Can I be honest with you for a moment?
I’m miserable. I’ve been in Mozambique for entirely too long, I’m tired of the heat, and I’m tired of being dirty. I just spent four hours working in the fields, and then four hours scraping paint in a hot room. To top it off, we have no water. Guess it’s baby-wipe showers for everyone.
Needless to say, the Lord is teaching me things that I know could only be learned here, under the scorching heat of Mozambique.
Great. Now that we’ve gotten that established, I present to you my fourth month of the World Race:
My month has been spent in Machava, Mozambique. My team, along with two others, is working at Beacon of Hope – Africa, an incredible ministry that brings boys into a home and provides education, discipleship and life skills training. They learn how to become productive members of society and are expected to use their initiative and new skills to find jobs upon graduation. The boys work for everything and are given no handouts.
It is truly an amazing ministry, run by an American woman who has given up her life to disciple the young men of Mozambique.
But, it’s summer here. School isn’t even in session. So we’re here, all twenty of us, with no boys to help. …What do we do now?
Well, in this case, we work outside on the grounds. We work hard. And we do it all in 95+ degree weather.
I’ve gotten in touch with my Mid-Western roots this month and have become a farmer. I wake up every morning and join my team as we head off to the fields. We hoe ground covered in weeds and grass to create an open dirt field. We plant food – sometimes corn, sometimes cabbage, sometimes squash. Then we eat lunch, take a break while the scorching African sun goes down a little, and head back out to the fields. When there isn’t work to be done in the fields, we scrape paint and clean floors.
Manual labor, all day, every day.
My pampered Washingtonian-upbringing did not prepare me for this.
My skin has turned brown. My hair is braided into tiny braids, with fake hair woven into my own. I spend my days in the fields, and my nights under a mosquito net. I sleep on the floor in a tiny room with three other women. I share one bathroom with 19 other people, 16 of whom are female. We filter water every morning because we’re too poor to buy it bottled. I haven’t seen a mirror in a month. I walk for an hour just to get a Coke Light. I live in a constant state of sweatiness and exhaustion.
And I live in a constant state of pleading for Jesus to help me through another day.
Desperation. “Jesus, You have to carry me because I literally cannot go out to that field today.” Asking for help, and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that if God doesn’t show up, I’m going to be in some real trouble. Because really, I can’t do this anymore.
I’ve learned how to pray desperately this month. I’ve learned how to rely on God as my Provider – a provider of strength, of comfort, of surprise desserts.
Someone recently told me, “In America, we believe in God. In the rest of the world, they depend on Him.”
And so I’m here, in the middle of Mozambique, learning how to depend on God. Not just believe in Him – but depend on the power of His name and the goodness of His provision. God is teaching me what it means to trust Him, to follow Him, to die to myself and to let Him live through me
.
And that’s my goal, isn’t it? He is made greater, I am made less.
In less than a week, my team will head out to Nsoto, Swaziland. We’ll be in the middle of the absolute nowhere, living in the African bush.
I expect it to be hard. I expect my skin will continue to get darker in the 95+degree weather, and I expect to spend many more nights asking God to allow me to sleep, despite the heat.
But, I also expect God will to continue to teach me about His provision, about His sovereignty, and about His love.
A month in the African bush. Guess it’s game time now.
And I’m ready. (especially with these braids.)
