The Prophecy

One thing I loved about being on the trip were the times the team would sit outside after the kids returned to their dorm and just talk and pray. If we were sitting outside under the trees, someone was definitely going to prayed and prophecied over... usually led by McKade.

One night, this was exactly what happened. Everyone took their turns getting prayed over. Some people were prophecied that the hand of God was working through them, some got blessings, some got parts of their purpose (things they had not shared with anyone) confirmed through words the team spoke over them. It was amazing and beautiful all at the same time.

When it was my turn, McKade spoke some things over my future that I have treasured and held on to since then. However, after that, he was silent and said that God had me in Africa for a different purpose than the other team members. He said that God wanted to show me something about my identity and who I was in Christ. After that, he asked God to show the team why I was here. This was more of a general prayer, not one where he waited for an answer.

This word from the Lord has helped so much in making sense of what I learned and my experience in Africa. While on the trip, I struggled at times because I felt like I was a burden to the team or that they felt as if I was "less spiritual" than they because I was not having the experiences some of them were. Some were repeatedly brought to their knees in tears because of the suffering they saw. Some others were having God's spirit visibly poured out on them, one even spontaneously receiving the gift of tongues. And here I was... just chillin. Playing with the kids, not really contributing to conversations. Not because I did not understand or feel where they were coming from, I just had nothing to add.

McKade's prayer at the end summed up what I thought the team thought. Nothing malicious or judgmental, just wondering why I was there and what the Lord was doing in and through me.
Had McKade's prayer at the end not followed God's encouragement towards me, I definitely would have felt out of place and defeated.

The Lord definitely showed me things about my identity and who I am in Christ and even in this world that I could not have gotten anywhere else.

Coming to Mozambique, to Africa, solidified that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. His perfect creation. Those who know me know that my journey through my self-esteem has been a rocky one, filled with self-doubt and comparison. Over the past 4 years, it has changed considerably, but there were still some loose ends that needed to be affirmed.

I cannot adequately explain what it's like to come into a country where everyone looks like you and fully accepts you, even though you're from a completely different culture. To be a standard of beauty because of my brown skin. For my hair to not be an anomoly, but average. And for instant familiarity with a people I would otherwise be separated by through language and geography. My God, it was wonderful.

Something clicked into place at that time, and I have never doubted myself since. His works are wonderful, I know that full well.

The kids had an mp3 player given to them by a visitor, and they played this song constantly. At first I was bashful about claiming it, but now I sing it proudly.

African Queen - 2 Face Idibia

June 3, 2008 - Getting Settled

Today was a good day. It began with breakfast, I walked to the kitchen and on my way met Rosa, who told me I lied. I told her I would be at breakfast and I wasn’t. Rosa is an 8 year old here at the center, and she is also a superstar. Everyone knows her, and her social personality. Loving that she wanted took an interest in me, we went and god some bread and sat down with the other kids. Today, they served tea and milk (which also has sugar in it). It was ridiculously good and I don’t even like tea. I couldn’t finish it though because I don’t like sugary drinks (i.e hot chocolate).

After that, I attended children’s church. At about 10 am, after school, all the children fill into the kitchen/cafeteria for church. We walked in to a band playing loudly and the kids finding their seats. Pascoal, one of the guys who came to intern at the church for a few months, played drums. It was great, but really hard to pay attention since I didn’t understand word they were singing or saying. I left a little early to try to get a nap, but was unsuccessful. At lunch, they had rice with potato toppings an chicken feet… I just go the rice. Unlike yesterday’s meal, my family does not regularly eat chicken feet and potatoes. A few brave souls tried it, said it wasn’t that bad. But inevitably, they couldn’t finish it because it was foot.
Sandy, one of the ladies from Australia and Lisa and I sat and talked about what we couldn’t or wouldn’t eat on a mission trip. The other teams that are here, are awesome by the way. There’s one girl, Kat, from Pennsylvania who came by herself. The other team, crazily enough is made up of a group of people from San Angelo and Brownwood, cities that are like an hour away from Abilene. Isn’t’ that crazy? Out of everywhere in the world, these are the people who came also.

After lunch, I found some girls and hung out with them in their dorm. I loved how, no matter where you are little girls are still the same. They played with dolls and did each other’s hair. They play make believe and play games. For a minute, I lost my camera as they passed it and took pictures of each others. Al

Also, I loved seeing how African women also act black. I don’t know if that is offensive as I am not a sociologist or historian and do not read articles on race relations and political correctness, but they were definitely talking like some girls who lived on my block. Acting black does not mean stereotypical, ignorant behavior like the media portrays. It doesn’t mean they act “ghetto” either. (“Ghetto” is a discussion for another day.) What it means is their tone of voice, they way the talk, walk, stand, and joke with each other, guide the children, etc can be found exactly with black women in America. And these mannerisms I have not seen in any other ethnic groups. The only differences is that most of them do not have perms and wear capolanas or clothes that cover their knees. (The knee is the sexiest part of the body here). I just really liked this. I felt at home.

That feeling continued later that night when we went downtown to eat at Mimmo’s restaurant. Jimmy and Linda treated the whole team. Driving there, I looked at the homes. They look a lot like the homes you see on tv, caved in walls, trash all over the place, street lights not working… but I could see myself living there... here. I just really liked watching the people, and I felt like I could belong.

After we returned, we met in the visitor’s kitchen area to pray and dismissed. I just pray this at home feeling does not turn into apathy. This morning, I prayed, “Jesus, than k you for bringing me here. You obviously made away and wanted me to come. But I don’t know why I’m here, Lord. Show me your purpose.” IN this center, I forgot that I am on a mission that I’m here for God. I play with the kids and wonder shouldn’t I be doing something right now. I have not equated loving the kids with God’s work. Its’ just so natural and that it’s too easy.

And then I worry, if I did become a missionary, I would become apathetic. I would fight it so much that I would forget I was purposed there as a plight. I would love people in Jesus more silently, quietly, becoming a good person – never encouraging rebuking or loving truly in the name of Jesus. I would see people dying and not give them truth because I’m trying to be a good person and fit in… and I wonder when I fully set into this role.

Jesus, please break me out of this, Lord. I want to be used mightily for your purpose, tongue and all. Heart and all. Hands and all. Feet and all. Usher me back into your presence. I need you for my every moment, every day. I need you to love these children. I need you to love these specific children. I need you to remember their names! I need you to pour your Spirit ever more over them. Open my heart that I may receive.


I should’ve written about this on the first day of I was tired. I remember that the South African sunrise was the 1st thing that met us. I took a picture for my daddy. We then waited in the airport to get our tickets before flying to Mozambique. We were briefed to say everything in our bag cost nothing, none of it was new, and to speed by customs. A few people did get searched though. At the end, 4 bags were missing and we got 2 back on Tuesday night. (tonight) we then drove to the center and took in how horrible the driving is. Never can anyone talk about the city or even Mexican roads. In Mozambique, it’s first come, first serve. Meaning cars keep driving, unfazed at60 mph, into an intersection and with will sped around you. What makes it even more interesting is this happens on al sides. Two way lane roads can become one way if the cars decide. Anyways, we got into the center and made quick friends. I felt privileged because later that afternoon, the girls took me into their dorms. The girls are notoriously harder at first to let people in, so It was really meaningful. They showed me their gifts from Children’s day, and Rosa offered to braid my hair like here’s. Children’s day is like Christmas, but it comes in June. IT’s a national holiday and the kids get gifts and have parties all day. Then we had dinner and get this… it was rice, beans, and hamhocks. I dang near died. I couldn’t keep it to myself that we eat this all the time at home and was just proud that my ties to Africa were so clearly visible.

After dinner, we went to the Youth Service in the city. Its’ called Som de Ceu, Sound of Heave, and is an outreach to the street kids . IT’s held in an old theatre downtown. The theatre looked exactly like the Student Union theatre at UT except here were as little more leg space. The service was live. In Africa, they dance during worship and I felt so at home. Aly and I went tot the font of the sage, and at one point was doing something that could e considered to be the running man. WE both understand spa Spanish, so we were able to get a vague understanding of the Portuguese songs because of the lyrics on the screen. Needless say, we were sweating at the end.

IT was fantastic!

However, most of the team was sawing in their seat during the service. Many hadn’t gotten sleep in the 2 day airplane rise, so it was thought. Part of the worship included this guy named Paulo, who raped and did the hook in English. It was pretty cool.
Had I understood the words, I would’ve been able to share more about it, I just love how hip hop culture is everywhere. Love it! And I equate hip hop culture with Black American culture.

I just love how we influence each other. Love it!

June 10, 2008 - Som Do Ceu (Sound of Heaven)

This evening was Som Do Ceu, and I didn’t want to go. Last time was great, but I wasn’t feeling it because the translation was bad most of the time. However, the kids coming around and asking me to go. Then Josh came around and finally converted me to going. So I jumped on the truck this time, hanging in the back while driving through Maputo.

Let me just say that I LOVED riding in the back of the truck through the city. There’s nothing like watching everyone, the lights, the homes, the culture. The truck is where all the teens go, so it was interesting watch the boys and girls cuddle and flirt. I love how adolescence is the same no matter the culture or the language. I just bundled my jacket against the wind, smiled, and prayed for the Lord to open my heart to receive that evening.

The Lord did not disappoint. The speaker spoke about Gideon and him being a mighty warrior. He exhorted the crowd that no matter who they are, where they come from, or what they’ve done, that God has a purpose for them. This message hit right at home because the enemy had been telling me I wasn’t good enough spiritually and had nothing to add.


He really got me earlier that week when McKade prophesied over me. After he spoke, he prayed over everyone and during my prayer, he asked, “And Lord, please show us why Shena is here and what she is here to learn.” Immediately, I started to think how other people on the team were receiving tongues, learning about spiritual gifts, and receiving healing in all of these amazing ways. Though many of those things I had known about or experienced, I was not sharing in the newness with the rest of the team. My usual fears of rejection and abandonment swept in and I felt I was the abnormality on the team and wondered if I brought the team down spiritually. (This is another way the enemy gets me is to tell me I’m a hindrance to other people, that I bring them down in their walk, and that I’m a burden.)

Anyways, hearing that was a reminder that all those insecurities were a lie. I got on my knees and thanked the Lord for reminding me of his purpose for my life.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008 - The Prison Ministry and Street Children

Today, we went to on a trip with the street ministry into Maputo. Of all of things we’ve done so far, this one stretched me the most. The whole time in the van, my body was flushed with fear and insecurity. Two of the amazingly sweet and anointed Australian women came on the trip also, and were trying to talk to me, but I was too afraid to be polite. The plan was to go to the local jail and minister to the prisoner’s there and then go into the street. I had never done outright evangelism on city streets… or anywhere, actually. I felt as if I was about to jump from a high dive… and I don’t know how to swim!!!

I shared my concerns with the other women, and they tried to encourage me. They shared that they also had fears, and the Lord used them through their faults and failures. They spoke kind and honest words that went straight to my heart. I continued to pray and felt better all the way up to the time we got out of the car.

We entered the jail, a place that looked more like a city hall than a prison. We sat in the front and were instructed to not speak to anyone while of the older teens went to the back to talk to one of the jailers. After about 20 minutes, we were allowed to go visit the prisoners. We walked around the building with our large bag of bread and were told to wait outside one of the buildings. The building was concrete and had a parking lot in front. Again, much different than the prisons in America.

Two guards arrived and they opened the door. About 12 men poured out with their heads low, a few squinting our way out of their dark cell. I couldn’t see that well into it, but it appeared they all shared one large dark room with cots.

Manuel, one of the leaders of the street ministries and also one of the kids in the center, shared his testimony with the prisoners along with the gospel. One of the other teens translated for us. Afterwards, he asked if anyone would like to receive Christ. All of them except for a few raised their hands. They asked us to pray over each of them, and we all moved forward to lay hands.

While Manuel spoke, my eyes scanned each of the men and asked the Holy Spirit to give me discernment on what each of them needed. Some of the men looked eagerly to Manuel, soaking up all of his words and open to the forgiveness of God. Some others sat angrily, obviously feeling as if this was a waste of time. A few seemed confused not knowing what to think, and the rest were indifferent.

After we prayed, we distributed the bread and gave seconds to those who asked. I was a little disappointed because we left right after. Though I was scared, I was still looking forward to the opportunity to speak with the prisoners and listen to their stories. But a few minutes after they received their portion, we left to be with the street kids.

We traveled back to downtown Maputo were we stopped in front of a large multistory building. It was evening by this time, and we entered it to walk up a few flights of stairs until we made it to the roof. There were no lights inside, so I held onto the rail as we made our way up the stairs. Once there, we began an evening service for all the children who live on the street. They ranged from 5 year olds to older teens. We worshipped and the children danced and sang. With the guys leading it, they wouldn’t allow for people to just stand around but encouraged everyone to dance, sing, and shout to the Lord.
In between worship and people speaking, Manuel kept coming to me and asking me to speak. To these requests, I denied saying that I had nothing to talk about. He looked at me through the darkness and told me to tell him when I felt ready. I asked God what he would have me say and searched through my mind every sermon and moving Bible study I had completed looking for inspiration and found none.

Finally, I told God I could think of nothing and asked for help. (I like how that was the last thing I thought of.) He brought to mind my experience the previous evening and how he had touched me. I remember thinking how I didn’t want to share it because I did not think it would cause an emotional reaction. And of course I wanted an emotional reaction because then I would know that I did a good job and that they actually heard God. Checking my pride, I listened and decided to share that. I told Manuel, he smiled, and signaled to the other leader I would share.

After worship, we all sat while three of the street ministry leaders spoke. They each took turns speaking. One spoke in Portuguese while the others translated in the native dialect and English. I shared my testimony, which was not as bad as I thought it would be, and they came up and complimented me afterwards.

After the service, we all got in the car to leave and Kat was visibly upset. As we drove away, there was a group of children standing near the building. They could not have been more than 4 or 5 years old, and it was already late at night. Kat sobbed in the cab asking, “How can this happen? They’re just babies.” Manuel did his best to console her and explain how some have been kicked out because their parents can’t afford them and some choose to be out because it’s easier than being at home. And others chose to because there’s freedom being out on your own.

This did not help her that much, and we drove home listening to our thoughts and lifting the children up to God. I remember feeling sorrow for the children, but even more so for Kat. It appeared this was her first time to be face to face with injustice and discrimination among children and black people. I said a prayer for her and hoped that she would take that knowledge and use it to change lives. I prayed that her experience would be more than just a sad moment, but a life changing experience and that she would be used to bring about renewal to these children one way or another.

June 12, 2008 - Loving Ryan

I picked up Ryan again today. He came to be running with open arms. If I had been feeling hardened or stifled, he opened my heart with his laughter and smiles. I seriously sat and thought about dropping out of school to adopt Ryan. I’m planning on adopting as many children as I can later anyways, I thought. I guess I’ll just get started early. As I thought about how I would pay for his adoption fees and where we would live, I remembered Mozambique tends to not allow for international adoption. The odds decrease even more if there’s a hint of even the most distant relative being alive.

Though it broke my hear to think about how I would be leaving this precious little boy halfway around the world, it made me very eager for the season of my life where I could adopt. Being there just reaffirmed that my ultimate mission is to foster/adopt children in the states.

Returning to America

When visitors leave the center, they have them sit in the middle of the fellowship hall while all the children go up and lay hands on them and bless them. Unfortunately, some of us missed that because we went to the bush that weekend and left soon afterwards. Sharon, our hospitiality missionary, apologized. She had planned to have us prayed over and blessed early, but forgot.

We still got to say our goodbyes though, the evening before. It was fun, sitting outside with the kids laughing and joking. It did not feel like forever, and I wanted to tell them I'd be back next year. Kote, one of the older boys, stopped me as a I was saying so. He told me not to promise because sometimes it does not happen. He just said try.

To date, I still feel a bit guilty for not crying as much as some of the other team members when they left. I think I was one of the few, if not the only one, who could talk about the center without tearing up and having to stop. I wondered if I had lost my gift of mercy. I used to cry and mourn simply at the hearing of a death on the news. Now, I was able to walk away from all these little children I had held for two weeks without sobbing. Was my heart hardened?!

Looking back, I know it was because I was focusing on the positive memories and the joy we had experienced. I can say I did not get as attached as some of the other missionaries, but I also know that my purpose there was different. Should I return again, I do not know if I could escape the tears.

The Spirit of America
On the plane ride back overseas, I felt the weight of America on me. Understand, I do not mean I remembered the list of things I had to do upon returning to Abilene or the stresses of American life in general. This was a physical, spiritual burden that fell upon me. It was one of strife and heaviness. It was overwhelming, and I remember looking around and thinking if anyone else felt that.

It was crazy to feel what I had known all along, that there was a spirit of America, and that it is not of God. It was great to have a physical confirmation of Ephesians 6:12 that speaks of the spiritual forces against which we fight. However, it made me sad that this is the spirit that is over our whole continent. That it is so overbearing and expansive that I felt it halfway across the Atlantic.

It encouraged me more than ever to stand on guard in my priorities and in my prayers for this country. And it made me sad that I was returning to it...

Little Girls

Though I cannot remember their names, I remember the faces of the little girls I held in my arms those last few days of the camp. I think I took for granted the profound impact my touch had on them, and they on me. There is one picture in particular that brings me immediately back to the shelter, and I have her in my arms again and can feel her gentle touch, the way she held me as if she never wanted to let me go, and they sweet way she looked into my eyes.

I think I was afraid to get too close to her. I knew I would be leaving her soon. But more than her safety, I feel I was afraid to become too attached and dependent on this little girl. Other children needed me! Other little girls and boys exclaimed when they saw me! I had to spread my time around. This was a convenient excuse to not dig deeper. Maybe this was the reason why I did not cry when I left. Maybe this is the reason why I tear up now.