Happy Birthday Benaiah

Benaiah

The Lord has built. Someone came to me with a word for the baby that was in my belly, and even though the name they heard wasn’t my baby’s name, it was a prophetic word for me and the baby.

I had struggled with giving my baby a name to honor the ones who had been less obviously loved by me before that year. I had ‘favorites’, even though I tenderly loved other brother’s, cousins, parent figures, and in-laws – it was hard for me to demonstrate that love in the shadow of my very vibrant connection with my ‘favorites’.

Someone told me they felt like God spoke to them about the baby’s name, and they asked if we had already chosen a name for our newest addition to the family. I smiled and tilted my head to one side as I shook my head no. We had a name in mind that was not exactly what we were looking for, but our hearts were still searching for the perfect name.

The name from her was a message for me and the baby, not a name for the baby. She said a name kept popping in her head when she thought of me in prayer. It was my birth father’s name, she had no idea. She excitedly asked if I thought that God was showing her our baby’s name. I delicately let her know that it wasn’t our baby’s name, but a confirmation in the direction we were going with our baby name search. It confirmed our command to honor those we had ‘overlooked’. We were so humbled. In 2009 and 2010 we were on the path to truly deepen humility and to go lower still. We learned that it was impossible for us to continue in ministry without learning the lesson of honor. We saw a scripture verse that jumped out at us as we read the Bible. Then the same verse was a key scripture in the next message we listened to over the internet from Bethel church in Redding California. We listened to Bill Johnson preach about honor. It was crazy how the verse was exactly what God had plastered on the wall of our hearts that very week. (Matthew 10:41 – it rocked our world)

My hubby and I had a direct word from God to honor my birth father as we named our 3^rd son. It was confirmed as she whispered his name in my ear. He is a man that I have compassion for, and I am grateful for his role in my life. I have become a more compassionate person because of my relationship with him. His name was a reminder that we were on the right path to love the least of these. We have a command to love people for who they are in Christ, for the destiny that God has spoken over them and built inside them, not to see their behavior and temporary shell as their merit for blessing and honor. Wow, I could love him for his destiny, not only be compassionate for his need. This was another truth that began to apply to almost every aspect of my life in that season.

Look for what God has done, for the calling God has placed on people’s lives, and for the blessing that He is giving through them, and it is easy and light to bless the least ‘worthy’ person according to our immature standards.  Ok, the blessing in our son’s name isn’t to pass on a family legacy or to name him after my birth father, but to learn the message of his name. What was the message? We were still waiting. We knew it was about honor, strength, and destiny…..

Soon after that evening, something randomly pointed out a name in a scripture verse (yes, we are those people with kids who have Bible names- we’re missionaries, Christians and church goers. It was bound to happen) There is was a warrior, a strong man. One of the strongest, whose name was given the honor of not only being recorded as a might man, but actually the great feats of strength and victory that his valor deserved. Wow! A man of honor and strength. We felt a tug at our hearts. We wanted to call our lil pumpkin Benaiah. We asked a friend of ours to confirm the significance and root meaning of the name.

“The Lord has built” That shook us up, from our head to our toes! That was the summary of everything that God was pouring into our hearts and over our thoughts.

We had cried over the challenges of starting a ministry base from scratch with next to nothing – our faith was that small. We felt like it was almost nothing, only enough to help us survive in our poor decision to go back to the mission field and finish what we started.  We didn’t have funding for building projects, administrative loopholes, or any other high cost of starting a new ministry in a new place, but we had a word from God and a go ahead from our spiritual parents and pastors.

We had been in Chimoio for a long time, we prayed for more funding and buildings to house our beautiful Mozambican children, and our missionary family.  A dear friend of ours stayed in our house during our furlough in Colorado in 2010 while our family spent precious time in the states, and prepared for the birth of our third son. He has stayed connected to us ever since. He loves our family! Wow! He prays with us, encourages us and gives to our ministry.

We didn’t plan that. We didn’t ask him to give a donation to keep the ministry going, or to develop the center. He just gave sacrificially because of his love for this big International family! We had seen little progress in development and construction. We had requested electricity year before it was installed, we had a tiny source of water from a hand dug well. Everything was so slow going. We desperately wanted to build and develop.

We left Chimoio for our 5 month furlough that year wondering why we kept at it as missionaries. We knew it was the children and not the busy work of administration or the hope of building, but we still needed more buildings, more funding, more hep. As we just waited before the Lord in worship and prayer, he spoke to us about a spiritual foundation. He was building Iris Chimoio in a totally new way. It was different from our previous years as missionaries, and we suffered under challenging circumstances.  Yet, we had strong relationships with the tiny growing team. It was more like a family. We kept talking about family. In 2010 we knew it was a family that was growing steadily. God told us that ‘He has built’ Iris Chimoio. It’s a children’s center, a soccer pitch and a church. We didn’t have much of a children’s center. River of God was a boys house and a girl’s house that was unfinished, but livable. The kitchen was an outside kitchen that social welfare didn’t approve of, as well as the bathrooms. The soccer pitch was tiny. It was a tough time for our little International family and our bigger International family to grow. It felt more like stretching than growing, it was probably both.

When God spoke to us in the past tense, that he has built it, in reference to everything we dreamt of for our family and ministry in Chimoio, we started to see things through his lens. He has done it, it is finished. Time is not the issue, God is working on our hearts. He is building a kingdom building in our hearts. He lives in us. Everything else is a bonus….all the blessings here tell of His goodness, not of our splendid prayers or ability to organize, work and lead.

It was a shift in our thinking. Our baby’s name was and is a strong reminder that we are not building the buildings at the center, we are not building the team or growing the family – God is and he loves doing it with us. We are a part of this, but it is not about what we can do. It is about knowing what God has done in the spirit, being at peace on the path he set under our feet, and going through the door that he has opened in front of us.

Its all about him. He has built. Not only is it all about him, God challenged us to not only let go of our thinking and planning about physical building and team building, but to trust him, that he will send provision and people to build, he will send people to the team, and he will grow this family.

Since that day that we got our son’s name, we have seen many miracles of grown, building, and provision that we did nothing to attain. Literally nothing. We just love our children, and he keeps doing things for them to remind us that we love them because he loved them first. He provide, he loves and he is faithful.

God has built.

Today my husband is in Africa working on many administrative tasks, and closing out a rental house because God said it’s time. Our things are going in many different directions. Some friends and pastors have new to them furniture or housewares, while somethings that can handle storage in a shipping container are being neatly packed into the container at the center. They will be used in the missionary housing God is telling us about. Something we have seen, but never known the time to start, or who would do it. It seems that what God is doing is so unimaginable even to ministry people that we don’t know how to explain it. People are coming, helping, serving, loving us, and building without any burden on us. Its like a dream. There are building materials being brought to the center! There are workers that we are not paying to build, someone else is. Who does that?

Jesus! He loves to lavishly love us. Seriously, what person can love us that well. It was six years ago when God not only said that he has built the center up, and that he (my husband) is not going to have to build the buildings. When God told us that he has built – there was a tag line, “so you don’t have too.” I felt like he was showing me people coming and building. Ok for some of you who have staff and workers, we couldn’t afford to hire a team of builders, and we were literally out of fire to manage big building projects again.

As I prayed more about the buildings that God has built at Iris Chimoio he spoke into my heart and spirit, saying that we didn’t have to do it. The fire didn’t run out because we spent it, but because we don’t need to do it this time. I heard him say, “I’ve set these projects in other people’s hearts to come and build your dreams.” Who does that? Who comes to serve God and bless us? We’ve seen people who wanted to come and build something else, but that wasn’t the promise. We just had to wait, and right now the team is steadily building at the children’s center. They are doing it. Coordinating with our vision, and doing all the work. Who does that?

God has sent the builders. I didn’t know what that would look like. Its Amazing! Its not in my University non-profit Administration books. Its fresh and new to me. I’ve never heard of this before. I’m sure there are other testimonies like this, and MORE to come!! As people give wholeheartedly and step out in loving service to the body of Christ.

I’m thrilled to thank the people who are coming to River of God Children’s Center and pouring out love in practical and lavish ways!!!!

In Papa God’s perfect time, we are seeing this happen.

We have a beautiful family, and so many blessings. We can’t describe them all, but we can glorify a loving God who delights in giving his children good gifts.

Dream with God, follow him, and obey. He is doing a good work. Its not about what other people can measure, it is about how intimately close we are to our loving savior, and how deeply our hearts beat to the rhythm of his.

It’s good to be loved, it’s great to love others. Something about that tells the story better than anything we could ever try to say. We couldn’t plan this, we can’t make any of this happen.

We can let it unfold as we say yes to Jesus…Its our joy to be loved by him.

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia

Suitcases are finally Unpacked

Well it’s personal news, and it’s not riveting. It is a small victory for me. I finished unpacking two suitcases. I put the clean clothes on hangers or in drawers. Then I put the small suitcase inside the medium suitcase, zipped them shut, and put them in the bottom of the linen closet.

My room is a lot closer to organized, and I’m a happy camper. I don't always have suitcases on the floor of my bedroom.

The boys room is nice and clean. It was a productive mommy day. I didn’t get all the ministry work done that I had on my list, but I did get lots of ministry work closer to done along side mommy work. Then there are meals that we all need to prepare and eat. So, in between cleaning bedrooms and a little bathroom scrubbing, we ate yumminess that gramma baked, and yumminess that the boys and I made all together for lunch and dinner.

It’s a pretty good day. Productive in the house keeping way. Not my favorite department in life, but I am very satisfied with neat organized bedrooms, and very proud of our kiddos. We are proud of our kids at the center when their rooms are clean and neat. Lots of people think that they have to clean up for their children. Not us. With soooo many kiddos (3+ all our Iris Chimoio kiddos) we understand we can’t clean up for them, but we do clean up with them. The kids at the center, along with my awesome hubby and staff had the center spick and span for an inspection from the social services. It was wonderful! The inspection team was so proud of our kids and staff that they took pictures! They loved it! That was my hubby's best day in Mozambique without me so far.

It’s funny that I said this house keeping isn’t my favorite life department, but it is actually one of the things I really enjoy, just not my favorite. I love the mommy stuff, the cleaning is a HUGE part of that. I like to pretend that it doesn’t take as much housework so I can feel more like a career woman, but I am a missionary momma. That’s basically what my job is. I run a household budget and a bigger household budget. My hubby organizes logistics and inventory for our family and for our much bigger Mozambican family. Its more than number crunching, shopping, praying, crying , making sure kids are healthy and in school. We love bragging on our children, we do our share of worrying and handing our worries over to Papa God. We do our share of praying over them, teaching, playing, and correcting. We also get lots of giggles, hugs, yummy meals together, dances, achievements, and victories. Sometimes I need to celebrate small victories.

Today my small victory is unpacking suitcases. The other stuff was normal daily life for a missionary momma, and although a few people have asked me if I was a professional traveler, I don't consider myself a pro.  Unpacking is not a part of my normal daily, weekly or monthly routine. For some missionaries it is, I’m more of the home body than the adventurer.  There is an adventurer in here too, and an artist (I even played the keyboard tonight while worshiping with Mom and Dad), but I’m first a wife and mommy. Maybe there will be more time for adventure and music in this season of our lives, but it will look like climbing a mountain with my kids and getting them more exposure to music. Whatever gives me those precious moments in classical music, or the exhilaration of being a mountain hiker (probably not climbing anytime soon) that is the Joy of parenthood – sharing the things that are important to me with  the beautiful kiddos that Papa God has put in our care. 

Jesus knows just how to love us, and we get to love them! It’s wild to think about it sometimes, but having kids and caring for kids is the greatest adventure in my life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia

A normal International day

Today was a lot more normal than the last two weeks. I woke up in the morning after having gone to sleep at night. I worked during the daytime hours more than the night. I still have some work on my list to finish tomorrow, like posting an official blog, finishing reports, and writing up job descriptions. These are things I can doing normal ‘9 to 5’ work hours. Communication is around 23 to 24 hours, and then I sleep. Then I have international communication time in the morning and am available until about 14 to 15 hours – we use military time in our family because in the Portuguese speaking countries that I have lived in or visited, the military time is more commonly used. For my American readers, I am up for International phone calls, video calling or chatting around 11 or midnight. Then I am up again to talk in my morning after about 9. I spend between a half hour to an hour chatting then checking emails, and am available for communication with our team in Mozambique until about 2 or 3 in our Colorado afternoon. In between chatting I work on the other stuff, or read on my good days. I still am mommy at lunch time, and when the kiddos need me any time in 9 to 5.

Somehow, I do manage to get important stuff taken care of, and spend quality time with my kids because they are the most important important thing.  Today, I felt like I was starting to get into a rhythm and closer to my normal pattern. I did miss a chat to one of our missionaries, but set up to chat with her in the morning. I feel pretty good about today, not drowning in emotions able to get some work and ministry responsibility taken care of. I’m turning back into a human rather than a blob of jet-lag culture shock re-entry mess. I’m celebrating this because One good day is a great thing.

I even took an evening stroll with my parents.

Deep sigh of relief. Life is a little more doable when I can breath through my nose. That also helps. I do feel much better physically than I have in days, and breathing is a good thing. Sleeping is a good thing to. So I’m off to pray with my stinkers and read until my hubby gets up in Mozambique and he wishes me goodnight, while I wish him a good day.

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia

Trusting at the end of my dirt road

Trust blurg

Sometimes people second guess Papa God’s choices. I know we are not those people, ever, never. Nope. We trust Papa God, most of the time. So yeah, very sarcastic statement above. Sorry for those who can’t read satire. It really is tough actually because tone is lost while reading. So, that statement is contrary and sarcastic. 

No, we are not so proud or silly to shout out that we are always always trusting God in everything that unfolds in our lives. There are days we look up to heaven and want to question the clouds…..not helpful though. Holy Spirit is everywhere, if we want to imagine that God has moved far away and is up in or beyond the clouds, then that is a clue that our doubt meter is up and our faith meter is dipping down.

So yeah, I’ve wondered about some of Papa’s direction in our lives, and the plans he has for us. Sometimes the thoughts he has are wild. I’m like, “Not sure you understand that my skill level is presently not up to dealing with this reality.” And he just kinda smiles, its irritating if I’m frustrated though. Why do parents look at our kids with that, “You don’t know you can do this, but I know you will” look?

Parents usually have a bigger picture than their kiddos. So, Papa God knows the entire bigger picture, of everything. He’s not wrong in his confidence in our process with him and his perfect plan for our lives.  

His love is perfect for us, he’s not allowing a situation in our lives that he isn’t giving us everything we need to get through it. Today we see his perfect plan unfolding in a beautiful way in our lives. God is so good, so kind, and overflowing with lavish love!

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia

Time to unpack my Suitcases

I still have my suitcases and carry-on our bedroom floor next to our bed. I don’t know what the delay is about. Then I realized that I’m waiting for my husband. Goodness, could I be any less of a sap? I’m pretending like I haven’t arrived yet. I think it’s time to unpack all the way and put my suitcases away. I should.  Somehow in the back of my head, and all over our bedroom, I’m pretending I just got here. Its been over a week though. I’m still pretty mixed up in my hours – sunlight is supposed to help with that, and taking it easy.

I’m still so in tuned to Africa time more than America time. It’s just to hard unplug from African life, and get into some routine in America. My routine here is still almost completely full of emails, phone calls, chats, and reports about Africa. Now even my internal clock is focusing more on Chimoio time. All I can do is one day at time. Take care of kids, call hubby, read text books, do homework, send emails, plan, organize, communicate, and write up reports…..it shouldn’t matter to much what time of the day those things happen. Except my kids are here in Colorado on Colorado time, so meals and hanging out with them and getting them to bed is on this clock. Communication with the team is on their clock, and communicating with my hubby is on Chimoio time, because he’s there – only we have a normal pattern. We don’t talk about work stuff in the evening. We talk about work stuff in the morning to plan the day. Only now everything is flip flopped and mixed together.

We will make it through the next couple weeks. We will do better than make it through some rough patches of weird sleep hours, and flip flop conversations, we will come out the other side as champions. It’s for our family. We are Mama and Papa Bear…..and for us, we realize that is a great thing. It drives our heart and vision for building a family instead of a mission. We are missionaries. We can travel. We can sacrifice ‘normal’ hours and face various challenges. Our mission is not our first priority….our relationship with the vision giver (Papa God) our relationship with each other (romance) and our tenacity for our family.

I like waiting for my hubby to come home, but it won’t hurt to have some more floor space. I will still have calls at weird hours, and some things more mixed up than usual until my hubby comes home. Its worth it because it’s full of love and heart.

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia

Crying at the end of my dirt road

There is something to be said for journaling. I’m not totally sure what it is. For now, I have to try to just find words to come off my finders.

Part of my problem with writing or not writing is that I’m compelled to try to be totally swallowed by a dramatic story that isn’t real (bing tv) instead of thinking about my own.

I just want to numb my own story and forget the pain.

I start crying almost every time I think about my house in Africa. I just want to not cry when I think about furniture or pets. When I think about my street neighbors, and my dirt driveway. It’s such a narrow gate. I’ve parked a car there for so many years. We drove up to that house with a lady showing houses so many years ago. She was the closest thing to a realtor in our city. The house was a heap of garbage, surrounded by overgrown shrubs. There was a path to the rooms along the back wall, and a lady had been renting those out for a small monthly fee. The front door was pretty and worked properly. It was one door that worked. The others were broken or without a handle. It was a mess, but we could see it working – after a lot of work.

There was a gentlemen renting a room inside the house, before we considered renting the entire house and property for a fee that was less than 300 dollars a month, if the landlord could get the house cleaned up. It was an amazing undertaking. There were so many bugs and rodents and snakes. We had to bug-bomb that house so many times after the owner did. It was a house that smelled just like fresh paint and insecticide. In January of 2009 we got the keys from the owner. The house had been bug-bombed, but within a week we knew we would have to really keep at scrubbing and bug-killing for a while before the bug infestation was really over.

We moved in anyway. Our rental period in an apartment was up. We had repainted the walls and scrubbed our 4^th floor apartment turned in the keys and moved into our new battle zone. I had yet to see a nice clean house for the amount of money that we could afford. This was our ‘new’ old place. We took the keys and moved our two little boys and our Mozambican son, two puppies, and a missionary into the new place.

That house kinda became our missionary almost ‘dream’ house. I mean the faded tile in the bathroom didn’t change the fact that there was a bathtub in the bathroom! We got a water pump up and running, and even installed a water tank for some pressure. This was an old house that was riddled with problems, but we were settling in very happily. We settled in that rental house for years. I’m sad to say goodbye to that house that has been a friend.

We’re closing our rental contract with the landlord in July. We will have rented that house for seven and a half years. I’m a bit of an emotional train wreck. I’m literally grieving this change. My oldest son asked if he is going to see the house again. I said that we can pass by the house. I know that by the time we do pass by the house it will be different but the same. It will have different people there. And that’s going to be ok.

Its not ok right now, but other things are ok. And I’m doing my best to take pictures and tidy up things about the house. When I can’t bear it, and I cry about a sofa or a chair, or my dog being to old to learn a new house and family, I cry a bit and change the subject. That’s my coping right now. So writing is hard, because I’m not sure its time to open the floodgate. For now, I’m going to type one letter at a time, and or those of you who tune in, I’m sorry its emotional stuff. This is where I am right now.

Thank you for reading. It’s a kind gesture. I hope maybe you feel less foolish for being emotionally attached to your house, room, furniture, or something material. We all work through these things when they come up. Its ok to cry. Its important to grieve through transition, and celebrate change. There’s some weird kinda balance that helps us keep a sound mind. That balance is found inside one person’s heart. That’s Jesus. He’s everything. His mind is perfect, his emotions are perfect and perfectly interacting with his thoughts and we have been given the mind of Christ as adopted sons and daughters of the King.

Its ok to need, in fact is important to know how much we need Jesus. Right now I know how desperate I am for him. I love that my desperate hunger for his perfection to show up in my life doesn’t ever leave me wanting. Oh how he loves me….

That’s the kind of love that never fails. So I honestly say, in the middle of my emotional and really real transition, I have so much love to give.

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia

There’s no place like home

There’s no place like home, but which home? Colorado or Chimoio?

What would I give for teleportation via tapping my feet in sparkly shining shoes.

I do have shiny sparkly shoes.

I wore these shiny glittery shoes as house slippers inside my home in Africa for two weeks. Then I clicked my heels….well actually then a got in a car and we drove for about 3 hours. I was reluctant to kiss my hubby goodbye one last time after getting my passport and residence documents stamped for my exit of the country.

I wonder what the officer was thinking when I asked him to let me back through the door to say my final goodbye. He let me embrace my stinker hubby one last time, and kiss him goodbye. I was a bit anxious on so many levels. I’m kind of a disaster traveling alone. I’m actually kind of a disaster traveling. It’s funny how people assume that I must be a great traveler. I do have experience. Lots of experience crossing over the big blue ocean, but I’m not. I’m probably among the worst travelers. I try not to let it out, but sometimes I’m so uncomfortable that I get gas. I also have to say that I don’t sit still. The people around me always have extra bumps because I’m tall. I hit their chair with my knees or bump their tray table. Oh its hard to travel, so I’m always happy for some extra leg room. I love the bulkheads. But here I go rambling off on the discomfort of travel when I was telling my exit story.

That’s right. Joao kissed me goodbye. I held his face in my hands for the last time in a month. I would be a tragic soldiers wife. Definitely crying at any deployment. I don’t just love my husband. I really like to be with him. We do stuff together every day. We are those gooey romantic people that some people love to hate, but we present pretty normal in social settings.

Goodness. I’m outing our romance. Our passionate silliness and all that jazz should be under wraps. I know, but I miss him. I hated saying goodbye. I managed getting on the first plane from Beira to Joburg without any problem. It was a smooth flight. No anxiety. I was just watching out the window looking at my other country for the last time in probably 10 months. It was fine getting from Joburg to London. I had a bowl of soup at Mugg & Bean in the airport and was able to use WiFi for 30 minutes. I loaded emails on my phone, and tried to post on Facebook. It was heavenly.

Then I moved through the airport trying to find where my gate was. It’s the hidden one in the international Terminal that has no loud speaker once you find it. That’s ok. A long line of travelers filled the walkway waiting for boarding to start while I sat on the floor and charged my phone in a plug on the wall.    

So, I can manage my way through airports, and I know where to find things like charging stations or just a random plug. But I’m still not nearly as confident as people might guess. I’m not mentally or cognitively afraid of flying, and therefore anxious. Something about how my eyes dry out, and my stomach always hurts speaks of physical anxiety from the movement. I keep an eye on the ‘doggy bag’ - seriously. I have some pretty good vertigo. People offer me motion sickness pill,  but it hasn’t helped up to now. I just suffer through and will myself to get over the nausea by thinking about other things. Read if I can handle it, listen to a book, or watch a movie. Mostly, I want to sleep on a flight so I can ignore my physical discomfort.

Anyway, I couldn’t eat much on the flight to London. I managed to nibble on almost every meal while what I wanted to do was not eat at all. I get emotional when I say goodbye to people for a while. I don’t like to eat when I’m emotional. I just wanted to cry. But I felt really vulnerable with the people around me. They were kind, but observant. I just wanted to be an oblivious blip on someone’s radar. I couldn’t cry. Watching something sad wouldn’t work either. The person next to me seemed to be searching my soul. I planned to spend a few hours in a bedroom pod in the London Heathrow airport before waiting for my plane from London to L.A. That was lovely. I had nice hot shower with running water after two weeks of no running water.

I laid on the bed with fresh white linens, then had a lovely breakfast before I checked out. I headed to the shop area and bought cold medicine from the drugstore in the airport. Then I found a secluded bench somewhere by a black baby grand piano that was fitted with a player. It was lovely, so pleasant to hear the rich sounds of a finely tuned instrument.  I finished my Sudoku puzzle from the previous plane magazine, and then checked the screens for my gate. They only show the gate number one hour before boarding time there. I found my gate and starting boarding just after grabbing a few magazines.

This flight was different. My row was empty until the last two passengers were assisted to board the aircraft. They were a lovely older couple from India. They spoke very little English, and I was literally thrilled. First of all, my first mission’s trip as an adult was in India. Secondly, they were just to cute and so precious. I loved helping them with the little things. Then they went to sleep. There was some kind of tenderness that gave me permission to cry. I cried off and on for one hour before putting on a sad movie that I cried through off and on. I finally got the emotional release that I was looking for.

The cold and flu meds I bought helped me to fall asleep. The broken rest was better than no rest. I landed in LA late in the evening, but it was still pretty bright outside. I had traveled about half way around the globe and crossed from the southern hemisphere to the northern hemisphere: Winter to Summer. I was greeted by a friend who hosted me for two nights to help me get over the jet lag, and an ugly cold or flu…or something from traveling in changing climates. Anyway, She’s a great friend. Any excuse to hang out with her is well worth it!

I wasn’t crying on my last flight from L.A. to Denver, and I wasn’t wishing that I could cry or forcing myself to eat at least a third of somewhat improved airplane meals.  I wasn’t even saying goodbye to my home for the last decade. I was finally hopping on a plane to see my kids after three weeks of being away. BUT, This leg of my flights  is where I was by far the biggest disaster.

Oh my goodness. It’s a miracle I even got on that plane after falling down the escalators. I’m serious. There was barely enough time to get to my bag drop after I walked to the first elevator at the end of the terminal. It wasn’t working. So my ten minutes was down to five. Then I walked to the other end of the terminal to find that it wasn’t working either. So I went to the third elevator outside and saw no lights, no nothing. 3 elevators not working, and my time was ticking away. You are not supposed to travel on escalators with heavy check-in luggage for a reason. They are cumbersome and heavy. But I was running out of options and losing any chance of getting my bag to Denver at the same time as me.   To my annoyance, I tried to get my 50 pound bag along with my 20 pounds of check-in to stand up neatly on the moving stairs. Only three steps up, we crumbled. Crumbling is so much better than toppled. It was like melting down, instead of dramatic rolling. So I was glad that I didn’t have any clothes or shoelaces caught in the moving steps. I have some bruised knees and an escalator burn on my left leg, but I got myself and the bags up to the next floor where the bag drop was. I managed to get to my feet, get the bags stable and somehow stumble up the escalator all the way to the top.

I power-walked from there, past the broken elevator in the middle of the terminal with a crowd of twenty people waiting while two service men worked on fixing the elevator, all the to the check-in desk, right as the cut off time for checked bags rolled over the clock. To my delight, the attendant quickly helped me get the bag tagged and on its way to the plane. I had paid for it online. All I needed was to get to that bag drop 45 minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave. The tag said that I was 1 minute late. In that one minute I had managed to share my woes with the lady, and she informed me that my bag would go to Denver on this flight or the next. I needed to head straight to security though. So I did. However, they sent me to the slow line. It was my delight (I’m more timid than anybody believes so that is sarcasm. I know its hard to read sarcasm, but just believe me its cynical) my delight, to kindly ask everyone in front of me if they would let me go in front of them since my plane was boarding. They were all so kind. I managed to get to my gate just as they made the last call for my boarding zone.

It was a huge relief to sit on the last plane home. I was actually a champion during the flight, no tears, no anxiety, no gas. Just wide eyed wonder as I watched the landscape beneath our plane change from Ocean and green mountains, to desert and canyons, and then mountains again. My mountains were at long last, beneath me. I recognized different mountain ranges and peaks. There was some kind of settling in my soul. It felt like contentment for the tradeoff of Chimoio for Colorado. Now I just needed to find out if my checked bag made it.

There were toys from Africa in there, and I wanted to be able to give them to my boys. I saw it, on the wrong baggage terminal thingy, but I recognized it from far away. I found a working elevator in Denver and went down to passenger pick up. My dad came to get me with mine and my hubby’s three boys. They came filing out of the car to hug and kiss me. I was so happy to see them. We had an ice-cream together as we headed home. It was a short drive, but so very final.

I have been spending these last few days just hugging my boys, chatting with my hubby who is an ocean away, catching up with some homework and emails, and resting. That yucky snot got pretty bad as the flights only irritated my sinuses more, so I saw a doctor today and he suggested more rest and more of the same meds. After all, I do know how to recover from international travel.

I feel like my heart has been divided in two. I’d rather it be my liver. It’s the only organ that can grow back when its divided, and therefore so much more like love. Love is not diminished when it’s shared, it only grows. So I could say that half my heart is on this continent and half my heart is in Africa, or I can talk about my liver. It grows, so It’s more like love. I can love two places and two people groups, and have my family in multiple continents. That’s ok. It was feeling like a broken heart, but its mended.

I feel more like I’ve shared my liver…..so it’s easy to spread the love.

This is goofy and I’m sorry for those who read to the end. I’m sure it’s the night-time Mucinex setting in and interrupting my ability to communicate.

Well, thanks for all the love and support! Your a champion if you've read this far.

Lots of love right back at you!

Missionary Momma Mia