schMORGANsborg

I think it’s time I let you all in on a little secret of mine. I’m not from here. I’m from outer space.

Ok, not really, but there was a time in my life when I actually believed that was true. And it wasn’t because I was a weird kid who dreamt about flying around in space ships. It was because my loving older brother told me that I was an alien.

I’m sure if you have an older sibling they probably told you at one point or another that you were adopted (back me up here McCall). Well my brother just took it to the next level. He told me that my mom and dad weren’t really my mom and dad. He said that there was a portal to outer space in the back of  his closet. He even pulled back the clothes to reveal a blank wall that magically transformed into a threshold to another world. And I bought it. Hook, line and sinker. He told me that one day an alien mom and dad came through the portal and climbed out of his closet and dropped me off. He never really clarified why my alien mamma and daddy didn’t want me. Or how he went about explaining my presence to my current mom and dad, but it didn’t matter. I believed every word he told me.   

Eventually I realized that he was full of crap and that I was, indeed, my mother and father’s child. I won’t tell you how long it took me to realize that, but I did realize it. Years later when he went off to college I moved into his old room because it was bigger. I wish I could tell you that the first night I slept in that room was a pleasant one. But I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t check out the "portal" in the back of my new closet at least 3 times.

Now that I’m a grown woman and real smart I don’t worry about portals to outer space anymore. Then again….every once in a while…when I least expect it…in some random situation…I’ll find myself thinking…."It’s ok, Morgan. You aint from around here."

Africa from the one who lives it everyday.

calling something part one infers that there will be a part two soon to follow. Sorry ’bout that.  Ok, so where did we leave off….oh yeah…I wanted to take them all home with me.

As the week went on we got to learn more and more about the boys and their individual stories. We realized pretty quickly that the vast majority of the boys were living on the street by their own choice. Generally speaking these boys weren’t orphans and their parents hadn’t thrown them out of the home. Most of them left home on their own accord to came to live in the city. At first it was difficult to understand why they would willing choose a life of sleeping on the street and begging over a life with their families. For the younger ones it’s actually a pretty easy choice, though. They’re cute, therefore, people feel sorry for them and give them money. The older boys can make money by guarding cars or doing things like that. Whatever their initial motivation for coming out there is, I think the reason they stay out there is the illusion of freedom. A lot of them leave home simply because they don’t want to obey their parents. On the street they don’t have anyone to answer to. There is a bit of a hierarchy, with the older boys being at the top and the younger boys at the bottom, but generally speaking they do whatever they want to do. 

By the end of the week my perspective had definitely shifted. My heart still broke for them but for a different reason. I didn’t feel sorry for them because of the immense poverty that they were living in. I no longer wanted to take them out of their world and bring them to my "better" world. My heart ached for them not because they were so much worse off than the boys in America…it ached for them because they were exactly like the boys in America. These boys longed to be men. They desperately wanted to be the men that their souls told them they were created to be, but they have no one to show them how to do that. And so they do what they think real men do. They act tough…they beat each other up…they choose a life on the street rather than have anyone telling them what to do.  

But there is hope. And I promise I’ll continue with that soon. I want to show you some pictures before this post gets too long, though. Don’t you want to meet some of the boys? I thought so:)  

Here’s some of the boys being silly…don’t let the last pic fool you…that’s Felix and he’s a softy:)  

Not even gonna lie…this kid was mean as a snake.

See.

Here’s Felix trying to be tough again…and please notice Nelson and I giving each other the stink eye in the background.

This is Nelson that I mentioned above. He’ll play you like a fiddle if you let him:)

I love these boys. Pray that they would know how great the love is that their Father has for them. 

Lots more pics to come…soon…maybe:)

I’m just gonna break this down and give you the facts. It’s difficult to articulate the experience of being in a third world country so I’ll just give you the itinerary and we’ll go from there. And I know this is turbo late…sorry bout it. 

Day One: (well, day one after a day and a half of traveling) 

We get up and go to Masana (the center where Sarah works with the kids who live on the street). We meet the boys. They usually wash their clothes when they first get there so they were busy doing that. Some of them just stare at the crazy Malungos (white people:)) and some of them run right up to us and start shaking our hands and talking away to us. Of course we have no clue what they’re saying. The national language of Mozambique is Portuguese, but most of the kids also spoke Shongon (no idea how to spell that) which is a dialect that is spoken in the villages. Unfortunately I don’t speak either of those languages so I just smile at them….what else can I do:) Truthfully it is SO frustrating to not be able to communicate with them. I want so much to hear every little thing that want to tell me about themselves, but I guess that’s just part of it.

After a few minutes we head back to the kitchen to help get breakfast ready to serve. They eat the same thing every day…bread with butter on it and hot tea. Mama Julia does all the cooking for Masana and she also makes these things called Bajeas (again, no idea how to spell that). They’re basically like a fried bean dumpling. And let me just tell you…those jokers are delish! The boys can buy those from her in the morning, but she gave us some for free every morning to put on our bread:)

Once everyone finished up eating breakfast we went to church. Which basically means that everyone gathers at one end of the room and Luis (the main teacher/worship leader/father/disciplinary/doer of pretty much everything) leads the boys in some songs. Most of them clap and sing along and have a good time. Some of the older boys are too cool for school, but they still join in occasionally:)

After church was over we walked down to a local school and played soccer on their court. Well the guys played soccer. I stood on the sideline and watched:) Those kids are serious about their soccer. Sarah and I ended up playing some other games with some of the smaller boys…they weren’t good enough to play on the soccer team either:) I learned a game they play with stones that’s similar to tic tac toe.

After a few hours we head back up to Masana to get ready for lunch. The boys have a chance to take a bath before we eat and it’s funny to see how similar we all really are. The little boys don’t like taking baths and have to be forced most of the time…as I suspect is the case in a lot of homes here:) After they clean up we have church again. Luis leads them in some more songs and this time he teaches a lesson at the end. After that lunch is served. Again, they eat pretty much the same thing everyday. Rice with some kind of meat and stew topping. When they get done eating they take their plates and cups back to the kitchen and then start to disperse. This process takes a while as most of them hang out for a good bit before they end up leaving.

Once all the boys are gone we hang out for a bit while we wait on 2 of the boys (Manuel and Nelson) from the orphanage that Sarah used to work at. They are going with us for the afternoon to translate into Shongon. Once everyone is there we all pile into the car and head out to a village just outside the city called Matola. Sarah, Manuel and Nelson go there every week and have children’s church with a lot of the kids in the village. I actually got the chance to teach the lesson on that day which was exciting. It’s always interesting speaking through a translator so who knows what I actually ended up saying:) I brought some paper and glue and popsicle sticks for them to do a craft…which is so American VBS of me:) They seemed to like it though. Even the adults wanted to take part. After we finished up with the craft everyone headed down to the beach and all the kids jumped in the ocean. It was actually really windy and pretty cool down by the water so I was not about to get in. A little girl handed me her baby brother for a minute. I thought she wanted me to hold him so she could go play in the water, but she just hung out beside me for a bit. He started to get fussy and she took him back from me. I guess her arms just needed a break:)  

Once we left Matola we all went out to eat…at a Thai restaurant of all places! It was good and Manuel and Nelson loved it. They had never had Thai food before. They ate their food plus everyone’s leftovers plus dessert:) It was hilarious to watch them. When we were done eating we dropped the boys off and headed back to Sarah’s apartment. When we were almost there she mentioned that we were about to pass by the spot where a lot of the boys from the center sleep. We decided to stop and hang out with them for a bit. 

When we walked up they were so welcoming…offering us seats on cans or mats or whatever they had to sit on. This was definitely a defining moment for me. I knew in my head that these kids slept on the street every night, but here I was face to face with it. As we sat there I watched one of the boys using the top of a soup can to slice onions and tomatoes to make a stew for dinner. As I looked around at them my initial reaction was, "That’s it…I’m taking every one of these kids home with me right now!" as the week went on my perspective would change quite a bit…but I’ll save that for another post:)   

At Matola getting ready to start children’s church.

Hanging out with Juma…one of the boys from the street:) He likes macs too:)

You may or may not know that my mom got really sick about a month ago. I’ll spare you the details…mostly because my mom gets on to me when I tell everyone her business:)…but suffice it to say things got pretty scary for a while there. The following is a small selection from a very long list of things I learned through the whole experience.

1. Unlike most people stress doesn’t make me stop eating and sleeping. It actually has the opposite effect on me.  
2. Any delusions I had of independence are…well…delusions. I’ll go ahead and admit that a lot of my thoughts for those two weeks were about how I couldn’t get by without my mom…about how I needed her…for stupid things…like telling me how to get a stain out of a shirt.  
3. The comforts of this life have a far stronger hold on me than I ever realized.  
4. I don’t want to love my Mom-or anything else-more than I love the will of God. That’s a hard one to swallow.
5. Life is truly a vapor.
6. We cling to the strangest things in the face of tragedy.
7. God doesn’t stop being good just because "bad" things happen.
8. Then again, theology has a tendency to fly out the window in the face of death.
9. I’m really glad my bff decided to be a nurse, but even more glad that she can still sit and cry with me when the occasion calls for it.
10. ER, Grey’s Anatomy, General Hospital, etc….they’re all full of crap. Two weeks in the hospital and I saw zero hot doctors. Notta one.

PS my mom is doing much better now:) If you talk to her don’t tell her I told you that was sick:)

you ate a lil red barn biscuit like I did this morning:)

I have a confession to make. I used to resent people who went to Africa. It seemed so cliché.  Like there was some unwritten rule that in order to be a good Christian you had to go to Africa…or at least want to go to Africa. Of course this was also when I had no inclination whatsoever towards any kind of mission work anywhere. It’s strange to read that sentence back to myself. I can hardly remember feeling that way now. I can barely recall not having this burning deep inside of me to see the glory of God cover the earth as water covers the seas. 

Mercifully, things have changed. And, so, one month from today I will leave for Africa. I wish I was leaving today. I wish I had a one way ticket and not just a 10 day trip planned (don’t tell my mom that…she might cry).

Next month four others and myself will be heading to Mozambique to work with Sarah in her ministry to street children there. I have a number of emotions and thoughts running through my mind right now, but the one that overshadows all the others is fear. I’m not afraid of being in danger there. Of getting sick or being robbed or attacked or anything along those lines. The thing I fear…is being unchanged. I’m afraid of looking those children in the face and being unaffected by it. Of coming back home and returning to my everyday life as if nothing had happened. I’m afraid of forgetting what I haven’t even learned yet.

So today I’m praying. Praying to be changed…affected…moved. Praying to remember.       

making a cake…actually making anything for one of the most important days in someone’s life might be a little more stress than I’m prepared to handle. 

I know I’ve mentioned this a time or two, but my bff and I have known each other our entire lives. This has been a huge blessing through the years; however, it’s also lead to certain events that would be better left forgotten.  But instead of pushing those to the back of my psyche and having them resurface in strange, incoherent dreams; I thought I’d blog about ‘em. 

For those of you that don’t know; my bff is a singer. Not professionally, though she could’ve been if she had wanted to.  She has a beautiful voice and it still pleasantly surprises me every time I hear her sing.  She discovered this talent pretty early on. And like any good parent would do her mother signed her up for voice lessons to hone the new found gift. 

I must preface this by saying that she and I had spent our entire lives up to this point doing the same things. Our parents even dressed us alike for pete’s sake.  And we were all about it. If she got a zip up bikini then I needed one too. If I quit ballet cause I hated everything but the recitals then she was outta there too (by the way, she’s still blames me for ruining her dance career). If she had a bedazzled, LA gear, stone-washed jean jacket then by golly I got one too. That being said, there really is no justifiable excuse for what I am about to reveal…..I, too, signed up for voice lessons. I mean obviously if the bff was a singer than I was too. Right?! And Darlene, being the dotting mother that she is, marched my non-singing little butt up there and took care of business. And so began my journey to unearth the talent that I knew was hiding somewhere deep inside of me.

As it turned out that hidden talent was buried a little too deep and we never did find it.  We did, however, record quite a few lovely tracks. One of those beauties was my rendition of The Wind Beneath My Wings by one Bette Midler. I happen to be just self-deprecating enough to want to share it with you, but I think I lost the tape when I moved.

The whole experience wasn’t a total loss, though. I learned that maybe I didn’t have to do everything the bff did…which came in handy when she started doing big girl pageants that included a swimsuit portion. I also learned that my Mom loves me very much…so much, in fact, that to this day she truly believes that I’m a good singer and has, on occasion, told me to try out for American Idol. Thanks for believing in me Mom! Even if it could’ve turned me into a highlight on the American Idol reject show.     

…to say I told you so.  Cause yall were SO right…I had such a good time at the reunion!  Who knew:)

I would love to say that I took lots of pictures so I could tell yall all about the night…but you know better than that.  I didn’t take a single one.  So I jacked everyone else’s off of facebook:)  

Here we go…CGHS c/o 99 10 year reunion as told through the lense of someone else’s camera (click on any of the pictures to make them bigger).

First came the outfit…of which the highlight were my cute shoes…or so I thought.  So. Much. Pain.  Seriously, my feet are still sore. 

There were two parts to this shindig.  Phase one was at Olde Towne Tavern in Larryville.

Phase two was at Door 44 in Atlanta.  There were a lot of people there that didn’t go to Olde Towne so I was glad I went to both.

So there you have it…our night o’ fun.  It really was great to see so many old friends.  Kinda makes me wanna go to the 20 year reunion…kinda:)

Off to the reunion.  If it goes bad I’m holding each of you personally responsible:) 

of our waiter at a restaurant way the heck down 78 being a CGHS alumni?

We had a girls night on Monday and our sweet little waiter went to Central too!  I’m telling you…it’s all about high school this month.

He wanted to know what teachers we had when we were at Central to see if he knew any of them.

Then we explained that the people we went to school with are the teachers now.

10 years out and we’re runnin’ the place.

Let’s all take a nice stroll down memory lane.

10 years ago I had dome bangs, blonde hair and eyebrows the likes of which I hope to never see again.

And just for fun this is me and B.Green at our freshman homecoming.

Sorry Brian…you’re bearing the brunt of my bloggy flashback today:)

I give.  It would appear that my fear of missing out on something supersedes my fear of awkward conversation. 

Sooooo…..apparently my 10 year high school reunion is coming up.  I currently have no plans to go.  It’s not that I don’t like the people I went to high school with…I do.  It’s just that…well…I’m shy people!  Social situations are not my strong suit.  Small talk is not my forte.  Cramming 10 years of life into a 2 minute conversation is not my gift.  You get the picture, right?

Ever since I was a lil bitty ol’ thang runnin’ around in overalls…actually my mom didn’t dress me in overalls.  Unless you count our end of the year performance in preschool where we sang I’ve Been Workin’ On The Railroad.  We had to wear overalls that night…and a handkerchief around our neck…cause we were workin’ on the railroad.  And actually a girl I went to high school with was in my preschool class and she puked off the side of the stage right smack in the middle of workin’ on the railroad.  She says she doesn’t remember that, but Tanaya and I do.  Annnnnyway.  The point I was trying to make was that I’ve always been shy.  I don’t particularly care for that trait, but it’s there none the less.  So the thought of an entire night spent making conversation with people that I don’t really know anymore stresses me out.  And since we’re being honest I can only handle being awwww-ed in response to my marital status so many times before I lose it:)  

I’ve already been catching a bunch of flack for not going, but I thought I’d put it to the people to decide.  Whatcha think?  Will I regret not going to my 10 year reunion?      

Last week me and my mom went to the Fox to see The Jersey Boys.  I got her tickets to the show for Christmas…I’m all about deferred gratification.  The show was SO good and we had such a good time!  It’s still showing…you should take someone for an early Christmas present:)

Behold yet another fine display of my ability to capture memories.  I astound myself…really. 

the worst picture taker on the face of the earth!

I spent most of Memorial Day weekend hanging out in South Carolina with Amanda, David and the fam.  We had tons o’ fun.  Went to a little festival in downtown Seneca, went to their cool church, rode jet skis.  But do I have any fun pictures of those things?  Negative.  Behold my one documentation of the weekend…

Good one right?  You really get a feel for everything we did just by looking at this solitary photo.  And don’t be fooled…this takes a lot of practice.  Not everyone can capture the awesomeness of an entire trip in just one picture.  Mama always said I was special.

I just saw some app on facebook that reminded me of something I used to LOVE when I was a kid…garbage pail kids!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I collected these in my sticker book right along side my unicorn and Lisa Frank stickers.  Interesting dichotomy there, but we’ll save that therapy session for another time.

These are a few that I distinctly remember having:)

Tom Thumb was my favorite…cause I sucked my thumb when I was little…and us thumb suckers stick together.

While I found these stickers hilariously cute; I find this trailer for a Garbage Pail Kids Movie very disturbing.  I had no idea this even existed.  Good thing…I think it would’ve given me nightmares back in my thumb sucking days.