Life's Great Ironies

Have you ever experienced a moment when in the midst of it, you thought, "I'll never be the same after this?" I've had a few of these, usually in other countries, and I'm sure all mothers and married folk have had the same experience. Well I had another one at church on Sunday and am still beaming from it.

In February my new hero Madalena, passed by a village in the "bush" that was near the highway running from Mozambique to South Africa. (Did anyone else used to think the "bush" would have lots of bushes? For the record, it doesn't, it was totally dry and barren.) So Madalena stopped and inquired of the village if they would be interested in having a church service. Their response blew me away. They said, "Yes of course. We've been waiting for someone to come help us start one." Nuts! If that isn't a reason for missionaries, I don't know what is. On the first Sunday, 40 people showed up for the service! In the picture below you can see Madalena with several of the church goers.
Ok a little background on this village: There are about 300 people total although many have built their huts out of site from the main cluster of huts. The houses are mostly made out of this "imitation bamboo" material that is found in the bush. There is no electricity (obviously) or water so the land is very dry. Women have to walk 5 kilometers to get the water they need! (I still don't know the kilometers to miles conversion but I think that is far- math was not my strong point, gosh neither was grammar or geography or science, how did I pass school?) Many of the people living in the village have family in Maputo and go there to work although it is an hours drive away. They prefer living in the country rather than the city, regardless of the lack of facilities, and most of them send their children to live in the city to go to school. The church where they meet is under one of the main trees, proving that a church truly is not a building. Some of the older people bring plastic chairs for themselves and others bring straw mats for all to share. Many of the adults speak Portuguese but they all mainly speak the tribal anguage. So I was the dumb mute yet again. In the picture you'll see Neda and her daughter. (I tried pronouncing her name 3 times and then felt stupid still not being able to say it correctly so I've forgotten her name but I'm sure I'll see her again and have another chance to learn it. They attended church and then hitched a ride with us back into the city in order to sell charcoal.)

Sunday morning Madalena and I made the drive out of Maputo to the village, Shiparango. Having stayed up late reading (nerd alert!) I was tired and ended up sleeping most of the way. (what a great travelling partner I am) When I awoke, we were pulling off the highway in the middle of seemingly nowhere. In my "newly awakened state" I stumbled out of the SUV into the center of one of the most amazing experiences of my life. We walked past several children scraping rice from the bottom of the pot and placing a new pot on the open fire. Madalena spoke to them as I stood by like the "dumb White giant" that I am:) Unable to even use my very limited Portuguese, I communicated to them the only way I knew how, I smiled. I smiled so much this day my cheeks grew sore. Sometimes I smiled harder to push back the tears but mostly, to communicate in some way that I loved these kids. Let me tell you about these remarkable children:

The boy with the brightest smile approached us carrying a baby on one hip, a plastic chair in the other, a grin a mile wide and eyes that literally seemed to shine. Before the adults came to meet at the church/tree, Madalena talked to the children and when this boy set the baby down in the chair, we noticed his hand. One of his hands was a knotted nub with burn scars going up his forearm. When asked about his hand, he told Mada that his clothes had caught fire and his hand had burned in the accident. Mada later told me that often when they are unsure how to treat a wound such as this burn, the doctors just cut off the area and in this case, they cut off his hand. Here is a boy, with only one hand, but more joy in his eyes than I see in mine! He sang the loudest, smiled the biggest and clapped the most during the service. I now have a better understanding of why Jesus said we are to become like children in order to enter the kingdom. Joy like his seems inexplicable except, he has found Jesus. I will forever feel convicted for complaining and choosing bitterness rather than joy, when I think of this boy. If he can choose to be joyful, shouldn't I too be able to find that same joy? In the picture above, he is wearing the blue shirt with the 3 stripes.

Next, the twin babies. I have never seen a baby produce as much snot as one of them did. It was so neat to watch how all of the children felt responsible for these two. The boy I mentioned before was constantly wiping their noses and the babies waddled around sitting the laps of all the children. In observing them, one might assume all the children were related due to the way they treated each other. They huddled close on the straw mats and there was a certain bond and unity among them that I've never witnessed in America. One of these babies took a liking to me and waddled over to me and plopped down in my lap. This brought only more attention to the white giant now holding one of the beloved village twins. The other twin, dressed in a lime green sweat shirt that had dinosaur scales on the hood, was TERRIFIED of me. I can only imagine the thoughts swirling around in his head, seeing a white person for the first time. He looked at me and started screaming! That's a confidence booster:) The woman next to me laughed and covered his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the "hideous white monster." In the picture, one of the twins is sitting in the chair while the other is on his mothers' lap. The boy with injured hand is leaning his head against the woman.

There was a brother and sister whose faces are forever ingrained in my memory. These were the ones scraping the bottom of the rice pot. The first thing I noticed was that their eyes were not as bright as the others and their bellies were incredibly bloated. Madalena asked about their parents and they said they were gone fetching water and we also learned that these two do not go to school in Maputo. I've seen bloated bellies on commercials and shows but to see it in person and look into their faces, and force a smile to try to cheer them all the while crumbling inside, is a whole other experience. I prayed that Jesus would hold back the floodgates so I wouldn't scare these two with my tears and made as much eye contact with both of them as possible, all the while smiling like my life depended on it. The boy who at first seemed stone cold, broke into such a sweet grin when I looked at him and smiled. I swear he even blushed and looked away shyly only to glance back right away. So many questions bombarded my mind but for awhile, my entire goal was to make these 2 feel loved and special, so I did the only thing I could and smiled. The sister was not quite as bloated as her brother but was wearing tattered rags with jeans on backwards. During the message she turned to face me most of the time and being less bashful than her brother, stared and smiled every time I looked at her. The brother is wearing the white, orange and blue shirt and his sister is in the very front of the picture in the green.

One of the leaders of the group was a boy who I would guess was about 10 or 11. He wore a blue beanie and was constantly watching after the younger kids, holding them, shushing them, and wiping their noses. He competed with the first boy I mentioned for who could sing the loudest and belted out worship songs. The children came to the tree first and by singing, they beckoned other members in the village to come for church. This boy led the others in singing and throughout the entire message he listened so intently, never distracted. I would not be surprised if he becomes a pastor one day:)

One of the few younger girls, was a bit distracted by me during the service and was constantly fixing her skirt, or rather scrap of material, to attempt to completely cover her legs. Her eyes seemed to bore into my soul as she stared at me with uncertainty. I hope to become friends with her in future Sundays- she has a spirit that is so bright it is hard to ignore and eyes so intense, it is clear she has endured much. I have never been so self-conscious of my long Hardeman toes as I was as she stared at them for quite some time and then looked at me with confusion. (I know sweetie, they look like fingers but you should see my sisters'. )

Finally, the girl sitting in her mother's lap right next to me must be about 2 or 3 and looked at me and started laughing hysterically. (Apparently I can terrify kids or send them into a fit of giggles, just by looking at them.) She tried to play with my hair without my noticing and then grew fascinated when I stood and she saw my underwear line! I guess I should have passed on the "granny panties" this Sunday but I didn't realize kids wouldn't know what underwear is. Talk about awkward: standing to sing and having a toddler trace your underwear and try to grab it! During the last songs, I reached my hand down and left an open palm to which she quickly grasped and demanded my other hand and we began to twirl in circles. She then signaled that she wanted me to lower myself so she could climb on my back! So during the last songs, I danced around and mouthed the words with an adorable little toddler clinging to my neck cracking up. How could I be the same after this?

The order of events at the service were as follows:

* People trickled in from their huts and farming plots to join the singing children under the tree.

* The congregation sang amazing songs including motions. I hummed along and joined in the motions. I felt like my mom when I tried to find the beat to clap along and was always a little off:) I tried to take video of some of the worship as non-chalantly as possible so you could hear these amazing voices. I've heard some incredible worship teams in the states, but none hold a candle to this group. Please ignore my awkward face in the video and I will try to take more video next time because the songs are just incredible.

Click on the following to link to watch a short clip.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WBj2rRDirto


* Madalena gave a message from Psalm 1 which was translated from Portuguese into the tribal language. I didn't understand a thing yet was completely captivated. These people are hungry for Jesus and hungry to learn more about him. Most can't read so this is their opportunity to learn.

* Members stood to give a testimony of what God was doing in their life. The oldest man (in the picture above) gave his full testimony and Madalena later told me that during one of the first services, a demon had manifested itself in this man. He was flung to the ground and muttering incomprehendable phrases. The congregation was frightened and Mada instructed them to keep singing while she went and prayed and demanded in the name of Jesus that the demon leave and it did and hadn't returned since. Wow.

* After each testimony, another song was sung.

* Offering. All the adults went forward and put their coins on one of the chairs as the offering in hopes of one day building an actual church building. Mada hadn't gone to the church the week before since she was picking me up but they had met anyways and collected an offering which they also presented to Madalena. Such faithfulness truly is inspiring.

* More singing and dancing and then the "meet and greet" portion that included shaking hands with every single person present. Luckily the DeVries had taught me the proper way to shake hands with people older than me and I remembered to grab my right elbow with my left hand as I shook hands.

* Chairs and mats were packed up. One of the women taught me how to sit as a proper Mozambican woman (rather than the Americanized slut that I apparently appeared to be to them by sitting Indian style) I showed the kids how the camera worked and they were immensly intrigued by being able to see themselves on the screen just seconds afterwards. One of the men insisted on being in a picture and was thrilled to see himself on the screen. Yes, he is the one doing the "cheerleader" pose.

Not a single word was exchanged between us, yet I felt an instant connection with this village and cannot wait to return. During the service, I looked around at the shining faces and tried to drink in the beauty of it all. In college I had seriously doubted God's love and even His existence, partly because I thought there was too much unfairness in His system and "what about the people in Africa?" Isn't this a common question among skeptics (including myself)? "What about Africa, God? They don't have a fair chance at getting to know you. How can you hold them accountable?" I'm not here to start a theological debate but I now feel silly for questioning God because of Africa. Of course He loves Africa. He has not forgotten about them. I have seen more life and joy in the eyes of starving children here than in many chubby, content and complacent Christians in the states. (and yes, unfortunately I have fallen into that category many a times)
I think one of life's great ironies is this: Those with little in this world, who've experienced much suffering and poverty, seem to have every reason to doubt God and be angry with Him. Yet these same people seem to trust God more than any others. They rely on Him more and are filled with His peace and joy. Then there are those, like myself, who have everything they need, are showered with blessings from above and have every reason to praise God constantly. Yet these people seem to be the complainers and the doubters. Doubting God because He lets the latter group suffer. This group does not rely on God, but on their own strength and thus, misses out on the joys of watching God provide.

I imagine God must have laughed when I questioned Him so constantly because of Africa. He was here all along, I just couldn't see Him. I think this is part of the reason God called me to Mozambique: to SHOW me His answer. I've read plenty of apologetics books explaining theories as to why God would let suffering happen but apparently, just reading it was not enough, God knew that I needed to experience it, to feel it, to see the poverity firsthand and see how these people turned to Jesus and praise Him in the midst of it all. I often don't understand why God works the way He does, but I know this: God is in the villages in Africa, bringing peace and joy and hope for a future that may not come until after death, but hope nonetheless. He is far greater than I ever imagined.