lunch

What do 99% of Sunday morning church goers seem to do after they walk away from the post-service mingle? Go out to lunch, right? A routine. A ritual. A given.

Today's lunch I sat surrounded by 3 beautiful friends. I dove into the bagel sandwich that has been calling my name all week, named appropriately and affectionately after the glorious Zambain football/soccer team, Chipolopolo. We talked fashion, we shared our hardships, we exchanged work/life updates. We laughed. We listened. We shared.

To the other 3 women, it was probably just a lunch. But it was so, so much more than a lunch for me.

Today's bagel sandwich marked the light at the end of the tunnel of an intensely painful season.

One that consisted of dozens, hundreds of meals eaten alone.

And-
Raw, honest, messy prayers crying out for just one friend here in Zambia.
Days of loneliness and frustration resulting from seemingly not-improving isolation.
An exhaustion of my large DVD collection.
Too many awkward introductions and first conversations.
Bold texts, a confidence totally apart from anything inside of me.
Doubting God's ability to provide community, of His goodness even.
Being "that girl" who tags along to anything and everything involving expats/missionaries under 30.
Being a girl completely different than who I was so comfortably used to in the States.
Fear of never finding friends like the amazing ones I shared my life with in college and continue to Skype/email with weekly.
Feeling weird.
Running every errand alone, squeezing them in before sunset to keep myself safe.
Going from minibus riding, to never leaving my house, to getting a car and braving the ZamRoads just to get out and be around people.
Tears.
Met by the joy of Jesus, romancing my heart in reminders that He will never leave me.

Lunch wasn't just lunch. And this weekend, filled with home manicures, cookie dough, Serendipity, a market visit, Thai food, and a blessing of a church, wasn't just another weekend. It was one filled with something beautiful: friends. 

Grace. Grace upon grace.

Thank you Jesus for the incredible gift of friends, of community who is there through the good, the bad, the frustrating of life here in Zambia. For the ones both at home, sacrificing time to spend with me despite their busy lives, and the wonderful new ones here in Zambia who know a bit better what life is like as a formerly-alone 20-something in this big country.

You know what though? And I'm not just saying this. But I am thankful for the season I'm stepping out of. Because God reminded me that He is all I will ever need. That He doesn't ever withhold His good. That His timing is perfect. He's given me these great friends at just the right time for each of us. I needed time alone, removed from my comfort of always-available friends who know every single thing about me, to see what they are. They're grace. And Jesus is the Giver, the Provider, Love.

If you would've told me about this day back in August, I would've probably laughed in your face (and cried out of frustration later) but Jesus gives immeasurably more than all we can ask for or imagine. Not just one friend. But four, and others. Friends who I can walk beside in the crazy, chaotic, beautiful life that is life here in Zambia.

Jesus thank you for bagel sandwich lunches.

valentines

I spent my day today with 11 of the most beautiful Valentines.

As with any good Clothed in Hope celebration, there were sugary drinks (Coke & Fanta this time) and beautiful sugary treats ("cupcakes" aka scones with frosting) on the menu. Rather than taking the lead, I just let it be. Let Joshua join us and sit patiently for his Fanta. Let the ladies do things as they do, not as I had planned.

And I really learned a lot. It was humbling to be in the middle of such a seemingly lighthearted gathering to find that the ladies wanted to treat it with the utmost respect filled with deep rooted cultural traditions. I thought it was interesting so I figured I'd share.

The two youngest (minus myself, who somehow was deemed guest of honor and therefore rules are flipped around) are expected to serve the rest. Margret and Tresa retreat to the kitchen to place all the cupcakes on a serving tray to carry out to the group. Drinks are poured in front of everyone and everyone must wait to drink until all have received their portion. All handing out, receiving, and eating is done with the right hand. The "clean hand" culturally. When it comes to serving the cupcakes, the skinniest ones receive food first then the fattest one last. In this case, unashamed and completely understanding of the custom, Pauline proceeded to exclaim her title proudly. I'm not making this up, folks. The comments that followed are not to be published, though I can say it's shocking to witness women and weight in another culture. Refreshing, actually.

Surrounded by women enjoying the "sweeties" (myself included, obviously), my heart filled with joy. Sure we can make bracelets. We can make top secret super awesome samples of future products. We can start our class with a mini lesson in microeconomics. But all of this "programming" seems to fade away when CiH is at it's original design: a way of encouragement, love, hope, joy to vulnerable and oppressed women. It's pretty amazing. I sat thankful to get to witness their culture in the little things.

Finishing up our treats I noticed that Margret (the second youngest of the group, widow at 25 and mother of a 3 year old) hasn't touched her cupcake. In a culture where not eating all of your food, regardless of preference, is a shameful thing, I was curious. Margret shares with the group that she'll enjoy the Fanta, but she will save the cupcake for Rabbecca, her little girl. She probably didn't think much of this. Though I did, and obviously still do. In the height of joy, Margret chose to sacrifice and found joy in it. Not pain, not a burden, but she is even happier because she gets to give the cupcake to the love of her life. Beauty.

Before we dismissed for the day I encouraged the ladies to use this Valentine's Day (except that they just say Happy Valentine's here) to tell the people they love just how much they mean to them. To not let the opportunity pass them by to tell someone that they love him/her. To celebrate love.

With which Margret lights up, looks at me, and says, "I love YOU, Amy."

Thank you, Jesus, for giving me the most beautiful best friends in Zambia. Thank you for pouring out Your grace on me and letting me see Your heart in the middle of an insane time back here. Thank you for love that has been given abundantly to us through You so that we can share it with each other. Thank you for the best Valentine's Day I've ever had.

sake

Yesterday's post isn't one I regret. I want to share the difficulties to portray what real life is, not just my fun photos and weird tweets about the quirks of life here. But waking up today I realized that I have to tell the full story. As much as I wrestle with injustices and struggle to see the silver lining in the suffering of humanity in Zambia, I know Jesus is here. I know because He romances me daily. He gives me strength to endure, mercy to start a new day, joy in the junk. And I know because He says so. His Word never falters. His promises never broken. He is saving His people. He has defeated this darkness. This life on earth isn't all there is to the story. Rather, it's just the beginning.

Yes my suffering produces fruit in faith. I get to see more of Jesus. He shows me dependence through grace. He lavishes His love when I fear. I do benefit. But what if I said that it's not for my sake? Because it's not. His blessings are for His glory. His grace for His sake. The more Jesus empties me of myself, the more He can live through me. Jesus doesn't just give grace so that I can have great stories, adventure and even hardship that turns around, but so that I can worship Him with my life, with my voice, with my soul. Jesus, receive the glory, the little fragments that I have to offer. Pour me out and fill me up with You, for Your sake.

Today is just another day. Still janky. I still feel beat up from yesterday but Jesus shows me Truth. Grace. Life bigger than me. Peace. Love. For His sake.

"Father, into Your hands I commit My Spirit." Luke 23:46, spoken by Jesus enduring the cross on my behalf for His glory
"Into Your hands I commit my spirit; You have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God." Psalm 31:5
"Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses His life for My sake will find it." Matthew 10:39

Today I'm thankful that this world doesn't have the final voice. Jesus is coming to make all things new. He's calling everyone to live for His sake, and it's there that pure joy is found. His hope is alive and it will never be defeated.

monday

Today is Monday. In every sense of the word.

From 8-14Hours, I was out at various government offices getting yet another batch of paperwork done with Elina. What was accomplished and checked off of the to-do list? Nada. And I feel like I met every mean person who lives in Zambia today. Elina said that it’s because it’s Monday. I think she’s right. Jesus, teach me grace.

First on the list this morning dealt with our nonprofit registration number. Turns out they use the same numbering system for charities, businesses, and private companies, all starting from #1 yet separate in categories. The reason I even bother to explain this oddity is this: we went to file some tax paperwork and pay fees on our building Friday only to find out that the downtown office thinks we’re Chrismar Hotel. This could be fun and all, except that they refused to continue with paperwork until we sorted this out. So that’s how we found out about this unique numbering system this morning.

The sad reality of the situation hits even deeper than the frustration of inefficiency systems. Our number, generated for us in the charity sector in August, turned up to be the same number that a business (hotel) received decades ago. Charities are just now approaching the number of businesses from decades ago. Who do you hear of that wants to work for a charity in Zambia (besides me, obviously)? Jesus, send your laborers with endurance and love.

For some reason, it seems near impossible to get things functioning here. From bank accounts to personal visa issues, it seems like sometimes everything is done to make sure we don’t accomplish anything. A shocking reality in a nation in need.

After we decided on the last errand, certain that it would be a success so that we could end on a high note, we went in only to be rejected again. Frustration. Confusion. Why does it have to be so difficult?! I suppose Jesus doesn’t always send us to the easy places. I don’t know if I have any major takeaway from today or any beautiful silver lining. It’s just one of the days I’m wrestling with the reality of life and the vast injustices there are here and around the world.

It’s not fair that I have to watch a street boy struggle to carry his collection of plastic containers weaving through busy traffic in route to his destination, where he’ll likely sell them for a few cents or where he’ll owe them to some sort of street master.

It’s not fair that every step we try to take as a charity gets a wall thrown in front of it. That our honesty and passion are overlooked for more money and more papers.

It’s not fair that over lunch I find out that all of the orphans Elina is housing are without money to pay for school fees. Some even face having to drop out before completing a pivotal testing year of grade 7 because the money isn’t there.

It’s not fair that our women have to face the difficulties of life on behalf of their children, fearing for their future and feeling like what they do won’t be enough sometimes.

It’s not fair that my friends come to me with stories of a sweet 4 year old girl being dumped in a landfill by her own mother, enduring the pain from larvae who have burrowed in her skin.

It’s not fair that Mercedes Benz SUVs and $50,000 NGO cars drive through slum compounds without the blink of an eye.

It’s not fair that this isn’t fixable. That no matter what I or anyone else does, it’ll never amount to even be a drop in the bucket.

Today, things are heavy. Things are frustrating. Things are hard. My heart shatters for this place, so overlooked and so difficult. Jesus, come soon. Jesus, give us strength. Jesus, let your love shine through the darkness.  

today

Today was something else. A test. A victory. A million emotions wrapped up into one.

At 9am I met up with Elina, Pastor Brian, and the 2 sellers of the facility that will become the Chikondi Community Center. Upon coming back to Zambia, I made it my top priority to make sure this happens quickly (relatively) and completely so that things can move on and progress. I'm ready to open those doors.

Little did I know, today would show me more about myself and Zambia than I anticipated. Especially when I only ate that little granola bar for breakfast expecting to have a long lunch break and make it to the bank before training started at 14hrs. (Spoiler alert: neither lunch nor the bank happened)

After meeting up with the other 4, we stepped into a building just a few "blocks" down from Elina's house in Ng'ombe, the local council run by the Zambian government, known for its corruption. What a way to start the day. The process of stamping one paper required a million copies, which had to be done further in the compound in the marketplace across from the tomato stands. Just a copy machine in a concrete room, and they charge something like 10 cents a copy. Not too shabby. Anywho, one and a half hours later, we left the building to make our payment. Rather than pay at the local council and risk it never getting downtown, we chose to go downtown ourselves to hand the payment directly to the one who writes the receipts. Forgive the details, or lack thereof, but this process would take 25 pages just to describe it in detail. The basic point of today: we needed to secure Change of Ownership documents to turn the facility over to the local branch of Clothed in Hope.

So downtown. Two minibuses away from Ng'ombe so we hop on. I sit in the back row, a 4' seat with 4 people squished back there. Though I'm sure the space we each naturally take up is a liiitle bigger than a ruler. The rains came this morning so it cleared off for a beautiful minibus ride through the bulk of Lusaka. I enjoyed looking out the window, cool breeze flowing through the bus, Nyanja spoken by everyone but me, and just enter my little world of observations for a hot second. Lusaka is much more than slum compounds, dirt roads and weird copy shops. There is so, so much more. Cruising by, bumping along pot holes and swerving around bikers, the bus took me on a nice tour. There were the cages of chickens on the side of the road, kinda like a twisted drive through. Like lobster in tank at seafood restaurants meets McDonalds. Yea that weird. Especially when the chickens are merchandised next to security bars for windows. Quite the scene. Entering downtown we swerved around the crazy roundabouts and there were so many men selling Zambia merchandise for the huge game tonight. The men walk from car to car blowing horns and shoving Zambia scarves in the line of sight. One merchant was taking a break, drinking from the water hose that was watering the government-funed garden in the roundabout. Some details just stop me in my tracks. Like that one. Imply what you want, but for me it seemed a little messed up. Just like the NGO vehicles that are some of the nicest on the road expensing out at around $50,000. I wasn't angry on my bus ride, just observant. Loving learning more about this country that I call home. Loving learning about the lifestyles of its people.

We arrive downtown. I'm not really invited to say anything all day by the officials. Pastor Brian speaks on my behalf, just as the man accompanying the seller of the house. Women don't have a say. It's just something to get used to. But I am so thankful for that man sent to CiH from Jesus, who advocates for the vulnerable and for Clothed in Hope.

The process, which was planned to take just minutes downtown, turned into a 6-hour ordeal. Y'all. SIX HOURS. Stamps here. Copies there. Offices there. All in one major office. It was insane. We got so close then the door slammed in our face and it was lunch break. An entire hour. So we waited. And I pondered. I was drained. Frustrated. Overwhelmed. Beyond confused with the whole process. I felt like I was just being dragged along this insane adventure. I was hungry. No lunch for us. Ants fell on my face. I got kicked out of my seat so a man could sweep the dirt from the porch. It was an afternoon I won't forget but don't necessarily want to. So yea. My patience wore thin. I wanted out but I wanted to finish.

So I prayed. Jesus, give me strength. I'm past exhausted. And He gave life. He lifted my chin and said just a bit further. In these times it's easy for me to see how much I'm inconvenienced. Someone else should be doing this work for me. But what?! Jesus loves me SO much. Why do I think love comes cheap? Why do I think love comes with shortcuts?! I'm pretty sure Jesus felt pain on that cross He hung from to save my life and the lives of all in this world. It's not a guilt trip, but a beautiful revelation. Jesus loves me THAT much. He loves these people who will get to see and know Him at the Chikondi Community Center THAT much.

There weren't doves flying around. Or lightbulbs going off. Just a sigh of relief that I'm not alone. That I don't have to give myself the strength I need. I can be completely limp and Jesus will sustain me. I can feel completely unloving and Jesus will graciously reveal His great love in my soul.

I realized that the saying "love until it hurts" might just be a little off. How about "love past the hurt." There are no limits to the love of Jesus. It doesn't come from us. It flows through us. Nothing extraordinary happened today. We just got a paper stamped after 7+ hours of an ordeal. But I got to chat with Pastor Brian as a real person, not just a helper for CiH. I got to sit and ponder the extravagant, painful, costly, challenging, heart-exploding, eye-opening, beautiful love of Jesus as guinea hens ran through the yard on the office grounds and Zambians flocked to the conference room nearby to have a lunch-break church.

Let's love past the hurt. Let's realize that love came and comes with sacrifice. God loves us THAT much that He gave His Son up for us. Let's see that Jesus is so much more than our agenda, our time constraints, our conceptions, and our expectations. I'm convinced of this: the more you risk for love, the more you find love. Because it never runs out.

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.

immeasurably

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Ephesians 3:20

[Immeasurably: without bounds; vast; limitless]

I’m heading back to Zambia in just 3 days and I honestly can’t believe my time at home has ended this quickly. It’s been a challenging season, filled with more work than rest, more anxiety than peace. Rather than just a catch-up time and holiday with great friends and family, I’ve had to juggle a transition phase for our organization in staffing and head up the fundraising of $20,000 for our Chikondi Community Center, plus everyday operation expenses. I don’t know exactly why this season has been particularly difficult. Perhaps it was full of difficult things, but most of all I think I have made it more difficult. Sounds crazy, right?

Doubt. Anxiety/Stress/Worry (whichever term you prefer). Busyness.

All of these things make God out to be less than He is.

He’s not just better. He is the best. He is the God of immeasurably more.

Though it’s been a difficult season, I’m thankful. I’m thankful because God has continually smashed my comforts and my control to show me that He is immeasurably more, He gives immeasurably more, and He wants immeasurably more for my life than I can even dream of.

Perhaps this is in the practical, the $20,000+ that came in through an Indiegogo campaign that blew me away. The days I didn’t tweet excessively or post amateur Photoshop graphics are the days where the donations would pour in. God doesn’t need me. He chooses me to join Him in His journey. And that is absolutely beautiful.  When I doubted, He provided the immeasurable more in His way for His glory.

But perhaps it’s also in the big picture, the tough times too, the times when we can’t quite pinpoint the “why.” God doesn’t think like we do. He sees the entire picture and promises that He will always work for our good. It may not always feel good or look good, or we may choose sin over Him, but He will always work for our good because that’s who He is.  Closing yet another chapter with goodbyes that don’t get any easier, I cling to this truth: Our God is limitless. Vast. Without bounds. He’s the God of immeasurably more.

This life isn’t even about me. It’s for the immeasurably more in the name of Jesus.