It's Peanut Butter (Jelly) Time!

The new leadership team of the Mozambique Initiative (MI) was voted in by Missouri United Methodists in June of this year during our Annual Conference meetings.  We have a completely stellar group of people who are stoked to begin a brand new chapter of this ministry!!  Since this time, we have been working feverishly  to dream big and envision what the next four years of our work in Mozambique should look like.

One of the interesting projects that is potentially on the horizon is a connection with Project Peanut Butter (PPB).  PPB is a local, St. Louis based organization started by a pediatrician and researcher at Wash U.  This guy cooked up an amazing new formula to treat severe malnutrition, and PPB is now saving lives all over Africa.  The stats are actually amazing.  In literally 4-6 weeks, 95% of children completely recover from severe malnutrition using this ready-to-use therapeutic food. The project plant is based in Malawi, Africa, which borders Mozambique.  

As you probably know, malnutrition is a huge issue in Mozambique.  And we see a great potential  connection between this local project and the needs related to hunger in Mozambique.  UNICEF estimates that 44% of children suffer form chronic malnutrition, and 18% of children under five are underweight in Mozambique.  The problems are worse in the Northern part of Mozambique, which is much less developed.

The MI leadership team will visit the PPB plant in October of this year during our upcoming visit, and will be in discussion with the PPB team about how we might start a program such as this in Mozambique.  We have meetings scheduled with the Ministry of Health in Mozambique to discuss our findings and talk about ways that this might be implemented.

What are your thoughts?  Are you as excited about this opportunity as I am?!?

You might want to "like" PPB on facebook and stay tuned to the MI on facebook about ways that you can help to foster this connection!

And also: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8MDNFaGfT4

Broken Hearts

Hearts get broken all of the time.  My dad's broke this weekend on a float trip in the middle of Nowheresville Missouri when he started feeling chest pain.  Doctors told us later that this was the beginning of a severe heart attack that nearly killed him.  Mine broke today when I saw my strong, reflective, and unbreakable daddy sitting in his hospital bed fearing for his life as he anticipated open heart surgery.  Tomorrow he goes under the knife to fix what has been broken.  

Unfortunately, there is no simple surgery that heals the kind of breaks in the hearts of my family members as they have watched the recent events unfold...it is not as simple.  It's not just a clean cut, and stitches, and 6-8 weeks of recovery.  Healing these breaks requires something much more complicated.  These kinds of breaks require a vast network of community that makes meals and takes your dog out when you can't.  These kinds of breaks require text messages from dear friends from all over the country.  These kinds of breaks require prayers...and in this case, prayers not just from all over the US, but all over the world.  All up and down the country of Mozambique people are praying for my dad's surgery, and for my family, and for a peace that passes all understanding.  In languages I cannot even understand, I have received prayers.  It's not as simple as surgery, it's much more complicated and much more beautiful.

I ask for your prayers, near and far, for tomorrow.  

Prayers know no distance, and they heal a multitude of things that are broken.

June - Whewwww

June was insane. Crazy.  Like, I-can-just-barely-keep-my nose-above-water NUTS.
The long and short of it goes like this:

June 1 was the official start date of "Sarah as full-time Mozambique Initiative Coordinator".  AWESOME...aaaannndd just the slightest bit overwhelming.  Carol (my predecessor) and I had our last week of overlap before the Missouri Methodists' Mayhem Meeting (otherwise known as Annual Conference), where Carol was honored for her 13 years of service and I was introduced to the conference at large as the new Coordinator.  There was pomp, there was circumstance, there was a huge Mozambican hut set up as a display...every time I turned around I was meeting a new person, and shaking hands with another church leader.

                                                                

In addition to this introduction to the Conference, my band was asked to lead the music at the Sunday morning worship service. This was no ordinary worship service - this was the largest group I had ever played for in my entire life. From the piano, I looked out onto a crowd of 2,000ish people who were all very excited to see what the music is like at The Gathering UMC, and who were on the edge of their seats waiting to hear how rock-n-roll and Jesus make a pretty darn good mix.  I must say, it was a delightfully amazing event in every way.

I took a couple of days to rest after this whirlwind of adrenaline, and woke up bright and early that following work day.  I walked into the World Head Quarters of the Mozambique Initiative (read: my home office), and felt a sudden twinge of panic... along the lines of....OMG, what did I just do?? ...similar to that feeling I had after I got that first tattoo when I was 18... you know the one....

But then I skyped with our representative in Mozambique, got to work drilling a safe water well at the Carolyn Belshe Orphanage, and a wave of relief hit me because I knew that I was exactly where I belonged doing exactly what I love.

 

Dissertating

In addition to this new gig as the Mozambique Initiative Coordinator, I am still toiling away on the dissertation and hope (plan, pray, plead) to graduate in May 2013. Data collection has ramped up to full speed this week, while previously, I had just been working on the literature review and background information.  But now (on a much more exciting note!) I am conducting interviews with young, African American women with breast cancer throughout the city of St. Louis.  I am up to my ears in new data.  These interviews involve asking intimate questions about personal history, family life, and the growing up experience, in addition to asking about the current circumstances regarding their diagnosis and treatment.   

What has struck me the hardest is the fact that when you dig, you quickly uncover tragedy, heartache, and pain just lying beneath the surface of many of these women's lives.  Before breast cancer ever came into the picture, many of these women had long since been survivors.  I have been inspired by their resiliency,  their ability to forgive, their capacity to grow and blossom under the most extreme circumstances, the laughter that has been cultivated in the midst of heart ache, and the smiles that cover me like a warm blanket.  I have been humbled and inspired by their stories.  Whether or not anybody ever has reason to call me Dr. Bollinger, I know that these one-on-one exchanges with the women in my study have given me knowledge and insight beyond what I had ever imagined.  I am changed and I am grateful.

The Spice of Life

The Mozambique Consultation is a gathering of Methodists from all over the world that takes place every 3 years to discuss the state of the work being done in Mozambique. I had the privilege of attending this meeting in Tampa, Florida earlier this week. As I sat and glanced around the conference table during these meetings, I was struck by the value of variety. Germany, Brazil, Mozambique, and then a number of States including Missouri, Virginia, New York, and Texas, all had people sitting at the table and contributing. The Bishop of Mozambique, cloaked in beautiful, traditional African garb, was the focal point of the consultation. She was flanked by a spunky little Brazilian Bishop who wore Elvis Costello glasses and bright red flats. One of our friends from Germany was quite "to the point" (in a stereotypical, make-you-giggle sort of way) and kept us all on task, but his seeming rigidity was flavored by wit, intellect, and an endearing smile.

Not only did we all come from very different locations, but we each had very different skills, talents, and training. Of course there were clergy and missionaries represented among us, but also nurses and public health professionals and treasurers and architects and teachers and professional translators. Each individual had their own, unique understanding of the issues at hand and their own, unique suggestions as to how to go about addressing each of these issues. There were many points on which we didn't agree and there were times when I thought I might go batty from that special kind of exhaustion that kicks in near the end of a 14 hour meeting.

But one of my colleagues exclaimed as we walked into the room that this was our own small, little glimpse of the Kingdom of God, and truly, this was the case. We were all together, listening to each other share about how to care for orphans, facilitate malaria prevention in local villages, and provide access to safe water. We worked under a common vision, while bathed in divine grace. And just for these two days, no oceans separated us and no borders divided us. Our diversity better equipped us for addressing the tasks at hand and our differences helped us to generate creative strategies.

The Thing About Numbing

Last week was a roller coaster week - the kind of roller coaster where your insides somehow get pinned to the roof of your mouth and your heart ends up where your tongue should be. One of my bestest friends in the world was here for a brief, fly-by visit. Over the course of about 36 hours, we laughed and wept and biked 20 miles and ate and drank and had the time of our lives...and then she was gone. There are no words to describe how amazing this time with my friend was. Two days later, I put my 13 year old dog to sleep after watching her slowly succumb to the dark haze of doggie dementia. That was by far one of the shittiest things I've had to do in a long time. It was a week of extremes - a wonderfully, engulfing sense of friendship and love, followed by terrible loss and emptiness.

One viable option when feeling the pain of loss this week was to drink myself into oblivion and sleep for 3 days (which I sheepishly admit that I sometimes do). But when I do this, I miss the depths of love, wonder, and awe that are just as palpable as the pain. When I do this, I sleep through the friendship and the biking through the park in the brilliant sun and the long conversations over rich glasses of wine. The thing about numbing is this - although we try, we can't selectively numb. We can't numb pain and suffering without numbing hope, joy, and fulfillment. Perhaps this isn't very zen of me, but I choose to feel it all. Passionately. Every. Day. I choose to slurp up every last drop of joy and pain and bliss and suffering equally in gratitude and in hope that I will not just live life, but that I will live life abundantly.

When Words Fail

I love language and communication. I love to talk in and around and through things, wrap words around experiences, and process, process, process.  But how in the world do I answer the question: "so, how was your trip?"  I can't seem to figure it out.

• I can and often say: "uhhhh, good." - this is woefully insufficient, but often, it's exactly what people want to hear.  I get obligatory pats on the back and bewildered smiles.
• I've toyed around with: "completely life changing in every way and everything about my world is different now." - this tends to catch people off guard and completely overwhelm them, leaving us staring at each other in awkward silence...not a great approach.
• I've tried: "what trip?" while feigning malaria-induced delirium.
• To forfeit, I say: "great, I'll have to show you pictures sometime." - of course, this never happens, but it does let people off the hook and allows them to feel good about themselves for asking.
• For those friends who really, really, really want to know and care deeply, I say: "It was heart breaking, completely joyous, beautiful in every way, intimidating, filling, emptying, and then filling again..."  and then we sit for long hours and laugh and cry and honor the inevitable silence that comes when words aren't enough.  

All this to say, words fail.  They are mere shadows of a gigantic, looming experience that will inform who I am, in ways that I cannot even comprehend, for the rest of my days.  I ask for patience as I figure out how to process this experience, use it, and live into it.