surrounded by beauty

Africa is beautiful. And it is ugly.

When most people think of Africa, they think of nature and of wild animals. They think of dense jungles and sprawling savanahs. Of glittering dessert sands and exotic beaches. But that is not the Africa that is our lives. We live in a small city overflowing with millions of people without running water and sewage systems. It seemse every bit of usable space is covered in either concrete, mud, or garbage. Alleys and backyarads are overrun with rodents.

In a space that used to be a park accross the street from our apartment, piles of garbage heap up every day. Scavenger birds quarrel endlessly with stray dogs over bits of rotting food. Street children and drifters sort for pieces of usable trash. The stench of feces and urine is often overwhelming because with a lack of public restrooms, the overgrown grass in the "park" has become the place people use to relieve themselves while in town.

(Just the other day, as my children and I playing on the front porch, one of them shouted out, "Look mom all of those children just pulled up their skirts and...." SHEESH! African cultural lesson #1, my children, It is YOUR job not to look; not theirs to protect privacy.)

It is hard to describe, though, long-term what a lack of beauty does to a person. How despairing it can be day after day to only see cement and garbage, man-made buildings and iron bars. How you just long to run your feet accross a green lawn. Or drink in the simple smell of a flower. Or stand so small against a great cliff. I know this because although I'm just at the beginning of my time here again, I remember how this little longing for beauty eventually becomes a desperate need.

And I'm thinking, "How am I going to do this again?"

And my God, who knows my every need, brought my toddling baby to clench at my skirt. I swung her up and watched her giggle delightedly. I did it again. And watched as her belly rolled up and down with laughter. Her little face flushed. Her heart beat. Her eyes sparkled. And my breath caught as realized I was gazing at beauty.

I looked over at my sons battling with Legos on the kitchen table. Bare chested little men with sweaty hair and stern expressions. Perfectly dirty feet. Strong arms. A mischevios grin spread across the face of my four year old and I saw beauty.

I thought of my sweet little girl lying sprawled on her bed for her afternoon nap. The fan blowing her hair softly on her peaceful little face--quiet and still for those few moments of rest--rest from climbing the railing on the porch, from running away screeching with the toy she stole from baby sister, from keeping up with her big boys...rest from challenging everything and all of her little two-year old life each day. Beauty.

I am surrounded by beauty.

finding home again

We've been in Mozambique just over two weeks now and although I've had a thousand subjects to write on, I kept on waiting until I thought I could put together a coherant thought. Have decided against waiting until I'm sure my thoughts are "put together." Might end up being a while.

We have been falling into bed, exhausted, just about every night by 8:30. And getting up between 4:30 and 5:30 every morning. Unfortunately we can no longer blame that on jetlag. It is just the new reality. The sun comes up here at 4:30. Houses are built on top of eachother and since all our neighbors (including wailing babies, chickens, and the drifters that sleep in "parque" accross the street) are up with the sun...so are OUR little ones...and hence, so are we.

We had a very smooth trip and spent the first two nights in Mozambique at a guest house where our children had the run of a large property where they climbed trees, ate mangoes and explored new wildlife to their hearts content. Meanwhile we gathered our household items from storage and moved the furniture into the apartment that we had set up to live in.

And then we moved. And it felt like we were plunged into the deep end of the pool. We were without running water for some time due to electrical issues. We discovered that the apartment had some significant plumbing, electrical, and carpentry problems. As we began to unpack boxes, we discovered that some had been broken and all of the contents had been covered in mold. Several of us got sick for a few days. And we were having a terrible time figuring out where to buy even basic food staples since there had been some big changes in markets and stores while we were gone. We found rats nests in the house. (rats, not mice). Although I hesitate to mention that as one of the challenges we faced when we first came because the boys thought it was great fun chasing them down the driveway.

Laundry piled up. Dead cockaroaches piled up. Banana peels piled up. (I truly thank God for banans. They are the one food that our kids can eat happily as they adjust to new flavors and foods of whatever country they are in.)

And then one day...it just felt like home again. It's not that all that much has changed. (Although we do thankfully have running water again!) There are still unpacked boxes around. The sink still drips. The security guard next door still blares his radio at 2:00 in the morning. The kids still wake up sweaty. And I still crave a huge bowl of lettuce and a nice thick slice of cheese.

But this is home for now. It is home because it is where my baby and toddler and two boys and husband and me all sit down and eat these new foods together at the dinner table. It is home because it is where we curl up on the couch in the midst of messes to read Little House in the Big Woods together. And on the days I long for home to be somewhere else... somewhere more comfortable...somewhere more lovely...somewhere more ideal...I remember that mostly it is home because it is where God has placed me.

what to pack

"What to pack?" How many packets of ranch dressing mix can I stuff into my four-year-old's carry on bag ? Will my first grader's 50 lb luggage allowance be enough to fit in the next six weeks of homeschool...or (like he's hoping), will the math flash cards have to be put in cargo to arrive sometime later? Exactly how many disposable diapers can I cram into the baby's diaper bag (and still carry it on the 18 hour flight)..and cram into big sister's purse, and Daddy's computer bag...so as to stretch out the blessing of disposables just a little bit longer before real life hand washing begins again?

As we begin to prepare for our return to Mozambique for our second term of work, I've been struck frequently by the significant differences of this move from the first one we made over 5 years ago. Some of them make me laugh and some of them have had me crying.

When we left Kentucky to move go Mozmbique in 2006, we were a young couple with just a little toddler in tow...we were excited...we had the support and blessing of friends and mentors...we were passionate about God's name being made known and worshiped...we had this amazing background of having grown up in a developing country and having seen the God's love shared with those who had never heard...and we...well, we basically had no idea what we were getting into.

We had no idea how hard it would be. How overwhelming the need all around and how helpless and ineffective we would feel--most of the time. How the truths we came so excited to share had to be first carved into our own lives through pain, dissappointments, and ever so real fears. We had no idea how many opportunities there would be to turn back. And we had no idea, no idea, how sweet it is to find "the One who called you is faithful, and He will do it." (I Thessalonians 5:24)

And this time...this time we take four children. This time we take homeschooling supplies. This time we stock up on all the spices for scratch cooking...all the books we can get our hands on...all the Benadryl and Dramamine and Children's Tylenol I can get without looking too suspcious at the pharmacy...and we try to figure out how to pack it all so that if one bag mysteriously "goes missing" (i.e. blesses the baggage handler), we won't have lost our entire library of Veggie Tales. And truthfully, I find myself trying to cover all the bases and trying to remember everything we learned the first four years in Mozambique...because we know what we are getting into this time, right? We should know what to expext this time around! We should be prepared.

I think we have no idea what we are getting into. :)

And in the same breath, I know that whatever it is (that we are getting into) will show me and draw me to The One Who Calls Me.

make-believe

When children make-believe, who decides who gets to be the princess and who gets to be the frog? Who gets to be "Beauty" and who gets to be "the beast"? Is there a hard and fast rule about boys always being the "knight" and girls always being the "princess"? Apparently in our family it has something to do with...whatever the biggest person decides.

While I was in the kitchen making supper the other day, Wesley (not quite 2 years) was sitting sweetly on the couch "reading" herself a story while her older brother Christian played around her wielding his hand-made cardboard shield and sword, engrossed in his fantasy play of "Viking warrior." After a while, he apparently decided he could use some interaction and I heard him tell his sister, "Wesley, blow on me." She looked up from her book with a puzzled expression and he insisted again, "Wesley, blow on me." In all sweetness she puckered up her lips and obliged...only to be met with a fierce "HA!" and brandished sword in her face as Christian cried out "Dragon fire! I'll defeat you!" and proceeded to valiantly defend himself with shield and attack with sword as he darted in and out around her. Little Wesley screeched and scrambled down from the couch running into the kitchen shouting "Wesley not a dragon! Not a dragon!"

I was surprised that she (a) knew the word "dragon" and (b) knew immediately that SHE was the dragon in that little scene. Hmmm... Apparently she has been relegted to that role before. Poor thing. With two older brothers, will she ever get to play the princess?