rainy

Here I am, back in Zambia after 3 months of being in the States for a whirlwind of fundraising, holidays, and reconnecting with the incredible people in my life.

It's rainy season. Even as I'm typing, the rain splatters a soothing chime on the steel roof of my room. The rains come most every day, sometimes for multiple times a day accompanied by ferocious thunder and lightning, some days just for a few minutes. The sun heats things back up but just when all seems too hot, a cool breeze flows through town signaling that the rains are coming again.

It's an incredible season really. This country transforms. Lush greenery sprouts up in every place possible, from crawling up security walls to popping out of gutters. The roads clear of dust. Some flood and then it gets real interesting. The smell is different. Don't get me wrong, it still smells; it's just a different smell. Everyone becomes agriculturally focused and every region other than this busy downtown has all hands on deck in the fields farming and harvesting crops like maize, sweet potatoes and even mangoes thriving in this season. It's fascinating how one season can shift an entire culture and give a makeover to an entire country.

Walking into the Ng'ombe compound on Thursday to see the women for the first time since October, I realized that though much has changed with appearances, not too much has changed with the compound. Armed with all rain gear for the ever-present thread of a downpour, I took the first step off of the pavement and onto the previously-dusty, now-muddy road that leads down to Elina's house. It's still a crazy place. Minibus drivers holler as their squeaky wheels trek down the muddy and rocky "road." Children run around, some in school uniforms, some in tattered clothes without shoes, all looking for the next greatest game to play with some trash they found in the gutter or some animal they found roaming freely. Women and men business owners sit outside of their tin shacks, hoping to sell a few dollars in cell phone minutes or fresh tomatoes to afford some prepaid electricity that night. I hear the echoes of "mzungu" and "how are you" follow me down the road. I turn at the bar-turned-convenience-store knowing I'm almost there. Eyes down for safety but ears wide open, I soak in every detail of that place. Though it's crazy and impoverished and sometimes kinda scary, it's beautiful.

Just like the rain. Maybe some days I'll be set back with the inconvenience of too much mud, flooded roads, or always having to pack boots and a coat wherever I go, not to mention the excess of bugs making a home around my room. But I hope and pray that most days I'll be able to see the beauty that's here, that's the cool before the rains, that's the green of life and economic growth for this nation. That's the smiles and handshakes of children as I pass them on my walk to the training class. Or the exclamations and songs of thanksgiving every Friday as our women encourage each other and give praise for life.

It's easy for me to see the mud, to listen to the strange calls of men out of their minibuses, without giving acknowledgement of much more. But there is so much more. So much beauty in this life. It's just whether I open my eyes and my heart to see what Jesus has orchestrated in this. The beauty from ashes. The hope, the joy.