Subway for Thanksgiving Feast

Today when we ate lunch at Subway, I remembered when my hubby, firstborn son and I had Subway subs for Thanksgiving in Sau Paulo Brazil, instead of turkey in Colorado. It was one of those unexpected adventures that turned out to be a blessing for some tired missionaries.

Let’s see. That family trip was scheduled for late November. We were supposed to arrive just one day before Thanksgiving, on a Wednesday. Our tickets had been bought for a while, the visa for my hubby to visit the USA was still valid. Everything checked through just fine on the first leg of our trip to get to Sau Paulo, but that’s where we got stuck for a couple nights while even our second carry-on went ahead to Colorado. We were ready to go, except right there, between our departure from Brazil and arrival in Denver, an overzealous airline employee decided to check our details just one more time. She found out that my hubby didn’t have a visa for Canada. “What? No one said that we needed a visa before?” Our connecting flight showed up in her computer system as US/Canada. According to her computer, we didn’t have all the right travel documents.

We were surprised to hear her say that we would have to delay our flight and get a visa in the Canadian Embassy in Sau Paulo. It was the weirdest thing ever. Our flight had one connection in an airport that was both Canadian and American. We were literally only walking through the airport to get to our connecting flight, our itinerary said USA. I explained that the city and state is in America, but she was adamant that Canada would require a visa. We asked for her to confirm the details until she was getting even a little more short with us. We explained that we were not going to Canada, but she was insistent. So we told her that it was the company’s fault that they had verified our visas, loaded our baggage, and given us boarding passes before she verified the details again, and then changed their minds about it.

They were going to help us. We wouldn’t have to pay for everything since the company was partially responsible. Then something changed. I was surprised (this time happier surprised) as I learned how sincerely kind Brazilian culture is towards expecting mothers. My hubby talked with her explaining that the first airline employees hadn’t seen any problem with our visas because we weren’t disembarking. She apologized and insisted we had to get the visa. “Its just difficult for my wife because she is pregnant…our suitcases have already gone on to Colorado…..” “She’s pregnant? It doesn’t even show?” And then, the atmosphere shifted. They were helpful. Insistent that he get a visa for Canada, but they reserved a hotel and got us booked for the same flight in two days. So they paid part of the fees to change our flight, and even a got us a room in a hotel. That meant that we would arrive after Thanksgiving. I was still a little distraught, but it was actually nice that we were going to spend a night or two in hotel that the airline company paid for, it was a five star hotel. That was super nice for frugal missionaries who wouldn’t splurge on that kind of luxury. We only had to pay for a Canadian visa, and the taxi and travel costs in the city.

It was late when that was finally sorted. A taxi took us from the airport to the hotel, and the next day we headed to the United Nations complex in Sau Paulo. Beautiful place! We were barely able to get the visa, but we did. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember praying because it was possible that we would have to come back the next day to get the visa - it usually took more than one day to process. Somehow it worked out. They would try to have his visa available after a few hours, just before they closed.

We were so tired from all the unexpected requirements, but there was a UN complex full of shops and restaurants to explore while we waited until just before the embassy closed. We had to find some clothes because we didn’t have enough for the three of us in the one carry-on bag that we had with us. There wasn’t a lot available there, but we managed to find something.

Then we looked for our lunch, and to my delight, there was a Subway fast-food restaurant inside the UN complex. We looked at each other and my husband knew what I wanted. I told him that I was actually more thrilled to have a Subway sub sandwich that he could imagine. I had dreams about subs, not turkey. So, inside our unexpected delay was a gift that I had been dreaming about.

In the end, we didn’t need the visa. We didn’t even walk on the Canada side of the airport. We would have been just fine. But my husband looked at me and he said do you remember asking God for a Subway Sandwich? You even told me that if you could pick any food for your holiday it would be a fresh cut Subway sandwish….Things that pregnant woman say!?! I was dreaming of their pickles and fresh veggies.

Well, I didn’t think that an entire company would examine my husband’s passport and determine that he needed a visa –that he didn’t actually need (and we were barely able to get in time!) just so I could rest in a nice hotel, get a lovely back massage, get three haircuts taken care of, and eat the sandwich of my pregnant dreams.

Mommy advice, be careful what you wish for….it might change an entire family’s holiday plans while actually blessing you at the same time. You can trust that God’s got you in his perfect care. He’s not throwing a wrench in travel plans just to see if we will cry, but actually to give us the things our hearts desire. That sandwich that I was dreaming about is also one of my hubby’s favorite foods. 

Thus the drive down memory lane as we ate lunch today.

May all your sandwiches be yummy, and some of them be memorable.

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia

Growing a family on the mission field

Today is our oldest son's 11^th birthday. I’m amazed at how that boy has grown. Right that is something that almost every mother says. It’s because we know how true that statement really is!!!

We know exactly how many times their life was flashing before our eyes. We know exactly how many times those scrapes and bruises healed so much faster than we imagined. We know how many colds turned into an ugly flu or sinus infection.

It’s not just some common thing to sum up motherhood, it’s an open ended statement that can be applied or interpreted to mean many things. It can be almost always understood as some level of astonishment. We are astonished. Our oldest son has faced so many challenges and life threatening situations and illness that no mother wants her child to face.    

He’s had malaria more times that his little brothers. He’s been closer to black mambas than I want to admit. He’s been too close to open electricity in a construction site. He’s survived a missionary birth in Mozambique.

I can still hear the words in my memory. “Of course you can have your baby in Mozambique. Thousands of women do that every day!” Heidi was so encouraging and loving. We could come back to Mozambique and have our first baby on the mission field. She wasn’t worried, so why should we be? 

His birth didn’t go as planned (not sure how many natural births do follow a birth plan) but nothing could stop our first little guy from showing up right on his due date. I know that his birth was a miracle. That is a story worth fourteen blogs. He was the first Iris Ministries Missionary baby born in Mozambique. Are we proud of that? I don’t think so. I’m thankful to God for protecting us. I’m thankful that sometimes ignorance is bliss, and sometimes God send’s you to Africa with a couple midwifery books, and send a lady missionary who thinks it will be an honor to learn about midwifery and help out at the private clinic.

He was the first. Now that is a loaded statement. It means so much. It means we as parents were brave, maybe a little naïve, but definitely not afraid. It means that we were willing to do something that no one in our tribe had ever done before. Was it seamless without any problems or unknown territory? Um NO. It was brand new. We were pioneers for growing families on the mission field. It works! Kids are alive and growing. Our three boys are doing well in life. Guess what other Iris Missionary families have grown their families on the mission field, and their kids are growing just fine.

Our oldest son is a testament to the faithfulness of God, and to miracles. He was so squishy and a little blue that my husband was worried. We just prayed as he took a moment to draw his first breath. Then there is was, a little tiny cry and a big newborn breath. We look at him now and know that the goodness of God on his life is a rich American, Brazilian and Mozambican inheritance. Our beautiful Mozambican friends told us that Jonathan belongs to Mozambique. We can go back to our countries when we need to, but he is African. He is Mozambican. We would all laugh when our friend Aida said, that he is much lighter than most other Mozambican’s, like cream in coffee! We would laugh. All of our friends know how much we love to drink coffee with cream.

Happy birthday to our firstborn son! We love you forever our little Mozambican, Brazilian, American!!!

Missionary Momma Mia

Missionary Momma Mia

We are definitely an international family, and that will come up now and then, so I should start this little blog about our ‘life’ with a bit of a character description.

Right then, here it is:

Husband is Brazilian. Wife is American. Oldest Son has three nationalities, and all three boys were raised for the majority of their lives in Africa.

So, as you might imagine we do actually have an international family, not very modern, but definitely international. I wasn’t just making that up cause it’s a funny reference to a TV show. Anyhow.

We are actually missionary people. Neither my hubby or me are able to make the claim as the worst missionary because, as so many people already know, that claim has been made by a blogger ‘Jamie the worst missionary ever’, and we won’t pretend to claim being the best missionaries ever. The best is dead, that was Paul –Hands down. No one is really going to be able to win an argument against Paul being the best ever Christian missionary. Evidence is welcome, but it probably won’t shake my opinion.

I’m not gonna be arrogant and pretend like we are perfect. There was only one perfect man on a mission thus far, and his name is Jesus. We are however, interesting missionary people somewhere between the worst and best missionaries. Do we want to be perfect like Jesus? Well that’s the aim people. I’m tired of sucking in life, and repeating the same lessons. It would be nice to get the point and move on. Right? That is kinda my version of sharing in the sufferings of Christ. He suffered unto perfection. He doesn’t ever just do something hard for the sake of it being hard or painful. So I feel like his perfection is attainable, on different levels in different areas of our lives as we follow Jesus.

I don’t try to be the worst or best missionary. I’m not gonna pretend that I am perfect. There might be some areas in my life that are perfected. We all tend to take for granted the childhood lessons that we actually have perfected and are the foundations of our successful living as youth and then adults. I’m really glad that my beautiful brain did accomplish awesome things like regulating my breathing, heartbeat and functionality of other vital organs. It might not be perfect but pretty close to it. I don’t usually have to think about breathing….

I don’t want to take that for granted anymore, or other parts of my life that feel pretty close to perfect. I feel like sharing some of the lessons that I’ve learned as a “not so great, not so terrible” missionary wife and mother of an International Family will be a great foundation for me to perfect writing, even if it is only for my kids.

So here is the beginning of me talking about the things I’ve noticed, learned, am learning, and find literally too funny not to share.

Momma Missionary