Rachel's Reflections

How to write down something I don't fully grasp myself? How to explain something to others that's so hard to explain? Well, I'll give it a try. In Nampula last year, I wrote in my prayer journal, "[God] I want to follow You, wherever You would lead me. If it means back to the U.S., I will go. If it means to harder times, give me the strength to stand it... I want to live in Your will..." I've never desired to live in the United States. Maybe because I've spent almost half my life in Africa. I was born and raised in Kenya, interned in South Africa, and worked full-time as a missionary in Mozambique. Why would I want to live in the U.S.? It gets cold. It's harder to live a consistent Christian life. So in July, when I sensed God asking me to stay in the U.S., I balked at the idea. I loved Mozambique, loved all the people I'd gotten to know there, loved the work I got to do, loved my teammates. Why would I leave all that? What would I do in the U.S.?

She greeted us with big smiles and welcomed us inside. Introductions were made as best as possible. She introduced herself to me, proud to put her English lessons into practice. I learned she and her family fled Syria years ago and bounced between countries until finally arriving in Dearborn, Michigan. Well, with all but her oldest daughter whom she hasn't seen in years. She's never met her two grandchildren. "Very hard," she said to me, shaking her head, "very hard." Google translate became the central means of communication between everyone. She's an expressive lady and needs to say far more than her limited English will allow. She would press the  button to speak and we would read the translation. Sometimes this worked great, sometimes not. Despite language differences, we had a great visit. We filled the hours with smiles, laughter, savory lentil soup, thumbs-ups, and  thank yous. We consumed lots of tea and roasted watermelon seeds. Finally, the pur

Imagine a kid shoving an object in your face and telling you to look at it. Can you see it clearly? Probably not. The object is too close to focus on. You have to put space between you and the object in order to fully see it. In order to gain perspective. - Suddenly, it clicked in my mind. I looked at the "senior saints" sitting in front of me in the church room and then back at my PowerPoint presentation behind me. We had done it. My team had accomplished one of our goals. I had just shared with this group the original two-fold vision of the Pemba team in early 2019: Share the Gospel with the Mwani people and mobilize Mozambican churches/Christians to get involved in ministry among the Unreached People Groups (UPGs) in the area. I looked back at the picture of the team in Nampula. There stood Nelio and Iza, a Mozambican couple now part of the team, with hearts longing to minister to the unreached in northern Mozambique. Not only that, but a Mozambican pastor has been partner

What do you do about your ninja dogs when you're on a different continent from them? - I felt like I'd been hit by a curveball after listening to Evelyn's ten-minute voice note. So much news. So much to process. I collapsed onto the dining room chair where my parents were working and summarized it for them. "You need to do something about your dogs," Evelyn, my team leader's wife, had said. I focused on that first. I would process the rest later. What to do about poor Makala, brain damaged as a puppy from being stuck in a box in the hot sun for several hours before being rescued? About sweet Mocha who can melt a heart of ice with her beseeching eyes? About prancing Sokkies, queen of the yard?  Mocha "Maybe you can build a block wall to contain them," Evelyn had suggested. I laughed at the thought. Contain my ninja dogs? I had built a fence around a section of the yard to keep them away from visitors. They escaped. Many times. Over, or under, or throu

There's no one driving the car! Or so I thought during my first week back in the US. Someone had cut my dad off while we were driving to visit my grandparents. Out of curiosity, I looked to see who the driver was. What!? I stared at the empty seat. There's no driver! It freaked me out. I looked again and still didn't see anyone in the driver's seat. Then I started laughing. I was looking at the right seat of the car. I looked over at the left seat and saw the driver. My parents gave me strange looks. "What?" my mom asked me. Everything had happened in my head except me laughing at myself. I told them and they laughed with me. In Mozambique, they drive on the opposite side of the road from the US. Not just that, but driving in Nampula stressed me out on a regular basis. It's sheer chaos. During rush hour once I counted four "lanes" going one way on a two-lane road. Two chapa vans tried to maneuver in front of me from my left and right with inch

Am I crazy? Is this real? During my first week back in Michigan I started researching what it would take to get a second degree in counseling. Mainly out of curiosity. And I had time to kill. Also, I regret choosing a Christian Ministries degree over counseling only because Christian Ministries had fewer credits than the counseling degree.  "You qualify for the Master's program," the admissions guy told me, "and you would get a discount as an alumnus." I told him I needed a few days to think and pray about it. A Master's? I never thought I would even consider something like that,  I thought, b ut if I were to do it, then I should make the most of my time in the US and see if summer classes are possible.  I sent a message to the admissions counselor on a Wednesday afternoon asking about summer classes. "Tonight's the deadline for applications," he said. "I would just need a character reference for you from a pastor or mentor and ask you a f

My whole team back in Mozambique went to Pemba to do Home Stays this week. They each stayed in the home of a Mwani believer for a few days to learn about the Mwani culture and language. I'm thankful that each of my teammates had the privilege to do this even though I never could because of the attacks, Covid, and other factors. When I asked Roseli how it went for her, she said it was great. The Mwani believer and her non-believing husband treated her super well. The husband surprised Roseli by helping his wife around the home, showing an interest in his kids and their education. This impressed Roseli since it's uncommon for a Mwani man to be that involved at home. A picture Roseli took during her Home Stay "The last night there," Roseli said, "I asked the Mwani believer if there was anything else she thought I should know about the Mwani culture. She looked me in the eyes and said ' it's very important to tell you that every unsaved Mwani is demon-possess

A big grin spread across his face as soon as he walked out the bedroom door and saw me standing there. He stretched his arms wide to give me a hug. It warmed my heart.  He's the reason I came home early. Yes, I'm back in Michigan. My grandpa on my mom's side, who recently turned 88, was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma. I came home to say goodbye to him. Al though I wasn't here for his birthday, I love this picture of him. I will always remember this smile and the twinkle in his eyes.  I remember him trying to teach me how to fish for bluegills on a small lake when I was younger. Unfortunately, I didn't have the patience for it. I also remember the many times we played cribbage and euchre, two of his favourite games. I'm thankful AIM allowed me to leave Mozambique earlier than originally planned. I'm thankful God helped me organize everything in order to leave. I'm thankful I had a safe trip back. I'm thankful for time to spend with my grandparents an

Have I ever woken up for  an Easter Sunrise Service? Not that I can remember. I'm not much of a morning person. Yet, incredibly, I convinced myself to wake up for the sunrise on Palm Sunday this year. At 4:50 in the morning. Why? Because my friends had taken me to the beach as a special farewell before my Home Assignment and I wanted to make the most of it. Roseli, my Brazilian teammate, is always awake at that time. She and I walked along the beach searching for pretty shells, talking, and watching the sun slowly rise.  Even though it was Palm Sunday I still reflected on Easter and its meaning to me.  Just as surely as the sun rises every morning, so we know for certain that Jesus has risen. He is the reason I serve among the Mwani people in Mozambique. After the sun rose I took advantage of the tranquil morning and went for a swim. Floating on the surface of the water, I soaked up the beauty of God's creation. I heard the soft, melodic tinkling of tiny shell particles brushin

"They left?!" I tried to absorb the words from Mama Z's daughter at the end of January. Mama Z had moved away from Nampula. No warning, no goodbye, just gone. I felt her loss deep within me throughout February.  (see  https://racheljwmk.blogspot.com/2022/01/worth-it.html  for backstory) --- My phone rang in mid-February. "They took my husband! I don't know where he is or if he's okay," Mama Z said. I could hear the desperation in her voice. He had gone back to visit his hometown further north and the military had taken him without warning. I felt helpless. I couldn't even visit her to offer comfort. "I'll be praying," I replied. I called to check in with her several times throughout the next few weeks. No news.  --- "You're coming back?" I asked in excitement. I had called to check in with Mama Z. She said she needed to visit Nampula to take care of a few things before going back north. "I'll come to see you in a

Wait, I'm on one of the only American minority teams in all of Africa Inland Mission (AIM)? I had no idea! Well, I knew I was in the minority. I've always been surrounded by Brazilian teammates, but I didn't realize this was uncommon within AIM. Apparently, most AIM teams are majority American. Not just that, we are one of the most culturally diverse teams within AIM. Brazilian team leader, majority Brazilian teammates, a new Mozambican couple, a Kenyan, and me. There are even significant cultural differences among  the Brazilians.  What do all these differences mean? It could mean disaster if we didn't have one unifying factor: the Holy Spirit. We all love and serve Jesus Christ and want to reach the unreached people here in northern Mozambique. Left to right: Marcelo & Evelyn, Manoel & Danielle (& kids), Bruna & Vinicius, Nelio & Iza, me, Roseli, Maureen The last two weeks of team training have been filled with laughter, fun, and food. We have gott

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday of last week were difficult days for various reasons, ending with a cyclone hitting Nampula. I felt PTSD rising in me as the wind and rain brought back memories of the cyclone in Pemba three years ago. My housemates, Maureen and Roseli, offered support and encouragement through it all. On Saturday,  I decided I would go to the English church on the other side of the city instead of the regular, local church by my house.   I gazed at the mountain range rising behind Aidan and Gracie as they led worship. The beauty of creation, the fellowship of believers, and the solid food from the Word of God ministered to my soul. "Apparently there's a crocodile in the swimming pool," Charity mentioned as I greeted her after the service. Intrigued, I wandered over the school grounds where the church meets to the swimming pool. Others trailed behind me. Sure enough, a baby crocodile was chilling in the waters. After the entertainment of watching the worker

I followed behind on the winding route through the neighborhood, high stone walls on either side of me. A__'s uncle  walked with urgency towards my car. A__  hung limply from his back, her frail arms barely holding on. I had called to say hi t he previous day. "She's sick," her grandfather told me. "We took her to the closest hospital but it didn't help. She keeps vomiting up the medicine. Now she can't walk, she can barely stand. Can you take her to another hospital tomorrow?" I didn't know if I would have time, but I said I would try my best to make it.  Praise God a meeting finished sooner than I expected the following morning. I had a window of opportunity. I took A__ and two of her relatives to the requested hospital. Two of us sat in the dingy corridor while the uncle carried her in to the urgent care room. We waited forty minutes. Finally, a nurse came out and said they wanted to give her intravenous fluids but didn't have the right eq

What do burnt legs & broken toilets have to do with God's plans and purposes? The Pemba trip went well. I got my visa renewed for another year. However, I burned my legs so bad while walking on the beach on Sunday that I could barely walk the following two days because of the pain and swelling. Sadly, because of this, I didn't get to visit everyone in Pemba that I wanted to. Yet, somehow, I knew God had a purpose in it. I may never understand why, but I know I can trust Him and His sovereign plans. And yes, I also learned my lesson to always apply sunscreen to my legs when walking along the beach in the hot sun. The sunscreen I should have put on my legs and the aloe vera gel and burn cream I've been using all week because of not applying the sunscreen Wednesday morning I received my visa and by midday Thursday I felt well enough to make the  five-and-a-half-hour drive back to Nampula. One problem. I had to drink tons of water to stay hydrated because of the burns. I us

Which is worse? An all out war with guns blazing and bombs dropping on the other side of the world? Or the instigators of a nearby attack sending out a video of a mutilated person to spread fear? Or a sneak attack by the Enemy in your own heart? I drove up to Pemba on Thursday to renew my visa. I only heard about the attack on Ukraine late in the day. That same evening I heard of a new, brutal attack north of here. Both news items are serious and I feel for those who have been impacted. This week God also shone a light on a sneak attack that occurred within my own heart.  The smaller dog followed me as I turned the lights on outside. Sweet Canela, she just wanted to play. Excited, she wriggled her back end for lack of a tail and jumped around me. Unfortunately, her claw snagged my arm and drew blood. Later, after having a good conversation with my counselor, I looked down at the scratch.  How pretty the red mark looked against my pale, white skin. You could start cutting yourself,  a t

I marveled at my newly arrived teammates. Bruna's husband, Vinicius, led us down the winding dirt path to meet up with a local pastor. Vinicius had discovered a community with Mwani people tucked away in such an unlikely spot I had no idea it existed. "My heart is bursting with joy!" Bruna said next to me. "I'm so proud of my husband for connecting with Pastor Daudi. He's flourishing here!" I turned and smiled at Bruna. Behind her, I  spotted the cathedral that stands in the center of Nampula city, a small landmark on the distant horizon. A green landscape spread out before us. I breathed in the fresh, clean air and felt it cleanse away some of the frustrations of living in a chaotic, dirty city. Gratitude filled me for being invited along. Pastor Daudi came towards us down a different path. He waved and greeted each one of us and took us to the first Mwani home. The customary greetings ensued and introductions were made. I let the Kimwani words flow ove

How would you fill in the blank? For the love of _____: Pete? Money? People? God? I had to learn the correct answer this week. "Please write your expectations and what you want to learn in this English class," I told my students. After class, I  glanced at their answers and felt guilt creeping into my cheeks. How could I miss the most important thing?! Several of them made comments about learning to pray, listening to sermons, or better understanding Scripture.  To my chagrin, I had focused solely on the English material I had been given without a thought for how to keep God at the center of it all. I hadn't even prayed at the beginning of the lesson. I revamped things for the following week: Start class with a memory verse in English. Pray in English. Play a worship song in English to improve their listening skills. I'm expected to teach the students English, but I'm teaching at a seminary for crying out loud, I can't leave God out of it. The second class wen

Sometimes helping A__ with her English feels trivial. Am I making a difference? How does this have any eternal value? Is she even learning?  I brought one of my discipleship girls along to A__'s house because Mimi also wants to learn English. After introductions were made, I started reviewing the basics. A__ excelled. She answered every question. She explained a few things for Mimi. While  A__ sang the alphabet song my ears picked up the background notes of the trickling creek nearby. I felt encouraged by the end of the lesson. A__ has made great progress since I started working with her in June. Hopefully Mimi will too. Mimi and I stood up to leave, saying goodbye to the grandparents A__ lives with.  "Stay and eat a meal with us," they said, "it's almost ready." These grandparents, raising a swarm of grandkids, have very little, yet the grandmother is always hospitable. They insisted to the point I knew it would be rude to refuse. A few minutes later they b

How much trouble can sleeping-in cause? When you're sick, your body needs extra sleep, right? No big deal... Unless you're house sitting and no one can get ahold of you and your friend panics. The shrill bark of the dog woke me up. I rolled over and turned my phone back on. I had turned it off to save battery since I had forgotten to bring my phone charger. I stared at the screen in shock. It said 9:02am. It couldn't be, I had to meet someone at 8:00, and the house help needed to be let in. It couldn't be that late. My phone must be wrong. Then Gracie called. I could hear the panic and relief in her voice. Panic because she hadn't been able to get a hold of me. Relief because I had finally answered my phone. "I need to call everyone back and tell them you're okay," she said. I sat on the edge of the bed, groggy, the phrase bouncing around in my mind. Call everyone back ? Apparently, the house help had been knocking at the gate and trying to call my pho

Imagine maneuvering a car around m iniature canyons carved into the dirt road by the heavy rains. Imagine the car dipping and bucking with the rise and fall of the road. You hope the murky water filling the depressions doesn't hide a  depth detrimental to your car. Why attempt such a drive? I had gone a week without visiting Mama Z because of the rain and I longed to see her. The visit made the drive worth it. "See you tomorrow," I said as I left their house, "and I won't forget to bring the Bible and the Evangecube." Joy filled me that they had made not just one, but both requests. Mama Z wanted to show her husband the Evangecube  (see  https://racheljwmk.blogspot.com/2021/11/evangecube-curiosity.html  for previous story), and Papa Z wanted  a Portuguese Bible with big letters so he could read the old testament. I woke up the following morning, however, with a headache. A few days earlier I'd had a debilitating migraine so I decided not to risk driving

My fear grew as the familiar receded in the rearview mirror of my car. I focused on the dirt road ahead, flanked by a motley of trees and bushes, fading off into the unknown. Mama A sat next to me. She wanted to get medicine for herself and her two kids. Apparently, the central hospital hadn't helped. The idea that I had unknowingly agreed to take her to a 'traditional healer,' (someone who mixes plant medicine with strange spiritual practices), increased with each tree I drove passed.  When Mama A told me to turn right, my breath caught in surprise. An arch with catholic images confronted me. Relief flooded in as we drove down the quaint paving stone lane draped in greenery flecked with pink flowers .  Mama A went to the consulting window. I sat in the outdoor waiting room: stone benches spread under the sprawling cashew trees in front of the catholic compound. A kaleidoscope of bright capulana fabric captured my attention.  Reds, blues, pinks, turquoise, yellows, oranges,