Home

There is a book out there called Re-Entry: Making the Transition from Missions to Life at Home. I honestly used to think it was silliness and one could never loose a sense of being so profoundly. But Thomas Wolfe had it right. I know that the sense of "home" varies. Coming "home" to this house took years. I always felt like I was coming home to someone else's house. Then I went away for a week long vacation a few years ago and entered the door feeling welcomed and at ease. Then now, once I start to feel that I have a place, it all shatters. 


I go to Mozambique for 3 little weeks and I feel "home". I feel a sense of peace and belonging and contentment. Even in the luxury of Cape Town, I wondered about Moz. Then I had days in Johannesburg where I literally sat for long hours and made lists in my head of good things I was coming home to, to motivate me. It went like this.
1. Carla & My Family & Friends who are like family
2. Toenail Clippers (I will not forget to pack those next time)
3. Coffee
4. A Hairdryer
5. Dairy Products
6. Huge Fresh Salads


End of list. And maybe Target. I will always miss Target. 


In line at the airport in Johannesburg an elderly couple asked me where I had been. I told them. They asked if I was in the north or south, and I answered them. They seemed to know the country well. They spoke fondly of its beauty and kind people. They asked if I would go back again and I told them that I was moving there in September. They looked at each other a little startled. The man said instantly, "Oh, then it must be for a man". His wife agreed and said, "No one would ever go live in northern Mozambique if it weren't for a man". I laughed. I said, "No. Not really a man. More like a boy. A bunch of them". I don't know if they got what I said. They seemed to just show pity on me and I just blushed a little embarrassed that I had no lover in the picture. 


All this is just to say, I am back. I am back in my country of origin. I am a days journey from people who share my DNA. I just blow-dried my hair. I made a whole pot of strong French Roast. But for some reason I feel very far from home.

sittin' waitin' plannin' dreamin'

My last day in Cape Town was perfect. I got to have a warm breakfast of strong coffee, spinach and feta croissant, side of eggs soft scrambled with my new friend, Caroline at The Olympia Cafe and Deli in Kalk Bay.  The bay, the ships, the shore, the conversation, the coffee,.all so perfect. I even got to go back to Groot Constantia and taste the wine Napoleon drank. I didn't even ask. They lady just gave it to me. She reminded me of Aunt Pittypat. She said I was not supposed to have it and it was not on the tasting list, but I think she liked me and she pulled it from the shelf. Or maybe she just wanted a taste herself, either way, I loved it. She says that they still find bottles from time to time along shores in various places. The bottles are marked with a seal within the glass reading Groot Constantia. She said they have found them as far away as Maryland and shipwrecks have revealed whole bottles, empty. Maybe she had been hitting the sauce all morning or maybe it is true, either way, the entire experience was incredible fun. I am now at the end of my journey and unwinding in Johannesburg. I have another day here before attempting to board as a standby passenger Delta's direct flight home.

kindess of strangers

today is my last day in cape town.  i am packing up my things now, meeting my new friend for breakfast and will be on an afternoon flight to johannesburg.  during this trip, i saw penguins, went to a prison and tutored kids. i have been overwhelmed by the powerful work of The Warehouse and their gracious hospitality. i have made wonderful new friends and hope to come back here again one day...

Cape Town

I got to go around site seeing some yesterday! We saw Penguins at Boulder Beach, drove through Chapman's Peak, went to Hout Bay, through Simon's Town and to Groot Constantia for lunch. The drive was breathtaking and just incredibly stunning. I think Groot Constantia was my favorite. We had lunch there and I had Vegetable Curry in traditional Malay style. Groot Constantia is the oldest wine estate in South Africa. I read somewhere that they supplied wine to Napoleon. Their wine is out of this world. Lovely views, Georgian and Cape Dutch architecture. The day so different from the day before. Lush vineyards, rich Europeans and South Africans. Such a contrast from my day of fried bread sandwiches in a hot little shack in the township. I highly recommend them both.

Sweet Home Farm

for mama's bible study

so just so you ladies know, it is 11:15pm. i am dog tired. in hartwell talk, that means exhausted, worn slap out. not sure why slap makes it more worn out than just worn out, but i am worn slap out. i have not stopped since i left atlanta. i have not really sat down, literally. they don't have sofas in pemba, days are full of walking and activity and hustle and jobs to be done. and now i am here in cape town and so anxious to see it all that i don't want to sit still. the time in mozambique flew by so fast and now i find myself here in cape town, a place i never believed i would get to see. it is lovely here. i think my biggest takeaway today is just how small the kingdom of God is and how precious (and i choose that word carefully) it is to be in it and to know Him. through Iris connections and through friends, i have been welcomed into this Christian community and am staying with a vicar of an Anglican church here in Cape Town. there is something profound and comforting to worship with others half way across the world and just talk about Jesus and His goodness with people of different nationalities. it expands my faith. it makes the world seem quite tiny. this town is very diverse, so many nationalities gather and worship yet it feels like family.
so i HAVE to go to bed and crawl under covers and sleep deep. i am meeting a fellow mission school alum tomorrow for breakfast. i do not know her at all but she did the same mission school as i did and therefore we all become family in one way or another and she is entertaining me and showing me cape town tomorrow.
i will post more photos and share much more soon.
thank you for your prayers.

Sweet Home Farm

yesterday i went to Sweet Home Farm. quite nothing like what it sounds. it's name makes it sound like an organic bakery or a new plot at Serenbe. but it is an incredibly poor settlement where The Warehouse has become involved. they helped a woman named Christina open a restaurant. simple, basic, tiny little place, with the best fried bread sandwiches i have ever eaten. they are called amagwinyas. actually i think they are the only fried bread sandwiches i have ever eaten. either way, i want another one. they use the tiny space for meetings and Bible studies and prayer groups when needed. she will even cook for you if you come here. you have to call 24 hours in advance to let her know you are coming, but i hear her mealie pap is out of this world. she works alongside a Warehouse worker and former restaurant owner in establishing her small business. i seriously recommend this place if you are coming to Cape Town. i love total dives and this is the epitome, a real gem, a blessed treat. the Warehouse also offers HIV/AIDS support groups within the settlement  and i am going to that today. 


Sweet Home Farm is an informal settlement that was originally a rubble dump in the Philippi farm area and is now home to approximately 12 000 people, with around ten people per home. In 1995 it was a small group of 15 shacks, but has grown each year as people have settled there for lack of better options. It is still largely undeveloped in terms of access to water and electricity. "One of the problems is that half of the land is council land and the other half is privately owned, so the council cannot put in amenities like electricity and water," explains Goodman James, who works with Joy in the community, employed by The Warehouse, as well as a resident of Sweet Home Farm. Half of the community have no proper toilets and the other half share six families per toilet unit.
Community leaders estimate that the unemployment rate is a shocking 70% and malnutrition and other social ills that go with poverty, pervade. "One of the most worrying things is the lack of access to education in the community," says Ntlalo Mgadela, a member of the community and youth worker, "And the children have to walk or go by buses to schools in other areas." He goes on to explain how the lack of ability to provide for one's family has resulted in many fathers losing hope completely as they watch their children struggle and not get the opportunity for a better life. "This leads to breakdown of the family unit," he said, "And it's soul destroying for the men in the community." The HIV/Aids rate is very high and the only clinic in the area services children and TB patients, but nobody else.
Sweet Home Farm is a community facing many social evils and although only a few kilometres from the wealth of the suburbs and city centre, is excluded from the benefits. Most of the people who live there will never see the 'other side' of Cape Town. It is more susceptible to disasters such as flooding and fires, due to the lay of the land and the closeness of the homes, largely made up of wood and tin.

today

i get to go to Sweet Home Farm today! really excited about seeing this. i arrived late last night and have been graciously accepted by The Warehouse and am being served Rooibos tea even now. even after three short weeks in Pemba, i instantly settled in to the life of children, noise, Portuguese, Makua, heat. i miss it already. overwhelmed by the hospitality here, of complete strangers taking me in, feeding me, giving me a warm place to sleep. i have a feeling i will deeply miss this place too when i leave.

agenda

today is my last night in mozambique. time flew by. so fast. i leave tomorrow afternoon and fly to johannesburg and then to cape town. i will be in cape town until april 13th, visiting The Warehouse www.warehouse.org.za
i am looking forward to hot water, fast internet and a diverse menu.

Pinch me

Yesterday we went into the village. If you were to go, it would change you. It is incredibly eye-opening to see how most of this country lives, and actually these villages near town are "nicer" than most typical African villages. Mud houses, some with metal roofs, so many children, narrow passageways built with bamboo for fencing and privacy, but maze-like in their design. We walk through the rocky maze and find the tidy little home of a family of 5; a mother, grandmother, and three children. I am not sure where the men are in this culture. They come and go. Right now, they are alone. The mother works as a cleaning lady for Iris missionaries. She is animated, funny, loves to laugh and is full of life. Her husband was killed in a car accident. the youngest child doesn't go to school because she cannot afford a uniform and the house leaks during rainy season, the floor completely eroded. Money was raised to help her, and we were there to do the labor. Well, arrange for the labor. So men did show up after all and laid concrete incredibly fast. We all sat around on the rope bed outside and drank Cokes and they belched really loud and I giggled like a child. I love this culture. You can get away with most anything. But I sit on the rope bed and wonder just what is poverty? When I worked in Zimbabwe that summer with Rachel, I thought that was poverty. But looking back, at the time, they were well cared for. Villages had clean water, schools, a clinic, all nearby or within the village. The European farmers went above and beyond for their workers, build huge playgrounds for the children and made sure needs were met. So what is fair here? What is not fair? What needs changing? What is justice? What part is my responsibility? What can I do to help? Do they need my help? What does God want? What stirs His heart? He tells us, "the poor will always be among you". But what kind of poor? And just what is poor? Poorer than me? Too poor to stay dry when it rains? Too poor to eat a meal once a day? That is too poor. That is not right. 


All day long I walk around this city shaking my head at things I see, things that just aren't right. By being born in the United States, I was birthed into a land of opportunity. I bought a nice pretty house on nothing more than good credit, however that is defined. I went to college for free because I lived in a state that offers free tuition to B-average students. I will always have a roof over my head no matter what because I live in a land where there is an economy (though in much distress) that thrives off working and jobs and salaries and my family has those things and houses and they will take me in. I will always have resources, an education that offers me choices and comfort in the cycle of working, making money and obtaining basic needs and some not so basic. That doesn't exist here. There are no McDonald's, free Mavis Beacon teaches typing courses at the local library, no Department of Labor, no Cherokee Town Club in need of an inexperienced server with a winning personality and connections with the club president. I could go on and on, there are no dad's here to teach their sons how to respect their mother's and women. There are many motherless children who are growing up on their own, with no one to show them how to love. They are all here just struggling to survive. It is all just not fair. I don't know what else to call it. Just how poor will the "poor among us" be? This poverty that I see is a robbery and an injustice. Everyone should be fed, have an education, a roof over their heads, access to healthcare and to know love. 


I can't even have a puppy, so I haven't a clue what do with all these Mozambican faces looking back at me. Overwhelming need. I think I was born with this resiliency and adventuresome spirit and am single and jobless for a reason. I think God is amazing at orchestrating all our days. It is all just preparation for our future. When we say, "I am fully thine and Thou art mine", He takes it seriously. He knows well in advance that we are one day going to utter those words as He has, after all, completely set us up. He's good at that. Time and time again, He takes my little selfish escapades, such as a college graduation trip to go on Safari, and reveals something more amazing that we could ever fathom or imagine for ourselves. 


So today I am imagining a life here. I stood in line yesterday at the Bank to get a check cashed for 3 hours. Three. Praise the Lord it was air-conditioned. No matter how I try to fit in, I am the whitest, squeakiest cleanest (despite my real lack of daily showers and frequent swims in the ocean), most blue-eyed person in this city. I stick out. Even most of the other white people I have seen are incredibly brown and they blend. I try to at least dress in the required army green, but cannot do so without hues of pinks and pastels and jewelry.  I am me. This culture could not be more different from mine. We are opposites in funny ways. They wait in line for 3 hours because there is one teller at the Standard Bank. I cannot recall the last time I waited in most any line at all. Self-Service at Kroger, Express Lane at Target…oh wait, the Post Office. But we all stand there and grumble and complain the whole time and blast federal government and get to know each other and it makes the time pass. And it has never been three hours. That would make Channel 2 Action News. "Three Hour Line at United States Postal Service- East Point Branch creates riots, food and water being distributed". When I finally exit the bank that at some point closed while I was still in line, it was raining. People were lined under the overhangs of the smattering of buildings, chattering in Portuguese and Makua, unfazed, waiting on it to pass. I couldn't understand what they were saying but I don't think anyone said, "they didn't say it was going to rain" or "I wonder how long this is going to last, I have a meeting and big plans and I hate getting wet and I cannot stand under this overhang all day". They just stood there with their plastic bags of vegetables and goods and waited as if they were waiting for the 2 o'clock train. The rain woke up all the bits of green grass and the leaves on trees. The dark sky such a huge contrast against the bright blue one hanging over the Indian Ocean. The thought, "How can I ever leave this place?" enters my mind. How can any other life bring me any satisfaction? 


As I trudge up the hill to my house, I meet Manuel. His smile is so big it seems fake, but it is real. He wears earbuds from an MP3 player in one ear, but I don't see the MP3 player or hear music. His English is lovely. He asks me how long I have been here and how long I am staying. He tells me he lives here on base. I look hard at his face. I am forced to see the reality of his situation. He lives here on base. That means he has no parents. That means he has grown up here. He has spent his life, living in a room, with other boys, going to school, playing soccer. It means he has been well fed and cared for and missionaries have come along to love on him, he has a group of young boys just like him and they teach in Bible School and translate and he knows God. He has been blessed to grow up in an environment where he knows Christ, he has been taught the truth. He has been given a great gift. He exudes happiness. He asks me when I am coming back to his country. I hear myself say, "September". He squeals with delight. Guys here do that. Their laughs are so funny. Then he says, "I am so glad I heard God, to tell me to come here so I could see you and I could meet you. I want you to come back and to teach me what you know". The only thing I know is that these children will teach me far more than I could ever teach them. However, I CAN help. I have a few resources and ideas and two degrees and smart friends who would come and help. Where is Manuel going to go in the next year or so? He is at least 16. What skills does he have? Where will he get a job here? I know the Standard Bank needs tellers, so maybe I can find an accountant that would come here and teach a course in accounting. What if we can get certified as an instructional school? What other jobs and needs are out there? I took at taxi home. What if I could get him a loan to buy a pedicab or a motorbike with one of those rear facing passenger things attached? Could he make enough to pay me back in a year?  Then could he make enough to live? But what if he wants to be an electrician? I saw men in bright yellow suits working on poles the other day. Would Mozambique Power come and teach a course to electrical power technicians? The scenarios are endless. Not to mention all the jobs that are out there to help others. We are short-handed in the area of medical outreach. We need nurses to go out into more rural areas and give medicine, weigh babies in trees, dress wounds, give immunizations,  and injections. Why bring them from the West when Manuel is standing right here, big smile, funny laugh, eager. He is not a stranger. He's my brother. 


My sister always pays careful attention to give me what I need. The day before I left, she cooked a delicious vegetarian meal, just for me. In that moment, it was precisely what I wanted and needed, a warm, delicious, made-with-love, American meal. I want to give Manuel what he needs. Why NOT? What do I have to loose? Everything. I am well aware of the adversity and mind-sets and struggles that lay before me. What do I have to gain? Everything. But to lose everything, that's not so bad either. "If you abide in Me and My words abide in you, you will ask what you desire and it shall be done for you". Jesus said that. It's in red in my Bible. To die is to gain, to live is to gain. We gain! We win. No matter what. Risk it. So this is what I am thinking about today. I really don't even see this as a risk. It is a choice. He is so endless patient and totally kind. The choice is mine. And it is the former life that propels me. I simply don't want my next 10 years to be like my past 10, all really running together and only highlighted by my vacations I took that year. And I am not choosing Africa. She chose me. Pinch me. I can't believe I get to live this life.

good night, sleep tight

don't let the bed bugs bite. they did. they devoured my right arm. so my mattress is out in the sun on the steps and i doused it with an aerosol bug spray. the past few days have been hot and eventful. we were going to interview a few of the girls here at the base to get their stories and ask them questions about their future to get an idea and a profile of what these kids interest are and how we could create a curriculum or lending program or vocational school around them and to give the school a voice for those of you back home. real kids. with real needs. but simple solutions. but one problem. they didn't show up. so we will reschedule and perhaps schedule again after that. this is Africa. so we went into town. i was shocked at how the prices had gone up even more since my previous visit. only a few formal "markets" and you can get more in the grocery aisle at Walgreens than you can in these supermercados. all the sites and sounds and colors of shopping and markets in Africa and abroad fascinate me. this excursion was hot and exhausting. the markets have not changed otherwise. same smell in the Supermercado of bathroom cleaner, the lights are out, dusty shelves, plastic overpriced dishes from Hong Kong. canned goods from South Africa. Osman's stunk to high heaven but i think part of the stench was me. you know it is bad when you think, "ugh. yuck. what IS that smell…oh. wait. i think it is me". i had hugged and danced and sat in the floor at church and wore the dress again the next day. now i am fully entrenched. i still look so incredibly American from head to toe, but at least i smell like Africa now. a little like dirt and something burning and sweat. yesterday i had the honor of interviewing one of the Iris nurses about the new hospital the intend to build. it was so beautiful to hear her heart. she becomes all consumed when you ask her and her eyes dance as she talks about her dream coming to life. essentially, at the moment, it appears it will be an advanced clinic. currently, the care for minor wounds and cough and cold and fever, malaria. but they have no diagnostic tools. they can't really test you for malaria, they don't have AIDS medicine, they cannot do X-rays. they want to take some of the burden off the hospital where people often walk for many miles and wait in long lines. she shared with me her heart in all of it and deepest desires and how she came to Iris and when i asked who she needed to staff the hospital, wanting specifics of types of specialities, she just said, "those who are willing and want to come and serve". she then shared with me that if your identity and calling is in your position, you will be disappointed. you simply have to come yielding and willing and God does all the rest. that is a huge leap. she took me to the hospital and we waiting in the long lines. waiting on paperwork for a patient. after two hours, we just took our paperwork back and decided to come again another day. this is Africa. we stopped in town for Refreshcas. i always get Coke. sometimes Fanta Ananas, but usually Coke. it's the Atlanta girl in me. i sipped on that and drank it fast because it gets hot in a hurry. holding the sweaty bottle as we ramble down rough roads in a Land Rover reminds me for a moment of the Gods Must Be Crazy and i can't help but laugh. that is one of my father's favorites and i confess, mine too. we come back to the clinic and i am served rice and beans by a sweet lady in a crisp uniform. i still for the life of me cannot figure out how they stay so tidy. i sweat. i wrinkle. i try. i put make up on in front of the fan, the only time my face is not covered in perspiration. but her pretty face glows and she smiles big. we then all go out to the beach at Maranganha. every month they celebrate the children's birthdays with cake and presents. i spent the night out at Maranganha once in a tent in 2007. it is a lovely piece of land, surrounded my ocean, waves, shells, a constant breeze. this time the waves took my sandals and i had to go home barefooted. i will now spend the rest of the trip in a hideous pair of Birkenstocks. oh well. really hard to complain about much of anything in a place like this. this morning we went to interview the director of education for this Cabo Delgado region. i wore my only skirt that didn't stink and my ugly sandals. but when we arrived we were told she had to attend a "ceremony" and so the meeting never happened. this is Africa. so we stopped for a cold drink, as is evidently custom or maybe just survival. i am leaving in a few minutes to go out to a village where two boys have started their own business. they are having someone make bricks and they sell them and are making a profit. we want to use them as an example as well as see if there are ways we can help the boys market their goods. the opportunities here are endless and it honestly doesn't take much. one next step and obvious thing we have seen is a need for education and training in the area of finances. if we want to raise up a generation to be entrepreneurs and create an economy here, we need to give them training in how to spend and save. so we are looking into that. so many things that need to be done. i was able to meet with leadership and have been extended a very gracious invitation to come. it is enticing. i am open and yielded. but for now, enjoying the moment. we have no idea what the future looks like. but i am looking "right now" in the face and am enjoying it immensely. i feel like i am home and i am with family. it is a far cry from Atlanta and there is no Capital Grille. but we have lobster dinners for 180METS so i hear. determined to find that. so i am just sitting here. barefoot and yielded in front of an oscillating fan that is still. open to most anything because i know God can do it. not really thinking too much about the future because it would take my focus off this very beautiful moment. 

domingo (sunday)

as i sit upright and Indian-style, taking my malaria pill with warm bottled water and a had full of almonds, sweat beaded on my upper lip, under my mosquito net, stained with tiny remnants of the vile creatures, i don't quite know where to start. in writing, you are supposed to know your audience. i am supposed to see who i am writing to and tell them them story. so here i see, Graham & Teena, my sister, Terra, Christine, Betty and my handful of loyal readers. so if you were here sharing this bottle of Agua de nascente with me, i guess this is what i would tell you: 

the flight here was an incredible blessing. i packed in a daze, methodically packing, as i have done all of this before. not much is required to come to Mozambique, flip flops, a dress that covers the knees, malaria pills, and peanut butter. you can even get that here, but Jif is way better than Black Cat. in the International Terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson i start to dream. about my future you would ask. no, i would say. i dream about the possibility of first class to jo'burg. sleep. lying all the way down. the little silver tray with ice-cream and your choice of toppings. i have been told i am 3rd on the stand-by list. i position myself close to the gate agents but far enough away so i remain unrecognized as the over-eager, annoying, obnoxious standby passenger that i am truly becoming. i want to know! this woman holds my fate in her hands, will i be escorted to a night of deep sleep, full-size pillow bliss or will i be stuck in the back in an upright position, strangers on either side, in misery? she calls my name. seat 11B. first class, baby! 

so i am going to Mozambique to stay on the base at Iris Ministries and help out. one of their founding directors is an African by the name of Supressa Sithole. he is on my flight. i just found it completely ironic, that one of the leaders of the ministry i am going to serve, is on my flight. upon arrival to jo'burg i had two tiny dilemmas: 1. i needed to call cathi who was picking me up. i would be staying with her during my two day layover. 2. i needed to get to the shuttle and fast because our flight was delayed in the ATL and i was running late. at baggage claim Supressa dialed Cathi for me, and even had her number in his phone and then quickly escorted me to the shuttle because he was taking the same one. even though i could have done all of that on my own, it would have been difficult, but i would have found a way, it was so incredibly nice to have an escort. it was also so evident of God and how on He could orchestrate such a random connection.

nelspruit was beautiful and way too quick of a visit. cathi is a missionary at African School of Missions and teaches mission students. it is in the African countryside outside of Nelsprit. i stayed there two nights, and attempted to recover from jetlag. i got to sit in on one of cathi's classes and watch this beautiful woman pour out her life into eager young students and that was an honor.

travel to Pemba took an entire, very exhausting, day. the only excitement was, that upon arrival to Jo'burg i checked my email. i had one telling me i needed $84 cash for my Visa. i didn't have $84 cash and there were no ATM's. i had $65, not $84. i only needed $20 and it would cost more than that in fees to get money out at the airport and i was short on time. i decided to just have peace as God is faithful and good and plus i was too tired to muster up too much stress and anxiety. i boarded. i arrived in Maputo and stood in line to get my Visa, just assured that it would all work out. it is my turn at the counter and i find out i owe $66, not $84, i hand over all my cash, $65. she presses me for the remaining dollar. i turn my wallet upside down. the cute German guy in white capri pants in front of me, who is sorting his Visa back into his bag, realizes my dilemma and pays the extra dollar for me. i grab my Visa, thank him, and board my flight to Pemba.

so now i am here. and everything is more than fine. i have my OWN ROOM right across from my friend Tanya! i thought she would be living on the other base and i would never see her, but she is my neighbor! i went swimming with the dolphins yesterday morning and that was a day i will never forget. we all piled in to a wooden boat with a motor on the back, drove till we saw dolphins and then all plopped over the side and chased them. you could see under water with your mask and see them gracefully turning and circling underneath the water. you could hear their conversations under water. it was incredible. the only thing that would have been more amazing would have been if they stopped and let me grab a fin. i want to go back and do this again. we then went to a little island and snorkeled along the reef. so many fish. in so many colors and patterns and shapes. coral. so many eyes under there, inches away. we drank Coke in a bottle. the panoramic views were breathtaking. it is rainy season so everything is lush and green. words cannot describe. i fear that attempt to upload pictures will only be in vain. but i will try. 

for now, i think i will get dressed and find my french press and make a cup of coffee. it is hot. so coffee honestly doesn't sound so good right now. but instant oatmeal does, so i will make that too.  big plans this week to interview the director of education for this region. excited about that. little girls are clapping and singing outside my window to the left. a hear a giggle. visitors are playing a guitar outside my window to the right. my mosquito net stinks and i reckon i kinda do too. my legs need shaving badly. my face is sunburned. i'm so happy that this is my life. so undone that the State of Georgia released me to go and do, painful but full of peace. great things are coming. more soon.

White River

I am in a little area outside of Nelspruit called White River. It is incredibly beautiful and reminds me of Zim. I am not far from Kruger and would love to come back to go to the park. I leave in the morning for Jo'burg on the 3.5 hour shuttle and then have a late afternoon flight to Pemba that arrives after midnight. This place is just stunning. My flight was sheer bliss and all is well. I could not really see much of the landscape as it was late last night when I arrived. So I actually am looking forward to the 3.5 hour ride in daylight. Hope to snap some photos in the morning and blog from the coffee shop at the airport as I wait for my flight. Pray my bags and contents follow me. XO

grace for the moment

so in that moment, when my boss is telling me that i am being released from my job of ten years, all i could honestly think of  was that i was free. i was instantly free to go and dream and do. in that moment, there was very little sadness or anxiety because i was simply elated that i could join this team in going to africa and helping to start this vocational school. and now, a month later, the time has come. i admit that for a moment recently, i thought perhaps i should not go. perhaps i should stay home and look for jobs and send out resumes and i felt all this pressure to go back to the confines of a 9-5 and be responsible. i still feel that pressure in a way. i feel that our society functions around jobs and careers and being in a season of not having one is harder to adopt that i ever imagined. but i am free. totally free. it is hard to get my head around this little respite of freedom. yes, i have bills to pay and a mortgage and this freedom won't last long. i just got back from a trip, again, feeling guilty for traveling whilst i should be looking for a job. but. i don't even quite know what i want to do or where i want to live, so how can i even begin to seek out a job right now? the question is rhetorical, please don't answer. and the last think i want to do is step into ten more years of obligation and duty and become a slave to a career that is not even what i want do to. so i got away. i went to DC, thanks to airtran and dear friends and a free place to stay and a ministry called prayDC. i spent 5 days in our nations capitol, simply looking, seeking, dreaming and praying. even the prayers seemed tiny and more like, "Lord, help", than much of anything else. i walked Capitol Hill, watched the House debate, skipped up and down Embassy Row, simply observing. i took a good hard look at it all. would i want to move to DC? would i want to work for a Senator? Lobby? i don't think so. i loved Embassy Row. i love anything dealing with international policy. that fascinates me way more than any debate on a national farming bill or constituent services or tax reform. so i walked up and down and watched people and prayed, "Lord, help". i thought about what it would be like to be an ambassador, dreamed about USAID and what foreign service would look like and wondered if it was really as full of bureaucracy and a bunch of do-nothing desk jobs as i have been told. i wondered if i could ever have influence, among leaders, could i really play a role in shaping policy? can i help the poor, be a voice for the voiceless, help eliminate corruption, create good policy, allocate funds, feed the hungry, bring justice, healthcare, education, hope. 

(photo courtesy of michaela potterbaum)

meanwhile, my friends are booking their flights to Africa and are asking when i plan to arrive. i don't have a job. i am walking up and down the streets of DC starring at people and wondering if i can leave next week for a month long trip in Africa. twice a month for ten years, money got dropped into my bank account. not anymore. what do i even know about vocational school administration? or forming a nonprofit? or feeding the hungry? or educating the poor? not much. but i have a tiny loaf and i am willing to sacrifice it. i leave monday. i "bought" a buddy pass for my birthday in August and will be using it to fly to Johannesburg. today i bought a friday flight out to pemba, mozambique. pray for favor and that i get on Mondays flight. i will return April 14th. i wish you could see the massive grin on my face right now. elated. happy. excited. embarrassed at myself for even doubting for a minute that i should not go. i have to go. why NOT go?

if you would like to help in donating toward my trip,you may. Beulah Church has agreed to take in donations for me, so you can donate through a 501c3. make checks payable to Beulah PHC, and mail them to my kind mother:

Jene Davis

7406 Reed Creek Highway 

Hartwell, GA 30643

and know that i covet your prayers. pray that we are able to come up with a curriculum and a plan and strategy for creating a vocational school to educate these young people.  a plan that coincides with their culture and ways of learning, a plan that will equip them, will create jobs, will change the economy in this poor little town and revolutionize it. and pray that i get on the flight and i don't die of cholera (see previous entry). 

so the little blog could get interesting. i will for sure come here and post updates. sadly, mozambique dial-up internet doesn't really allow for uploading pictures, but i will update as frequently as possible and i plan to take my laptop this time. i will fill you in on it all and will also take my lovely Canon t1i and capture sweet faces to upload when i get back. i will be back before you know it, perfecting a resume and applying for jobs. for now, i have to do this. my suitcase is open on the floor as i unpack from DC and repack for Africa. i cannot believe i get to live this life. thank you for reading, your words of encouragement and cheering me on. much love, grace

nothing like a good sabbatical

In the weeks prior to being released from the 9-5, which I actually loathed, but could never say it but now I can, I began to share with friends my plans and seek out options, potential ministries and job opportunities in Africa. My sweet friend Maggie told me to make lists of all my fears and things that were getting in the way. 9 out of 10 were financial reasons. The other one was dying of cholera. I saw that movie, The Painted Veil, once and have forever been terrified of dying on a cot in a Chinese village, or African. Horrible.


On the same day I lost my job, Maggie leaves a sweet message, unaware of my circumstances, pointing out that all my concerns are mostly financial and how you can never let money come between you and doing what you are called to do. All this advice I have heard so many times before, having even heard testimony of people showing up at the airport, without a ticket, and by the sovereign hand of God, in one way or another, boarding the plane. Now I don't really feel that God is calling me to Fiji, so I can't just spend my last dollar on a ticket and go there.  But Africa, she never leaves me. Visions forever emblazoned in my mind drive me to fight for justice for the extremely poor and I will dedicate my whole life for that purpose. So as Maggie points out how my security seems to be in my finances, I laugh at the message, as my finances have suddenly disappeared. They are no longer a crutch. I get to live by faith and watch God show up. 


And He already has. Maggie invited me out to Ohio to come away and rest. No one told me Ohio was beautiful.

I got to wear my Wellies and I got to spend ten days in a little slice of Heaven, watching snow fall, eating Brie and bread, working out in the mornings, deep conversations over dinner. I was constantly reminded of the kindness of God. Ever cheered on a runner, or athlete of any sort? Ever watched them increase their stride at the last turn all because of the cheers from the crowd? They get a second wind and the words of encouragement give them a boost and off they go. For ten days I got to hear, "you can do this", "the world is yours", "your opportunities are endless", "you are going to be okay", "you've been given a unique gift", "dream big". My stride increased and I am taking the lead.


Also in the little snow covered sanctuary, I realized that rest is a weapon. God is the Prince of Peace and my peace confuses the enemy. The evil one desires to freak me out. Kill, steal, destroy and freak out. So I am finding my peace and it feels so good. 


So I am weighing all my options. I get to go do whatever it is I want to do. I can live wherever I want to live. I have been given a unique gift. I am resting in knowing that it will come and it will be wild and it will be great. And you get to watch and you can come visit.


I have no idea what it looks like and am taking it absolutely one step at a time. Today's step is going to involve morning coffee, a nap in the sun, a really good book. So way better than Committee Meetings and Bill Summaries. I am overwhelmed that I get to live this life. Abiding in Him, using my rest as a weapon, knowing He has my back, knowing I have friends cheering me on, undone by His kindness.

"today is your last day"..."yeah, right"

I really prefer just coming here to write simple observations and show off the cutest kids on the planet, tell about adventures abroad, not reveal pain or any part of my private life. But I personally know that I prefer the juicy tell-alls over a brief editorial any day. This is such a vital part of the over all story of my days of grace and the days to come. As painful as it is to talk about, I have to share. You have all walked through so much, trips to Africa, babies birthdays, weddings, crazy dreams, the second job, shopping sprees. So here we go.

In October, Julie Andrews was on Oprah. She talked about her voice and its total complete loss. What a tragedy? Perhaps one of the greatest vocalist in the world, losing her voice forever. In the interview above, a few years prior, she is in admitted complete denial. Yet, her eyes still sadden, even now when she talks about it. A huge part of her is gone forever. I cannot imagine having so much of my identity stripped away overnight. In the Oprah interview, her whole demeanor changed when she talked about the loss. I wanted to run up to her and encourage her and tell her that her identity is not in her voice, that she is "fearfully and wonderfully made", "created in His image" and that she, stripped of any singing talent, on her worst day, has the Spirit of God residing within her, within you, within me, within us. We are way more powerful and amazing than we ever give ourselves credit. We believe the lies that we are second rate, that we are not good enough and we deny the world having the chance to have an encounter with us. We shrink back in doubt and insecurity. Our identity is not our talents, our giftings, it's Christ in us, us in Him. Even the most wayward unbeliever is a king, just unaware of who he is called to be. We are all kings, put on this earth to love and encourage one another and to reign over the earth. We were put in charge here.

There were so many nights I wrestled with the lies when who I was seemed to be defined by a necktie and an apron. I was treated like a waitress. Invisible. Sometimes I retrieved my identity by looking at the degrees on my office wall or having an elected official include me in dinner reservations or a round of golf. I could never reveal to anyone new what I did for a living without lengthy conversations about the state of Georgia, and detailed questions about my observations and insight into Gold Dome gossip. I often felt like the doctor at the table, with everyone showing their moles and cuts and strange ailments. I would sit and listen to their issues, opinions and nod like the politicians taught me, placating them. 

Friday, my hand tied identity rug, the one I stood on that meant I was important, somewhat valuable, a little bit smart, well informed, on the pulse of all things within the State, got ripped out from under me. I lost my job. I was let go. All I know is that it was not my fault. The meeting lasted five minutes and I was quickly packing up my office. It sent me reeling. It has honestly had little to do with the title and identity in my career, since I wore that rug out doling out cocktails at the country club, and more to do with the security, the financial security. I know my year as a waitress helped me address the issue of who I was and stand firm in the value of simply me. But the security of automatic payments, twice a month, that is another issue. Perhaps I have put way too much security in this all along. I have actually wanted to leave for years. The luster of Georgia politics wore off quite some time ago. I have had December 1, 2010 circled on my calendar for years now. The date I would be vested into the retirement system and the reason I continued to stay in a job that I pretty much hated. I fully intended to leave on my 10 year anniversary date and buy a one way ticket to Africa. 

I recently got to hear my friend Sherri Lewis, former physician, now missionary in Cameroon, share about how on the very day she quit her job as a physician, she got an email from the group she is now working with in Cameroon. How her letting go, released her into a greater destiny. Her testimony ending with how she is in the very center of where she wants to be and cannot imagine living or being anywhere else in life. I know that feeling and I have never felt that way here, doing bill summaries, in committee meetings, or at receptions with cocktails, whether sipping or serving. 

About a month ago I was invited to join a group building a vocational school in Mozambique. We have plans to go in April and spend the month together, planning and preparing. I desperately wanted to go but knew work would make it difficult, to take that amount of time off and be gone so close to the end of the Legislative Session. Maybe I am still in shock, but the excitement of getting to go and not having to go back to the desk job, overshadowed automatic payments. I know that the vision I have is a journey and the past ten years have not been wasted, but training me for more. I cannot question God's faithfulness, He's been too good. I put my security in a State job, one of the most secure you can have and that didn't work. I had asked Him to show me if this path was one He wanted me to take, to join my friends in Mozambique. He has all but placed a neon sign above the path. At 11AM on Friday I started to do the math in my head, attempting to figure out what would happen if I just quit my job. How long could I live off savings? How much would I get paid in leave time? Should I simply take that leave time and then quit? At 4PM the decision was made for me. The benefits of being let go outweigh those of quitting. He's got my back. We've got a plan. I'm on my way. I cannot be robbed or stolen from, because none of it belongs to me anyway. With identity in Him, security in Him, nowhere else to go but Him, He is already bringing me into the center of where I am supposed to be. Who knew that losing something so great would be such a massive blessing? 

Post losing her voice, Julie Andrews received an Emmy, a Grammy, published 24 books and became the voice of a queen (Shrek). I am tempted to quote Maria von Trapp and say, "When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window". But I somewhat disagree with that theology. I don't think God takes away our prized possessions or gives us sickness or disease in any form. He is just a master at taking what the evil one threw our way and turning it into something beautiful.

Surf's up!

The first time I went surfing, I lost sleep the night before. I was full of nervous excitement of what dawn patrol and standing top of a wave would bring. The ride out to the beach didn't settle my fears. With boards strapped on top of the little black Subaru and Master Surfer, Shelley Merrick giving me instructions, "watch the nose, it'll pop up and hit you in the face", "how well do you swim?", "watch for rocks". Fear and anxiety overcame giddy excitement. I think I was more nervous about just looking like an idiot than being eaten by a shark, I wanted to surf with grace. I know I got really quiet all the way out to the beach, our boards underneath our arms. We paddled out, watched the waves. I got on my stomach, looked over my shoulder and watched the sets roll over and over. When the right set came along, Shelley yelled, "Go!". I paddled with all my might, hands pushing on the board to keep it from popping up, quickly jumped into position, and stood. I SURFED! Instantly ready to paddle right back out and go again.

This series of emotions has been a constant in my life. Anxiety and uncertainty met by sheer delight. This is how I feel. I am about to jump into a deep end of so many unknowns. I am full of expectancy and angst and joy and delight. I have so much going on. I will share full details...soon! It's going to be a wild ride.

Here lately...

Natty has learned to wink.

A best friend had a baby and I got to watch my Dad hold him, just hours old. I got to hold him too, of course.

The snow I missed at Christmas, graciously came back per my request and gave me TWO DAYS OFF FROM WORK!!!!

Christmas 2010

I have a new cousin. Just one glance and I was forever smitten. I am madly in love with this little girl. Her personality is so sweet, she is so gentle and so cuddly. Some babies are skinny and too active and too spitty and fuss and don't like to be held. McCarley is squishy. She made my Christmas. I can't wait to get to Columbia and spend quality time with this child. I want her to know all about her Grandma Martha and I want her to know that I have her back and she can call on me if she ever needs anything. I will always have gum and she can confide in me and I want to always cheer her on for life, like Martha did for me.

Christmas with the Fallin's was celebrated a week early because of my plans to be with Laura. I racked up! Carla always takes care in filling my stocking and making me feel so incredibly, lavishly loved. Some of my favorite presents from the past are from the Dollar Tree. She usually takes the kids and lets them pick out gifts for us there. I love seeing what they think I will like. And they usually are so very much something I like or really need, like shower curtain liners and batteries and cookie sheets. One year Carson got me a tiny porcelain house covered in snow that was almost an exact replica of the house on College Avenue. But Carla says the Dollar Tree has gone downhill as of late and they just have junk now. So, I got a whole set of Fiestaware in Peacock Blue and Dad gave me an LCD-TV. I had seen it near the Christmas tree at their house and assumed it was not for me. Dad tricked me as if I were 12 and brought it in after all gifts were opened. It worked and I reacted like a 12 year old. So giddy and excited about my new technology. I use it as a computer monitor in my bedroom and journal and write and edit perched on pillows with a wireless keyboard and it is lovely.

I left on the 22nd and spent Christmas with Laura and her sweet little family. I am so glad I got to be with her. We baked cookies and rocked babies and laughed. It was both sad and sweet watching the kids open presents Christmas morning while John sat on the coffee table via iChat from my laptop while in Iraq. I am honored to even know him. Staying with Laura, in her cozy little guest room in the basement, made me want to quit my job and move into her basement and be there all the time. We could be like Rhoda and Mary, popping in and out of each others apartment, sharing food and good conversation. I wish I could help her all the time with the kids and this overwhelming life as a single mom while John is gone. It broke both our hearts for me to leave. So we are now back to our remote friendship of never living in the same time zone and long phone conversations and iChats and simultaneous Target shopping in different locations.

It was such a great Christmas. I am so incredibly blessed, such sweet family, such wonderful friends, so always undone by the kindness of my Savior.

Thanksgiving...a little late

I just realized I never posted about Thanksgiving. I never came here to record the days events or to post pictures of the main feature, pie. I cooked the night before. I made O'Bannon Sweet Potato Souffle and Tequila Cranberry Sauce. The next morning I woke up early, loaded them up in my car and went to work. Yes, work. On Thanksgiving. I worked last year also. The Town Club has a massive Thanksgiving Buffet and working it is mandatory. 


When I first arrived, I snuck all my food into the Bar refrigerator and creeped upstairs to the employee kitchen for coffee. Still very much asleep and very much wanting to get the next few hours over as quickly as possible. I settled on a stool with my coffee and began the process of ringing up tickets which was my delegated job. On-Call Event staff serves the buffet and so the rest of the full time Wait staff gets to do other jobs that day. I was looking forward to sipping my coffee, punching in member numbers and charging them for Mimosas and Bloody Mary's and the $35 buffet. I admit, I make it entertaining, taking notice of who is there, how many members in their party and what they are drinking. I have to keep myself occupied somehow. "There are only 4 people at that table and they had 17 glasses of champagne! Yikes" = Self-made Entertainment while you work.


I was instantly interrupted mid-sip by a tap on the shoulder and a bartender holding a black bow tie and tuxedo jacket. It had been ripped, just moments before, from a suddenly ill banquet server and now I was being given the job. I instantly went from my cozy stool and noticing that Mr. Smith needed a highchair and must be bringing his grandchildren to dashing all over the banquet room, getting tea, coffee, water, cocktails, and more for 40 people, per three 2 hour shifts. We served over 900 that day. I felt like I had been punched in the face. It was a rude awakening from my stool and coffee to an ugly polyester tuxedo and 40x3 thirsty, hungry, high maintenance people needing something from me. It was chaos, to me, and it was hard. It was time and a half but they can keep their money. I wanted to go home. I wanted to eat sweet potatoes. I didn't want to carry mimosas on a tray and give them away. I didn't want to act like these little girls in stockings and smocked dresses and big bows and monogrammed panties were the highlight of my day. They weren't. I wasn't the least bit excited to see them. I didn't mind seeing them on paper, punching them in and charging their accounts. In that state I got to have coffee and think about other things. In this state, I had to work, hard and act as if I was as overjoyed to be there as they were. That is not an easy thing to do. I am possibly one of the most transparent persons you will ever meet. 


My face is a book. So I don't know if trying to act as if I care comes across even worse than just being myself and looking a little miserable, but I gave it my best. I smiled at babies, I helped a little boy choose dessert from possibly one of the most incredibly arrays of desserts one can imagine, I took an old lady hot English Breakfast tea that I had to go to Marietta to go and get. The whole time, wishing I were just with my family. In jeans and boots and cashmere and casual and not in a stuffy place with chandeliers and Riedel, but home. I certainly appreciate all those things, but I wanted pie and my family. I whined to the right person and finally got to go, but it was an hour too late. 


By the time I got to Carla's everyone had eaten and I was so incredibly exhausted from all I had just endured, that I could not eat a bite. And for me to not be hungry means something. I was so incredibly tired. Feet hurt, back hurt, brain hurt. Comatose. One tiny perk was that I did get a 10 minute break to go partake of possibly the nicest Thanksgiving Buffet that money toward membership in North America's #1 Country Club can buy. But even that was partially no good because I had to eat it in such a hurry. 


But I could't help, despite my exhaustion and frustration, be so incredibly thankful. So many blessings I cannot contain. Here are a few: