tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58213439582010184152024-03-14T11:45:35.367-05:00Musings from a Misfit MissionarySarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-1716257527760447262015-06-19T09:07:00.001-05:002015-06-19T09:09:14.622-05:00This Blog is Moving!Friends! For any of you who follow this blog, I've officially moved the content over to <a href="http://www.sarahbollinger.net/" target="_blank">www.sarahbollinger.net</a>. The new site now hosts all of the current blog posts on this site, and will also host all future posts moving forward. As I transition to my new position as the Director of the Social Work Program/Assistant Professor at Trevecca University and leave the Mozambique Initiative, I'm upgrading my website! You can subscribe to my new blog by clicking <a href="http://www.sarahbollinger.net/subscribe/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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Learn more about this transition on my latest blog post called <b><a href="http://www.sarahbollinger.net/blog/harrowing" target="_blank">Harrowing</a></b>.<br />
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Thanks so much for following!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-63292890074813362222015-03-09T14:06:00.001-05:002015-03-27T15:27:52.159-05:00The Margins<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">On Saturday I woke at 6am, wedged myself into a packed 4-wheel drive vehicle, and proceeded to travel to a village called Cuamba located in the Niassa District of Mozambique. Cuamba is accessible via passages that I can only vaguely compare to "roads". A distance that might have taken us 4 hours in the USA took literally 10 hours on these muddy, safari paths. The rain continued to pour as we forged rivers and slid through mud for the entire day with the goal of reaching this village by nightfall. There was only one time that we had to be pulled from the mud with a chain and a good-Samaritan-like passing tractor, and I consider us extremely lucky. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">During this entire journey, I am traveling with leaders from the largest United Methodist church in Missouri, which also means that it is one of the most influential in the Missouri Conference. There are 2,400 people that attend on any given Sunday and the resources at their disposal are numerous. Ironically, or perhaps, divinely, this church is partnered with the one in the village of Cuamba, which happens to be one of the most removed, remote churches in Mozambique, located at the edge of one of the poorest districts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And so on Saturday I found myself traveling alongside representatives from the very core of the United Methodist world (at least for Missouri) with untold amounts of influence, headed to the very edges of our reach, the fringe, the very least influential to those in my world. From the very center, out to the margins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The exciting thing for me is that the margins are exactly what the gospel is all about. Jesus spent all of his time with those who had no voice, no power, no influence - the prostitutes, the rejected, the poor, the sick, the lame. And furthermore, he was constantly turning over tables and getting pretty pissed at those in the ginormous churches because they were so busy being powerful that they forgot about those on the fringes. As the associate director of the Mozambique Initiative, I am tasked with turning things inside out, with taking the center out of its comfortable place right in the middle of things, and flipping everything upside down, making it all a bit topsy-turvey. What happens when the center turns in on itself and reaches to the very edges? What happens when Morning Star UMC goes to Cuamba UMC and witnesses the beauty of the divine in the faces of the poor and decides to use their influence for the sake of those in need? To put it simply, when the center goes to the margins, and the margins are made to be the center, everything changes, the world is transformed. </span><br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-7603778321139484472015-03-01T18:58:00.001-06:002015-03-01T18:58:26.510-06:00Casting Visions, Lighting FiresI'm bad at details. I hate the excel sheets, the line items, the itty bitty teeny weeny to dos, the nuts, the bolts...the details. I can do this stuff if I have to, and I often do, but I loathe this type of work and I quickly get bored. Now, I have tremendous respect for folks who are gifted in this area and I could not function without these people in my life, but I'm just not that person.<br />
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Despite these flaws, as it turns out, I do have a few strengths. And one such strength lies in being a big picture person. I am a dreamer of dreams and I can almost literally see them coming to life in my mind's eye. I see visions, and I know how to talk about them in such a way as to get people excited and interested, passionate and engaged. I'm a hopeless optimist and an endless believer in the human capacity for love, change, and growth. How I actually take the tiny steps to live out these awesome visions that I cast is often inconsequential to me in the moment, but I believe in them so much that it almost doesn't matter. Silly, I know, but true.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>One of my dreams is that every person in every country throughout the entire world would experience justice. That food, safe water and basic shelter would be accessible to every individual, that education would be available to all who hope to pursue it, and that every child would have a safe place to lay their heads at night. I'm starting in Mozambique.<br />
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As I prepare to board the plane tomorrow to head back to Mozambique with one of the largest congregations in the Missouri Methodist Conference, <a href="http://www.mscwired.org/" target="_blank">Morning Star UMC</a>, I am honoring and refining these big-picture-casting-the-net-out-wide type skills. My goal is to literally provide a huge smattering of opportunities and paint a beautiful picture of our work in Mozambique, with the end result of lighting little fires in the hearts of each of the people on the team. In my <a href="http://www.16personalities.com/enfp-personality" target="_blank">Meyers-Briggs personality profile</a> it states that, "There are two basic things that ENFPs seek most in the workplace: The chance to explore new ideas, and the chance to conduct that exploration alongside other people who share their excitement." Bingo. This is my hope for this trip. To explore big ideas with people who can motivate thousands to get on board and come alongside us.<br />
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I fail and fall all of the time, especially when it comes to details. I drop the ball, I lose track of time, I trip over my shoe laces because I forget to tie them, I get so lost in my dreams. My prayer for this trip is that all of my stumbles and falls while dreaming will somehow pay off by capturing the hearts of those who could play central roles in bringing these dreams to life.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-89774381070568056472015-02-12T13:05:00.002-06:002015-02-13T09:52:06.853-06:005 American Habits I've Changed Since Working in Mozambique<br />
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I've been in my position as the Associate Director of the Mozambique Initiative for just over three years now, and I can't even begin to describe all of the ways that my experiences in Mozambique have changed my life. As I contemplate the new year ahead and attempt to incorporate the lessons I've learned during this time, here are 5 key habits that are significantly changing in my life since taking this job:<br />
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<li><b><span style="font-size: large;">Obsessing About Time:</span></b> Am I going to be on time? How long will this last? When can I move on to the next thing? Is there time to do this if I do that first? Are we running over time? Being so time conscious is a luxury; it's a luxury to have reliable vehicles, and gas stations on every corner...not to mention watches. My desire to control time is fostered by these luxuries that allow it. And with all of these luxuries, I gradually started convincing myself that it was through my fingers that the sands of time fell. Not that we should be flippant about getting to work or school or important meetings, but how we orient ourselves around a clock is purely an expression of American excess and our desire for control. The sting comes when I realize the implications of this habit - that I move on to the next thing in my head and in my heart before even taking in where it is that I am standing, or who it is that I am standing with. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, we are gone before we even arrive. What are the long term ramifications of this on our psyches? On our spiritual lives? Life is short. All we have is this moment. Mozambicans realize this in a way that is humbling, sobering even. I'm reminded again and again to just. be. here. now. The next thing will inevitably come. No need to rush.<a name='more'></a></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">Being So Damn Self Reliant: </span>Where would I be if it weren't for random strangers pushing my vehicle out of the mud and sand, or pointing us in the right direction when I'm lost in a random village, or offering me coconut beer in the middle of the jungle when I haven't had a drink in hours? Where would I be without the hospitality of the Mozambican mamas, offering me food and rest when I stumble into their villages, a complete foreign mess? For all intents and purposes, I am a stranger in a strange land when I travel in Mozambique, and yet, my Mozambican brothers and sisters, through the connection of the United Methodist Church, instantly induct me as family. And thank God, because I CANNOT do this work alone. It is impossible. Hell, I can barely tie my shoes by myself after 20 hours on a plane. We need each other. And it's never more evident than when I am the white, female, foreigner trying to get around Mozambique in my feeble attempt to work toward poverty alleviation and justice. So, how does that translate here, to my habits back in the US? We have the luxury of thinking that we can do it on our own here. We have the resources, we know the language, we have our cars, and houses, our own little blocked off lives, separated from everyone else. But the truth is, we still need each other. The collaborative, community-based nature of Mozambican culture, where cooking, sleeping, living, and breathing is done communally, upends me and reminds me that I rob myself of great emotional wealth when I try to do it alone. We rob ourselves of depth and connection, friendship and intimacy, shared experiences and stories. We have the great gift of togetherness in this life, and because I've witnessed the joy of this gift in Mozambique, I intend to use it. As they say in Mozambique, estamos juntos. </li>
<li><b><span style="font-size: large;">Not Savoring Meals:</span></b><b style="font-size: x-large;"> </b>Food takes time. From the planting, to the growing, from the harvesting, to the cleaning, and preparing, and finally, to the eating. There is not one McDonald's in Mozambique...and I hope it stays this way. In the villages, food is not a rushed affair. In fact, most of the hours of the days are spent securing, cultivating, or preparing food. What we take for granted is that this is the focus of the entire day for so many in the rural villages. Even in the cities, when I've gone to restaurants in the urban areas, ordering and waiting for food takes all night. Here in the US, because we don't have to think about it, we expect everything to be quick and easy to prepare. Or if we are out, the waiter better be fast, responsive, and get our food to us so that we can leave and go check off the next thing on our list. We miss the tasting, the savoring, the gratitude, the company. We miss the nourishment.</li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Planning Every Detail:</b></span> It's funny, when I help mission teams prepare for travel to Mozambique, it's always about the details. The whens and wheres and whats. The itinerary is key, and, "Sarah, what are we going to DO at every moment of each day"?? And of course, this is super important in some regards. You must have a visa to enter the country, you have to purchase plane tickets, you need a plan; these are the realities of travel. But the more specifics I plot out, the more I realize that things just don't go as planned in Mozambique. Maybe, instead of driving to a remote area of the country in a roomy SUV, it turns out that the river is super flooded. And so you have to load a motorbike onto a ferry to cross the flooded river, and motorbike through the jungle instead. And maybe they give you a chicken to take back with you, and you can't possibly leave it behind because it's their only chicken, and so the chicken comes along too. And, oh, the pastor needs a ride back by the way, and before you know it, you have three people, two backpacks, a bundle of sugar cane, a sack of casava, and one chicken all riding together on a single motorbike in the middle of nowhere, and you look up and realize....this is what life is all about. Spontaneity. Living in the magical moment, and taking life exactly as it comes. Because no matter how long I had spent planning that itinerary, I never would have planned myself into that brilliant scenario. And it's one that I will remember for the rest of my life. </li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Caring About Stuff: </b></span>Cars, clothes, shoes, houses, gadgets, phones, gear, computers. The list goes on. All the stuff that we are told that we need, how empty it all seems when just securing the basics - food, water, shelter - are so difficult for most in Mozambique. I love getting my hands on the next amazing smart phone just like the majority of people in my generation, but detaching my identity and happiness from securing these things has become the key. We can't be defined by stuff. And it's funny that the less I own, the more freedom I experience. It's the old saying that you don't own your stuff, your stuff owns you. Because it wiggles down into your heart and whispers lies about success and security and control that are simply not true. And before we know it, we are working jobs we hate for way too many hours of our lives in order to make payments for stuff we really don't need. Because let's be honest, it's not money that buys the stuff, it's the hours of our lives that we exchange for money that buys the stuff. And I am not willing to put my life on layaway. Less is more. Literally. Less stuff = more living. As Thoreau said, "The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it."</li>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-20549561545236743162014-12-21T13:06:00.001-06:002015-02-12T13:50:27.956-06:00The Longest NightToday is the winter solstice, the darkest 24-hour period of the year, where night settles in, hunkers down, and exerts it's stubborn refusal to be shooed away. It is dark. And our immediate reaction is to turn on all of the lights and hide from all that scares us out there in the long and terrifying night.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aW79p18QJuAwRXbpAfzP5p_mnLuid0siYjyP6TVIrUH1y6tq7I5CJgiyYHP6V739XYIzxFeYz1OHe3s_9e9neEFwkQHhKPQ5CXthd0gRdBGNT8v9M5j2jRlNK2m-rFtDsjIi-QukKYc/s1600/darknight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aW79p18QJuAwRXbpAfzP5p_mnLuid0siYjyP6TVIrUH1y6tq7I5CJgiyYHP6V739XYIzxFeYz1OHe3s_9e9neEFwkQHhKPQ5CXthd0gRdBGNT8v9M5j2jRlNK2m-rFtDsjIi-QukKYc/s1600/darknight.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a>This has been a year of extreme darkness in many respects for me personally. Great loss compounded upon great loss resulted in heart-heavy weeping in the middle of long and fearful nights. I have longed for the light of day this year, but the nights only became longer as the year stretched on. I ached for that sunny, solar religion where everything would be just fine if I only prayed enough, if I just said the right penance and attended enough feel-good, Sunday worship services. "There's always a silver lining," or "keep you chin up" were the cliched phrases of well-intentioned parishioners. But grief is not like that. Things aren't always just fine in the end. It was only dark, and the grotesquely bright sunshine of the Sunday, solar experience made my grief feel like a circus and sucked the legitimacy out of my pain.<br />
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I'm reading a book called <i>Learning to Walk in the Dark</i> by <a href="http://www.barbarabrowntaylor.com/" target="_blank">Barbara Brown Taylor</a> and it's shifted the way I think about God. It is often that we dichotomize God, associating only the things that have to do with light and brightness with the divine. We reduce God to a sunny walk in the park while dancing around the edges of great chasms of emotion that we avoid with graceful, shadow-less steps.<br />
But God is everywhere. God is breath. God is. God is both the light and the dark, both the day and the night, God is just as present in a sunny field of flowers as in the night sweats and inky black dreams. "Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I make my bed in the depths, you are there." Where would we be without the dark nights in which saints and prophets dream dreams and wrestle angels?<br />
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I learned this year that if I stopped running from my pain just long enough to lean into it, perhaps I would find a God who is much more complex and nuanced than my puny little mind had previously allowed. Perhaps I would experience an indigo depth of understanding that a sunshiny, happy-go-lucky God could have never previously met me in. Perhaps a dark, long night of wrestling in the dark is worth every bit of the life-long limp for the great blessing that accompanies it.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-67352449290742028192014-11-11T14:05:00.001-06:002014-11-11T14:05:34.328-06:00Showers are Overrated<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOaclTQIj9kL8yXWCtxXFGYR5FiEXM9QITQ-s1Ke9370ddoeD5eZ7rnCNpG7oxUKjwTT5YKICuA6rM2he3gZGIKrwetZZFrSYHJhvm5JiKuM2X3Ljtu8_IPYdML06EAoK2AU3r2oHHbMo/s1600/Mozambique+March+2014+595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOaclTQIj9kL8yXWCtxXFGYR5FiEXM9QITQ-s1Ke9370ddoeD5eZ7rnCNpG7oxUKjwTT5YKICuA6rM2he3gZGIKrwetZZFrSYHJhvm5JiKuM2X3Ljtu8_IPYdML06EAoK2AU3r2oHHbMo/s640/Mozambique+March+2014+595.JPG" width="640" /></a>Friday! It's almost Friday, ya'all!! Eeek! This Friday I'll pick up my hiker's backpack, into which I've packed my little life, tent and all, and head back to Mozambique for some serious camping adventures. Yeah, that's right...CAMPING. IN MOZAMBIQUE. OMG. What's the purpose of this craziness, you ask? <a href="http://www.manchesterumc.org/mozambique" target="_blank">Manchester UMC</a>, in it's total awesomeness, funded a primary school in the middle of the bush at their partner church, Mabumbuza UMC. The building was recently completed and we are going to both dedicate the building and engage in conversations with the Bishop of Mozambique, the leaders of the Mabumbuza community, and government officials about the next steps in increasing access to primary education in the country. Because of the great travel required to Mabumbuza, camping is sort of our only option in achieving our goal of spending significant time with the community...showers are overrated anyway, right?<br />
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<a name='more'></a>What is so super rad about this trip is that it's not just another short-term mission trip to some unknown land. It's not just two weeks of feel-good, drop-in, head-out, never-meet-again ego stroking. This trip is the fruit of a loooong partnership, harking back to 2002; it's the culmination of years of investing in the lives of one another - Missourians investing in Mozambicans, Mozambicans investing in Missourians -and mutually responding to real needs in sustainable ways. Manchester UMC and Mabumbuza UMC have been together in ministry for 12 years, and this visit is dedicated to celebrating the depth and richness of this history while strategically investing in the future of this relationship.<br />
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Longevity.<br />
Investment.<br />
Commitment.<br />
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These are the hallmarks of what makes mission and service work. I'm proud to be a part of this initiative in that we are about relationships. We are about partnership. We are about people. And these things take time...so much time, in fact, that sometimes you have to pitch a tent and forgo showering. Check out this video to learn more.<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-83528556459521755352014-10-28T10:49:00.001-05:002014-10-28T10:49:52.304-05:00Life Abundant<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGt5cEHEHueav5xXvLNF1TXSgsRQ-XS7ocW3JdkmLx9T_MaUe-FSizvAV6r6c6thssfhjitYrniHEyK0OuEURZL2p_gUmi0uIL3l6JrGJgAa2vUpxC0fF2KvDV1bhy6yohoXtW2_hyi8/s1600/IMG_1174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGt5cEHEHueav5xXvLNF1TXSgsRQ-XS7ocW3JdkmLx9T_MaUe-FSizvAV6r6c6thssfhjitYrniHEyK0OuEURZL2p_gUmi0uIL3l6JrGJgAa2vUpxC0fF2KvDV1bhy6yohoXtW2_hyi8/s1600/IMG_1174.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>"Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask
yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world
needs is people who have come alive”. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">-Rev. Howard Thurman</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I talk a lot about how hard I work and how this job is a lot to keep on top of and how I'm exhausted a lot of the time with all the travel...and all of this is true. But when it gets down to brass tacks, mostly, I do this job because it's SO MUCH FUN!! Like, I really super-duper love it. And it makes me so very happy. It's where I shine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've been doing a little personality exploring and took this awesome, super quick <a href="http://www.16personalities.com/" target="_blank">Meyers-Briggs</a>-ish test. I landed with the following results: <a href="http://www.16personalities.com/enfp-personality" target="_blank">ENFP</a>. Nailed it. This description completely nails it. They sort of sum this personality type up with this oh-so-true statement, "ENFPs are fiercely independent, and much more than stability and security, they crave creativity and freedom," which could not be a more accurate description of me. I also found this little gem describing the <a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/heidi-priebe/2014/09/25-struggles-only-enfps-will-understand/" target="_blank">25 Struggles Only ENFPs Will Understand</a>. Brilliant!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This past weekend I gave a talk at a small church in Marceline, Missouri entitled, "Life Abundant". The whole idea is that we, as Christ followers, are called into living this life in an abundant way. Not as a pleasure-seeking, all-about-me, self-serving thing, but as models of a Kingdom that is both now and not yet. <span style="line-height: 115%;">God calls us to something greater - not simply for our own pleasure
(although there is plenty of that too), but to model and demonstrate what the
Kingdom of God is like to those who have lost sight. </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">The Kingdom of God is an upside down Kingdom,
and it’s found in the most unlikely places,</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">it’s moving and fluid and full of life and joy and peace and great adventure, and as Christ
followers, we are called to model this to all whom we come in contact with. On earth as it is in heaven. </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">From the most rural corners of Missouri all the way
to Mozambique, Africa. We are called to be light bearers. We are called to be Kingdom
dwellers.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">How do we do that? How do we best shine? I think it's a lot more </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">beautiful</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> and a lot more simple than we sometimes allow ourselves to think. This isn't some false cultivation of a candy-coated piousness. It's about knowing and living into exactly who we are created to be - knowing our </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">strengths</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">, gifts, talents, and even our weaknesses and living into the best versions of ourselves. It's about shedding the internal and external shackles that prevent us from being who we are created to be and learning to live freely, while modeling this freedom to every person we meet. In other words, we shine this light when we are our most authentic versions of ourselves.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">And certainly it is </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">privilege</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> that affords me this job; not everyone loves their work. But living abundantly is not about how we pay the bills. It's about holding an inner space of gratitude and awe and authenticity, and most of all, living into who we are called to be no matter the circumstances. I mentioned the personality test because as I understand more about who I uniquely am in this world, I am trying to learn to cultivate and live into those things not only at work, but also while I'm doing the dishes, while I'm walking the dog, and while I'm waiting in traffic (I still suck at this one, btw). That little test really highlighted those strengths and weaknesses in me, and through such self-exploring </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">exercises,</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> I'm learning to know and love myself all over again. And it's funny because the more I know and love myself, the more equipped I become to know and love others. As we polish off the dust and take away the bushels we hide under, the brighter we shine!</span></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-24669115841076540492014-10-13T15:44:00.000-05:002014-10-13T16:00:06.661-05:00A Year of Yoga (Recovering from Post-traumatic Church Disorder)As I walked into <a href="http://www.urbanbreathyoga.com/site/" target="_blank">Urban Breath Yoga</a> Studio last week, like I do roughly 3-5 times per week now, I realized that this month marks my one year yogiversary.<br />
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Last year at this time I randomly stumbled into this yoga studio searching for a little peace of mind and some exercise just in time for the beginning of what they called the "Omtober Challenge". I was intrigued. If you signed up (30 days for $30 as a new student), you got unlimited yoga classes for the month, and if you managed to complete 30 classes during the month of October, you had the opportunity to win a drawing for a free yoga membership. I thought to myself, "what the hell", and signed up without much thought.<br />
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And I went to yoga class that day. And then I went the next day, and the next day after that, and although I didn't quite make the 30 day challenge, I came close.<br />
And so I signed up for an ongoing membership and have been going regularly ever since.<br />
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What was it about yoga that hooked me?<br />
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<a name='more'></a>For anyone recovering from a traumatic church experience or decision to break away from a spiritual community, you may resonate with simultaneously feeling relived to never set foot in a church/synagogue/mosque again while also tragically missing the practice of spiritual connection and community. This was my experience. I grew up in a conservative, evangelical church that was quite oppressive to the female portion of the population and about 3 fries short of a theological happy meal. This was followed by working for and ultimately getting fired from a mega-church-in-disguise for what I will politely call "ethical disagreements" - and all of the emotional bells and whistles associated with that.<br />
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Despite these crushing disappointments with the institutional church, I've never lost this deep and consuming faith, an often inexplicable grounding in the divine. I've changed and morphed and questioned and journeyed, but I've always known that I am part of a larger, more encompassing love. And because of my culture and inheritance, this has always been best framed for me through the lens of the Christian tradition. For me, love, joy, and peace have always been embodied in this person of Christ. It's just that Christ, in these church experiences, had become so institutionalized and packaged and glossy that I found myself being asked to give up what Christ was all about in order to be a part of the church. Ironic. Painful. Traumatic. And sadly, I think that I am far from being alone in this experience.<br />
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Here's where yoga comes in:<br />
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In the midst of working through all of this, yoga became my communion.<br />
When words would not come because they had been replaced with tears, I could breathe.<br />
When I felt silenced, my body could pray.<br />
When I felt excluded from ritual, I could practice.<br />
When I felt stifled, I could stretch.<br />
When I felt beaten down, I could sit.<br />
When I felt outwardly powerless, I could gain strength.<br />
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Yoga was one tool that I could use to reengage this faith of mine in a way that dealt with the power of the pain, while helping me move through it in a healthy way. It provided a way to be with God that was holistic and outside of the patriarchal, religious boxes that I had been given.<br />
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Richard Rhor says, "I can see why a number of saints spoke of prayer itself as simply receiving the ever-benevolent gaze of God, returning it in kind, mutually gazing, and finally recognizing that it is one single gaze received and bounced back."<br />
This is what yoga has taught me about prayer and faith: how to sit, how to wait, how to heal, how to gaze.<br />
When I felt separated, I could be made one.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-48157657523122045422014-09-30T10:57:00.001-05:002014-09-30T10:57:59.264-05:00When Singing is not Necessarily Prescribed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b>“I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing,
especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.” </b><b>― Mary Oliver</b></div>
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Recall a time when you were required to sing and, in reality, it was the absolute last thing you wanted to do. Like at church, when you didn't know the hymn, or you were new, or you weren't really feelin' it. Or for a less than rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday" for a colleague at work, in a somewhat stiff professional setting, where nobody really wanted to sing but it was kind of expected. It was kind of prescribed. It was kind of, well, awkward.<br />
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Contrast this with a time you've found yourself singing at the top of your lungs and you just couldn't help yourself - at your favorite concert or in the shower. When it just happened, and it was pure bliss. Music is impactful when it's spontaneous and connected to authentic, unhinged emotion. When it wells up from deep within us, when there's nothing left to do but open our mouths and sing with abandon, not because we are suppose to, but because we can't stop ourselves. It's meaningful when we have something to say, something to express that goes beyond what stripped down, transactional words can tell us. Somehow feeling and movement connected to melody become the only way to really express those deepest sentiments locked in our hearts. As someone who sings for a living, this is the story of my life.<br />
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Mozambican culture is a culture of song - not because they're forced to sing, but because song is ingrained in the very fiber or their beings. Singing here is not mandated. It's natural, it's normal. Singing occurs as a joyous, spontaneous eruption celebrating a togetherness that transcends language barriers and culture. Perhaps this is the very reason that I love my work here so much.<br />
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These two video clips are just two examples of spontaneous song that I experienced during my last visit. The first is at a church called Mucuassula UMC in the Nampula District. As we sat around the common area and talked and ate, the pastor, lay leader, and families in the village were overcome with joy, and song and dance poured forth. It wasn't planned, it wasn't expected, we were just sitting around, and as naturally as someone might flip on the TV when conversation slows, there we flipped on our voices and connected in a way that a television would never allow.<br />
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The second video is a welcome I received at Makanga UMC in the very remote Zambezia North District. This congregation met me in the road. They ran to me, miles from where the church was located in great anticipation of my visit, while I was still a long way off...the prodigal's story takes on a brand new dimension. This wasn't about obligation, it was about ecstatically welcoming a long lost, misfit daughter into the arms of family.<br />
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I believe in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-49081882088135550892014-09-25T15:24:00.000-05:002014-09-27T14:55:36.173-05:00Why This Stuff WorksI believe in the work of the Mozambique Initiative with all my heart. Not just because it's my job and I'm paid to say that. And not because, in theory, it sounds like a great idea to help people who are poor in the remotest parts of Sub-Saharan Africa (although it does) ...but because what we do WORKS. What we do is actually impacting lives and changing communities. And not just in a temporary, band-aid-on-a-gaping-wound kind of way, but like, really, truly, helping communities to become healthy and self-sustaining. You see, our ministry is HOLISTIC and LONGITUDINAL. It looks not just at the individual, but at the health of the entire community. And instead of expecting a one-time gift before getting the hell outta dodge so that God doesn't acidentally call us to Africa or something crazy like that ...we actually expect engagement in partnership with our brothers and sisters in committed, long-term relationships. And it turns out that long-term, holistic investment in people and their communities actually changes stuff!! Here's is a perfect example of why it works and what I'm talking about from my last trip:<br />
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Earlier this year, Missouri partners funded a safe water well in a very remote village called Lurio in the Niassa District in Mozambique. Awesome. Lives saved. Here's a photo of safe water flowing at Lurio UMC.<br />
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That's a great story and it COULD have ended there, but with the MI, it doesn't. The safe water well worked wonderfully and people from the entire community came to the church in Lurio to fetch water from this well. Once this well began to function, people from the church found themselves with more time on their hands and more resources at their disposal. Instead of walking a mile to the river every day and back, water was right there at the town center. And they were feeling better because those pesky parasites in the river were no longer also in their tummies. So they thought to themselves, "Hey, we've been hearing about microfinance projects with the MI. We should apply for one!" And then they did. Because they now had water that was close and flowed freely, they were able to design and implement a brick making project using the water from the newly drilled well, mud, and sand. Here's a photo of bricks drying in the sun with some of the workers from the congregation.<br />
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Now that the congregation at Lurio UMC is able to make bricks, they are also able to sell them. And selling bricks brings money into their community for other things. They now have the resources to work on building themselves a new chapel because the previous one was made of sticks and leaves, and kept getting washed away in storms. Here is the new chapel that is in process.<br />
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Once the chapel is finished, the local government has asked to use the building as a place to provide literacy classes for people in the village who cannot read. And so when the church is not using it's new building for worship, it will be used for the whole community for educational purposes. Plus, because of the funds raised from these projects, they are able to send a pastor in the district to the Gondola Training Center (our newly opened educational center in Northern Mozambique) in order to receive education and leadership development classes. Pastor Julio just began his training this month.<br />
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All of the pieces fit together to create the larger whole, which is simply the transformation of people and their communities toward the image of Christ. It's an amazing transformation to witness, and I am humbled to share this story as just one example of the impact of our work. Stories just like this one are popping up all over the country of Mozambique as our partnership continues to develop and strengthen.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-63815626293834454772014-07-29T13:17:00.001-05:002014-09-27T14:51:26.925-05:00Surrendering to the Great Abyss (by Adam Miller)I saw a video a month or so ago showcasing one of my favorite filmmakers, Salomon Ligthelm. In this beautifully-shot short narrative, Salomon talks about his experience as a filmmaker in the secular world, and how the talents he's been given is not for himself, but for others. The point of creating, building, making, is not for the artist, but to serve everyone else. That is something I must continually remember when shooting, editing, directing, etc. Any gifts God has given me is not for myself, but for other people. It is a surrendering of those gifts. Salomon would ask it, "Have you surrendered yourself to the Great Abyss?"<br />
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My experience in Mozambique here, so far, has been amazing. The weather is beautiful, a blissful 70-75 with a nice breeze at night. Gloria, our host, is the most hospitable and loving woman I've met here. She has fed us and given us beds to sleep on, which is no small feat for our team of 6. I experienced life in Nampula by traveling on the no-lane roads, going to the grocery store, and then today even more fully by traveling to one of the wells of a local church, Felix Nevesse, and then to the Nampula UMC. At both of these churches, we experienced such welcome and gratitude that was almost overwhelming. There was such beautiful singing and gratitude from all the people we met and saw, and it made me detest my past self for not taking more time to learn Portuguese. I wanted so badly to talk to these people, get to know them, learn who they were, what life was like for them, where they grew up, etc. Hear their story.<br />
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But that's what we're here to do. Tell stories. And the people of Mozambique have stories too. And they're asking to be told. As I begin to film these stories and the life change these people have experienced from the love of Jesus through even tangible things like fresh water, it becomes easy to think, "Wow. This is a really good shot. I'm making this look really good. People will connect with this so much." It is a continual self-surrender of myself, my talents, my thoughts, my fears, my desires, to what God has in mind for me and for those around me. And I don't do that well, by any means. But even in that moment of standing in a small church, in which 100+ people gather to worship the Creator of the Universe, singing their praise for our Savior, it is difficult not to be humbled. They were offering all they knew of themselves, to all they knew of God. And that is what God asks of us. Is to surrender ourselves.<br />
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Have you surrendered yourself to the Great Abyss?<br />
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- Adam<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-79537216687843566812014-07-25T10:28:00.000-05:002014-09-27T14:54:07.932-05:00Create"In the beginning, God created..." <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqugikubbIwsbHS2CRHJSB9JnfcNLur3NDDiZxKgV55Uk1HnbOUP83DX7GOqGL2CtMEHhPYOf2AvY85cfJiCqsWfSgXeYYNWbXcFlhqmckGPvhie_141jdvCjQxTXVYp9iZqPWIq6x04/s1600/Adam+and+Eve+and+the+First+Sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqugikubbIwsbHS2CRHJSB9JnfcNLur3NDDiZxKgV55Uk1HnbOUP83DX7GOqGL2CtMEHhPYOf2AvY85cfJiCqsWfSgXeYYNWbXcFlhqmckGPvhie_141jdvCjQxTXVYp9iZqPWIq6x04/s1600/Adam+and+Eve+and+the+First+Sunrise.jpg" height="400" width="335" /></a>The opening line of that well known and little understood book...drum roll please...the Bible. I think this text often gets lost in the whats and whos and whys and hows, "...the heavens and the earth," or "...Adam and Eve," or "...that gosh darn, pesky apple," etc. and I think we often lose the impact of that first line: In the beginning, God CREATED. The action. God created.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16.5pt;"><a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/create" target="_blank">cre·ate</a> </span><span style="color: #717274; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">\krē-</span><span style="color: #717274; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', sans-serif; font-size: 8pt;">ˈ</span><span style="color: #717274; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">āt, </span><span style="color: #717274; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', sans-serif; font-size: 8pt;">ˈ</span><span style="color: #717274; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">krē-</span><span style="color: #717274; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode', sans-serif; font-size: 8pt;">ˌ</span><span style="color: #717274; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">\</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-indent: -24px;"> : </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">to make or produce (something) : to cause (something new) to exist : </span><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">to produce (something new, such as a work of art) by using your talents and imagination</span><span style="line-height: 15pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></div>
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God created. Creating. To create. In the beginning, that's kinda what God was up to, and it's kinda what God keeps being up to in our lives. Imagining, plotting, dreaming, producing, making something from nothing. Creating.<br />
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I point this out to help explain the intention behind this next journey of ours to Mozambique, which begins in about 24 hours. Tomorrow I am boarding a plane alongside a team of amazing artists whose intentions are to create. To devise new and artistic ways of telling the story of this radical, life-changing partnership that we have with our brothers and sisters in Mozambique. The team involves 1 pastor, 2 videographers, 2 audio engineers, and 1 misfit and our goal is to make something beautiful as we put words, songs, and visuals to the narrative. Our plan is to come back with the documentation needed for crafting professional level video and audio material. These videos will then be used for the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/mozambiqueinitiative" target="_blank">Mozambique Initiative</a> as we seek to gather more support, communicate our mission, and have a greater impact. We will be in some very remote places across the Nampula and Niassa districts (note photo: "via unknown road") and we could use your prayers. For safety and health and all of that, but also for inspiration and insight, for bright ideas and connections, for the ability to employ our talents and imaginations in ways that do justice to this awesome work. For the ability to create something meaningful that has a lasting ripple effect. Pray that we can mirror that creator God of ours daily as we strive to make something new.<br />
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Stay posted here for updates on our travels..as internet allows...<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-90367468521046648752014-07-23T14:33:00.000-05:002014-09-27T14:54:35.106-05:00A Trio of Heartbreakers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
If you've been following the Mozambique Initiative's goings ons in the last month, you've probably heard about this jazz trio that was here visiting all the way from Mozambique, bumping around the state in a church-van-turned-tour-bus. For three weeks my mission was to cart around three amazing musicians and one full-time representative while not losing any of them or accidentally driving off of a cliff. Mission accomplished! My job duties ranged from band manager to bus driver to translator to lead singer depending on the circumstances. Easy, right?</div>
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As the hours on the road wore on, we all grew closer to one another and through complicated translations, had discussions of great significance. We talked about all that Missourians do for the people of Mozambique, and the guys were overwhelmed with both the wealth and generosity present here. They were grateful, wide-eyed, and in awe of all of the luxury. They marveled at the material wealth and all of the conveniences that we have here, and they wondered aloud about what a band of musicians could actually do for a people that, from the outside, seem to have everything. </div>
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One of the discussions that impacted me most was when Joel asked me why the people in Missouri seemed so distant. He liked us and all, and everyone was super nice and proper and we sure had lots of amazing things, but unlike in Mozambique, when the music started, nobody sang, nobody trilled, nobody was overtaken with emotion, and definitely nobody danced down the isles or grabbed you in a huge bear hug because they just couldn't help themselves. </div>
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We are distant. </div>
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We are cold. </div>
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As I started to wrap my brain around this, I realized that these two things are directly correlated. We are cold BECAUSE of all of our stuff. We are distant BECAUSE of our wealth. We are so busy succeeding, storing, saving, protecting, hoarding, counting, calculating, entertaining, consuming, investing, insulating and closing in ourselves and our stuff that we find ourselves rock hard and locked up tight. </div>
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"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." If your treasure is vaulted in a bank, stored in stocks and bonds, put away in accounts, and converted into leather seats and high class comforts... </div>
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SO. WILL. YOUR. HEART.</div>
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But there is hope! As the miles unwound with our words, we unpacked these things and talked about the meaning of partnership. And we began to realize that this is exactly why we need each other. Sure, we as Americans can give lots of money and drill wells in distant villages. Yes, we can send our money and fund micro-projects and build homes. And these things are of dire importance and really do change lives! But this is the easy part. Writing a check and then sitting in our lounge chair, in our air-conditioned, quarantined comfort is really not that big of a stretch for us. What is difficult is allowing our walled-off hearts to be unlocked, softened, and cracked wide open. </div>
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THIS is why we need each other.</div>
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We need real, live models of passionate worship.</div>
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We need to see radical hospitality in action.</div>
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We need to understand how love casts out fear.</div>
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We need to witness unhinged joy.</div>
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We need our Mozambican brothers and sisters! Just as desperately as they need us.</div>
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I believe that this partnership is one of divine design. That just as much as a village in the middle of rural Mozambique needs a safe water well drilled, so our hearts need to be softened and broken by witnessing and experiencing the gifts that God has bestowed on the people of Mozambique. And only in the face of radical, passionate, and heart-felt song unto a God of passionate love does this begin to be realized.</div>
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So what does a band of rag-tag musicians in a church van have to offer?</div>
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Perhaps more than all of the riches in all of the world.</div>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-43347996382225007452014-04-21T14:19:00.000-05:002014-04-21T14:19:36.172-05:00What if?What if we've got this all wrong?<br />
What if it's about becoming small instead of becoming big?<br />
What if we actually need less rather than more?<br />
What if the least is really the greatest?<br />
What if success is measured by stepping down the ladder rather than climbing up it?<br />
What if we became acquainted with the poor rather than with campaigns with pretty pictures of the poor?<br />
What if we spent time with our neighbor rather than theologized about our neighbor?<br />
What if we lived where we could make a difference rather than where we felt the most comfortable?<br />
What if we chose to be participants rather than consumers?<br />
What if the one guy in the front who talks the most really doesn't have the answers?<br />
What if the one talking doesn't have to be a guy at all?<br />
What if the last one was first?<br />
What if we have big questions and live them out loud?<br />
What if we've been lulled to sleep by the drone of mediocrity?<br />
What if we wake up?<br />
What if we wake up?<br />
What if we wake up?<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-20644046728920906302014-04-16T11:07:00.001-05:002014-09-27T15:17:39.123-05:00Education StationI'm a huge fan of education. Like in a big way. Clearly, I would never have endured the lunacy of getting a doctoral degree if I didn't feel a deep commitment to the educational process for better or worse...and it IS sheer madness to even wade into these dark and dreadful academic waters (anyone who tells you differently is trying to get you to apply to their doctoral program). My love of education is not about the degrees that ensue or the letters I find strung behind my name like some unintelligible caboose at the end of a train.<br />
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For me, love of education is about the romancing of ideas. It's about giving luxurious space to birth and nurture thoughts that otherwise would never had made themselves present. It's about finding ideas crammed into pages of books and nestled into conversations with classmates. It's for the experience of knowledge, and not just amassing knowledge, but learning how to use knowledge as the fuel for creativity and world changing.<br />
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March brought with it some amazingness as I traveled with two pastor-sages to attend and take part in the opening of our brand new training/educational center in Mozambique, specifically in an area void of educational opportunities. The Gondola Training Center (GTC) officially opened it's doors on March 6th after years of preparation, building, dreaming, and scheming. The idea is for this to be a place where people who are already leading our church communities can come for leadership development and basic education in microfinance, sustainability, agriculture, theology, and discipleship. Most people who will attend will have little more than a basic, primary education, but are also tasked with the enormous responsibility of leadership. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity for them to gather for the sole purpose of education.<br />
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These two amazing women with whom I traveled taught week-long workshops to the first cohort of students to ever walk through the front doors of the GTC. These women are both brilliant and spirit-filled, and they taught with humble fervor. Rev. Kim Jenne has a mind like a steal trap and is deeply committed to bringing theology to life in a holistic way. She sees God in the details and points out the Divine in the nooks and crannies of every day life. Rev. Jenn Klein is a prayer guru - a taller, female, guitar-toting equivalent of Yoda, enveloped in spirit. She teaches that prayer is not something that we do, it is something that we are. We spent a week exchanging ideas, two pastors leading the courses, while the Mozambican students taught us more than we thought possible. It is my hope that we, together, can take this knowledge that was shared, allow it to take root and grow, and then use it to go out and move the world.<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-75517491819812675202014-02-14T11:11:00.000-06:002014-09-27T15:17:49.883-05:00Because it's FunnyI posted something snarky on Facebook the other day after receiving this nasty and biting email (names and identifiers have been changed):<br />
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<i><b>Sarah,</b></i></div>
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<i><b>How many times does it take to get you to change my e-address from this one to iamajerk@gmail.com???? Maybe "third times a charm."</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Curmudgeon</b></i></div>
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(note Jesus fish in signature line). My intent behind posting this was to gather some moral support and mostly, to make people laugh. Because this is just freakin' funny folks. Most people who commented on my post were lighthearted and supportive, while some instructed me about how to respond with grace, and how to be Jesus to the emailer, and shouldn't I witness to the emailer...sure, yes. But I posted this initially because it was FUNNY. Hilarious. And we all need a good laugh. It's funny because this person can't see far enough past their Jesus fish to be angry about what REALLY matters. It's funny because who gets mad about email logistics but not the injustices that we talk about in a newsletter like that? Yes, I really do need to figure out a better way of organizing the hundreds of emails I get each day, and I'm very very vary far from being perfect. And yes, being loving to said emailer is important. But come on, send me a nice reminder, I'll fix it and apologize, and let's get mad together about the stuff that counts! What's ironically, terribly, tragically funny is the subject of the aggression. I mean, why don't I get more livid, fired-up, passionate emails like this?:<br />
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<b>Sarah,</b><br />
<b>Can you believe this nonsense? I read in your newsletter that women have to walk 6 hours per day to get safe water in Mozambique?? WTF?!? Isn't there something we can do? Let me know where to send the check.</b><br />
<b>In Christ,</b><br />
<b>Johnny</b><br />
<b><><</b><br />
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OR<br />
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<b>Sarah,</b><br />
<b>I'm so freakin' pissed right now about how people are dying of malnutrition in Mozambique!! And, at this moment, I have so many leftovers in my fridge that I will never even finish. This is ludicrous! Why the injustice? Why the inequity?? What can I do to help??</b><br />
<b>In His Grip,</b><br />
<b>Bev</b><br />
<b><><</b><br />
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OR<br />
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<b>Sarah,</b><br />
<b>I'm about to explode. I just learned that 55 children die per day in Mozambique from lack of safe water and I'm livid about it. This really gets my goat. I'll activate my people now and start a learning group about poverty and injustice. Let's change something about this.</b><br />
<b>Your True Sister,</b><br />
<b>Joan</b><br />
<b><><</b><br />
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I mean this is humor people. It's funny! I just have to laugh.<br />
Or else I'll cry.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-35273120616475119952014-02-09T11:55:00.000-06:002014-02-09T11:57:26.886-06:00The Light of the World<br />
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I spent an hour on the phone yesterday with a foul-mouthed, rockabilly, former-comedian-turned-pastor who does church by feeding homeless people in a park and having drinks with the local riffraff in neighborhood bars. I was at the end of my rope with many things about how people do "church" and "christianity" and needed an infusion of reality. Ask and ye shall receive. <br />
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We talked about how sermons suck and how neither of us could give one hot damn about what some white, middle-class dude says from a shiny pulpit. We talked about how we don't want to hear about Three Steps to Finding Your True Self, or Why Jesus Wants You to Have a BMW, or How To Feel Comfortable in Suburbia. It's empty. And our generation knows this in its core, but it seems that our lethargy and desire for comfort get the best of us.<br />
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You see, everyday I work with people who are literally, LITERALLY fighting for their lives because they lack safe water and food. Because their government is corrupt and 13 year old children carry around guns. Because they are ridden with malaria and typhoid and hepatitis and HIV/AIDS and there is no medical care. My job centers on not only helping to provide water and food and safety and medical care, but also asking WHY these people don't have water and food and safety and medical care, and working to change this system. One step at a time. My sincere hope (and ALL of my eggs are in this freakin' basket) is that our FAITH tells us something about how to do this. That the Spirit is the catalyst to changing our world. That somehow, light will shine in the darkness, and darkness will not overcome it. I need a faith that speaks to these realities. I need it. I'm desperate for it.<br />
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What I want to see from our "churches" is how faith compels us to live differently. I want strategies for loving radically and living out loud. I want people to learn not just how to give their money, but their lives, and their hearts, and their time, and their energy. This world is dark, where is the light? How, in God's great name, do we shine?? What does this man called Jesus, who hung out with sinners and drunkards and prostitutes and people who are poor have to say about all of this?? My hunch is that I'm more likely to find answers to these questions while talking with a foul-mouthed pastor who hangs out in bars than in a pew in suburbia-land.<br />
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Between F-bombs and crass jokes, my rockabilly pastor-turned-dear-friend seemed to be on to something. Maybe it's not about a new flat screen TV, and light shows, and great sound boards, and perfect sermons. Maybe it's more about simply hanging out with people who are lonely and poor. Maybe it's about being church, as opposed to going to church. Maybe it's about living church, as opposed to attending church.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-21527007607793688332013-12-24T15:12:00.000-06:002013-12-24T15:12:19.052-06:00When Wrinkles are Roads<br />
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Here's a selfie taken just one day ago. I snapped this pic in the midst of a mini crisis that I was having as I observed in the mirror the newly developing crows feet around my eyes as I prepared to go out for the evening. One more year passing. A few more wrinkles. Sigh. But in this moment, I opted not to let vanity get the best of me, but to turn it around...I realized in this moment (captured here by my iPhone) that the lines forming, ever so faintly, at the corners of my eyes and around the edges of my mouth are facial records of all of those unforgettable experiences that have found themselves lining up to be counted on my skin. The deep belly laughs that have danced their way across my face over the years. The countless times I've furrowed my brow to think deeply about an issue that I needed to wrap my mind around in new ways, the kisses of the sun on those warm and rare days when this landlocked, Midwestern girl gets lucky enough to be caught up in the beauty of a sandy beach. These lines are my personal road map available for all to see. These are the visible impact of the roads I've traveled.<br />
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And this year of journeying was no exception. 2013 brought with it a number of significant wrinkles that I have incurred through what can only be counted as an extremely strenuous but memorable year. And so if we cross paths this year and you notice my newly acquired wrinkles, here is a little legend, a legend to the map of where I've come from this year, and where I am headed.<br />
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The Furrowed Brow:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXd9R6JhBDXes9IYPk81hl8H9NStLC1aOsXOTaeHr-u_1Fx-g8Kg6e84Cf0Y5NZ29IBOq2ooKva5VrWx-iWfYiH6tCGMW-mZ8shiv2ElCUck4qhqpd8ktrsRTwEZd-2qnXALSmkpwL0Qw/s1600/Dissertation+Day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXd9R6JhBDXes9IYPk81hl8H9NStLC1aOsXOTaeHr-u_1Fx-g8Kg6e84Cf0Y5NZ29IBOq2ooKva5VrWx-iWfYiH6tCGMW-mZ8shiv2ElCUck4qhqpd8ktrsRTwEZd-2qnXALSmkpwL0Qw/s400/Dissertation+Day.jpg" width="300" /></a>This year, I kicked my dissertation's ass and came to the end of five long years of a doctoral program, which I am still seeking to understand. Ultimately, I am grateful for the experience, I learned a lot, including the fact that I would like to stay as far away from the academic ivory tower as humanly possible. I fought, tooth and nail, to survive the beatings I received by power and ego, and I struggled with everything in me to rise above the system of control. Not because the work was difficult per se, although indeed it was a challenge, but the shock of how power is abused for personal gain left my soul reeling a bit. I was scarred by what I can only call abuse upon reflection, and I lost a piece of myself back there. But I also gained resolve that they cannot take away from me. I learned about priorities. I learned about right. And I learned about wrong. I learned that I like getting my hands dirty more than I like thinking about getting my hands dirty. I learned that God is among the poor more than among the powerful. I learned that every valley will be lifted up, and every mountain and hill will be made low. I learned that the length of your CV does not matter, but in fact, the last shall be first, and the first shall be last. And I survived. And I am thankful. And I know what is important, and what is not important but guises as such.<br />
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The Passion Pleats:<br />
This year, with the help of my amazing producer, Tony Esterly, I recorded, mixed, mastered, and sent to press my very first solo album. I poured my heart and soul into this project over the course of months and months and months. This project was my creative energy, my outlet, my first masterpiece, and this year was made epic by the completion of this work. The time and effort that I invested into this was huge, and the feeling of living into an artistic calling caused elation that I cannot even describe. I have always know that music is ingrained in who I am called to be in the world, but I found a new part of this voice for the very first time through this album. I came to know myself in new ways. I was also lucky enough to have the album discovered by a small label out of Tokyo and the album, Both/And, was distributed across Japan. This led to a music video and all kinds of fun adventures that involved toting a piano around the city of St. Louis. I'm not sure what else to say about this process other than it was worth every line of passion that it etched across my face. This was an experience that I will never forget and only the beginning of the exploration of this piece of my heart.<br />
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The Sun Spots and Laugh Lines:<div>
There are lots and lots and lots of these, but most of them this year come from my journey around the world this summer, where I spent time on the beaches of Pemba, Mozambique, the cobblestone streets of Seville, Spain, and the warm patios of Faro, Portugal. And I was blessed to travel alongside some of the most amazing people in the world. I had the amazing privilege of traveling for <a href="http://misfitmissionary.blogspot.com/2013/09/40-days-40-nights.html" target="_blank">40 days and 40 nights</a>, and I reconnected with parts of me that had been lost. I grinned from ear to ear as I realized that I have the best, most meaningful job in the entire world, I laughed deep belly laughs as I reconnected with my best friend from New York in a beautiful Spanish city, and I felt the elation of making music with new, lifelong soul mates.</div>
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And so as I watch another year fly past me and I think about the impact of these years on my body, I choose to not look down upon the wrinkles with vain judgement, but to thank God for each one. To attribute each new line to a path that I have traversed, to trails that I have had the privilege of blazing. The wrinkles are roads, and I am the humble traveler with a map.<br /><br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-44766750185941514082013-12-13T14:37:00.000-06:002013-12-13T14:37:01.943-06:00Chicken Bones and Sea UrchinsOn this cold and snowy day, my mind wanders back to a warm, beach afternoon in Mozambique, where I sat content, eating a home-cooked, picnic lunch of chicken and rice and drinking 3/4 of a Coke before becoming too full to finish. Only minutes after tossing my trash, I saw this little boy rooting through the garbage to salvage and eat the meat left on my chicken bones, and drink the swallow of cola that I had neglected to finish. We locked eyes and we both felt embarrassed for being found out by one another. Me being caught in my gluttony and waste, he being seen in his hunger and poverty. I immediately felt like a selfish asshole for leaving this little boy to wallow in my waste as opposed to seeing him, being aware of his need, and being willing to share. <br />
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But more than this, what killed me, what absolutely slayed me dead, was that after "stealing" my garbage and being discovered, the little boy immediately felt the need to return the favor and repay his "debt". He took off down the beach on a short jaunt, only to return with a small gift presented to me in exchange for what I had considered my garbage. He extended his hand and bowed his head in a humble offering, the deep violet spines of a sea urchin in the palm of his hand, as a small token of his appreciation. Glancing up, we grinned at each other, laughed a little, and shook our heads in recognition of how life is brutally unfair but unexpectedly beautiful, and how we can be gifts to one another if only we open our eyes and make ourselves available. The spines of the sea urchin were a representation of his gratitude-laden heart, my chicken bones a symbol of indifferent excess. His was, without question, the greater gift. The two of us gestured and nodded our agreement to walk down the beach a bit together, him showing me all of the unseen beauties lying beneath the sand and hidden just under the rocks, gifts waiting to be given, reflections of his huge heart waiting to be revealed to others. <br />
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This Christmas, as I ponder the idea of giving, I am convinced that the gifts that really matter aren't those found in a mall or on a shelf. They aren't things that can be bought or sold. I want to give gifts like this little boy gave to me, wide-eyed, in gratitude, and in recognition of the beauty that is hiding just below the surface, peeping out between the nooks and crannies of God's great big world. I want to stop giving the "chicken bones" of excess sold on commercial shelves that cost me nothing and are given as a last thought, but instead, give genuine reflections of my heart that portray openness and gratitude. I learned what it is to give from this little hungry boy on a beach, and I will never give the same again.<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-15273155906949705202013-09-16T17:12:00.001-05:002013-09-16T17:12:36.251-05:0040 Days, 40 Nights<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrPdskxY-joX6iHXCFzhiMpEcGdQv3VwnjRtU4EtdfPbU_o2a3q5JCW_NKXOQtgjg4zcvkhlSDPOkIrt9I0nhZC-6GL2zwCNtUrpk2pmEbIGL2msfnPvHXv9cwjgv9mFMeR7GihrcXy0/s1600/IMG_3019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrPdskxY-joX6iHXCFzhiMpEcGdQv3VwnjRtU4EtdfPbU_o2a3q5JCW_NKXOQtgjg4zcvkhlSDPOkIrt9I0nhZC-6GL2zwCNtUrpk2pmEbIGL2msfnPvHXv9cwjgv9mFMeR7GihrcXy0/s320/IMG_3019.JPG" width="320" /></a><b>"Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes..." </b><br />
<b>-Elizabeth Barrett Browning</b><br />
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I've recently returned from a 40 day journey around the world. A journey about intentionally taking time to stop, breathe, and reconnect with my heart.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9B-m0P0XG6cEMCTi1TTyU4m0xrsTN1jqXW1_nmkaQO-F76I16Exd6qlkgZnqCQ8XPEIWZWg4KIUz91nWNJeUY0Fc-2cHMSPt5bFpwsqNrFJh1DBMEPz9mR2KPhqs9NIvBD7xzMyf0edA/s1600/IMG_3386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9B-m0P0XG6cEMCTi1TTyU4m0xrsTN1jqXW1_nmkaQO-F76I16Exd6qlkgZnqCQ8XPEIWZWg4KIUz91nWNJeUY0Fc-2cHMSPt5bFpwsqNrFJh1DBMEPz9mR2KPhqs9NIvBD7xzMyf0edA/s320/IMG_3386.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjELuQ_xlVVwtXrncYKcqGvAiC3h-vUxIKtzJYg4xsgQILnD2E_nrV7YvBSvAR34XHdGKGX4UkEzV5WJ_jMytL0bG7qUdO4UhgCPiLQ937iqNCVLpxzLjatvm9tRf7lEIVH08ebgz24rgM/s1600/IMG_3115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjELuQ_xlVVwtXrncYKcqGvAiC3h-vUxIKtzJYg4xsgQILnD2E_nrV7YvBSvAR34XHdGKGX4UkEzV5WJ_jMytL0bG7qUdO4UhgCPiLQ937iqNCVLpxzLjatvm9tRf7lEIVH08ebgz24rgM/s320/IMG_3115.JPG" width="320" /></a>I had intended to write a lot, everyday in fact, but I found myself so caught up in unwinding the cobwebs in my head that I was rendered almost completely unable to put words to the experience, which is not like me. And I apologize to all those who were hoping to follow my blog during these travels. #fail. From meeting Mozambican mamas to taking long Spanish siestas to playing music on patios in Portugal, I was unable to write or say much of consequence in response to these experiences other than the occasional quiet mumbling of gratitude-laden mantras under my breath...simply thank you, thank you, thank you....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmv2OP1qaShvHo0r5rlVA3tUvWfwMlCcTG84VckgttPyUqRjLD81tDm1PjeJBUt0EuERc3LHMhf-c34P9fSGWITfKFEb31cxoaaqMaNv21DGWTGhBKOgwaNo2KEDBbuO8zvSqyVC0qmW0/s1600/IMG_3528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmv2OP1qaShvHo0r5rlVA3tUvWfwMlCcTG84VckgttPyUqRjLD81tDm1PjeJBUt0EuERc3LHMhf-c34P9fSGWITfKFEb31cxoaaqMaNv21DGWTGhBKOgwaNo2KEDBbuO8zvSqyVC0qmW0/s320/IMG_3528.JPG" width="320" /></a>This year has indeed been an epic one. I was looking back through my earlier blog posts and saw the January post entitled <a href="http://misfitmissionary.blogspot.com/2013/01/harvest-time.html">A Year to Harvest</a>, which detailed all that was to be finished, completed, tied up this year. After successfully defending my dissertation at the end of June, sending my debut album off to press in July, and completing the second of two epic trips to Mozambique in August, I can say with confidence that the harvesting happened. And I was left standing speechless and in awe of the beauty that permeates my life. At the dreams realized. At love, and how it sparks, catches, and sets the world ablaze at every turn...and it's really an issue of opening our eyes to see the fire, and taking off our shoes in humble awe.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RNU1WAS8PwaJLXwwWJRE1gAsL36nZRhn8tlzvo3ISBHu-SwP0Ws3-MaQ82W03zAwq_vQsHcbRTuDBmDYu6xOm4H6g37enADHRPnvyO1eqSyUeWqKqIUauKLPl2ytoacoK9wrmypGRlg/s1600/IMG_3650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RNU1WAS8PwaJLXwwWJRE1gAsL36nZRhn8tlzvo3ISBHu-SwP0Ws3-MaQ82W03zAwq_vQsHcbRTuDBmDYu6xOm4H6g37enADHRPnvyO1eqSyUeWqKqIUauKLPl2ytoacoK9wrmypGRlg/s320/IMG_3650.JPG" width="320" /></a>This was a summer of taking off my shoes. You see, I'm a doer. I get it done. I accomplish. I reach goals. If it's hard, or if someone says that I can't, I'm all the more likely to try. So when I couldn't write, at first I felt as if I was failing. This was amplified by the fact that I had no deadlines to meet or goals to achieve for nearly six weeks. It felt like detox in some ways and I wasn't quite sure how to handle myself.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk15OB7wFUArEGjIeWBHaurFZAXOAQ6wuKUt0JULEpIHF2VJGUOZhOo8_ZGK6-rk3Z2vR2Xm1DFE5_ptSluyYVP_oHS_jiU8MhrMachqd0-R0tlmklm-AI8GL5fIt90MoeCNHMmiu4BE4/s1600/IMG_3790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk15OB7wFUArEGjIeWBHaurFZAXOAQ6wuKUt0JULEpIHF2VJGUOZhOo8_ZGK6-rk3Z2vR2Xm1DFE5_ptSluyYVP_oHS_jiU8MhrMachqd0-R0tlmklm-AI8GL5fIt90MoeCNHMmiu4BE4/s320/IMG_3790.JPG" width="320" /></a>But a wise guru reminded me that we are human BEINGS. Not human DOINGS. In the words of the brilliant (and somewhat hippie-ish) Franciscan Father, Richard Rohr:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXet1I20SP2HrIIsVsv4fWmlH-kNqLeq03k84l4IDJRXfq0dUakNqqdca3lDQ5GB05RqSJ4mQWGHoevkW2XufX6qr5Lu_F8izM4Q0djLzJqT3DTuugd0h64NqjGlXJwmIy_F2N12GqXk/s1600/IMG_3802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXet1I20SP2HrIIsVsv4fWmlH-kNqLeq03k84l4IDJRXfq0dUakNqqdca3lDQ5GB05RqSJ4mQWGHoevkW2XufX6qr5Lu_F8izM4Q0djLzJqT3DTuugd0h64NqjGlXJwmIy_F2N12GqXk/s320/IMG_3802.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
"God is always choosing people. First impressions aside, God is not primarily choosing them for a role or a task, although it might appear that way. God is really choosing them <i>to be God's self in this world, each in a unique situation. </i>If they allow themselves to experience being chosen, being a beloved, being somehow God's presence in the world, they invariably communicate that same chosenness to others."<i> </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyaFnNrd7oIsLh9CkCp3IBuy3m3-wIHnUTSNQJit5mVXr5Valtwc-O2MFsp0luNZcq2OL23cGIJId7FpVzRxCHIpDYA683iEjHtyZSpG3PL44n4Zof_xapfKNIV1SvNaJCbHsShvifODg/s1600/IMG_3822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyaFnNrd7oIsLh9CkCp3IBuy3m3-wIHnUTSNQJit5mVXr5Valtwc-O2MFsp0luNZcq2OL23cGIJId7FpVzRxCHIpDYA683iEjHtyZSpG3PL44n4Zof_xapfKNIV1SvNaJCbHsShvifODg/s320/IMG_3822.JPG" width="320" /></a><i><br /></i>For 40 days and 40 nights, I practiced being. Just being. And to my astonishment, I met lots of other people who were just being and who wanted to just be, with me. Just being jazz musicians in Portugal, just being soul mates in Spain, just being my extended family in Mozambique. And of all of the beauty - the beaches in Pemba, the winding cobblestone streets in Seville, the picturesque patios full of jazz music in Faro - the most overwhelming beauty was seen in the eyes of those with whom I was able to journey. It was the people who stole my heart. The biggest blessing came in the people who were willing to tolerate my wanderings and muddle through my musings. To just be. And to just be together. It was miraculous. It was transformative. It was gratitude inducing. And I seem to have lost my shoes.<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-34921862408994259602013-07-18T12:44:00.001-05:002013-07-18T12:44:33.087-05:00The Good NewsAs one travels North in Mozambique, poverty increases exponentially. Cabo Delgado is the northern most province of Mozambique and is also a province full of extreme poverty, malnutrition, and lack of access to basic resources. This is exactly the reason that we were so thrilled to have had the opportunity to drill two wells in this district near the city of Pemba. The first leg of our journey involved dedicating these two wells and meeting the church communities who will be overseeing them. When we arrived in Nanjua (the first suburb outside of Pemba), women and children were lined up, eagerly awaiting the opening of the new well.<br /><br />Along with throngs of villagers, the local media also showed up for the event. This was the news of the year! Both the radio and television stations were there and they each interviewed me, Ezequiel (the MI representative), and local leaders of the congregation about the happenings. This was a story that resonated with everyone in the community and it was news to tell. For three days, the radio station broadcasted the story of safe water and we even heard word from our friends down in Maputo (the capitol city in the south of the country) that the story was being aired there as well.<br /><br />Friends, this is the Good News! The hungry are fed, the thirsty are given water. And we are lifting up our voices to proclaim this to all people from Cassville Missouri to Nanjua Mozambique, in order to demonstrate the love of God in tangible ways. Even the media in Mozambique are eager to tell. <br /><br />Get yourself up on a high mountain.<br />O Zion, bearer of good news.<br />Lift up your voice mightily<br />O Jerusalem, bearer of good news;<br />Lift it up, do not fear.<br />-Isaiah 40:9<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/07/18/970.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/07/18/s_970.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/07/18/972.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/07/18/s_972.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/07/18/973.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/07/18/s_973.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/07/18/974.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/07/18/s_974.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Pemba,Mozambique%40-12.966336%2C40.567075&z=10'>Pemba,Mozambique</a></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-75234027668738253582013-04-30T15:13:00.001-05:002013-04-30T15:13:27.337-05:00VIPAfter three days of bouncing through jungles on motorbikes under the punishing African sun, we had definitely earned a day off. On my last day in Quelimane, we had planned a day at Zalala Beach where we hoped to swim, relax, and chat about church life in Zambezia before leaving tomorrow. But this is Africa. And nothing in Africa ever goes as planned. <br /><br />First of all, after days and days of endless sun, we woke up to pouring rain and dark, ominous skies. Secondly, LAM Airlines called this morning to say that they had pushed back my flight time the following day (just because they felt like it), which means I would miss my international flight back to the US if I didn't board a plane this afternoon instead. Their solution was to put me on a 3:30pm flight today and overnight me in Maputo before connecting with my international flight tomorrow. All of the sudden, I was leaving Zambezia, no beach, no relaxation, and no certainty about exactly what LAM had in mind when they said "overnight". <br /><br />We arrived in Maputo and I waited and waited for them to issue a voucher for some unknown hotel where I would wait it out until I left for home. <br /><br />And then I broke down. <br /><br />I was homesick, exhausted, my body couldn't take it anymore, and I just knew that I'd end up in a rat-infested, hole-in-the-wall in the middle of nowhere with only critters to keep me company at night. Poor Ezequiel didn't know how to handle my blubbering, but he was very gracious and worked furiously to ensure that LAM got their act together and stopped making the white girl cry in the middle of the airport.<br /><br />I was utterly shocked and amazed when we pulled up to the VIP Maputo Grand Hotel, which is a five star hotel much nicer than most places I've stayed in the US. I sprawled out in my air-conditioned room, took a hot bath, and had a complimentary, gourmet dinner on LAM's tab, and I thought to myself that somehow, God knew exactly what I needed in exactly this moment. After my Indiana Jones meets United Methodism adventures in the bush, this white girl needed a bath and a quiet room to herself. The Lord is gracious and compassionate; and even though we try to be very brave, and we deny that we are feeling weak, and we go where we are called, and we rarely complain (except for occasional crying in airports), God is always quick to wrap us up and manifest love in ways that we don't even know that we need.<br /><br />Tomorrow I fly back to the States and I will be rested, full of gratitude, and forever changed by these last 18 days. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/30/1716.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/30/s_1716.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/30/1717.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/30/s_1717.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Avenida%2025%20de%20Setembro,Maputo,Mozambique%40-25.976595%2C32.578618&z=10'>Avenida 25 de Setembro,Maputo,Mozambique</a></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-19301051011062623392013-04-29T15:14:00.001-05:002013-04-29T15:19:15.749-05:00Anna from AntiochToday we visited another local church outside of the city of Quelimane called Antioch UMC. It's a satellite church of Fitimela UMC, and it is waaaaaayyyy off the main road, accessible only by foot and, much to my delight, motorbike. Through fields of tall grass as high as we were, we tunneled through a narrow, winding path on our motorbikes hoping we would find the church before we found hungry wild animals. <br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1526.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1526.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1527.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1527.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1528.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1528.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br />Upon our arrival at Antioch, I learned about the daily lives of the people here and how they have to dig holes in the sand in order to access tiny, underground springs for water. These holes that they dig are basically open wells that are easily contaminated and cause all kinds of health problems, but this is their only option. This community is next in line for a safe water well, and they were eager to share their need for safe water while educating me about their struggles.<br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1529.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1529.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1530.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1530.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br />I also saw their church building, of which half was recently destroyed by the terrible rains and flooding that hit this area very hard. They are slowly rebuilding their chapel made of sticks and mud, but they must do it piece by piece, since resources are so limited. The women were able to make charcoal and sell it to bring in a little bit of money for the tin sheets that make the roof.<br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1531.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1531.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br />After learning about their need and hearing about their seemingly insurmountable difficulties, I was given a great gift. Although meat is terribly expensive and only consumed on very rare and special occasions, I was given a live chicken along with bananas, sugar cane, and corn, as a way of honoring me as their special guest. <br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1532.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1532.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1533.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1533.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br />We picked a brilliant name, Anna (short for Antioch), strapped this bird to our bike, and rode off into the wind. I was completely humbled by this extravagant gift from a community gripped by extreme poverty, but more importantly, compelled by extreme generosity.<br /><br />In Mozambique, apparently it's totally acceptable to bring a live chicken into your hotel restaurant and ask them to fix it up nice for you. For 100 meticais (a little more than 3 US dollars), that's exactly what they did. The hotel restaurant served up a mean Zambezia Style Anna, and we feasted as we thanked God for a beautiful and full day.<br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1534.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1534.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/29/1535.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/29/s_1535.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='left' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Quelimane,Mozambique%40-17.880249%2C36.886662&z=10'>Quelimane,Mozambique</a></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-90340590921090693562013-04-28T14:04:00.001-05:002013-04-28T14:04:03.777-05:00Far-Flung FamilyI have never, in all my life, been to a location as remote as where we were yesterday. In order to reach the small, satellite churches of Inhassunge UMC near Quelimane, our travel plan was downright insane. The Inhassunge area is completely isolated, blocked by an ocean and rivers on three sides. To reach these villages, we rented motorbikes, which were loaded onto a very full and precarious ferry boat. After crossing the river on the ferry among throngs of people, we arrived safely on the other side, unloaded our motorbikes, and headed into the jungle. We drove for a good hour, passing coconut groves, vast rice fields, and trees full of wild monkeys. <br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/28/1481.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/28/s_1481.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='right' style='margin:5px'></a><br />We have drilled 4 wells in these tiny communities, and it was my job to see to it that they were complete and water was flowing. I wanted to hear stories from the people who had received this water in order to learn more about their lives. My big plan was simply to listen and learn.<br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/28/1482.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/28/s_1482.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='right' style='margin:5px'></a><br />When I arrived, I was curious to see if this group of United Methodists had any context for a blond girl like me. As I polled the group, not one of them knew where the United States of America is located (let's not even bring up the state of Missouri), and only three had ever seen a white person in their lives. I was a spectacle to behold. Their kind-hearted and curious stares were evidence of our differences.<br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/28/1483.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/28/s_1483.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='right' style='margin:5px'></a><br />I say all of this not to point out how adventurous I am (although, truly, this work takes a "Dora the Explorer" kind of attitude), but to say that in this tiny village, so far from home, where I looked completely out of place, I was among family. I was welcomed into the lives of these beautiful people who share the faith that I call my own. We share the same gospel, we work for the same purposes, and our hope is in the same God. <br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/28/1484.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/28/s_1484.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='right' style='margin:5px'></a><br />On this epic day, we shared stories and laughed. They showed me their homes and how they cook their meals. They showed me how they collect water, and how the new safe water pump works. I learned how rice is harvested, dried, and shelled. I learned about my brothers and sisters, and I am a better person today for knowing them.<br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/28/1485.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/28/s_1485.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='right' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/28/1486.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/28/s_1486.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='right' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/28/1487.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/28/s_1487.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='right' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><br /><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/28/1488.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/28/s_1488.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' align='right' style='margin:5px'></a><br /><br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Quelimane,Mozambique%40-17.880895%2C36.886753&z=10'>Quelimane,Mozambique</a></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5821343958201018415.post-58601844892194054362013-04-25T04:34:00.001-05:002013-04-25T04:34:32.600-05:00Missing the BoysMy team of travel buddies left for home this morning while I stayed behind in Maputo in order to continue up to Quelimane tomorrow. I was surprised when I got back to my room and found myself tearful and sullen. I'm sure it had to do with the fact that it was 6 in the morning, I was emotionally exhausted, and it has been a long journey thus far, but also, I was already missing my travel companions.<br /><br />I must say that I was hesitant (to put it nicely) to lead a team of middle class, white men, and I thought for sure I'd find myself arm wrestling for power and listening to "mansplanations" of things that insulted my intelligence while demonstrating abnormally high levels of testosterone. Yvi and I, as both the youngest team members and the only two females, were nervous at best.<br /><br />It didn't take long for me to discover that I was very wrong in these assumptions. Each one of these guys love God with all that they are and they love their neighbors as they love themselves. They give generously of their time, they overcome flying-induced panic attacks, they risk their comfort and health, they eat really weird things to make their hosts feel appreciated, they ride bikes with women in tiny villages to make them laugh, they engage in long conversations full of creativity, they take time to brainstorm and dream big, and they provide me both the guidance and freedom needed to spread my wings and fly. The individuals on this trip have been nothing short of amazing and inspiring. Each one sacrificed greatly to support me and more importantly, to support this ministry through this journey and beyond. I am grateful and missing them already. God speed, boys.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/25/171.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/25/s_171.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/04/25/172.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/04/25/s_172.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Mateus%20Sansao%20Muthemba%20Road,Maputo,Mozambique%40-25.978915%2C32.591292&z=10'>Mateus Sansao Muthemba Road,Maputo,Mozambique</a></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07142151038957774646noreply@blogger.com1