Proud Momma

My sweet oldest son said the cutest, most genuine compliment while he was talking to Papa God tonight. He said, 

"I just really want to thank you that my brother, Daniel,, is feeling better and that you helped him. Now can he help my other little brother, Benaiah, he is not feeling good, Can you help him because, You are the best helper God. You know just what to do."

So sweet!

Proud Missionary Momma Mia

Mental wellbeing should NOT be in the shadows

Mental wellbeing should NOT be in the shadows for fear of labeling! Sorry to shout that out, but its been on my mind since I finished my mental health class this semester. I've hinted about facing fears, but it's time for me to start saying it like it is.

The blog I titled ‘Facing the shadows with confidence’ was a little bit about mental wellbeing. When I think of fears or frustrations that lurk in our shadow of the past and hinder us from facing the shadow of the future, I think of the need to face those shadows for our own individual mental wellbeing.

The idea of cultivating our individual mental wellbeing isn’t very common, or commonly spoken about in our western culture. I feel like our society would rather wait until someone cracks instead of talking about mental wellbeing on a normal basis.

We do have our fair share of blogs, medical journals, and advertisements, but I feel like it isn’t something that we want to say around the dining room table.  “So Honey, how do you feel like your thought process was going today? Smoothly, interrupted, overwhelmed or totally cut off?” or,  “ So kids, rating between 1 to 10, ten being the most focused, what was your degree of focused concentration in school today?”

I think of cultivating mental wellbeing as being aware and talking about: rest, thought process, ability to concentrate, face all of our emotions, and communicate honestly with other people around us. That list could be adapted to anyone who addresses mental wellbeing with their family. Those are the topics that come up in our family. Yes, my hubby and I talk about how the brain works with our children. We talk about being able to focus, the importance of rest, dealing with strong emotions, and communicating lovingly with people around us.

I feel like the western society hears the two words “Mental Health” and they immediately picture a terrible mad house from the late 1800’s or early 1900’s. People envision the worst of mental illnesses that transform the most societally acceptable person from attending dinner parties to sitting in a padded locked cell. I feel like our culture has come a long way to accept and appreciate individuals with some mental deficiencies, but refuses to see the inability of a brain to function in the 'average' way as anything but taboo. It isn’t considered something acceptable to discuss with family or friends because we tend to believe that it is something that needs a professional.

I get it. The reality of neurotransmitters rapidly misfiring overwhelming the senses, or toxic levels of chemicals fogging up thought process and invoking a very convincing memory or thought to be as real as if the person were sleeping and having a deep REM dream is just something that we have to leave to the doctors. Really? We can't touch on the subject and how it shows up in our behavior?

If we let our children get that far then they might be afraid to tell us if they are suffering with overwhelming day dreams, weird fantasies, or un-processable emotions. My hubby and I want to cultivate a safe place for our children to talk about how they feel like their mind is 'working'. It’s not every day, but we do ask the kids about their dreams, school work and emotions pretty regularly. Some couples might not like this, but we ask each other too.

I thought about writing about this stuff when I finished my last final, I took a mental health class. Big surprise for some, but my close friends know how important mental health has been to me for nearly my entire life. It became a lot more important as one of my areas of research and study when our family life demonstrated the need to better understand what is happening in our kids actual brains when they are unable to explain it. That research has never really grown exhausting. I keep finding another topic to read about, or study. The brain is amazing. It is just as important to me to try to understand some of the basic functions of the brain as understanding my gut.

Most parents are on top of teaching our kids how to warn us if their tummy hurts, why not warn us if they are not feeling rested when they wake up in the morning, or afraid of getting on the bus… Wait did you realize that some of your parent to child conversations might actually involve ‘mental health awareness’? Of course! We do actually have a pretty sound foundation for teaching our kids about rest and emotions. Maybe we even have normal questions about thought processing and communication. It would be a lot easier for us as a society to address our individual mental health if we didn’t consider ‘Mental Wellbeing’ a monster in the shadows. The monster grows as long as he is fighting for attention. Give the monster some uncomfortable attention and he is going to have to begin to step into the light, and probably shrink - might become less ugly too.

It’s important to consider the components of mental wellbeing, instead of fearing ‘Mental Illness’. I feel like some mental discomfort left un-addressed for too long probably develops into ‘illness’ in a similar fashion that a neglected cold evolves into an ugly sinus infection.

That's why I'm saying it's time to talk about mental wellbeing. I definitely think that questions should be very open, without projecting our perceptions or answers to the ‘problem’. If my son is having a hard time focusing and I automatically fix the problem for him, then he is going to rely on me. I want them to learn how to face these challenges, and I don’t want to project a ‘diagnosis’ for their problem. I want to raise up children who know that their brains are an amazing organ. They need love and care, just like a heart, stomach, and guts. Waiting to hear their perception of what is going on is a bit grueling sometimes, but their answers can be really original and informative.

They have answers that are usually keys to helping them solve their own ‘mental wellbeing challenge’. One of my favorite 'mental wellbeing' things was teaching my kids how to face the bad guys in their dreams at an early age. Each one of our boys had a phase where their dreams really stole their rest. They woke up sad, exhausted and concerned. We talked about the dreams and what they wanted to change about the dream. I was surprised to learn that each one of my boys changed their dreams in different ways. One time he became a ninja and beat the tiger, another time one of the boys went back to sleep welcomed the same dream and became a superhero who flew away from the problem. This is just one example of our family cultivating mental wellbeing.

We recognized the need to address mental wellbeing early on when we learned that cerebral malaria can cause delirium, hallucinations, mental confusion or severe sudden headaches before becoming fatal (often the fever, runs, vomit and other common symptoms don’t show up because cerebral malaria is attacking the nervous system and the brain). We realized that talking about mental health was going to need to be a common part of our missionary lifestyle.   

On returning to America after over a decade of living overseas, I have realized that American needs to worry less about ‘labels’ of mental illness that are unacceptable in society and start talking about Mental Health.

From one momma to somebodies child, What do you think is the most impossible ‘brain’ thing to talk about? It is quite possibly your gift to figure out something unique about that process or function in your amazing brain that is unique to you! That’s what I tell my kiddos. Your brain is amazing! No one has a brain just like yours. Take care of you. For starters, talk with your friends or family about emotions, rest, thought processing, and concentration.

Yes, doctors can really help when there is a broken piece, and therapy can increase and maintain mental wellness. I am not suggesting that talking about mental wellbeing at home is a substitute for professional care when it is necessary. I am hoping that more and more families will take that monster out of the shadows and be willing to say, “I survived a mental breakdown in my early twenties” “I am reducing stress factors in my life to increase my mental wellbeing.” And even, “ I need more than a healthy diet and regular sleep schedule to maintain my mental wellbeing.”

This is not intended as a judgmental 'rant' telling people who struggle to "get better". This is a cry for more conversations about mental wellbeing from a survivor of a mental break that culminated after a miscarriage, terrible case of malaria, and a sick toddler at the brink of dying. With the love and support of my husband, care from two doctors friends and family, I have come to the other side of a mental break. There was a bleak few moments in my life one evening when my thoughts didn’t function and I was not in control of my faculties. My husband was my hero that evening, he was just like Jesus in the flesh. I knew it was my husband’s voice and face near me, but after everything in my thoughts shifted back to ‘sound mind’ processing, I knew that my husband had loved me 'just like Jesus love me' through a terrible and scary event.

We had faced my greatest fear that I had shared with him before going into our marriage. I was afraid that because of my genetic make-up I would have a mental break-down and he wouldn’t love me after that. I feared that He would think I was ‘less’ than other people.That's not what he did. He prayed over me, prayed with me, and held me until I stopped trembling. He brought me fever reducer, I was also really sick. He brought me food and water and made sure that I followed the doctor’s orders and took to bed rest for the next three months. We learned a lot about how the physical condition of our bodies couldn’t be pushed beyond its limits. We learned that it is our responsibility to cultivate and maintain physical and mental well-being.  

We learned that we have to take care of ourselves. So, it comes from a heart full of love and a bit of experience when I write: Take care of you. Learn what you need. Jesus said it perfectly when he said: Love you and love others.

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia

P.S. I don’t mean that we should take all of our wildest fantasies, ideas, and darkest dreams and tell the world so that we are rejected by society and then labeled with an unpleasant label.  I also don’t mean that you should share your hardest moments publicly, unless you are ready for ridicule.

We always tell green missionaries not to throw their pearls before the swine. It’s important when something is so precious to you that you would give up all of your valuable positions to own it, that you treasure it, and keep it safe. For me right now, I know its time to share. I will give my pearls of wisdom to all who want them. I’m not afraid of them being trampled. In fact, I know that some will grab the pearls just to trample them. That is the risk I am willing to take in order for one more green missionary to have a ‘light bulb’ moment when they realize that their mind was too fogged down to think clearly, or one more family to dine with their ‘mental wellness monster’ and realize he’s not such a bad dinner guest.

Where indifference is a blessing, caring is a curse

I  tried to post last night around 1:30. The website was down. For a brief moment after I edited and re-finished the post for lastnight, the website page came up, but it did not work long enough to post this. I hope that anyone who feels badgered from an account of strong emotions and deeply sorrowful events will feel free to read something else. It's not my intention to break your heart. I'm trying to unburry the broken pieces of my heart and see if they can be pieced back together again...

Were indifference is a blessing, caring is a curse

I am thinking about my first weeks in central Mozambique.

As I wrote early Sunday morning, I was remembering the emotions and the frustration of having lost a neighborhood child that I had visited with another missionary in the earliest weeks of arriving in central Mozambique. We had helped his blind grandmother treat her four year old and six year old grandsons for scabies and other parasites just a few weeks before the littler one died of malaria. It was a devastating blow. We had bathed him, brought food, and treated his soars.

I remember the first time we saw him. He looked like a toddler, not a small child of four years. Mama C and I had walked through the village lanes near our community home. She had arrived to central Mozambique before my husband and I did. Mama C had learned how to treat scabies, foot worms called ‘mataquina’ , intestinal parasites and other easily treatable problems that poverty stricken families often faced.

The local hospital was a near enough to treat the illnesses of the children and families living nearby, but they charged the smallest amount of money for the hospital visit, and the medicine. These widows and aged grandmothers didn’t have coins to pay for medicine, or food. They ate food from their fields and sometimes their animals – if they had any. They came to care for their grandchildren for different reasons. Some of their grandchildren had a mother who couldn’t or wouldn’t care for them. Some of them had lost both their parents. The mission base was just starting over again. There were 13 boys living in a reed room on base. We were thrilled to take care of them, and other children near by. It was our desire to help families stay together, even if the circumstances were dire, we needed to assist in whatever way we could without separating the vulnerable children from their relatives.

The mission was supposed to comfort me. It didnt. I don’t actually know if I have forgiven myself for that little one dying so young. We honored the grandmother’s wishes and helped her care for the children in her one room mud hut. We visited two and three times each week for a while until their swollen bellies had shrunk to a healthy normal size. Both of the brothers were so cute. They helped their grandmother beg in the nearby market. It was grandmother’s only form of survival after having gone almost totally blind. She would receive a little maize flour or rice and green leafs or beans to make for one meal for the three of them. We brought some food and medical supplies on our visits. Then one weekend we found the two boys suffering with high fever. They had been bit by mosquitoes carrying malaria. A nurse visited them with us and explained how often they had to take the malaria tablets. I never thought that we should go check on the children each time they needed to take their malaria tablets. The little one might not have taken his medicine properly, I had no way of knowing if he did take the medicine with the food and juice that we left for him or not. I imagined myself to blame that the little one died of fever from the malaria.

It broke my heart to hold his big brother and comfort him and his grandmother. The nurse told us that the little one’s malaria had become cerebral even though he was taking the malaria tablets because his malaria was a far more complicated case than his older brother’s. The world became an entirely different place after I heard the news of the little boys passing.

There was little solace for me. I imagined him missing medicine or vomiting up treatment because his fever was to high causing dehydration and upset stomach. Before that, I had thought that malaria was something that could be conquered in every case. The reality of my situation hit me as an expectant mother, a wife, and a missionary with children and employees that I felt almost entirely responsible for their wellbeing. My husband and I along with a hand full of other missionaries were full of vision for the village we lived in, we had a vision for the mission base and the surrounding churches. We felt God's presence there and he gave us dreams. In spite of the paon, we went forward. We did have victories. We built a nice house for the children. But I never forget the first child I lost. My heart stays broken for his little life expiring so early, I only shared this pain with a select few. It didn't heal all the way. I wanted to understand how the villagers around me could stop grieving after 7 days. I wanted to pretend like the happy stories consumed me, like the boys first ever trip to the beach was more present in my thoughts than how many coffins we bought during my first month of living in Africa. Talk about culture shock!

But Jesus knew how much I longed to feel less. 

Indifference would seem like a blessing in a place where innocent children die of treatable diseases. In the weeks that followed my heart broke into a million pieces, the care and concern I felt for the people around me felt like a terrible curse.

Witnessing firsthand the injustice of suffering children and elderly widows ignited a fire of fury to keep going forward with the food distribution programs for orphans, vulnerable children and widows. But that fire did inevitably burn up. Fury and anger are not endless. There is only one fire that is endless. Love.

Remember to love. Remember to let Jesus love you. I had to learn how to say “no” to some requests for more food, or help. I had to learn to shut myself away with Papa God and let him love me.

There were so many times when I had nothing to give, if I didn’t press into Papa God’s heart and love him for his faithfulness I wouldn’t have even had a prayer to offer to the mother or child who asked for something from me. There were so many times that I wrestled with God for my sanity, for my family, for our children and staff. We pressed into God to tell him our thoughts, concerns and desires. We waited for him to show us his plan. Holy Spirit reminded us of his promises for that mission base, and even for that village. Papa God showed us his faithfulness by meeting our needs, and the needs of those around us. He also showed us that his success wasn’t dependent on our abilities and asked us to give everything that we were holding onto back to him.

It was one of the hardest things to do, because we cared so deeply. We wish we could have felt indifferently towards the village, the churches and children because saying goodbye was even harder than comforting friends after the loss of a family member.

We wanted our hearts to grow numb, and our emotions to be like stone. God showed us over and over again that no matter what we tried to do, we couldn’t stop loving them. We had to learn to feel deeply and say goodbye. We had to remember to love when it felt like such a heavy burden. It wasn’t about an emotion of passion or desire. Remembering to love was about a commitment to care, and to challenge the cultural norm of indifference.  

Remember to Love. Give lots of love, especially to those who don’t or can’t love you back. Then you will give all of yourself, and either give up, or go back to the source of all Love to feel his heart beating inside you and be filled up with his heart of love.

It’s ok to want to give up, it’s ok to feel intensely. Even Jesus asked his Dad if there was another way. He drank a cup of suffering for the Joy set before him. Sometimes are full of more suffering than others. We can remember to love. Remember we are his Joy, and he is ours.

I really am writing to you with lots of love,  

Missionary Momma Mia   

P.S. I have to say that blogger wasn’t working for me to post a few minutes ago. I just wanted to finish quickly because sometimes my heart breaks to remember the pain. I also don’t want to cause any one to suffer needlessly. I hope that if you are choosing to read my blogs, you know enough to love yourself and close it if it is too much.

Anyway, I prayed about my blog, and decided to finish it properly and then when I finished writing the second time, blogger website was working again for a few moments. Maybe it’s an interesting coincidence. Maybe I should pay more attention to details. I had more time to perfect and conclude tonight’s ramblings because the server was down. It was more important for me to fully write about what was stirring my heart, than to try to get a blog in before the day was over. So I digress….I had asked Jesus a simple question,  "If I really should post this journal entry as a blog, a nice confirmation that it's your idea would be a working website. "

It worked for a moment. Its not working now, and I should sleep. I’ve faced all kinds of computer and internet problems before. So, Jesus  I trust you, and bless the website to work when you want it to, so I can post this when you know it is best.

I love you. And I trust you with my heart, and my scribbles. If you want other people to be able to see what I’m thinking about I will share it , and it’s up to you to help the web savvy people to fix their web site.

 I love you! Goodnight.

Restore unto me

Today when I realized that there was something being ‘restored’ to me, I was initially reluctant. I had been happy with my negative association to something. Well, not happy but pretty comfortable. I hadn’t even realized that there was some lingering angst towards someone whom I had worked hard to reconcile with, and had definitely forgiven.

But, when I heard the words of a song, I didn’t get absorbed in the message. I immediately went back to the day someone gave me a CD and I just kinda sighed. I remembered how I felt when they had given me the gift, ok. A little bit thankful, and a little bit disappointed. The gift came with some interesting explanations. I was internally raising my eyebrow. (Yes, I raise one eyebrow when I am a lil skeptical of something) I hope it didn’t show on my face. I really hope that I didn’t flare my nostrils when the explanation continued, and was notably weird. It was a, “I don’t know why….kinda explanation." But it just seems weird to be the recipient of a reluctant gift, or the gift giver giving what they believe is an unwanted present.

The gift was actually really cool! I was really happy to that that cd - later after I listened to it, and dismissed the explanation as ‘whatever’. Clearly, I was missing the gift giver’s communication objective. We crossed communication so many times my eyes started crossing when the gift giver started breathing towards me. I could feel the defense forming in my mind as I anticipated their next remark. It was definitely a deep sigh of relief when our communication decreased based on a change of circumstances.  

Change of circumstances doesn’t mean that all the miscommunication or hurt feelings from miscommunication had been properly addressed. I mean that was obviously one of the problems. It was hard to address lots of things, especially whatever caused hurt feelings in the first place. It took some time, but we actually addressed the most obvious matters, forgave and reconciled. Some things, uncovered today, are still left to be restored. It can be hard to recognize that something was damaged, especially if the damage was just a tiny crack, or chip in a hidden spot. Then we are actually lucky or blessed when we discover that something was damaged. That means we can uproot any tiny hair thin root of bitterness that was growing ever deeper, and would continue growing somewhat unnoticed until it caused notable damage. 

But why am I bitter? I forgave the gift giver. Why the negative association? Did I forgive myself for failing that relationship? Probably not, and I really haven’t let go of all the little hurt feelings. There was so much potential. I lost something, but today I’ve regained something else.  

With the words of a song shedding light on my negative association, I had to choose to between holding onto negative association or rediscovering the heart of the song’s message. It’s time to let go of girlish thinking that I can be everyone’s best friend. I’m not going to click with everyone. It’s ok. Their thoughts about me or perspective of me, don’t define me. It’s ok, they can think those thoughts. My thoughts about me are sometimes a little bit off too. Its perspective. Somebody has a perfect perspective. Perfect thoughts.

I that know someone who has perfect thoughts about me. Papa God’s thoughts about me created me. His thoughts about me define me. That’s life giving! Transforming cracks into artwork. So I can let go of the negative ‘side notes’ to the song and listen to the message.

It’s actually overwhelmingly powerful. I can’t believe I let that song be lost to me before today….something beautiful was restored to me today. I'm incredibly blessed, and I really haven't earned his smile, or even deserve it in my opinion. But he sees me through his son's eyes. Jesus is the perfect gift giver. His explanation of his gift is sometimes dumbfounding. I'm in awe that he receives me with open arms and carries me to Papa God's lap so that I can have whatever time I need to recognize his perfect love that wipes out every fear of someone not approving of me, or of me not approving of me. How can God love me so much? 

I'm overwhelmed with gratitude, and brimming over with Joy. These tears are not sorrow, but Joy!

Lots more love and Joy to you, (and a bit less bitterness to seep out of me)

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

Let the sun shine through friends and family

I love knowing my children are building fun and happy memories.  It is a lot of work to host a child's birthday party. It's all worth it when they can't remember a better day because it was spent having fun with their dearest friends.

My thoughts are so full that writing doesn’t seem like it will be cathartic for me. This has been a blessed weekend, but my Sabbath was much more intense than a typical Sabbath. I think that taking this evening to rest will be better therapy than attempting to write a creative blog.

Because…

This party took days of planning, logistics, and food preparation. Thankfully, so many friends and family did whatever was needed to help me and my hubby give our boys happy memories. We didn’t --and couldn’t have pulled off such a fun filled afternoon without a troop of parents sticking around to help with kids’ activities, and friends and family helping with set up and tear down of decorations.

We are thrilled that each of our boys had at least one friend from their class come over.  Our oldest son told his aunty that this was the most perfect party ever! And -  We know that it went nothing like we had planned! 

Surprisingly, the weather is not dependent on mine and my husband's party planning.  I can however, write ‘when it rains it pours’ with a depth of sincerity that I may not have felt before this weekend. 

Our lives have been blessed with rain and sunshine! It didn’t even rain or snow during the boys’ birthday party! We actually had lovely weather. We did move the party indoors because the ground was still soggy from a winter storm this Friday and Saturday. It was nearly a blizzard down south, but in northern Colorado the rain barely froze or stuck to the ground.  It did continue to rain up until a half hour or so before the party started. Then the sun came out!

It was a lot of fun and the kids were delighted! I’m a bit overstimulated from the energy that a group of 10 or 11 boys can throw into the atmosphere. They were AMAZING! All such good friends and so well behaved! However, I have no idea how teachers do it!!! I’m thrilled that there are education professionals who invest their lives in the instruction and care of young students. 

Thank God that everyone has different skill sets and abilities! My skill set doesn’t actually involve spending multiple hours entertaining and feeding a large group of boys under the age of eleven on a regular basis. I’m a bit more chill with one-on-one, or teenagers. 

God knows what I can handle though. I’m very happy to have a day off class tomorrow. It will give me time to re-group. Since today was full – tomorrow will be more of a down day with Jesus and Hubby. Typically if our Sunday is busy or we are doing ministry, then we often take Monday as our Sabbath. Today was very busy though because we headed to the Department of Motor Vehicles to take care of Driver’s License stuff. Whooeeeeph – that’s my spelling for a deep sigh of relief.

Wow, I did end up writing a lot more than I thought I would. It just really settles me to think things through via my fingertips. It’s quite relaxing once I realize that I can take a breath and celebrate a huge accomplishment. I couldn’t have done it alone. This weekend rained down help and so much love from family. I’m so full of gratitude for my friends and family who made sacrifices to love on our three boys.

It is the greatest gift when a child knows they are secure in their families’ love. They are unafraid of grandparents, aunties, uncles, and Dad and mom. Thank you to my friends and family who really did bring 'sunshine' to our weekend. You know who you are. We love you!!!!

I’m full of deep gratitude to Jesus for such a lovely weekend, and so secure in Papa God’s love for me! Praying you can feel that big big bear hug as you sit in Papa's lap and tell him all about your weekend adventures!

Missionary Momma Mia      

WooWhoo! Say What? You don’t say!

"Say What?"  "You don't say!"

A friend said that to me on Facebook and that was my response. It was so much fun. I thought, “Why not give an entire blog such a fun silly name.”

“WooWhoo!!!! could be the name, but I was also laughing, clapping, and making lots of noise the day before yesterday.

That was such a highlight of my day on April 13 that I needed to tell the story tonight.

I feel so silly story telling. Like I'm telling kids to pick a spot on the rug for story time- story telling. But, it’s more like grab a nice cold drink and guzzle it down on a hot summer evening kind of story.

That’s exactly what we were doing at the time that this whole back story for the day before yesterday’s ‘Woowhoo’ story.

So let me start by telling you what happened the day before yesterday.

My mom just finished telling me about her recent trip to Texas. She spent time with my oldest brother’s In laws who came for a visit from Belarus. (Our extended family is pretty International too!)  My mom also spent time with her sister. While she was there she reconnected with some of my aunts family members who we had hung out with last September. My mom told me how she made sure to connect with her friends on Facebook. She was so blessed when her friend was touched and encouraged by one of my Mom’s re-posts on Facebook that was a prayer for healing - healing in peoples’ body, mind, heart, or relationships. My mom was so excited that the little thing that she felt was important to do, was a big important thing because one person she know was blessed at just the right time.

That’s when mom told me that she and her friend and my aunt are still so excited that his knees are still healed since September!

So, I got really loud and yelled a bit. Because he is her husband. She is mom's friend in Texas. It’s kinda hard to follow. Sorry. The point is that by faith God healed a friend of ours, an extended family member. By faith, his knees are still better seven months later. It wasn’t some emotional high that caused a flood of endorphins to make him feel like there was less pain in his knees.

We were out on my Aunt and Uncle's front porch in a little town in Texas. We were getting together for a family reunion on my uncle’s side of the family. So his cousins were hanging out with him. My mom and Aunt had decided to go to bed, but I wasn’t tired yet. We were still chatting about life in Alaska, Texas, Colorado and Africa.

My Uncle’s cousin asked me what were some of my favorite experiences in Mozambique. He was keenly interested. He finished his drink and offered me another. He was thrilled that I didn’t mind chatting with the guys while they enjoyed a nice cold beer on a hot summer night. They were all happy when I tasted their homemade brew. Something about being a down to earth girl opened the door for our conversation to go from surface experiences to life changing stories of risk and faith for God. So I told him about one of my favorite healing stories. The three ladies who were supernaturally healed of irreversible health conditions. It was AMAZING to see the love of God open blind eyes, heal a cripple, and uncurl a paralyzed arm all in one afternoon in a little village in northern Mozambique.

At the end of the story my uncle’s cousin was wondering if that kind of thing could happen in Texas. So I said lets see. I can pray for your knees if you want me to. So I said a simple prayer like, “Jesus you love to heal your kiddos, we ask you to make his knees like new. You love to make all things new.”

That was it. A simple prayer, and he told me that they genuinely felt better. Everyday at the family reunion I would ask him, “How are your knees?” He would say, “Oh their fine.”

I had to ask his wife if she noticed her husband was in less pain. His wife told me that he was feeling so good, that she couldn’t get him to stop helping with all the hard work of setting up and tearing down camp. Those were some renewed knees.

Its so much fun for me to hear that those knees are still like new after so many months. Jesus is really into showing his power so that people can walk, set up camp, hang out with their family, and love more.

We never know exactly what God is going to do when we give him room to do what he wants. I could have prayed a big pretty prayer, but it was just natural to bring Jesus into our conversation and remind him that he is the best healer in the world – so we trust him to do what he loves to do!

Like my mom posted on Facebook, Jesus is ready to heal you. If you need healing in your heart, mind, body, spirit, or relationships, Jesus is happy to make old broken things like new. I pray that you are touched by God and experience a lasting exchange of old for renewed.

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

My day….

My morning started slow with my hubby bringing me coffee and toast in bed. Then I was occupied with supervising kid chores until their bus came late today. One Wednesday a month the children have a ‘late start day at school’ That was today. So some parents spend lots of time cleaning up after their kids, the other parents spend all of their time cleaning up after their kids. In an effort to clean up ‘less’ I supervised my three boys cleaning efforts until their bus came. 

My husband asked me to watch the computer screen as he practiced an online Colorado Drivers test. Some of the answers literally changed every practice test. So we laughed at the results that are skewed to make you think you failed, and understood why the website has a link that says “noticed any errors on the test” We noticed….We spent some time on international communication with our kids in Mozambique. 

After that, I ate some left over pizza with him, and headed to Downtown Denver where my school campus is located. My drive is usually under an hour. My Wednesday class is only once a week, so it is extended. When my class was over, I talked with one of the moms who is coming to our boys’ birthday party this weekend as I walked from the center of my campus to my car parked in the cheap car lot. Saving dollars and cents, and getting a little bit of cardio. (I will keep telling myself that)

The party call was nice. We discussed a back-up plan if the weather doesn’t permit an outside celebration. Spring in this part of Colorado can be full of surprises. I’m hoping and praying that we are surprised with sunshine! ;-)

I got home around 5:20 had dinner. Helped my boys with homework. Wrote some important emails, and tried to ignore that fact that I still have homework of my own to finish. My loving husband asked me if I was working on my homework a few minutes after I got out of the shower.

I spent some time studying and working on homework. Then decided that sleep will help me more than crunching in this sleepy state. So I’m off to bed.

In my efforts to make you sleepy I have written about my day. I would like to include a yawn here to help you take a nap or get some sleep. 

I chuckle….well, this is me. This is what I left Africa for. To further my education and that of our entire family. So that's kinda what we do, or something like that almost every weekday.

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

Fluff and stuff

Fluff and stuff comes to mind…

On a day like today, I’d rather just think about soft fluffy things and drift off to sleep to make up for the lack of sleep last night. Not sure why I’m even writing tonight, except I want to write  something every day to make it a habit. But all I can think of now is fluff and stuff, not really any thought provoking story, or image inducing rhetoric. I’m not even sure I have anything very ‘on topic’ to write about. Except what this mom is thinking about after an exhausting night of being mommy -parenting, nursing, and nurturing with a little bit of sleep here and there.

Why does fluff and stuff come to mind? Aren’t there days we just want to look at soft puppies, and sweet smelling baby pictures? Sometimes fluff is so comforting. It doesn’t seem important, but then why do we enjoy cotton candy?

 There’s lots of things about being a mom that are very fluffy and fun. Lots of stuff that doesn’t really signify much, but in the end it is the fluff and stuff that makes days bearable and full of meaning. I’m a bit of a jumbled writer tonight. Probably because this was a sleepy day for me. 

After writing last night, I woke up plenty of times to help my son breath. We cuddled in our big bed with a fluffy blanket. In the early morning he woke up and asked me for the machine to help him breath.  His shallow breath caused mine to halt. My heart ached for him. This is the kind of thing that takes a few moments in a 24 hour period, yet fills the entire day. I don't have much to write this evening, but I do feel like a productive mommy.

I will go to sleep in a fluffy blanket, with less stuff on my mind since he is breathing better tonight.

Thank you Jesus.

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.....

Sabbath Rest

That's right folks. I'm gonna be all 'religious' about not writing one day a week. That will be my 'Sabbath Rest'. I believe in it as a concept - taking a day off each week not only to rest, but to recharge, reconnect with family, God and his other kiddos. Yep, I do believe in the concept of 'Sabbath Rest', and not absolutely the traditional Hebrew understanding of a Sabbath. I can hear Hovel and other characters from the Fiddler on the Roof singing, "Sunrise Sunset, sunrise Sunset...."

I am not exactly observing certain hours for my Sabbath Rest, but it is basically one day - through the evening and night, until the next morning.

That might not seem like a big deal. It's not huge, but I just want to give people a heads up. Letting people know what to expect from me on my Sabbath helps my Sabbath Rest be more awesome.

Head's Up:

You want to know what Sabbath means to me if you expect this blog about my silly International Family to have a blog every single day. Right-O! There will be no blog when I'm chill-laxen with Jesus, family, and church family.

Let me say that again. What Sabbath means for me is important to anyone who might look for a blog tomorrow evening. There won't be one. That's because I am committed to writing to express myself and get this thoughts written down; however, I am not actually going to let this writing project take away from my day off with the family in worship and relaxation.

My amazing friends and co-workers understand that there is one day a week that I don't open emails, or social media. I literally disconnect from the virtual world, and don't even take phone calls or respond to work communication unless it is an emergency. People know not to contact me unless previously organized, or it is an urgent emergency that requires my attention.

In my line of ministry 'work' there a lots of emergencies. We've seen lots of green missionaries run themselves ragged reacting to all the needs and emergencies around them - there is a real possibility that I did that too. I have learned a lot about urgency however....and responding to urgent need is a great way to become popular, but it can kill people....and drain energy. I'm not gonna respond to everyone's emergency that they think I can help with.

I'm not the best or worst missionary, like I said somewhere in between. But to some observers, I might not have a spotless image because I don't jump when someone is desperate for my help. I've learned to really think about the emergencies and the needs presented that would cause me to jump up right now, and go fix the problem right now! Is this a genuine need, or a scam? Is it something that can wait until morning? Is someone's life in danger? Am I the only person who can help right now? I'm not really super cynical, it's just that some of my experience has taught me to ask these questions.

Some things really do need an immediate response. Holy Spirit is such an awesome helper!!!! Totally relying on God and the amazing people in our lives has taught us how to better respond to needs and emergencies. Taking a day to unplug from virtual connections, and work or ministry related communication is a HUGE commitment.  It is also a huge INVESTMENT. It helps us better know how to respond to urgent needs, and less urgent needs in a timely and loving manner. It also helps us when we need to see something for what it really is, a life sucker. Sometimes people say they needs us, but they don't. Taking a Sabbath Rest helps us to have a clear head to know how to confront that.

We learn to get really chill when the world is going up in flames, because a major crisis happened last week or the week before. I'm serious. There are really big emergencies, but sometimes I have no power over them or anyway to affect them --other than pray. I do pray, and trust that God knows how to love his children. If Papa God wants to use my life to bless and help someone then I better tune into his voice and guidance on a normal basis, and connect with his other kiddos just to make sure that we are all getting similar instructions from Papa God...

So all that is to say that I will respond to the lesser sized emergencies in my 'normal' work hours. Big emergencies will be responded to, but only if it is actually my responsibility to direct traffic or correct mistakes or help...there won't be writing emergencies that I can foresee, I'm just letting people know why I am a stickler. Mind you - it took a long time to actually learn that I had to take a Sabbath in order to survive. So when I start a new project, experiment, or task I will apply the same boundaries for rest. There are six days to work on stuff, and one day to just chill-lax.

We like it, our family likes it, and we are better people for it. So tomorrow there will be no rambling words to try to read through or not and give up half way....

That will be Monday. Yes friends, Monday is coming. and I will write again.

I know you think I'm silly. Who cares if you take a day off writing? I do. I'm just setting a precedent because I love myself before I can love others.

I do write everyday, It hasn't been on a blog though....so this 'Sabbath Rest' Heads up is very much for me and my family, and for Jesus as well as any reader who happens to read to the end of this blurg.

Just me, Missionary Momma Mia