It Happened One Summer

It Happened One Summer
Thursday, July 1, 2021 by Terri R. Miller

On a sunny June day, my husband and I stepped off a plane into a land of red dust, thatched huts, and vibrant colors. We’d left summer behind and arrived in winter. Temperatures were in the low seventies and high eighties. Some of the locals wore light jackets. There were babies wrapped in warm blankets. All around us people spoke in an unknown tongue. We were in Pemba, Mozambique.

During our time in Pemba, we did several outreaches. One was for widows in a nearby village. For this, our large group was divided up into smaller teams of five or six missionaries and an interpreter. Each group was then paired with a widow. We were introduced to Zinnia who had two daughters in tow. Natalia, roughly sixteen years old, and baby Sabina. Zinnia led the way from the ministry compound to her little village.

Her home was a mud hut situated at the back corner of a plot of land sectioned off by a bamboo fence. A wooden bed made with woven straw was pulled into the shade of the fencing for us to rest on. We made awkward conversation through our interpreter as a gang of small children surrounded us. We laughed and played with them for a bit then left to go to the market.

With no grid for where we were or where we were going, I had no sense of the distance we’d travelled. After what seemed like several miles, the market came into view. A giant cluster of booths where you could buy anything from food to phone cards. Our purchases consisted of large bags of beans and rice, a very large container of cooking oil, and a live chicken.

Paying with Mozambiquan currency felt like handing over Monopoly money. I couldn’t make a connection on-the-fly between its value and our American dollars. I became distracted with thoughts of how much we were spending. How did we know we weren’t paying two or three times what these items were worth? Were we being taken advantage of?

Once we’d finished with the food purchases, I had assumed we would leave. I was wrong. We were pulled into a maze of booths closed in and sectioned off by cardboard and clothing hung from makeshift clotheslines. Following Zinnia through the twists and turns, my husband and I became separated from the group. The air was hot and stale. We couldn’t communicate with anyone, not even Zinnia who was on a mission to find the baby some shoes and a dress. The word ‘foreign’ had never been more real to me than it was at that moment.

For the first time since we’d arrived, I became fearful. We were in a part of the world where Boko Haram and ISIS were more than headline news. Were they lurking behind the eyes that watched me now? We trailed Zinnia’s every step. Each time she stopped to admire something we scanned the sea of faces for one that was familiar.

Eventually, we reconnected with the others and left the market unharmed and in one piece. As we picked our way back to Zinnia’s hut through trash-littered paths and across rickety footbridges, I wrestled with the fears and emotions I’d just experienced. Wasn’t I supposed to be Jesus to these people?

Natalia came alongside me and slipped her hand into mine. She smiled broadly as we strolled along swinging our hands back and forth between us. We walked like that for a little way then she dropped behind, and Zinnia took her place holding my hand in the same way. She began to sing a song in Makua and encouraged me to sing too. I fumbled the words but made my best effort. We walked and sang the rest of the way back to her house where our group left Zinnia and her family with enough supplies for a couple of weeks.

On the return to the compound, the gravity of their situation sunk in. A mud hut, a straw bed, a dirt floor, and a hole in the ground for a toilet. I understood for the first time what it meant to have nothing, and I felt ashamed of the fears I’d had earlier. I had come here to minister to them. Yet they had given me something far more valuable than the material things I’d given them.

I thought I had come to Africa to bring Jesus to the natives. What I found instead was that he was there waiting for me. When I was overwhelmed, he walked beside me. When I was afraid, he took my hand. When my heart ached with my own failure, he gave me a song to sing.

Terri R. Miller is an award-winning writer and an aspiring novelist. Her articles have been published in Reflections Christian Magazine and the anthology, Pandemic Moments. On her blog, Life is Moments, Terri writes about everyday moments that connect us to God, each other, and ourselves. Terri is President of the Columbus, Georgia chapter of Word Weavers International. She enjoys cooking, gardening, and bird watching. You can follow her blog at https://lifeismoments.blog/

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Comments

Daniel Miller From Alabama At 7/1/2021 9:18:02 PM

Awesome! ????

Sandra royster From Lafayette Ala At 7/1/2021 8:00:18 PM

Very well written and the message was clear and inspired. Makes you feel you were there. Left you with the knowledge that there are people who needs far greater than we can ever imagine. The need for the gospel is great no matter where we are.

Laura Fischer From Columbus, GA At 7/1/2021 7:19:45 PM

Loved this! A mission trip of a lifetime and memories forever.

Kriston From Alabama At 7/1/2021 6:56:53 PM

Felt as if I was there with you.

Pat Tiffany Morris From Iowa At 7/1/2021 4:33:04 PM

What a powerful lesson. We often have plans and think we know what God has in store for us. How marvelous you were able to see God's presence in such a powerful, life-changing fashion.

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