easter

Usually this time of year brings in a familiar excitement. Witnessing the first blossoms on flowers, shopping for spring pastels and dresses to match the changing season, planning early summer beach trips with best friends, but most importantly, attacking the CVS shelves the day after Easter for the 50% off Starburst Jellybeans, Reese’s Eggs, and whatever else that manages to jump in my little red basket.

I know I’ve placed a big emphasis on this being a year of firsts, but all these holidays really get me goin. I can’t help but want to soak up every bit of the differences. Like it being 85 degrees outside every.single.day. Even like making a scene at the grocery store over the Lindt egg that is for sale for 50 BUCKS. Yes, 50 US dollars. Crazy.

Anywho, I diverge. The most beautiful thing has been to see these holidays for their true intentions, uncluttered by the mass merchandising that is supposed to “get you in the spirit” (that I’m so often a sucker for). The fog isn’t here. Besides the ridiculously expensive Lindt egg at the grocery story, there’s not much to buy for Easter. But there is still MUCH to celebrate. And the celebration is just as, if not more, joyous.

So today we had our Easter party at CiH training class. And yes, in my American ways, I couldn’t resist bringing some cupcakes and juice and a few jellybeans to add some excitement, but we really would’ve been fine without it.  We laughed, we chatted about things other than clutch bags, we smiled, we took “snaps” (photos). The reality of the day, of the season, really set in when Margret stashed away one of her tiny cupcakes for her little girl Rabbecca so that she could enjoy a gift from her mom as it’s just the two of them now that Margret’s husband passed a few years back. Another woman had to jokingly tell a story of her husband beating her to try to eliminate the severity of it. The weight of life here was still present in our Easter celebration.

But together we celebrate. Because we have HOPE. Not just for a better tomorrow. But we can cling to the HOPE that is in today, knowing Jesus has redeemed us from darkness and came to bring heaven to earth, to put His Spirit within us so that we are never alone. To defeat sin. To display the most extravagant, costly, intimate love of all time.

Many may think that I’m here in Zambia to inspire. Yet every day that I drive away from those 11 women, it’s me who’s inspired. They know Jesus. They live in His hope. They rejoice not because life is fun and fluffy, but because they know the best love there is, a love that will never run out.

Just as Jesus appeared to women following His resurrection, the lowest of the low, the probably unbelievable, the voiceless, He’s still in the business of flipping the ways of this world to prove and invite us into a better one. His grace. His Kingdom. His affirmation. His love.

As the CiH women cried out in gratitude to the Lord today for YOU (donors, supporters, senders, encouragers), I couldn’t help but see that the flipping is still happening. They didn’t beg for more, for better provision, for a more “mature” faith. They just thanked Jesus with such passion for 45 minutes straight. I think they’re onto what Easter is all about.

Jesus is making the most of the “least of these.” He’s flipping the most gripping of situations into the greatest experiences and testimonies of joy and grace. He’s giving a voice to the voiceless. He’s shining light in the darkness. He’s chosen a 23-year-old sorority girl so easily sucked into materialism to live in Zambia to witness that the real riches are in Him. That nothing can buy the joy and love that He offers to all who believe.

He’s wrecking my faith along this journey too. Flipping the world upside down to bring heaven to earth.

So Happy Easter everyone! As you snack on those (delicious, precious, probably amazingly incredible chocolately goodness that I may or not be craving from here) Pinterest-y treats, may your hearts be wrecked for what has happened thousands of years ago, and what hasn’t stopped since then. Hope. Redemption. Grace. Extravagant love. Victory. Jesus. For YOU. 

cage

Ever since I saw Joseph at the grocery store, I’ve been thinking of him. Something inside me has just always felt like his story has been imprinted on my heart for some reason. And I think this might be it…

Rewind to last Thursday night. Bible study with some incredible people, digging into what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. We ended on James 1:27 and prayed that we’d not just be hearers of this Word but doers. Little did I know what that prayer would mean just a few hours later. Little did I know just how God would answer it and show me Himself in a whole new light.

Friday morning comes along and I’m waiting at the shopping center to ride to a market with a dear friend, Vicky, so I’m just standing outside of the grocery store. And I see a little familiar face pop out. That same patchy hair. But this time with boy clothes.

It’s Joseph.

He flashes me a hesitant grin, I ask him how he is, and he replies in English, “fine.” I’m standing by the grocery store entrance as he’s using the bike rack like the best set of monkey bars, exploring and playing. I pray that Jesus would show me what to do for this boy I keep seeing and I keep thinking about. Do I buy him bread? There’s not enough time to get in and out, I thought. Do I give him money? Money doesn’t solve poverty. Do I just smile and go on my way? There has to be more.

Just as this battle is going on in my mind, 2 guards for the shopping center come up and corner Joseph, just feet away from me. They shout at him, grab his arm and drag him across the concrete. He’s resisting but his little body can’t fight back against the strong men. His skinny arms flailing around, his screams terrorizing, I stand in shock. The men look to me, seeing my disapproval and proceed to walk around the side of the building. One man is dragging Joseph while the other kicks him with his work boots. Joseph shrieking and sobbing. Me feeling a million emotions, but most namely, fear. Absolutely overwhelmed.

As I woman, I don’t have a say here, especially to Zambian men. If I were to try to stop them, they’d laugh (and did). If I were to demand something, it would go unnoticed. So I prayed, Jesus what do I do?!  Admittedly, I hesitated. The culture was going to win. There was nothing I could do. But Jesus spoke this scripture into my life at that very second:

“Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.” Psalm 82:4 

Heart racing, hands shaking, stomach flipped over, I felt like my feet were moving apart from my body. Jesus alive in me, moving me to act for the voiceless, the orphan, the afflicted, the weak and needy. To deliver Joseph from the hand of the wicked. My feet shuffling across the pavement walking the very path of Joseph’s beating to find where the men were taking him.

I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have the courage. It was all Jesus. The Holy Spirit using me as His tool. His strength to ignite my soul to be a doer of the Word. Just as I realized that I didn’t know what I’d say or do, a wealthy Zambian man drops his groceries, comes along side of me and says, “What do they think they’re doing with that poor boy?” He becomes my voice, my advocate, my partner for rescuing Joseph. Jesus in the flesh. There was no conversation, just words of Truth and Justice, of a pursuit of good.

We round the corner, following the shrieks and cries of Joseph. Painful. Gripping. Terrorizing. And just as I think we’ve found him, I see the two guards standing just feet away, smiling. But the cries are so loud. Joseph is here. I peek around the guards to catch Joseph’s eyes.

In a cage.

My prayers turn into cries. Begging Jesus for his life, his rescue. Jesus was there and Jesus had the rescue planned out perfectly. Through using the 2 most unlikely, a wealthy Zambian man with a heart for orphans, and me, a selfish, sinful woman with no voice, culturally. It all happened so fast.

The wealthy man starts shouting at the guards, calling out the injustice, threatening police reports, giving them a lesson on orphans- children who are just as deserving as their own, children with souls, real people. As the shouting continued, my mind shut all else out and locked eyes with the most handsome boy in the world. The boy in the cage. The boy loved so immensely by the Savior of the world. My feet shuffled and my hands unlocked the cage, opened the door, and ushered Joseph out.

His crying stopped. Tear-stained cheeks. And the weight of the world hit me like a ton of bricks. All I could think to do was rub his back. We both faced the cage as I rubbed his tiny, bony, dirt-stained back and hot tears flowed down my face. Righteous anger. Intense hurt. Painful compassion. Tears turned to sobs and I know that I saw into the very heart of Jesus. His heart shattered. Even in the rescue, He felt the pain expressed by the shrieks of Joseph.

A few minutes later my one-track focus was broken as the wealthy man said, “Are you alright dear?” I turned to see him alone, no guards, and he shared with me all that he said to them. He gave Joseph $1 to go home to his grandmother and disappeared. I will probably never see this man again, but I know that I will continue to see and know the Jesus that was so evident inside of him. Even if he didn’t realize it.

Just like that it was over. Alone in the parking lot, Joseph heading home, I took myself to my car and just let it out for a good 30 seconds. The rest of the day was filled with so many other emotions, but I knew I would deal with the shock of the event later that night.

Skyping my best friend to spill out all that I had experienced, we both cried out to Jesus in tears for Joseph’s life. Thanking Him for the rescue. And I concluded the day incredibly confused about why I had to keep seeing Joseph hurting so badly but yet have nothing to offer him. And I didn’t feel like Jesus was guiding me to take him in on my own.

But the frustration and confusion melted into what God really wanted me to see. The cage. The rescue. The most visible representation I’ll probably ever encounter of how Jesus took the steps of courage to bring about my rescue. Your rescue. To unlock the cage of sin and despair and rub my back, assuring me that I’m His and that I’m never outside His love.

Jesus rescued Joseph from the physical cage at the shopping center, but continues to rescue him, and all of us, daily from the cage of our shortcomings, our fear, our sin, the sin committed against us. The cage is real. But so is the rescue. And the Rescuer is here. He’s defeated sin and called us into His light forever. He’s fighting for us. And He’ll always win.

My eyes still well up when I think of the cage. The glassy eyes I saw through the bars. The moving of the Holy Spirit completely outside of anything I would ever be capable of doing.

And as incredible as that day was, as surreal to witness the rescue of Jesus for the least of these, God doesn’t stop at our expectations.

The greatest words:

BUT GOD.

But God had bigger plans for involving me in the life of Joseph. For introducing Elina to him, a widow whose heart beats for Jesus and orphans.

I thought Joseph would have to continue on this cycle of a life way too heavy for a 7 year old to bear alone, BUT GOD had the rescue continue.

I went to training class Friday knowing that I’d have to cover up my emotions to teach well. Elina could tell otherwise so I told her all about it. She texted me later asking me if it was okay to speak with his grandmother about a plan to care for Joseph.

So yesterday I show up at Elina’s house to drop off the women who came with me to Muchochoma Village. The gate swings open and instead of just the usual 2 little giggling boy faces, there’s another. There’s a freshly shaved head in familiar clothes. But the face is one I haven’t seen before. A face of pure joy, of love, of friendship, of rescue.

It’s Joseph. Elina’s newest child in her household. Elina chose to make the food stretch a bit further to feed one more mouth, to be the hands and feet of Jesus to one more orphan when she, herself, faces many problems as a widow. But when you grasp the love of Jesus there’s just no shaking it.

So praise Jesus for the rescue. For the cage that will always be opened. For love so painfully beautiful. For choosing us, undeserving, to know His love and share it with others. For immeasurably more. 

come

Check out the CiH blog I just posted, More Than a Statistic, for the background on this post.

I sit down to write this blog entry exhausted. My emotions are spilled out all over this patio. Geckos and mosquitos are gathering around me, bats flying overhead (quite Cinderella-esque). But my night isn’t over yet. My head is still spinning; work left undone, heart shattered.

Why? Why did this news hit me so hard in a nation where that monster of a disease is one all-too-common?

Maybe it’s because I thought my morning/afternoon was frustrating because internet was slow, people were being difficult at the office to book a market stall, the grocery’s AC was broken so cheese was rotten and bread was all sold out. Because I thought about my inconveniences as the end of the world.

Until my heart shattered. And I was faced with the reality and depth of my sin of ungratefulness, of pride, of self-focus. Even in a nation that I’m “serving” in. Surprise, I’m a human. And it rocked me to the core.

Questions still fly around my head. Why won’t he be cured? Why can’t he afford those nifty little pills that at least let him be comfortable and extend life for a few more days? What about her little ones? Why do I have so much, yet all she hesitantly asks for is food for his fading body?

What does Jesus think about all of this? I know He’s here. I know this desperation, this seemingly hopelessness, is here to draw me to real hope, the hope of a life with Him forever.

But sometimes all I know in my head just can’t rush down to my heart fast enough to dull the pain. Sometimes the pain itself is good. The wrestling with life. The choosing to see Jesus and faith and hope for what they are rather than what culture says they are. The revealing of real love. The lament of all of the terrible hurt in this world, most namely HIV/AIDS.

Health related issues have always done a number to my heart here. Whether Given’s malaria, or Elina’s migraines, or the boy in pink’s patchy hair, it all just seems so mysterious. One thing I can’t control. One thing I KNOW could be better if only they lived in the US. But they don’t. And that doesn’t make life any less for them. The faith and joy I see in those people would suggest otherwise, actually. They know Jesus IN the junk, not just as a cure to the junk. The Sovereign One. The Comforter. The Hope. They know that real life doesn't end at death. 

On a night when everything seems all too much, all too confusing, my prayer is simple: Jesus, come. 

open

Living in a nation of immense need, hands outstretched at every roundabout, every intersection, it's easy to become numb. Admittedly, I tend to be so pro-development that I overlook the value of meeting someone's immediate need because it's hard to evaluate if they are really in need, if they're just going to rip you off, if you're the 100th person who's also been moved by their "issue." When I receive no salary  and live off of my graduation money (or what's left of it) it's hard to figure out how to be generous.

I justify my generosity level many times. I consider me moving to Zambia as "enough." I've paid my dues. I've sacrificed enough, right? Can't that count?

When there are millions upon millions of people, friends, starving and struggling to make it to the next paycheck or lack thereof, how do I give? How do I live a generous life when if I gave to every person in need I would've been beyond broke the day I landed here?

There's obviously a tension. A desire to live generously and compassionately. Mixed with a desire to want more than handouts for Zambian people. Both could be of Jesus with the right heart and mindset.

So coupled with a very timely finances series at my church here, my prayer has been for Jesus to open my eyes to a need so that I can be generous with abundant blessings He's given me. He hasn't blessed me with so much to keep it all to myself. He blesses me so that He might be glorified through my giving to others.

I didn't fast and pray about this. I didn't read tons of scripture about generosity. I didn't seek out wise counsel to get other opinions on the matter. But I did say one simple prayer: "Jesus open my eyes to see a way I can be generous."

This was last Sunday. Then Monday morning comes along. I'm sitting outside the grocery store on some wire patio furniture finishing up a breakfast-on-the-go of grapefruit juice, waiting for Elina to arrive so that we can go to town to do more super exciting paperwork at government offices. I'm minding my business when I see this little person walk by, one not older than 7 years, dressed in dirty pink pants and a tattered pink striped shirt. No shoes. Patches of hair missing. Runny nose. Glassy eyes.  Hurting eyes. Curious eyes.

Rather than this little one coming up to be begging, "she" just sits at the table next to mine, with dirty, calloused feet swinging back and forth unable to reach the ground. "She" watches me hesitantly yet intentionally.

That's when the feeling kicked in. "Amy, I opened your eyes. Look. I brought this child here."

What do I give when I can't just give a handout of cash, because I know it'll be abused? I handed over my cup of grapefruit juice. The little one doesn't even stop for a breath, finishing it all. "She" takes out each piece of ice, mesmerized, and eats each one quickly. "She" isn't overly excited. Quiet, shy. Yet this was a little person, a child with real feelings. A child with real thoughts. I wonder what "she" is thinking. I'm convicted of all the times I look past little ones like this. But Jesus has brought this one to me with a purpose.

Even if the story ended there, I would be so thankful for how God worked in my heart to show me the love of the Father for every single soul. But He does immeasurably more, remember? Immeasurably more like urging me to give this little one the equivalent of $20, a week's worth of food for people living in the Ng'ombe compound. Something so beyond me that it can only be the urging of the Holy Spirit.

Elina arrives and asks this little one, dressed in dusty, dirty, raggedy pink, who "she" is. Turns out the pink is all he could find. His name is Joseph. His mom and dad are dead. He is a double orphan, the type of orphan thought to be quite common, but the "orphan" statistics include social orphans, abandoned children. This double orphan, this Joseph, is the type of child of which I've only met one other since being here. A 7 year old who has lived through the deaths of both his father and mother. He lives with his grandmother. She is a widow. A double orphan and a widow. Poor. The world's most vulnerable people. Joseph and his grandmother have been brought to us for a reason. The $20 is a shock not just to Joseph but to Elina. It becomes a shock to me too, wanting to take it back but Jesus urging me to keep going even though it's uncomfortable.

We take Joseph from the grocery store, inviting him- frail, sickly, dirty- into my car to drive him to his grandmother's house. Elina is eager to meet her and share the love of Jesus with her. This is an appointment created by Jesus in every way. Widow to widow. A widow whose heart bursts for orphans and vulnerable children. I stay back and leave Elina to talk to Joseph's grandmother, as her influence on her community is so healthy, so encouraging, so inspiring.

Guess what? She came to our training class the very next day. She exclaimed with joy over $20, asking if it was really hers to keep. Jesus came to her in the form of a widow, a hesitant giver, $20 and a cup of grapefruit juice. And Jesus came to us in those things, too. Even in my most inadequate, in my most doubting, Jesus proves His love for His people, working in and through us to display His glory.

Joseph isn't just one of the 153 million orphans in the world. He's a little boy who has lost his father and mother. He is living in poverty. He isn't just his socioeconomic status, either. He's a boy with dreams, with fears, with thoughts and with a story.

I haven't had the pleasure of hearing Joseph's story, and maybe I never will. But I did have the pleasure, and still do, of being moved by the generous love of God, displayed by Jesus conquering sin and taking my place so that I could know God and His grace. Jesus answered my prayer in the most beautiful of ways.

There are Joseph's everywhere, but I'm thankful that God has given me this Joseph to pray over. Joseph's grandmother hasn't returned to training class because Joseph has been sick in the clinic. This could mean a cold or it could mean malaria. Pray for Joseph with me? And for the little Joseph's all around the world?

Thank you Jesus for eyes opened to Your heart.