glorious

Sure there are difficult days. There are impossible days (like last Friday). But there are also glorious days. Days that almost seem like a cheat amidst all the crazy.

Just as I grieve hard on the impossible days, I want to make it a habit and a reaction to celebrate hard on the glorious days.

Today started off filled with anxiety, confusion, and discouragement. As I slammed my feet to the floor at an hour way too early, I literally said the words to this song in my head, “I may be weak, but Your Spirit’s strong in me.” I was anticipating and expecting the very worst to happen- a repeat of last week. (And I wanted everything to have a flat tire or some excuse to get me out of facing today).

Side-by-side with our In-Country Director, I navigated the all-too-familiar hallways of this office building and that, trying to get this one paper we’ve been waiting on for 16 months now. Last week was marked by harassment and belittlement. I take a deep breath and walk into this particular office to find the same man smiling at me, saying “Hi, cousin!” Filled with joy and helpfulness, this certainly was a different man than I met just one short week ago. A few crazy processes, a couple hours of waiting, and we have THE PAPER in hand. I turn to Elina (our In-Country Director) and ask, “What just happened??” And she responds, full of faith and assurance, “It was the favor and power of God.”

Yes & Amen.

But wait there’s more.

The best part.

Friday’s are Encouragement/Devotion days at the center. Led by different women each week, everyone comes together from all classes to sing songs of praise and worship, thanking God for His Spirit, His grace, His goodness. This week, this girl right here, Mama Amy, decided to try something a bit different during the sermon time. Unsure eyes stared back at me when I started explaining. Quiet, hesitant.

But within minutes, women were declaring “Amen” and “Praise God” as each woman stood up and declared two verses over their lives, their families, their peers and our program. Verses of strength, protection, freedom, redemption. The coldness in the room from the unsure feelings turned into a glorious boldness. Confidence. Embrace. As we exhaled all of the troubles in our lives, we inhaled the Truth being spoken by every single woman in the room. We savored the words that had the power to bring life to our hearts, light to the darkest places of our souls.

I looked around the room, surrounded by some women I’ve known for over 2 years now, and some I know very little about, and just took my own inhale. A full heart. A joyful, grateful soul. A feeling of humility to get to share life with women so beautiful as these, opening their lives and their hearts to each other and finding freedom in Jesus together.

And one-by-one, women prayed over these verses of theirs written on tiny pieces of papers. Each purple paper was held by a woman, each with their own story, their own struggles, and carefully taped onto the walls of our Chikondi Community Center.

The most beautiful decorations. Walls adorned with the Truth of God, words that give life, hope, restoration, purpose. I looked around as more papers were added to the walls and just sat in that moment.

Sometimes it’s hard to see the long-term results of the day-to-day goings on- the emails, the errands, the spreadsheets, the meetings. So whenever I get a chance to see things a bit deeper, I savor every second of it. These women are coming to know Jesus as their Savior, their friend, Victory over darkness, Hope in every circumstance. Sure the sewing is great, the skills invaluable, but this is what it’s all about. Lives being restored. Women being set free from the chains of oppression. Women experiencing true joy and peace. Women meeting Jesus even in the midst of hardship, as He always reaches down to find us. Understanding true value and worth.

Let’s just say- I didn’t see this day coming. But it has brought so much life to my weary soul. And I believe that Jesus is celebrating over the victories proclaimed today.  The much bigger story being written at the Chikondi Community Center and in every corner of the world: Jesus is proclaiming freedom for the captives. He is bestowing on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes. He is bringing the Good News of redemption and forgiveness of sin.

So grateful for those little purple pieces of paper, and to enjoy a glorious day full of reminders that Jesus is alive. He cares. He cares about the woman who is abused by her husband. He cares about the woman who is rejected by her family. He cares about the woman who is treated less than human by her neighbors. He cares about the woman who has been abandoned by her love. He cares about the woman whose baby was killed. He cares about the woman who turned to alcoholism to numb the pain. He cares about the woman who has threats against her life. He cares about all of us. No pain, no oppression, no injustice too far from His redemptive love and grace. 

impossible

Today was one of the impossible days here in Zam. There are tough days marked by terrible internet, sudden illnesses, feelings of isolation from folks back home, car troubles, and even a “speeding ticket” for going 1 mile over the speed limit. But then there are impossible days.

Now the details of this classification of days I cannot disclose publicly, but just know it has a ton to do with offices, tricky officials, never-ending paperwork, processes, oppression because I’m an outsider (for real, it’s not all giggles and open arms just because I’m an American). These days have the power to stop me in my tracks. Paralyzing, almost.

My typical coping pattern for the impossible days goes as follows: race to a certain café here in Lusaka, order a diet coke with ice and some sort of chocolate dessert and eat/drink without speaking a word. Escape into the online world of social media with their super fast (free) internet to pretend such impossible events didn’t just occur. Race home, change into PJs (yes, even if it’s only 2pm), find the nearest chocolate bar and assume the fetal position for X number of hours. There’s usually a really cheesy movie thrown in there, which gives me an excuse to cry and cry, as if I really needed a cover-up from my emotions.

Crazy? Probably. I run, I hide. I (try to) escape and forget. But it always catches back up to me. I don’t think my ritual is totally off, so long as I return to Truth at the core of it all. Just didn’t want y’all to get the impression that I’m somehow superhuman or that I know how to handle all of the crazy that gets thrown at me on the reg. Or that I don’t couple chocolate with negative emotions like the rest of y’all. ;)

I think it all comes down to this tough notion though- that when the train goes barreling off its tracks after a visit to this office or that to further our organization, it seems as if I/CiH am/is not wanted here. It feels as if the people and the country want us out.

Now I thought all of the paperwork madness would subside within the first 6 months, and that people would just LOVE everything we do to proclaim freedom for the vulnerable, but that’s just not reality. Two years later, and the storm rages on.

But when I really stop to think about it, clear of my emotions and such, why would they want CiH/me here? Why would the deep-rooted oppression want to give way to change? Why would people who instill such injustices want people who will stand up for their own dignity and rights? Why would the presence of evil and darkness want hope here?

It should be no surprise. Rather, it should be a compliment to the Kingdom of God at work through Clothed in Hope. There is an entirely, hugely greater story being written here than I will ever be able to perceive or comprehend.

When change is coming- the hope, redemption, restored dignity, freedom, confidence, healing- I don’t think I should expect anything but a storm. Whether through minor discouragement or a season that seems like it’s never-ending, the evil and the darkness of this world will do ANYTHING to derail us from pursuing the life that Jesus has for us and through us to impact others with the testimony He’s written through such storms.

It’s time to reject the negativity, and it’s time to stand in the middle of this storm, hands raised, praising God that He is victorious. He is sovereign. He is fighting on my behalf, and on behalf of 30+ women in our program. He is at work. He is truly and actively proclaiming freedom for the captives and salvation over all people whom He loves so, so much.

I will not be defeated in Jesus’ name. The battle already has a Victor and I belong to Him. The constant setbacks, discouragements, and failures will not keep me from seeing the beauty and goodness of God. I’ve let it blind me for too long, but no longer will they have such power.

I am thankful that I don’t have to fight continually. I don’t have to be brave always. I don’t have to know every next move. I don’t have to know how to handle every situation. I don’t have to have it all together. Because there is grace to be weak. To curl up in a ball (with PJs and chocolate) and wrestle with the injustices and emotions of the moment. To feel on behalf of the oppressed. To mourn, to be sad, to be frustrated. Because right beside me is a loving Father who cares enough to pick me back up. He heals my wounds. He forgives my doubts and fears. He comforts far beyond words.

I am not alone. I am part of a much bigger story. And in Jesus, in His loving, merciful redemption and defeat of darkness, is where I will stand and choose to find my joy. As tough as it is to choose joy, and as easy as it is to wallow, I will feel, I will cry, I will hurt, but then I will rise. It’s not over, not even close. This is really just the beginning.