kites

Kites are my new love language.

I used to feel most loved, most connected to the bigger picture God has for His children when I saw a brilliant sunset. But now that feeling is most evoked by kites.

Not the elaborate canvas ones controlled by a billion strings and ties.

No, rather the opposite.

Seasons are changing here, and a changing of seasons brings windy days. Perhaps the winds before a storm, or just the wind that helps move the clouds out of the way for the sunshine to burst through.

As I drive my little green vehicle into the compound during this season of changing seasons, I look around for the magic. Small children, dusty faces and shoeless feet, scrambling around every gutter and trash pile with their fellow artisans. The biggest smiles and belly laughter mark the sign of the ultimate treasure found: a plastic grocery bag fully intact. Celebration is surely needed for this crucial step. Hands raised in the air and audible cheering, kite production is now beginning. Each child helps another find his or her own bag until the pack of children is walking proudly with bags in hands.

Large bags holding the most prized food staple are the next treasure to be found. One bag is ripped apart by dozens of tiny hands until each child has a strand of plastic strings long enough to fly his kite.

The first steps, marked by sheer excitement and a sense of adventure are calmed for the last and final step: assembly. Those packs of children are seen congregating in gutters or on any free patch of dirt with their plastic bags, plastic strings, and the 2 sticks they acquired along the journey. Hands move quickly, with minds racing for the adventure ahead.

And just like that, the kites are ready.

On these most magical, grace-filled days, winds aren’t seen as bad. The changing of seasons isn’t intimidating. The upcoming storm doesn’t incite fear, but rather opportunity.

And on these days, above the concrete houses, the trash-filled gutters, the dusty roads and the (still) shocking qualities of living, rise the most beautiful, most courageous, most awe-inspiring kites. Meters high in the sky, flapping in the wind, being held and controlled by the happiest and proudest children.

Hope rises above the pain. Joy flies high. Love is on display for all to see. Fear is no match.

And God displays His glory by saying, “My banner over you is LOVE.” (Song of Solomon 2:4).

The bravest, craftiest little souls have opened my eyes to the beauty of God’s love, the grace that can be found in any situation. For that I am so grateful.

In this season of changing seasons, accompanied with strong winds and imminent storms, I will gather my few materials, my little bag, my sticks, my strand of strings, the little I can gather up on my own. And I will catch the wind and fly my kite high. With a smile on my face and joy in my soul, I will fly my kite high above the hardship, far beyond the difficulty.

Because I have a Father whose banner over me is love. 

weak

This morning was oddly cool and breezy. The usually suffocating humidity of rainy season was replaced with a crisp, quiet coolness. It was one of those mornings that (admittedly) I was hoping for a day off for a movie marathon in my jammies. This week has been tough. And if I’m being honest, this entire time since we landed has been tough. The blog post Wyatt and I wrote just a few days ago still stands true though. We’ve found great joy in being here, but we’ve also faced great opposition and difficulty.

As a teacher/boss/contractor/mentor/etc. I don’t often get to be weak. Rather, I don’t choose to be weak. I have to have all the answers. I have to anticipate the next move and make plans. I have to stand tall when things are tough, because so many faces look to me for how to react. This emotion-stuffing way of doing things probably isn’t the healthiest, but I do it here. When I get hollered at by random people, or ripped off, or singled out, I can’t just collapse and cry. My vulnerability would put me in danger. So when things are hard, I choke it up, I keep moving forward, and I “stay strong.”

And this rejection of weakness is what has bonded me with the ladies of Clothed in Hope today.

I walked into the Chikondi Community Center with a heavy heart today. Burdened. Distracted. Sad. But I dared not let it show. Until I felt that every other woman felt the exact same way. The ladies usually dress themselves in smiles, pretending the worries of the world don’t affect them. Today, it was different. The mood was heavy. The ladies hungry for the opportunity to be weak, to take off the mask of false strength. To lay down their burdens.

Fridays are encouragement days, so today followed the same schedule. But today things went a bit differently. Just recently, I placed a Prayer Request jar at the entrance to the center with paper and a pen for women to submit requests anonymously for us to pray over as a group (quite an American concept, actually). For days only my 2 requests sat in there. When we opened the jar today, there were a dozen little folded slips of paper, confessions of burdens, requests for help.

We could all sense the weight that hung in the room today- the discouragement, the effects of oppression, the worries, the fears. And for just one day, we let ourselves be weak. Each little slip of paper was held on tightly by a pair of women who prayed over that request. Whispers turned to loud voices turned to shouts and cries. We chose to stand in the gap and face the throne of God on behalf of our friends, our sisters. We all joined hands, united, with women of the 2 current classes and even women who will enroll in our newest class. We joined hands in a circle, declaring that the space in the middle belonged to Jesus alone. It was there we could empathize, to lay down our burdens and the struggles of our sisters. It was there we could take off our masks of strength that we keep on for so many people in our lives, and expose faces of weakness and fear. It was there we could be completely ourselves without any reservation, knowing we were meeting the very Spirit of God in prayer.

I often share stories of success only, and yes those stories are important and evidence just how God is moving through our program. But what about stories of weakness? Why are we so afraid to be weak? Who do we think we have to impress?

Women shouted out cries for their sisters for financial breakthroughs.

For their children to have college opportunities.

For another house to miraculously become available as their landlord will kick them out tonight.

For God to provide customers to visit their businesses to provide for their families.

For unity with feuding friends.

For physical and spiritual healing from long-term illness.

For financial provision to buy start-up equipment for new business.

For the well being of their children.

For continued funding for our program.

For the compassion of a husband’s bosses in a particular situation.

For health for a mom in a high-risk pregnancy with twins.

For food for the next week.

And the list goes on. Once we all knew that another woman was struggling, we could admit our own struggle. 12 requests turned to 20. Hardness exchanged for beautiful fragility. I then recognized that it is beautiful to be weak. That God celebrated over all of us women holding hands, crying out about what hurts us, what keeps us up at night, what is hard to trust Him with. Because it’s in our weakness that we are completely ourselves before Him, relying on Him alone to meet our needs. Dependency. Brokenness. Surrender. Vulnerability.

I peeked up from our hour of prayer, hand-in-hand with one woman I’ve known for 2 year now, and one I just met today, and I saw something so beautiful.

One dusty face with tears adorning the tops of her cheekbones. The most beautiful of tears. Tears that say, “I am weak, but You are strong.” And tears that respond to hearing Jesus say, “It’s okay, my love. It’s okay. You can be weak.”

-

I just had to rest in that moment. Recognizing that our King was in the room, the Spirit that has the power to rescue, redeem, restore. Our King wasn’t condemning us for our fears or worries. He was meeting us in our weakness to whisper words of grace and incredible love. He was delighting over our brokenness. He was speaking to the hearts of women who are hurting, myself included. 

In that moment, there wasn’t teacher or student, American or Zambian, widow or single mother, employed or unemployed. There was simply the beauty of a community of women seeking our King together. Celebrating our weakness, even if just for a bit.

What’s even better? After we finished our time of prayer and preaching, we danced. We shouted. We laughed. We sang. We danced some more. Because we all knew that something special happened today. We all knew that we just spent some incredible moments before the face of Jesus in a most powerful way. We all saw each others’ weakness, and it didn’t draw comparison or guilt; it empowered. Though things are hard, though the world is tough, though we’re all fighting our own battles, there is a reason to dance and laugh. In our weakness, He is strong. In our doubt, He is steadfast. In our fear, He is faithful. In our running, He pursues.

We all concluded our morning- turned afternoon- with hearts full of joy. Not because everything was solved or the miracles happened on the spot (though God is fully capable). We left joyful because life is difficult YET we have a reason to rejoice. The God of the Universe is on our side. He is inviting us into beautiful weakness. He is pursuing us in our deepest hurts. He is whispering reminders of love and hope when all else seems too difficult.

And that’s surely a reason to rejoice.

Though the fig tree should not blossom,

    nor fruit be on the vines,

the produce of the olive fail

    and the fields yield no food,

the flock be cut off from the fold

    and there be no herd in the stalls,

YET I will rejoice in the Lord;

    I will take joy in the God of my salvation.

God, the Lord, is my strength;

    he makes my feet like the deer's;

    he makes me tread on my high places.

Habbakuk 3:17-19

Why, my soul, are you downcast?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will YET praise him,

my Savior and my God.

Psalm 42:11

can't

I realize it's been forever since I've last written and I'm sorry for that! Just to catch everyone up, I got married on November 9, the most beautiful day of my life, and am officially Mrs. Amy Woodell Bardi to my wonderful Mr. It's been an exciting, beautiful, crazy, joyful, chaotic past few months.

Just a week and a half before our wedding day, I was curled up in the fetal position in my bed, lights out, with the most massive migraine I've ever experienced. I used to have frequent headaches but nothing like this. I was out for a couple of days. I was frustrated that I couldn't keep going with my tasks for the wedding due to this inconvenience.

I might be pretty good at hiding it sometimes, but I'm a worrier. I crave control to feel at peace. I over-plan. I like my to-do lists, and they quite honestly could be considered an obsession. I like schedules. And I become anxious when my plan, my list, my schedule doesn't quite work out.

So you can imagine my frustration feeling completely helpless with the world's worst migraine right before my wedding.
What if it comes back on November 9 and I can't be in the daylight to even walk down the aisle?
What if I have a new chronic condition?
What if I caused this on myself and can't ever experience freedom from my stress, worrying, anxiety, etc.?

Yes, those were my real thoughts, no exaggerations whatsoever. I choose fear over faith sometimes. I overanalyze. I think I can control the uncontrollable.

But since that day, I've began to realize that I can't. 

I live in a world that tells me that I can be perfect, I can do it all: I can manage a successful business, I can be the best friend, wife, daughter, etc., I can work 24 hours a day and still get my 8 hours of healthy sleep and I can work out and eat healthy and craft and cook the perfect made-from-scratch dinners. I can save now to be rich later. I can make a 20-year plan to the last detail. I can self-manage, self-motivate, self-improve. I can do anything. Right?

I can't.
I can't be the perfect bride, free of migraines and stress.
I can't create more hours in each day.
I can't cook without a recipe.
I can't do 99% of what's posted on Pinterest.
I can't be the best friend to 50 people, much less 15.
I can't arrange pinecones in a hurricane vase to decorate our first home for Christmas.
I can't create cleaning solutions from scratch.
I can't always do my best with my work.
I can't raise $100,000 to grow Clothed in Hope.
I can't look perfectly pulled together every day.
I can't self-improve, no matter how hard I try.
I can't tell you where we'll be in 6 months, forget about 20 years.
I can't organize as well as I'd like.
I can't curb my obsession with Target.
I can't always love and respect my husband as I should.
I can't sustain my faith in Jesus by my own efforts, or lack thereof somedays.
I can't change the lives of 23 women in Zambia.
I can't always live by faith.
I can't catch up on my reading list, that's supposedly aimed to self-motivate, self-improve, self-etc.
I can't keep dust from collecting on every surface.
I can't support raise enough for my imaginary 20-year plan.
I can't go a day without having a negative thought and/or reaction (usually and).
I can't find time to do every Christmas thing I was hoping to do this season.
I can't overcome sin patterns in my life.

I just can't.

Anyone with me on this one?

I dare to say that I'm not alone. So overwhelmed by can'ts that I often find myself stuck in them. The world tells me that I can do it all, then tricks me into taking a bite of that apple. I then find myself trapped in guilt, shame, insecurity, failure that I couldn't do it. It's like a game that I've played for far too many days of my life.

But since that migraine, tides are changing. Slowly, but surely.

God's grace is in the can't.
God's provision is in the can't.
God's joy is in the can't.
Because only in the "I can't" do I see that He can.
He can. He will. He is. 

It's not up to me. He doesn't demand my perfection. His love for me is based on absolutely nothing I can or will ever do. His love for me is absolute, more unconditional than we can ever comprehend.

God doesn't care that my cooking is B+ at best. God doesn't care if I don't finish my to-do list most days. Because He cares about me. He cares about people. He cares about hearts.
Only when my soul is brought low, humbled, can I look up to see His sovereignty, His strength, His trustworthiness, His love, His compassion, His ability. That He can.
The pressure is off. The weight lifted. There is FREEDOM.


"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

face

There are only a few people who touch your life at its deepest, who inspire you at your core, and who teach you so much about life just by being a part of theirs. I’m lucky enough to have found one of these people in the newest Clothed in Hope training class. To respect her privacy and her story, we’ll call her Mary.

I’ve only known Mary for 2 short months. Yet these short months with Mary have changed me.

Mary’s life has been difficult. Harder than I could ever imagine. Oppression at every turn. But if you were to come to our center, I’d be willing to bet that you couldn’t pick out which one Mary is. I surely wouldn’t have pegged her for being quite possibly the most oppressed woman I’ve ever met on the day I met her.

I met Mary the first time I went to our new center to meet our newest class back in late June. Mary looked a little different from the other women, she was timid, but she was intriguing. There was something special about her. Before she left, I asked her how she ended up in this new class. Mary responded not with a typical closed-off answer of a victim, but she poured out her heart to me as a woman desperate for a friend, crying out to be heard.

Mary is HIV positive. Mary is a mother of 6. Mary is a widow. Mary is beautiful.

And the only place that people talk to Mary at any time during the week is at the center. She says that it’s at the Chikondi Community Center where she has made the only friends in her life.

Because Mary’s neighbors know she’s HIV positive. Her family knows. And culturally, she’s to be rejected and left alone. She has had curses placed on her life. Her own relatives have disowned her. And the rare occasion that she gets enough courage to visit them to say hello and extend immense forgiveness, they break the plate, fork and cup she ate off of in front of her, yelling at her that they don’t want her “disease.” They shame her. They embarrass her. The very people who are supposed to love her. All over a horrifyingly-misunderstood disease.

Yet she smiles. Yet her eyes sparkle.

Mary’s health has taken many scary paths. A few years back when Mary was very sick with her symptoms, she was taken into a hospital. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. She couldn’t speak. Her legs were swollen and her body so weak. Mary was vulnerable and trusted the doctors she believed would heal her. But these doctors didn’t care for her. They tried to poison her by crushing up 20 pain pills into her food. They told her she was better off dead so she wouldn’t be on their bill. They spoke hatred into her life. They killed other patients in front of her eyes as she was unable to speak or move to do anything about it. But Jesus saved her from that. He healed her body from the poisoning and weakness and she was able to walk again. Her life was threated by the very people who were supposed to save her.

Yet she laughs. Yet she gives the best hugs.

Last month Mary told me that her children came home from school and hugged her and laughed. They told her, “you used to cry every day and now you are happy, mommy!” Mary rejoiced with me in that moment. At our center, she’s loved. She’s told that what she does is valuable. That who she is, is a treasure. She’s free to laugh. She’s free to open up about the tough stuff in life. She’s free to create, to design, to learn, to be Mary. She experiences the hope, the joy, the love of Jesus, and she is happy. Happy so much that her children notice and their lives are blessed as a result.

But these past two weeks I noticed that Mary had been absent for every class. During a season change like we’re having now from winter to summer in a week, it wasn’t strange but I got that gut feeling that something wasn’t right. I called Mary and only heard exasperated whispers on the other end. “I’m not okay,” she said.  My stomach flipped over. What does this mean? She told me of a failed attempt to go to the hospital. After being poisoned the last time, she decided to return to receive care she desperately needed. The doctors turned her away yet again saying that she isn’t worthy of their blood, that hers is already infected. And that since she was poor, the best thing would be to go home. When Mary asked, “what will happen if I die?” they replied, “plenty of people have died before, and you won’t be the first.”

I was angry. I was hurt. I was confused. I only wanted to escape the pain I felt inside.

I called Elina asking her to figure out a solution and once I hung up I couldn’t hold back the tears. The frustration. The hurt I felt for Mary. Yet again she was betrayed by the very people who are supposed to be there for her. Yet again her health took a turn for the worse. Yet again she was oppressed for circumstances outside her control.

As the tears came, I wanted to run. To hide. To erase the problem.

But Jesus urged me to come closer. To go deeper. Enter in.

The next day I went to visit her at her home with a few other ladies. I was scared. I felt inadequate. I couldn’t fix this one with my bag of beets, liver, and juice. I couldn’t heal her body or reassure her. But I did want to love her as Jesus does.

I parked my car in a narrow alley way filled with trash and waste water. I walked around the grass fence to enter her home. Children were quietly playing on the doorstep. The compound eerily quiet. Heart racing. We knocked on the door and let ourselves in and found Mary there on the couch.

I don’t think I could’ve prepared myself for what I experienced in that moment. Mary was sitting on the couch, hair a mess, face completely sunken in, sweat covering her entire body. Body shaking with fever. Her ankles the size of a child’s wrist. Her face twisted in pain. Her eyes barely opened. Color gone from her face. Hands curled up. Unable to walk.

This wasn’t the Mary I knew. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

We tried to joke with her to cover the pain and the tension in the room of her condition. We tried to smile. We tried to encourage her but our words failed. Our efforts couldn’t fix it. So I was asked to pray and already-way-too-emotional, I knew it could only be the words of the Holy Spirit that would come from my broken heart. I prayed that Jesus would comfort her, that He would show her how special she is to Him. That the lies she has been told about her identity from family and doctors would be rebuked in the name of Jesus. That her health would be restored by the God of miracles. And on and on. Sobbing. Crying out to Jesus in this little room with my dear friends agreeing with me in the name of Jesus. Flies buzzing around, heat warming up the concrete block room, we brought Mary to the feet of Jesus.

And in that moment a miracle happened. The faces that I’ve only seen be strong and brave broke down into tears with me. Us four women, crying at the feet of Jesus for Him to rescue His daughter from the pain she’s suffered her entire life. Tears of release and freedom streamed down the faces of my friends. All because they knew they were safe in the presence of Jesus to feel what they felt, to be themselves and to be completely loved even in the pain.

At the conclusion of the prayer I looked at Mary. There was no sign of movement other than the shallow breaths she took and the tears that clung to the ends of her eyelashes. I can’t explain the feeling I felt, but I knew I was looking into the very face of God. Tender yet strong. Honest.

When Jesus took my hand to go deeper on behalf of His beloved Mary, He was taking me deeper into pain. Holy pain. The pain of humanity that can only be contrasted with the hope of Jesus and love of God. Entering that pain is painful, it’s scary, it’s difficult, but I believe when Jesus calls us to risk it’s because He wants to show us more of Himself even in the faces of pain.  

And when we feel that holy pain, God feels it too. He assured me that He was in that room crying and praying with us. That the tears on Mary’s eyelashes were His. And that after we had to leave, He would still be there holding her hand, changing her wet washcloth to calm her seizures from her fever, wiping away her tears, and holding her fragile body with strength and security. When the rest of the world rejects her, Mary belongs to Jesus. She is His.

We will keep praying. We will keep approaching the throne of Jesus on behalf of Mary’s life. I don’t understand why she’s had to endure more in her life than anyone I know. I don’t understand why she has felt pain and shame and oppression deeper than I can ever imagine. But I do understand and trust the Word of God when He says He will heal her and restore her. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe in Heaven some day, but He won’t go back on His promises. And His love can’t ever run out for dear Mary. Jesus will heal Mary.

As I left her house, I leaned down and gently hugged the bones that formed the only outline of her body. I told her that I love her and that I won’t stop praying for her. 

God filled my heart with gratitude for getting to be a part of Mary’s life today, tomorrow and forever, and for how she’s forever shaped mine in those smiles, those hugs, those sparkling eyes, and especially in the tears that clung to the ends of her eyelashes. How beautiful is the body of Jesus that we can know our present hope and future hope is in Jesus alone. How comforting to know that no matter what evil is spoken into our lives, even by the ones that we love, that Jesus’ voice of love is louder. And with every tear we cry and moment of desperation we encounter, we need only to open our eyes to the face of God before us.

engaged (pt. 2)

So back to that African-sized elephant in the room…

I’m sorry to have kept y’all waiting on this exciting part 2 of all things engagement between the handsome Mr. Bardi and myself. I promised I haven’t forgotten about y’all.

First the answers/explanations to the teaser dates:

1.     June 11: This was the day I jumped on a plane by myself for Zambia. For the very last time. The last overpriced meal eaten alone on a 36-hour-journey to this third world country that makes my heart skip a beat. The last awkward armrest battle with the person sitting next to me in the ever-so-spacious coach section. The last head-on-shoulder by a stranger who can’t control their neck after a couple doses of Ambien and a few mini bottles of wine. Oh how sweet it is. The very last.

2.     August 8, 2013: This day, one month from TODAY, my fiancé will be joining me in Zambia for the last 3 weeks of this trip. He’ll meet the ladies who have inspired me, challenged me, encouraged me, and have shown me so much of who Jesus really is. He’ll walk down the dusty dirty roads to the shouts of little children calling out in curiosity. He’ll taste, touch, see, hear, and feel what it means to be in Zambia. He’ll be doing all of this, right next to me, hand in hand. And every time I think of that my heart could just about burst.

3.     November 9, 2013: The biggie! This is our wedding day! After months, years of long distance, I get to say my final goodbye/goodnight on November 8 and walk down the aisle towards my man for a lifetime of togetherness, of unity in service for the mission God has for us, of joy, of grace upon grace. Sure I’m excited about this really pretty dress I found and to see all of the details come together with the best friends and family, but the moment I’m most excited about is the moment I become Wyatt’s and he becomes mine through marriage in an exchange of heartfelt, long-time-coming, probably ugly crying (by me) “I do’s.”

So that elephant’s still there right? What on earth are we doing? Does my “I do” on November 9 mean an “I won’t” when it comes to returning to Zambia?

I told y’all in my last post that I serve a God of miracles right? And you know that He does immeasurably more right?

Great. Then you should put on your party dress (or trousers) and do a little dance with me as I explain all God has for us in these next few months.

Sitting in that van with Wyatt over a year ago he told me of his heart for Africa. I thought it was some twisted way of me getting to like him and I hated when people just pulled the “Africa” card for a good convo with me. But boy was I wrong. This man’s heart has been ignited for a land and a people he has yet to meet. He always knew Africa was on the radar but needed some clarity as to where exactly God wanted him. Enter me and Clothed in Hope and my adoration for Zambia.

Right off the bat we had to be intentional in our relationship. We prayed individually that God would guide us where He wants us. I kept hearing “Zambia” the more involved I became with Clothed in Hope in-country. But I also kept feeling my heart drawn closer to Wyatt. Little did I know, Jesus was preparing his heart for Zambia, not to chase after me, but to lead our family there through his own God-given passions to see Jesus lifted higher in the nation of Zambia.

Wyatt can tell you all about himself but for those of y’all who don’t know him, he’s quite the guy. Great with kids. Has served for years with Young Life and their middle school ministry, Wyldlife. His vision is to disciple teen boys to be men of God in word and deed, raising up godly husbands, fathers, brothers and friends in Jesus’ name.

Through my time and connections (aka best friends) here, God opened doors for Wyatt to intern with a ministry in Lusaka called Family Legacy Ministries International (familylegacy.com). Straight out of college with a youth ministry degree, Wyatt is pursuing the calling on his life through his passions in the neatest of ways. God is preparing our new family for a life in Zambia through our unique giftings and passions. For me it’s Clothed in Hope. For Wyatt it’s orphan ministry. In the same city in the same nation with the same mission- to see hope spread through Zambia through the empowerment of its people. It’s pretty incredible stuff.

Practically what does this mean? Wyatt will start his 3-and-3 internship with 3 months in Dallas after returning from Zambia early this fall. He’ll be working at their corporate headquarters to learn the ropes about all things Stateside operations. We’re still working out timing but most likely it’ll overlap to last after the wedding where I’ll be joining him in Dallas as his bride and greatest fan. He finishes the last 3 months of his internship in… drumroll please… Lusaka, Zambia!! We’ll be jumping on a plane together in January for 3 months of Zamlife, feeling God’s calling on our lives to be much longer in that nation. We’re taking it one step at a time but feel like our family will be establishing our roots in Zambia for the long haul.

Wyatt and I are not doing this for the adventure. We’re not trying to make a statement against conventional American newlywed life. We are simply responding to the call God has on our marriage to serve the people of Zambia better as we’re together than if we were apart. The waiting game is over and I could not be MORE EXCITED to be experiencing the first months (and YEARS) of marriage with Wyatt leading us in Zambia. Joy. Joy. Joy!!

This already super busy season of wedding planning, running a nonprofit and hosting volunteer teams is getting crazier as we prepare to move our lives to Zambia right after getting married. This includes a luggage scale instead of a blender on our wedding registry, lots of unknown, and a season of gypsy life together until we get settled in our Zamhome (which is still TBD).

We are grateful that you care for us and about us. And through this season of quite the transition of getting married and moving to a third world country with a 6-suitcase limit, we are asking for your prayers. Prayers for peace, for joy, to see more of God in the crazy instead of worshipping the crazy, prayers of unity for our marriage, and for God to be glorified through every step.

And with our calling to enter into two support-raised jobs, we’re stepping out with greater faith than we feel possible sometimes, but God is faithful in what He’s promised. We’ve decided to support raise for our life together under Wyatt’s organization, Family Legacy, for training in Dallas and beginning Wyatt’s work and our lives together in Zambia. Wyatt has to raise over $14,000 for this next season and we would like to invite y’all to prayerfully consider partnering with us as we are sent from America to Zambia to pursue Jesus’ heart for the orphan and the widow. For you to send is just as blessed and called by Jesus as for us to go, and we would be so ecstatic to partner with you, sharing what your ongoing contribution is doing in the lives of Zambians as we begin our married life here.

This blog wasn’t a shameless plug for fundraising but rather an exciting opportunity for you to celebrate with us in where God is leading our (future) family (the one we like to refer to as the Bardi Party FYI). Thank you for your prayers to this point and your continued prayers. To God be all glory and praise.

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If you are interested in supporting us monthly or with a one-time donation for our upcoming ministry in Zambia, you can give at donate.familylegacy.com/wyatt.

Complete the form and click “Donate Now” knowing you are showered with our gratitude, the gratitude of all who we get to serve, love, and be loved by, and the joy of Jesus.

Zikomo (thank you) for walking alongside us in this new, exciting, grace-filled chapter of life as I become Mrs. Bardi and the Bardi’s take on Zambia together as newlyweds. We love you and can’t wait to continue to share all that God does in and through us along the way!

...and 4 months from tomorrow I become his wife!