Getting Sick in Lusaka

Last week, I was quite sick, and for someone who does not often get sick, this was a very annoying thing. After all, part of my ministry here is holistic health; God wants us to be healthy, and whole, and full of life, right? Not just laying in bed, coughing and burning up with a fever? On Sunday, when the fever was at its worst, I couldn’t go to church, I had to cancel lunch with a friend, and we had to un-invite my very kind language partner and her husband, who we were planning on having over for dinner. I know this is par for the course anywhere in the world. We all get sick sometimes. But, getting sick here in Zambia has been very eye opening.

When we canceled on Mrs. Pamaso, explaining that I was sick, she immediately offered to come over and bring me any food or medicine I might need. When I said that I was just going to rest, she said she would check on me the next day. Sure enough, she checked the next day, and by the third day, she and her husband came to pray for me and offer help. On the fourth day, she came and brought me to the clinic, to be sure I knew exactly where to go for the right medicine. She happens to be a nurse, and I feel so confident knowing that she is caring for me.

Many, many people are sick right now. It is the rainy season, and germs are spreading like crazy. During rainy season, there are a lot more insects to transmit disease, and malaria, meningitis, and diarrheal diseases are all too common. I am blessed to have access to good medical care, but I worry about our gardener’s baby, who has diarrhea, and my other neighbor, who is pregnant, but also ill. At the same time, I watch people step up and take care of one another. They pick lemons from the abundant lemon trees, and squeeze the juice into tea, mixed with honey and ginger. They prepare food for one another’s children, and they loan a neighbor money to go and buy medicine.

For me, it is annoying and irritating to get sick. But for many people here, it is terrifying. One of our neighbors, Rachel, whose little nephew is a good friend of Johnny’s, got sick with the same illness I had. However, she also had latent malaria and asthma. Rachel became ill on Friday, and she died on Monday. She was 29 years old. When I went to the funeral home (the house of the bereaved), I sat with her sister-in-law and held her hand while she cried. I was no longer sick; I had taken antibiotics, and felt almost completely better. On the other hand, Rachel was gone.

When they took Rachel to the hospital, they also brought another one of our neighbors, a two year old girl named Grace. She, too, had the illness that is going around, the one that I had, the one that Rachel had. Grace’s parents sent her off, along with Rachel, hoping and praying that Grace would be okay. And she is. She is back home, having recovered. She is running around and playing again.

When Rachel died, her family was never left alone for a single minute. When I went and sat with them, and there were 8 other people there. At night, both my language partners slept in the home with Rachel's sister-in-law; the men sat with Rachel’s brother. When people are grieving, they are always supported and loved.

I did home visits again this past Tuesday. One of the visits was to an elderly woman who cannot walk and can barely communicate. She was just sitting in the dirt, smelling of her own urine, and when we came to her home, she had to crawl in like a baby. Seeing an elderly woman, skin and bones, crawling in the dirt was overwhelming. The church ladies come to clean her and care for her, but it is very hard to keep her in decent shape. At the same time, the women are willing to wash her, to feed her, to care for her, simply as a way to show the love of Christ.

Love is abundant here; faithfulness is all over the place; grace and kindness are overflowing. But so is pain, so is loss, so is injustice. It is wrong, simply wrong, that people here cannot get the care they need, the medicine they need, the resources they need, in order to survive. Please, please pray for all who are sick here in Zambia, and for all people who live in privilege, that our hearts might be moved to fight for justice, to fight for equality, so no one needs to die from a preventable, treatable illness, so that elders can have the care and support they need, so that children don’t perish because of a mosquito bite.

Thank you for praying with me, and for being a part of the healing of the world.

A Post by Frankie and Johnny

Who are your friends in the first picture?
Johnny: Robson, Nathan, and David

What were you doing in this picture?
Johnny: Daddy was reading The Stinky Giant to us.

What do you like to do with your friends?
Johnny: We play games. We play Handy Manny and the Cars matching game. We play futball and pick mulberries. We sometimes play games outside on the porch.
Frankie: I like to play futball with my friends. That is all that I can think of.

What do you like best about being with your friends?
Johnny: Playing games.
Frankie: Playing futball with my friends here and playing games with my friends at school.

What do you like best about your friends?
Johnny: They are so nice and they learn the games quickly.
Frankie: They are so kind.

What do you like best about living in Zambia?
Johnny: That there are so many yo-yos (a candy) and all of the good friends.
Frankie: That we play futball a ton. That you can just pick mulberries any time and have so many friends. That there is a fulball pitch (soccer field) right here and so it is easy to play. I also like our school. I love our yard because it is so pretty and I really like that we have a garden and our gardener, Mr. Phiri.

What do you like best about your school?
Johnny: That there is break and at break you can play.
Frankie: That there are houses in our school with house points and I like my friends in my school.

What is the most interesting thing about living in Zambia?
Johnny: That they play futball more. There are more flies. Also we saw monkeys and I think that is all.
Frankie: How it is harder for people here than in America, some things, like it is harder to get jobs, and harder to get food sometimes. It is interesting when I sing and dance at church in the children's choir, and I saw the children preach, too.

What did you do for Valentine's Day?
Johnny: We wore red or pink to school, but I wore red. We had a party. I made Valentines for my friend Russel, and Frankie, and Mom and Dad, and Grandma. I will give it to her when we come back to Michigan. Grandma will not believe it! Even in America, was it Valentine's Day yesterday? (Yes) When I come back I am going to say Happy Valentine's Day and kiss her, then I will give her the Valentine.














What are you doing in the photos below?
Frankie: Doing my play at school. My lines were, "Turnips: Turn up for school on time. Turn up for after school activities." It was about four vegetables. I was in turnips, and the other ones were peas and squash and lettuce.

Our Garden

Joel and I have always wanted a garden; in fact, when we lived in Michigan, we spent a couple weeks attempting to plant vegetables. We planted lettuce and tomatoes and beans, and waited with expectation. However, it turned out that we had planted in a bad location, with very little sunlight, and almost nothing grew. The few little leaves of lettuce that did peek out of the dirt were quickly consumed by rabbits, and we were able to harvest a total of two small cherry tomatoes. The beans never appeared at all. When it comes to gardening, we just don't have it in us. In fact, even our house plants quickly died, and we pretty much gave up on having anything alive and green in our home.

But we now have a home with a large garden; when we moved in, the corn was towering above our heads, cucumbers peeked from underneath spiky leaves, purple eggplants hung from heavy branches, kale sprang from the dirt, papaya and mango trees promised that fruit was on its way. The yard itself is full of flowers, the colors vibrant shades of orange, pink, purple, red, and blue. I have never in my life had a yard this beautiful.

Fortunately, Elias Phiri is in charge of keeping the yard and garden beautiful; for that reason, I think that we will continue to enjoy the fruits and vegetables and flowers in the years to come. We have hired Mr. Phiri to come to our home twice a week as our gardener. He is a young man with two little children, a 6 month old baby and a two year old boy. He has done an amazing job so far and we are delighted with his work, and with his kindness. 

Mr. Phiri speaks very little English, and so we speak primarily in Chichewa. I enjoy the challenge very much, and he is patient with my terrible grammar and very limited vocabulary. Last week, when we ate together, we had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, along with apples, green beans, and chips. Today, we ate nshima and relish, a totally Zambian meal. It is such a blessing to share parts of our lives with one another.

The reality is that we employ Mr. Phiri, but that we feed one another. With the money that we pay him, he can buy food for his family and have a more reliable source of sustenance. With the skills that he offers us, we get to eat fresh vegetables and fruit, and enjoy the beauty of vibrant flowers. I think that God made us that way, with the gifts we need to feed each other. I can't grow anything, in fact, I kill anything green, but Mr. Phiri is an amazing gardener. Mr. Phiri will probably never lead workshops on holistic ministry, but that is something I can do. And I will never, ever, build a website, but that is something Joel can do. It is so wonderful that God gives us different gifts, and such a blessing when we feed each other!

I hope to look at the world with these eyes; I hope we all can. When we see that we are meant to feed one another, that we all have different gifts, beautiful things to offer, perhaps then we can learn to love ourselves, and love one another, even more fully. What is it that you have to offer? How do you feed others? Who is feeding you? I hope you are feeling fed and blessed today; as for me, I am looking forward to eating eggplant for dinner!

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.