celebrate

Guest post for Called for Such a Time, originally posted as "Celebrate Good Times (Like a Zambian) here: https://calledforsuchatime.com/celebrate-good-times-like-a-zambian/

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On September 12 of this year, we held our fourth graduation ceremony in Lusaka, Zambia for eight brave women who successfully completed our Clothed in Hope skills-training course.

In the middle of a dusty compound in the urban capital of Zambia sits our Chikondi Community Center, our Home of HOPE for vulnerable women in the area. We offer free skills-training classes in sewing and entrepreneurship to empower and alleviate poverty in a dignifying, sustainable way. Women in our program have suffered the death of their husbands at 40 years old due to highly preventable diseases. Their babies have been murdered in the hospital due to corruption. They have been poisoned because they have AIDS and are “taking up bed space” at the clinic. They endure daily domestic abuse. They face hunger, uncertainty, harassment from landlords, and the list could go on and on. These are women IN our program, currently working through what will be and what is a life-changing path for them and their families (more info: clothedinhope.org).

I won’t even go into the situation of women who aren’t in our program, because the need is overwhelmingly devastating. Just imagine a mom selling her body nightly because her 6 babies are very hungry and she can’t pay rent from month to month. Not because she wants to, but because to her it seems there is absolutely no other option (…until she finds out about Clothed in Hope, praise Jesus).

This reality can seem a world away to those of us not in Zambia, even to me at times, especially now that I’m based back in the US to provide administrative and financial support to our amazing (diva-status) in-country staff.

But that Graduation Day in September struck a chord within me and started a burning in my heart, and not just one for the Zambian women facing seemingly impossible situations (since that fire’s been burnin’ for quite some time now).

As I sat at the front of our Chikondi Community Center yard under our Ceremony Tent (don’t ask, just roll with the Zambian cultural differences), I peered out over the 60+ women who have graduated from, are gradating from, or are currently enrolled in our skills training program that began as a dream in my college apartment in 2010.

The dance breaks were so fun. The skits presented were powerful yet hilarious (I love how much they love acting like “Mama Amy” with her accent and over-usage of “awesome”). But the real magic started happening toward the end of the ceremony.

In the middle of our dusty compound sat 8 women who have achieved much, and were dressed to the nines full of confidence and beauty. Nothing outside the walls mattered except the accomplishments of these women. Women recognized for the first time in their entire lives.

I called each woman to the Ceremony Tent to receive her diploma, a giant hug (a big deal since I’m not a hugger, but I couldn’t miss out on these hugs y’all), and a few goodies from our In-Country Staff. The reaction was contagious.

One woman, Stella, rockin’ a custom made African print dress that fit her impeccably, rose from her chair when she was called. Her hands lifted high in the air in praise to Jesus. She just froze in a moment of intimate adoration, and we were all so honored to experience that moment with her. Then as quickly as hands were raised, Stella busted a move all the way up to the tent (also cultural, but also awesome). She danced, she cheered, she laughed, she rejoiced. And when she arrived at the tent, she fell to her knees before Jesus thanking Him for what He’s done in and through her life over the past 12 months of this program, and her entire life leading up to this moment. When she rose, she threw her arms around my entire body for what could be up there for one of the best hugs of my entire life (sorry hubs).

All that, so magical. So beautiful. But the true, awe-inspiring, challenging-to-my-soul beauty began when Stella turned away from the tent to return to her seat. The entire crowd of 60+ people cheered! They shouted! They danced! They raised their hands in praise! They ran up to her and hugged her so tightly. They celebrated her with the most selfless love.

They didn’t celebrate because they knew their celebration was coming later. Some have already graduated with much smaller graduation ceremonies. Some may never graduate due to life situations calling them elsewhere. They celebrated Stella simply because they love her. When she wins, we all win. When her life is changed, we all rejoice in that.

I’m not a huge (public) crier, but tears of joy welled up multiple times that afternoon. The sheer joy these women had in the ability to celebrate each other was just breathtaking and heart-bursting.

Maybe we can write it off as another cultural thing. Everyone knows Africans (Zambians) take care of their own and are huge on community, right? Maybe it’s just how they are. But what if we look past culture to see our commonality of humanity?

That perhaps this response is Jesus-rooted instead of culturally-rooted.

I left that ceremony almost a month ago, but it hasn’t left my mind ever since.

What would it look like for me to celebrate Jesus working in and through my friends’ lives like my friends in Zambia do for each other? What would it look like for me to truly celebrate others without a tinge of jealousy or expectation or comparison?

When my best friend launches a College Women’s Connect as the women’s ministry pioneer at her church and witnesses over 40 women attend on Thursday nights, my heart cheers, but can’t my body and my voice too?! YES! PRAISE JESUS! YOU GO GIRL! I AM SO PROUD OF YOU! YOU ARE SO BRAVE FOR STEPPING OUT AND I LOVE WITNESSING JESUS WORK THROUGH YOU!

When my friend returns home from a third-world country after a really rough time adopting her two beautiful girls, I can send her a nice Facebook message, showing that I care but keeping my true celebration at a distance. Or I can scour the aisles of Target for an hour in search of the perfect presents for her and her two girls to send across the country to let her know that they’re not forgotten. That they’re loved. That though the transition is hard, I am cheering for her. Jesus is cheering for her.

How did community/friendship become such that we dial down our celebrations and over-the-top reactions for each other? Maybe we’re getting older and balloons aren’t age appropriate anymore (but they totally are). Maybe social media tricks us into believing we’re connecting with someone. Or maybe social media introduces us to these nasty things called comparison and jealousy, and we don’t celebrate each other because we haven’t received that celebration ourselves. She didn’t celebrate me, so why would I celebrate her?

We could go through every scenario and probably come up with a reason as to why we don’t celebrate each other like we could. But what Jesus has been revealing to my soul over and over since that Graduation Ceremony, is that there’s simply no good reason to not celebrate accomplishments and traits in my friends and strangers. Because He celebrates over me daily. He sings and dances over my identity, apart from any progress I do or don’t make with my personal struggles. He cheers me on as His daughter, no strings attached, simply because I am His daughter and He is so proud of me as a person, apart from CiH or anything I do. His price for me invites the most glorious celebration.

Because He celebrates over me, I will celebrate over others. Maybe even in the Zambian way because that seems to be more fun.

I will hug when I don’t feel inclined to because I know the story that a stranger just told me took a lot of bravery for her to share. I will send my friend excessive emojis and too many words in all caps when she beasts a job interview. I will tell the barista that I really love her ring, because I do, and because she deserves to be celebrated.

When I open my eyes and start looking around this world, sure there’s a lot of pain. I absolutely get that. My past year and a half has been filled with more pain that I ever thought I could endure.

But I also see so much celebration and potential for celebration. So many parties, so many hugs, so many dances, so many affirming words. We, as daughters of the King, have the opportunity to be Jesus to each other with the Holy Spirit alive within us. Why not let the celebration we feel within just explode, raining glitter on all who we come in contact with? We all know that glitter is pretty dang hard to get out of much of anything. And I would be totally fine knowing that each person carries the glitter of Jesus’ celebration with them every day, no matter the challenges ahead. No matter if it’s hunger and abuse they face, or a broken relationship, or a tough financial situation, or just a bad hair day.

Let’s learn a thing or two from our dear sisters in Zambia. Enough is enough for these subtle gestures of support. Let’s go big, go bright, go loud, and go glittery in celebration of people of the world. 

graduation

In just an hour and a half, the second class of women will be graduating from our skills training program at the Chikondi Community Center. Four brave, committed, determined, beautiful women will receive their diplomas recognizing the countless hours and hard work they have put in over the past 12 months.

As I get all dressed up in my traditional chitenge suit and prepare for the day, tears stream down my cheeks. Not just the little trickle but the good and fat ones. Tears of release. Tears of joy. Tears of humility. Tears of being known, being loved, being accepted. Tears as I peer into the eyes of my Savior in awe of this very day. Yes in awe of all of the good that this day represents, but also tears that represent the struggle.

Day in and day out I analyze numbers. I review likes, shares, reach. I look at accounts and budgets and see how the two are struggling to keep up with each other. I analyze my peers in this industry. I want to celebrate with them but secretly (or not so much anymore) I am jealous of their accomplishments. I grow bitter. I grow anxious.  And above all, I grow fearful. Fearful that I’m doing this all wrong. Fearful that the money will run out or that I’ll never be able to get CiH to the level of some of my peers. Fear that cripples, fear that speaks death not life. Fear that isn’t of God. Fear that is sin.

Even in my sin, my selfish tendencies, and my narrow focus, Jesus ushers me in. He says come, you who are weary. Come, you are enough. Not because of your striving or your fear or your work, but because I have made you enough through My sacrifice for you, defeating sin and offering forgiveness. He invites me in to see as He sees, to view CiH for what it means to Him.

And it’s here that I see the beauty. The 4 women who have risen from the ashes in Jesus’ name. The 4 women who have gained a skill, yes, but have also gained a family, a place, worth, dignity, value, hope. The 4 women who seek Jesus as their lover, their Savior.  The full hearts, the restoration, the redemption. The Voice that whispers to them that they are His Beloved. They are accepted. They are not what their society or their neighbors tell them they are. They are not even their work or their new skill. Jesus has invited Heaven on earth, a beautiful glimpse of what’s to come, even in the midst of poverty and brokenness and terrible, terrible things. The King is on His throne. The King has called out these 4 women who feel anonymous to everyone else. He sits them up and brings them close.

And it’s in this truth, this beauty, this reality, that all else fades away. No amount of money can buy this hope. No number of followers is enough to affirm these women deep down in their souls. No account full enough to secure the souls of these dear 4. No campaign can be big enough to bring about life change in these women, in their families, in their communities and in generations to come as they excitedly share all they now know and experience. No tool on earth strong or good enough to measure the worth of these women in the eyes of their King Jesus.

So today I give it up. Lay it down. And I celebrate. I celebrate the immense value that today has in the lives of 4 women. I celebrate Jesus who redeems and restores. I celebrate our Father who is faithful, sovereign, steadfast, and victorious. I celebrate the brilliant light that overtakes the darkness here in Zambia. I celebrate also being called His Beloved, accepted, worthy of His love because of what He’s done for me and for all of us.

In the eternal, in the deepest parts of the soul, in light of what Jesus is calling to be on earth and in Heaven, all other stressors fade away. Am I still called to be obedient and faithful in the call God’s laid on my heart? Absolutely. But I am freed from the chains of comparison, of striving, of seeking affirmation from the world, of doubt, of fear in Jesus’ name. He has called me deeper, to greater things, greater things than I can even imagine. And instead of occupying my mind with the worries of today, I will fix my eyes on my King Jesus, my hope for today and for tomorrow. 

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.

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.