Dear Emily…

While unpacking boxes during my recent move, I stumbled on a letter I wrote to myself on the last day of Immersion. It’s amazing to me how much I still needed those words. I have been blessed by reading what I felt at a time when I felt closest to God, so I thought I’d share it with you! Here goes…

December 21, 2012

Dear Emily,

Right now I am nearing the end of the first greatest adventure of my life. You are someone entirely different. Undoubtedly, 6 months of life back in America has shaped you. As much as I wish it weren’t true, you and I are not the same girl. I hope and pray that these 6 months have been a time of joy, of growth, of learning, and of teaching. I pray that you have stepped out boldly on campus. Emily, you have a beautiful & precious light inside of you, & I pray that you are letting it shine. The gift of Christ on the cross was not just a nice gift, it is a catalyst for greater things that are to come. Listen & follow closely & God will invite you in to those great things.

Emily, remember the cost of following God with everything. It means denying yourself, losing your relationship with this world, & sometimes not having a single person on your side. Remember that what is right is often not easiest & is seldom what the crowd is doing. Know that you will be mocked, persecuted, and laughed at. Know that you will be the lowest of the low in this world & that life will be really, really hard.

But more importantly, Emily, remember it’s worth it. Remember that what is now is not even worth comparing to what is to come. Remember that He is with you always. Know that the love Christ has for you is unsurpassable and unfailing. Know that we belong to a Kingdom imperishable & unshakable. Remember that you are a beloved daughter of the King. Emily Kathryn Bostrom, it is worth it, it is worth it, CHRIST IS WORTH IT. He is everything, so give everything to Him.

You are weak. You are human, I’m sure by now you are back to being adjusted to American life & culture. Please, I beg you, do not get comfortable. Keep fighting against evil in the world. Keep seeking the Kingdom. Keep stepping into the unknown. Keep loving the others. Dine with the outcasts, Be a friend of sinners, Accept the rejected. Make company with the widows & orphans. When life feels easy, change it up. When you feel comfortable, do something different. Remember what Jesus’ life looked like… He was a friend of sinners, ate with tax collectors, touched the untouchables, & healed the broken. He is your example for what life should look like, so live like Him.

The Word of God is living and active. Listen to it. Soak it up. Abide in it. But please do not forget the power of prayer. Remember that a time of quietness and stillness with God is the greatest gift He can give you. He will reveal Himself to you. Don’t forget to listen.

I want you to remember Vredendal. I want you to remember falling in love with Africa. Remember the first time you went to the squatter camp. You were terrified just to get out of the bakkie! You were surrounded by poverty unlike anything you’d ever imagined. But you got out. & in the midst of a broken land, surrounded by broken people, you saw hope. There will never be a darkness that the light of Christ cannot shine through.

Now remember Lambert’s Bay Remember how beautiful the ocean was. Remember Stephen & Magda and the love they showed. Remember the care workers , going into the homes in the communities, and how much of an impact the smallest actions had. Remember Mariki, and the young boys & girls she was trying to reach. One person can have a great impact on the lives of youth if the work to gain their respect first. Pray for their hearts. Pray for their eyes to be opened to the love that only Christ can give. No one is ever too dirty or messed up for our God to heal. & Emily, please don’t forget that love conquers all. Love them, & then love them more. Just please don’t stop.

Do you remember Mozambique? Do you remember how hot it was, how grumpy you got, & how much sitting around you did? It was really, really hard. But Emily, I don’t want you to ever forget how much spiritual growth you had from that time. Don’t forget what companionship with God feels like & how great it is to communicate with Him constantly. That is what your faith should always be like. I’m sure you’ve waivered from that these 6 months, & that’s ok. God isn’t expecting you to be perfect, Emily. He just wants you. Please, keep striving for a faith like you had in Mozambique. Keep learning to depend on God. He can be your best friend if you let Him. Emily, please don’t let the challenge of something keep you from doing it. God does His best rescuing when there’s stormy weather. In order for Him to shape you things have to get a bit messy. The hard times in life are not a result of God not loving you, they’re a result of God teaching you to be holier, more like Himself.

Remember Lesotho. Think about the breathtaking beauty that surrounded you. Remember what it felt like to be in love with creation. Go outside & thank God for whatever He’s created wherever you are. Breathe in the air & thank God for life. Remember that God takes great pride in His creation. Look at the stars tonight. Remember how brilliantly they shined in Lesotho and how amazed you were. Your God is so BIG, Emily. & the most amazing thing about Him is that while He can breathe out stars, & cause mountains to crumble, & breathe life into the whales in the sea, this amazing God loves you more than all of these. He cares for you & knows you intricately. Please stop taking that for granted. Revel in the fact that the Lord loves you so much & created you in His image. It’s a churchy thing to say that might feel numb… but please soak it up. Your God is big & powerful… but He chooses to love you & will choose that again & again & again. There is not one day in all of history that God would not send His son to die for you.

Times are going to get tough real soon. If they haven’t already, it’s coming. Satan is going to do everything He can to combat what these past 6 months have been to you & to the Kingdom. Just remember that the battle is already won. Tomorrow I step back into the whirlwind. I can’t believe it. I know that the most meaningful thing from this experience will be what I do with it after the fact. It’s time to apply it to real life. I’m proud of you & all the big leaps you’ve made on this trip.

Alright. U Rock. Never change (except do when God tells you 🙂 )

Love, Me.

Delsa

Once I had a friend named Delsa. There are probably guidelines against picking favorites, but as far as children in Africa go, she easily topped my list. I don’t know where she came from, but almost daily she would show up to my house in Mozambique, shy at first, but eventually confident while running around yelling, “Emilia! Emilia!” (Which in her raspy, little voice came out “Ah-mail-i-a”).

Delsa was 5 years old. She spoke Portuguese, and I spoke very little. Yet in my days in Mozambique, she was one of my dearest friends. Somehow, every time my day turned sour, a few moments later, Delsa would come trotting down the road, belly sticking out, arms wide, a stern look overtaking her young face. “Ola Delsa,” I would call. Her stern look would quickly change, as she responded in a fit of giggles and an attempt to hide from me, every time. Then minutes later she was glued to my side, never departing—unless her mother beckoned or a game of Mata Mata began.

I still don’t know why God chose a 5-year-old girl in Mocuba, Mozambique to have such an impact on my heart. But whenever I think back on Mozambique, Delsa is the only person outside of my host family my heart aches for… Every. Single. Time.

The first day I arrived at my host home, Delsa was sitting outside my house with my avo (grandmother) eating peanuts. She just stared at me. I don’t mean stared as in the way most people looked when they saw a white girl in the middle of their village. Her eyes were locked on me, like if she looked away the world would crumble around her. Intent. Afraid. Curious. At most, she placed a peanut in my hand that day, almost a peace offering, but never letting our eyes meet, and never letting her face reveal a smile. I am not sure how many fearful stares passed before she finally smiled at me.

Once we broke the barrier, I was teaching some of the kids a few simple words in English. Words like “door” or “house”. Later on, to Delsa, I said, “Este e ‘water’ en ingles.” Pointing to my bottle of water. She replied, “ No e ‘gwater’ e ‘agua’.” That’s how Delsa was, fiercely confident and hilariously so.

I remember Delsa coming up to me when I was sitting lonely on my “front porch” because my avo had left me with the babysitters for the day (my 16-year-old host brother and the neighbors). I was lost without the comfort of my avo smiling at me and calling me her daughter, brushing the hair out of my face, making sure no part of my fair skin was peeking out from the shade, and introducing me to friends and family as if I truly was one of her own. Feeling insecure and alone, Delsa marched right up to me and simply said, “Go play with your friends.” I tried to reason with her that I needed to stay with the neighbors and my brother, but true to 5-year-old stubbornness, she ignored my rebuttal and walked me over to my teammate’s host home. Yes, I had to be walked around by a child, what of it?

But one of my favorite memories of Delsa is playing our special game. She would run around the outside of my house, calling my name at one of the three windows or through the door, and I would run around inside looking for her, calling out “Delsa” when I “finally” found her. Squeals filled the air as she ran away as quickly as possible, eagerly searching for her next spot. Her laughter alone made hours of the game pass like minutes.

I remember when I finally brought my camera out to take pictures of and with my family, how intent I was on taking a picture with Delsa. I took many. Specifically, I remember her climbing into my lap so we could take a “selfie” (no, I didn’t teach her the word… she probably would have corrected me anyway). The photo is engrained in my mind, but now I am only able to keep it like a secret, the only one who remembers how huge her grin was when she saw our faces smiling together. It is one of the pictures I am saddest about losing. Sometimes I fear I am losing the memory of her face.

Before Mozambique, I saw these beautiful, joy-filled African children as small, precious, fragile beings who needed me, a strong, white American to save them, fix them, love them. It took a small, beautiful, joy-filled girl from Mozambique, and a year away from Africa for me to realize I was always the one who was being saved, fixed, and loved by them.

Follow Me

It feels strange to be writing about Africa again. I’m sure that my obsession with my trip is not shared with most people who might stumble across this, but I need to talk about it again. For whatever reason, my heart keeps going back to Africa. For whatever reason, I’ve felt the need to look back at my journals a lot lately, sort of as to show myself, “Here’s where you were a year ago (really, just a year ago?!) and here’s where you are now.”

I feel so different from the girl who lived in Africa. I don’t feel like the girl who wore skirts daily and ate rice & beans by hand, I often feel like someone who has never understood what “need” truly means. I don’t feel like the girl whose soul longed to be in the presence of the Lord whenever possible, I feel busy, and rushed, and anything but still before the Lord. My skin isn’t quite as tan, my hair’s not quite as greasy, my clothes aren’t quite as dirty. Even though so many things in my life right now are so good, I just feel so different.

But God reminds me that His work in my life is a continuation of what He has done in me. Though lately this has come in the reminder of what my fears and struggles were a year ago, I am comforted to remember that He who began a good work in me will see it through. 

So, here’s a snippet of a journal entry from roughly a year ago:

“I feel dry and like I’m in a desert season right now. It’s like everything I thought I knew, I’m now questioning. I thought I wanted to live in Africa, now I don’t know. I thought I’d do full-time missions, I’m not sure anymore. Religious Studies? Maybe. Live in the midwest? Meh, who knows! I feel no guidance, no direction, and no certain hope or dreams for the future. & yet I know I must follow God. I still don’t know how. I felt so called to be on this trip, I felt like I was following God, and now I question my being here. I’m digging in Scripture more now, I’m living in companionship with God, I’m praying throughout the day, and I’m relying on God in a completely new way… yet I feel like I can’t hear where He’s calling me or what to do. I feel lost.

& I feel like Jesus is just calling, “Follow Me.”

& I say, “But I don’t know the way.”

“Follow Me.”

“But I can’t see where I’m going. I don’t see the end.”

“FOLLOW ME.”

“God this is a desert, nothing can grow here!”

“FOLLOW ME.“

“But I’m not even following You, I’m following these stupid tracks.”

“FOLLOW ME, My child. I have paved the road that you might walk in it. Follow Me.” 

& I feel that right now, that’s all I know. I don’t know how, I don’t know where, but I know I must follow the whisper of God’s calling.”

And now, as a college senior, I find myself asking God the same things, challenging Him with the same doubts. Though I find myself across the world from where I was a year ago (in more ways than one), I feel God urging me more, calling me still, “Follow Me.” 

Story Time, Episode 2

My church in Mozambique was outside, nestled between two cashew trees. It was beautiful. The women and children sat on bamboo mats, while the men sat on a bench or on chairs in front of the congregation, where they would take turns reading passages, teaching, or leading in song. I repeat, it was beautiful. There were times when the breeze would find it’s way, providing the perfect amount of comfort on a hot day.

I looked forward to Sundays. It meant I had something scheduled to do, it meant I got to spend time at church with my family, and it meant that I would be reunited with my team for our “weekend” soon. The last one was one of the biggest joys. I remember craving to just hear people speak in English. I know that sounds crazy, but when you’re surrounded by words in Portuguese and a local dialect all day, neither of which you really understand, English is a huge comfort. Anyway, since the service was also in Portuguese (maybe it was dialect?), church time became my own little quiet time.

The second or third week I was there, my beautiful, wonderful friend Hannah attended church with me. Another new face was standing up at the front of the congregation, apparently he was the head pastor who had just returned from a conference. He came over an introduced himself to us, in English.

Now, many of the people in my village claimed to know English. Boys and girls in school would stop by my home to practice what they’d learned in school. But no one was what you might call fluent. Most people weren’t even close. But this pastor came over and spoke English to us, and understood when we responded with something other than, “I’m fine thanks and you?” Anyway, long story short (at least… shorter…), at the end of the service he told Hannah and I that we must visit him and his wife for a meal sometime. We said, “Yeah, sure, ok” and he moved on to talk to my avo (grandma).

Later that day, I was in a terrible mood. I was 5 seconds away from telling my avo that I was going to go visit my friends, when she came over and said, “Put on your nice skirt, let’s go!” I tried to ask her where we were going, and eventually I figured out that we were going to the pastor’s house.

I think now is a great time to tell you that there are many times when my heart is very, very ugly. This was one of them. Because as I was being escorted by my loving avo, who opened her home to me, to the home of her pastor, all I could think was, “I can’t believe I have to go eat more fish.” In Mozambique, I found that when people had some money, they bought fish. If you were a guest, they would usually give you fish, because that was the best they had. And me, with my ugly ol’ heart, could not see it as the gift that it was, and only saw it as a struggle for me.

When we arrived to the house, it was much bigger than my family’s. As soon as I got there, the pastor asked me to run get my friend (Hannah), because it was time for us all to eat. As I went to get her, I actually apologized that we had to go eat at this man’s home. I am ashamed that I was ever this ungrateful, but I was.

Hannah and I got to his house and the pastor and his wife invited us inside. We were seated around a table, with four chairs. That, in itself, was more than both our families had, and more than many of our neighbors had. Furniture was not something you saw in every household. There were plates, empty glasses, silverware, and dishes of covered food on the table. Even when I saw that the meal was much more than I expected, I still dreaded the thought of eating fish.

Then they uncovered the food.

Then I saw fried chicken, french fries, cole slaw. We were offered Coke or Sprite as a drink.

Far away from home, these people sought to make us feel like we were back in the United States, with food we would be more familiar with. They asked us if it was food like we would have at home, and they were proud they were able to provide this comfort for us.

As we ate, the pastor told us about his life. How he had studied for a few months in England, so he knew English. He told us about the war that had destroyed the country not too long ago. How he now had a radio show, and that if we went to one of the larger cities and asked someone if they’d heard his name, people would know him. (Unfortunately, his name was extremely hard to remember!) We ate until we were full, and it was hands down one of the best meals I’ve ever had.

I think God gives us a wake up call when we need it most. When I was deep in self-pity, and overcome by my own desires (or lack there of), God reminded me that it was a blessing to be invited into these people’s homes and to share in their lives. I forgot, that even though I was sleeping on the floor and eating with my hands, I was a guest in my family’s home, and I was privileged to be there. Not many strangers, who look different and speak an entirely different language, are welcomed with open arms. My family gave me everything they had.

Sometimes it’s easy to see a bamboo mat and a mosquito net as a terrible bedroom, so we completely miss that it’s the biggest room in the house that has been specially prepared for their guest.

Sometimes it was easier to see a plate of shrimp as something to plow through, instead of seeing it as a gift from a family who could barely afford to feed themselves.

Sometimes it’s easy to downplay sacrifice.

Sometimes, I know my heart was in the wrong place.

But then sometimes, when we’re expecting dried fish, God gives us fried chicken.

Story Time, Episode 1

There are moments when something takes me right back to Africa, and instantly I feel the need to share a memory. So I’d like to start sharing these stories with you. They aren’t always going to have a spiritual message, they aren’t always going to be funny, they aren’t always going to be interesting. But I do promise to keep them real (at least, as real as I remember them).

Once upon a time, I was Liteboho Mokoroane (read Dee-tay-bo-ho m=Mo-ko-rah-neh). Liteboho (there’s a good chance I’m spelling this wrong, but I promise you it starts with L and not D) means “thanksgiving” in Sesotho (Se-soo-too), the language of Lesotho (Leh-soo-too)… I promise this won’t all be a vocabulary/pronunciation lesson. The name was given to me by one of the students at Growing Nations, an organization that is teaching a people to Farm God’s Way. My last name (Mokoroane) was the last name of my host sister, Maeddie. Anyway….

The first night I was with my host sister, Maeddie, and her family I heard some squeaking and scurrying in the kitchen during our candlelit dinner. My eyes shot to the corner where I heard the noise, my heart started beating double-time, and I am sure a look of sheer terror was on my face. Nails raced around in the metal cupboards, behind the stove, I don’t really know where the sound was coming from– it seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once. After a few minutes of panic, I asked my sister, really casually and calmly I’m sure, “What’s that noise?” She and her sister-in-law replied (actually casually), “Oh that’s just the rats.” Of course, just rats.

Yet, I still dare to hope…

I am thrilled to present a beautifully heartfelt blog written by my dear friend Cassandra Torres Mason. This woman radiates beauty and shows God’s love in every situation she’s in. She has brought so much joy, laughter, and love into my life. Plus she’s from Mexico and writes and speaks English better than me. I’m proud to call her my sister in Christ, and blessed to call her my friend.

“Be on guard. Stand firm in the faith. Be courageous. Be strong. And do everything with love.” (1 Corinthians 16:13, 14 NLT)

Before coming home I made myself think that even though things were going to be different, life was going to be great, as great as the God I live for.
I’ve been home for almost two months and I’m surprised to realize life isn’t as great or easy as I thought it would be. I knew things were going to change, and I knew I was going to change, but he problem is not that I wasn’t prepared for this, it’s that I forgot that the one that was going to prepare me the best, wasn’t me.

I’ve failed so much, in so many ways. Some days, it’s like my little adventure, instead of changing my heart for the better, has done the complete opposite thing. But again, I forgot to remember that Africa wasn’t what was going to transform my life, God was.

I miss so much- so so much. I miss being in contact with nature, day and night. I miss being able to see God and his presence EVERYWHERE. I miss my friends… those girls and that boy that became my adventure pals and much more than a family in Christ, people that had so much in common with me that could listen and understand, or at least try. I miss time… Yeah, days were slow and a little worry less. I miss loving on people as my “job” and as my target of the day, and how easy it was to love strangers no matter what. I miss becoming part of people’s lives and how they treated me as one of them; Stephen and Magda’s family care and example, Vian, Arina, and Annari’s unconditional love to an stranger (that stranger was me), being called “mana Sandra” by Luisa Torres’s family every hot morning and being honored with their attention (including having to eat a just killed hen… which was delicious), and the long walks (more like extreme hikes) with the Kula family (I will never forget having to watch Chuck Norris in Spanish and having the best Thanksgiving Day dinner with only rice, ketchup and of course, Coke).
I miss dreaming big, laughing hard, enjoying life and being able to realize how crazy it was, every moment. Of course it wasn’t easy… it wasn’t easy at all, but God’s grace and love seemed so much easier to embrace… who would say? Differences turned out to be what connected things in a greater way.

After thinking in all of this I see myself not just weak but ungrateful of what I lived, one of the greatest blessings I could ever imagine. And I realize that all those things did not stay in Africa. Yes, home was there, but actually, home is wherever God wants me to be. Living for Jesus is home. That’s were my heart needs to be. There is where I want to be. All the things God taught me, especially about love (oh, this word is so much more fantastic than I ever imagined) have to become real wherever I go.

Without doubt I am a different person. God did use Africa to transform my heart and my dreams, but my job now is to let him do that wherever I am. I must let myself love others as He has loved me, let myself dream big, and let myself learn how to be connected with God, without needing anything. I need to learn to wait on Him just as He taught me, and just remember that when I feel lonely, turning my eyes to my Father feels even greater (just as that time when the plane left me in Maputo…)
I am at home now; I am where He wants me to be. He has called me to be joyful and give thanks, because after all, this crazy life IS crazy, and God’s plans are, too. What seems impossible (like going to Africa), He makes it possible.
Doesn’t matter the place, the time, or the position of our hearts, we just need to say: “Here I am, send me”, and enjoy the ride.

——- —— ——–

God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble. So we will not fear when earthquakes come and the mountains crumble into the sea. (Psalms 46:1, 2 NLT)

Psalms 126:1-6 NLT
I Corinthians 15:57, 58 NLT
Isaiah 6:8 NLT

Peace has been stripped away, and I have forgotten what prosperity is. I cry out, “My splendor is gone! Everything I had hoped for from the Lord is lost!” The thought of my suffering and homelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!” The Lord is good to those who depend on him, to those who search for him. So it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the Lord. And it is good for people to submit at an early age to the yoke of his discipline: Let them sit alone in silence beneath the Lord ’s demands. Let them lie face down in the dust, for there may be hope at last. Let them turn the other cheek to those who strike them and accept the insults of their enemies. For no one is abandoned by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he also shows compassion because of the greatness of his unfailing love. (Lamentations 3:17-32 NLT)

Here for You

I’ve started this blog a million times in my head… but somehow I’ve never actually made it to this page. I’ve laughed, cried, ranted, and gone on and on about my trip… but there’s still a part of me that can’t even comprehend that it really happened. How is it possible that two months ago I was still in Africa, nowhere near ready to say goodbye?  It honestly feels like a dream.

Now I see posts from a new team just beginning their journey in the Caribbean and I am unspeakably envious of them. While my trip is bonded in a dream-like past, their trip is so real and so present. I’m jealous because I know their lives will change in ways they don’t understand. Their hearts will fill with love for people they never thought they’d know, and break for stories that seem unable to be true. They’ll meet with God and experience His goodness in such a big way, and will reach for Him during times of genuine need and struggle. I know, without a doubt, that they will cry, will laugh, will ache for home, will hate what they see, will love what they see, and will worship through it all. And I am jealous.

I’m jealous because I see myself already becoming comfortable in this culture again. I want more, I want bigger, I want better. I wish I could be back in the place where I challenged those desires. I wish I was in the place where my heart swelled, my smile expanded, and my joy increased daily. I long to be with the people who really, I mean really, understood what I was experiencing and who really had hearts and passions that aligned with mine. But with every ounce of me that fights my fate right now, God pushes back with twice the force of “You are here now. Meet me here.”

I could spend the rest of the semester, the year, my life (who knows, right?) yearning for the past. I could count down the days until I have the chance to go back. I could look at the world and the people around me and look at all the things that are different, are hard, are not Africa…

Or I could meet with God where I am now.

I could challenge the thought that my life isn’t as important here, because if I let God control my days, they’ll all be important. (Please don’t read that as an excuse to live the American Dream out wholeheartedly, and please don’t see that as my own excuse to be comfortable. I am confident that God calls us to live uncomfortably at times, maybe all the time.) I can take who I am, where I am and give it to God. Still. Even in America.

Here is what I know: That right now I am a college student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. That the previous sentence will probably only be true for the next year and a half. That I live with 5 wonderful women who pour love and fun into my life and that is a gift. That God is just as present in my life here as He was in Africa. That when I’m feeling the weight of that 8,700(ish) mile distance, that’s me not leaning on God for support through this change. That I’m going to struggle with this for a while. And that Satan flourishes when I become comfortable and when I doubt what I can do and what God can do through me.

So here’s what I must do. I must love my neighbor, whether that’s the guy who rides his bike brings me cana (sugar cane) in Mocuba, or college students on Brooks Street. I must share my heart, whether that’s with new friends in Lesotho, or new and old friends in Madison. I must seek God’s goodness, whether that’s while seeing the lingering effects of Apartheid in South Africa, or while writing a paper for Experimental Psychology (not that the two are at all comparable, but trust me, neither of them are pretty). I must live and hope in the glory of God, here, there, and everywhere in between. And that, my dear friends, is the most challengingly beautiful thing.

I want to write more about my trip for you. I want to share some of my teammates’ pictures if you haven’t seen them, I want to tell you more about why it’s hard to be back. So keep an eye out! And if you’re a young adult and have liked anything I’ve said ever at all, have thought “Wow, I’d love to do that” when hearing any of my stories, or want three – six months to build up an incredible Chaco’s tan, check out Immersion trips coming up in the future. Yep, shameless plug. Just trust me, you won’t regret it.  

Faith in the Field

Much to the chagrin of stereotypes everywhere about mid-westerners, I can’t remember ever stepping foot on a crop farm. Farming has always bored me, and I maintained a mindset that farming was outdated, unimportant, and entirely irrelevant to my life. Sure, I’d be more likely to pick up the “Farm Fresh” produce at my convenient neighborhood grocery store, but that was as close as I’d get to actually caring about farming.

But in Africa, farming is livelihood. For a vast majority of the continent, without planting, growing, and harvesting your own food, your family will not eat. Although there are grocery stores in most major cities, the people in Lesotho still rely heavily on their small family farms.

The colonization of Lesotho brought people and missionaries dying to help a group of poor, starving Africans. The answer to their “problem” of lack of food was a simple piece of technology: the plow. An easier, faster, more efficient way to farm which would lead to more food for the people. I have no doubt that the intentions of these people long ago were pure and stemmed from a good heart. Who knows, maybe bringing the plow to Lesotho saved the country for a time being. But now, the ground is literally falling apart from erosion because the land has been plowed for so many years. Every time it rains, good soil is washed away and the scars in the land get deeper. Don’t get me wrong, the effects from the erosion create beautiful trenches to contrast the awesome mountains… but my smarter friends tell me this kind of landscape is very, very bad.

The soil is rock hard, dry, and unusable in many places. Though the country has probably moved forward in farming technology in the past hundred years, the land is moving backwards. There is a desperate need for change.

Growing Nations is seeking to bring that change. I am so excited about partnering with this organization because their vision is big, but their methods are simple. So simple, in fact, that even I can understand them (Yes, mom and dad, you should be proud)! Their approach to farming is Biblical, using a technique called Farming God’s Way. The project is focused on teaching local farmers to step away from the methods they’ve been taught, and start using a more simple, organic, conservation-minded way of farming. The results are incredible.

Here’s where the folks at home might have a heart attack… when I heard and saw the results, I found myself accidentally getting excited about farming. It’s just so cool! Anyway, farmers that adopt the Farming God’s Way method see their fields produce tenfold what they did in previous years. Even during years of drought or too much rain, the fields are still successful.

The idea is simple: look to nature and model farming after creation, which is God’s farm. Instead of using a plow, they teach people to use hoes (something you’ll find in every home) and to disturb the soil as little as possible. In a forest, you will see trees and plants flourishing, even though the soil is untouched by human hands. When we think about who controls the forests growth, it makes sense. Since God is in control of the soil, everything is in perfect balance. We’ve been tricked into thinking that we can somehow make what is already working even better… but it’s completely unnecessary. Other principles that come into play are using a cover for the soil (that can be old maize stocks, fallen leaves, pulled weeds, really any plant material) in order to lock in nutrients and moisture, and wasting as little as possible. Minimal wastage in one instance means not covering an entire field with fertilizer, but rather putting fertilizer in each individual hole. Although it might seem tedious and time consuming, it ensures that fertilizer gets to each plant and eliminates waste. By just using these 3 principles, a farm is changed. After a year or two, the soil is darker and holds more moisture, which results in crops growing even better. It is honestly incredible.

But what has caused the most excitement for me from learning about all this farming stuff is my new view of creation. Yes, I’ve always loved oceans and mountains and stars and all that jazz. They’re beautiful and big and incredible. But getting on my hands and knees and digging through the dirt has made me appreciate the small. The dirt that now covers every piece of clothing I own, the bugs crawling around the plants, the blades of grass just barely peeking out of the soil… they are beautiful and precious and intricately designed by God.

There’s a song by Gungor that I love even more now. It’s called “The Earth is Yours” (Listen to it. Right now!) and the chorus just says “Holy, holy, holy, holy Lord! The Earth is Yours and singing.” I love thinking of the Earth singing and crying out to God. I love that as a seed is planted, God knows exactly when it will crack and the very moment that it will break through the surface of the soil. I love to think that as the trees grow they are singing out to God and worshiping Him.

And of course, I can’t just think about creation crying out without thinking of whales singing (thank you to Louie Giglio for that one), or birds chirping, or the sheepbaa-ing. I can’t help but think of Romans 8:22-23 which says, “For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.” Creation is crying out, longing to be reunited with God! The world spins as it should because of his word.

Paul describes our nature as having the same desire, to be reunited with God and to be adopted as his sons. I feel myself crying to God more and more the closer I am to His creation. I see the mountains, and I tremble to think that there’s a God bigger than that who cares about me. I look at the stars, and I fail to comprehend how a God who’s fingers could dust such beauty across the sky would choose me to be his daughter. Then I see myself, created in the image of Christ, and all I can think is someday, I will be reunited with him. And that is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in all of Africa.

I Once Was Lost…

I’ve been hit with an unfortunate rediscovery about myself on this trip: I’m really good at losing things.

Little things, big things… important and unimportant things; I have the uncanny ability to misplace them. On this trip it’s been a pair of sunglasses, a skirt, a sleeping bag, a comb, and most recently and most tragically (maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but hey, it’s still fresh) my camera. My newly purchased, cause of intense paranoia during travel, the one thing I absolutely could NOT let myself lose, camera. The biggest financial investment I’ve ever made completely on my own, and the only tangible form of memory I have from this trip… And I left it on the last stinkin’ van we took to get from Mozambique to South Africa. Oy vey.

In prayer, I told God it was OK that it was lost… so long as I got it back, I acknowledged that He and only He could both use this to further His Kingdom AND miraculously return my camera to me. No, I told myself, I’m not putting a stupid physical possession above God. I just want my camera. I want to show my friends and family the new families I’ve grown to love. I want to show off my favorite little girls from Mozambique. I want a sweet new profile picture for Facebook. Those aren’t bad, right? But, for reasons I still don’t understand… God has different plans.

One of the first things we were told about Africa in training is that the culture is very animistic, meaning it focuses largely on the spiritual. In Mozambique, I discovered this meant that even the few physical possessions they have aren’t really taken care of. If a page from their sole book was ripped, no one cared. Stuff just wasn’t important. You might not be completely surprised to hear that the Western world places a much higher emphasis on the physical. But I would have never said that about myself.

No, I’d tell myself, I’m a Christian. I know all about the spiritual world and warfare and that there’s a battle for my soul, but it’s all good because Jesus already won. I go to church and I pray. I feel the Holy Spirit move me when I worship. I am a spiritual being… But unless there was a physical change from my prayers, I didn’t think they were working. Unless I felt some real feeling of happiness or deep conviction or something during worship, I’d tell myself I was in a funk or just having an off day. Yes, I may have recognized a spiritual element in my life, but I in no way let it be the focus of my walk with God or my life in general.

Before I go any further, I want to say that Africa’s vast focus on the spirit is not without flaw. It has lead to ancestral worship, rituals, and a lack of regard for the physical. As important as the spiritual side of life is, the physical cannot be ignored. Although we’ve been given the Holy Spirit as a helper, we were also given Jesus Christ in the flesh, God with us, who died a very real and physical death. We’ve been given a very physical world to inhabit until the glorious day when we’re reunited with Christ. We’re physical beings in a physical world with a spiritual purpose and a spiritual destiny. And so, we live in an awkward tension and tend to lean to one side or the other.

“You however are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. But if Christ is in you, although the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness.” (Romans 8:9-10)

Our flesh is broken. Our physical self is flawed. And some day, it’s going to fade away. Our houses will fade, our pictures will fade, even our relationships will fade. So this cumulation of stuff that we seem to be in an unending arms race to acquire is not the purpose for our lives. When we seek these things, put our value in them, and trust in them more than we trust in God, we’re missing the mark. I’m not an expert by any means, but I’d argue that this tension we live in stems from our forgetting who we really are, who we really belong to, and what our physical life is really about.

“Your sense of security must not rest in your possessions or in things going your way. I am training you to depend on Me alone, finding fulfillment in My Presence. This entails being satisfied with much or with little, accepting either as My will for the moment” -Jesus Calling, November 7

Yeah, needless to say that was a slap in the face. Who I am and who God is to me is not determined by what I have. I’ve been surrounded by people who are praising God amidst their impoverished environment, and yet somehow I still missed it. If my most fervent and frequent prayers are about some thing that will be important for the next 60 years at most, I’m missing the point. I’ve belittled God in thinking I can’t fully tell my story without my pictures. I keep saying “my story” as if I’ve had any control in anything that’s happened… and as if all that’s happened is for my own glory. I’ve been focusing on all the physical stuff I have or currently don’t have, and all the physical changes I’ve seen.

When we arrived in Africa, we were told that we were entering into a spiritual battle. Yet I clung to my comfortable, physical ways. I found security in myself, my fancy REI gear, my teammates, and if I really had to, I turned to God and asked Him to work on all those things I couldn’t see.

I don’t want you to read all of this and think, “Wow, Emily’s in Africa and she isn’t even walking with God.” Because I want you to know that my time here has made me depend on God in ways I never thought I would. I’ve felt a companionship with God that I never had before. I’ve seen the Bible come alive in ways that still blow my mind. My faith has grown so much and I am so thankful for that. But learning to view your life and your world as spiritual when you’ve been raised in a very physical culture is hard. I’ve spent the past 4 months just trying to understand the difference between the two and I still feel nowhere close to actually getting it. But from the little bits I’ve finally grasped, I think that God is now telling me, “It’s time to be radical, my daughter. It’s time to hear but not understand, so that you can put all your trust and hope in me. My plans are so much bigger and better than anything your one-tracked mind can understand, so let go of your own and seek me. You may not see it, but this is for your prosperity and my glory. You are no longer of the flesh, so stop clinging to it.”

And so, without understanding why, I am going to trust that I don’t have my camera for a reason. Right now, I’m letting go and giving it to God. I will continue praying about it, because I know God is able to work miracles and because I truly want to be able to show all of my family and friends the incredible people that I have met and the amazing places that I have seen throughout this journey. And I’ll also pray because I know I need to release all the bitterness still harbored in my heart. But whatever happens from here, God is good.

Life Lessons From Mozambique

There are so many things I want to tell you. I want to tell you all about my wonderful time in Lambert’s Bay, South Africa. I want you to hear stories about walking around with the home care workers, about Mariki, about my amazing host family, about the singing in the United Reform Church. But it’s been over a month since I’ve been there and I don’t know if I could do the stories justice anymore.

Likewise, there are so many things that have happened in Mozambique that I want to tell you about. I think I could have written a blog every day I’ve been here… explaining some funny, crazy, or surprising thing that happened. Mozambique is filled with the unexpected. I want to tell you all about my host granny and how comfortable she’s made me feel. I want to tell you about each of my brothers and sister and why I love each one of them differently. I want to describe the laugh of my favorite little girl, and tell you how she seems to always make my day. I want to tell you about how homesick I’ve felt, the struggles I’ve faced, and the times I’ve felt like giving up. But I think what I need to share most is what I’ve learned during my time here so far. It’s crazy to think there’s just over a week left in this country and then we’re on to Lesotho! So here they are, the good, bad, and downright crazy, Life Lessons From Mozambique:

1. Fresh papaya is downright the greatest thing on a hot day. Let me tell you, it has been H-O-T here! But the sound of a papaya being knocked to the ground by some ten year old neighbor creates heart palpitations I haven’t felt since the good ol’ days of the Ice Cream Man.
2. Let me preface this next one with a simple statement: “clean” is a very relative term. BUT that being said, I can now clean my entire body using 1.5 soup bowls full of water. I really just want to impress my mom and dad with that one J I think while I’m trying to convince my parents I’m a changed girl I should tell you all that I’ve been going to bed between 7:30 and 8:00 and waking up between 5:00 and 6:00. Yep. Emily Bostrom.
3. The word “avo” means so much more than grandma in Portuguese. It means provider, comforter, protector, friend… and it means that if you hear her calling your name, you drop whatever you’re doing and run to her.
4. Clean, flushing toilets with a seat are such an underrated luxury. On a side note, I am so sick of my little hole in the corner of a brick square, the floor of which is always covered in a liquid I can only describe as urine at best. Sorry for that guys, but I just had to get it out there.
5. Here, if you want to eat you must farm. Farming means getting up even earlier and walking (at times great distances) to the small patch of land you’ll use to support your family. Since it’s October, I was under the impression that we’d be harvesting soon. It just makes sense to a Midwesterner. But alas, it’s not. We hoed and hoed and hoed. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even know what a hoe was really used for before this. It sucks. Sometimes it means ripping up things that are already growing in order to prepare the soil (sand) to plant something new. It means hacking away at hardened ground to get to the good stuff underneath. Although it wasn’t my favorite moment thus far, I had a great God moment in the field. One of the reasons Mozambique has been such a challenge is that we’re just living with people. We spend all our time building relationships. That is an awesome thing to be doing, but it’s one without tangible results. So as I was in the field with my 73 year old grandmother,  I felt God just say to me, “Emily, this is not your season to reap. This is your time to work.” Someday, I think I’ll look back and see the purpose of my being here. Someday, I think missionaries will come to this community and be thankful for what we’ve done. Right now, I don’t get to see that. It’s not harvest time in Mozambique. It’s time to prepare the fields.
6. Taking care of the widows and the orphans makes so much sense. This one took my granny literally telling me, “We’re suffering here in Mozambique” to actually understand. They seem so happy, and when I’m staying with them there’s always food to eat. But my granny said to me, “We are suffering. My husband died a long time ago. Without a man here, there’s no work. Without work there’s no food. You have to farm if you want to eat.” That broke my heart. Widows and orphans are vulnerable. They need care and provision because they can’t provide for themselves. It’s not because they’re weak, it’s because society has been set up for them to fail on their own. We’re called to care for them. After 5 weeks of living with them, I finally understand why. They’re the outcasts of society, the downtrodden, the poor, and the unloved. We’re called to change that.
7. Finally, I just want to share one last little thing that God’s been teaching me. For a lot of this trip I’ve been nervous about the future. I’ve questioned school, my major, whether or not I want to do fulltime missions, where I want to live when I graduate… and I’ve just been stressed. I felt like I started this trip with a vague picture of what God had planned for my life. I felt certain passions and desires were leading me somewhere. But now I feel a lot like I’ve been searching and searching and questioning and just wandering in my future plans. Then I read some Deuteronomy. The Israelites wandered for 40 years while they knew the promise that was ahead of them. God had somewhat shown them their future, yet they had to wander before getting there. I’m sure at times they felt alone and abandoned by God. But the fact that they felt a certain way in no way diminished God’s character or changed His promise for them. I think sometimes God has us wander before we receive our promise. I think when we’re wandering we have to live in complete dependence on God. And I think that we wander so that when we see the real promise, when we get to a land so sweet, we know it’s the real deal and we’re grateful for what we have. When we get out of our wandering phase we know that God’s been holding our hand the whole time. “For the Lord your God has blessed you in all the work of your hands. He knows your going through this great wilderness. These forty years the Lord your God has been with you. You have lacked nothing.” –Deuteronomy 2:7. I think I’m in a slight wandering period right now. But, I don’t think that’s because God is changing His promises for me. I think right now, God’s just holding my hand.

Sorry it’s been long. I feel like there’s so much more I could say and so much more I want to say… but I want at least a few people to actually get through this whole thing J Keep the team in your prayers! We’ll need it as we’re finishing up here. Lots of love from Africa, missing you all quite terribly!