Ready - Set - GO!

Moment or Movement (part 2 of Counting the Co$t)

 I feel that we, as the body of Christ are at least as accountable as they are for the lack of cost counting going on. I think that we (Christians, teachers, missionaries, etc) sometimes get so excited about someone accepting Christ (which don’t mistake me, is DEFINITELY something to get excited about) I think it’s very easy to get caught up in the world of exploding church numbers, converted refuges, youth groups outgrowing their building, and salvation on the mission field. But are we truly giving people a chance to see the true meaning of become a Christian. Of Christ living IN us. Do they understand that their salvation will be “worked out” over time and through many trials and tribulations. Has anyone told them that sometimes being a Christian is not glorious, rewarding, or even moderately comfortable, but sometimes it is suffering, sacrifice, and perhaps even despair that clings to the hope that Christ is at work. Do we allow people to see this whole picture? Or do we paint a pretty picture to “make God look good” so that people will want to be on His team. Seriously? It blows my mind that we think we need to make God look good, and yet I see it a lot, and I shamefully admit I am no exception. Ironically while counting the cost is a biblical principle, putting an all positive slant on God or Christian living is not. In fact the bible says we will take part in the sufferings of Christ and warns that we should expect to suffer/sacrifice for our faith. I think we often blow by these verses attributing them to monks & martyrs when perhaps God means for us to be applying them to movies and modesty.

If you been following this blog you know I spent the better part of 2012 in a rural village in Guinea-Bissau (West Africa) and let me tell you what, I didn’t see a lot of moments where people were overcome by God and in an instant tore all the animistic charms from their children, smashed their little idol huts, stopped lying, cheating & stealing, became gentle and faithful husbands, etc but I did see a lot of MOVEMENT. I saw a lot of movement toward Christ. I saw believers questioning the status quo in their culture, cutting charms off their children,  refusing to participate in the anamistic ceramonial washing after an unmarried woman gives birth, and loving those who persecuted them for their faith. I witnessed believers in various stages of their faith journey taking steps to make their life look more like the teachings of Christ. Truely allowing the Holy Spirit to renew their mind. And isn’t that the point?

I would like to be clear about something. I’m not saying that God doesn’t ever change a man’s heart overnight. I’m sure it happens and who am I to say how God moves in someone else’s life. But I am suggesting that I think we should be aware, as a Christian church, that we can get really caught up in these glorious "moments" which are often quick to fade awaywhen the fruit which the Holy Spirit truly produces in someone’s life shouldn’t be confined in a moment but worked out in a movement.

Counting the Co$t (part 1)

The biblical truth God revealed to me through my Guinensee friends

Picture this. You're sitting comfortably in your pew trying not to let your thoughts wander to the errands you need to run after church. Your pastor begins to preach, and boy is it a great sermon. Ya know, the kind that gets everyone stirring, but not because they're bored, because they're uncomfortable, in a good way! You begin to think about your life, and you know you've gone astray. As he brings his sermon to a close the pastor invites all who would like to accept Christ as their lord, or to recommit their lives to Christ to come forward. You know this is you. You should go... but just then the man next to you stands up. You're pretty sure he's a Christian, or at least he's been attending church every Sunday for about a year now. He comes to church with his child, dressed well, and knows the part. He clears his throat and everyone direct their attention toward him. "Good morning everyone. I would just like to say that I've been coming here for about a year now. I've learned a lot about God and his love for me, and I know I need his forgiveness in my life. The thing is, I really love going to the clubs to get wasted and dance provocatively with women on the weekends, and I know God doesn't like that, so if you'd like to pray for me I'm just going to continue to think about this a little more." Shocking isn’t it? Not so much that someone would think those things, but for someone to actually say them seems absurd, almost ludicrous.

When I think about what the reaction may be if this were to take place in my own loving congregation, I'm not sure if there would be a deafening silence or an audible gasp. My church family is fantastic, but the perspective here doesn’t' reflect a lack of love by our church families, but rather a distorted perspective on conversion. You see in our culture I think we relish this magical defining moment where you decide to live for Christ and overwhelmed with spiritual enlightenment and live happily ever after. It seems we sometime mistake a proclamation of faith as a step into faultlessness. But the reality is that many, though emotionally stirred in their heart and perhaps truly moved by the spirit, are indeed longing for the God sized whole to be filled in their lives, but never commit with their head. Which produces a group of people rather easily enticed to get on the train but then after some rough track, have decided this train is really not for them and are quickly ready to get off at the next stop.

So why does this happen? Are they just bad people? Flakey? Faking? Perhaps none of those at all. But rather they don't think about the way that this Christian “religion,” which is actually a  relationship with a living God, will need to affect their decisions in town Friday night, or in a Tuesday office board meeting. The problem then is that when these moments arise, they're willing to explain away their choices and we so often accept their blubbering attempts to justify blatant sin. Or, perhaps they do all the right things for a while but at some point they are tired of juggling a balance, between their two desires.. The cognitive dissonance caused by the conflicting interests (to grow closer to God and to lead a self serving life) is more than they can bear, so they gradually grow distant from their church friends and stop showing up on Sundays, until you don't see them at all. So why does this happen? Why are these people leaving the body of Christ to serve themselves? They didn't count the cost my friends. It possible that they were misinformed and didn’t know it. Or maybe they approached it like that bill that’s been laying on the table for 10 days now and is about to be late but you can’t bring yourself to open it because you’re just so afraid you don’t be able to pay. Whatever the reason, one thing is clear to me. They didn't count the cost.

Though it may be socially unacceptable in our own church culture, it seems to me that counting the cost is a biblical principle.

 

 

The Cost of Being a Disciple (from Luke)

25 Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: 26 “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple. 27 And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. 28 “Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? 29 For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, 30 saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’ 31 “Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? 32 If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. 33 In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples. 34 “Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? 35 It is fit neither for the soil nor for the manure pile; it is thrown out.

 

(...to be continued)

Amish Country, West-Africa & the ¼ mile in between

A standard ¼ mile high school track spanning over 4,000miles from Lancaster, PA to Catel, Guinea Bissau. That would be impressive, would it not? Or maybe you’d consider it impossible. I certainly believe God is sovereign, ruling over all things, and therefore if He decided tomorrow that the ¼ mile track at CV high school should stretch out until it reaches the clinic of Catel, he could certainly do that. But that is someone else’s story. Here is mine.

Watching the beautiful sunrise as I sipped on morning “coffee” (my hot, coffee flavored, powdered milk beverage) and had my quiet time before heading down to the clinic to treat fungus, STDs, burns, and maybe even suture up a machete wound. Then after clinic head back to the house to hand scrub the tye-dye ankle length dresses I had soaking in a giant basin on the veranda since the day before, go visit some friends, come home and cook diner, get water from the well and shower, and then maybe go lead a kids worship night at church, participate in singing worship with other missionaries at our house, or back out to visit friends in the village until bed time. Of course there were many variations to my daily routine  including but not limited to catching public transport and going to a local market to do some shopping, women’s bible study, going to buy meds in larger villages such as Ingoré  or São Domingos, doing clinic visits for those who were too sick to make it to the clinic, hours spent chatting under my favorite mango tree, warga (gunpowder tea served in 3 separate rounds in tiny glasses sometimes mixes with mint or coffee and always with lots of sugar) and the list goes on. I dare not leave out my favorite past time of Catel, just sitting and being with people. But I think I’ve pained the picture for you.

 That’s a “typical” day in Catel, where I ended up, but how did I get there? If my memory serves me correctly it began after a long winded guilt trip and concussion education because I unsnapped my life vest during a few minutes of the six hours we spent out on the Susquehanna “river” (that was so low we had to get out a few times to drag the boat) kayaking that afternoon. As we pulled out my partner in lifejacket crimes, and longtime best friend and EMT, cautiously began asking if I had plans for the evening then continued to explain that she’d forgotten he signed up to walk/run in the Relay for Life even being held at a local high school with LEMSA (the ambulance company she works for). I laughed in disbelief wondering if she forgot we’d just spent all afternoon in the scorching sun kayaking, before realizing she wasn’t kidding and she wanted me to go. So after over a decade of friendship and since it was for such a great cause, a few hours later I found myself wandering around the track at Conestoga Valley High school looking for the familiar faces of LEMSA personnel. Though it’s amazing how difficult it can be to find a group of people who can’t be more than 1/8 mile away from you at any given time on a quarter mile track, we eventually caught up with them and Meg introduced me to those I didn’t know from the ER, including Sean Fitzgerald. Sean’s a cool guy. He love helping people,  is always cracking jokes and, as I would soon find out, is up for almost anything.

How exactly do you occupy your time while you circle around and around a ¼ miletrack? Chat of course. And it was during the course of that conversation that Sean shared he’d recently been accepted to serve in a clinic in Guinea-Bissau with Eastern Mennonite Missions.  Now the truth is I’m a nurse, a math and science kind of girl. Geography, however, is not exactly my strong point. Though it’s fairly safe to say a country with a name you’ve never heard is most likely in Africa, one never can be sure, so I shamefully needed to ask exactly where Guinea-Bissau was. But as the night went on and we began discussing missions and Africa I was re-awakened to my passion for both of the prior and began to pray for patience, having just graduated from nursing school seven months before and began a RN-BSN program a mere 3 months prior, it was not good timing to be thinking missions. Or so I thought. And so when we left a few hours later, though I wanted to keep in touch with Sean and try to offer support in whatever way I could, though Sean mentioned calling EMM for information I had zero intention of pursuing this and in fact repeatedly reminded myself and my best friend that though God has been stirring in my heart for some time to serve in missions in a larger capacity, now was not the time.

Within a few weeks Sean had contacted me saying EMM was looking for at least 2 medical providers to go to Catel and perhaps a nurse. I remember the moment vividly. I was once again with my best-friend Meg, but this time I was riding shotgun and we were headed down Rt 1 on our way to the beach. Having overheard the conversation about EMM wanting to send a nurse she said “I’m pretty sure you’re going to Guinea-Bissau.” Shocked at her confident observation, I confessed that with each short term mission trip I had gone on God has grown and grown my heart for missions until my friend from nursing school basically drug me out of Malawi, and my calling to missions was clarified to return to Africa after a few trips to non-african 3^rd world countries but I was stubborn and continued to explain the 100 reasons why it couldn’t be me, not now, I knew nothing about Guinea-Bissau, Portuguese, Sean or EMM, I was in the midst of a RN-BSN program, I was just getting acclimated to my RN role in the Emergency Room, not to mention that the team was leaving in December and going required raising thousands of dollars that I did not have and the list went on. Looking back I wonder who I was trying to convince. It certainly wasn’t my friend. Perhaps myself or even God. I didn’t yet see how He was at work in this, how He was about to fulfill so many of my desires beyond but what I could ever imagine.  Less than 2 months later I was sitting on a picnic bench in Salunga with EMM staff, thrilled and terrified to be signing up for the next adventure God had led me to… Catel, Guinea-Bissau.

In the roughly two months in between the relay for life event where I ran into sean and the day I officially decided to go I prayed,prayed, and prayed some more. I First prayed that God would give me patience and help me forget about it, then that God would lead me to His will, next that he would tell me if this (Guinea-Bissau December 2011) was the mission to which He was leading me, and then finally as I began to step out and coordinate things with EMM I continuously asked for Him to confirm that calling. While I didn’t get the burning bush or stone tablet I was looking for, one thing I repeatidly hear from God during this time was that if I could think of one reason which was not rooted in fear not to go, then I shouldn’t go. “But God, what if I can’t find a job when I get back?” Fear. “What if I can’t find enough supporters?” Fear. “What if I don’t know enough or have enough experience to treat people there?” Fear. Though some of these fears were legitimate concerns, they were all fears. Thus though terrified, dumbfounded and completely clueless, I stepped out and told EMM I was interested in going. And one by one the obstacles began to fall away as God opened door after door, and began to combat many of the fears that I’d wrestled with up until this point.

Little did I know, on that warm summer evening after a long day on the river, that with each passing lap on the track God was nudging my heart closer to the next chapter He had for me that brought the greatest joy of my life. As with most catalysts for spiritual growth, that journey was not without times of pain and trial but I saw God move in the hearts of many of my Guinensee friends, in my own heart, and most of all he vibrantly illuminated the deep and ever growing calling that He put in my life for missions.

Family Fun

... with my Guinensee family that is!

Fatimata and her youngest daughter Nene
This picture was taken at the end of a long a difficult week for Fatimata, and the night before I left. I stayed at their house late into the night until another friend convinced me I really had to get some sleep before my long day of traveling. Miss them like crazy, cherish every moment we get to talk, and continue to pray for their salvation.

Mai Sambu & I  October 2012
 Mai is such a dear friend and I remain encouraged and hopeful for the work the God is doing in her life along with the amazing transformation I witnessed in her life and in the lives of those around her during my time in Catel. I pray for our Father to bless and keep her as she cares for her family and continues to speak into the lives of those around her.
May she rise up to be a God fearing leader of the women in Catel.

 



My boy Eva

Ana and Eliza having fun with Lia :)



Benson and Eva
So many great memories of these 2. Them sneaking food off the plate as I'm cooking it, bathing in our wash tubs, coming down to keep me company in the clinic on rainy days, finding them with huge chunks of out hot pink Santex (Antibacterial soap) mashed into their head after I told them they had to wash their hair every day to get rid of the fungus, them coming to jumbai on the veranda like adults, and of course my newest memory is all the stories I've been told about Eva telling his mother she can stay with the rice but he's going to America to see Terianne.
These two warmed my heart and I continue to pray for them.

"Little" Eliza, now so grown up, came along with
the other kiddos to say good-bye.

Sunday 28/10/12 - Children from Sunday School came to sing to me while I was waiting for a car to Senegal
When they all returned to the church Chad tried to encourage Eva to go, and even tried to carry him over, but Eva refused.
Then as we embarked on the public transport van, Eva suddenly plunged for the door and started yelling my Blanata name. How can a 4year old understand such a time? It broke my heart. I miss you little buddy.    <3

Fatimata, myself & Adramani
Not the best photo quality, but the 2 best friends ever. Better than I could have ever asked for!
Saying Goodbye was terribly difficult but God will carry out his plans and I continue to pray for them every day.
So thankful for all of the language, culture, and life lessons learned with both of them.
What a blessing

The last drop of "What's so magical about Maaza"

Though I felt better in my heart about my anger towards this injustice, I was now concerned about Mariama and the rest of the villages cultural perception of what had happened. I had never gotten upset like that in public, in fact I don’t think I had been angry like that at all, and I was concerned about how it would be perceived by Mariama, the village, and the chief!  I felt that maybe I should go apologize to Mariama and the chief, but firstly Mariama, and let her know I was upset because I care about them, just to make sure there were no misunderstandings.

I found Mariama on her normal spot, sitting on her dirt veranda outside their house, with Mamanjan wrapped tightly to her back, squatting down mashing onions and spices for the afternoon meal. Upon my arrival she smiled and greeted me. She quickly dismissed my anxieties and again stated everyone knows he hates the Fulani and that she thought maybe he’d listen to me. She told me to forget about it, no one would think poorly of me because of this incident and everyone will know I was trying to help her. I was appreciative of her forgiveness or understanding or whatever had taken place, but wondered a little if she really understood why I was upset, or if she would tell me even if she was upset with me. But what could be done? I had done my best to explain and apologize, now the rest was up to God.

~ * ~ * ~

Later that afternoon I made my routine trip to Tanu’s store to buy some bread for dinner. I looked around and didn’t see Fatimata, Tanu’s wife and my dear friend, and wondered what she, as the calm, collected, eldest Fula woman in the village, must think of this morning’s spectacle. I began again to worry about the damage this may have created to my witness there in Catel.  Just then Fatimata called me inside. That alone was nerve wracking because this is a culture that socializes outside. Inside is generally for sleeping or being sick. “Lord, how did I screw this up so bad?” I whined inside my thoughts, anxious about what was about to happen and worried I had screwed up months of relationship building with my Fula friends. As I entered she greeted me with a wide smile and told me to sit. She thanked me for helping Mariama take care of her son and told me I shouldn’t be upset by what had happened earlier. Then she said she had something for me. She pulled out an ice cold Mango Maaza and placed it into my hands.

The can immediately began to sweat from the intensely hot afternoon sun, and I found myself stunned. What just happened here? Fatimata had bought for me my favorite juice and had taken it upon herself to chill it in her water “puti” (clay water pot) with a piece of purchased ice since this morning’s ruckus at the immunization clinic. I opened it and offered her a sip. She laughed and politely declined. She said it was a gift for all I do for them, and because I am their friend. I took a sip and I couldn’t contain my sheer joy. Studying my face, she beamed at my delight, and for the first time in Catel, I knew my heart was understood. “They know that I love them,” I thought, “despite all the initial language issues and cultural faux pas I’d committed, they get it Lord, they know that I love them!”  And I savored every drop, knowing full well it was potentially the most delicious juice I’d ever drink.

For me, this simple gift that my friend offered me that afternoon will forever symbolize a turning point in my perspective as a missionary and in my relationship with the people of Catel. And that is what’s so magical about Mango Maaza J

 

** As stated above, this is and “old” story which took place at the end of April. I decided to publish it at this time to depict social aspects of West African culture that might otherwise be difficult to describe, because it’s a story particularly near to my heart, and most of all because, in hindsight, it was just 1 piece of a continuing revelation God is showing me that missions are so NOT so much about what WE do or don’t do, and is MORE about loving people as Christ loved us. What a huge relief! **

 

What's so magical about Maaza?

Part 2

 

 

I admit that this verse didn’t come to mind in the midst of this drama as we stood in front of the crowd in the shade of the cashew tree at the immunization clinic that hot afternoon. But perhaps it came to heart instead. Though Mariama is physically able to speak, she doesn’t speak Portuguese (the official language and the language of the educated), and her Creole isn’t that great either, so in the midst of all this emotion she’s stuttering and not able to get many comprehensible sentences out. Even if her linguistics were perfect, a young Fula woman isn’t exactly a voice of authority in a rural Guinensee village. I, however, am a white medical professional who, in their culture, automatically has some status and authority, and therefore my voice is sometimes able be heard for those “unable” to speak for themselves, such a Mariama in this given situation.

 I took a deep breath and began to explain that this is a woman who has a name. She has a personal identity outside of “Fula woman” and continued to insist that I happen to know them quite well, that I see her feed him every two hours or so, get her fortified formula and baby food to supplement his diet which she buys for him … and that’s where he cuts me off and begins verbally attacking her again. He rants that she’s lying to me, that if she cared about him she would have taken him to the nearest hospital for weights and nutritional information, and he’s going take her baby away. Here’s where I’d like to say that I was angel missionary and stayed very calm and collected, however, that would be lies.

By now she’s trembling and crying. I am frankly shocked at this blatant racism and completely unprepared for the situation which is now taking place in front of a growing crowd. I then became extremely upset, having seen her suffer all these months watching her son be so sick and now for someone to try and heap blame on to her was unbearable. Seeing all of the hurt and humiliation that this poor suffering mother, my friend, was enduring I less than calmly explained to him that I AM the nearest hospital, and she does bring him to the clinic for weekly weights, and he IS on a nutritional plan. Seeing my growing discontent, this medical professional assures me that he doesn’t have a problem with me, but her, and continues to personally attack her parenting skills and deems her unfit based on her being Fulani. Seeing that this isn’t going to get anywhere, we excuse ourselves and practically run across the street, where our friend Fatimata is waiting to greet us in front of her husband’s small store. Though she’d been watching, she asks what happened and I immediately burst into tears and am unable to produce any comprehensive speech. I think she understood the “doctor’s” name, Mariama, and Mamanjan, and that was about it. Fatimata explains this man is well known for his poor bedside manner, his frequent habit of not using anesthetics for painful procedures, and hate for the Fulani. I am irate at this injustice and embarrassed at my inability to hide these emotions, and perhaps for fear of not controlling my response to them, head back to the mission house. On top of everything that just happened I feel like a massive failure. I, the missionary, just “freaked out” on a local “doctor” in front of the chief and the rest of the village. “Certainly not winning any missionary of the year awards!” I thought to myself. 

After a discussion with another missionary, I recognized that I was not attacking this other healthcare provider, but was in fact was trying to give an audible voice to my friend, who was being ruthlessly attacked by people who truly knew nothing about her, purely based on the fact that she’s Fulani. As I attempted to process what had just happened, my good friend and co-missionary suggested that there is a righteous anger that that is healthy in unjust situations. That perhaps my anger for this injustice was rooted in love for these people.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak

 for themselves, ensure justice for

those being crushed.”  -Prov 31:8



What’s so magical about Maaza?

 

**A Story from April 2012 which I had emailed and journaled about but never had the time to compile and share with you all... until now **

 

PART 1

It was love at first sip. I love mangos and I love Maaza’s mango sumu (juice). I love it so much that whenever I went to a larger, more developed village like Ingoré or São Domingos to buy medicine, I always stopped by a store, which had an ice chest/chest freezer, and treated myself to a frosty cold, or sometimes mildly chilled, Mango Maaza. Tanu, one of the store keepers in our village, stocks Maaza but has no refrigeration. Though undoubtedly more refreshing when chilled, even at room temperature of 80 or 90 degrees its delicious, and when I go to Tanu’s store and ask for “my juice” he knows exactly what I want.  Yes, it’s good juice, but would I blog about ordinary juice? No.

 

Mango Maaza won’t reduce your appetite, help you stay up all night, or get rid of wrinkles. It’s also not particularly cheap, in the US or in Africa! So what IS so magical about a cold Mango Maaza you might ask yourself? Well, ordinarily, nothing. It’s juice. As I explained previously, it’s quite delicious juice, especially with no Ocean Spray around, but there’s certainly nothing “magical” about it, in and of itself. But as I’m sure you know, many ordinary things in life are valuable due to their sentimental value. Mango Maaza is no exception.

~ * ~ * ~

It started out as an ordinary afternoon. I was in the kitchen at the mission house trying to figure out what I could come up for dinner, when my good friend Mariama appeared at the door with her young son Mamanjan. I immediately began to apologize because I had said I would stop over and was running late, but she interrupted me mid sentence and said the doctor wanted to see me. Now this was startling in and of itself, since Sean and I were the only medical professionals in the village.

It was a Saturday afternoon and I remembered that the people from Sedengal (a nearby village) had come to run their monthly immunization clinic. I asked Mariama if that was the doctor who wanted to see me. She said yes and, holding back tears, said that the doctor (which is term often used to describe any medical personnel) there wanted to see me. Sensing that something was wrong, I ushered her out the gait and we headed for the benches in the shade of a large tree, where they run monthly vaccine programs. By this time Mariama is blurting out something about him taking her baby and I’m confused, thinking that though my Creole was far from perfect, perhaps there was a huge misunderstanding between her and this “doctor” she was speaking of. Mariama is a young Fula woman. Fulani women, at least in our area, are normally uneducated and often don’t speak Creole well, or even at all. I was at a loss for what could have possibly happened here but was hoping I would be of some use sorting things out.

As we are approaching, a medical provider sees Mariama and starts verbally attacking her, roaring in a loud demeaning tone of voice, calling her an unfit mother and saying that Fula children always die because their mothers don’t take care of them. By now I’ve heard enough and attempt to introduce myself, but he continues. He is now addressing myself, insisting she’s lying to me and accusing her of not feeding  her infant son, pointing out that he’d lost 0.2kg (0.44lbs) since the prior month.  By this point, between his accusations, his tone of voice, and the fact that he has unjustly accused and publically humiliated my friend, this man has rather rapidly pushed my, actually I do know her. She’s one of my best friends.  I am at her house multiple times a day, and I know that she has done so much to try to help this poor child who is always sick and she does extra side jobs so that they can buy him supplemental formula and fortified baby food, so don’t you dare verbally attack her like that …(pause to breathe),  button.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak
for themselves, ensure justice for
those being crushed.”  -Prov 31:8

to be continued...

More than just Thanksgiving

Eucharisteo

life. filling. gratitude

 

Eucharisteo is more than just thanksgiving. Its life filling gratitude. The title of this blog is Eucharisteo. I read "A thousand gifts" by: Ann Voskamp not long before starting this blog and I was more than on board with it. I wanted this idea of Eucharisteo to permeate my very being. Now it's one year later and well, the first thank I shal give thanks for is grace, because clearly I'm still learning :)

~*~*~

It was after 1am, and I had been lying in bed sobbing for quite some time. I was safely tucked into my warm bed, in a house with my family, lying next to my phone which my friends were blowing up, and yet I felt so alone. Stranded even. As I began to respond to a friend's text, explaining that I'd be fine because I believe in God's promises, I know he'll provide, it suddenly clicked. Clear as day. Perhaps my dilema is less about all the things I feel I'm lacking right now. Everything that seems to be a mess and spinning out of control. Everyone I've left behind. Everything that was left undone. And to a degree this was true. I have bills, but no job. Ideas and hope for where God's calling me in the future, but no way to get there, the list goes on. But lying there trying to explain how I should be feeling the peace of Christ, to my non-believing friend, it became clear. Perhaps this deep distress of my spirit is less about all of these things, and more about the fact that I still haven't fully learned to be content in all circumstances.

What God has been showing me this week is that I really need to work on this, and that peace and courage in really stressful circumstances comes from Eucharisteo. From giving thanks. A deep sense of joy and thankfulness way down in your heart that says "God, I don't know whats going on here. It feels out of control and messy and frankly, bad. But Lord I am clinging to the truth that I know you are good. You have given me so much and I am thankful. You will continue to guide me to your will and through this, grow me into the woman you've created me to be, and Lord though it may be messy, unacceptable to the world, and wickedly painful, I give thanks, because of that there's no where else I'd rather be."
This is my prayer today, for you and myself, that we would continue on this journey of learning to live in Eucharisteo. That one day, like Paul, we would say "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation..."

~*~*~*~

 

One commentary's remarks on Philippians 4:11

 

Furthermore, Paul says that he had "learned" this. Probably by nature he had a mind as prone to impatience as others, but he had been in circumstances fitted to produce a different state of feeling. He had had ample experience 2 Corinthians 11:26, and, in his life of trials, he had acquired invaluable lessons on the subject. He had had abundant time for reflection, and he had found that there was grace enough in the gospel to enable him to bear trials with resignation. The considerations by which he had been taught this, he does not state; but they were probably such as the following:  that a spirit of impatience does no good, remedies no evil, and supplies no want; that God could provide for him in a way which he could not foresee, and that the Saviour was able abundantly to sustain him"

In the ring with Re-entry

I actually feel some days as if I have entered a boxing ring with re-entry. Untrained & without gloves. I had no idea what to expect. Being on the mission field was cake compared to this! Okay, so maybe that's an exageration, but re-entry has been no picnic to far. Returning to the US has been a holistic punch in the gut...

ü  Physically feeling sick from drastic change in eating habits and obvious lack of mangos

Okay so small joke about the mangos, but the change in eating, sleeping, climate, and physical routine does leave one feeling, well, gross.

 

ü  Emotionally train wrecked. Leaving my loved ones in Catel, Guinea-Bissau ripped my heart out. Perhaps because they weren’t the family I was born into or friendships I made with classmates or co-workers, but relationships created between people so different (in ethnicity, clothing, language, food, culture, you name it) that only God could have drawn our hearts so close.

 

ü  Spiritually- our God is faithful. And praise Him that his promises never rest on anything we say or do. However, I confess that being home has also taken a toll on me spiritually. I  certainly experienced some culture shock from African culture back into American, but also experienced culture shock going  from living within this little bubble of Christians (like the 12+ other  missionaries who lived in our house) whose sole purpose and goal is to seek Gods will and show his love, back into mainstream US culture. It was devastating. On top of that, I never felt more who I was created to be in Christ, then when I was there in Catel. Therefore, I think that my spirit is reinforcing my heart’s yearning to return. The difference is my spirits say “return but have patience Terianne, let the Lord prepare you, He has it under control,” whereas my heart says “what are you waiting for!”

Is hasn’t exactly been pretty neatly tied up in a bow kind of re-entry experience, if such a thing exists. But our Father is faithful. He has good plans for us (Philippians 1:6) and He knows the desires of our hearts (Psalm 37:4). Of these things I am certain. I can't make a lot of sense of my whirling thoughts or storms of emotions at the moment, but I will cling to the promises my heavenly father has given, and he will carry me. I know that re-entry, like all difficult things is an opportunity for God to be my strength and to grow me. I will do my best to welcome that and keep you updated on the journey.

Re-entry

Just wanted to post a short message letting everyone know I have arrived safe and sound here in Lancaster,PA with my family. Thank you all for your financial and prayerful support. So many of you whom I know even know have blessed me beyond belief, and I am forever greatful. I humbly ask your continued prayers as I readjust to western culture and continue to see God's will for whats next.

Better late than never...

So this blog will be just 2 very short announcements...

#1 My fundraising video is finally up!!!!!
Check it out... 5 months after finishing this project, my video project "A Glimpse of Guinea-Bissau" is FINALLY online. I had a lot of problems and spent countless hours trying to upload it in Guinea but the internet just wasn't cooperative. But, now its finally online.
Enjoy :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=szCHXz72L0M


#2 My flight
Thank you for all the thoughts and prayers as my scheduled flight was due in to Dulles at 06 this morning. My flight was cancelled and I'm currently in Dakar, Senegal waiting for the next avaliable flight.

update on Paula

We heard today that Paula will be leaving Bissau October 30th for her much needed surgery. Praise God! Please continue to pray that everything goes smoothly and that God will reveal himself to her family in this difficult time.

Paulina: Child in Crisis

Her name is Paulina, or Paula for short.She’s adorable. Her eyes are bright and full of hope. She smile is brilliant and would light up the room if I ever actually saw her inside of one. But she can’t run and play like the other kids.

 Paula has a heart condition which prohibits her from running and playing with the other kids. Of course at 5 years old she doesn’t understand that hear heart is weak and enlarged but she does know enough that after running a few yards she squats and rests for a few minutes to catch her breath before trying to catch up with the others. When its extremely hot she also sometimes climbs up onto my lap in church and pants for air.  She’s a beautiful petite little 5 year old her mother, perhaps like all mothers, has huge hopes and dreams for her little angel. However all those dreams come to a shashing reality when fragile little paula gets a minor cold which sends her body into a frantic state, teetering on the edge of life.

Last week after 2 days of a minor cold, we took little Paula with her parents to Bissau (the capital) to get medical care and to start the process for her to be evacuated with JUNTA, a program to evacuates children to other countries to get surgeries which cannot be performed here in Guinea-Bissau. The 2 ½ hour ride in the sweltering heat only agervated her cardio/respiratory problems more and by the time we arrived at the 2^nd hospital (the first told us they don’t do urgent peds visits, only scheduled) she was cyanotic and her pulse ox was under 75%.  For those non-medical readers, Paula was in bad shape.

 Paula is currently under the care of Guinensee pediatricians at Simao Mendes hospital in Bissau, Guinea-Bissau and is in the process with JUNTA, waiting to be schedule for her much needed cardiac surgery, which will probably take place in Europe. Please keep Paula, her mother, and her physicians in your prayers.

 

Updated Clinic Needs

TRUE test blood glucose test strips (200)
http://www.amazon.com/TRUEtest-Blood-Glucose-Test-Strips/dp/B0053SZFM2/ref=sr_1_15?ie=UTF8&qid=1343320534&sr=8-15&keywords=trueTest+strips


Infant sling for hanging scale (with strap or D-ring)
preferable nylon so it is very sturdy and can be wiped down easily

the link below shows that set up that we have. it works great but is really only good for kids who can already sit or at least hold their head up. We really need the "sling" for the new borns. I'm trying to find a link but having some trouble loading webpages.
http://salter-brecknell.centralcarolinascale.com/235-6S.htm

1-2 more ADULT REGULAR sized manual blood pressure cuffs

Portuguese english medical dictionary

Hanging file folders


*** I'm hoping to get these materials together ASAP because some missionaries are returning from PA to Catel, Guinea-Bissau in less than 2 weeks ***

Praise God from whom all blessings flow



Mamanjan & I at his birthday festa

Something happened yesterday that would be pretty normal for an western family, but that most people thought was impossible. My best friend Mariama's little boy (Mamanjan) turned one year old!


This poor little guy has struggle with many health problems which, for a time, left him weak and frail. He was constantly sick, not only unable to gain weight, but constantly loosing, was signifigantly developmentally delayed. People often told his parents he would die and even some medical professionals accused them of neglecting him. His parents were heartbroken and discouraged with his state of health and his mother often couldn't eat or sleep well . Over the last 2 months Mamanjan has remained healthy, started gaining weight, and started making up ground developmentally. He has begun babbling, playing with toys, and can bear weight with a little support. His Mama has been able to gain a little weight and has replaced the big dark circles under her eyes with a gleam of hope and admiration for her son.

I am so thankful for our heavenly father who not only hears our prayers but who loves little Mamanjan more than I can imagine. I'm thankful that God already has an awesome plan for his life. Please continue to pray that God will speak to Mamanjan's parents (Mariama and Amadori) and that their spiritual eyes and ears will be opened as He works in their lives.


By the way, Mamanjan LOVED the brownies we took to his birthday party. I have a video of him eating them that is nothing short of Betty Crocker commercial material!



Fun Things & Such

A few recent photos which are too cute not to share.

Mariama with her son Mamanjan, and his friend Abdul (on my lap)

Alyssa's little sidekick, (little) Mariama

Little Mariama & Alyssa came to rest with me

Meet Mariama

Mariama & I on moving night

Mariama is my best friend here in Guinea-Bissau.

She's (give or take) around 17 years old. It's not uncommon for Africans to not know their age.
She's married and has a little son, Mamanjan, who will turn 1 next month.

Amadori and his friend packing all their possessions
into this little hauler when they moved.

 Mariama, lived in Catel with her son, husband, and brother-in-law until about 2 weeks ago when they moved to a village a few kilometers away.  Mariama is part of the Fulani tribe which stretches across Africa and is originally from Conakry, Guinea. And thus her primary language is Fula, but she's also pretty fluent in Portuguese Kriol as well. Mariama was a bit reserved when I first met her but has generously opened her home and her heart as we became friends over the last 6 months.

Though, like most Fula people, her family is Muslim, I see her seeking truth and pray God will reveal himself to her and her husband and take a strong hold on their lives so that their son might grow up knowing Him.

Amadori & Mamanjan   May 2012

Mariama and her husband Amadori have struggled emotionally and financially as their little son, Mamanjan, has been ailed by one illness after another during his short life. A long battle with malaria, at the beginning of the year, left Mamanjan's body frail and developmentally delayed. In April, at 9 months old, he weighed a mere 4.2kg (aprox 9.2 lbs). In addition to breast milk he's being supplemented with fortified baby cereal and fortified formula to help him get the nutrients he needs to stay healthy and grow. He's now up to about 5kg and we praise god that he's been relatively healthy these last 2 months and is now able to sit on his own, play, and babble

Mariama and Amadori both adore Mamanjan and I pray that God will strengthen them as a family and that they will come to know him. I'm so thankful for the friends God has blessed me with in Catel and I pray that he will use me to be a blessing unto them!

Under Fire

 Contrary popular belief, being a missionary doesn’t instantaneously morph you into Super Christian. The moment you step off the plane you’re not transformed into some super spiritual being. Nor do you become immune to the stress, chaos, temptations, inter social drama or business of “normal” life. In fact, I’d suggest it’s quite the opposite. Stepping off the plane into a new culture away from the support of your family and friends, away from all the comforts of home does, however, force you to often evaluate yourself and the world around you in a new way, and if you let it, acts as a catalyst for a lot of growth and changes God wants to make in your life.

I’ve recently been reminded that when we take these giant steps in faith, our heavenly father is not the only one who notices. The enemy lurks and feel threatened by our newly refreshed confidence in the plans our Lord has for us and launches an all-out attack.

Since extending my term here, that’s exactly how I’ve felt. I am reminded of the story of Job. Satan was determined that if God stopped blessing Job, stopped protecting him from the suffering of the world, that if He allowed Job to suffer severely or long enough that he’d eventually curse his heavenly father. But praise God, we serve a God who is so much bigger than our enemy. May we learn a lesson from Job “^1:21-22…The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed by the name of the Lord. In all this Job did not sin or charge God with wrong.”

But we need to be alert, “^2:2 And the Lord said to Satan, “Where have you come from?” Satan answered the Lord, “From roaming throughout the earth, going back and forth on it.”  The enemy prowls, and he’s waiting to devour us! He hopes that our faith is fickle enough to collapse under the suffering of the moment. But we serve a God who is so much bigger than our enemy. A god who, when we call on him, fills us with hope and courage. A god who, when we cry out in weakness, becomes our strength.  A god who raises us up out of the miry clay, who washes us white as snow, who protects us from the arrow of the enemy. Thanks be to God who is our light and our salvation. Our hope and our strength. May we always remember his sovereignty in times of suffering and may give us endurance, that our lips and our lives would always glorify his name.

This is just a brief summary of my thoughts on the awesomeness of our God who saves.

God is good, ALL THE TIME… and I will give thanks in all things.

"Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suggering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed." 1Pt 4:12-13