Thursday, August 9, 2012

Watch your mouth!


Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless.
James  1:26

I had two long bus rides on my way to Johannesburg, South Africa.  I had to go for my visa.

On the first from Vilanculos to Maputo I met a South African girl who lives in Tofu, another area on the Mozambican coast.  We chatted quite a bit about our lives and shared frustrations about living in Mozambique. 

The following night I was on a bus to Johannesburg, and as I tried to fall asleep I heard the (Portuguese) conversation around me.  They were talking about me and general frustrations they have with white people.  I felt hurt and judged before I was even given an opportunity to prove myself.  As I crossed the border I prayed, telling God I was upset by what had happened.

His response to me was hearing them complain about white people was no different than the night before when two girls were complaining about Mozambicans.

This surprised me.  It wasn’t until that moment that I even considered that our conversation could have been offensive to any hearers.  After thinking about this for 2 seconds I realized any Mozambican who understood our conversation would probably have been offended.

So turns out, when you ask God to reveal sin in your life to you, He does it.          
   
Over the last five years or so -one tiny step at a time- the Lord has taught me more about the importance of words and the power that they carry- to bless or curse- to bring life or death, to heal or to destroy.

Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. Ephesians 4:29

Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.  Matthew 12:34

These types of verses make me glad I’m naturally not too talkative…but it still doesn’t mean that I am exempt from this problem.  As Matthew 12:34 points out, the hurtful things that come out of our mouths are really a reflection of our hearts.

A Time for Everything


“There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven:
 A time to be born and a time to die….a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance…
He has made everything beautiful in its time.  He has also set eternity in the hearts of men…” Ecclesiastes 3:1-2,4,11.

I get to see many births and many deaths in Mozambique and I would bet there’s a higher percentage birth rate and death rate in Mozambique than in the States.  Somehow, here death is less shocking as it is more common, but it is still difficult and painful.

This morning (August 7th) I found out that Jeremias died, and I went to his funeral this afternoon.   He was one of my neighbors during the first 8 months that I lived here. I know his wife, mother, brother, in- laws, nieces, nephews, aunts, etc.  I sat and cried with his daughter (9 or 10 years old) at the funeral.

He died on Monday.  Cause of death?  Maybe I can figure that out later.   He was in his late 30s or 40s.  He was friendly, good guy and I distinctly remember my last conversation with him.  It was in July and he greeted me warmly as I had recently returned from the States…it made me glad to be back.

Also, Carlota- the woman I wrote the “tangerine” blog about died last Wednesday when I was in South Africa.  I saw her a few times since I wrote the blog and she was hopeless. She had no will to live.  I think she briefly wanted to be better and then it was back to the same old “better dead” mentality. I’m telling you, she was a different woman the day she ate the tangerine.  She had hope.  I gave her another tangerine…she ate maybe one third of it…and hid the rest.  She refused to eat other food as well. 

From the first time I entered her house, I wondered if there were other factors (not just physical) contributing to her illness. Something just didn’t seem right. Her neighbor (my friend Tina) told me that prior to getting sick, she would walk around paranoid and would frequently try to hide though no one was chasing her.   I agree with locals who conclude that she was harassed by a bad spirit.

So lately it hasn’t been happy go lucky around here.  But you know what’s interesting; the Lord has reminded me of this since I started writing.  I know that the Lord wants me to spread his love to nations, and just in the last week He re-iterated being a heart- mender…and death often brings broken hearts and it’s in times of sorrow like death where I can embody the compassion of the Lord.

Food in Mozambique



“Estás gorda” (you’re fat) he told me after he welcomed me back home. (Apparently it was obvious that I had eaten well in South Africa).  Now in America that would be a clear insult but not around here.
 So why is being called fat not insulting?

“Estás gorda” was more like an observation with a positive connotation.  I visited a friend and with pride she showed me her chunky baby sister, as if to say “What a good, strong, healthy baby!”  When I lived in Venezuela a lady at church called me “gorda” as a term of endearment.

Living in Mozambique has changed me.

One aspect of change is my perspective of food.

I personally know people who are hungry.  Not I haven’t eaten in three hours hungry-but I haven’t had food in three days (not by choice) hungry.  These people have no body fat so starvation is not so far away. (Like Carlota in the tangerine blog). And so a few months ago when I saw TV commercials for Man versus Food I was so disturbed, wondering how eating enough for approximately 10 people becomes this virtuous feat.  The way they cheered when he entered the room, you’d think he climbed Mt. Everest or cured cancer.  No, he just eats a lot.
                                                           "American food"  I decided to use the first image that popped up on a search for both American food and Mozambican food.

Here in Mozambique, people eat to live.                                                                                                         Perhaps on rare occasions they will have something special, out of the ordinary.  Like chicken for a birthday party.  But in the States people eat whatever they feel like. Even if you subsist on food stamps, you have far more variety and selection in food than 90% of Mozambicans I’ve met.  On second thought, make that all Mozambicans, because American grocery stores are substantially bigger (therefore have more variety) than those in Mozambique.

"Mozambican Food" matapa..looks like its with cassava. 


You see- its only being here that I’ve realized I’ve never been truly hungry.  I’ve never been malnourished or anywhere close to starving.  If I choose not to eat, it’s because I’m fasting.  Sometimes I’m naturally hungry, but I’ve never wondered if I could afford to eat.  I might not have known exactly where I’d eat or what I’d eat…but there’s always rice.  There’s no way my Mozambican friends (and even strangers, I’d be willing to bet) would let me go hungry.  I’ve also realized how much I eat for reasons other than hunger- whether it’s out of habit or pleasure or emotion.  I definitely spurge on occasion, eating like an American: at a restaurant, or buy expensive things (by Mozambican standards) like cheese or a box of cereal or ice cream.

For many Mozambicans that I know and regularly visit- food is one of their most valuable resources; which is why eating whatever they offer me is one of the best ways for me to honor, love and accept them.  Just last week as I was visiting Julia and Sergio they killed a small goat early that morning and so after our Bible Study I ate a goat leg and xima (like cornmeal).  I actually really enjoyed the meal and felt honored by the gesture.  When it comes to eating unusual foods, I can be paranoid and worry about the unsanitary conditions that the food was prepared in, or focus on different flavors I don’t like, or humbly and gratefully receive what has been offered, and thank God that I can eat just about anything.