Bush bush outreach

A question you will hear often around the Iris base is "Are you going on bush bush?"  This means that the person wants to know if you'll be going with them to the remote villages to share the gospel with people.  Each weekend a group of young men from the Bible School at Iris Ministries, along with some of the leaders, will choose a village in the outskirts of Mozambique to spend the weekend sharing the love of Jesus.  The visitors, like me, are given the chance to participate.  It all sounded very mysterious to me, but I had met people who had gone and survived to tell about it, so I decided I would, once again, put fear aside and go.

We had a quick orientation for those who had never gone before.  There were guidelines and protocols designed to keep everyone safe while fulfilling the purpose of the outreach.  I learned that this was a team effort and that if I was asked to help in any way, I needed to be ready.  I learned that Mozambicans have a culture of sharing.  For example, if you buy something from a vendor during the journey, there is an expectation that you will share with everyone.  Really?!  This was a new concept for me and I wondered exactly how many people would be in our group.  When I heard there may be 40 people, I tried to imagine how many Cokes one would have to buy, or how small a sip each person would have to take in order to share with everyone!  This was the beginning of my lesson on generosity that changed my life:).

After getting a general idea of what to expect and how to behave, we packed a minimal bag for the journey, grabbed a tent, sleeping bag and pad from the visitor storage unit and walked to the meeting area.  We followed instructions by climbing into the back of a big truck bed, piling our gear into a big mound and shuffling around to find a suitable spot on the floor to sit for the long journey.  The Mozambicans were incredibly gracious, giving us visitors/newbies the best seats with a backrest or sleeping bag to sit on.  People continued to pile in, more and more and my eyes must have been huge because I couldn't believe we would all fit.  We did fit, which meant no one was comfortable except the driver and passenger in the cab of the truck.  And we were off!

Over the course of the trip, I learned who was with me on this journey.  I was sitting among Louie, Nawali, Pascual, Egas, Jose, Antonio, Abraham, Jorge, Amis and others.  These are young African men who love the Lord and have given their lives to serve Him.  I tried to speak with them, but the language barrier proved very challenging.  Louie understood a bit of my Spanish efforts, but fortunately Jorge spoke very good English and could help clarify when we were lost in translation.  Jorge spent part of the trip writing words and phrases in Macua for me to study.  It turned out to be a HUGE help because when we arrived, I could say a greeting, ask people their names, tell them my name and say things like "Jesus loves you" and "thank you".  You can imagine, every effort to speak their tribal language was immensely appreciated!

When we arrived at the village, it was dark.  We set up our tents and prepared to show the Jesus film. This is a film about the life of Jesus and the gospel message.  Nearly the entire village, which was maybe 200-300 people came to watch.  For some, this was the first movie they had ever seen and many have never heard the name of Jesus spoken.  After the movie, someone preached and gave people an opportunity to receive Jesus as their Savior.  The people became so excited and pushed their way forward.  The needs of these people are so great and they eagerly cry out to our Savior for help.  The moment came when we were asked to step in to pray, so we did.  We prayed for people to be healed and many were.  It was amazingly simple, yet powerful.

I remember feeling a sense of inadequacy as I was asked to pray over the people.  After all, I have never been trained, ordained or been given a certificate of authorization to pray for people!  I nervously stepped forward with the other volunteers/visitors and asked God to equip me for what was needed.   A translator would describe the need, then I would reach out to touch each person and pray simple words of faith, healing, provision and deliverance.  I prayed the Word of God, knowing that we were fully dependent on Him because without His power, we really had nothing to offer.  Just like in my own life, a positive word spoken without the power of the Almighty behind it will not meet the desperate needs of these people.  What a privilege to pray and what a humbling experience that was.

What I realized through more conversations with the young leaders of the outreach is that most of the Mozambican men who were on that truck (Louie, Nawali, Abraham, Jose, Amis, Antonio...) had experienced an encounter with Jesus.  Many times this encounter had come during one of the bush bush outreaches and as a result, they gave their lives to serving Him.  This showed me that the impact of each outreach is much more than a moment of hope.  Lives are changed, communities are transformed and leaders emerge to carry on the life giving message of Jesus Christ.

Although my role during bush bush was small, I was so honored to be a part of something so significant.    My eyes were opened to the simplicity of the gospel.  My heart was expanding as I prayed for these strangers.  As I processed the events of the evening, I realized I was taking away so much more than I had given out.  Isn't that the way it always works?

I shudder to think about all I would have missed out on if I had remained in the potentially paralyzing position of fear.



One of the guys helping to fix a tent pole that was splintered.  In our "throw away" culture, I was watching intently to see him attempt to repair it so we could use it on our trip.

A roadside vendor.  The bananas were tiny but so delicious!

Our ride to bush bush.

 Our campsite for the weekend.

Nawali holding a baby from the village. 

 Beautiful Rosa and her baby.  She was the first person I met in the village.  Her smile radiated love.

The crowd of people from the village.

Feed a village

Iris Ministries does not just take care of the orphans and widows in the community, but they also take care of the village children.  Every day hundreds of children from the surrounding villages are welcomed into the Iris base.  These are kids who live outside the walls of the orphanage, but are very aware of what is happening in and through Iris.  The doors of the church are opened and the little ones stream in, anticipating a fun afternoon.  There is an entire program designed for these children...EVERY day.

From what I could tell, the program is run entirely by young Mozambican men who volunteer their afternoons each day to help.  As the children rush into the wide open space inside the church, these young men guide them to the place where they can sit on the cement floor.  They are divided into two large groups. The boys sit on one side and the girls on the other side, with benches to separate them.  This allows them to keep some order and when the time comes, they gather them by gender to line up and prepare to receive their meal.  Each day they alternate who goes first, the girls or the boys.  The children play together and take in the entertainment.  That's right, entertainment!  These young men get on the raised platform to welcome the kids, lead them in games, music, dancing and singing.  

The first day I helped with this, I walked into the church and found most of the kids laughing and playing.  I walked toward them and little toddlers began to jump on me.  They are quite clever, athletic and just plain starving for attention.  I welcomed the first boy into my arms and held him tight.  Then I realized there were many others pulling on me, eagerly waiting for their embrace.  I thought, "oh my, I shouldn't show favoritism!"  I began to lower the boy and reach for the next child, but I realized, this little one had used his limbs to suction himself to me.  He was glued to me and was not moving!  He was bound and determined to stay in my arms.  Clearly he had experience with this tactic.  I could not pry him off and since this was my first day, I gave in and let him sit with me for a long time.   There was one boy who really caught my eye.  He must have been 2 years old or younger.  His little eyelids kept closing and he would rock back and forth doing a little head bob as he tried his best to stay awake during all the excitement.  He was so little and so tired.  One of the young men, Jorge, who helps feed the kids every day reached for him and sat him up so he wouldn't fall over.  Jorge explained that he was fatigued since he hadn't eaten that day.  The poor little guy just needed some food!

Finally, it was time for the boys to line up, wash their hands in the water being poured from a bucket and stand to wait for their turn to receive their meal of rice and beans.  I let the boy who had glued himself to me go and moved over to the girls.  Several girls raced up to me and were investigating everything on me- my bracelets, my watch, my hair.  Even though I couldn't communicate with them verbally, we played a game.  You know when girls stand facing each other and begin to smack their hands together in all kinds of rhythms?  We played this over and over.  Each girl would stand waiting for her turn to try this particular rhythm I had shown them.  Some would get it right away and others would struggle.  We couldn't help but giggle and smile as we slapped hands faster and faster.  

Once the boys made it through the serving line, the girls washed their hands and lined up for their turn. I moved over to watch and help serve food.  There are these enormous pots that are filled with steaming rice and beans.  A huge stack of colorful plastic plates are ready to be filled up, one for each child.  There are also two other pots that are filled with water to use for washing and rinsing the plates right away.  There are more kids than there are plates so as the children eat their meal, we would gather their empty plates, wash them, fill them back up with rice and beans and offer it to the next group of kids waiting patiently for their serving.  Some kids brought metal containers to take their portion back home to feed the rest of their family.  Sharing what they are given is a way of life and a way of survival.

I watched as older siblings (8-10 years old) would corral the little ones they were in charge of and make sure they moved through the line to get their portion.  Girls would carry babies on their backs, strapped on by using a large cloth that swaddled them tightly like a human backpack.  

One particular girl caught my attention.  She was carrying a baby on her back and shepherding 3 little ones in front of her.  The younger ones were so tiny and couldn't quite carry a plate full of food in their unskilled hands.  This older sister held out her one free hand to receive the plates in her palm.  She tried to balance the 5 meals, as she does every day, I am sure.  In the excitement, one of the kids ran into her and the top plate fell, crashing to the cement floor.  She appeared angry and her face scowled.  She put everything down and began feverishly scraping up the food from the ground and placing it back in the colorful plate.  Suddenly, someone offered her a brand new plate full of food.  She again balanced all the food and gathered the family to move out to the front of the church where they would join the other kids eating their meals.  As she walked away from the stressful ordeal, although she appeared expressionless, tears began to stream down her cheeks.  My heart ached for that little girl and I shared my own tears with hers.  

This girl carried not only the weight of that baby on her back and the kids in tow, but the weight of responsibility for these little lives.  She was in charge.  She had to be sure those kids got their meal each day because that was their portion, their daily bread.  

I helped to serve these children as much as I could while I was in Pemba.  I loved being a part of something so life giving.  Not only are these beautiful children given nourishment for their bodies, but so much of what was happening was the filling up of their spirits.  I was so thankful for this part of the ministry and amazed by the daily sacrifice of these young men to help care for the kids in the community.  I mean, think about it.  How many 20-25 year old men (or women) around you are giving 2-3 hours every afternoon to serve people?  This is a messy task.  You leave there with bean juice all over your clothes, your sandals and feet covered with smashed beans and you've held kids who are dressed in rags and don't bathe.  I imagined if it were me, I would probably be eager to help in the beginning (as I was).  However, after weeks and months and years, I would begin to see this task as tedious, time consuming, a burden and really getting in the way of the other "commitments" in my life.  We would complain, wouldn't we?  Not these guys.  They serve with joy, with gratitude and with love.

 

I spoke to these young men to find out how they got involved, how often they help, and why they do this.  I just had to know.  Many of them said they prayed about being a part of something.  They love to help the children.  They see it a privilege to serve.  

One of the most amazing people I met was Manuel.  He is 20 years old, full of joy, energy and life.  He recently lost both his mom and his dad to illness.  He serves at Iris in many ways.  There was a particular day when I could tell he was stressed.  I asked him what was wrong.  He explained that the food was not ready.  It had not been delivered.  He showed his frustration as he said "they know we need the food here by 2:00 every day".  His pained face and words showed me just how much he cared.  He said, "These kids... they haven't eaten today... they need to eat.  They must have food."  I realized in that moment that this wasn't just a good deed to him.  This was the heart of Jesus for these precious children.

As I thought about how these 500-600 children come everyday to the church, it reminded me of childlike faith.  They know that if they come, they will receive and be filled up.  It reminds me of my own revelation of getting filled up.  God showed me that there is a deeper significance to His "daily bread".  Matthew 6:11 says "Give us this day our daily bread."  Just as these kids expected to receive a plate that is piled full of rice and beans every day, we can receive our daily bread from our Father.  Yes, He provides food abundantly for us every day, but He also fills our hearts, our spirits and our lives with everything we need.  All we have to do is ask.

Some may look at the feeding program as an unsustainable model of handouts.  Believe me, I considered this myself and realize that nothing is perfect about how we do ministry.  I have heard over and over the quote in the last few months from so many people- "Give a man a fish and you will feed him for a day.  Teach a man to fish and you will feed him for for a lifetime."  I thought this might be in the Bible, but after researching it, realize it is a Chinese Proverb.  It is so clear to me that God's hand is all over the nation of Mozambique.  You can see it in the spirits of the people.  You can see it in the smiles of the little children.  I know that giving food and resources away every day may not be a lifetime solution.  However, when I bend down and look into the eyes of one of God's children who hasn't eaten since the previous day's "handout", nothing seems more right than serving them a plate full of food.

Where does giving begin and end?  Will there ever truly be enough?  I wrestled with these questions while in Mozambique and since then.  I found peace about this through the Holy Spirit and researching how Jesus lived.  When I see a need, I pray and ask the Holy Spirit to guide me.  If I follow that peace, I almost always rest well in my decisions.  As Heidi Baker says, when we see the overwhelming needs around us, we can feel hopeless.  However, God doesn't ask us to meet every need.  He asks us to stop for the *one* in front of us.  God will supply as we stop for the one. 

This is Manuel...with my sunglasses on:).  Below he is translating while a group of young women do a skit during the widow's ministry.  The last photo is Manuel leading the kids and keeping them in line.

Manuel gives his time, energy and love to people every day.  I watched how attentive he was to the children and looked for ways he could jump in to help anyone in the community.  He stopped to carry a heavy wheelbarrow for an older man.  He stopped to help a man balance a bag of grain on his bicycle as it nearly slid off onto the ground.  He spends hours translating between English, Portuguese and Macua during services and outreach.  His eyes were tuned in to people and it was a beautiful, very natural thing for him.  He is a clear example of what it means to "stop for the one".

Running errands in Mozambique

As I considered what to share next about my adventure in Africa, I looked back at my journal to relive the experience myself and see what actually happened next.  How quickly we forget!

This is why journaling can be such a rewarding practice.  In fact, just the other night I was wrestling with some emotions and opened my journals from the last several years to remind myself of the answered prayers, the victories in my journey thus far, and to find courage once again.

The next entry in my journal was from day 3 in Mozambique and involved what should have been a very simply task, buying t.p.  Yes, getting toilet paper!  As I read through the journal entry, my mind went right back to the moment I was sitting in a broken down truck in unknown territory in Pemba, wondering when we'd get home.  So I'll share it with you.

Every Tuesday around 9:00 or 10:00 a.m., someone from the Iris base will take the visitors to "town" to get supplies.  I needed very little by way of supplies, but I was not about to miss the one weekly trip to buy water and toilet paper.  Upon my initial arrival to Iris, I was given a box of water, which contained probably 12 bottles at 24 oz each or so, and 1 role of toilet paper.  After this, I was informed that I would be on my own for any essentials.  I drink a LOT of water and wanted to be sure I had some on hand at all times.

I showed up at the designated area for the "town trip" with everything I thought I would need.

1. Notarized copy of my US passport
2. Notarized copy of my visa for Mozambique
3. US currency in bills higher than $20s, crisp/not folded and later than 2005 to exchange for Mozambican currency (sounds picky but they are particular about what they'll circulate in the country)
4. And finally, a brave face

Several visitors arrived and it was determined that one of the young men from Iris would drive us to the center of Pemba to the shopping area.  We piled into a big army-looking truck with a green tarp covering the back.  There were no seats so we balanced on the metal rails or sat on the floor.  Two other Mozambican men jumped in at the last minute, so it appeared they would be joining us.  As we pulled out of the base, someone yelled, "hang on!".  We moved through huge potholes and dips in the dirt roads that caused us to go flying around in the back of that big vehicle.  It was quite fun unless you land on your tailbone or hit your head on a metal rod overhead.  Over the weeks I learned the "art" of riding in those trucks.

I was previously warned about taking photos outside the base because if a police officer sees you, he could take your camera. Well, that seemed very rude to me!  However, it was enough to make me keep my camera hidden on the "outside" until I could learn more about the landscape.  I was also told that the police could literally take my passport or visa at any time, which is why notarized copies are suggested.  THIS is why I needed to bring number 4 on the list...a brave face.  I wasn't exactly sure how this trip would go.

Here is my brave face:).  
These stoic looking Mozambican men on either side of me are Nawali and Louie, and would turn out to become friends during my adventure.

As we drove through the streets, I looked wide-eyed out through the open frame in the rear of that truck.  I saw the Indian Ocean, one glamorous hotel, people walking along the dusty road and finally, a series of shops.  Wherever we stopped, people would approach the back of the truck with arms full of things for sale including eggs, bananas, chickens, bread and other items.  I remember one of the most unique displays on the side of the road was a web of strings tied together to display shoes, which would hang off.  It was like a series of clothes lines making a grid.  I wish I had gotten a picture of that, as it was very effective in showing the merchandise, but alas, I wanted to keep my camera so I did not.

We exchanged our money in a convenient store, found a grocery market and everyone bought what they needed.  I was very happy with my toilet paper and case of water.  Finally, I could relax and take a deep breath.  On the way home, we noticed that the truck slowed down as we went up a hill.  The engine began to chug and we couldn't get moving again.  I stayed calm and prayed that we would get home safely.  Several minutes went by and no one in the truck who spoke English was saying much, just sitting quietly and hoping that no one decided to steal our precious water and t.p.  Well maybe no one else thought that, but that is what I was thinking!  Traveling alone can be tough in situations like this.  When you travel with a partner, friend or colleague, this would be the time when you say to each other "Oh, I am sure everything is just fine.  We'll get moving in no time.  We are safe, don't worry." (insert very calm and reassuring voice here).

Actually the group of visitors all knew each other very well so they all seemed fine.  The other Mozambicans in the back of the truck who had come along for the ride didn't seem concerned.  I watched them closely to read their expressions in order to gauge how I should be feeling.  If they panicked, that would be my cue to panic also!  I am not sure what I would have done, but I would just follow their lead (run, SCREAM, hit the deck- lol)

We waited in that truck for about 45 minutes until suddenly, someone showed up with a tool from somewhere.  They fixed the broken part of the truck and we were off again.  I still don't know exactly what the problem had been, but I was back at the base, safe and sound with H2O and t.p.  Ahhhh...

A view from inside the truck on another day.  Sabine from Austria, pictured here, would become a dear friend during my journey.

After that first trip, going to town weekly to get supplies was much less stressful since I knew what to expect.  Running errands in Mozambique becomes very strategic, very quickly because it is not as easy as hopping in the Prius and driving to the local organic market for an avocado to add to my salad.  Oh, sorry, I just had a Seattle flashback...