Rachel's Reflections

I sat with the two girls, facing the little creek that flowed past their house, helping them pronounce English words. My ears caught a rumbling noise. My brain thought it sounded like thunder, my eyes looking at the blue sky above thought something else. A few minutes later I heard more rumbling. What could it be? Peering between the houses and walls surrounding us I glimpsed dark clouds moving into view. "Let's go, Rachel! Quick! It's going to start raining," the one girl said as she stood up. Sure enough, you could hear the rain coming through the neighborhood, heading straight for us. Too late. We wouldn't have time to make it to my car before the rain reached us. Gathering up the notebooks and my purse we ducked into the small house just in time. We sat on empty rice sacks on the dirt floor in the dim interior looking out at the pouring rain. After a few minutes, I pulled my phone out and played one of the Gospel songs I have. They tried listening for English

How did they manage to get that there ? I wondered as I walked  up to Mama Z's house. My eyes shifted from the conspicuous van parked in a tight spot to Mama Z sitting on her porch talking to a visitor. As I greeted her the van kept asking for my attention. It meant her husband must be around. What would he think about my purpose in visiting Mama Z today? I stopped the new Jesus Film halfway through the three hours. "We'll finish the other half another day," I told Mama Z and the rest of her family. Papa Z shifted his position. He had not only allowed me to show the Jesus Film but had watched with interest as well. "I don't understand," he said, " Is Jesus God or the Son of God?" "Jesus is God," I said.  "If Jesus is God," he went on, "and He died on the cross, who continued to drive* the world?" (*direct translation) "God the Father did," I replied. "So there are two gods?" he asked. "No,

If I'm honest, Thanksgiving always meant family to me. Extended family, gathered around delicious food, quality time, good conversations. This year I'm not with my family. Being away from them during the holiday season is hard. Yet God provided for me in a special way this year. My friend's family invited me to join them for their Thanksgiving celebration. And what a celebration!  I walked into their house and saw the beautiful fall decorations on the table. While waiting for other friends to arrive, I received a strange symbol on a card. In order to find our seats, we had to match our symbols with the correct verse reference placed at one of the table settings. In our proper seats, we read through the lengthy Thanksgiving story and sung a song or two. Then we all helped set food on the table: turkey cooked to perfection, juicy ham, and mouth-watering mashed potatoes and gravy. Can you find the verse reference and symbol I have at my place setting? After clearing the dishes

Mama Z sat cutting the leaves in her hand into fine strips. We would use them to make the Matapa for lunch, my requested Kimwani lesson for the week. Her twin sons came with their English notebooks, hoping I'd help them before I started cooking with their mom. New words like kick, catch, and fry filled the air. They wrote down the words they wanted to remember. A giggling girl interrupted, asking the one boy if he would be ready to leave for school on time. He closed his notebook and got up. His brother started to follow but turned back to me. "One more," he said, "Marry me." I started laughing. I couldn't help it. He said it with such innocence and had no idea what he had said. I've never laughed at their English questions before and he looked confused. Curbing my laughter, I managed to tell him what it meant and his mom joined me in laughing. He mumbled something about learning it from a song and needing to be more careful. I nodded my head in agreemen

Have you ever seen the EvangeCube? It's really cool to play with. I used to be fascinated with it as a child, trying to flip through the various images.  My current housemate, Inge, has one on her shelf in the living room. I've been itching to play with it ever since I saw it. I finally got my chance. "Can I borrow your EvangeCube?" I asked. "I want to take it to Mama Z's to learn it in Kimwani." I eagerly reached for it when she agreed. Brushing the dust off, I started flipping through it. With a satisfied feeling, I tucked it into my bag.  At Mama Z's house, I showed her the cube, walking her through the presentation in Portuguese. She listened with interest, marveling at how the cube functioned.  "I want to learn how to say all this in Kimwani," I said. She looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I am. We decided to break it down phrase by simple phrase over the course of several days so I could manage all the new Kimwani words. "I bel

I hate singing in front of other people. It scares me to death. What if I don't sing well? What if I mess up? What if people don't like my voice? I also dislike phone calls. I prefer to have a conversation with someone in person whenever possible. And in Portuguese or Kimwani? Are you kidding me? Half the time I'm left guessing at what the other person said because of noisy backgrounds or muffled voices. In light of these confessions, I'm really living in the wrong country.  Mozambicans love singing (and dancing) and making phone calls. They wonder why I don't call them more often or give me strange looks when I get nervous about singing.  The other day I gathered up enough courage  to call Mama N,  a precious friend from Pemba. Her exuberant response tumbled out of my phone when she heard my voice . How long it had been, and how am I doing, and when would I be back in Pemba, and when could I show the Jesus Film to her family, and she had forgotten how to sing the s

I didn't want to go. My body protested when I hoisted myself off the couch after my midday break from the hot sun.  "I need to at least give Mama A the yarn I promised her a week ago for her crochet blanket," I told myself, trying to fight the urge to be a couch potato. "If I still don't feel great, I'll come back and rest." Walking past tree after tree dripping with mangoes, my mouth began to water. It's too early for them to be ripe and juicy, but how I long for them to be ready!  Unfortunately, the relish in my mouth at the thought of eating mangoes jarred with the cramp in my stomach. I wasn't sure how I would make it through my visit with Mama A. Visiting Mama A calls for motivation on a good day. The atmosphere around her house often feels devoid of love. Sitting on the reed mat with her for hours leaves my back stiff and sore. I often feel drained afterward. Yet last week when I had tried to leave early she exclaimed, "Already?! But I

I enjoy watching The Lion King. The music is nostalgic, bringing me back to my childhood. I especially love listening to the opening song. However, the past two weeks sobered me to the reality of the words of that song. The circle of life... moves us all through despair and hope . "In the twenty minutes it took me to walk you home on Friday," Mama A told me when I arrived on Monday, "my neighbor passed away." My smile turned to a frown, sadness filling my heart. He had been sick for weeks. As I sat there, h is adorable little daughter came to greet me as always. "My daddy's sick," she said. She told me this every time she saw me. This time it broke my heart. Had no one told her he had died? Had she not understood? Lost for words, I opened my crochet bag and saw that I had enough pink yarn in it to make a hat for her.  I started right away.  It wasn't much, but it made me feel like I was doing something for her. "What are you making?" she

Like wisps of smoke curling through the cracks of a room, the thoughts crept in. I miss my family. Am I making a difference among the Mwani people? What if I moved back to the U.S.? A few days passed and the thoughts thickened and clouded my mind as if the wisps of smoke had merged and dimmed the lights.  I should call K-tee , I thought Wednesday evening. She would understand and empathize with me. Instead I listened to a meaningless audiobook to escape reality. When I went to young adult Bible study on Thursday, usually the highlight of my week, the worship songs almost choked in my throat because of the thoughts swirling thick around me. Do you want to be led where trust is without borders? Wherever God would call you? You've been through a lot. You deserve it easy for a while. I hate showing vulnerability in a crowd, and while I love everyone in the group I couldn't bring myself to open up to them. I pretended I was fine and kept singing, but c oncern rose in my heart. A sen

The kids squealed in delight when the light from the projector appeared on the rough cement wall of their house. I smiled as I adjusted the settings. The mother and teenagers showed equal appreciation and wonder at the small device. I felt anticipation swirl around the room as I opened the Jesus Film. The movie started playing. I leaned back against the wall and thanked God for allowing me to visit Pemba the week before. I had been able to get the portable projector and other material to use with the Mwani people in Nampula. Mama Z, her children, and several others enjoyed watching the story of Jesus. Afterward she and her neighbor who had come late talked about the crucifixion scene. They struggled watching how Jesus had been mistreated. I listened to them go back and forth about this for a bit before I said, "He did it for us." "Yes, He died on the cross for our sins," she said. Surprised by her straight-forward statement it took a second for me to agree. "Ye

"I've been around a long time," *Rosa's mother-in-law said after I greeted her. The statement caught me off guard. I had originally gone out to visit Mama A, but discovered she wasn't home. I had walked on to *Rosa's house but her son told me she wasn't home either. I felt disappointed until he said his grandmother was around. I found myself trying to hold a conversation in Kimwani with her. My uncertainty of knowing how to respond to her blunt statement must have shown on my face. She said something, pushed herself to her feet, and hobbled into the house. I sat  on the empty rice sack waiting for her, listening to the sound of ants eating away at the bamboo fence in front of me. I glanced around and spotted a USAID bucket, I chuckled and snapped a picture of it. When the grandmother came back out she handed me her I.D. card before lowering herself back to the hard ground. I looked at the card and saw the year 1945 listed next to the birth date. "You

When I left Pemba in April I had mixed emotions. I knew it was the right decision and I had peace that God was in it. Yet I had a hard time saying goodbye to people, not knowing when I would come back. The Holy Spirit reminded me that He would still be in Pemba. He would still be working in the hearts of the people. These past few days I had the privilege of seeing God's faithfulness in that. I'm back in Pemba right now to grab some things and check in on a few people. While here I enjoyed attending a Mwani Bible study on Thursday and the Mwani fellowship this afternoon (Saturday). The strong faith of the believers touched my heart and encouraged me. I sat in the sand under the mango tree listening to one of the women share a testimonial. She boldly proclaimed the Word of God to a man claiming to be a Christian but had acted inappropriately towards her. Her faith had stood strong in a culture where inappropriate behavior is normalized. Another Mwani believer, a fter being snubb

What heart connection could be formed between such contrasted lives? The older veiling her hardships with a look of indifference, the younger learning to smile through her suffering. Could a connection be made in a short amount of time? Getting ready to leave Thursday morning I heard someone coming to the door.  I craned my neck up to greet Esther, a  young lady from the Congolese refugee camp . She wanted to hang out with me .  "I'm on my way to visit one of my young Mwani friends to help her with English," I told Esther, then I had an idea. "Do you want to come with me?" Esther  sometimes translates for the missionaries who work in the Congolese camp. She speaks great  English from having lived in South Africa. "I know my Mwani friend would love to hear you speak English," I told her. "Sure," Esther replied with a shrug of her shoulders. When we arrived, I greeted everyone as usual with a mixture of Portuguese and Kimwani. Esther asked me w

The idea of teaching a class at the local theological seminary sat in the hypothetical world in my mind. A future possibility. Or so I thought. It sprang on me like a cat. Out of nowhere, I needed to attend the teacher's meeting, introduce myself at teacher/student orientation, and have my first class ready to teach in Portuguese within a matter of days. All while saying goodbye to my parents. Back in April, my team leaders had suggested the idea of me teaching at the seminary in Nampula. I had laughed it off as a joke, but they were serious. I told them I would pray about it. Me? Teach in Portuguese? Only if You want me to, Lord. The idea moved to the back shelf of my mind to collect dust. About mid-June, however, it came up again with my German colleague. Upon hearing that I have a bachelor's degree she talked to the director of the seminary about me teaching there. When she mentioned that I could teach the Missions course I thought she was talking about next year. My parents

Who would have thought when I woke up that morning what God would orchestrate through the nudges of the Holy Spirit? I grabbed my purse, ready to walk out the door, and saw the box of newly arrived Kimwani audio Bibles. I should always carry one of those with me, just in case , I thought to myself. I slid one into my purse on my way out. I arrived at Mama Z's house and followed the sound of her welcome into the dimly lit interior. As my eyes adjusted I noticed a strange man sitting on the mat next to the wall. I greeted him as Mama Z emerged from another room. She introduced me to her husband and told him who I was. After returning my greeting, he asked if I had another audio Bible like the one I had given Mama Z. Pulling out the one I had put in my purse, I thanked God for the nudge to grab it on my way out of the door. After a short lunch break at home, I hesitated about my afternoon visit. I wanted to see *Rosa (not her real name) because I hadn't seen her for a while, but I

Oh no , I groaned on Thursday. I had just left to go visit Mama Z when she messaged to say she needed to go out and wouldn't be back until later. I pulled my car over to the side of the dusty road.  What do I do now?  I thought. I called my mechanic, " Are you available to look at my car?" I asked. He said yes so I continued down the road to his shop. I've owned my car for two years and never had major problems with it. Until this past month that is. After seeing my mechanic twice in June I had two new issues to fix in order to pass the annual car inspection.  Thankful to have a reliable mechanic, I discussed what needed fixing with him. Then I went to wait in his office, unsure of how to fill the time. I glanced at a book on his desk and did a double-take. The Portuguese words Why Am I on the Earth?  grabbed my attention. Good question , I thought. I've been asking myself similar questions the past few weeks. What am I here for? Why here in Nampula? Why am I the

What do you do when circumstances are not what you had hoped for? When South Africa is locked down so you can't go to your friend's wedding?  When all you can do is watch the live stream of her getting married in front of a few witnesses?  When you had looked forward to staying with one of your best friends? What do you do when your heart is not in the place you live? When your heart is in Pemba but it's too unstable to be there right now?  When you had an incredible experience out in one of the districts and now struggle with being stuck in a city? What do you do when one of the Mwani families you visit tells you they are being kicked out of the home they've been staying in? When you don't know where they are going or when you'll see them again? When you feel conflicted in your soul by the suffering and injustice around you and keep asking God why?  You remind yourself that  God is in control. You remind yourself that He has a plan and a purpose in everything.

I walked through the narrow alley, a spot of pink at the end catching my eye. I smiled. My friend already sat on a mat under the mango tree, working on her crochet project. Her pink headscarf standing out against everything around her. She looked up and smiled as I greeted her. "Wow, this looks great!" I exclaimed as I examined her circle. I had only started teaching her and her sister-in-law how to crochet a few days before. Both women had picked it up fast. She glowed at my praise and asked me what the next steps were to create a hat. I pulled out my Kimwani notebook as the sister-in-law joined us. I looked at my new phrases and told them the pattern. The day before, I had gone to Mama Z's house. She had taught me the Kimwani vocabulary needed to teach crochet. We laughed together as she attempted to start a crochet circle and I stumbled over the Kimwani words of telling her how to do it. The idea of teaching women to crochet started growing in my mind a few weeks ago. 

I woke up the next morning with the same sense of peace, contentment, and happiness permeating me. I listened to the movement of the family already going about their tasks outside before getting up. Emerging from the house I breathed in the fresh morning scent and greeted the aunt as she swept the yard.  Sitting in the sun for warmth, I helped shell the last of the peanuts with Clementina and the aunts. One of the older women said something in Macua; she sounded pleased with my work. The party moved back to the tarp in the shade of the cashew tree. I tried learning how to flip the peanuts and shells in a reed basket to separate them. We all laughed together at my feeble attempts. Later, we drove to another village to hike to a mountain, which was an adventure that lasted the whole day. On our way back that night we had a car problem. I sat on the ground watching the men trying to fix the car. When I looked up at the starry sky, I saw the Southern Cross hanging over my car and started s

I didn't post a blog the other week because I was off on a grand adventure! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Yet I would do it again in a heartbeat.  "Hey, I know this is last minute, but we're going up to Memba tomorrow morning. Do you want to come with us?" my friend Nelson said on the phone. "You could do some research about the people and culture. There are no churches in the area." What a great opportunity , I thought. Unfortunately  I had plans for the following two days but it just so happened that another family was going to Memba on Friday. It was agreed that I would follow them to meet up with my friends for the weekend. In the craziness of the next two days, I made several wrong assumptions about the weekend. I assumed there would be decent roads, electricity to charge my phone, cell service in order to call my parents and post my blog on Saturday, and other faulty assumptions. Midway to Memba Friday morning the nice paved road disapp

What can change a heart of pity to a heart full of admiration? "There are four kids knocking on my gate, asking for food. They all speak Kimwani, only one of them speaks Portuguese. Do you want to come and talk to them?" one of my new Nampula friends told me over the phone. I jumped in my car and went over. As I pulled up to her gate I saw the four kids, dusty from walking up and down the dirt roads. I greeted them in Kimwani and they broke into grins. "She speaks Kimwani," they whispered to each other. As my friend gave them a snack, which they devoured hungrily,  I offered to give them a ride home so I could meet their family. The four kids currently live with their grandparents. They used to live with their parents in a village north of Pemba, but last year they and their grandmother had to flee. To this day they don't know what happened to their parents. The kids go around the neighborhoods begging and bring back whatever they are given. As I drove away that

Imagine driving out of town, the vehicle picking up speed along with an anticipation of the destination. Suddenly, you come to a screeching halt. The road is closed. You have to find a new route to your destination and there are no detour signs, road maps, or anyone to help you navigate your way. You're on your own. That's what it felt like when I left Pemba and came to Nampula. No team leaders. No idea of how to meet Mwani people in a strange city. Yet the goal still is to share the Gospel with the Mwani. It felt like I was on my own. However, I've discovered there are others who have gone before me and left a path to follow. Last week, I walked down a narrow space between two walls and came out into a sandy yard. I greeted the six adults sitting under the mango tree. They brought me a chair and I introduced myself in Kimwani. A missionary friend had pointed out the Mwani home to me a few days before. They exclaimed at my Kimwani, happy to hear their own language in a city

The car bumped and rattled down the rough dirt road. The noise and chaos of the city fading behind me, replaced by fields, grass, trees, and bushes. Finally, I arrived at Mama Z's house. I saw her sitting on the edge of her cement porch with basins and buckets on the dirt in front of her. Ducking under some clothes hanging on the line, I sat down near her. She took a piece of clothing from the first basin of dirty, soapy water and rubbed it between her two hands, releasing the dirt. She transferred it to the next basin of less dirty water and then greeted me. "Mama Z, I brought that audio Bible you wanted," I said after the greetings were finished.  This was only my third time visiting Mama Z.  During my second visit, I had mentioned having audio Bibles in Kimwani and she had said she wanted one.  Mama Z stopped her washing, dried her hands, received the audio Bible with joy, and immediately pressed play. It went through the introduction before starting in Genesis. A neig

I feel like I've been here before. A sparsely furnished apartment on the second floor. A beautiful view of the odd-shaped mountains in the distance. A somewhat uncomfortable mattress on the bottom of a bunk bed in a small room.  Oh wait, I have been here before. One year ago my team evacuated to Nampula because of the insecurity near our houses in Pemba. Now I'm back in Nampula, under similar circumstances. My team leaders are on Home Assignment and it's not wise for me to stay in Pemba as a single lady. I've cried. I've laughed. I've met many new people. I've clutched the steering wheel with white knuckles because of the crazy traffic in town. Goodbyes in Pemba were hard and I've been welcomed with open arms by the missionaries in Nampula. On Sunday I ate lunch with several of them at a beautiful restaurant outside of town. I noticed a sign by the dam that said "Be Careful of Crocodiles." Nampula is my new home for the next three months. I'

I turned the Wednesday Bible study into a homemade movie theater. We tied a white sheet to bamboo poles at the top of the living room wall. It hung down over the rough cement wall, reaching the dirt floor below. I set the small projector and speaker on a rusty bucket in the middle of the room. Everyone settled into their seats. A few people on chairs or the wooden bedframe, a few on the floor with small children filling in the gaps.  I pressed play.  Excitement and anticipation filled the room as the introduction for the Jesus Film played. The women around me all exclaimed at once when a woman carrying a jar of water on her shoulder appeared on the scene. I smiled internally. Carrying water is such an integral part of their lives, they appreciated seeing it from another culture. Scenes of Mary and the angel, Elizabeth, Jesus' birth, and the shepherds played out before us. At first, the women kept asking me who someone was, but as the film drew them in, they became quiet. Even the k