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. 

truth

After weeks of silence from this blog, I think I’ve finally pinpointed one of the biggest difficulties for me coming back to the US enough for me to put it into words. It isn’t having to go on a gluten-free diet (although the Frito-flavored cereal sure is something). It isn’t the clutter of media that seems to dictate our lives. It isn’t our materialistic lifestyle. It isn’t going from isolation to being surrounded by so many people I know. It isn’t the shift of my work (though that is quite a biggie).

No, it’s not those things.

Rather, it’s fighting to see the Truth of life amidst so many distractions, stressors, frustrations and fleeting happiness.

There are so, so many moments where I’ve just curled up in a ball on the armchair, tuning out the overwhelming responsibilities of life with TLC. I may or may not have just had one of those moments, this time with a Chai Latte in hand.

But something inside me fights for more, something that wants to be heard.

I shut down when things go crazy. Right now things seem pretty crazy. We just came off of an insane election season, where social media has blown everything up. I’ve returned thinking everything will be the same, but 3 months have passed. CiH staff is in huge transition, and seemingly greatly decreasing when we could use anything but that. We need $70,000 for 2013 operations and for a great need that requires $25,000 in January (which will be announced tomorrow). I don’t know where I’ll be living in January, nor do I have my ticket booked yet. Plans and communication with Zambian operations get pretty funky some days. The tune sounds pretty familiar, huh? Yet I still trap myself in these things, in the logistics, the practicalities of how to fix it all.

But what about Truth?

I’ve been blessed with an incredibly supportive family to be here for me in this season. I’ve stood beside my best friend with tear-filled eyes as she joyfully married her prince this past weekend. I’ve laughed harder than I have in months with great friends who have been there for me, even 6,000 miles away. I enjoyed a great birthday surprise and wonderful moments with the best boyfriend.

But what about Truth?

The Truth is, it isn’t about a weighing and balancing of bad and good. It doesn’t matter if I spin my mind to outweigh the really bad with all of these great things.

What matters is that Jesus died for me so that I could live in Him, today, this moment, in America. His love covers all fears and anxiety. Through grace, His love for me doesn’t ever change. I am complete in Him. The price has already been paid. The Truth is that this life isn’t really about me and my struggles at all; it’s about God receiving the glory from my life.

Jesus, let that Truth soak on in. 

great

Just 24 hours from now I'll be hopping in the car to ride to the airport, past the checkpoint that checks under your car for game (monkey, zebra, lion, etc.) smuggling, and up to one of 6 gates for international travel. I'm leaving Zambia. Now I'm quick to say that I'll be back in January, God-willing, but for now I have to go. This ticket has been booked, and against the common thought, I may not be quite that ready to leave.

But I know it's time. It's time to share the stories of women who have forever impacted my life, of a God who if faithful to fulfill His promises, of joy inexplicable when I choose to walk in His will for His glory. It's also time for some mega-fundraising, and none of this is a surprise to the Lord, thankfully.

The trickiest part is, though, how do I communicate what these past 12 weeks have meant in my life? For a time that's felt like years with days that feel like weeks, what do I say?

"Great" will never be an appropriate response to "how was Zambia?!"

But what else can I say?

How do I communicate that from living with an incredible family and having my brother here, to living in complete isolation, to now having the most amazing friends, God has taught me the blessing of community and that we're not created to live completely alone? Maybe those nights spent alone, watching hours of TV shows on my computer were actually quite necessary. If that time of isolation was what I needed for God to reveal His plan of community to me, to know that His community satisfies above all, then for isolation, I am thankful.

How do I communicate the feeling of CiH women, my new best friends, look me in the eye at our going-away ice cream party, and tell me, "We will miss you. We love you." after all of the hardships we've faced together through the launch of this program? How do I share that even though we struggle to speak the same language most days, we've formed an incredible bond through laughter and love, a love that breaks every barrier?

How do I communicate the abundant provision of the Lord and His proven faithfulness here from friends to NGO application approval in a miraculous amount of time, to the CiH women taking ownership of the program so much quicker than anticipated, to the amazing story that's to come of what's next for us?

How do I communicate life here, in slum compounds with rotting animals on the dirt road, filled with kids with too-skinny bodies but too-big of bellies, trash piled high at ever turn, clinic lines never shortening, yet churches with singing filling the air and laughter persisting regardless of the quality of life? And what about the other life here, in pristine grocery stores with all imported goods, nearly empty movie theaters and upper-crust social events? How do I tell people that when I took my women for ice cream on Friday, that it was their first time seeing an escalator or elevator and they all wanted a "snap" (photo) with them, and that their trip to the grocery store was the highlight of their day after having gone months, years or even lifetimes without having shopped anywhere else except for the compound roadside store?

How do I communicate how corruption is obvious in every aspect of life here, that poverty is so much deeper and complicated than just a lack of money? How do I express that every "difficulty" here has a deep-rooted issue behind it, such as drivers licenses that were previously given out for bribes, so over half of drivers on the road don't actually know how to drive? Or that I'll always be charged another price on minibuses and at the market for being a "mzungu" (outsider)?

How do I express that despite every weight that tries to tear me down, every day that seems too exhausting, every issue that is more culturally complex than my American mind can comprehend, that these past 12 weeks have been some of the most incredible I've experienced in my life? When everything should've shut me down and sent me out, God has kept me in His hand, has given me grace to endure, and has shown me more of Himself through every difficult experience here.

Somehow I don't think it's all Zambia's fault though, or even life in a third-world country. I think the miscommunication really occurs when Jesus has instructed me to live a life greater than myself for His purpose in a mass of discomfort, so that the only thing that's really consistent, that's really comforting, that's really satisfying, is Himself.

So if somehow I respond with a "great" to you, know that there is so much depth behind that answer. And if communication (or lack thereof) is just another step of discomfort that brings me closer to Jesus, then bring it on.

victory

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I (Jesus) came that they may have life and have it abundantly. I am the good Shepherd.” John 10:10-11a

We’ve probably all heard this concept quite a bit. But living in Zambia when risk is everywhere for me, and the reality of darkness so apparent, my perception of this battle has changed. Upon arriving in Zambia in July, I believed in light and dark, but more than anything I think I believed in the battle. I believed in the hardship, the struggle, the tension of sin and holiness, but I didn’t fully grasp the outcome.

Jesus has won. The battle between light and dark, good and evil, is so very real, and we should always be on guard, but there’s more to the story. Whenever battle comes along, there isn’t a coin flipped for the outcome. We know the outcome and we can bet on it. It just depends on whose team we’re on. If we’re on Jesus’, we’ll win. If we’re not, we’ll lose, we’ll be defeated. There are only 2 teams. Light and dark. That’s it. When we’re in the light, dark can’t remain; light has extreme favor over dark, and that’s the beauty of it. When darkness fully exists, it seems suffocatingly real and powerful. But the second there’s even a match struck, an invitation to let Jesus in to fight regardless of our sin, the darkness can’t remain. It just can’t. I’m not saying we won’t experience hardship or burden in our lives. Jesus promises that we will when following Him. But there’s greater news than the battle: Jesus has the victory, and through Him the victory is also ours.

Why today? Why this post?

Allow me to reflect back on the very real presence of darkness during my few months here in Zambia alone as a 22-year-old blonde woman. I’m telling these stories in retrospect because maybe that’ll take some of the severity out of them when you know the outcome.

How did Jesus show me that there are only 2 teams, and that in Him I have victory, that no darkness can overcome the light? And that in Him there’s “abundant life?”

Laying in my bed hearing gunshots fired, dogs barking, at a break-in attempt a couple months back makes darkness very real. Fear. Panic. Helplessness. But Jesus is there in the darkness to strike His match of light and victory, to fight on my behalf. I didn’t have to be spared from what could’ve come from that night, but I firmly believe that it was Jesus graciously proving His power to me in my weakness and doubt.

Walking through a downtown market hearing the dehumanizing remarks, feeling the demoralizing stares at me as I walked through hundreds of people, I got a glimpse at just where women are placed in this society. I can’t say I know the bulk of it whatsoever, but I can say that despite my feeling to curl up in a ball in the alley next to a bucket of fish heads, Jesus said to my heart, “take My hand, You’re mine. These men cannot hurt the beauty I’ve created in your soul. No matter what happens, no matter what they say or do, these men cannot claim victory over what is Mine."

Riding out to Muchochoma today with Elina and Doreen, leaders of the CiH Ng’ombe group, and Elizabeth Zulu, leader of the CiH Muchochoma group, joy filled the air with laughs and smiles down that bumpy dirt road in anticipation of the first village payday. That is, until our driver took a turn too sharply, and the car spun out of control from side to side on the loose gravel. We miraculously (honestly) stopped just inches from a road gutter/ditch that would’ve probably cost us our lives, or at least weeks in a village clinic. We sat stunned.  After moments of shock, I began to think about how these 3 women with me are God’s provision for CiH, and that if something happened to us then what would come of our program here? Documents are signed by these women, cards in their names, and they’re established as leaders in their communities. It’s obviously not all about us, but it’s also obvious that Jesus wants us here pretty badly to carry out His work. When darkness seems thick, risk so high, Jesus proves His victory time and time again. Today I felt Him saying “these are MY daughters; nothing can touch them, not even the thief. I have the victory, and I have fought for them.”

There are countless stories of risk and fear in everyday life here in Zambia. But why fear when Jesus has made me victorious through Himself, and His complete defeat of darkness? Why worry when I know He’s holding my hand every single day I walk alone to the Ng’ombe slum compound?

When there are only 2 sides, I’m thankful that Jesus has redeemed me, forgiven me, pulled me out of my sin to be on the side of victory. But most of all, I’m thankful that I see more of Him every single day. And that He’s put me on this earth to love as I'm completely loved, by His grace alone.

ALL this for HIS glory.

global

I spend my weekdays with Zambians in poverty, also with Zambians who have plenty. I enjoy weekends with friends from Texas, South Carolina, Connecticut, the UK and Kenya. I go to a church lead by Zimbabweans, filled with Americans, Zambians, South Africans, and there's bound to be more represented there as well. I patron businesses run by men of Middle Eastern descent. It really is incredible to take a step back to see so many countries represented in this third world one.

Which gets my mind wandering. How can I believe and live like faith is only about me, my fears, my sin, my burdens, my joys, my plans, and my desires? How can I limit faith in Jesus to a few devotional books, a cute journal, fancy pens, and a few short minutes per day? How have I walked 22 years of my life living like Christianity is inward? This world is huge.

These questions stated above may sound extreme, ridiculous, or even outrageous to be put in such terms. But for me, I believe there's so much truth in them and in this idea of cultural Christianity. I'm no expert, I'm just one person believes in the Bible for Truth, who sees Jesus' children as His witnesses and testimony to His truth, and whose life has been forever changed by Truth and redemption of Jesus. And from what I've seen and experienced over the last 2 months of living here in Zambia surrounded by and forming relationships with so many different types of people, something is off.

God's church is global. You may be thinking "duh." I've thought that too. I've thought that the one-Sunday-a-year devotion to learning about the nations and God's work there was enough.

Why? Why limit God's Kingdom? Why put bounds on something that's infinite, not just global, but eternal? Why segment humanity into groupings when we're all after One heart, in search of One hope and Savior for life's significance, given each day by the One who created it?

My pastor here always says, "Faith is personal; it's not private."

I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm done with faith being a private, self-fulfilling focus on personal peace and comfort, rather than a journey of risk, beauty, redemption, hope, selflessness, a journey of Jesus. I don't earn more of His love through this shift in focus; His grace covers my sin regardless of what I do from the sacrifice He made on the cross. But His love is free to pour through me to His children of the world when I ask His Spirit to help me tear down these walls of "typical faith" to open my heart wide to what He's created us for.

After all, He's the One who said the harvest isn't over. Not even close. "Truly, truly I say to you, whoever believes in Me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father." John 14:12

Greater works than these? I don't think that can happen when my focus is completely turned inward to fulfilling my desires and wrestling God over my plans. So even though I return to America in just 10 short days, I pray for a global heart. A heart after my Father's. There's great joy in getting lost in His heart, in living the lives we're created to live.