hungry

She sneaks into the office at the Chikondi Community Center and slips me a handwritten note. It reads, “Please help me Amy. I am suffering. My husband is beating me. I struggle to find money to feed my family. Someone stole all of my inventory for my business. Please help.”

Not 10 minutes later and another woman comes by with her folded up note. Hers reads, “I am really struggling. I cannot send my children to school. The economy is not good.”

An hour later I talk with a woman whose husband just left her and her children for his mistress. He gave our woman $18 to start her new life. She says, “I’m hungry. I have no food at home.”

And then I receive a message from a young man who used to work for us at the center. He says that he’s hungry. Not just the hungry I get before supper, but real, painful hunger. Days without food hunger.

When I came to Zambia a couple weeks back, I knew I was entering into a difficult time for our women and this nation. To say the economy is struggling would be an understatement. The exchange with the USD has gone from K5 to the dollar to K11.5 to the dollar. Prices have sky rocketed for higher import costs. There are power cuts for 12-18 hours each and every day. Throw in fuel shortages and staple food shortages, and it’s really tough over here.

The beast of an economic downfall and its effects on our ladies are quite overwhelming. Daunting. Horrifying. Too much. To read about food shortages for the entire population makes my heart hurt. But when handed the crumpled up notes from women struggling to feed their own children, their babies, absolutely breaks my heart.

I put on a brave face. I stand tall. I hug. I encourage. I strategize immediate solutions to get our people fed. I stay hopeful. But there’s a part of me that is so overwhelmed by everything. I’m called Mama Amy over here which is the most flattering thing anyone could ever call me (other than Wyatt’s wife ;)). But with the flattery also brings responsibility. I have over 100 women depending on our program, which equals to around 800 people when you throw in children and some husbands. Eight. Hundred. People. The ladies joke that I have 100 kids and 700 grand children. I love that I do, but I’m also so scared that I do.

I’m 26 years old. I’ve been a wife for two and a half years. I’ve been out of college for 4. I have barely figured out what a 401k is, or how to coupon at Harris Teeter, and yet I’m responsible for 800 women and children in Zambia, Africa.

Woah.

Sometimes I try to dig to the source of my anxiety, and I’m pretty sure this has a lot to do with it. I am thankful that Jesus gave me a big yet sensitive heart. I love that I get to connect with women deeply and richly and empathetically. But the love also hurts a lot. When I get so close as to see the difficulties of their everyday lives, I put myself in a place of feeling their pain. I never wish to distance myself or turn away from their pain, but I also wrestle with it a lot.

Who am I to deal with this? Who am I to try to tackle running a development organization while caring for the needs of vulnerable women while creating a product line while raising funds and selling products and so much more? How was I chosen to ride this crazy train?

I made good grades in college and worked hard in extracurricular activities. But nothing in the world could have prepared me for even a day of this.

Maybe this is all starting to sound like a pity party. Maybe you’re thinking “how ungrateful.” I don’t mean to come off that way. I wouldn’t trade this for the world, for the highest paying career, for a life without worry. I really wouldn’t. I love what I do. I love this organization, and most of all I love these people. Which brings me back to the hard place.

Over these past couple weeks I’ve been trying to grasp some perspective. What am I supposed to make of all of this? As I hear words of inadequacy and doubt on repeat in my mind, I acknowledge some of it. Yes I am inadequate. Yes this is a lot. But this isn’t all on me either (THANK GOODNESS).

It’s on the 70+ HOPE Club Members who keep this train rolling. It’s on our incredible staff, both here and in America. But it’s also on Jesus.

In Matthew 14, after a really hard day grieving the loss of His friend, Jesus chooses compassion and goes down to meet a huge group of people to heal them. When the sun is setting, His disciples look around at the 5,000+ people there and logically decide to send them home for each of them to find supper on their own, since there was literally no food there. Except for 5 little loaves of bread and 2 fish.

Jesus commands one person to just come and bring Him the loaves and the fish. Rather than that person saying “Jesus, you’re crazy. You know this can’t feed everyone. You know this is a huge problem,” he hands them over to Jesus.

And you know what Jesus does? He feeds everyone with that tiny little amount of food. 5,000 people. Enough to be satisfied. Enough to have leftovers. Not just a little crumb for each person, but abundance.

I read that and my heart rests. My worry subsides. My soul glad. I may only have 5 loaves and 2 little fish worth of talent, experience, qualifications, ability. Clothed in Hope may only have 5 loaves and 2 fish worth of finances some seasons. And there are 5,000 people (well 800 for now) who need their fill, who need to be provided for.

And all Jesus wants from me is for me to hand it over. For me to give Him my little loaves and tiny little fish and trust that He is able to do abundantly more than I can ask for or imagine in the lives of 800 women and children in Zambia, and through Clothed in Hope. I hand it over reluctantly sometimes. I hand it over surveying the gravity of the situation, wondering if He will really come through. But I hand it over regardless. Because deep down past the doubt and fear is the Trust in my Jesus who has always come through. Maybe not in the way I imagined or the way I thought logical, but in the best way ever.

When the situation looks so desperate, so many people needing food and justice and protection, I walk over to Jesus with the little I have knowing that He is the Son of God. He is love. He is redemption. He is gracious and merciful to us. He is Jehovah-Jireh, our Provider. And as much as I love these women and want life for them, it’s just a single drop of water in the immense sea of love our Father has for His people.

And that is good. That is enough. Even when it doesn’t feel good or enough in such desperate times. I won’t be able to feed the 800 or make life better for them. But I know who can. And I’ll keep handing Him my 5 loaves and 2 fish so very expectantly.


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If you want to jump on the train and join us in what's happening in Zambia, join the HOPE Club here: clothedinhope.org/give