New name, new location, same mission!

Comfort for Swaziland is now "Comfort for Africa"

Check out the new blog at http://comfortforafrica.com

Use the links to the right to access the Comfort for Swaziland archives.

The Homecoming Meal

I have to confess, I haven't had a cheesesteak yet.

Usually toward the end of a mission trip, talk turns to what meal a team member is looking forward to when he or she gets back to the states.  Since we are mostly from the Philly area, the cheesesteak usually ranks high on the list.

I have already confessed my craving for Heinz Ketchup, and I have had quite a lot of it since returning to the US.  I don't remember everything I've eaten but I have it several of the foods I have craved while abroad.  But I distinctly remember my first five meals.

My first meal was an omelet and hash browns at the diner at JFK airport while I waited for the van to take me home.  My second meal was a pepperoni and anchovy pizza from my favorite local pizzeria.  My third was sushi with my wife, breaking the three-week drought of our "sushi night" tradition.  My fourth was a bacon-egg-and-cheese bagel from Dunkin' Donuts.  

My fifth was communion.

Taking communion this Sunday was especially significant for me.  For the past three weeks I have been in various churches that were essentially foreign to me, yet I felt a connection to the congregants there that surpasses culture and language.  I couldn't understand the words of most of the songs, but I could hear the joy, the sincerity, and the love.  I was able to worship alongside my Swazi, Zulu, and Shonga brothers and sisters with my heart, if not my tongue.  

But it was refreshing to be in my own home church.  To be able to sing along with the worship leader, who is also my good friend.  To be able to follow the sermon by my pastor without any translation.  And to participate in communion with my own congregation.

We did communion by intinction, which involves tearing a piece of bread off from the loaf and then dipping it into the grape juice, receiving both at the same time.  To facilitate this, two of our church elders and their wives stood at the front of the church and the congregants formed lines to come forward and partake.

I waited for one of the lines to shorten and made my way to that elder and his wife.  When it was my turn to partake, the connection between Africa and my home church was brought full circle.

"Mduduzi, the body of Christ, broken for you," said the elder's wife as she held out the bread for me.  She had used my African name.  Then, as I turned to her husband to dip into the cup, he said "Welcome home, the blood of Christ, shed for you."

That was the best homecoming meal I could have received.

Yearning for home

So I'm sitting here at a restaurant in the O.R. Tambo Airport in Johannesburg and feeling a little bit -- off.  Af first I thought it was loneliness.  But then I recognize the feeling or what it is.

I am homesick.

"Really?" I ask myself.  "NOW you get homesick?  Now, when you are only hours from leaving and one flight (a long one, but only one) from home?"

Yes, now.

Ok, so why now?

I love Africa.  I love being here.  People who hear me talk about my trips here have told me how obvious it is.  Not a day has gone by that I have not been surrounded by people who love me and who feel like family to me.

So why am I homesick?

Well, for starters, I think it's just that last hurdle to get over before getting home.  There is now nothing left for me do do except wait.  Business keeps me from being homesick.  Idleness gets me thinking of home.

I think the other factor is just the unfamiliarity of my surroundings.  America isn't necessarily better than Africa, but to me it is much more familiar.  As an example, take ketchup.

I love ketchup on my fries (uh, make that chips here).  And Pennsylvania's own Heinz Ketchup is by far the best.  But that's not what they have here.  When I ask for ketchup, they bring me "tomato sauce."  It looks like ketchup, but it is not ketchup.  Some of it is too sweet, some of it is strangely spiced, some of it is runny.  I think I have had 5 different varieties and not one of them was, well, KETCHUP. 

Another example is the currency.  Keeping track of the exchange rates, and  having four different currencies(and never, it seems, the coin I need).

Little things like that. 

I think that, fundamentally, I yearn for that familiar place that is home.  It is a shadow of the yearning for heaven.

The apostle Paul put it this way in 2 Corinthians 5:1-2

"For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling" (ESV)

We long to leave our temporary tent and be in our permanent home. 

Much Fruit

On Tuesday I met the pastor of a local church in Macia, and he invited me to speak at his church on Wednesday evening.  My interpreter Milton was pressing on me the need for a fiery evangelistic message, but when we entered the church I immediately discerned that this congregation was full of devout believers. They needed a message of encouragement.  So I switched gears and preached on one of my favorite passages: John 15.

Jesus is the vine, we are the branches.  Some branches bear no fruit, and are cut off and burned.  Some branches bear some fruit, but could be more fruitful if properly pruned.  I spent most of my time encouraging the congregation to delight in the pruning of God the Gardener, who removes the dead weight from our lives so we can bear more fruit.

I also stressed that Jesus said "as the Father loved me, so I have loved you."  I encouraged them, and I encourage you, to find peace and strength in the knowledge of God's inexhaustible love.

At the end of the message, I gave an altar call.  As I expected, no one came forward to receive Christ as savior. But when I invited them to come forward to pray for God's pruning, that their lives would be more fruitful, over half the church responded.

"This is to my Father's glory: that you bear much fruit."

Photos:
1) me with the pastor and first lady of the church, also my interpreter Milton and my son Mancoba

2) praying for the congregants

And now ... the long layover

So here are some pictures of the King Mswati III international airport that I described in a previous post.  As you can see, the plane that I flew in from Sikhuphe, Swaziland to Johannesburg, South Africa is a small one.  It seats about 30 people.  The cabin has three people in each row, two window seats, one aisle seat, and an aisle running between.  I sat on the side that has only one seat. 

When I chose my flight, I took into consideration the possibility of delay and my anticipated need to pick up my baggage in Joburg and clear customs before continuing on my flight.  It turns out I didn't need to take that into consideration.  My baggage was checked clear through to New York City.  All I need to do is walk myself through the terminal. 

My flight from Swaziland will arrive around 12:30 and my flight to New York will not leave until about 8:30 pm tonight so I will be re-creating a day in the life of Tom Hanks in the movie "The Terminal."  But I have books to read, I will have internet access, and the international terminal in Joburg boasts some really nice places to eat, so please pray that I use the time well.

Also, if you are my facebook friend, feel free to call me via messenger.  I won't mind hearing from home. 

-Michael

Addendum:  after we had boarded at the gate, some very well dressed VIP's boarded.  Two of them were arrayed in traditional Swazi dress.  One of them strongly resembled the King's daughter who was featured in the documentary "Without the King."  I couldn't be certain because she's older now but I'm pretty sure.  When caught her eye, she seemed to acknowledge my recogniition, after the fashion of someone who is used to being recognized. I probably won't ever know for sure.

-M

A parenting milestone

If you're a parent, your kids hit you up for money. Whether it's for candy, a prom dress, or cheese fries and a corn dog, at some point your children will ask you to open up your waller to meet some real or perceived need.

So I wasn't surprised when Mancoba, my Swazi son, asked me for 100 rand. But it's too good a story not to tell:

You see, yesterday we got caught in a speed trap. We were caught dead to rights. The traffic slowed down entering a town and the police were there waiting for us. They indicated for Mancoba pull over and we waited to hear what the damage would be. They asked to see his license and told him to step out of the car. I don't know what they said after that but the next thing I knew he came over to me and said "dad can I have a hundred Rand, I need to bribe the cop."

About 30 seconds and one Nelson Mandela note later we were on our way. It's sad that police corruption here is like paying a toll to cross a bridge in the USA, not a scandal but just a routine expense.

A visit to the preschool

It is about a 45 minute drive from Macia, where I am staying, to the village of Licilo, where One Heart Africa has a preschool.  Mancoba and I have picked up two passengers, Milton, who works at the preschool, and Julia, who is a teacher at a school near the preschool. While we drive Milton gives Julia some lessons in English.  Her pronunciation is excellent but her vocabulary is limited. I encourage her that she is on her way to fluency.

When we arrive at the school, before we even enter the gate, the children are clamoring near the fence in anticipation.  I hear them saying "Mancoba, Mancoba" and as we get out of the pickup we are greeted like rock stars.  He is the celebrity, I am more of a curiosity.  As typically happens, the children gather around me and are fascinated with my light skin, the hair on my arms, and my beard.  Dozens of kids stand around me smiling and rubbing their hands up and down my arms.  I would have taken a photo but it would have ruined the moment. 

I was introduced to the three teachers at the preschool: Judith, Genesia, and Sadalia.  Each one is responsible for a different age level: three, four, or five years old. They show me their classrooms and their attendance records. I tell them I'm on an errand from one heart Africa to photograph some of the students for the website, so they can receive sponsorship from American donors. As we go over the list of names I learned of a tragedy. One of the students only 3 years old has died. The news is heartbreaking, especially for Mancoba. We have no time to grieve properly, because there are still over 60 students at the school that need our attention. It's not until suppertime that we actually express our mutual grief.

After the children are dismissed the staff Gather in one of the classrooms and I realize that there will be a short program before lunch, and I'm the guest speaker. I must quickly decide what I'm going to say. The choice is not hard.

Matthew 19 verses 13 through 15. "Then were brought unto him little children: that he should put his hands on them and pray, and the disciples rebuked them. But Jesus said, suffer the little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me. For of such is the kingdom of heaven. And he laid his hands on them, and departed thence."

Some people scorn children as less important, and by extension scorn those who work with children. But I encouraged the teachers and the staff that children have a special place in the heart of Christ, and that their work was a blessing to him.

While I was talking  and trying to encourage  the staff  another verse came to my head.  I didn't know the exact reference at the time  but I looked it up later.  It's Matthew 25:21 "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." It wasn't until I had finished and sat down that I noticed behind me while i was speaking was display on the front wall: a cross with some bulletin board cutouts that said "well done."

There are no coincidences.