Too Much Loss

In the last two weeks, we have had two acquaintances lose their babies. One, a six-month old boy, did not even have a name yet. He died when his lungs filled with blood. His parents do not have enough money to bury him in a coffin, and so he will be buried, wrapped in one of their blankets. The father spoke with his eyes on the ground, his face tight with unimaginable pain. We gave him some money to help with burial fees, and then I promised to pray for them; the dad looked at me with pleading eyes. "Please do. Please pray," he whispered.

It was during these weeks that the attempted break-in occurred; the six-year old boy who had already lost his parents, who came to our house every day for an apple. It turns out that Chifundo had stolen from two of our neighbors, as well. It is terrifying to look at this child and think about his future. If he steals from the wrong house, he could end up getting very hurt. While traveling outside Lusaka, Joel witnessed an old man stealing from a grocery store. The man was caught and severely beaten in front of all the customers, including Joel. Last week, a man was beaten to death in the compound where we go to church. He had been trying to steal a car stereo when he was caught and killed. What can we do to help Chifundo stop making these awful choices, choices that could end with him being terribly injured?

What poverty does is horrible; it is awful; it is unimaginable for most of us. It forces mothers and fathers to bury their babies in a blanket, children to say good-bye to loving parents, elders to steal and face brutal beatings. What do we do about these things? How in the world can we stand by? We love people through their pain, but if we are not loving people in a sacrificial way, are we truly loving them at all? Shouldn't we give until it hurts, so that other people can hurt just a little less?

My language partner, a remarkable and loving woman, works at a clinic in one of the compounds. She is a nurse and a mother; gracious and wise and patient. And she cares deeply for Chifundo. Two days ago, she told me that the clinic has a Zambian therapist, who is there to help traumatized children. She was hesitant to suggest it, but she is going to talk to Chifundo's aunt. Perhaps he could go to this therapist? Perhaps he could get counseling and help? Perhaps he could slowly heal, and make healthier, safer choices as he grows... Chifundo has a loving aunt and uncle, and a community of love surrounding him. There is hope for him; I am excited about this possibility for healing and care.

I have had a stomach ache for the last little while; I just don't know how to process all the pain I see. But I do know that I need to do more; Jesus did not ask us to be comfortable. Jesus asked us to follow him, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to love the prisoner, to comfort the mourning, to work for justice. So we cannot sit in our sadness. We cannot give into hopelessness. And we cannot delude ourselves into thinking that this is not our problem. We have work to do. Together, all of us, we have work to do.

Without faith in a God who is much bigger than I am, I would be paralyzed. But I do believe in God. I do believe in God's power to do something; to do something in and through you and me. And so there is hope, there is power, there is healing. And it is time to wipe away our tears and step forward in faith, giving until it hurts, so that others will hurt less.

Please pray for Chifundo and his family, for the two families that just lost their babies, for the man who was beaten, for the man who was killed, and for our family, as we stumble along this path...Thanks for walking with us.

The theft, the broken window, the 6 year old boy

A few days ago, our family came home to discover Johnny's bike in the front yard. When we left that morning, Johnny's bike was behind the house. And so began the investigation that ended with a six year old culprit.

We walked to the side of our home, and found that the window, leading into the boys' bedroom, had been broken. There was a tool box lying on the ground, next to the broken window, and tools were scattered on the grass. The burglar bar was bent inwards, and the tools had clearly been used to crack the window and bend the bar. It was obvious, however, that no one had been able to enter our house, as the bars were not all the way bent, and the scattered tools indicated that the person trying to break in had been abruptly halted.

Joel walked around the house; in the back yard, hidden in some bushes, he discovered two six-year old boys, one of them, Chifundo, a playmate of our children. We were quite sure they could not have done this; after all, they were kids. They wouldn't have tools. The boys convinced us that they were just waiting for Frankie and Johnny, and went to play soccer in our front yard. Chifundo's friend ran off after a few minutes.

As we were discussing what to do, my language partner arrived. We explained our situation, and she called over to the Chifundo. In gentle Chichewa, she asked what had happened. She put her arm around him, spoke to him softly, and soon discovered the truth. He had stolen the tools from our neighbor's car, and then used them to break our window and bang on the burglar bar. He and his friend wanted to break into our house and steal Frankie and Johnny's toys.

We followed up on the story, going to our neighbor's house, where he discovered that his tools, indeed, had been stolen from his car. The neighbor also treated the child with great compassion, and by the time we reported the incident to the registrar, the little boy had been hugged, his hand held, and his head rubbed. During the entire afternoon, this child was treated with enormous compassion. It was a bit jarring, really. If at 6 years old, he could steal tools from a car, and then use them to break into another house, what would he do at 16? And while it was lovely to see him treated with such compassion, how was he to learn about the consequences of such behavior? These questions rattled in my mind.

Chifundo's parents died two years ago. He lives with a very kind family, his aunt and his uncle, who are both pastors, with 5 other children. They live very close to us, just down the road, and his uncle is currently studying in the United States for a year. Chifundo's aunt does not know what to do about his behavior; she is trying to complete a graduate degree, while pastoring a church, and raising 6 children without her husband present. As one can imagine, it is an overwhelming situation.

Compassion can be hard to figure out. How is one compassionate in this situation, when doing nothing can reinforce the terrible choices of this little boy? But, as Frankie said, "His life has been terrible." Certainly, this young child faced horrible loss, losing his parents at such a young age, struggling with poverty, wanting what he cannot have.

As I watched my Zambian sisters and brothers hug this child and hold his hand, I was confused, surprised, and moved. And frankly, I still am. But that evening, I sat with Chifundo's aunt, and listened to her concern, her worry, her hopes for the boy. And then together, we prayed for Chifundo, and I felt a love for him that overwhelmed me. He is bigger than any mistake he could make. We all are. Even if he had been a 16 year old, I hope I could have come to that conclusion, too. We are all bigger than our mistakes, all worthy of compassion, forgiveness, and grace. Whether the culprit is 6 or 16 or 46 or 66, he is a beloved child of God.

There are still gray areas: consequences, learning, change, growth. But one thing is not gray for me. I love this little boy who tried to break into our house. And I am grateful to my Zambian brothers and sisters for modeling this love in such a powerful way.

Chess, art, gymnastics, and karate. Oh my!

One thing that I love about living in Zambia is that life is a little less frantic. I do not have night meetings all that often, I usually have time to pick the kids up from school, and we always, always have family dinner together, all four of us sharing our highs and lows. I work a healthy number of hours, and  it leaves me plenty of time to watch the boys play soccer with their friends, to read stories while snuggling on the couch, to dance with my children in our living room, to sit back and enjoy some tea and biscuits with Joel. It is a very good life, and we are so happy and blessed to be here.

And so, when the boys mentioned their strong desire to sign up for after school activities, I was hesitant at first. Do we really need extra activities? There are so many fun things to do on our campus: climbing mango trees, swinging at the park, picking mulberries, playing soccer, practicing Chichewa with friends... But Frankie and Johnny were insistant, and so we agreed.

Johnny is doing art classes and gymnastics, and Frankie is in chess and karate. They are very happy, and it is actually really a blessing. Both kids are doing a great job of making friends both at their school, and here on campus, and it is good for them to develop relationships with children in both locations. 

The two groups of kids couldn't be more different. Parents who send their children to LICS pay about $10,000 per year in tuition. The parents who live at Justo Mwale often have a hard time coming up with basic school fees for their kids to attend public school. The kids at LICS have birthday parties with inflatable bounce houses, clowns, tons of sweets, and piles of presents, while kids at Justo Mwale don't get presents because their families simply can't afford to give gifts.

It is an interesting reality, living where the differences are so stark and so unescapable. When we lived in the United States, we could feel "just like everyone else" with nice birthday parties and pricey vacations. But here, we know how other children live. So, do we spend extra money on Karate classes and chess club? Do we buy extra art supplies and a gymnastics uniform?

All of these questions are complicated for us, but I think they are for everyone who seeks to follow Jesus. Where do we put our money? Where do we find balance? How do we resist guilt, while embracing responsibility? 

This morning, a man showed up at our door with 50,000 kwatcha ($10). A month ago, we had loaned him the money, not expecting to see it again. But Mr. Banda appeared with the bills in his hand and a smile on his face, and returned the loan in full. Yesterday, Mr. Phiri borrowed 200,000 kwatcha ($40), in order to take his driver's exam, in hopes that he might be able to become a driver. Next month, Mr. Phiri will do some gardening for us, and help us grow our vegetables. By the end of the month, he will have repaid the loan, we will have a good garden, and he will hopefully have a drivers' license. It is so fun to do these things with money, to see the way that loans can be repaid, relationships developed, and hope affirmed.

We live in a gray area, where we spend too much on karate, and spend too little investing in the lives of our neighbors. But every time we do, I see the returns, and I just thank God that for every small amount we give, God can make it into something big and beautiful. I certainly can't wait to see my garden grow!

Something Ugly

It is beautiful here; the rains have come and everything is green, with brilliant blossoms of pink and red and orange popping up all over. In fact, for the past few weeks, I have just been overwhelmed with wonder: snorkeling in Lake Malawi, ascending a mountain in Zomba, standing at the base of a gorgeous waterfall, watching baby monkeys play in the trees, playing peek-a-boo with baboons, standing on a mountain peak, with villages stretched out in shades of green and brown. How blessed I feel to see this beauty, how filled with wonder and awe and gratitude, as I consider the majestic works of God.

Certainly, the beauty does not just encompass the things I have seen, but also the people I have met recently. The young woman awaiting her pastorate, whose voice belts out praise and beauty on Sunday morning. She will soon leave her home church in Lusaka, to travel to a new place, a new church, and begin her ministry. Her warm spirit, her powerful voice, and her brilliant smile exude beauty. And there is the perfect stranger who got out of his car today, and stood in the pouring rain, to help me drive down a particularly rocky road. And the friend who has malaria, but insisted that I stay for tea and conversation this morning. The women of Mandevu, taking up a collection in their church, so that they can visit the grieving, and bring them money, mercy, and compassion.

There is great joy in witnessing the beauty of God's world, the glory of God's children. And it is so important to stand in awe and say "wow!" But sometimes, we want to just focus on what is beautiful, to ignore that which is ugly, to pretend that suffering and violence and poverty just don't exist. For those of us who live lives of privilege, it can be far too easy to close our eyes and ignore some of the terrible realities in our world.

But God calls us to respond to suffering, to do something about injustice, to fight oppression and to end violence. And we cannot do anything if we ignore suffering, if we accept injustice, if we deny oppression, if we are too scared to look violence in the face.

In my recent travels, I visited a home where violence occurs on a regular basis. It was a small home, with walls made of mud, and a roof made of grass. Inside the house, there was one mat for sleeping, three wooden stools for sitting, and two plastic buckets for washing. That was all. And during the visit, I discovered that the man of the house was not home. He had left when he saw us coming, because the previous night, he had beaten his wife. It was dark in the house; there was no electricity, and so I didn't see the bruises on her face and forehead until we stepped out of the house, into the sunlight. She explained that he gets drunk and beats her; there is nothing she can do. There is nowhere she can go. She cannot feed her family, and so she endures abuse, so she can remain at home, to grow what little food peeks up in her garden.

All over Zambia, there are billboards about domestic violence; the government is working with UNICEF to protect women and children. Some of the billboards are very ugly; one of them shows a young woman who has been beaten, her wounds are raw and terrible. The reality is that violence is here, just as violence is everywhere, and those who are most vulnerable are suffering. It is ugly and real, and many of us want to turn away.

After the very troubling home visit, I couldn't stop asking myself what in the world I could do for this woman. What can I do when extreme poverty is accompanied with domestic violence? I spoke with a church leader, who assured me that he was doing everything in his power to help the family, but there was little that he could do. The layers and layers of struggle and oppression all compound to make this situation so overwhelming.

We must face the violence. We must keep our eyes open and look straight on at that which is ugly and troubling and terrible. And we must do something; we must respond; we must keep trying, even when it feels too overwhelming. Because beneath the ugly bruise on that dear woman's face was a precious, beautiful, sacred soul; a child of God, a sister, a daughter, a mother.

I know that the church is going to keep reaching out to this woman, and I know that she is not alone. So, I ask you all to pray for her, to pray for the church, and to pray for this world, that violence will be no more, that poverty will be no more, that hunger will be no more. And as we pray, let us also work, through advocacy, donations, and volunteering, to spread peace and justice in our world.

God can transform something ugly into something beautiful; let us be a part of the miracle, as we give, as we work, as we pray.

Photos of our December

We started the month marching on World AIDS Day

The kids were in the school Christmas play

Johnny was a shepherd and Frankie a narrator

We visited an elephant orphanage with friends

On our drive to Western Zambia, we saw many monkeys and baboons

A mother with her baby

With children in a Chewa village

Bulls pulling a hoe in the fields

Learning how to plant maize

A Chewa village

A home visit in one of the villages

The homes have no electricity, so it is very dark inside

A very welcoming family

Another village

At the market in Katete, buying mangos and practicing Chichewa

They were very patient and helpful with my Chichewa!

On our way to Malawi to visit friends for Christmas

On a mountain in Malawi on Christmas Eve, looking for a Christmas tree

With Rachel Stone, trying to avoid snakes while finding the perfect tree

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And we found it...

Driving through Zomba, Malawi with a tree on the car

We decorated it with construction paper ornaments

The kids worked hard to make it beautiful!

Christmas 2012!

The boys had a wonderful Christmas

Malawi is really beautiful!

Waterfall on Zomba Plateau

Can you see how beautiful they are?

“Frankie, please finish your food!”

“I’m trying to, Mom, but I keep getting distracted because I have to pick out all the bugs...And I don’t eat bugs, because I am a vegetarian.” I looked over at Frankie and realized that he was dead serious. “Oh, okay, honey. Just do your best.” Yes, there were a few bugs in Frankie’s food and so he continued to pick them out, as he ate. 

We are staying in Eastern Zambia for two weeks, doing intensive language learning. It is very different here than it is in Lusaka, and the poverty levels are extreme. Food security is a serious issue, and Frankie was going to finish his dinner, bugs or no bugs.

But later that night, the rains came, and there were swarms of iswe, a type of moth with big white wings. They flooded our entranceway, attracted to the light on our porch. As night wore on, we turned off the lights, to try and keep the bugs away. However, every 30 minutes or so, someone would sneak onto our porch and turn the lights back on. By 11 at night, I saw some women, waiting across the path, for us to go to sleep. Once we turned out our bedroom lights, they turned our porch lights back on. And then we heard them, on our porch, collecting all the bugs. It turns out that people eat iswe; they pluck the wings off the bugs, and can eat them fresh, or they can cook them in their own oils. So, the very night my son was picking bugs out of his food, other women were waiting for us to go to sleep, so they could harvest the bugs from our porch, in order to feed them to their children.

It is a convenient excuse; I can’t eat bugs, I am a vegetarian. But, it also testifies to the choices that we take for granted. What will we eat tonight? What will we refuse to eat? Food security is not an issue for most of us in the United States, and so we forget that even choosing what we will have for dinner is an incredible privilege.

We have also been blessed to do home visits in Chewa villages. The homes in the villages are small circles made of mud, with grass roofs. There is a little, low wall dividing the inside of the home. On one side is a grass mat for sleeping. On the other side are two small wooden stools and a bucket or two. It is incredibly cramped, and we were in one home when the rains came. The grass roof began to leak immediately, and the area surrounding the mud hut became flooded. Joel and I were given the only two benches, and the family sat on the dirt floor, hosting us with incredible kindness and grace. How do I sit on a simple wooden bench, in a mud hut, under a leaking grass roof, and listen, as those sitting on the dirt floor proclaim the unending goodness of God, thanking me profusely for my visit? There is so much for me to try and understand; hope, joy, and faithfulness that I cannot yet grasp. 

Back in our temporary home, we take bucket showers, and boil the water in order to have a warm bath. We lose our water sometimes, and have to wait in order to flush the toilet, wash our hands, or purify some drinking water. But the homes we visit have no water or electricity; the women walk to a well in the center of the village, and they carry buckets of water back to their homes, balancing them on the top of their heads.

Water, food, a bed, a light in a dark house. These are things we often take for granted. I hope that I never take them for granted again. 

In a different Chewa village, the Village Head Man spent a lot of time with us, very patient and kind as he let me practice Chichewa with him. We gathered around the cow enclosure, a little circle of log poles near the front of the village. We spoke with many of the families, and after some time, the headman declared that we must go into the fields. He wanted us to see how the village survived. And so we traveled awhile, and came to a beautiful place, where fields stretched on and on, and the mountains towered in the distance. 

An ox-cart transported workers into the field, and two bulls pulled a plow to dig up the earth. Further down, women pummeled the land with hoes, breaking the soil and throwing in seed. The headman suggested that I, too, learn to plant maize, and so the women worked with me, showing me where to plant the seed and how to cover it. It was one of those magical days, surrounded by beauty, and gracious people, taking the time to teach a Muzungu how to plant maize. We all did a lot of laughing, especially at my very, very broken Chichewa, and my very, very slow planting! 

Frankie and Johnny got a chance to plant, too, but they mostly played in the dirt with the children, using sticks and imagination to draw pictures in the mud. 

On Sunday, I preached at the small village church, made of low dirt walls, with a grass roof, and pews made of packed earth. I preached partially in Chichewa, and mostly in English, with a translator. I feel so blessed to be a part of this church, that is working so hard to shine God’s love in a land that struggles with so much poverty. I am deeply grateful that CCAP is here, in this town, because I know that they are trying to help people, and to show God’s love, especially where there is pain and hunger.

Planting seeds in the land is worth the effort; there is a lot of rain now, and the soil is fertile. Walking together with the Chewa women, planting in solidarity, I could feel God’s powerful presence. Alone, there is nothing I can do. But together, working with, and in the Zambian church, there is hope, there is change, there is transformation. The maize will grow, the hungry will be fed, for hope is strong among the people of Zambia. O God, may it be so, as we plant seeds and walk the earth together.



One more thing about Frankie’s buggy dinner. Right after he finished his meal, we walked out under the night sky, and saw more stars than I have ever seen in my life. Frankie was in awe, and kept spinning in circles, looking up at the magnificent heavens. And as he spun around, he ended up falling in the dirt. He got up, laughing, covered in mud, but focused on the stars. “Can you see them?” he asked. “Can you see how beautiful they are?”

When The Lights Go On

One of the advantages of frequent power outages, is that our whole family gets really excited when the lights go on. When the electricity disappears, it is often in the evening, right after dinner time, and so we get out our head lamps, our solar lights, and some candles. We get ready for the next day, packing lunches, doing homework, taking baths, reading stories, all in rooms that are pretty dimly lit. And so, when the lights go back on, and we never know when that will be, we all get pretty excited. In fact, our family has a little “electricity” dance that we break out, after especially long power outages. Sometimes, they only last a few hours, once we went almost 48 hours. But, regardless of how long they last, we are all very happy when the lights go on.

Life is sort of like that here in Zambia. We celebrate the little things together, and it makes life a lot more fun. For example, the first time that Joel drove to the store and back, we all sat in the car applauding wildly. When we figured out how to cook rice on our very temperamental stove, it was the best rice we had ever eaten! And when, after two full days of visiting governmental offices, filling out forms, and tracking down signatures, we finally got our car officially registered, my boss suggested framing and hanging the registration certificate. Really, it felt like a momentous accomplishment, and we were overjoyed to officially own our car.

There is good reason to find joy in the minor, and major, triumphs here. It is true that there is extreme suffering; 43% of Zambians live in extreme poverty and 1 out of every 7 adults is HIV positive. But, on World AIDS Day, I joined thousands of people, marching through the streets of Lusaka, declaring that they would end this epidemic. And then, later that night, I learned that rates of new infections for HIV have gone down by 58%, and that the percentage of HIV infected infants born to positive women dropped from 39% in 2005 to 5% in 2011. Individuals receiving treatment for HIV rose from 3,000 in 2004 to 400,000 in 2011. Far fewer new infections, far fewer children born with HIV, and many, many more people accessing treatment. This is a real reason to celebrate!  

Sometimes, it is dark, and we cannot see, and the rooms are dimly lit. When we think of the realities of HIV/AIDS in Africa, it can feel that way. But then the lights go on, and we see that new infections are decreasing, effective treatment is increasing, children are being born without the disease, and people are living longer, healthier, happier lives. The lights go on, and we do have reason to celebrate. Yes, there is still work to do, and we still march, we still journey, together. But we march, knowing that the lights will go on, knowing that we must celebrate the progress, even as we fight to continue the momentum in addressing poverty and AIDS.

Yesterday, I did home visits again with the wonderful women of Mandevu CCAP congregation. We went into two different compounds of Lusaka, areas that struggle with extreme poverty. I was honored to be welcomed into the homes of women who were suffering from diabetes, tuberculosis, HIV, blindness, and cardiac disease. While there, I saw the ways in which people cared for one another, and the love that surrounded all those who suffered. At the same time, the woman who was HIV positive, for example, was healthy, receiving medicine, and introduced us to her three beautiful grandsons. Mrs. P also served her community, helping others who are HIV positive to get the treatment that they need, and supporting them in their fight against HIV. The lights will go on. Even with these women, diagnosed with severe illness, the lights go on in their lives, as they are surrounded by love, support, and care, as they even offer support and care to others.

One of my visits was to a new little baby, a one-week old boy named Vincent. As I entered Vincent’s small home, there were flies all around, and the little room was dark and cramped. I sat down, and began to talk with his mother. Her smile lit up the room as she spoke of her new baby, and pretty soon, that beautiful little guy was in my arms. She asked me to bless him, to pray for him, and so I did, asking our God of grace and hope to surround that little child. I do not know what his life will be like, growing up in a country where the under-5 mortality is 119:1000, where malnutrition rates are 45%. But, I do believe that the lights will go on, and as I prayed for that little boy, I knew that God had a wonderful plan for baby Vincent, just as God has great plans for us all. And God will work in us, and through us, to bring health and hope to the children and Zambia.

The lights go on and there is reason to celebrate. There is reason to rejoice in the small things: in a smile from a stranger, walking through a street market in a dusty, dirty road. There is reason to celebrate the big things: a new clinic offering care to those who are sick, saving lives and offering hope. But most of all, there is reason to rejoice in God, who shines light in and through us. To rejoice that God can offer others love, care, compassion, and hope, through our very lives, as we let our light shine. Sometimes, the power goes out, and the rooms are dim, and we cannot see all that well. But the light is still there, and the light is coming, and the power of God will shine again.

So, thank you for being on this journey with us, for being a light for us, through your prayers and your friendship, and thank you for celebrating with us - the little things, the big things, the many blessings we see, in the light and grace of God.