When flying from Nairobi to Lodwar, Turkana, the landscape swiftly morphs from lush green hills to rocky, sandy desert. Hot air slaps you in the face as you deplane and head to the airport, scarcely more than a landing strip. After collecting my luggage and declining the offer of transportation from two young German men, I was picked up in an old Land Cruiser and ushered to the site of the clinic in the small village of Nataparkakono.

It had been two years since my last visit at a Mercy Medical Team, and it was a welcome change to be back without the riddling of culture shock. When I arrived, a thunderstorm storm began to roll in over the mountains and everyone smiled at me and thanked me for bringing the rain. As the first droplets began to fall and the wind whipped a beautiful chaos, the broad, dark faces of the patients standing in line split into wide smiles as they hurried to shelter. I ducked inside the calm of church-turned-clinic where American and Kenyan medical professionals worked side by side providing desperately needed health care to the inhabitants of this remote area. Their vitals already measured, the patients inside rested their heads on the cool of the cement walls, clutching their crumpled medical forms as they waited to be seen first by a doctor and then the pharmacists. Tirelessly, gently, the patients were cared for, free of charge, or taken to the local hospital for more advanced treatment.

Trying to be as invisible as possible, I crept around the site taking photographs. One of the volunteers in the pharmacy remarked how dignified one of the men looked, and I agreed. These people may lack monetary resources, but they are by no means without dignity or self-confidence. I consider myself blessed to have been allowed a small glimpse into their lives.

A patient waits to be seen by a doctor at the clinic

A group of women sit together outside as they wait to be seen 

A beautiful Turkana man

Patients reacting to the message being shared in the evangelism tent

Career missionary Sarah Kanoy hangs an IV bag in the window of the church as patients wait outside.

The view out of malaria testing tent

These women got a kick out of taking a picture of me while I was photographing them.

One of the Kenyan nurses in the eye clinic

Patients waiting in line to be registered

Dr. Jeff Pruitt from Ohio works with his Kenyan counterpart to treat a patient.

A Turkana woman who guessed she was around ninety years old.

A woman chasing children back to school

Children from the village left messages for us on the road

Career missionary Shara Cunningham talks to the children playing around the clinic site.

Shara comforting a woman receiving an IV line

A woman pauses from building a hut to listen to a pastor speak.

This man walked fifteen days to visit his family in the area and to come to the clinic.

Sarah speaks reassuringly to a little girl receiving IV fluids.

MMT volunteer Brian Lund records the weight of one of the patients.

Children gathering to watch backflips in the courtyard

It takes a long time to get to Villa de Sena, Mozambique. If, like me, you live in the United States, you have to first get to Africa. This is no easy trek—in my case, traveling to Nairobi is a laborious 30-hour journey by plane, train, and automobile. From Nairobi, you spend another day airborne until you reach Beira, Mozambique. From Beira, it is a slow, arduous 12-hour train ride until the screeching halt of brakes signals that you have finally, finally arrived in Sena. 

You might step off the train into the dust of central Mozambique without any real idea of what to expect. After all, the only things you have been given beforehand are plane and train tickets, a few brief emails advising what to pack, and instructions to photograph the trip. When you arrive in Sena, it is dark, night having fallen five hours prior, and forty seminarians and pastors greet you with singing and dancing. You shake each of their calloused hands afterwards, one by one, and it is not until the next morning that the layers of mystery slowly begin to peel back.

First, you are warned not to get too close to the Zambezi river because it is home to crocodiles, hippos, and other unseemly snaking and slithering things. With a significant look, you’re told that it's not uncommon for people to disappear while fishing or gathering water. You gulp and nod. It seems they have already figured out you're prone to wandering. You also quickly realize that the water in your bathroom is cold river water, but you are thankful that there is at least a shower head. The language barrier then presents itself broad and vast, and your first order of business is to learn the Portuguese word for "thank you" (it’s obrigado). It might set in then how far away from home you are—think of how long it took to travel here!—but somehow you don’t mind.

Later, as you get to know the people of this remote place, more of the shroud of mystery will be lifted. You are here with the LCMS as a photographer to capture the rapidly growing Lutheran community in Mozambique, and you never cease to be surprised by the people you meet through your lens. Seeing the astounding spread of Lutheranism in Mozambique, you can't help but be reminded of the early church as it is recorded in the New Testament. You read through Acts on a quiet night and swear it is describing the present. In this small area in Mozambique, there have been 21 new churches planted in the past year (each filled to capacity), divided between only eight pastors. So hungry are the locals to hear and be nurtured in the Gospel, the stories almost don’t sound real: two young men bicycling forty kilometers just to meet with a pastor after stumbling across a Lutheran congregation; twenty-one men, women, and children walking 14 hours in order to meet visiting pastors and missionaries (that is, us); truck drivers so impressed by an ordination service they'd attended that they rushed back to their village to start their own congregation.

All these people you'll meet and stories you'll hear will remind you that while yes, poverty is real, it is somehow not the main focus. On this trip, there are no building of orphanages or painting of churches or poverty porn, but instead the warmest fellowship with strong, young, passionate brothers and sisters in Christ. They are generous and enterprising, resourceful and smart. If you go to Villa de Sena in central Mozambique, you'll without a doubt be humbled, but you'll also be astonished by how much you learn from these strong, hard-working, resilient, welcoming, joyful people. You'll be surprised by the camaraderie and love you'll feel, even though you can barely communicate through language. And at the end of it all, you’ll realize that, cultural differences aside, there's no mystery to any country when you’re being surrounded by the body of Christ.

A young boy looks into the church building of St. Matthews Lutheran Church in Kapesseni.  

The main street in Sena

The most stunning young woman in Mutarara

Young and old, women everywhere carried at least one baby or toddler on their back at all times.

We visited this church in 3 de Fevereiro late in the afternoon and the light was nothing like I've ever seen. Here, mothers and their babies are illuminated as they listen to a message being given.

These two young ladies posed on their own for a portrait when they saw my camera.

This congregation is still saving up for a church building, so in the meantime, they meet for services in the open air.

Rev. Shauen Trump baptizes a child during a service in São Paulo Lutheran Church in Sena. Fifty-nine people were baptized all together that day.

A local pastor addresses his congregation in Chemba.

Members of a congregation are so excited to see us that they meet us on the road, then run singing alongside the truck until we reach the church.

Music in central Mozambican churches consists simply of drums, shakers, and the human voice.

Yours truly receiving a chicken and a squash from the congregation in Muanda, Mozambique.

Two young boys collect the offering during a service at São Paulo Lutheran Church in Sena.

Most of the congregants are young women and children. Here, they are saying goodbye as we head to our next congregation.

A baby moments before she is baptized.

Standing room only at the back of a church building in 3 de Fevereiro.

"For most of life, nothing wonderful happens. If you don’t enjoy getting up and working and finishing your work and sitting down to a meal with family or friends, then the chances are that you’re not going to be very happy. If someone bases his happiness or unhappiness on major events like a great new job, huge amounts of money, a flawlessly happy marriage or a trip to Paris, that person isn’t going to be happy much of the time. If, on the other hand, happiness depends on a good breakfast, flowers in the yard, a drink or a nap, then we are more likely to live with quite a bit of happiness."

  Andy Rooney

* * *

         Friday morning, 9:08am. I'm sitting at my desk eating french toast with sliced strawberries and a few strips of bacon, hastily grabbed before I left the house. My walk to work this morning was drenched in the bright spring sunshine and dare I say I felt positive? 

         In an effort to keep my spirits up,  I've been meaning to start including three gratitudes in my nightly journal ritual. Because I keep forgetting to do so when the time comes, I will start here instead. Cliche as it may seem, actively chronicling things for which you are grateful has been shown to exponentially increase positivity (along with meditation, exercise, random acts of kindness--there is a fascinating science behind happiness). Lately it has become so easy for me to focus on all the things I long for, wishing this season away in a self-made miserable fog. Staying positive takes more work in the in-betweens and routines. There are some things that we as humans wish for so badly that it almost seems good and right and rational to let ourselves dwell in sadness while we wait for those things to come to fruition. I am guilty of this as much as anybody. So, a compilation of good things both big and small:

1. Coming up with ideas for photographic projects, actively pursuing them, and seeing all the hard work pay off in the form of a cohesive set of prints that I'm proud of. 

2. Similarly, my work being accepted and shown in a juried art exhibition at my university

3. Mornings waking up feeling refreshed, light flooding through the eastern windows, pajama shorts and my favorite Alaska sweatshirt and birkenstocks, quiet coffee rituals, familial warmness

4. Professors that genuinely care about their students' success and being pushed by them in every way possible

5. The lightness, closeness, and peace after honest, hard but necessary discussions, and the knowledge that I am being given an opportunity to learn patience

6. Sunday mornings alone before church with Lord Huron and Gregory Alan Isakov and Eddie Vedder for light-hearted reminiscing of past adventures and adventures to come

7. Giving several presentations this month to a wide variety of people on missions and better ways to carry it out, a topic I am passionate about

8. On a similar note, the opportunity to return to Kenya next month as a communications intern (would be so grateful to have your support)

9. Reading my journal from two years ago and seeing how much I've grown and the relationships I've been blessed to have been given since then. I'm not sure why I continue to be surprised by the change a few years can bring about.

10. Editing the excess from my wardrobe and streamlining to just a handful of pieces that I love

11. Perfecting the homemade americano and fledgling freckles

12. Grace for myself, practicing self-discipline, prioritizing, and being okay with stepping back to allow myself some quietness and rest

       One of the blessings about being in a long-distance relationship is the opportunity for frequent travel. As much as I hate having to be away from Jacob, I love that I get to go on adventures to see him. Jacob recently took a new job in Colorado, so I flew up to Calgary over spring break to make the trek south with him. Being back on the road with him, it was hard to believe it's already been nine months since our last big trip together. Even when I was single, my mom stressed the importance of taking trips with a significant other to "test" the relationship. She was right (as always). As Jacob and I deal with road weariness and logistical concerns, the trials and joys of each trip together only seem to strengthen our relationship. This particular trip held some stressful late nights and grumpy (mostly on my part), cold, early mornings, but they were more than made up by dirt road explorations, howling winds heard from inside a cozy yurt, the perfection of the roadtrip sandwich (hummus and avocado are crucial, turns out), steamy hot tubs on frosty nights, copious coffee stops (some better than others), breathtaking scenery even from the interstate, camping among the mesas of Moab, and the simple sweetness of being with each other. In Utah and Colorado especially I was continuously reminded of my parents' trips through these same areas over twenty years ago, just prior to their engagement. It's humbling to think that I am now in that same exciting stage of exploration and discovery, creating stories that I will tell my own children one day.

       Although I am now unable to sacrifice as much time to keeping up this blog as I'd like, it is important to me to preserve travel memories here that might otherwise be lost with the tinge of time. Photographs are, of course, a large portion of this narration. I've been reminded this semester through my film photography class of the importance of putting thought into an image, of taking care with framing and lighting. This may seem obvious, but I am grateful that I am pushed to keep these considerations close to my photographic process. Driving through some of the most beautiful parts of the country--Alberta, Montana, Idaho, Utah, Colorado--I was inspired to put these skills into practice again. This set is a depiction of Americana, the back-road oddities and breathtakingly empty scenery. (Infinite thanks to my sweet Jacob, who repeatedly turned the car around for me to get a shot, despite my protests that he didn't have to.) Driving through these often-remote landscapes, I am continually reminded of how much more there is to see. It is almost too much to fathom. I am so grateful that these are the memories I get to create amid the chaos of life.  

Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park

Passenger seat views in Montana

Frost-dusted trees on the interstate headed west

An abandoned smelter on a Montana backroad

We stumbled across some old charcoal kilns near the smelter

My cute lumberjack in his element

We spent a snowy night camping after the roads proved too difficult to get to the cabin we'd reserved. Thankfully the scenery made up for what we lacked in warmth.

Our cozy yurt in southern Idaho, the perfect reprieve from the howling winds

A change of scenery in Moab, Utah. It's amazing how different the light is there.

Entering Arches National Park

Jacob in a sliver of light at Double Arch

A classic power stance to accompany the panoramic view

Cairns marking the trail