as well as Pemba, and He will make it happen.

But first, I must act upon the needs right here in my hometown. And not shut my eyes again to the broken and needy in my own neighborhood.

How different our lives become
We strive and strive to be the one
To bring revival, to see the change
Our eyes are opened and we see the world

We see the world in the downtown street kids
We see with different eyes the ones we used to shun
We see the world in autistic faces
We see them different now, as children of God

Our eyes were opened to only reveal
The college students we are, lost and afraid
The humble beginnings we all have made
We try to attain this resounding cry
To make it, to make it, we live, we die

Sudan, Africa, the black faces say it
London, the UK, our eyes are open
Sao Paulo, Brazil, the last shall be first
Middle of nowhere, USA, we all will be there

So the journey just begun we can't stop right now
The revival just starting
The fire's flames now engulfing
The last of the enemy's old glances
The last of our dead-old-self's chances
Oh, we are new, oh we are new
Open eyes are a new thing to behold


(so not my best poetry, but the important thing is that i am writing. if i don't write something, i fear i will lose the ability completely.)

Extended Outreach

I have, until now, avoided talking about the extended outreach trip that I took in Mozambique. Basically, we spent 5 days in 2 different towns in the far north of Mozambique, showing the Jesus film, praying for people, doing kids programs, and ministering to the women and men in the community as well.

The outreach was very hard for me and most of my team members. Our Mozambican leader got very sick, I was feeling sick to my stomach most of the time, and a few other people were feeling sick on and off.

But God was faithful through it all. At first I could not bear to think about the outreach, all its frustrations, and how I felt and acted on it. I However, I have worked through some things and see that God was working through it all.

I had the privilege to meet this amazing 9 year old girl, Graça, who is the pastor's daughter of an Iris church in one of the towns. She was beautiful in so many ways. She had Jesus' love in her, and was able to help out my team so much. We were in a town that spoke Makonde, not Makua, so we had no translators. Graça spoke Makonde and Portuguese, so she helped us translate for the kids' program until we could get a church member to help. She is the future of the church in her town. Jesus, please let her grow more and more in you.

I saw God's mercy poured out to the desperate one day as we were going around praying with people in their houses. As we were headed back to our camp, a boy comes running up to me and the 3 Mozambicans that were with me, and asked us to come and pray for his aunt. She had sent him running to catch us. She had a heart problem that caused pain and the hospital in Tanzania couldn't help her. Tanzania's hospitals (and everything...) are apparently better than in Moz, and Tanzania was relatively close to here, we were far north. So we prayed for her and told her about how Jesus told people in the Bible that their faith made them well. We told her that her faith made her well. Her pain left and she was healed! She was so grateful to us and wanted to pay us, but we told her to thank Jesus and not us, and to trust in Jesus in return.

After having tried twice and for many hours to go to another village to show the Jesus film, we went with a backup plan and showed it in another village. This village had no evangelical church, and was mostly animistic Catholic. We showed the Jesus film and 2,000 people showed up for it! As I was walking around the perimeter of the crowd during the film with some friends, our whispers and footsteps were the loudest sounds other than the film. The crowd was silent and attentive! It began to rain at the end of the film, so half the people left, but we still had many people come forward for the altar call. That was the best night of outreach and it wasn't in our plans, but it was in God's plans!