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

The other highlight of my day….

That was seeing all four of my guys cuddled on our bed watching one of their favorite tv shows. It was really special because they were all reminded of our favorite family show that we used to watch together in our living room in Mozambique. I didn’t even have time to let the full load of memories roll in during my busy day last week. But that moment of seeing my boys tucked in with their dad, and hearing them exclaim, “Hey! This is what we used to watch at our old home in Africa!” Time Kinda froze for a few seconds. I saw them sitting on our silly little couch with our kids all around. We tuned into a few English channels with a second hand dish that I bought as a gift for my husband to celebrate his ten year anniversary of living in Mozambique. It was a special treat to have a few English TV channels along with local Mozambican TV in Portuguese.

Everybody seemed to really enjoy renovation shows. Our big international family gathered in the living room. We had a lot more than four guys sitting together in front of our little TV though! One of my Mozambican sons is so quiet that sometimes he would lean behind the sofa and pull up a chair without saying a word. At first, I wouldn’t notice that he was there for all the noise our other boys were making. Most of our boys had a bunch of opinions about how the renovations would turn out on the newly purchased, yet unattractive homes.  

Tista is so thoughtful. He’s a tender soul. At one point our staff kinda gave up on helping him because he hated going to school. Finally, I asked my husband if another one of our ‘kids’ could move into our house with us. I wasn’t ready to let him go.

My husband looked into my eyes and said, “You really love him, and so do I. We can’t give up on him. He needs more love and tender care.” Our staff were skeptical at first. Then, his attendance at school improved, and his grades improved. We realized that his challenges were deep buried hurt, not simply a nervous stutter. Of course we spent time raising his confidence with speech exercises, but we spent time cooking together, talking, listening, chilling as a family for TV time, and games. These simple moments created a bond that couldn’t be easily broken.

My husband and I began to unbury more of Tista’s story.  Each of our kids who come to live at the children’s center have ‘initial interviews’; and come with some information about their family and closest kin. It’s not to in-depth. It helps, but it is really just a foundation for asking the kids more questions as time goes on.

My husband and I already knew his older brothers, and they had made the same observations as our staff of caregivers. He wasn’t interested in school, and he was a caught sneaking off to ‘get into trouble’. He would go to the market and watch some 5 cent movie instead of going to school.

Those nights of family TV were pretty informative for me. I noticed how intently he watched the shows. He was focused, and very thoughtful. I heard him translating the English show into the local Matewe dialect with one of our other teenagers who had interjected his opinion without fully understanding the details.

He understood more of the show than our talkative sons, but he was still lacking confidence. We would laugh and joke around as all of us fumbled around learning new words and phrases in different languages. We did that with a purpose. It had to be lighthearted, or little mistakes would cause embarrassment. We didn’t want our teenagers to feel the slightest bit of shame – especially not Tista. I grabbed ahold of that moment and encouraged him in his English. He could be an official translator! He just smiled and laughed, while shaking his head 'no'.

So, the next best thing was becoming my Matewe teacher.  The Matewe dialect is different from MaSena or Shona. I didn’t really know a lot of words or phrases because I could get by with saying greetings in Portuguese, or even MaSena. So I learned a few words from Tista. And realize he was more touched by my attempt to learn than by being my teacher. His challenge with speech was gradually going away as he stayed in our home, attended school, and sang worship songs. He was really losing any sign of a stutter, but was used to being the quiet one. So, I asked one of our house moms to teach me a few key phrases before I left for this furlough.

One of the hardest things about this break from the mission field, is that our return date is uncertain. We haven’t been away for such a long time before. I knew that we didn’t have a return date. We have school and uncertain time-frame for documents. I wanted to make sure to do something special for one of my favorite sons. I learned how to tell him that I love him in the Matewe dialect.

It would sound something like reading this phonetically: En doe na quda Mwuani yango

The tears that rolled down his cheeks as I said those words to him were worth every moment of being a baby communicator. My house mom helped me through every sound until it was just right. I wanted to be understood by my Mozambican children whose native dialect was Matewe. His tears were a clear indicator of understanding. He spoke very softly and swallowed back tears as he told me that he had waited all his life for his mom to tell him that she loved him. I said it again and again before we left our last home in Chimoio. “I love you my son.” Sometimes I just tell him I love him in Matewe when we talk on Skype or chat. He's one of our best big brothers for the younger children because he knows he is loved.  

Tista invested his evenings in hanging out with our family watching TV in English not just to have fun, but to better learn my mother language. Learning more of his local dialect was the least I could do for such a thoughtful loving son.

To all of our Mozambican sons and daughters, we love and miss you more than you can imagine. You are always in our hearts, thoughts and prayers!

Missionary Momma Mia

Technology Rules! Part II

We usually have a little routine with the boys doing some homework on the computer every weekday evening after dinner. One of our little guys lucked out of doing homework because the H key on our laptop keyboard pooped out on him.

The H key just stopped working. It wasn’t really stuck, but it wasn’t making contact. So the technological problems changed our normal routine. We had to stop working on computer homework, and goof around. Some people would say that my husband and I encourage horse-play, but we feel like it is healthy ‘wrestling’. I grew up watching, and playing WWF with my big brothers. It’s just a normal part of growing up – well I thought so anyway. Our boys love to wrestle, and we do too.

It was the perfect thing to replace a calm learning environment, plus we got our sillies out. Sometimes technology changes the rules of our nights or evenings, and I’ve learned to just roll with it.

Missionary Momma Mia  

p.s. now the H key is 'fixed' but definitely stuck 

Technology Rules!

Technology rules…my evening

It takes such a really long time to clear pictures from my phone and think about what I’m going to do with them. I can’t really spend time thinking about which pictures should actually be printed up for a photo album, or to hand on our wall. I have to be as focused as possible so I can get to sleep ASAP!

At the same time it is important to clear off old pictures from my phone so that I can take pictures tomorrow when we sing happy birthday to my two birthday boys. I just have to make sure that I really did save those photos on the external harddrive. Then, I do kinda un-check a few pictures to make sure they are saved on both my phone and my external harddrive. In case I want to look at them on my phone, or share them with someone or post on some social media.

I have one more picture file to go through on my phone before I can hit the sack.

The life of mommies!

Missionary Momma Mia 

Mercy triumphs & Sometimes Medicine Wins

Two of My boy’s Birthdays - two years ago.

My middle son was turning 6 years old, and my oldest was turning 9. They were so cute and we planned to bake a cake and celebrate their birthdays with all the children at the center.

Unfortunately, I had been feeling a little achy in my joints and muscles. I thought it was still left over from my International Travels a few weeks earlier.  So I took some long salt baths, and drank juice and water. I wasn’t feeling hungry, in my mind it was because of all the excitement about traveling back from the states to Mozambique. I got to reconnect with my boys and hubby. We spent a bunch of time with the children and staff at the children’s center. We had guests arriving at the local bus station. The weekend was full of fun plans and a shared birthday party.

I imagined that the sore muscles were from playing with the children. But on the third day of aching joints and muscles, my head started to ache while I was taking a mineral salt bath. I just started praying in the spirit because I hadn’t had a head ache like that ever before. My eyes were burning and my head was exploding. I couldn’t think. I just prayed.

I called for my husband to help me to my bed. That was the afternoon before my middle son’s birthday. Something was really off inside my body. I had just taken a hot salt bath, but I was on the bed shivering and shaking from cold. All I could do was pray in the Spirit and call out to Jesus to calm my mind and help me know what to do. We prayed for healing, and God directed our actions that followed.

Joao covered me with blankets, and I realized that I shouldn’t be cold, something was seriously wrong. I felt like God reminded me of some medical information that I had read on the flight back home from Colorado. So I asked him to look at my eyes to see if they were dilated even though I was looking towards a bright light. I remembered that the cold, and dilated Irises in my eyes were signs of severe dehydration. I needed fluids.

I asked my husband to make re-hydration drink and I sat at the table drinking sweet and salty water for the next four hours – instead of going to the clinic 2 minutes away and getting an IV.

It never even entered into my head to go straight to the clinic. We felt peace and comfort as the Holy Spirit stopped my chills, and the pain literally stopped. Jesus healing washed over my body and the pain was gone. I felt like the Holy Spirit said to stay awake and get hydrated. So I kept sipping away at the homemade rehydration drink. It was saving my life. Thank you Jesus for your mercy! An IV could have saved my life too, but I wanted to be with my kids for their birthdays. I didn’t want to believe that I had anything wrong with my body other than dehydration. I thought the salt baths must be to blame for the dehydration. I didn’t really ask Jesus if I should stay in my house or go to the clinic. God said, “You need fluids.” I found a way, But it was risky and stubborn wat to get fluids.

When you live in a high risk zone for Malaria, it’s good to get Malaria tests for almost any weird body symptom. People don’t think it’s Malaria, or don’t ever feel very different at all. Sorry this is a downer, but that’s how people die of Malaria who have had it before. Someone who has never had Malaria might think they have the flu or a bad case of the runs.

I didn’t have flu symptoms or the runs, no stomach trouble at all -but I remembered that I hadn’t felt hungry or thirsty for a couple days….I started running through the less common Malaria symptoms. I begged my husband to take me to the clinic in the morning after I was re-hydrated because I didn’t want to have to stay at the clinic or be separated from my boys for their birthdays. I thought that it could be Malaria, could be something worse. Maybe since the pain was gone after we prayed, I could go to the clinic and get evidence that Jesus had healed me of something…

After hours of sipping rehydration drink, we loaded into the truck. We knew it was time to see what the doctor had to say. God had reduced my pain supernaturally when no amount of Ibuprofen or  Acetaminophen had helped earlier in the day- after my bath. That was proof pudding that God had healed my muscles and joints and headache. I hoped nothing was wrong and it was just a case of severe dehydration. I looked at my husband with very tired eyes. We hadn’t slept much that night. I didn’t tell him that I thought the illness might be Malaria, but he was already thinking that as well.

He had had mercy on me, and let me sit in our home near my boys bedroom until early in the morning. 

We went to the private clinic when we knew our doctor would be there. He did shake his head when I described how terribly achy and dehydrated I had been that night. ‘You should have come in, I wouldn’t have made you stay here, but let you go home after the IV and first treatment for Malaria.” That’s right, the Malaria test was positive, and a very bad case. Lots of parasites in my blood. I needed treatment right away. The treatment he prescribed was for seven days. He was surprised that I wasn’t feeling worse and showing other signs of the parasite. I’m pretty stubborn. Part of my stubbornness in staying at home had been that I didn't want to believe I had contracted Malaria again - for more than the 30^th time in 10 years on the mission field. I sighed so deeply. It was Malaria again.

I wondered if I was just ignoring symptoms, but I really felt much better after we prayed together and was still fine by the time we showed up in the clinic. I just really didn’t want to face what my doctor was saying because I hated having Malaria. I felt like Malaria kept stealing my days and nights. I didn’t want Malaria to steal another day from me, my husband, or my children. How many times had our kids been treated for Malaria. This pesky parasite is a killer, I didn’t want to face it again. Sometimes the treatment knocked me down worse than the bug. ….I just grit my teeth and thought, ‘It can’t kill me Jesus!’

I looked up at the ceiling as if to glance at Jesus and ask, “Really?” Why relieve me of the symptoms, and not heal me from the cause of the symptoms. Holy Spirit whispered in my spirit, “I am using this doctor and the medicine he proscribes to heal you. Bless your body to be healed through your medical treatment with this medicine.”

I had injections with anti-malaria meds for one week. That got the job done. That was the last case of Malaria that I have had to date. 

Jesus loves to heal his children, and he will show his power how he chooses.

I'm in love with him for knowing what is best for me. I know how to love my children better when they have to take their treatment. I celebrate their healing via medicine or through the supernatural touch of Jesus Christ. 

Jesus is the source of all good things, he can turn medical treatment into a blessing for the body that he created. There is a mystery. I love supernatural healing testimonies. They are splendid to celebrate. Treatment via medicine doesn't mean that Jesus somehow looses the victory. He wins when we are well and we grow in faith. Jesus knows how to love us, and help us love others with a pure heart. 

He sometimes woos us to a different level of trust. Because I obeyed the leading of the Holy Spirit, and took the medical treatment I am here to celebrate my sons' birthdays two years later. 

Missionary Momma Mia

Missionary momma’s prayer

Oh Jesus,

I was so excited to write something today. I woke up just full of words and thoughts, but know I’m finding myself at a loss for words.

The thing is that this day has been very nice. I’ve been upbeat and happy, but I’m concerned about Benaiah now. I love the spring, the spring isn’t loving my littlest guy to much though… or it could be that the weather here changes sooo often! Our boys are on spring break, but the wind was so crazy yesterday that they didn’t even play outside. Colorado weather is so very different from the weather in Chimoio. There are basically two seasons in Chimoio, and four in this corner of Colorado – and we did have a freak blizzard two weeks ago followed by sunshine. So seasons change every other day here…. 

It normally isn’t so bad for our littlest guy, but this week he’s been hit with a cough. Jesus, please sooth his throat, and strengthen his immune system.   

He’s been coughing today, and it is like the cough that he had when the seasons changed in Chimoio. He had such difficult time breathing with the irritation in his throat that we ending up driving him to the private clinic in the middle of the night so he could use a nebulizer. The private clinic was only a few minutes drive away from our house. But with our youngest son fighting to catch a breath, it felt like half an hour away.

When we arrived at the clinic in the middle of the night, everyone was kind and helpful. The staff was great. They led us into their urgent care, and set him up on a bed next to a gurgling machine with menthol smelling mist to soothe his airways. After a little while it helped his breathing slow down and become less shallow.

I remember holding him while he tried to breathe the medicated air in through the face mask. It took a bit over fifteen minutes to open up his breathing, but when we got home he was finally able to sleep. I think I held him all night that night. 

The evening was memorable for many reasons, but one of the most memorable was the compassion and concern in the nursing staff’s eyes as we waited for my youngest son to be able to breathe freely. I never imagined that the problem would persist, but we knew he was in good hands. We ended up having to drive him to the clinic three nights in a row.

When we talked with our doctor, he pointed out that there was more than just the change of the season, there was also a lot of soot and ash in the air because many local farmers burn their fields to clear them for planting. We kept our windows and doors closed as much as possible until the air cleared. We hoped he wouldn’t need an inhaler. The problem passed after a few days. He didn’t seem to have a long-term breathing problem.  

Tonight Benaiah’s throat is still irritated, we’re thinking it’s from a lot of dust in the air that the wind whipped up yesterday. My poor little guy….so we gave him some cough and cold medicine and dabbed some Thieves oil to help open up his breathing. I was a little concerned that he might need a nebulizer, but with a deep sigh of relief I remembered that we wouldn’t have to drive anywhere. It’s nice when your needs are met. We were given a brand new nebulizer so we can help our little guy right away if he needs help breathing. Thank you Jesus for the little things, and the big things….

Missionary Momma Mia

At 7 in the morning, he woke up just now, taking painful shallow rapid breaths. Thankfully the machine was humming in a matter of minutes.....

To be or not to be…. A brief blurg

To be or not to be….

Is that really the question? How many times do we start our day thinking should I be mean, or nice today? Should I be productive or destructive today? Do I want to be a loving person today, or maybe just be hateful? Do people ask themselves these kind of questions? I don’t. I don’t even wake up thinking should I be a mom today, Or not? Should I be a wife today, or a single mother? Maybe I should just abandon being a mommy today and go for single with no procreated responsibilities.

This isn’t usually what people think of when they ponder Shakespeare’s famous soliloquy – Hamlet’s monologue. They know it is about life, and contemplating living or dying. But what is life when there is nothing worth dying for?

To be or not to be isn’t connected to the breath in our lungs and blood in our veins, it’s about knowing our destiny as sons and daughters of the creator of the universe. Do you know that Papa God loves you and wants you to live with an eternal perspective?  It’s about living our everyday lives as mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers with our eternal reality. It is about the question of knowing our deepest needs are met in Christ Jesus. As we love Jesus, he leads us through life’s greatest questions, and everyday decisions.  

Why write about my International Family? Because my life’s goal is to love Jesus, myself and others, Being a missionary is one part of that goal – applying the rich experiences of our family life extends from any work or ministry goal, to my most intimate time with Jesus Christ. Family is worth living or dying for.    

There may have been days when I looked to heaven and asked, “Seriously, to be or not to be a Missionary?”

The answer was usually a question: Would you die for your husband? Your sons? Your Mozambican children? Will you live to love them? Will you live for me?  

my answer:
Missionary Momma that's a 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