Momming in Moz

Being a mom in Mozambique is the strangest thing I have ever done, and I hear regular momming is pretty crazy. I REALLY don't know what I am doing half the time, ok, ok, most of the time...ALL OF THE TIME. I am being dramatic, but here's the deal, what's weird about it is doing something I have never done outside of the context I have always seen it done in. There are some days I don't know any different, but then there are days I go cold at the thought of his grandparents not squishing his little checks, or get frustrated that there are no restrooms for diaper changes, or panic on Sunday's because I have to hold my in-desperate-need-of-a-nap babe through a 3 and half hour 95 degree church service, or feel suffocated by not being able to go anywhere safely without Matt... It all seems so hard in the moment, but then I realize how trivial it all is. ALL. OF. IT. While there is a learning curve, and sometimes I fail miserably (below you will find a clip with a little description of what happened afterwards. Hilarious!) in our time here with Cedar, God has really put his finger on areas where I am selfish, insecure, and just plain silly. Happiness is not a babysitter on Saturday night or stroller worthy sidewalks. Happiness is, after putting a tired boy down, walking into a living room full of college students singing praises. Happiness is a sweat dabbled baby getting loved on by countless people every Sunday. Happiness is your babe smiling and waving at the "least of these" without judgement and with all the acceptance in the world. Happiness is being in God's will, and for me, that is momming in Moz. 

(To set you up, we have never been to this church before and this is a VERY special event where Matt is presenting the campus ministry movement.) So, what you can't see is that behind me are 35+ elders on the stage, and I don’t know if you noticed the 10ish kids at my feet…because of Cedar. Right as I stop recording Cedar starts screaming, and he won't stop. Obvious solution, a lady comes up from behind me and runs, yes runs, out of a side door on the opposite side of the stage. You guessed it, Cedar starts whaling. I have two choices. One, pretend I don’t hear anything coming from ALL the open doors and windows. Two, get up and walk across the platform in front of Matt as he is speaking and rescue my tired, sweaty, and hungry babe. After about a minute, I look over to see a lady waving her arms at me to come outside. I am trying to politely be the BIGGEST distraction ever when I hear, in Portuguese, the pastor stop the presses to ask me to say something to the congregation. So, I literally spin on my heel and say something (probably a very confusing something) then scamper off to get my boy. You can laugh. Matt and I did, but we waited a couple of weeks. ;) PURE Moz momming. 

Thoughts From the End of the World

Someone once said, commenting on the beautiful life of Rich Mullins, that "he was a man that explored the deep places of God, and then came back to tell us all what he saw." Andrea and I recently ventured to the end of the world, "onde a terra se acaba, e o mar começa." (where the land ends, and the sea begins). Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point of Europe is a wild place, where ripping winds never cease, and staggering cliffs challenge the daring to step to close. Raw power whips around you from all directions, overwhelming sense, emphasizing frailty. Death and life are separated only by a step, merely a thought. Firm ground is little comfort in such a place. 

Crawling along the edges of that alien world, my gaze was continually drawn to the immeasurable horizon of the sea. I could feel the maritime pull, the desire to be a part of the raw, savage power which defines that realm. Off in the distance, majestically forging order and path through the chaos, a lone vessel tested its merit against the barbarity. A lone island of safety amongst the.... whoops, the necessity of proper foot placement soon overruled any fantastical notions of seagoing adventures. (The dawn treader will have to wait).    

Infinite thoughts inevitably lead to infinite thoughts (Oh so profound). While trying to take in the beauty, and not fall into the sea while doing it, I couldn't get that quote about Rich Mullins out of my head. The sea seems endless, but God is. Is it possible to go too far with God? Could it be that there are parts of God that he hasn't been able share with us? Is it possible to sacrifice too much for God? What does it take? 

Our worship songs are littered with deep phrases such as, "I surrender all," "I need you more... more than the air I breathe," and "you're all I want, you're all I need." We would all most certainly answer with the easy, "we can never go too far with God," and "there is definitely no sacrifice too great for him," but how many of us are willing to pay the price to delve into those depths.     A few of Jesus' friends asked him if they could sit at his right and left in his kingdom, to be close to him, to be significant. What was Jesus' response? "You don't know what you're asking.. can you drink the cup I drink?" Real sacrifice, and absolute commitment were, and are still required.  

God knows something very important; in order for us to be able to step into deeper relationship with him, we ourselves have to change. He's not putting up arbitrary barriers between us and his presence as if our pursuit of him were some cosmic game. No, we have to have eyes to be able to see, hearts to understand. Remember the centurion who asked Jesus to come heal his servant. Jesus was plum content to walk on down to the man's house to heal the servant, live and in person, but that's not what happens. The centurion's eyes were open to be able to see a previously unknown element of the authority and nature of Jesus. He doesn't have to be physically present to heal, his authority and power transcends physical barriers. The centurion's faith allowed this new knowledge to be unlocked for all mankind to experience. We must be changed; we aren't able to properly experience and understand until we do. Lewis puts it like this, "How can [he] meet us face to face till we have faces?" We have to do whatever it takes to get closer to him. Any sacrifice, any change is worth it; any death pales in comparison to the presence of Jesus.

There are many paths that give us more solidity to stand close with Jesus: fasting, prayer, deeper community, consecration, service, vulnerability, scripture study, and the list goes on. But on the edge of that massive expanse of wind, sea, and sky, I realized I could never truly comprehend the sea from detached heights of theory, one step had to be put in front of the other until the impossible is seen with my own eyes, touched with my own hands, until the immersive redefining presence of Jesus gives me weight to be truly human. 

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Here we are, the edge of what we've experienced with God. Far below, the dark depths knock unceasingly on the bare rock cliffs, calling, beckoning. The next step is almost certain death; a plunge into the unknown, raw, untamable power of God. Shall we be defined by the barriers of those who've gone before us? Of what's been known? Or will we stand on their progress, consecrate more, sacrifice more, seek more, experience more? 

What if? God is waiting...

“When all the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the sound of the trumpet, and the mountain smoking, they were afraid and trembled and stood at a distance... while Moses drew near to the thick darkness where God was.”

— Ex 20