A Heart Like the Grinch

Today is a momentous day. Why? Today is the day Vander uttered two very important syllables: "a- tee." That's right, HE SAID MY NAME!!! I hate to sound so self-involved, but this made my day. The "k" sound will come eventually, but for now, I will be "atie" and proud of it. Poor Uncle Trent will probably have to wait months before he hears his own difficult-to-pronounce-for-babies-and-non-English-speakers name. That little boy has wiggled his way into my heart and will forever have a special place.

There are three other children in this world who have climbed into my heart and set up house. However, unlike Vander, these children will remain in my heart forever as just that, children. Lord willing, I will get to see Vander grow into a man but these other precious, young ones will remain frozen in time as innocent, vulnerable, treasured children. Their faces are burned into my memory and their lives have forever changed my own. Who are these three cherished children? Honestly, I only remember the name of one. I met the first of the three in India. My team had just finished playing the longest game of basketball in the world (the clock strangly kept changing if we were winning) and I had shared my testimony at half time with the crowd. It was at this moment, as I was dripping with sweat, physically exhausted but running on adrenaline, that I met the first boy who rocked my world. About 8 or 9, he ran up to me after the game and introduced himself and said, "I like what you said about Jesus." "Did you? Do you believe what I said is true?" He responded with, "Well of course I believe." Me: "Do you believe there are other gods as well as Jesus?" His reply: "Of course there are." I internally sighed, "Oh the dilemma of sharing Jesus with Hindus. They will readily accept Jesus in their myriads of gods but won't accept him as the ONLY way," I thought. Before I could respond to this sweet, smiling boy, my group, already packed up in the van, called to me saying we MUST leave right away. (apparently our Hindu driver was terrified by the Muslim men who had been conversing with our leader) There was nothing I could do, nothing more I could say to this boy and my heart broke. As I tore myself away from him, he ran after me waving and grinning and then he yelled words that I can't push out of my consciousness no matter how hard I try: "I'll see you in heaven in Katie!" Ever since that moment, I have been grappling with his words. Will I? Will I see you in heaven one day? I have wrestled with God numerous times over this issue and the only conclusion I have reached is God is good, God is just, God is merciful, God is trust-worthy, God is loving. When I lay awake at night thinking about that boy in India, I pray for him and I cling to those truths.

I met the next of the three life-changing children in a remote, coastal town on a primitive island in the Philippines. She was the leader of a gang of mischievous little ones, running about in dirty, torn clothes, laughing at the tall Americans. I can't remember how we initiated our friendship but throughout the basketball game, I played follow the leader, did cartwheels, made silly faces, and ran from the group as they threw worms at me. I don't remember her name but I can't forget her dimples or her joy-filled spirit. In the picture she is the one wearing the yellow shorts. In meeting and playing with this rambunctious little girl, I understood a tiny bit more about God's love and His hugeness. Here was a girl living in a town that few people will ever hear of and somehow I felt a tiny bit of how God loves her and was overwhelmed by it. She may be forgotten and invisible in the world's eyes, but she is dearly loved by her Creator and it was in meeting in her that I realized God is so much bigger than I can ever imagine.

Wait a minute, I thought these "tales" were supposed to be from Mozambique? You're right, you're right. Ok. And for the record, I'm not trying to boast about all the places I've been to- but no matter the country, there are children filled with joy who God loves so much and whom He uses to teach me. (I just taught my English class when to use "whom" but now I can't remember the rules- anyone want to call me out on my usage?) The third boy who will remain in my heart, long after I leave Mozambique is Andre. I've talked about him before; he's the boy from Shiparango (the village where I attend church) who only has one hand.

I didn't know it was possible to care so much about a boy I hardly know- maybe I'm like the Grinch and my heart is stretching while I'm here in Africa. (not that I was particularly green or grouchy or a hater of Christmas- but you know what I mean) Andre has been gone the past two months since he and a few others go into the city to go to school during the year but now since it is summer, he is back in the village making me laugh and smile so much my cheeks hurt. This past week when I went to Shiparango, the kids were fighting for who got to hold my hand as we walked to the car. How do you hold hands with someone who doesn't have any fingers? I thought Andre might be self-conscious about this but he wasn't- he thrust his little nub into my giant man-hand and I held onto his nub as he smiled away at me and I fought back tears. This boy is simply amazing and a true testament to the joy that God gives despite circumstances here on earth. Andre has every reason in the world to be bitter and resentful, but there is not a hint of such negativity in him. He is all joy, all laughs and smiles, always with a baby on his hip, a glimmer in his eye and a joke on his lips. I love this little boy more than I thought possible.Andre and several of the other children who have been attending school in the city, have learned to count to ten in English and were so proud to show off their skills. It cracks me up to hear him make up English words. When we got past the number 10 and he tried to keep counting although he didn't know the words and I couldn't suppress my laughter. I taught the kids another game that requires few instructions: thumb wars; a classic game advantageous for those of us with huge thumbs. (smart thinking Katie: introduce them to a game requiring fingers. Oops. Don't worry- Andre is a champ with his left hand) I mentioned my gianormous man-hands and I hate to brag, but I dominated those kids! They all laughed hysterically when I pinned their thumb down with my own and then yelled, "Winner!" You may think I should let them win, but if you think that way, you do not understand the heart of a true competitor: we do not let anyone beat us no matter the circumstances.The above picture cracks me up because there is so much randomness going on. We were supposed to be showing off our "thumbs." The little girl next to me is my little side-kick who insists on always being held and can't quite figure out how to stick her thumb up. Her mother, trying to show her how, is always offering for me to keep her permanently. She's joking- I hope. Bernardo, Andre's older brother, is right next to me staring at my giant thumbs wondering how it is possible for a girl to have such large fingers. The preggo woman next to him is one of my favorites. We can't communicate but I have a feeling we will be friends in heaven. No clue what she's looking at- reminds me of my friend Jenny who is never looking during a picture. One of the men is apparently trying to cheer up the toddler Vladimir with the Word of God- interesting tactic but it does not appear to be working. Notice the rolling, grassy hills in the background? No mystery why I love being in this village so much.

When Madalena and I first arrived in Shiparango this past week, she informed me that things looked differently in the village. It had rained a lot while I was in America and the village has transformed during these summer months from a dry, dreary and desolate land into a beautiful, lush, green area. The other big change is that the members of the church had built a temporary shelter to meet under. To protect themselves from the frequent rains and beating sun, they put up poles and a tarp to meet under until a permanent hut is built. I now have a new understanding of "church building." The members have been taking an offering since the church started last February and even though all the members live below what we would consider the poverty line, they always give an offering. They've proven that a church is not a building but at the same time have always hoped for enough funds to build a hut to meet in instead of under the tree. After a year of saving, they raised enough to buy a few bushels of reeds for the future hut. This past Sunday an "elder" in the church (literally, a very very old man) spoke about the future church building and asked everyone to give an additional 5 mets. Only a few people could afford to give this additional offering of what equates to about a quarter. In the picture below, several members of the congregation are sitting in front of the future walls of our church. If you are interested in helping this congregation fund the building of their church, please e-mail me. I will find out the exact costs but Madalena estimates that the hut will cost roughly $ 300 to build. Different type of budget than we're used to in America huh?Meeting with these amazing Christians has changed my view of what a "church" is. This church has no walls, no benches or chairs, no choir, no instruments, no official pastor and yet they are a church. They are the body. They remind me of the early Church. They are a family and they care for each other. After the service this past week, we went to a hut to pray for a family who had recently lost a baby to disease and were in mourning. God knew exactly what had happened and what encouragement they would need and had prepared Madalena by having her read the book of Job the day before. None of the congregation had heard the story of Job so Madalena told the entire story to the mourning family while the whole church listened in. For a people who endure great suffering in this life, they could all relate with Job and were encouraged by his story.

When I look around Maputo and see poverty, sorrow, and suffering, I often find myself asking, "Why God? Why do you allow it?" Then I am reminded of Job's story and how he too doubted God's fairness. I love reading God's response in chapters 38-41 basically saying, "Look who I am. Who are you to question me?" and then I love reading Job's response in chapter 42:

Then Job replied to the Lord: " I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted. You asked, 'Who is this that obscures my counsel without my knowledge?'

Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. You said, ' Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me.' My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.' "

I am convicted by Job's response when I am tempted to doubt God and His goodness when I see suffering; when I think of that little boy in India, or the little girl in the Philippines, or of Andre. I do not understand everything about my God but I know that He is good, that he loves those children more than I do, and that I will daily try to surrender my life and my will to Him because He is worthy.