Forward.

I know I’m a few days late, but I just wanted to say Merry Christmas to all my friends and family!  This year was my first “fully-Zambian” Christmas since the past 2 years I have been with my family, and it was a wonderfully simple reminder of what’s important.  For most Zambians, Christmas is just another day.  Yes, it’s a holiday and yes, they celebrate Jesus, but there are no Christmas trees or big dinners or presents or cookie decorating.  It’s mostly just a day to be with your family and reflect on the miracle of Christmas itself.  As they often do, Zambians continue to teach me the beauty in simplicity and I am forever grateful.

As I look back on this past year, I am in awe of how far God has brought me.  As many of you know, this year was very difficult at times and I struggled with a lot of loneliness and uncertainty of my role here.  But there have also been moments of extreme joy and triumph that make all the pain worth it.

I finished my second year of full-time teaching a few weeks ago, and I could not be more in love with my students.  As we have three teachers for 6 classes, we split into morning and afternoon sessions.  I teach Grade 2 in the morning and Grade 4 in the afternoon.  My Grade 2 class astounds me each and every day.  I have never met a group of children more eager to learn than these 17 students.  When we started 2014, most of them could only read simple sight words like “the” and “we,” but now they are reading entire books.  I often catch them “sneaking” into the Grade 4 classroom to get books from their library basket.  They make me laugh every single day. They are growing up so fast, but they are still just little kids who long for my attention.  “And me, teacher!” are the words I hear most often as another student wants to read for me or solve the math problem on the board.

My Grade 4 students are maturing every day.  We were given 25 Bibles when the team came to visit in June, and they LOVE that there is one for each of them to read from.  They had a blast reading all about Abraham’s family tree and the crazy, broken people that God chooses to bless throughout the Bible.  This class is my “rabbit trail” class that often gets sidetracked with all sorts of interesting questions.  This year they’ve asked about everything from America’s fight for independence to how makeup is made.  They are so eager to learn and I find myself praying on a daily basis that I have the right answers to give them.

I am constantly reminded how lucky I am to be living this life.  I know there are so many people who go on short-term mission trips and dream about doing it long-term.  I also know how difficult it is to make those dreams become a reality.  I remember how challenging it was in my own life to get here, and I sit in awe that God allows me to be here every day.  I can’t tell you how often I think about YOU, the people who make sacrifices and read my updates and spend time praying on my behalf so that I can do this ministry.  I am humbled by each and every one of you and I pray that God blesses you for the way you have blessed me.

As many of you know, the other highlight of 2014 was my engagement to Christopher Zimba!  Chris is a wonderful, godly man whom I met at church shortly after moving here in 2012.  We were friends for a long time, started dating in January of this year, and are now busy planning an August wedding!  If you had told me when I left for Zambia 3 years ago that my story would end up like this, I would have thought you were crazy.  I am still amazed at how God brought everything together, but I am so incredibly grateful. 

As I look forward to 2015, I can only imagine the testimonies that will come of God’s unending grace.  There is still so much I want to see happen at Haven of Hope, and I know that our directors and sponsors will be working hard to make sure those dreams become a reality.  There are still many battles to fight in 2015, but I know that if God brought us this far, He will not abandon us now. 

At the end of 2013, my church family gathered together to write down our dreams and prayers for 2014.  After writing, we planted them in the ground with faith that God would be working on each and every one.  In preparing to start another school year at Haven of Hope, I want to share some of my big prayers for 2015 with all of you.

1)  I pray that each of my students stays at school this year.  Every year we have students leave because of family situations or lack of commitment.  I don’t want to see that happen in 2015.

2)  I pray that I come to school every day with Jesus’ eyes.  That I forget my own worries and exhaustion and truly SEE my students.  That I look for ways to pour into their lives on a deeper level.

3)  I pray that the school building in Ndola is completed in 2015.  I can’t even begin to tell you how important it is that we have bigger facilities so we can offer hope to more children in Zambia.

4) I pray that our students continue to excel in their studies.  I pray that they become proficient in English, their comprehension skills improve and that they learn to think critically about all subject matter.

5)  I pray that I can raise all the finances I need to continue with this ministry for another year.  My yearly goal is still $18,000 and thanks to my amazing monthly sponsors, I am about 40% there.

Thank you for reading all of this and for journeying with me another year in Zambia!  I have full confidence that 2015 will be another year of God’s wonder and I am so ready to see what He has in store for us all.

In Christ Alone.

-Amy Munn (soon to be Zimba J)

Weary.

It’s almost been a year since I wrote in this blog.  Even now as I sit here, I’m not sure what words to write.  If I’m being totally honest, most of the things that I have to write about aren’t good; which I suppose is the reason I’ve failed to write in so long.  They are ugly and painful and heavy and not what most missionaries want to write about.  We want to show the good stuff.  The beautiful journey God has brought them on.  The victories.  The progress.  The lessons they have learned.  But today I can’t really share those things.

Today I sit here broken.  This past year in Zambia has been one of the most difficult of my life.  I have never felt more alone.  Never faced so many challenges. Never been so overwhelmed by worry and stress.  Never questioned or doubted God’s plan so much.

I have come to learn the truth that when you give you heart to God’s work, the enemy likes to work overtime.  Every step forward you seem to take, Satan is right there to push you back.  He needs you to lose hope and give up.  He loves bringing confusion, frustration, miscommunication, division and discouragement into the things God is trying to accomplish.  He likes making you feel like your voice isn’t heard or your efforts don’t matter.  He loves reminding you how truly damaged this world and the people in it can be.

And when that’s not enough, he simply attacks your heart.  He loves beating you down over and over again until that little bit of passion you once had is completely gone.  And most days, that’s where I feel I am.  Do I love what I do?  Yes.  No question.  I am over the moon in love with the students at Haven of Hope, and I know they deserve someone to fight for them; but some days I wish it didn’t have to be me.  Some days I wish my eyes hadn’t been opened and I could go back to living in blissful unawareness of the pain in this world.  Some days I wish I could go back to normal life and let someone else carry this burden. Some days I wish I didn’t have to rely on other people’s generosity to meet my daily needs.  Some days I simply show up to school and go through the motions.  Some days I wish I didn’t have to feel all alone. 

I can’t tell you how difficult it is to write these words.  To open up my wounded heart and share it with you.  I like being Amy, the girl who never stops smiling.  The girl who gets to live out her dream every day.  The girl who knows she is doing exactly what God created her to do.  But I’m tired of wearing that mask.  It’s exhausting trying to assure everyone I’m okay 100% of the time.  I’ve weary from carrying this burden and it’s time for me to ask for help. 

I need your prayers like never before.  I need prayer for more passion.  To be refueled.  For strength.  For wisdom.  For direction.  For patience.  For trust.  For a submissive heart.  For courage.  For faith.  And most of all, for the love of Christ to be evident in my life.

I hope that you don’t read this and start to worry about me.  I know I’ll be okay.  Even though I might be walking through a valley right now, I am surrounded by people who love me and encourage me daily. I guess I just need to make that team of support a bit bigger.  I’m slowly learning that I can’t always be the one taking care of people…I have to let others hold me up at times. 

Despite the challenges of this year, GOOD things are still happening.  I have so much to be grateful for.  Even on the days when I collapse onto my pillow in tears, I get to fall asleep knowing I am weary from doing something that matters.  I have seen my students improve.  I have so many stories to share of LIFE change.  By simply showing up every day, I get to tell 86 students that they are WORTH my sacrifice.  And even when ministry is overwhelming, God has graciously given me a family here in Zambia that have walked with me every step of the way.  I have a church that encourages and challenges me.  I have friends who listen and give me their shoulder to cry on.  I am blessed beyond measure and I can’t thank God enough for what He’s done in my life.  I know that stages of heartache are simply part of being on the front line.  I also know that God gave me everything and everyone I need to get me through these stages. 

{So with you holding me up, I will keep on fighting.  Because this fight is worth it.}

Thank you for reading this.  For following my journey.  For loving me.  For encouraging me.  For praying.  You will never know how much it means to me.  It is truly the lifeline that keeps me going here in Zambia.

God bless you, dear friends.

Love.

“Dear Teacher Amy, I want to tell you about my family.  My 4 sisters have died and my real daddy has died, so I just live with my mother and I am very sad…I am an orphan.”

At the end of the school day, one of my students handed me this note on behalf of her friend.  I read it over and over again, letting the words sink in.  I knew these facts already.  Many of my students have similar stories.  But hearing it in their own words is something entirely different.  Hearing her call herself an orphan was heartbreaking.

That night I tried to find the perfect words to write back.  I thought of Bible verses and other encouragements, but I felt like it somehow felt trite.  The only words I could offer her were the truths that I’ve repeated over and over in my head these past 15 months.  I hate that you and your friends have passed through so much pain.  I don’t understand it.  I wish I could fix it all.  But no matter what, you are never alone.  We are your family now. 

Friday was a holiday here in Zambia and I went into town to run some errands.  While I walked up the road towards home that afternoon, I saw 6 girls in familiar uniforms.  They were my girls.  They had walked 90 minutes to get there and then waited almost an hour for me to come home.  My beautiful note-writer was among them.  Maybe my words had sunk in.  Maybe today she wouldn’t be so sad.

I scoured my pantries for food, and realized I didn’t have much to share.  But that didn’t matter to the girls.  They hadn’t come for food.  They had come for family.  They had come for love.  One by one they jumped in my shower and washed themselves with real soap.  They giggled as they used my hairbrush to comb through their own.  They used sunscreen as lotion for their brown skin when my other bottle ran out.  They happily washed their uniforms outside with detergent rather than simply rinsing them in water.  They lined up and asked me to “chisa” (iron) their clothes after they had dried in the hot sun.  They spilled sauce and rice all over my table as they took turns serving themselves.  They jumped in my bed and declared they were sleeping at my house that night.  They helped me clean up all the pots and plates and swept my carpet better than I ever could.  They filled my house with joy.  They felt it and I felt it.  But then it was time to go. 

This is usually the hardest part of the day, but it’s the part where I know we’re making a difference in these students’ lives.  Our students never want to leave.  Every day we line up in the schoolyard, say a prayer and dismiss the students, and every day they somehow make their way back into the school.  They sit next to me as I grade papers or write lesson plans and they refuse to leave until we all leave together.  Teacher Esnart and I always joke with the students saying, “We are leaving!  Are you going to sleep here tonight?”  to which they usually reply, “Yes!!” It’s sweet, but also heartbreaking.  It makes us face the reality that for most of our students, home is a place they don’t want to be.  There may be different reasons for each, but the core of it is that they don’t feel loved.  Many of them are seen as burdens; just another mouth to feed...or not feed.  But at least now they are starting to learn the difference.  They are getting glimpses of this thing called love.  This thing that they sing about in worship songs and have heard about, but never truly experienced for themselves.  Once you get a taste of the real thing, it’s hard to go back to the counterfeit. 

And so I understand why they show up to school early and go home late.  I know why they are willing to walk hours in the hot sun in shoes with no soles.  Why they show up at my doorstep on Saturday afternoons. 

They do it for love. 

And I am the lucky girl who gets to give it to them.

August.

I won’t lie.  August was exhausting.  Awful, in fact.  I had looked forward to this holiday month for quite some time, and it grossly disappointed me.  I find it painfully ironic that my church declared August as the month of God’s kindness cause it was one of the more painful months I can remember. 

I had to say goodbye to our short-term team and realize yet again that I’m quite alone here in Zambia.  I had to watch the man I love wash his brother’s clothes for the last time.  I had to counsel a close friend who was utterly betrayed by the girl he loves.  I had to desperately pray with a friend who had run out of ARV medication that the hospitals would be miraculously restocked in the morning.  And I had to hold one of my precious students as we watched a group of men carry her sister’s casket into a truck.  Her sister was 8 years old and she was also one of my students.  There is no sound in the whole world worse than the cries of a mother for her lost child.

God’s kindness?  Some days that can seem like a distant memory.

This month was the perfect storm of circumstances that left me vulnerable enough for Satan to kick my butt.  It was the first time during my 15 months here that I’ve truly felt lonely.  I’m sure every missionary has felt it more than once, but even knowing I’m “not alone” in my loneliness doesn’t really make it better.  I was overwhelmed, and anyone who knows me knows that my automatic response when that happens is to shut down.  So I did.  And I shut myself off.  And this went on long enough that I started to hear the quiet whispers of how pointless it is for me to be here in Zambia.  How much easier it would be to just give up and go home.  How selfish it is for me to ask for financial support from friends and family when I could just go get a job in the US.  How inadequate I am to answer the multitude of needs presented by my students.  And somewhere along the way I got lost.  I got scared.  I started doubting everything I’ve been so sure of for the past seven years.  Doubt can be paralyzing.

But then a funny thing happened; I went back to school.

I walked through that old, rusty gate on September 9 and was immediately greeted with that beautiful word, “Teacher!”  I listened to students who couldn’t speak a word of English in January eagerly tell me all about their holidays.  I studied their faces as Esnart told them that one of their own had passed away over the break.  I watched them explore our new books as if they were treasures.  I looked at pictures on Charity’s computer from our first class in 2010 when our students were practically babies.  I heard parents thank me for helping their children and beg for more spots for other relatives.  And I realized how far we have come.

It’s so hard sometimes to see the change in something when you’re in it every day.  It becomes ordinary.  Normal.  You get caught up in the mundane and trivial.  You focus on the things that AREN’T changing, instead of the giant list of things that have.  But these first two weeks of school, God has granted me the gift of stepping back; taking it all in.  I have spent a lot of time trying to remember what our students were like when I first arrived last June.  They seem like completely different kids to me.  The way they speak, the way they read, the way they look…it’s all progressed.  We have become a family, and that means something.  I may not a great teacher 100% of the time, but I AM here, and maybe that’s all they really need.

It makes my heart skip a beat to think about what could be.  And it makes my heart hurt to think about missing the chance to see if happen.

There are a lot of uncertainties in my life, and that scares me.  I don’t know how long I’m going to be in Zambia or how many more “Augusts” I’m going to have.  I don’t know why God called me to this place when others are called to stay in the comfort of their own backyard.  But God recently blessed me with one certainty that I’m choosing to rest in:  No matter what, I will never get to the end of my life and regret “wasting” it in Zambia.  It’s just not possible.  Sure, maybe there will be a day when I feel like I truly can do more for these beautiful children by being back in the US, but until then, being here will never be pointless.  It could never be the wrong choice.  How could anyone regret spending themselves on behalf of the orphans of this world?

God’s kindness is real, and it is is mirrored in his compassion. The way His heart DOES break for his precious children all over this country.  It’s not easy for Him to watch little girls lose their sisters or children to go to bed hungry.  On the days when I get angry and frustrated at how easily He could fix the situations in my students’ lives, I’m trying to remember that maybe I’M His answer.  And although that feels like a lot of pressure, it helps fight the voice in my head that tries to convince me I’m not enough.

For now, I’m trying to rest in the truth of this beautiful quotation from Frederick Buechner.  “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” 

And for now, that meeting place is Luanshya, Zambia.