Urgent Prayer.

Tonight I take a bus to Maputo. The goal? My papers (equivalencia) needed to open the clinic. They are still not ready and the secretaries at the ministry of education have quite literally turned off their phone. There is no way to check up on them, except in person.

I'm sick of waiting and waiting...

While discussing this long delay with our local minister of health recently, he clearly explained they were waiting for a bribe.

-- "They see your white skin and think, 'If I hold on to her papers, she'll have to pay up!'", adding with clear disappointment in his voice, "It should take no longer than 15 day."

-- "Fifteen days? Really?" I asked with incredulity, remembering how the secretaries were adamant it could take a few months. I've been waiting for four months already.

-- "Yes," he went on to explain. "By law, it should be only 2 weeks."

-- "What should I do? They aren't answering the phone... even for you?" I pleaded.

-- "You must go in person, ask to see their director, and not leave until it is arranged. I'm sure it's sitting in their desk drawer."  He then detailed the kind of formal request needed to follow up on such incompetence. He was clear and specific -- so much so that I feel encouraged.

So tonight I start my journey South. Please pray with me for favor... much favor. Please ask God to release these papers and allow me to open the clinic. Please pray for my words and my body language to be kind when I know it's just corruption and greed I face.

We fight not against flesh and blood, right?

Please fight with me in prayer. Much prayer.

I'll keep you posted.

Visa-dventures!

This week it was time to renew my visa for Mozambique which meant I’d have to leave the country for a day. But instead of getting another tourist visa, I was going to attempt to get a long-term missionary visa.

This required a lot more work... and expense. But it had to be at least attempted.

--Why do I keep using the word ‘attempt’?

Good question. Very good question. Let me explain.

Within days of arriving last month, I learned that my American police clearance had expired.

Yes. Expired.

Since it was the first one to come through in my police clearance furkunckle last year, it was naturally the first to expire. (To read more about these furkunckles check out these previous posts. Police Clearance: Part One and Police Clearance: Part Two.)

But silly me... it never occurred to me that it would expire.

--Why?

Because there was no place on the blasted document that said it did!

Nevertheless our government liaison and master diplomat, Manuel, had the unhappy task of informing me this might be a problem.

As he explained, I twisted my mouth in disappointment while my heart sank.

Sigh.

Only time would tell if I had to return to the States... or make a special trip to Maputo (Mozambique’s capital) to sort it out.

When tempted to worry, I turned it over to God and prayed. Each time He lifted my heart assuring me everything would be fine.

So I stopped worrying but kept on praying --and praying hard!

As you might remember, I also asked you to pray!

Our first answer to prayer was when the office in Chimoio said they’d overlook the expiration date. They too thought it unnecessary to have my fly back to the States.

But what would the consulate in Matare think? We’d have to wait and pray.

Matare is in Zimbabwe, the nearest border to Maforga, and is where the local consulate is located.

So naturally when it came time to get my long-term missionary visa worked out, I had to come to Zimbabwe.

Again... I kept covering it in prayer.

Tuesday morning started early since we had a few hours drive and a questionably long wait at the border.

We arrived by 10:30 am and got stamped out of Mozambique. Then stood in line to buy a visa into Zimbabwe.

The line wasn’t a problem... but getting change back from the government official was. Since when did government offices stop breaking hundreds? I mean, come on!

Frankly, he seemed offended I would use such a large bill. And I was offended he’d not break it.

Lessons in Africa: Travel with small bills in Africa. They NEVER like giving change. Ha!

Once we were through, Roy dropped me off at the consulate directly.

Intimidated that no one was going to come with me (as they had to drop visitors off at an airport) I hummed and hawed a bit before saying goodbye.

-- “Where do I go,” I asked sheepishly. “What do I do?”

Roy pointed to a guarded metal gate then explained how to get home by myself. They were in a hurry so they only told me once and got back in the truck to leave.

Confused and intimidated, I lingered longer than I should have to say my goodbyes.

Almost as an afterthought Trish interjected, “Oh yeah... remember to ask for Senor ____. He is our friend here. It might help you.

-- “Senor ____?” I repeated a few times to myself, then quickly wrote it on my hand. I needed all the help I could get.

-- “Yes. He knows us well. Tell him you work with us,” she said in a hurry. And then they were off.

Roy was all business that morning... and understandably so. Their friends had a flight to catch!

I sheepishly walked through the metal gate to find two official looking guards and a round faced woman with a clip board.

She greeted me warmly but with a flicker of surprise at my accent.

-- “How are you doing today?” I asked.
-- “Oh.. well. So well. But it’s cold,” she responded. “And how are you?
I responded with a large smile and some quip about doing fabulous, and she reply quite openly. “Yes. You are. I can see that.”

It surprised me to hear and I smiled deeper as I handed her my passport and signed in.

Once at the consulate counter, I was please to see there were no lines. I unpacked my papers and again greeted the sir behind the inch-thick, tinted window with my sincerest smile.

I could barely see him but surmised he was smiling back. I explained who I was and what I was there for, handing him my translated documents. Then I remembered to ask... “Is Senor ___ here today?”

-- “You know Senor ___?” he asked with surprise.
-- “No. But I work with Roy and Trish Perkins at Maforga. And they wanted me to say hello,” I explained. “Is he in?”
-- “Yes. yes. He is in. Let me call him.”
Surprised, I smiled again feeling a bit guilty to be name dropping but all the while remembering that this is how it is done in Africa.

The official looked over my expired papers and asked me to fill out a form while we waited for Senor ___ to arrive.

I filled it out wrong and he was helping me correct it when Senor __ arrived. He too was hard to see because of the tinted glass, but I greeted him warmly on the part of Maforga and we talked briefly.

I cannot remember what was said... only that the official was pleased to know my bosses knew his boss and that my papers looked great.

He had me pay the fees, but again couldn’t give me change. In the end, the change was  so slight I didn’t fuss and encouraged him to keep it. (See previous note on Lessons in Africa. Ha ha!)

Roy had warned me that it might take a few days to get my visa, so I asked him when I should return to pick it up.

--- “So,” I asked the official behind the glass, “Should I come tomorrow or the next day.”
-- “No. Just wait here,” he said. “Oh...  and give me your passport.”

I waited in the lobby not sure what would happen next. There was a couple sitting next to me speaking in broken English. He was most definitely Muslim and was teaching her about Islam. She on the other hand was feigning interest almost to the point of flattery. I tried not to listen.

Instead I prayed for an opportunity to share Christ and started reading my Bible.

An hour went by.

I think I might have drifted off to sleep at one point; all the early traveling cut into my coffee time. I seriously needed a pick me up.

As lunch time drew near, my tummy grumbled as if on cue and I wondered if I’d have to wait through lunch.

Fortunately a well dressed man in a shiny red tie came in the room and broke up the monotony.

First he spoke to the Arab and his Zimbabwean friend, asking them the nature of their business. They were traders working with import and export stuff. The conversation was brief and stilted as the Arabic man seemed closed-mouthed.

So instead he turned to me. When I explained that I was a missionary here to open a clinic, he peppered me with questions.

He was pleased to tell me of all the places he had visited in America as the Mozambican ambassador and it dawned on me that this was not a low-level office worker... his shoes and tie was evidence enough... but still.

Each question he asked led to more questions and soon we were well engrossed in a discussion on how to help orphans and possible project that could be done to raise funds for them.

Within no time, he was giving me contact numbers for various pastors and government officials and taking my information. He was pleased to learn that Maforga had been around for so long and ensured I got his email and business card.

It was a strange conversation (for me at least) but one that felt so natural.

Years ago, one of my friends explained why Africans tend to exchange information so quickly. I can still remember the words he shared. He said, “In Africa, a person’s most valuable asset is his connections. It is more important than money, talent, or intelligence.”

“Without connections,” he added “nothing lasting can be accomplished here.”

His words surprised me at the time (because of the worldview shift). But since then, they have opened my mind to another way of seeing things... and doing things.

So now when someone wants to connect with me, I do not hesitate. I enjoy the encounter and pray for an opportunity to share Christ.

This encounter felt very providential... and I did not hesitate to enjoy it.

With time, the ambassador left for lunch and I sat down again. The couple sitting on the other side of the room looked at me curiously but didn’t say a word.

Not long after, we both got our visas back and we left together.

Thank you so so much for praying! Not only did God blind them to the expired documents, but I was able to get my visa in a matter of hours --not days!

Plus, I’m even more encouraged by the enthusiasm of the ambassador I met.

Praise the Lord!

Just know... your prayers are heard. Please continue to lift up this work.

Next please pray for
-- my DIRI (or long-term resident paperwork) to be quickly processed.
-- my language classes to go smoothly. I start on Monday.
-- a trustworthy vehicle to purchase.
-- favor at my upcoming meeting with the Ministry of Health in the next week or so.

Also... I’ve learned that the hospitals in Mozambique are in complete disarray right now. The staff is on strike for higher wages.  Some are asking for a 300% increase in pay! As a result many are suffering longer waits and deaths.

Thank you for praying!

Video: Mozambican Vision

Witchcraft and Warfare~

This past week, more than once I tried to describe the supernatural and spiritual attacks I felt during my month in Mozambique... but each time I did so, the looks I got were odd.

Very odd.

I’ve since come to the conclusion that most people are quick to admit --at least in Christian circles-- that we are at war spiritually. I mean... come on! If we are not at war, why then would Paul exhorts us to strap on the full armor of God? Why else would he explain that we war not against flesh and blood but against the principalities and powers in the heavenly realm (Ephesians 6:12-18)?

But when it comes to the manifestations of these dark forces, these same people grow uncomfortably silent.

When I told them I experienced manifestations while in Mozambique, they tended to wiggle in their chairs and fiddle with their watches. When I explained that I was woken each night at 2-2:30 a.m. by evil spirits, they often got so uncomfortable they changed the subject.

I used to be that way. I used to think that people who talked of demons were off their rockers.

I mean, come on! Let’s be serious! Demonic possession was true in Jesus’ day, but such things don’t happen today.

Today... we are more sophisticated.

Right?

I used to think that when some darkness approached or a depression occurred all the Christian had to say was ‘Greater is He who is in me than he who is in the world’ (1 John 4:4) and the issue would be over.

I used to think that I was immune from any physical attack as a Christian. I mean, Satan might send his cronies to harass me, but it would be like shooing away gnats.

I confess... I used to think a lot of things.

But after a month in Mozambique --and especially after the massive spiritual attack I received once I started planning the work there-- my mind has been opened. I don’t think that way anymore.

I share this not to spook you, nor do I want to be ‘one of those’ Christians... but I need you to know. I need you to pray. I need you to intercede.

Mozambique has a spiritual heritage of witchcraft unlike any country I’ve ever known before. Its darkness reminds me a lot of Haiti, but it feels stronger somehow. More active.

To be honest, I’m not surprised that the enemy tried to discourage me. It doesn’t surprise me at all. But fortunately the attacks had the opposite effect; they just confirmed I was on the right path.

And more importantly, these attacks have taught me to pray like never before.

I can now affirm with Paul that “we wrestle not against flesh and blood” (Eph 6:12) and as a result our weapons need to be spiritual for the tearing down of strongholds “for though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds (2 Cor 10:3-4).

Knowing this, let’s rejoice with Paul when he writes “For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans  8:38-39)

Let’s remember to pray and not grow faint. Let’s remember that no matter what the enemy throws at us, we can never be separated from His love!

Keep praying!

Prayer Walk

Today we gathered the troops, piled into the cars, and went to the air strip. It was time for our annual prayer walk.

The prayer walk is In Deed and Truth ministries’ annual fund raiser which takes place in So. California. Since we can’t join them there, we make a point to walk and pray here.

Last year we walked and prayed for an ambulance. We walked and prayed for South Sudan to get independence. We walked and prayed for peace.

God has been faithful to answer those prayers. We witnessed a miracle this year when Africa’s newest nation was born --peacefully. We also raised enough money to get the ambulance we so desperately needed.

It’s so good to look back over this year and remember.

The money raised this year will help run the medical clinic and cover other ministry expenses. It will stock our shelves with quinine and antibiotics. It will pay the Sudanese staff’s salaries. And it will help make this work possible on the day to day.

If you would like to be a part of this work, please prayerfully consider supporting IDAT’s ministry expenses. Large or small, every donation counts. You can find out more about this ministry by going to their website.

If you’d like to give, click here.

Thank you for helping make this work a reality.

Blue Nile Bombing

I've come across more information on the bombing in the Blue Nile State. Perhaps you are already aware of the skirmishes and indiscriminate bombing of civilians. Perhaps not.

Either way, please pray.

Article on the last remaining doctor in the area.

Read and Pray. Thanks.

Biyana.

Biyana has a vesico-vaginal fistula that desperately needs repair. For over a year, she has not been able to urinate on her own. Instead, a constant acrid stench leaks from her body and clings to her clothes.

She cannot escape the shame. It haunts her day and night. 

The fistula formed after several days of obstructed labor ended in a cesarean. A few days after her surgery, she was discharged from the hospital --grateful to be alive but damaged.

Remarkably, despite her condition, she conceived again several months later.

When I met her for the first time, she was just starting her third trimester. But I didn’t know that at the time.

Since her baby was transverse, I measured her belly and guessed her to be only about 5 to 6 months gestation. But I was wrong.

A month or so after that, she returned in labor with ruptured membranes and a hand presentation.
It was hard trying to determine the best course of treatment --fistulas and hand presentations were new for me.

But after trying everything I/we could, I finally insisted her family get her the cesarean she needed. And they took her to Wau.

I later learned that she got the cesarean but never had her fistula repaired; they didn’t have the money for both surgeries.

At the time I was shocked to hear her baby had survived since I had assumed he was preterm. But her family said all was well, so I rejoiced with them.

A few months went by and I ran into her family and inquired after them both. They explained that the baby only lived two days. He died before she was discharged from the hospital.

She’s not yet 20 years old and yet she has lost two babies, had two cesareans, and is haunted by the stench of her own urine.

I pray for her regularly. I think of her all the time. I try to imagine the depths of her shame and loss... but I confess, I can’t.

My mind just can’t... 

So when a friend informed me of volunteer surgeons coming to do fistula repairs in Wau, I jumped at the opportunity.

It took me some time to get a hold of Biyana, but when I found her she was very interested in getting help. As we spoke over the possibilities, she explained that her husband left her after her second surgery. She hasn’t seen him in months.

She is hopeful at the opportunity but I can tell she seems skeptical. Nevertheless, she asked me over and over again, “Do not forget about me. Please help me. Remember me.”

Honestly, how can I forget? I can’t get her out of my mind... or heart.

When I contacted the surgeons though to set it up, I was told the fistula campaign was pushed to next Spring. They have more training and preparation work to do before they can pull it together. But they hope to be ready by February or March, and will start the procedures then. They promised to let me know if and when.

I know that it is many months off, but I feel the need to start praying now. Please pray for her to not grow weary while waiting... and for God to bring others like her our way. I know they must be out there. May He bring many more who need this help. May they get it.

Thanks.

The turmoil I felt last week has passed. The burden I struggled to carry is gone. Instead I have sweet peace and satisfaction. And I am certain it is due to all your prayers.

You my sweet friends and prayer warriors. You... my delightful and curiously silent readers. You have been praying. I feel it. And it feels like peace.

Thank you.

God has given me new insight into the needs of this community. I no longer expect these women to fit my mold. My mold is too.... well.... I’m not sure what it is. But it’s not good here. So it’s back to the drawing board. And I’m okay with that.

This new understanding has freed me from the burden of disappointment. And I’m confident that this battle was won in the heavenlies.

Thank you. Thank you so much for praying. Please continue as God might guide you!

Specifically pray if you would...

• for joy to exude from my life and speech. May it only rival that of peace and contentment.

• for my health. Each time I think I’m in the clear... WHAM. BOOM. BANG.... I’m sick! This time it’s malaria... again. But surprisingly, it’s not too bad. Pray it goes away quickly.

• for the women in this community. I’m seeing a lot of women coming in physically abused. One came in with a black eye. Another crawled into (and I mean literally crawled into...) the clinic because of a beating 4 days before. It’s hard to see so much of it and not know what to do to help. Honestly, is aspirin enough?

• for the dozen or so ladies we have due this month. Pray their families allow them to deliver with us. And they are able to make it. Yesterday one of my ANC girls came in in labor. She so wanted to stay and deliver with us. She clung to me in desperation. But her mother wouldn’t allow it and forced her to go home. They promised to return... but never did. I hope it went okay.

New Hope

My heart did a bit of a flip-flop when our eyes met.        --Could it be?
Smiling with excitement she understood that I recognized her and was please.     --Yes. It was her.

“You are the one I helped with the baby last year?” I asked stupidly. Honestly, I helped lots of women with babies last year. Duh!

She just smiled back and nodded, equally excited.

“And you are pregnant?” I asked rubbing my belly in case she didn’t understand my Dinka?

“Yes!” Her eyes sparkled in joy.             --- Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

Elizabeth is pregnant again everyone! Elizabeth is pregnant!

You might not remember her just now, but I assure you I’ll NEVER forget her. Her last birth was one of the hardest of my life. It taught me the realities of being a midwife in Africa.

It changed me forever.

And in the process, I came to truly love Elizabeth and her husband, Michael. I love them and want to see them holding healthy children in the future. I want them to know God's love!

So I cheerfully took her prenatal book (one she had kept for almost a year) and added it to the line. 

When it came time to do her prenatal, her husband joined her because he wanted to honor me with thanks and tell me all that God has been doing with them this year. I was delighted to hear it.

But as I checked her, I suspected STDs. So I told them that I’d need to treat them right away. They happily complied.

Please pray for them. She is 4 months pregnant. Pray this next birth may be healthy and easy. May God continue to shower His love and mercy on them in remarkable ways! Thanks.

Prenatal Prayer Projects~

Prenatal woman being checked in by our Sudanese staff.

Some days I open a woman’s prenatal book and I’m surprised by my own handwriting. Did I really write that down... and not cry?

One of my patient’s obstetrical history looks like this:

G8 P5 L4 A2 M1
1st baby: SAB (Spontaneous Abortion) at 2 months -- Clots.
2nd baby: Delivered --Alive.
3rd baby: SAB at 1.5 months.
4th baby: Delivered --Alive.
5th baby: Twins --Both alive.
6th baby: Delivered alive but died at 1 yr. old.
7th baby: Delivered preterm at 6 months but died at 1 yr. old.
8th .... she’s now 5 months pregnant.

She’s only in her early 30’s and yet she has already knows the heartache of two miscarriages and two tiny coffins. But would you believe it... her history is a happy one compared to the rest.

Three times this week I’ve had women sit on my prenatal bed and flatly detail their obstetrical history. And three times this week I have wanted to cry.

I am sharing their information with you with permission. They said it’s okay for me to tell you so you can pray.

So please pray....

Athnony -- age 30-ish (G6 P3 L0 A2)
She had two miscarriages and three live-births but all three babies died shortly after delivery or before they were weaned. She’s 6 months pregnant now. Pray that this baby lives and grows to be a gray-beard who loves Jesus!

Achuei -- in her mid 20’s (G4 P3 L1 A0)
She’s given birth three times but one died after two days when it didn’t breastfeed and the other died when crawling. She has only one baby at home that’s alive. She’s in her second trimester but I’m not sure of her gestational age. May this tot be a delightful pest to his mother and a prize to his father. May he grow up to have a large family of his own who all know and love Jesus!

Monica -- in her late 30’s (G5 P4 L1 A0)
Her first baby died at 3 1/2 months old, her second child died at 5 years old and her third child was born term but died after 7 days of labor during which she claims she was treated for meningitis by the local witch-doctor.

Well.. this WAS her obstetrical history until two weeks ago when her only remaining child started having breathing difficulties. She brought him to our clinic for treatment but he eventually succumbed to his infection and died. He was only 4 yrs. old.

When I saw her this morning and learned of her loss it took everything in me not to weep outright. But such displays of emotion are not permitted here... and I blinked back my tears.

Lord... she has suffered the loss of ALL her children. Only You can know her pain! Only You can comfort her in this dark time! Lord, please touch her and give her peace. Help her to grieve and yet still hope...

She is 7 months pregnant now.

Pray this baby lives. Thrives. Survives. And loves his mother with joy, bringing her laughter in her old age!

Thanks.

Speaking in Tongues!

Each Wednesday, the staff on the compound gather around a bonfire to pray and worship. It’s our midweek service of sorts, and I love it.

Some weeks, I’m too tired to pray, but I’m never too tired to listen. Regardless of what’s going on in my heart, this ministry, or Sudan in general, it’s always nice to take an hour to re-focus on what truly matters -- worshiping the King!

Last week, as I listened to the voices around me, I couldn’t help but think of the day of Pentecost when the Spirit of the Lord descended upon the disciples. On that day, a mighty wind blew, and it looked as if fire dipped down from heaven, as the young believers were anointed in God’s Spirit. And through Him, they declared the wonders of God in many foreign tongues. It was a beautiful outpouring of the Spirit. (Acts 2:1-13)

Well, sitting around our bonfire, I hear echos of that day. Foreign tongues utter praises and supplications continually. One minute it’s in Arabic; the next it’s in English. Kiswahili is then followed up with a song in Dinka. Then it’s back to Luo.

I love it.

I don’t understand all the words, but I wholeheartedly concur with the Spirit. It’s beautiful and melodic; it’s worship in God’s many, glorious languages -- everyone speaking in tongues!

Is this what it’ll sound like in heaven?