tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90969531539448805782024-03-18T22:24:17.173-05:00The Chronicles of JanieThoughts, prayers, projects and pictures; the chronicle of one simple life from Missouri to MoçambiqueJaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.comBlogger302125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-5927407039459763932017-06-29T13:57:00.000-05:002017-06-29T16:13:04.522-05:00An Open Letter to all the Good Men<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear Good Men,</div>
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If you're reading this, then you know who you are, because I've probably told you in person at least some of what I'm about to write. Anyway, I’m sure that most of you would be terribly embarrassed that ‘Janie’s at it again’, if you saw your names here. So I'm leaving this letter open, in the hopes that maybe it will reach some of the other good men out there, as well (I trust there are still quite a few of you).</div>
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Truth is, most of you have no idea (despite the fact that I’ve tried to tell you...I really am rubbish at conversation sometimes) of how amazing you are and how much you’ve impacted my life. You’re all just ordinary people, going about your everyday lives. You’re doing your best to love God with all your heart, mind, and strength, and to love your neighbors as yourselves. No-one is probably ever going to applaud you for doing what you do, but I feel you should know that you’ve changed the way I see the world.</div>
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Men get a pretty bad rap in today’s press. At best, you’re billed as lazy and immature. At worst, you’re chauvinists, rapists, and child molesters. The world seems pretty bleak, the men seem pretty mediocre...or worse.</div>
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But I’m not losing hope, because I know all of you good men.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You’re self-sacrificing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You’re kind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You protect those who can’t protect themselves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You honor and respect the people around you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I feel 100% safe and valued and protected when I’m with you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In today’s world, that’s probably pretty rare.</span></div>
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I’ve known a lot of women, and heard of many more, who get into abusive relationships and stay there, allowing someone else to destroy their lives. And I can’t help thinking that maybe it’s because they’ve never actually met a good man. Maybe they don’t know that men aren’t supposed to be frightening or controlling or manipulative. Maybe they’ve never known what it feels like to be cared for and respected and loved, not for what they can give or do, but simply for who they are.</div>
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And, if that's the case, then it's such a tragedy. Because I've been blessed to know so many of you good, good men.</div>
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So today I want to thank you, each of you, for showing me what a man is supposed to be like. I know it’s not easy for you for rise above the world’s expectations and hold yourselves to a higher standard of doing 'nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit,' but rather, in humility, valuing 'others above yourselves'*. I want you to know that I’ve noticed what you do, that I value who you are, and that you’ve made a difference in my life.</div>
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- Because of you, I refuse to settle for mediocrity, because I know that it’s possible to be so much more.<br />
- Because of you, I know how a man should treat a woman, and I won’t settle for any kind of relationship with anyone who doesn’t respect, honor, and value me like you do.<br />
- Because of you, I know what it’s like to have honest conversations, pure friendships, and hilarious good times with members of the opposite sex.<br />
- Your words of advice, really great jokes, listening ears, and heartfelt prayers have gotten me through some of the rougher times of my life.<br />
- The ways in which you’ve mirrored to me the immense value I have as a child of the Heavenly Father have enabled me to brush off the catcalls, inappropriate remarks and other forms of harassment that women face every day without becoming bitter or hardened or losing my self-respect.<br />
- Because of you, I have a brighter outlook on the world.</blockquote>
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So, this goes out to all of you guys, whether I know you or not, who are striving to love God and love others and rise above the mediocrity that's expected of you.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dear fathers and brothers, husbands, cousins, uncles, grandfathers, pastors, teachers, colleagues, mentors and friends (and anyone I inadvertently left out), thank you for being an example, an inspiration, and for modeling real manhood for all of the women and girls in your lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for being good men.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Philippians 2:3</span></div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-55498995989940161032017-05-04T13:52:00.004-05:002017-05-04T13:52:41.268-05:00On the Road; Vignettes of a Trip from Beira to Maputo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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0400: We pick up the two that I will, at some point further down the road, begin mentally referring to as 'our Brazilians'. Sleepy goodbyes and kisses and Pedro telling too-loud stories in the front seat. We drive away into the dark. Exhausted, I settle in for what I hope will be a full day of catching up on lost sleep.<br />
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Sunrise over the scrublands. I open bleary eyes just long enough to drink it in, to admire the fact that Jon's music provides a nearly-perfect soundtrack, to savor that familiar, cozy sentiment of car travel. Then I give in to exhaustion once more.<br />
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Silence, save for the road hum and the lilting of orchestral songs.<br />
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A car full of somnolent peace.<br />
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The 'good' road goes the way of all things.<br />
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We lose not one, but two tires. We crack out the <i>capulanas</i> and the boiled eggs and wait for help to come. We amuse ourselves by politely greeting all of the people who walk by, staring doubtfully at us, and by watching the group of men a few yards away debate whether or not to beat the <i>ladrão</i> they've caught this morning.<br />
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I take advantage the obliging bush toilet and admire the morning dew.<br />
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The car tries to roll away, but we soon put an end to that.<br />
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The kid who cycles past, bike laden with jerry cans, is the very embodiment of mistrust. I'm afraid that I lose my composure as his neck very nearly describes a 180-degree turn, keeping us well in view as he cycles past.<br />
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We are such <i>novidades</i>!<br />
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On the stretch between Muxungue and Rio Save, and the roads are the worst yet. Jon claims that the craters can be seen from outer space. This is hardly an exaggeration. All of the nappers awaken and clutch grimly at any available handholds and also the lunch sandwiches, of which we snatch bites between craters because there's nothing quite like the sensation of having your guts rattled out of you to generate a sudden and immediate hunger. Why, I don't know.<br />
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Dusk a few kilometers out from Maxixe. Full moon rising above the palm trees, wind-bent into 90-degree angles, and the red earth giving back a warm afterglow. Palm and grass-thatched villages built into the sides of the hills, and a sign announcing that we've just passed the Tropic of Capricorn. Yes, we've all been up since 0400, and yes, we've lost two tires and countless hours in the great African game called Sitting Beside the Road and Waiting for Someone's <i>Filho</i> to Appear (he never did, but some kind-hearted truckers stopped to give advice and counsel and prod the defective tires and provide an escort to the nearest repair yard). But moments like this - of warm light and graceful sunsets, of hills and red earth and a peace so strong you can nearly reach out the window and touch it - make the ordeal of road tripping worthwhile.<br />
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Pedro and Annie have never eaten <i>xima</i> before. Their innate good manners proclaim it 'pretty good'. Their expressions tell a slightly different story.<br />
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I savor my Somali chicken (a bit tough from sitting out all day in the restaurant's glass-fronted case) and a stout little coffee, and try to catch the eye of the credit sellers across the way (to avoid having to get up and go over there before digestion is complete), and contemplate, mildly, on the horror stories Eliseu has told me about Somali restaurant kitchens. Ah well. I've never had food poisoning before. It might be a useful experience, from a literary point of view. And anyway, Jariel prayed over the food and I'm fairly sure that bacteria doesn't stand a chance against that.<br />
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We missed the good bathroom, but we found an adventure.<br />
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The pathway to the bathroom was dark sketchy enough that I wouldn't have tried it on my own. But company emboldens me, and I have time to admire the stars hanging above the walls and the papaya trees as I await my turn.<br />
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Pedro says the moon looks like a poker face.<br />
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Carla, from inside, says, "Oh no! I forgot the toilet paper!"<br />
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And I comfort her that it's not too bad, as long as she doesn't have to poo.<br />
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Everyone else gets tired of waiting and goes away to find the good bathroom with the lighting and the running water, but without so many stars.<br />
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Pedro offers me a high five for sticking it out at the sketch bathroom, then as an afterthought, says, "I hope you washed your hands."<br />
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No worries. I did.<br />
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Southern constellations march by, an arching canopy picked out above the moon-soaked landscape of grassland and sleepy villages and the tall, fronded shadows of the palms.<br />
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Pedro's prodigious legs, sprawled across the seat where my own feet are curled. Annie and Jariel, snuggled up like sleeping kittens. Kyran sitting in silence. The companionable, night-time comfort of drowsy people in a small space.<br />
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Car sound: rushing of the road beneath our wheels. The shifts and creaking of springs, glass, and metal on the rough patches. Headlights of our fellow travelers flying past like overgrown fireflies. Air conditioner blows, we get cold. Air conditioner shuts off, we heat up again. Huddle of capulana and cramped legs and the glow of cell phone screens. Night travel.<br />
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-17486324192357431702017-04-14T10:20:00.002-05:002017-04-14T10:20:46.248-05:00All Things to All People: An Easter Reflection<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I sit here and watch the storm coming. Dark clouds gather above the dancing swallows. Tree leaves quiver in anticipation. Thunder rumbles distantly.</div>
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Rain, here, is a sign of death: Houses flooding and rice crops washing away. Mud walls caving and killing people, and the persistent worry of a cholera outbreak.</div>
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But it's also a sign of hope: Relief from droughts, a welcome respite from scorching heat. Water in dried-up riverbeds and wells.</div>
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I sit here, and watch the falling drops splatter against the concrete, and I think about death and hope. Two such separate things, so closely linked in this, the place of extremes, where most of life seems to be either wonderful or terrible and there often isn't much in the way of a middle ground.</div>
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I live in the midst of this seeming paradox. </div>
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In the space of a single day, I'll go from sipping cappuccino at a high-end café to walking the filthy pathways that thread between small houses with no electricity, no plumbing, that fill up with water at flood time. </div>
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I'll step from my car filled with groceries and come face-to-face with a beggar. </div>
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I'll have lunch in one friend's tiny, one-room home (again, with no plumbing) and supper at another friend's enormous house (nice, even by American standards), complete with a maid and a gardener. </div>
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I've attended both a funeral and a wedding in a span of seven days. </div>
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I live in a society that treats me with elaborate courtesy one minute and insults me in Sena the next.</div>
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I wrote down <a href="http://theaspiringbard.blogspot.com/2017/04/let-words-out-on-finding-my-voice-in.html" target="_blank">some thoughts</a> a few days ago about the difficulty I find in describing this life to all of the people who aren't living it.</div>
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Extremes like these are hard to discuss fairly, rationally, sympathetically.</div>
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Extremes like these are my life. </div>
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I sit, and listen to the thunder, and think of that other day, 2000 years ago, when skies darkened and rocks cracked and all nature mourned the death of the One who'd spoken it into being. A day of death and hope existing side-by-side.</div>
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I'm reminded of the other person who lived in extremes.</div>
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He healed beggars and dined with the wealthy. His friends came from every walk of life. And the way His society treated Him? "Hosanna!" one day and, "crucify Him!" the next. </div>
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From a banquet table to a whipping post. From honor to a cross.</div>
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So this Good Friday, as rain patters and clouds pass overhead, I reflect on the One who came to open a way for all men to be saved. Rich and poor. Prostitute and Pharisee. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Paul said, "I have become all things to all people, so that by all possible means I might save some."</span></div>
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Today, these words resonate with me like never before as I pray for the grace and strength to follow my Lord along this path...whether it leads to a mud hut or a mansion, hosannas or a cross.</div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-4764427844392598462017-03-10T11:39:00.000-06:002017-03-10T11:39:55.156-06:00That Time When I Took My Journal to a Café<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>March 8, 2017</b><br />
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I think I accidentally barged into men's hour. There are tables full of men - Somalis, Indians, Portuguese, Mozambican - and a group of them messing about with the ATM. Presumably they are restocking it (some are in uniform and the rest are looking impressive). There are two other women here, but they are with men...<br />
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Oh well, accidentally turning up in 'men only' groups is one of my specialties.<br />
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The original plan was to go to Riviera and pretend to be a character from <i>Casablanca, </i>but I was tired and footsore after hunting for a pair of shoes for Dino's wedding, so I succumbed, instead, to the nearest AC/bathroom combo.<br />
<br />
So here I am.<br />
<br />
The proprietor seems to be mostly toothless in front, and consequently, unintelligible. Well, to be fair, part of the problem is the absence of teeth and the other part if the presence of Portuguese ancestry. I think the Portuguese might be even harder to understand than the Brazilians, but it's a close thing.<br />
<br />
Cigarette smoke hangs in the air.<br />
<br />
One of the ATM guys is laughing uncontrollably.<br />
<br />
The ice cream has melted and re-frozen one too many times.<br />
<br />
The chá com leite is as comforting as always.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'm being watched by everyone, though that's not strictly true. Some of the ATM guys are pretty focused on their job, and rasta dude in the corner is pretty focused on his lunch.<br />
<br />
Oh! Here comes another woman! With a man, of course, but maybe we're on the same side...if anyone's paying attention to such things.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I can always make companions of the flies. They seem predisposed to like me; buzzing hopefully 'round my teacup. As long as none of them fall in and drown...<br />
<br />
Second round with the teabag. I guess I'll have to go soon. I still have to buy stuff for a birthday cake, track down media people, and probably a couple other things I'm currently forgetting.<br />
<br />
But you know, since everyone's observing me, I might as well observe back.<br />
<br />
The guy to my right is handsome in a comfortable way. The woman with him has her back turned to me, but she's probably attractive. Anyone who keeps up with their appearance is attractive, even if they don't possess the added bonus of being pretty, and she is well-dressed; conservative black and white skirt and blouse set, the effect being only mildly diminished by the flip-flops and the chipping nail polish.<br />
<br />
The other girl, the empregada, is plainly beautiful, no doubts about that. Slender, smooth skin, lovely features. She trails between tables and up and down stairs in pursuit of a little boy - Indian probably - with enormous dark eyes and curly hair.<br />
<br />
The people to my left are a mixed group. All middle-aged or older. All speaking Portuguese, though I doubt they're all Mozambican (Portuguese is probably their lingua franca). Then there's the older gentleman sitting alone. His face is austere in repose, but friendly when he laughs with the proprietor.<br />
<br />
The Somalis have gone, the rasta has finished his lunch, ATM crew has finished whatever is was they were doing and have moved on. There remain only the proprietor and servers, watching music videos on TV, another group that I can't quite see without resorting to spy tactics, and two handsome guys at the far table. One is a lighter-skinned Mozambican, nicely, though not pretentiously, dressed. The other is probably Indian. Not talking much, just fiddling idly with phones or staring off into space. Oh, there they go. Sauntering off about their business.<br />
<br />
Comfortably Handsome has begun telling a story. Can't catch the words, but the expressive gestures and the tone of his voice tell their own tale. Laughter ensues; comfortable, polite laughter.<br />
<br />
Chá's about gone.<br />
<br />
I should go see about those cake ingredients.<br />
<br />
My friend, the sun, awaits.<br />
<br />
Tchau for now.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-63422637736909442682017-02-24T01:04:00.001-06:002017-02-24T07:47:16.462-06:00Further Up & Further In; Thoughts for the Pilgrimage <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eep2hdR11Zk/WK_XvB3Jw0I/AAAAAAAAOfQ/vccJWgGpAI0AOf3w9sSr2lnlcraoHiiuwCLcB/s1600/IMG_20170220_125401_735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eep2hdR11Zk/WK_XvB3Jw0I/AAAAAAAAOfQ/vccJWgGpAI0AOf3w9sSr2lnlcraoHiiuwCLcB/s640/IMG_20170220_125401_735.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<br /></td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Some things seem too familiar to be unknown.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The peculiar lilting of a laugh.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The certain bending of a road.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>An uncurtained window frame spilling yellow light.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Perhaps a face...are we sure we haven't passed this way before?</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So it is, that we the pilgrims, sojourning in this foreign land, yet find glimpses of a home.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Left behind</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Waiting ahead</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Half-imagined</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Eagerly sought</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Life isn't what we'd thought it would be when we first heard the call to, "Leave your father's home and go to the land that I will show you."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes, the old seems new and the new, intimately old.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>How is is that, speaking the same language, we can yet so thoroughly misunderstand?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>How is it that language barriers are sometimes no barrier at all?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>How is it that the new can fit as easily as last year's sandals?</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So it is for those born of the Spirit...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It's by leaving home that we learn to construct our own; to pick up the tools of faith, hope, and love, and to build something new but familiar.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>A child is born of promise. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>A temple is made of living stones.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The homeless are set in families.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The crooked ways are made straight.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The frontier becomes the familiar.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So it is for the citizens of the Kingdom...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Through the strangeness, the discomfort, the shift and the change, we yet find ourselves coming, again and again, back home. For wherever one or two are gathered in the name of our King, there we may sit in the midst of them and say, "Here are my mother, and my sisters, and my brothers."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Together, we look at the good things of this earth, the temporary dwelling places we've made here that are foreshadowings of the eternal home that awaits us, and we press forward. The glimpses of what lies ahead sustain us and spur us onward.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Further up. Further in.</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
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</div>
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<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-74815817657900403592017-02-17T02:43:00.000-06:002017-02-17T02:49:14.753-06:00Water & Entitlement<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QMEIWSxD3e0/WKa3HWdkyII/AAAAAAAAOL0/08wthH8_k78nBHCSLPp5r-GCURT25qg1QCLcB/s1600/IMG_20170210_220053_385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QMEIWSxD3e0/WKa3HWdkyII/AAAAAAAAOL0/08wthH8_k78nBHCSLPp5r-GCURT25qg1QCLcB/s640/IMG_20170210_220053_385.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
Another unrelated image. But Mozambican rainstorms make for the best sunsets.<br />
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<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Journal entry: January 24, 2017</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When the water actually works properly, I <i>aproveito</i> to the hilt.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wash the hair! Wash the laundry! Wash everything!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It began as a generic, <i>zona</i>-wide water shortage, which translates to practically non-existent water pressure in our fourth-floor apartment (or no water at all and having to dip into the reserve buckets). Then it escalated to our pump going out right before Christmas. No sooner did the new pump, after much trial and error and return visits from Sergio and Jorge, become fully functional, than the faucet in the tub broke off. So now the water supply to half of the bathroom is shut off to avoid having a mini fountain in our bathtub. Because, as posh as a mini fountain sounds, it isn’t terribly convenient. Fortunately, the mysterious workings of the Mozambican plumbing systems were in our favor this time around, and even though the tub faucet (which may well have been a relic of colonial days) betrayed us, the water supply to the sink and the shower head is separate from the faucet and toilet supply and is still functional (pending water availability, of course).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
All of that to say, that I’ve had maybe 4 ‘real’ showers in the past several months. The lowest point was hauling jerry cans full of water up 4 flights of stairs on Christmas Eve. But even that wasn’t terrible. My determination rose to the challenge and I embraced it with the fortitude of my pioneer ancestry.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I remember when water shortages used to ruin my day. Now they are hardly a cause for comment. It’s nice to know that I’m making progress...of a sort. Maybe it’s actually a regress, but if it enables me to live here, I’ll embrace it full-heartedly without too much analysis.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What I <i>do</i> analyse is the way my sense of entitlement has shrunk. Since I no longer expect water and functional plumbing as a right of life, then the occasions on which there’s enough water pressure for the shower head to function properly are times of great rejoicing. Shower preparations take on a certain grandeur, an air of festivity. Those Bible verses about streams in the desert suddenly make so much more sense to me. Water <i>is</i> a cause for celebration.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Thinking about how something so simple - and once taken for granted - as a shower now has the power to make my day extra-special, I find myself wondering what other entitlements should be removed from my life. How much happier would I be did I see more of life as the blessing it is rather than the entitlement I believe is due me?</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In all things give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">1 Thes. 5:18</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-31633411335536131232017-02-16T07:02:00.001-06:002017-02-24T00:00:10.780-06:00For the Outsiders<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
</div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WBPTyAg_-UU/WKWHvcL9YUI/AAAAAAAAOLU/Lj0Z4nz9wnc8JlKuOAgmVBJ_lj3_syWEACLcB/s1600/IMAG0346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WBPTyAg_-UU/WKWHvcL9YUI/AAAAAAAAOLU/Lj0Z4nz9wnc8JlKuOAgmVBJ_lj3_syWEACLcB/s640/IMAG0346.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a nice view that has nothing to do with the post. Enjoy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">For me, in Mozambique, the unsettling thing isn’t the heat, or the dust, or the water outtages or the public transportation, or the weird food shortages (one time, the entire city ran out of eggs). It’s the fact that I am constantly under observation. </span></b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes the observation is hilarious. A few days ago, I unwittingly provided free advertising for a chappa by the simple act of getting into it. The <i>coprador</i> started yelling, “this is a great <i>chappa</i>! Even the white girl’s using it! Everybody, get on! What are you waiting for?” and I really felt like I should print some stickers, WHITE GIRL APPROVED, for them to affix to the bumper.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes, it’s disturbing. Like the creepy guy who knew exactly where I lived and kept following me around asking for my phone number so that he could be my boyfriend. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And sometimes it’s gratifying. Like the time I (completely unintentionally) blasted a ton of rich white girl stereotypes out of the water by cleaning a bathroom. Apparently, Flavia uses this story to prove to everyone that not all white people are racist and entitled. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But there’s always observation, and it used to make me so nervous that I would start grinding my teeth any time I had to go out of the house.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was terrified of messing up. I was terrified of offending someone, or of breaking some sort of cultural taboo. I knew that, if I did, everyone would know about it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
‘Cause I’m the white girl. Everybody knows me, and everybody’s watching. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you’re a fellow white girl missionary reading this, then I want to tell you something that it probably never occurred to anyone to tell me: </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is something that gets better over time. It may not seem so, but it does. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There may be days when you’ll have to repeat this to yourself every five minutes. That’s ok. I won’t judge. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You gather a group of friends who see you for <i>you</i>, and not for your skin color. You learn how to deal with the tension of being under constant observation. You laugh at the funny stories and shrug off the rest. There will even be blessed moments when you’re having such a fabulous time that you forget that you’re the outsider. Eventually, you'll even have whole days that are like that, and it will be the most blissful break from constant self-consciousness.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then one day you will realize that your very obviousness - the visibility that you dislike and wish you could avoid - is potentially your most useful tool in effecting cultural change. If you’re the most visible person in the room, then echoing Paul’s call to ‘imitate me as I imitate Christ’ is ridiculously simple. You don’t have to invest in fancy programs or advertising. Your skin color can do that all for you. All you have to do is listen to God and do what He says. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And the results will surprise you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have been shocked by the things people have noticed and the way it has affected them. The smallest acts of humility or kindness are noted, pondered, and repeated at a later date, always very much to my surprise. I’m frequently left completely floored, thinking, <i>‘they noticed that?’</i> and silently giving thanks that I had the integrity to do the right thing, even when I was convinced that no-one was watching. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I would never choose to have any particular level of influence. I have never sought to be a leader or to have anyone follow my example. The responsibility of being visible has the potential to be crushing. Every time I mess up, I’m tempted to fall headfirst into the mire of guilt. But, since guilt never does anything helpful, I’m learning how to pick myself up, dust myself off, repent, apologize, and keep going forward. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I remember the fear I felt when God first began talking to me about leadership and influence. I fled the bare idea for months, before finally realizing that running away from God’s will is a thoroughly futile endeavor. So one day, I asked Him, “how do I use the influence You give me to not mess up people’s lives?” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He spoke to me about the cross. He said, “if you come to the cross every single day, and humble yourself before Me, then I’ll guide you.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, that’s what I try to do. I fail a lot, but if I’m given influence, I’ll do my best to use it for the glory of God and the good of the people around me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As Christians, we are called to live as outcasts and foreigners in the land. My foreigner status may be more physically visible than yours, but that doesn’t make yours any less real. The truth is, that a true Christian will always be out of place in a world that is sinful and self-gratifying. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If we embrace our calling to ‘act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God’ then we will inevitably influence the people around us. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The important thing is to act with integrity. To live out, every single day, the things that we believe and the things we’re preaching to others.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To live our lives, wholeheartedly, for God.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And we may be surprised, when we get to Heaven, to discover who else was watching.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-12810536573169732412017-02-08T10:28:00.001-06:002017-02-08T10:34:14.815-06:00On Grey Hairs & Histories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
I parted my hair down the middle this morning, and, with the way the light was coming in, I noticed <i>all the grey.</i><br />
<br />
I'm going grey at the ripe old age of 24.<br />
<br />
The funny thing? I don't even mind.<br />
<br />
First of all, I don't subscribe to the notion that the only way to be beautiful is to look young. I've known far too many wonderful old ladies to ever believe that.<br />
<br />
Secondly, my grey hairs stand for something. Every single one.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u91YvKt3iow/WJtIF90iz0I/AAAAAAAANxU/KO3KXvP95hsJ_II4foWwItDxOqFY1nd8ACLcB/s1600/PicMonkey%2BCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u91YvKt3iow/WJtIF90iz0I/AAAAAAAANxU/KO3KXvP95hsJ_II4foWwItDxOqFY1nd8ACLcB/s400/PicMonkey%2BCollage.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And here's a largely irrelevant photo collage because I'm pretty sure everyone wants<br />
to see me with cake on my face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
I got my first grey hair at the age of 18, after my first trip to Mozambique.<br />
<br />
I joked that Moz had turned me grey.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Ha! Ha! Little did I know...</i><br />
<br />
The return to Mozambique in 2014 gave me plenty more opportunities for hair-greying adventures.<br />
<br />
A prolonged sickness<br />
A bout of depression<br />
A painful change<br />
Another sickness<br />
<br />
Each left its mark behind.<br />
<br />
I've come to expect a further sprinkling of grey in the aftermaths of all of life's particularly rough patches. I don't bother trying to hide it. Why should I? It's the physical manifestation of my history. When I brush my hair of a morning and those scattered strands of grey gleam in the sunshine, I don't see something unsightly or unbeautiful.<br />
<br />
I see victory<br />
I see grace<br />
I see a testimony of God's faithfulness to get me through hard times<br />
<br />
<i>I see a whopping good story.</i><br />
<br />
Why on earth would I ever want to hide that?<br />
<br />
Since January is both the start of a new year and my birth month, I usually write something of a thematic post about my hopes and expectations for a new year of life. This January came and went, and I didn't quite muster the requisite optimism for such a piece.<br />
<br />
But this morning, in front of my mirror, I think that I found my theme.<br />
<br />
Let this be the year of grey hairs.<br />
<br />
Hard times will come.<br />
Problems - both minuscule and enormous - will arise.<br />
I will be faced with many opportunities for failure.<br />
The struggles I encounter will be sometimes overwhelming.<br />
<br />
But, through these times, I'll add another chapter to my story. If previous chapters are anything to go by, it'll be a chapter full of often-painful growth, challenging situations, and more than my fair share of grace. The hard times will leave their marks behind. Lessons learned. Understanding deepened. A story of how small I am and how big God is. A story worth telling.<br />
<br />
And I'll recount it to myself every morning, as I brush out those gleaming, grey strands in my hair.<br />
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-88233500756711805052017-01-20T03:13:00.000-06:002017-01-20T03:13:48.704-06:00A Thousand Words & More; The Coyles on Burns Night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Coyles on Burns Night, January 2011</span></b></div>
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I don't know if Mom gets <i>The Missourian</i> any more. She said that Joe and I were the only ones who actually read it...but that it <i>was</i> handy to always have paper around to start fires. I mostly read the <i>People</i> section, the advice column, and the births, weddings, and obituaries. I'm pretty sure Joe read everything else. It was a good system, because I figured he'd tell me if I missed out on an interesting article in another section.</div>
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This photo, though not as high-quality as some, does a good job of expressing a certain aspect of my family; in the age of the internet, we read the newspaper.</div>
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We also celebrate Burns night because somebody, at some point, had goat stomachs that needed to be used up and the natural conclusion to that was 'Haggis! Costumes! Celebrate the birthday of a long-dead Scottish poet!'And so the annual celebration of Burns Night, by people whose Scottishness is probably about 4% tenuous ancestral connections and 96% 'this is a great excuse for a party' began.</div>
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And good times were had by all.</div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-7676967809474590712017-01-12T04:16:00.000-06:002017-01-12T04:16:53.726-06:00A Thousand Words & More; Baby Lucy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Baby Lucy, January 2011</span></b></div>
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When I jokingly told Candice that I was praying that she'd give birth past her due date so that I could have a niece for my birthday, she said, "Please, don't." But maybe Jesus loves me more...or (more probably) January 12 was just the proper time for Lucy to be born. At any rate, there she was, 4 days past her official due date, bright-eyed and with the most adorable stick-out ears...the best 'birthday present' I ever received. </div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-89109507268472601512017-01-06T10:56:00.003-06:002017-01-06T10:58:51.295-06:00A Thousand Words & More; Richmond<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I took a stroll back through my photo archives.</div>
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Oh, the memories!</div>
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Oh, the cringe-worthy shots that seemed like such a good idea at the time.</div>
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Oh, the unexpectedly decent shots that I got with surprising frequency even before I had a good camera or 'knew what I was doing'.</div>
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Funny thing, but I can still remember the tiny details surrounding almost all of my photos...the emotions, the small events of the day on which it was taken, even the smells in the air. Strolling through the archive is more than just a photographic review. It's opening a time capsule into the life of the Janie of the past - what she thought and felt and found important - and to the people that surrounded her and made up her world.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Richmond, December 2011</span></b></div>
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We've a long-standing joke, my brother and I. He always said that we'd meet up in a warzone somewhere. He'd be in the military and I'd be there doing humanitarian work. I don't know if that will ever happen, but it expresses our very different natures rather handily. These photos were shot when he was getting into his hobby of playing airsoft, and I was passing through a phase of heavily editing every photo I could get my hands on. Thanks be to goodness, we've both matured since then. He's got better airsoft gear (and a job, and a family), and I'm a much better photographer (and a missionary). I thought, though, that today would be a good day to share these shots, because it's Richmond's birthday, and what better way to celebrate than by sharing photos that will probably be at least mildly embarrassing for the both of us?<br />
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Love you, bro! I highly doubt you'll ever see this, but just for the record, you'll always be my favorite big little brother, fellow history buff, lover of weird films and repartee, and the receiver of my unfiltered opinions about life, the universe, and everything.<br />
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Happy Birthday!<br />
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Oh, and I'm thinking I might continue meandering through the old archive and throwing a few favorite shots in the general direction of this blog. Just for kicks, y'know.<br />
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-20493592019269031192016-12-21T12:28:00.001-06:002016-12-21T12:28:08.585-06:00Roadtripping at the Golden Hour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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What do you do when you're sitting in the back of the car for hours and hours and hours?</div>
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You start playing with your phone.</div>
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And you film some random stuff.</div>
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And then you make a video.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BV4BtibRj08" width="560"></iframe></div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-67192970325045216842016-12-13T08:54:00.001-06:002016-12-13T08:54:32.459-06:00Packing Light-ish While Still Looking Pretty-ish (Lots of Unsolicited Advice)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Funny thing, but I've gotten a lot more particular about my appearance since moving to Mozambique. Maybe because most of the people around me look like they ought to be fashion models, and I'm not a fan of being known as 'the grungy American'. Anyway, I've discovered that I actually like dressing nicely. It's kind-of a mood lifter on not-so nice days, and since I honestly don't know who I'll be interacting with day to day, it's a relief to unexpectedly encounter Really Important People with the soothing knowledge that at least I'm wearing well-coordinated clothes.<br />
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Since I travel a goodish bit, and have an affirmed hatred for carting lots of luggage about with me, I've been working on perfecting my skill of packing light-ish and still looking nice-ish. Because it occurred to me that not everyone has as many opportunities as I do to mess about with packing trial-and-error, and also because I'm in South Africa, vacationing hard and aching to do a photoshoot with the lovely white counterpane on my bed, I decided to throw together a list of the packing tips and tricks I've figured out over the past few years.<br />
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Read ahead to find out how you, too, can pack like me.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">My South Africa Wardrobe</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">It occurs to me that I over-packed for my little, one-week trip. But I was just so excited about being able to wear ALL THE CLOTHES in the cooler weather. And also, my going-to-a-new-country anxiety kicked in, and I wanted lots of different wearing options so that I wouldn't immediately be identified as 'The Hick from Mozambique'. Anyway, all of this stuff (plus several other items that weren't quite so *ahem* photogenic), will pack away inside of my trusty comrades, Flowerdy Backpack and Brown Plaid Purse.</span></td></tr>
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<b>PACKING CLOTHES & ACCESSORIES </b></div>
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<li>Pick a color schemed and stick to it. This is mostly because of shoes, because shoes are going to be one of the bulkiest things you pack. For this trip, I chose a color scheme black/grey. I packed my grey dress shoes and made sure that all of my clothes & accessories would coordinate with them.</li>
<li>Don't worry about an outfit for every day. If you have access to some form of soap and a bit of water, then you can wash your clothes.</li>
<li>But DO pack layers. I packed three different colors/styles of jeans and trousers, one tank top, two t-shirts, one long-sleeve shirt, and three shorter-sleeve blouses along with a jean blazer that will coordinate well with all of the blouses. This means that a) I came prepared for both chilly days and hot days and b) I have way more outfit options because the blazer completely changes the look of the tops.</li>
<li>If you like variety (like me) then don't skimp the accessories. Necklaces, earrings, belts, and scarves are light and small and will make it look like you're not always wearing the <i>exact same clothes again.</i></li>
<li>Think about the wrinkles. Most hotels/houses have an iron, but it's always nice to have some non-wrinkle items that you won't have to worry about. An alternative to ironing is to mist a wrinkled garment with water and let it hang up for a while (but that means you'll probably also have to pack a squirt bottle). </li>
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<b>WEIGHT & SPACE SAVING</b></div>
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<li>Think about the things that are going to take up the most space and how necessary they are. For me, for this trip, those things were</li>
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<li>My computer</li>
<li>Bath towel</li>
<li>Shoes</li>
<li>Books</li>
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<li>I decided to bring my massive computer, because I wanted to be able to write and watch movies. </li>
<li>I brought a capulana along to serve as a bath towel/skirt/blanket/headwrap/pillow in a pinch, so didn't bring a regular towel (because <i>boring</i>). </li>
<li>I solved the shoes problem by packing my flip-flops and my grey shoes in the bag and wearing my bulky tennis shoes in the car (I try to make it a habit of always wearing my bulkiest clothes while I'm traveling so as to save space in the bag). </li>
<li>And the books? Well, <i>Lawrence and the Arabs</i>, my Bible, a journal, and my Kindle all went into my purse. You don't leave books behind, folks.</li>
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<li>Only bring what toiletries you actually need, because those things can get heavy! On this trip, I opted not to bring shampoo and conditioner from home, because I couldn't find my little travel bottles and I knew I could get more shampoo and conditioner in South Africa. I have yet to travel to any place where I couldn't buy soap, a razor, shampoo, or feminine hygiene products. However, for the sake of my fellow travelers, I prefer to embark on a journey with a toothbrush and enough toothpaste and soap to see me through to the end.</li>
<li>As mentioned above, pay attention to how much your luggage weighs. This is obvious for those traveling by plane, but even if you're not flying/your luggage is under the weight restriction, it's still a good idea to put your purse and backpack on and ask yourself, 'am I ok with the idea of walking around all day while carrying this much weight?' I discovered this the hard way during a 14-hour layover in Paris, where I couldn't find a locker for my backpack, so ended up carting it all over the city with me. By the time I got back to the airport, I was so tired that even the prospect of sleeping on those hard benches seemed divine.</li>
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<b>GENERAL CONVENIENCE </b></div>
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<li>Pack a wallet or clutch that will hold all of your documents, money, phone, etc. I started doing this for border crossings, as I got tired of lugging my big, heavy purse full of books through immigration lines. Yeah, you have to watch out so no-one steals all your stuff while it's conveniently in one, small container. But whatever. You're going to have to do that, anyway. AND I REFUSE TO LEAVE MY READING MATERIAL BEHIND.</li>
<li>Buy a phone with a good camera. It took several years of gentle persuasion to convince me to finally buy an expensive phone with a nice camera, but I'm so glad that I did. As a photographer, I want to be able to take good photos. As a traveler, I don't want to lug a massive camera bag around with me. My beloved HTC phone means I can have a pretty happy medium. </li>
<li>Think about what you're most likely going to do while you're away, and pack accordingly. That may seem like a no-brainer, but there have been times when I've left bulky, but fairly necessary, items behind, and then spent the whole trip regretting that I didn't have them. There have also been times when I've packed things that I never even used. So make a plan, and try to avoid packing while you're sleep deprived.</li>
<li>Carry a light source. I haven't needed my headlamp on every single trip, but it's come in handy enough times that I almost always carry it with me. And anyway, it barely takes up any room. </li>
<li>Also a pen or five. People never seem to have pens.</li>
<li>Always have a complete change of clothes and undergarments, and a toothbrush with a travel-sized toothpaste handy when you're taking a long flight. The ability to freshen up on a layover can make you feel less like a sleep-deprived zombie. </li>
<li>Also, slip-on shoes when you're going through an American airport where they make you take off your shoes for security scans (I haven't encountered any other country that does this. But Americans are paranoid of bombs in shoes). One time, I wore boots with laces, held up the entire security line for what felt like an hour as I struggled to get them off, and fervently vowed <i>never again</i>.</li>
<li>Bring stuff to do <strike>when</strike> if you get stuck. A card game. Books. Whatever. You never know when your plane will get delayed or you'll be sitting in the hot sun for 2 hours, waiting for a military convoy.</li>
<li>Also always bring water. And food. And painkillers. And toilet paper. Ok, maybe not always the toilet paper...I do live in Mozambique, after all. Things are a bit different here.</li>
<li>Travel mugs come in handy sometimes. Especially if you're a coffee/tea addict. It also doesn't hurt to pack a couple of tea bags and a packet of sugar for emergency situations. Not like I've ever actually <i>done</i> that...</li>
<li>Oh, and if you're traveling internationally, don't forget about plug adapters and telling your bank/credit card company where you're going so they don't shut down your card. That's kind-of important.</li>
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<b>AND MOST IMPORTANTLY OF ALL...</b></div>
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Probably the most helpful thing for me to remember is that the whole list above is just fluff (except for the tea and the books). Even if I forget everything except my travel documents and my money, I'm probably going to be just fine. The most important thing isn't what you take with you on a trip, but deciding that you're going to have a fabulous time and remembering to laugh heartily at all of your mistakes.</div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-15352756564069093632016-12-05T06:08:00.001-06:002016-12-05T06:24:19.815-06:00Where We're At<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes, it's not who we are, it's just where we're at. </span><br />
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We don't actually dislike people, we're just too tired to put forth the emotional and physical effort to make a connection.<br />
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We're not actually lazy, our bodies are just asking for a break.<br />
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We're not actually quick-tempered, we're just under enough stress that extra things seem unbearable.<br />
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We're not actually afraid of the future, we're just surrounded by so much uncertainty that thinking ahead to even more uncertainty feels terrifying.<br />
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There are days when we must wake up, look ourselves in the eye, and say, 'this is how I feel, not who I am.' <br />
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There are days when it is a real fight to silence guilt and ask for grace. To stop listening to the voice that hounds you with reminders of what a terrible person you are, and to ask, instead, for reminders of who God created you to be, what He wants you to do, and the strategy for how to be and do that in your current situation.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. </span></div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-17494590501821993872016-11-22T08:28:00.001-06:002016-11-22T08:28:50.530-06:00Let's Go Change the World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was on my knees, yet again, exhaustion clamoring even more loudly in my ears than the speaker system, discouragement hanging as heavy as the dust clouds that blocked my lungs, more vast than the crowd that gathered, half-seen, at the edges of the light.<br />
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There are times when I can face a mountain of problems, break them down into manageable pieces, recruit help, and have faith that we will overcome.<br />
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This was not one of those times.<br />
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The normal list of impossibilities had expanded and blossomed into something completely unmanageable, and I was left staggered, and wondering, 'how do you change a world that is so, irreparably, broken that it's falling to bits around you?'<br />
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I did the only thing I know to do. I got down on my knees and I lifted my hands, and I said, "God, I know I'm here for a reason. I know You have things for me to do. But right now, everything looks impossible. How do you change a world that is so broken?"</div>
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The answer came in the words that the worship team was singing:</div>
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<i>Vamos mudar o mundo.</i></div>
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Let's go change the world.</div>
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In an instant, the power of that phrase struck me and changed my discouragement into hope. </div>
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I haven't been ordered out into brokenness and impossibility and told, 'go change your messed-up world. You're all on your own.'</div>
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Instead, I have a God - the God with whom all things are possible - who says, "<i>Vamos!</i> Let's go. Together." </div>
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When God calls us to change things, He isn't ordering us into the front lines while He stays far away from the battlefield. Instead, He's the victorious King, mighty in battle, who will never ask us to go anywhere He is not, will never lead us into a fight where He has not already prepared the victory.</div>
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Who says to us, "Come with me. Let's go change the world. Together."</div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-72486586104401343682016-10-17T09:26:00.002-05:002016-10-17T09:26:53.063-05:00Recipe: Tangy High-Stakes Chicken and Pretty Rice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Mozambicans make the best chicken. If you doubt this, come and visit. I will turn you into a believer. So you can understand that, living in the land of people who take their chicken very, very seriously, I was a bit intimidates when 'Frango Friday' came along and I had to cook chicken for everybody because Dona Ana was at a funeral. Would I get it right?<br />
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All I can say is, that this recipe received applause and Dino was putting his rice into the chicken dish so that he sould soak up the last of the sauce, and two people have since asked me for the recipe.<br />
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I'm going to label that a success.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tangy High-Stakes Chicken</span><br />
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<li><b>1 chicken, skinned and cut into pieces.</b> I'm not the best chicken carver, so I just roughly divided it into legs, thighs, wings, neck, and the torso into four parts.</li>
<li><b>1/4 cup oil</b></li>
<li><b>1/2 cup vinegar</b></li>
<li><b>1 teaspoon salt</b></li>
<li><b>1/2 teaspoon black pepper</b></li>
<li><b>3 medium tomatoes</b></li>
<li><b>2 medium onions</b></li>
<li><b>2 medium carrots</b></li>
<li><b>5 cloves garlic</b></li>
<li><b>1 teaspoon basil</b></li>
<li><b>1 teaspoon oregano</b></li>
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Combine the chicken, oil, vinegar, salt and pepper in a large pan and put on the burner to begin cooking. The pan should have a large enough bottom that the chicken can pretty much lie flat.</div>
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Pour boiling water over the tomatoes and let them sit for a minute to loosen the skins. Then peel them and chop them into chunks. Throw them in with the chicken.</div>
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Finely chop the onions and add them, as well.</div>
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Cover the pan and let it simmer at medium heat, stirring occasionally to prevent burning. </div>
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Peel and chop the carrots into rounds and add them after the chicken has cooked for about 15-20 minutes. add the basil and oregano at the same time. Crush or mince the garlic and add it, as well.</div>
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Cover again and continue cooking at a low heat until the chicken is beginning to separate from the bones. The sauce should have reduced a lot by now, leaving mostly just chicken and carrots, but if it's reducing faster than the chicken is cooking, you can add more vinegar.</div>
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Serve over rice. </div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YbXys2kOuPg/WATeCNB6cOI/AAAAAAAAJic/zE_RJddGO4oJ9rWtS8lS58bdB4ztfZXiQCLcB/s1600/PSX_20161017_154809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YbXys2kOuPg/WATeCNB6cOI/AAAAAAAAJic/zE_RJddGO4oJ9rWtS8lS58bdB4ztfZXiQCLcB/s400/PSX_20161017_154809.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I've been on a quest to learn how to make pretty rice. I've gotten to the point where my rice consistently comes out with a nice, fluffy texture. Now, I've started experimenting wtih adding colors. I've made red rice by adding tomato, with mixed success. This was my first time trying out yellow rice and it turned out well.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pretty Rice</span></div>
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Peel and finely grate half of a carrot. Combine the grated carrot with a cup of water in the pan where you'll cook your rice, and stir until the water is orange. Then add the rice and cook as normal, adding more water if needed.</div>
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I made two cups of rice to eat with the chicken recipe above. </div>
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<b>Makes 4-5 servings</b></div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-37212597242832165212016-10-13T09:55:00.000-05:002016-10-13T15:42:23.972-05:00I'm Not Really an Evangelist (But I Do Share My Testimony A Lot)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As so often happens here in Mozambique, I found myself seated in a shop, waiting for someone to show up so that I could ask about buying something. And, as also happens more often than not, I fell into conversation with the store owner, in this case, a Muslim guy from India. We started talking about our respective home countries, and what it's like to live in Mozambique, and then he commented on how well I speak Portuguese. </div>
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"Oh, thanks!" </div>
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And then I started in on the story about how I'd prayed to learn Portuguese when I first arrived, and how God had sent me my friend, Fifi, who didn't speak any English at the time, and that was how I'd started learning.</div>
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And there I was, chatting to a Muslim guy about my faith.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ixOdGc1llDg/V_4OGwHowUI/AAAAAAAAJh0/R0lDkIkzry447i9qn-4xznOvlUkl3R4ugCLcB/s1600/marymarthajesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ixOdGc1llDg/V_4OGwHowUI/AAAAAAAAJh0/R0lDkIkzry447i9qn-4xznOvlUkl3R4ugCLcB/s640/marymarthajesus.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jesus with Mary & Martha; African artist, unknown</td></tr>
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I was part of a Baptist church for a number of years, so I've been to <i>all </i>of the trainings about <i>all</i> of the evangelistic methods. I really have tried to use some of the methods I've been taught, but they never worked out very well for me. I could write a long series of blog posts about all the reasons why 'evangelism' just isn't my thing, the ways I've tried to explain this to my Baptist friends without sounding like a heretic, and the lengths I've gone to avoid being pressured into yet another dreaded group evangelism event. Suffice it to say, that I'm just really not an evangelist.</div>
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But does that mean that I don't talk about Jesus?</div>
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How often do we confuse the command to 'be prepared to give an answer for the hope that you have' with having the gift of evangelism? The former is something that should be the natural result of the transformation that comes from an obedient walk with God. The other is something special that God gives to certain members of the body of Christ, which is the church.</div>
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You don't have to be an evangelist to talk about the most important thing in your life. You just have to ask yourself what you really mean when you say that you're a follower of Christ. If your journey is actually a journey and not just something you like to talk about, then you don't have to worry about incorporating it into your life. It's already there, affecting the way you think, speak, act; the very person that you are.</blockquote>
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You've probably met some of those people who talk about their faith <b>all the time</b>. It's incessant, and it isn't just the dutiful, 'well, I'm a Christian so this is what I'm supposed to do' sort of talk. Within seconds of starting almost any topic of conversation with almost anyone, they're throwing in Scriptural truths and godly principles in a completely natural and genuine way. They're constantly bearing witness to Christ without half-trying to do so, and the reason is because they have a growing relationship with God, make a constant study of the Bible, and are living in obedience to the voice of the Holy Spirit. Following Jesus is something they do every single day. It is their life, and they are excited about it. What else are they going to talk about?<br />
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Their talk is the result of living a life that is daily, purposefully, being given to God.<br />
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If someone asks me how I ended up in Mozambique, the answer is, "well, the Holy Spirit told me to come."</div>
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If someone asks me for advice, the three most reliable resources I have at my disposal are Scripture, prayer, and personal experiences of what the Lord has taught me. </div>
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If someone asks me why I'm still single, the answer comes back to God, and His priorities for my life being more important than anything else.</div>
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If someone comments on how I handle a hard situation with grace, or a hurtful person with love, or unending tedium with cheerfulness and patience, my honest response is to talk about what God is teaching me through those circumstances.</div>
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And, when I mess up, when I lose my temper or fail to obey God's guidance, then my humility in admitting my faults and seeking forgiveness as the Holy Spirit leads me is yet another way to testify my faith. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(By the way, I'm not making these up. These are all real conversations I've had at least once during the past month)</span></div>
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I am a long, long way from being like Christ. But even my imperfections open opportunities for me to speak about Who I'm following and why and how that journey is changing me. </div>
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So no, I'm pretty sure I'm not an evangelist, and yes, I gave part of my testimony to a Muslim guy while sitting in a little store in Beira, Mozambique. Is that at all surprising? No, not really.</div>
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It's just who I am, and who I am becoming.</div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-43787596876067094612016-10-12T04:53:00.001-05:002016-10-13T08:39:28.709-05:00Stand Still, the Lord Will Fight for You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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One day, God asked me,</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Are you willing to work for justice for others, even if it means that you are treated unjustly?</span></blockquote>
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It was one more step on a path I've been walking for a very long time; the path of total surrender to God. It's fairly easy to say, "here I am, God, send me." But it can be terribly hard to let go of the individual things that your humanity holds dear. So God asks me, from time to time, "Are you willing to let go of that? What about that? Can you trust me in this situation?" </div>
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There are many things I've fought to hold on to for a long, long time - friends, safety, dignity - but when I let them go at God's request, it's always such a relief. The more I learn to stop fighting for myself, the more I get to see God fighting for me. And He's a much better fighter than I'll ever be.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aslan & Lucy concept art | Justin Sweet</td></tr>
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Living as a foreigner in Mozambique is never dull. At it's best, it's an entertaining and rewarding experience. At it's worst, it's absolutely terrifying. I try not to complain, because I am where I am, and I do what I do because of God, not man, and complaint will only make me miserable without changing the situation. </div>
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But in reality, there are a lot of things about life here that I truly don't enjoy.</div>
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One of the things that bothers me the most is the fact that my skin color = privileged. Perhaps it's even more uncomfortable because it's actually pretty much true. Yes, I'm financially in the top 1%. Yes, I can pretty much go where I want and buy what I want. Yes, a lot of the people who don't know me see me merely as a walking dollar sign, and yes, that's distinctly unsettling. I've had to come to terms with the fact that, no matter how hard I work to dispel the image of privilege, there's absolutely no way I can convince everyone in Mozambique to see me as me, and not as 'rich white girl'. There are certain realities of life here. One of them is that <b>I almost never get a good deal.</b> I joke that you can just feel the prices rising whenever I walk into a marketplace, because white skin = $$$, and a lot of the vendors look at me as their ship that has just come in. </div>
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So what keeps me from getting jaded and discouraged and just wanting to hide in my house where no-one's trying to take advantage of me? Well, it's a combination of factors ranging from sheer stubbornness to boundless optimism. But the biggest one is the fact that I'm learning that I don't have to fight for myself. </div>
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If I am fully surrendered to Christ, then that means that everything that's mine - from my physical safety to my financial security - is actually His. So if someone takes advantage of me, they're actually trying to take advantage of the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, and it's not going to turn out so well for them in the end. This isn't to say that I become a sort of door mat for anyone to trample on at will. On the contrary, when I begin to think of things as His instead of mine, I value them even more highly, but in a very different way. I see them in the light of temporary possessions to be well-stewarded. They're my responsibility, but they're not my problem, and this mindset frees me up considerably. Instead of contending for my personal justice, which is God's problem, I find myself increasingly focused on my responsibility, which is doing my part to bring the Kingdom of Justice to earth. </div>
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I am still, however, lamentably far from being perfect. And every once in a while, some little incident will occur that really gets under my skin. At such times, it's tempting to feel alone. It's tempting to feel that no-one else really sees, or really understands. My Mozambican friends, though frequently suffering even worse injustices that I'll ever face, still do not have the daily wearing-down experience of standing out and being a target for attention literally everywhere they go. Sometimes, it's difficult to keep from complaining and to continue trusting God to fight my battles. </div>
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But today, God showed me His goodness in even these petty concerns, and it came about like this:</div>
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Flavia and I went shopping together to pick up some things for Jon and Carla On the first trip, to go check prices and availability for some of the items we wanted to buy, Flavia was quoted one price. When it later came out that she was asking for prices <i>for me</i>, the vendors immediately doubled the amount of money they were asking. I shrugged and sighed inwardly when I heard this. It's a pretty familiar story to me, now, and I reflected that I should no longer calculate <i>whether</i> I'll get ripped off, but just <i>how badly.</i> </div>
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Flavia, on the other hand, is far from shrugging it off. She has spent the last two days talking to me, to Dino, to other friends, even to a random shop owner, about the injustice of what those vendors were trying to do. </div>
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It's unjust.</div>
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It's unfair.</div>
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And it <i>should not be done.</i></div>
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She says all the things that I've felt, but really couldn't say, because to say them would put me in the class of privileged, white <i>complainer.</i> But Flavia doesn't have those restrictions. Today, as I listened to her injustice rant for about the fifth time, I felt warm and cared-for on the inside. Someone had noticed, someone had cared, and someone was doing something about it. And I hadn't even opened my mouth. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"See?" The Holy Spirit said, "If you leave the fight in God's hands, He'll take care of you."</span></blockquote>
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It's just a little story, practically nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it strengthened my sometimes-flagging confidence that God is faithful and that I matter enough to Him to be worth fighting for. </div>
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It's reminded me of something else, as well: the fact that none of us truly wants to fight our life battles all on our own. Sometimes, it's when we stop defending ourselves that we open the doors for others to come and stand alongside us. And, even when no-one comes to our rescue, we can trust that the God of Justice takes it all into account.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today...the Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still. </span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Exodus 14: 13-14</span></blockquote>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-16734963540871858892016-10-11T07:36:00.001-05:002016-10-11T07:36:48.089-05:00Women's Service: Remembering What I Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I originally joined the media team as a photographer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then I learned how to shoot and edit video, and how to arrange cables and projectors and slide shows, and the whole photography thing kind of got left behind in the dust kicked up by more important concerns. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I got asked to go to the special women's service to shoot photos, I actually stared blankly at the camera for a couple seconds, trying to remember what all those buttons do. It'd been a while.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think it's good for a person to quit doing familiar things in order to learn something new, or to leave behind the things one likes to do in favor of doing what needs to be done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But it's also nice to go back every once in awhile and remind yourself of the reason why you love the things you do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I wandered around the church, jostling for good angles and better lighting, trying to capture the spirit and the atmosphere, I could almost feel my soul letting out a huge sigh of relief. <i>Ahh, yes. This is what you're good at.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The quality of these photos definitely reflects my too-long hiatus from serious photography with a 'real' camera, but they made me happy on the inside, so I thought I might as well share. </span></div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-8507433364281895052016-10-04T16:04:00.001-05:002016-10-04T16:04:33.737-05:00Recipe: Tasty, Gooey, Simple Brownies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I might have just found the tastiest, gooiest, simple brownie recipe I've ever made. The original recipe was for vegan brownies. but since I'm not even remotely vegan (and had some yogurt that needed to be used up) I threw that in, too.<br />
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The results were frighteningly delicious.<br />
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2 cups flour<br />
1 1/2 cups raw sugar<br />
3/4 cups unsweetened cocoa powder<br />
1 teaspoon baking powder<br />
1 teaspoon salt<br />
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Mix together and add<br />
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1/2 cup vegetable oil<br />
1/2 cup unsweetened yogurt<br />
1 cup water<br />
2 teaspoons vanilla<br />
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Mix until well blended and spread into 9x13 pan.<br />
Bake at 350* F (175* C) for 25 - 30 minutes, or until top is no longer shiny.<br />
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You can find the original vegan version <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/68436/vegan-brownies/?internalSource=hub%20recipe&referringContentType=search%20results&clickId=cardslot%202" target="_blank">HERE</a>. </div>
Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-12374367321050022942016-09-21T03:35:00.000-05:002016-09-21T03:35:26.208-05:00The Red Sea: Challenge & Triumph<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Detail from The Parting of the Red Sea; Arnold Friberg</td></tr>
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Exodus 13:20 - 15:21</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we walk with the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire at night, then we can trust that our moments of greatest defeat are, in reality, our greatest moments of victory. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's tempting, when confronted by the sea on one side and a hostile army on the other, to lose faith and ask, "Why did you bring me out here in the desert to die?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But stand still. The Lord will fight for you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The most difficult moments of life are the opportunities God uses to show His power. The most challenging situations create the most impactful testimonies in the lives of God's people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Throughout the history of the Bible, and even into the present day, we point to that moment at the Red Sea. <i>This is what our God can do! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Listen, my people, to my teaching,</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And pay attention to what I say .</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am going to use wise sayings</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And explain mysteries from the past,</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Things we have heard and known,</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Things our ancestors told us.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We will not keep them from our children;</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We will tell the next generation</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>About the Lord's power and His great deeds</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And the wonderful things He has done.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I will sing to the Lord, because He has won a glorious victory;</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He has thrown the horses and their riders into the sea.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Lord is a warrior;</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Lord is His name.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He threw Egypt's army and its chariots into the sea;</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The best of its officers were drowned in the Red Sea.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Who can tell all the great things He has done?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Who can praise Him enough?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Give thanks to the Lord, because He is good;</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>His love is eternal.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Give thanks to the greatest of all gods;</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>His love is eternal.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Give thanks to the mightiest of all lords;</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>His love is eternal. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Psalms 78, 136, 106, & Exodus 15)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Give thanks in all circumstances, knowing that the God who parted the Red Sea is the changeless I AM. He is the one who turns mourning into dancing, trial into triumph, defeat into victory.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Stand still, and see Him fight for you. </span></div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-32681902848931297872016-09-20T02:44:00.001-05:002016-09-20T04:02:40.345-05:00Two Years In: Ramblings from the New Kid on the Block<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The experience of being thrown into another culture was once described to me as, effectively, attempting to sit down at an ongoing card game and begin playing with no prior knowledge of the rules. I think that about sums it up. It is incredibly awkward. The only thing that can really keep you going is - as Trey, the guy who used to sit behind me in church was fond of shouting - 'grace! Grace! GRACE!'</div>
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I don't really need to say any more than what I've already said about the difficulties of learning how to live in Mozambique. Pretty much everything, from <a href="http://theblogofjanie.blogspot.com/2014/12/a-mildly-hyperbolic-account-of-cultural.html" target="_blank"><b>initial culture fatigue</b></a>, to <b><a href="http://theblogofjanie.blogspot.com/2015/07/linguistic-blunders-open-mouth-insert.html" target="_blank">language</a> <a href="http://theblogofjanie.blogspot.com/2014/11/mozambique-markets-and-portuguese.html" target="_blank">barriers</a></b> (two posts, there. Yikes!) to learning how to live with <a href="http://theblogofjanie.blogspot.com/2016/03/friction.html" target="_blank"><b>friction</b></a>, to constantly <a href="http://theblogofjanie.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-foreigner-within-your-gates.html" target="_blank"><b>standing out</b></a><b>,</b> to learning how to deal with <a href="http://theblogofjanie.blogspot.com/2015/06/quiet-times-emmanuel-grief.html" target="_blank"><b>grief</b></a> has already been covered in probably needless detail. For here and now, let it be sufficient for me to say that I thank God for the extreme clarity with which he called me to Mozambique, because if I hadn't had that certainty to hold on to, I'd probably have turned and run. As it was, I hung on. I made a lot of mistakes, I laughed about them even when I wanted to cry.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I learned. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Congratulations to meee!</td></tr>
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Last night, while I was filming the church service and shouting over my shoulder the words that the translator was missing ("Sheep!" "Keys!" "Stitches!"), I had a sudden realization of just how far I've come. In the space of two years, I have gone from being an outsider who knew no-one and spoke only English to an occasional translation consultant who works on the media team and is hailed by a wide variety of nicknames by a wide variety of people on the street, in the chapa, in the church. </div>
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<i>"Verdadeira Moçambicana!"</i> and, "I can't believe you've only been here two years! You speak Portuguese so well!" Are phrases I hear often, and, though I know they must be taken with a grain of salt, they are music to my ears. Even more important are the subtler expressions of trust and acceptance.</div>
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People who practice their English with me because they know I won't laugh or get impatient.</div>
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People who feel free to give me correction and advice, because they know I'll accept it humbly.</div>
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People who, in a multitude of small ways, invite me into deeper relationship; to know and be known.</div>
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And then, of course, there are the nicknames and the inside jokes. <i>So many of them.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">When visitors dubbed me 'the white Mozambican' I was extremely pleased. Not because it was really true, but because it showed that I was, in some measure, succeeding in my mission to immerse myself so completely into the culture around me that I could understand it and explain it to others. Of course, I realize there are limits to how Mozambican a white girl from America can become. To some extent, I will always be an outsider. I am learning how to be okay with this. I couldn't erase my Indo-European ancestry, even if I wanted to (and really, I don't). But I have made valiant efforts to understand the people around me. And I think that, at last, those efforts are beginning to pay off</span><span style="font-size: medium;">. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poor Flávia! She spoke so quickly and so quietly when I first got to know her that I was constantly asking her to repeat herself</td></tr>
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Immersing yourself in a foreign culture is, by turns, terrifying and mind-numbingly dull. I knew, when I arrived here, that immersion would be the only way I could really get to know Mozambique and Mozambicans, but forcing myself to go out there and keep trying even when I was certain I'd fail yet again was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I am actually a fairly lazy individual, but fortunately, God knows this, and He gave me the circumstances I needed to push myself and keep on pushing.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If I'd lived on a traditional missionary base, with a ready-made network of friends who spoke my language and shared some of my cultural norms, I wouldn't have felt the need for companionship that kept driving me to try to make friends. If I'd been surrounded by translators and English speakers, I'd have managed to get by without speaking Portuguese. If I'd had a certain project to perform in a specified amount of time, I would've focused on helping Mozambique instead of getting to know Mozambicans.</span></div>
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Thankfully, for me, that wasn't the case.<br />
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I wasn't one of those hard-core folks who shows up in a strange country and lives with a host family who doesn't speak English. But I did arrive here in the company of just two other Americans, to work with a Mozambican-led church. We lived in a normal, city apartment. We interacted primarily with people who spoke little or no English. We had no car, so we did all of our shopping on foot and by public transport. It was just the right set of circumstances to push me out of my comfort zone, but also leave me feeling secure enough that I didn't panic (often). Looking back, I can really only take credit for doing two things correctly there at the beginning: </div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;">Praying for a Mozambican friend and then interacting with her when she came along. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Somewhat-actively avoiding getting into the groups of other missionaries and ex-pats for a good while after my arrival here so that my social circle would be where it needed to be, not where it was easy to establish. </li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have also discovered that waving my hands improves my Portuguese. Photo: Melissa Erikson</td></tr>
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Probably the biggest thing that my fellow missionaries did right* was not pressuring me into project mode. They would occasionally ask if there was something I felt God wanted me to do, and when there wasn't, the subject would be dropped. </div>
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I didn't have a tremendous list of things I was supposed to accomplish in order to prove to my supporters back in the States that I was actually using their money wisely. Getting stuff done is always much, much easier than getting to know people, and I know that, if I'd had a big project to complete, I would have chosen that over the long hours of awkward socialization and church services. This was, at the time, a very mixed blessing as it was desperately difficult for me to justify my existence in Mozambique. I would look back at the end of my day and wonder what exactly I'd accomplished. I'd done some odd jobs and tried to speak Portuguese. Fantastic! The other missionaries I knew were training pastors and holding mass evangelisms and teaching English. The fact that I had managed to write a newsletter or ask where the toilet was looked decidedly lackluster in comparison. I would reach the end of the day feeling completely exhausted and reflect that I had spent all my energy on...nothing. </div>
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I was pretty sure that I was <i>doing it all wrong</i>, so I did what I frequently do when I'm feeling like a worthless failure. I talked to my dad. And he told me the story of one of the missionaries he knows, and how this man's organization doesn't allow their missionaries to start anything, in any country, until they've lived in that country for several years.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Don't look at it as wasted time, Janie." He said. "You're learning about Mozambique."</span></div>
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That conversation helped to further shift my thinking from project mode to people mode. I still had a horrific time responding to other missionaries' questions of 'what exactly do you <i>do</i> here, anyway?' (so I mostly still avoided personal conversations with other missionaries as much as possible). But every time I started feeling insecure, I would tell myself that I was building a foundation. A foundation of relationships, of understanding, of trust, so that, if the day came when God revealed some big project He wanted me to accomplish in Mozambique, I would be able to establish it in a culturally relevant way.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Or, I can just use all my 'Madam Google Translate' skills to help make jam...</td></tr>
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Relationships, especially cross-cultural ones, take a long, long time to develop. Only in recent months have some of the relationships I started when I first arrived here gone beyond the superficial, to a place where people are telling me about real struggles, and I have enough linguistic skill and cultural context to encourage and pray for them in meaningful ways. I am still learning how to be a friend in a culture where the unwritten rules of relationship are sometimes vastly different from the unwritten rules I've had ingrained in me since childhood. I am learning how trust works; how to show it, how to react when I receive it. I am learning how to disagree with people in a way that isn't shaming, how to present new ideas respectfully, and when 'you're fat' is a compliment and when it's a derogatory remark. I am a newcomer in a society that has been going on without me for a very long time, where some of the things (like dancing in church) that come as naturally as breathing to my friends are incredibly difficult for me to pick up (I am still not a very good dancer but there is again, as Trey would say, 'grace, grace, grace'). I still do not have one of those specific projects that every good missionary is probably supposed to have and I probably am not, by some people's standards, a very good missionary. I just pitch in wherever I'm needed, and my main objective in any project or interaction is still, primarily, to learn. I am incredibly grateful for the circumstances that are allowing me to take this difficult, yet delightful, journey into Mozambican culture with comparatively little pressure to perform or accomplish to American standards.</div>
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Nowadays, I still have no idea when, or if, God will ever reveal a personal project to undertake here in Mozambique. But I am beginning to see some fruits from all the hours I have spent relating to people and attempting to converse in Portuguese. One of the things I've learned here is that you never know who will be watching you, and I've discovered that my willingness to be humble, face challenges, and learn from anyone who'll take the time to teach me has called forth admiration and respect from several unsuspected sources.</div>
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Jesus spoke the truth (imagine that) when He said 'where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.' I've invested rather a lot of treasure, in the form of time, service, laughter, tears, and prayer, into Mozambique and Mozambicans. And my heart has followed. So even on difficult days, when I'm exhausted and literally nothing is going the way it should, I can take a look around me and honestly say that there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Even when my good ideas get ignored and I'm facing frustrations and problems that are bigger than I've ever faced before, I am still happy to be where I am. Because I'm invested, not in a project, but in a people. And sometimes that investment looks like teaching violin lessons, or organizing a filming crew. Sometimes it looks like praying with someone who's having a hard day or laughing uproariously over bread and tea. Always, it's seeking a better, more effective, more meaningful way to be a good friend, a good partner, and a good sister in Christ.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheers for culture and learning! Hip! Hip! Hooray!</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Besides translating when I was hopelessly confused, providing me with shelter and helping with documents, and occasionally pushing me to socialize when the spirit was willing but the flesh weak.</span></span></div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-72572771704010128332016-07-19T07:38:00.002-05:002016-07-19T07:39:42.204-05:00Dialogues: Wrong Number<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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After being ignored one too many times, I finally felt the need (and had the opportunity) to have it out with him.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> Nelito! <i>Why</i> don't you answer your <i>phone?</i></div>
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<b>Nelito:</b> You never called me.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> But I did! I called you just now. Here, I'll call you again.</div>
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<i>We spend a few seconds of silence, eyes fixed on his phone. It doesn't ring.</i></div>
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<b>Nelito </b><i>(examining my caller history)</i><b>:</b> That's not my number.</div>
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I begin to laugh as realization dawns. </div>
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I have been sending texts to this number for upwards of three months.</div>
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'Won't make it to church today.'</div>
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'Where's the camera charger?'</div>
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'Where are the video clips?'</div>
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'Where are <i>you</i>?'</div>
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'My chappa has been sitting in traffic for 20 minutes. I'm going to be late today.'</div>
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And because I've always been able to get the information I've needed from him vicariously through other media team members, and also because Nelito is a legendary ignorer of phones, I never had a suspicion that I could, just possibly, be sending texts to the wrong number.</div>
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Ah well, we live and learn. I've now changed the number so as to be certain that I'm being ignored by the right person. </div>
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Progress!</div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-55713288096382805282016-06-01T02:10:00.000-05:002016-06-01T09:44:03.240-05:00Two Pictures + A Story Link-up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is happening right now over at <a href="http://theaspiringbard.blogspot.com/2016/06/two-pictures-story-link-up.html" target="_blank">The Aspiring Bard. </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Join in, if you're so inclined!</span></div>
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9096953153944880578.post-85060604393235810822016-05-02T17:07:00.000-05:002016-05-02T17:07:05.443-05:00Dialogues: Spontaneous Combustion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Jon and Dino and Camacho were having a sciency conversation about geology and engineering and global warming and I know not what, and I was sitting on the fringes because I'm not terribly knowledgeable about these things, especially in Portuguese. </div>
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But then Jon mentioned a case of spontaneous combustion in India...</div>
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That was my launch pad.</div>
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"Oh yeah." I chimed in. "That thing of...how do you say 'spontaneous combustion' in Portuguese?...used to happen sometimes in England in the 1800's. It was because of the amount of gasses and other combustive substances in the environment and..." I looked up to see that all three of them were staring at me. Not eating their chicken. Not paying attention to Jariel. Just staring directly at me. Dino and Camacho didn't even seem to be blinking. </div>
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I don't think I've ever had that much undivided attention in my whole life, and it occurred to me that maybe I was blowing a couple mental circuit breakers. Artistic, mathematically vague and perpetually jocular people like me probably aren't supposed to be knowledgeable about things like spontaneous combustion. But I read all these articles, you see... </div>
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<i>Hello, Mozambique. It's me, Janie, and I now have a firm enough grasp of your language to begin sharing my accumulation of strange and bizarre facts with you. Spontaneous combustion is my new party trick. </i></div>
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<i>Prepare-se.</i><br />
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Janiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16252125053867762449noreply@blogger.com2