just read: Long Walk to Freedom

It is only fitting to follow a post on Emancipation with the story of a freedom fighter - Nelson Mandela. I have long admired Madiba (Mandela's tribal name) for his strength of character and the sacrifices he made for a strongly held conviction. I do not know many people who could be sent to prison for nearly three decades and come out speaking of reconciliation and forgiveness.

The early parts of this book, when he is describing his boyhood, made me long to be in Africa. The images described were like many I had seen in my time there. The beauty of that continent is impressive and Mandela describes it well.

More than the vivid word pictures and clear fondness Mandela has for his homeland, this book is a lesson in how to structure, manage and maintian a movement. By the end, I felt as if I had received an education in community action. I took notes throughout. The Hubs asked, "why are you writing in that book?"

"Because this is good stuff about how to bring about change," was my response.

I also enjoyed learning about South African and ANC (African National Congress political party) history. I was exposed to the broad strokes, but this book provided the timeline and details that I was lacking.

Mandela's discipline is unreal. His perspective is unique.His optimism is unbelievable. There are a number of passages that left me contemplating life, humanity and my role in the universe. But, I believe this one is worth sharing because it summarizes his world view and what made him such a powerful leader.

"I am no more virtuous or self-sacrificing than the next man, but I found that I could not even enjoy the poor and limited freedoms I was allowed when I knew my people were not free...It was during those long and lonely years that my hunger for the freedom of my own people became a hunger for the freedom of all people, white and black. I knew as well as I knew anything that the oppressor must be liberated just as surely as the oppressed. A man who takes away another mans freedom is a prisoner of hatred...When I walked out of prison, that was my mission, to liberate the oppressed and the oppressor both...For to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others."

just Sheri, thankful for the example of a great life

reminiscent of...Africa

Since I am now a mortgage payer and more place bound than I have been in the past, I decided to decorate our home in honor of the places we have lived.

The first room that made any progress was an ode to my birthplace: New Mexico. I wrote about this in a post titled: home away from home.

I have made progress on my second room - our "great room"...I am not sure what else to call this. It is the biggest room in our house. It is the first one entered from the front door. This is what it looked like before we moved in.

Today, it has a 10' sectional and our dining table. The theme for this room is an ode to Africa. Many of the items in this room came from previous travels. For instance, the rug was purchased after an eventful day of bartering in Morrocco.

The round baskets on the wall remind me of this man who I met in Liberia on one of my trips. He was weaving similar baskets from straw. I saw many of these beautiful, colorful baskets all over the Continent. I look at these and think of the people I met who create such beautiful handicrafts.

One the wall between the windows is a batik that comes from Kenya.  

The figurines in the batik remind me of the Masai people. Some of whom I was able to meet on a visit to the coast of that country.

I also have memorabilia from Mozambique from our time there. We could not bring much back with us due to weight limits, but my heart still resides with all of the people I met along the journey of life. While I cannot be with them, and frequent visits are unlikely due to present circumstances; I have brought these memories front and center in our home. These items also allow me to share the memories with guests who come to our home.

just Sheri, collector of memories

culture shock: voluntary prison

I went on a road trip recently with a couple of ladies from Africa. One is visiting for a few months since her daughter just had a third child. I asked how her visit has been, this led to an interesting conversation about American cultural norms.

In America, we exit the car in our driveway and immediately head inside our home, rarely greeting our neighbors. Once inside, we generally close and lock the door behind us. Most homes have large windows to let in light or frame a view, but the windows are usually shut and covered with closed blinds or curtains drawn. I suppose this is for privacy and security. My friend had an interesting perspective on this - she called it "voluntary prison."

Photo by Stefano Costanzo via Fotopedia

We shut ourselves in and keep others out. We rarely engage with those in close proximity to us. We do this while living in the land of freedom and prosperity.  The majority of outings are to go to work, shops, or regularly scheduled meetings (like church). We started calling our road trip her "Prison Break."

I hadn't thought of this as a voluntary prison, but I noticed this myself since returning to America.

In our neighborhood, I make a point of talking to neighbors. When I see them outside, I wave enthusiastically and say, "Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening!" The looks I get are usually surprise and uncertainty.

I am sure there have been times folks thought, "Who is this crazy lady waving at me? She must think she knows me." Some people pretend not to see me, which only encourages me further. Some folks wave back hesitantly. What I've noticed is the more I do it, some folks now expect it and participate willingly.

There is an older gentleman who is often on his front stoop. I see him as I walk the neighborhood in the afternoons. He used to be reluctant to respond to my greetings. Now I get a smile, a wave, and a "how are you doing?"

When we lock ourselves up in voluntary prison - we miss out on relationship building opportunities. I am okay with being the crazy lady in the neighborhood. Why? Because people matter to God and therefore they matter to me. Though the culture of my origin tells me to isolate myself, distrust my neighbors and "act normal." I choose a different path.

Romans 12:2 (The Message)
"Don't become so well adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking..."

Are there cultural norms you have chosen to reject? Is there something you value more than "fitting in?"

just Sheri, defined by Christ rather than my culture

everyone has a story

Recently I was out mowing the lawn with our push mower - yes, the old school kind with no motor, propelled by leg muscles. Some of my neighbors, whom I had not met, were also out that evening watering their lawn. They have the nicest yard on our row - newly sodded lawn, well manicured trees and shrubs, and blooming annuals and perennials. Our yard is made up of overgrown, contractor grade shrubs and an overlay of clover where the grass should be. I wanted tips from an expert...so I walked over to introduce myself.

Thankfully our neighbors were friendly and gracious. She shared with me the knowledge of what she has learned in the past few years about what grows well in our soil and sun exposure. As she was talking she spoke with such eloquence and grace, but with an obvious accent - so, my next line of questions had nothing to do with her flower garden. Where are you from originally? How long have you lived here? How many children do you have? etc, etc, etc...my undergrad training in Journalism continues to be useful.

She and her husband are originally from Liberia. As faithful readers know, I have been to Liberia and, thus, know a little bit about the country and it's history. I asked if they were living there during the civil war? Yes. What was it like for you before, during, and after? (this line of questioning was more of a series than one question)

Before the war, he had earned an undergrad degree from Maryland, USA, then a master's from Europe and a law degree in Israel. He had a high level position in his country and was a well respected leader with incredible influence. During the war, they did what they needed to in order to survive and also spent some time in neighboring countries. After, they raised 10 kids, most of which were not their own, but orphans because of war. They immigrated to America in the hopes of building a better life and they have struggled since. They are both employed, but at jobs much below their qualifications. As they spoke I saw their emotions turn from pride and joy, to sorrow and sadness. The husband excused himself and went inside for a minute. When he left the wife told me something I cannot forget. She looked at the closed door her husband had just passed through and said, "no one here sees who he is. In all the time we've lived here, no one has asked about his past success." In that moment, I saw how much love and respect she has in her heart for her husband. I saw the pain she carries for him, because of the sacrifices they have both made. I have not been able to forget the conversation. We continued to chat and she promised to invite me over for dinner some time to share a Liberian meal. We speak each time we see one another outside.

What has stuck with me is how easy it is to make judgments about people. If they are struggling - it must be because they are not trying. If only they would apply themselves, educate themselves, work harder - then they wouldn't be in their situation. If the situation continues - they must be lazy, or greedy, or have an inflated sense of entitlement. I have only met a handful of individuals that fit this description, the majority try and try and try some more, only to get knocked down, then they get back up and try again.

This man who has worked hard in his life and overcome an incredible amount of adversity, who has earned and retained the respect of his wife - he is not seen. In the years they have lived in this country, no one had cared enough to get to know him.

It's amazing what a difference a conversation can make. I now look at people cleaning parking lots or buildings, hauling trash, mowing lawns and wonder - what is their story?

just Sheri, changed by the sacrifices of others

bath salts?

Have you heard about bath salts? I don't mean the kind that dissolve in a tub of hot water. Apparently, this is a new kind of drug. The state I live in has tried to pass laws to control the chemicals that go together to make this drug. The Hubs works at a local emergency room, they received warnings about patients presenting who had been using bath salts.

This week there was an article in a local paper on the topic: Richmond Times-Dispatch

I learned from this article, the drug they are trying to replicate is one grown in East Africa called khat. I have driven through khat fields in Kenya. It is a hallucinogenic and very lucrative.

It seems there is nothing new under the sun...

the BEST birthday party

I have made some friends here in Virginia who are originally from Liberia. We bonded because they didn't know many American's who had been to their country - West Africa is not exactly a top tourist destination. Since most of my travels were not as a tourist, but instead as an international development worker, I had not only been to Liberia but to some of the more remote parts outside the capital city of Monrovia.

This post is not about my past travels. It is about the encouragement I have received from these gentlemen.

They have been in a tough situation in recent months. No income. Distant from family and long-time friends. Dreams that were taken from them by self-serving individuals. Injustice suffered. Trying to survive in a place where they are not welcome. An uncertain future. The ripple effects of someone's choice has been heartbreaking to witness. Not only are they suffering undeserved consequences, but so are their children.

Many times I have thought, "If I were in their circumstances..." What I know is I would not be handling it with such grace. I am, after all, an American and thus consider it an injustice when someone cuts in front of me in line or too closely while driving.

Last night we were talking about African politics, the American presidential election, scripture and more...as we do when we get together. I always ask how they are doing. They always tell me amazing ways that God is meeting their needs and the generous people who are helping them.

Last night one of the men informed me that it was recently his daughters birthday back in Liberia. At her school they had a birthday list posted on the wall. The kids would look forward to their day because their parents would bring in snacks and a party would be thrown in their honor. As it grew closer to her birthday his wife and he were sad for their daughter as they could not do this for her given his current, and unfortunate, circumstances. They decided to lift their concern up to God.

When the birthday came, a generous soul gave to meet this need. Not because they were asked, but out of care for this family. My friend told me, with the biggest smile on his face, that his daughter had the BEST birthday party of any all year. It brought tears to my eyes (even today as I retell this story).

Kindness is a beautiful thing. A birthday celebration can offer hope. Don't ignore those quiet promptings to be generous - you have no idea what it could mean in the life of another.

just Sheri, inspired by the faith and kindness of others

lychee fruit

Would you eat this?

Apparently most Americans shy away because of the spiky outer shell. But, tear in to that and there is a sweet, refreshing fruit in the center. I had my first lychee fruit in Thailand many moons ago. I have eaten many over the years and became fond of the juice too. On a hot day in the tropics, it is refreshing! Thankfully I can still get them at my favorite grocery - Global Foods. I am attracted to them now because seeing one produces fond memories of far away lands...I have yet to experience Cambodia hot outside of Cambodia.

Recently I was hanging out with a group of people. One of them from India, one from Laos and two Americans. I was one of the two Americans. The Indian had tried to introduce lychee to his American friend. But the friend wasn't having it. Myself and the Laotian encouraged him to get past the exterior, because what is inside is tasty.

My fellow Americans hesitancy did make me question who was the first person to discover the gem inside the lychee? I certainly wouldn't have tried it solo. I tried it because I watched others eating it and I was curious.

Have you eaten a lychee? did you like it? would you be willing to try it?

just Sheri, still loving the fruits of the tropics

International Literacy Day

Each year this date (September 8) is set aside to focus attention on worldwide literacy needs. I have posted about this topic recently here and here.

To be honest, literacy was not something I cared passionately about until I experienced it first-hand. I took for granted that I had been afforded educational opportunities. I was blind to my own privilege. Literacy first struck me when I was working at headquarters in a traveling job. One of the orphan care projects our department was involved with included literacy in the project activities. On one of my visits to Liberia to visit the work, I was standing in a field where families had spent grueling hours to cultivate the land. I was impressed by the amount of effort they had put in and how they were sharing their harvest with the vulnerable...but that isn't what left the biggest impression on me.

Not even close. I had an experience that day that left a permanent imprint on my mind and heart. It was given to me by this woman in the picture.

When asked what the project has meant to her, what difference it has made in her life? She didn't talk about food provision or vocational training, instead she said, "I am learning to read." She then described to me with such joy what that gift has meant to her well being and the difference it has made in the care of her children. She stood straight and tall, with dignity and a sense of accomplishment and spelled her name for me.  I will never forget the look on her face (not captured in a photo, only in my mind's eye).  It reduced me to tears. Just thinking about it still makes me emotional. That day, I witnessed the life changing power of literacy.

Then I was afforded another powerful learning opportunity.  I lived in a foreign land where the alphabet looks like this:

I always found it beautiful to look at, like a work of art, but I had no hope of being able to read and understand it.  I experienced the challenges of being illiterate - the struggles to get through daily tasks, the coping skills that must be developed in order to function, the feelings of vulnerability at not understanding and the frustration of it all.

I hope to NEVER forget these lessons that life has afforded me.  It is why I give time each week to a student as part of the Literacy Volunteers of America program.  It is why I am dedicating today's blog post to the topic of literacy.

Help someone learn to read, write or do arithmetic...you will change their life for the better!

Do you have a story about literacy that you would like to share?

just Sheri, no longer blind to my privilege in the area of literacy

you never know...

Last week I was floored by the wonders of technology...and God's provision for our needs.  I received a friend request from a former colleague from across the globe.  He asked if I remembered him.  Of course I did, he was part of our leadership team for a large multi-national HIV prevention effort.  I saw him many years in a row at our annual meeting and a couple of times in the field on one of my many world tours.

I suppose it is human nature to wonder if what we do makes a difference.  I have felt that the time in my old life was cut short, prematurely. I have thought that it just wasn't long enough to have an impact. I needed more time to go deeper in relationships. More time to genuinely share life together - the highs and lows.

Then, unexpectedly, I receive an answer to a question I never asked out loud - was it worth it? Did it make a difference? Did it even matter at all?

It is rare that we get to know the impact of our efforts in Kingdom work...that is unless some kind soul tells us. This week I received that gift. There are lessons this individual learned from my words, and so many more he learned from observation when I didn't know anyone was watching. He told me that he has shared these lessons with many others since then. I had no idea. None. It left me in tears.

Through the wonders of technology, I received a communication from a far-away land that touched my heart and encouraged my soul...and reminded me of something VERY important.

I'm convinced that we can write and live our own scripts more than most people will acknowledge. I also know the price that must be paid. It's a real struggle to do it...It involves living a life of integrity, starting with making and keeping promises, until the whole human personality, the senses, the thinking, the feeling and the intuition are ultimately integrated and harmonized. Stephen Covey (born 1932 ) U.S. author, speaker, consultant, management-expert

Just so we are clear, I have not attained this goal. It is a constant, daily journey. It is a choice and a struggle against internal and external forces that pull in other directions. I share this publicly because I was reminded of the priceless value of a life lived with integrity. There are so many I have learned from, often through observation. I should tell them what the example of their life has meant to me...

What have you learned by watching others?

just Sheri, a work in progress grateful for encouragement

visitor from Kenya

In recent weeks I had a great surprise - Gerald from Kenya was coming for a visit to America! 

I met Gerald on my first trip to Kenya. He was assigned to be my driver for the weekend, or as I used to refer to these poor chaps as "my babysitter." Essentially, his job was to drive me wherever I wanted to go - dinner, shopping, touring. The babysitter made sure I didn't go where I might get in trouble and often had to give up their weekend to be at my beck and call. I had so much fun with Gerald that we kept in touch. Over the years I would often see him as I would pass through Nairobi on my way to other parts of the country or continent.

At our first meeting he told me that it was his dream to visit America one day. He has been saving his Kenya shillings for years to make it happen. Through persistence he secured a tourist visa. See America, he did! He went to Florida, Colorado, NYC, Washington D.C., Baltimore, North Carolina and more. A friend in Kenya told him that they must start calling him "a man of his word" because he (finally) made it to America.

On my visits to Nairobi he would tell me that one day he would see me in America. And he did. We had dinner at the inner harbor in Baltimore with his cousin.

Gerald now has other dreams to fulfill - becoming an airline pilot and family man. I look forward to the day he tells me he has also accomplished these. 

just Sheri, a witness to perseverance (and it's rewards)

Still "transitioning"

We have been in America six months. My, how time flies!

Our stuff arrived from Africa, we secured employment, moved in to an apartment and a generous church met our need for furniture and basic household goods.

Kenyon and I went to a movie at the AMC Independent theater with my co-workers earlier this week. Prior to the start, there was a preview for a new movie. This is not unexpected, but what followed was...

The preview started with a shot of the African bush. Then something happened that caught me completely off-guard. Tears. Lots of them. Streams of them. I was glad it was dark and hoped no one noticed as I knew I could not explain, but was simply overwhelmed with emotion.

I am conscious of the aching in my heart for my former life of adventure; it isn't the adventure I miss, but the people in other places whom I grew to love dearly. I miss the sense of purpose that work afforded me. Days later, I still cannot fully explain the tears.

Apparently,  I am still transitioning (even more than I am aware)...

just Sheri, grieving a loss

I saw what I saw...and I can't forget it

There is a song that has been on repeat in my car for days now. It accurately describes my feelings these days. The artist is a young woman by the name of Sara Groves.

I have seen the ugliness of humanity - the effects of civil war, displaced people groups due to corruption or natural disaster, death and dying, abandonment, exploitation, violence, isolation, insatiable greed, destructive arrogance, struggle and oppression.

I have also seen the beauty of humanity - deep relationship, abounding kindness, love and generosity, unwaivering hope, joy in spite of circumstance, peace that surpasses understanding, inspiring compassion and undying faith.

These experiences changed my life. Along the road, they changed me. I don't know what I left behind that is of value, but I hope to pass on what I have learned from those I met on the road.



just Sheri, witness to humanity

now that isn't something I see everyday...

One morning when visiting the province of Gaza for a staff training. I walked outside. What did I see asleep on the car? A bat. Yes, a bat. From a distance it looked like mud hanging off the ledge, but I knew it hadn't been raining and we hadn't driven through mud. This is definitely not something I see everyday!

Note: the picture is blurry because I zoomed from far away on my point and shoot as I did not want to get too close.

Why do you suppose he chose this spot to sleep?

Just Sheri, surprised by nature

Masai people

When I was a young person still living in my parents home, I had seen some images of Africa. Usually those images involved vast deserts with wild animals, like what is often shown on episodes of "Wild Kingdom."  I also remember images of men dressed in colorful robes, holding spears, who did a unique dance. The dance involved jumping really high. For years my family would immitate that dance. My Tia Nita was the best at it. Now that I am an adult, I have learned that the Masai people are often known for this type of dress and dance.

On a recent visit to Kenya I had the opportunity to meet some Masai people. It was at a tourist resort on the coast, but it brought back memories from younger years. I suspect, had my family been with me they would have been dancing with the Masai and not sitting in garden chairs on the sidelines as many others were.

Being up close and personal I learned something interesting that I thought you might appreciate too. The Masai wear the most fascinating shoes.

The shoes are made of tire rubber. Yes, recycled tires can be used as footware. This particualr pair was approximately 10 years old. Wow! How many pairs of shoes do you have that you could wear every day and have them last for 10 years? Admittedly, I don't have any.

Tire shoes. Fascinating.

Just Sheri, grateful for the people I have met along the journey and what they have taught me

sulfate is the answer...what was the question?

In an update to my vanity post, I have found the answer. Okay, I didn't actually find it. A nice Southern Belle who knows all about beauty products, tips and tricks steered me in the right direction. She told me to try a shampoo with sulfate as the ingredient.

I have a box of unpacked odds and ends from America. In the box is a small assortment of travel shampoos. I pulled them out and started reading the labels. I found the most remarkable product that was already in my home - Herbal Essence shampoo. It has restored what once was and I am incredibly grateful!

I should have known by their tag line:

take your hair all the way to luscious—all across the globe!

I have been so impressed with the results from simply switching shampoos that I am telling EVERYONE! At a recent going away party I received a compliment on how good my hair was looking - I actually had it down that day since it wasn't such a mess on my head. I said to this one lady that it was the shampoo I was using.

Another lady from a different part of the room said, "what shampoo are you using?"

I told them "Herbal Essence." It has worked wonders in this environment.

Before long I had a crowd of woman asking about it. I felt like a spokesperson.

One of the voices in the crowd said, "You should write them and tell them your story. Maybe they will give you free shampoo for promoting them." I like how she thinks, so I am posting it on my blog.

Dear Herbal Essence marketing, I know you monitor when your product name is used. If you find this blog post I would like to request some free product for being a walking advertisement for your tag line. We are about to be unemployed and your generosity would be appreciated. Even if you don't send anything. I expect to be a loyal customer because your product really worked. Somehow it overcame the harsh water conditions in Africa. Luscious locks are no longer among the sacrifices we are making to live here.

Is there a product that won you over because it delivered it's promise during a time of need?

Just Sheri, grateful for chemists in this season of Thanksgiving

monkey fruit

On the island called Xefina there isn't much. We saw the ruins. A handful of shanties. Some goats and chickens and not much else. There is one thing this little island is known for, a fruit I have never heard of. It is known here as the monkey fruit. Some of the folks I was with harvested some and gave me a taste.

The outside is like a green gord. Break the shell and the inside is brown, mushy slime. Frankly, it looks disguisting. I tried it anyway. I was told to take a bite and suck on the seed. I did as I was told.

The taste is unique. A cross between a banana and orange. I could see how in the heat of the Mozambican sun, the monkey fruit could be refreshing. I didn't eat more than one bite, but I do always enjoy a new experience. Xefina certainly offered that with an introduction to the monkey fruit.

Have you tried any new foods lately? Have you (or would you) try the monkey fruit?

Just Sheri, a fanatic for new experiences

daily dilemmas

Today, I just wanted to highlight some of the dilemmas we encounter daily living overseas in a country where rule of law is thin at best.

Here are the events of the past week: (this is just a sample of one week, imagine what happens in the course of years!)

I have a friend who took her car to the mechanic. When she got it back they had exchanged her new battery for an old one and the documentation for her vehicle was missing. In the same week, that same friend experienced theft two more times, but from individuals she knows - some she has known since 2006.

One of the Mozambican staff went to an auto mechanic to get her tire fixed. They offered her a new tire at the cost of nearly $200USD - yes, for one tire. When she said that is too expensive. They offered her a discounted "used" tire for a cost of $50USD. She asked where they get the "used" tires. They said they take them from government or NGO vehicles that come in for service.

My Portuguese teacher told me that she was paying a young man to clean her car. He stole the wiper blades, the whole thing not just the rubber part. She says casually, "they can't do that again, I have glued them down."

Today, I was asked by the HR director what to do about a staff member who has not showed up to work for a few weeks. As I continued to ask questions I learned that she is HIV-positive and the treatment is not working. I asked about her health benefits as we pay quite a significant amount of money to the government every month for the equivalent of social security to cover illnesses. For all the money we pay, there remains very little options for this woman to receive the support she needs because of the weak government infrastructure. Where does that money go? I have my suspicions when I see the cars that government officials drive and the homes where they live.

These are dilemmas, yes. Unfortunately, they happen all too frequently. But, I find in the face of all this a larger dilemma.

It is hard to maintain any trust in humanity. I am constantly trying to ward off bitterness, coldness and indifference.

Suggestions are welcome.

Just Sheri, witness to greed and not liking what it does to my own heart

The depths of my vanity

Once upon a time I had good hair. It was soft, shiny and would fall nicely. I could wash and go and it looked decent.

To be honest, I never really thought much about my hair. It was just on my head and did it's thing. I noticed a difference between a good and bad haircut, but then that was the end of my thought process about that topic.

Not anymore. I have become obsessed.

The days of not thinking about my hair have come to an end. I have invested hours trying to figure out how to regain the former glory that once was a top my head.

Since moving to Africa my hair has been on the decline. At first it was just stiff and generally dull. Then dull went to straight-up dry and brittle. I still have those days, but now on the days when it isn't dry and brittle, it looks as greasy as if I hadn't washed it for weeks. I wash my hair everyday. I use the same shampoo. The change baffles and frustrates me...

I have researched the problem on the internet and came to the conclusion that it is hard water that has caused this tragedy. The suggested solutions are to rub beer or lemon juice on my hair. I hate to admit it, but I tried it. It did stop the greasy look, but it only succeeded in causing more damage. I told a friend in Germany about my dilemma. She told me to stop it. I listened, but am still discontent.

My current strategy is to wash my hair with a bottle of filtered water. Yes, I am wasting a precious, life-giving resource for vanities sake. I admit it and I am not proud of this fact.

What has surprised me is how disturbed I am over my bad hair. It really bothers me - a LOT. I want my old hair back. I don't want to be disgusted anymore by the condition of my hair. I am learning something about myself. I am learning the depths of my vanity.

Lately, my mirror is providing a little glimpse in to some ugliness in my soul...

Just Sheri, attempting to overcome vanity

What would you do for love?

When I was growing up my dad used to correct me when I would casually use the word "hate."  I hate that movie. I hate that school subject. I hate those clothes.

Using this word would spark the same response, "Hate is a strong word. You shouldn't use it unless you mean it." Now I understand the wisdom of his words, but today I would like to apply it to the antithesis of hate...and that is love.

We often say things like "I love that show...I love that color...I love those shoes."

In Southern Africa, it is common for a young man to say to a woman on the street that he finds attractive "I love you."  This happens between complete strangers as an introduction. This has happened to me a couple of times in Mozambique. I wasn't sure if I should be flattered that a young man found an old married woman attractive? Or, if I should be offended that such important words were used in such a cavalier way?

Today, I am making an announcement that reduces me to tears (even as I try to type on a blurry screen).

I quit my job.

Yup, I am leaving work that I love, with people that I love and a worthy cause that I would love to devote my life to. Why would I do such a thing? What is my motivation?

There is a family in America that I love more. Right now they need me. Someone else can be Country Director of Mozambique - there are many somebodies who can do the job.

But, there is a mother in the US who is suffering from crippling pain and has been diagnosed with an incurable disease, treatment isn't working, so the doctors continue to test her for other incurable and some degenerating diseases. There are three children that I have watched grow from when they were much younger, whom I love as much as if they had come from my own body. This family needs me. They have asked for my help and I will gladly give what I have. All I have is me, my presence in their everyday lives during this crisis. There are not a lot of somebodies who can walk in to that home and provide this service. I am uniquely qualified for this job and I accept it with a grateful heart. Why? Because of love.

This role does not come with a paycheck attached. It does not come with a fancy title. To be perfectly clear, we are making another cross-continent move, with no secured income, no home, no automobile, very little furniture, and a whole lot of uncertainty - we are doing this for one reason only. LOVE!

Last night I received word that a bad situation took a turn for the worst. I am going to do everything in my power to get there. Today, I am making the announcement to the team in Mozambique that we are leaving and soon.

None of this is easy. Nothing is assured. But, I have learned through this situation (and really the events of the past 16 months) that love is a strong word and we shouldn't say it unless we mean it.

What would you do for love?

Just Sheri, trying to walk it out

no pockets: a challenge of women's clothing

As a woman I have often wondered why our clothes can be so impractical. Certain shoes and skirts make it difficult (and possibly painful) to get around. One of my pet peeves about women's clothing is the lack of pockets. What is up with that? It can be an incredible inconvenience!

This isn't just a problem in the culture I come from. It seems to be a universal problem. In Mozambique, the women usually wear long skirts called capulanas (cop-oo-lawn-a-sh). Generally, it is just a long piece of brightly colored fabric wrapped around the waste. The women in the rural areas do everything in their capulanas, including farming.

On a recent visit to one of our provinces I noticed the women had come up with a unique solution to the no pockets dilemma - where to keep their cell phone? Wrap it in the capulana. Notice the rectangular bulge around their waist.

In case you are wondering, cell phones are VERY common in rural areas of the developing world. These women solved an age old dilemma (no pockets) in order to carry their modern technology (cell phones).

Women, do you hear me on this no pockets thing? Where do you stash things when you don't want to carry a handbag?

Sheri