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.

Thief.

“Don’t let comparison steal your joy.”

-Theodore Roosevelt-

I read this quotation a few weeks ago, and it’s kind of been haunting me ever since. 

When you’re doing ministry in a foreign country, you tend to hear about and research other ministries in the area.  I’ve started following multiple people’s blogs, befriended a few on facebook, visited 2 ministries and met some new friends around here in Luanshya.  And MOST of the time, I walk away from these interactions feeling encouraged and surrounded by friends.  It’s a precious reminder that we are not alone in this.  Looking around Zambia, it’s easy to become overwhelmed by the amount of need; but hearing more and more stories of other groups who are in this fight with us makes it a little less scary.

But recently I’ve found myself doing this joy-killing thing known as comparison.  Instead of being encouraged by how God has blessed the work of other ministries, I have found myself becoming disheartened.  I walk into new, beautiful classrooms that were built through the generosity and dedication of people around the world and I can’t help but feel jealous.  People tell me to take notes of the beautiful art projects and boxes of dress-up clothes in the kindergarten room and I bitterly say in my head, “Ya, sure.  If I had room in my class for something BESIDES desks, a box of dress-up clothes would be the FIRST thing on my list.”  I know it’s coming and I try to fight it.  I ask God to take away the envy; to take away my terribly selfish mindset that would rather give MY students and MY ministry these incredible schools instead of these equally precious and helpless children. 

And when the jealousy fades away, I’m often left with this tiny, crippling voice inside my head that tells me that Haven of Hope and myself just don’t measure up.  That sending 150 kids to school isn’t going to make a difference in the long run.  That we’ll never have an impact unless we have the facilities of these other programs.  That we’ll never truly help the community until we offer skills training and feeding programs and a farm and everything else these others are doing.  I believe the lies that tell me my students aren’t making progress and they need someone better than me.  I walk into classrooms of other teachers and all I can see is the ways that they are more creative, more disciplined, more loving, more insert-teacher-word-here.  I hear the success stories of other groups and I wonder what I’m doing wrong.  I wonder why my students still fight and struggle with math and forget to say “thank you.”  I look at the people and ministries around me and I feel small.

And then I hear this quotation run my head.  And I realize that I’m doing it.  I’m LETTING comparison steal my joy.  I’m so focused on other people and the things that I don’t have that I’m unable to feel happiness.  And then I remember the undeniable truth of my life: that I am not in Zambia on accident.  Haven of Hope is NOT here by accident.  From the very beginning, our stories have both been God-orchestrated.  He wanted us here, so here we are. 

I just recently shared in church about the story of Peter walking on the water, and I laugh now because I really should have been preaching to myself. 

Because I am Peter. 

Peter saw Jesus doing something incredible and he wanted to be apart of it.  I saw Christ’s work in my life and in Zambia, and I knew I had to jump in. 

Jesus then calls Peter onto the water and Peter goes.  Jesus called me.  I came. 

So then Peter is standing on the water with Jesus and it’s AWESOME.  I mean, he’s freaking WALKING ON WATER.  That’s how I feel most days.  I mean, I’m freaking LIVING IN ZAMBIA.  I am doing the very thing I've dreamt about for the past 6 years.  I get to teach and love the most incredible children in the world.  Every day I get to see Jesus working and experience life in a whole new way. 

But then Peter starts looking at the waves.  And he realizes that he’s just a man.  He’s not Jesus.  He’s not anyone special.  He cannot walk on water.  And he takes his eyes off Jesus.  And he starts to sink.  That’s what I’m doing.  I’m taking my eyes off Jesus and instead looking at the people around me.  I’m realizing that I’m just Amy.  I’m no one special.  And I cannot make a difference in Zambia.  And some days I start to sink.

And that’s when Jesus grabs Peter’s hand.  He speaks those cutting, but loving words, “You of little faith, WHY did you doubt?” 

I think Jesus knew that the person Peter was REALLY doubting was himself.  He didn’t think he could do this incredible thing that Jesus had called him to.  Sure, Jesus had TOLD him to come out of the boat.  Sure, Jesus was right next to him the whole time.  But Peter was too focused on his weaknesses.  He forgot how much Jesus loved him.  He forgot that Jesus would never tell Peter to do something he wouldn’t then help him accomplish.  He forgot that Jesus would NEVER let him drown.  And I guess recently I’ve been forgetting those things too.  I’ve been so busy looking at the waves and counting the ways I don’t measure up, that I forgot none of those things matter when Jesus calls you out of the boat.  I forgot that Jesus is right next to me, standing on this water. 

Teaching in Zambia is never going to be easy.  I have no idea what God is going to make out of this ministry.  I don’t know how many lives we will touch or what kind of impact we will have.  But I do know that I am here for a reason.  I know that, for now, God has entrusted 53 students into my hands.  I know that He also asks me to be faithful in the small before He will ever trust me with the big.  I know that the need in Zambia is beyond my ability and I can only be grateful for the work of fellow volunteers and ministries.  Because in no way is this a competition; no one loses if we are all working towards loving and equipping the people of this country.

Today I am grateful to be called to Haven of Hope.  Yes, we have a long way to go; but that only means that someday I will have a testimony of God’s provision and faithfulness.   I will get to look back and SEE how far He has brought us and how much He has multiplied the small offerings we brought before Him. 

But until then, I will try to keep my eyes on Jesus.

Normal.

While I was back in the US, a lot of people were asking me what my “normal” day looks like.  I figured I’d take some time to give you a picture of my life here and try to explain what being a teacher in Zambia is like. 

The school year in Zambia goes from January to December with 3 month-long breaks.  The first was in April (which is why I was able to come home for a whole month and not be considered a terrible teacher), the second will be in August and then the last one is December. 

Since I’ve started teaching full-time, my schedule has become pretty consistent.  During the week I wake up around 6:15 (or 6:30, depending on how many times I hit the snooze button!), eat breakfast (usually cereal or toast with peanut butter and bananas for those of you who are curious about the food), iron my clothes if needed (because we hand wash everything and then dry them, all your clothes get very wrinkled, and Zambians pride themselves on looking very nice everywhere they go…no scruffy teachers allowed!), and then leave my apartment by 7:10.  I leave our gated area and then join MANY other Zambians on our walk up the road to town.  It’s one of my favorite times of the day…there are always students, women going to the market, men on their way to work, and we’re all just walking together.  Since I got back from America, this morning walk is usually quite chilly because we are in the cold season here in Zambia.  People laugh when I say cold, but it really DOES get cold.  Not “winter in America” cold, but definitely “I need my fleece jacket” cold.  And if I think it’s cold, you can only imagine how cold the Zambians think it is.  It is not unusual at all to see people wearing winter jackets these days.  So I walk the ten minutes down my road till it intersects with the main road that goes through town.  Here I hail a taxi (any car passing by that honks at me) and make sure they are going the direction of school.  Since I live in a small town, most of these taxi drivers know me by now and they quickly tell me to hop in.  It’s during these taxi rides that I get to practice most of my Bemba.  I greet everyone in the taxi, tell them my name and what I’m doing in Zambia.  They generally ask me if I’ll take them back to America with me and why on earth I would ever choose to live here.  These taxis are different from Americans taxis in that they are “group taxis,” meaning I pay $0.60 for one seat but the driver may stop at any time to pick up other people to fill the remaining 3 seats.  Sometimes the drivers will even stop to get gas or drive way out of their way to pick up their children for school…those are the days that I just have to sit back and say, “TIA!”  (This is Africa) and pray that Teacher Esnart gets to school early.

As long as everything goes according to plan, I arrive at school at 7:30 where I usually find a handful of students already waiting.  The kids are very self-motivated and know to grab the brooms when they get to school to start sweeping the classrooms and yard outside.  I spend my first few minutes greeting students and then every morning either Shadrick (the grade 2 boy whom I sponsor), Collins, Travise or Joseph will run up and ask, “Can I get the books, Teacher?”  Because we rent a house for our school, my classroom is not very secure.  It’s technically the “sitting area” of the house so it’s quite open.  Many people come to visit Fred, the man who stays at/takes care of the house, so every day after school, I have to pack up all my supplies in boxes and store them in Teacher Esnart’s room which has a lock and key.  These four boys LOVE helping me by bringing the boxes to and from my classroom every day and I love giving them special jobs to do.

Around 7:45, all the students gather in my classroom to start the day.  We say the Lord’s Prayer, sing a few songs, go over the date/calendar and read a devotion from the book, "Jesus Calling."  We then dismiss the Grade 3’s and 4’s to their classroom and I start the day with my kids.  We, of course, start the day with potty break, which (be warned, this may be TMI) means whatever gender I call goes outside to the large pit dug in the yard and does their business.  For those of you wondering if I use this method, you can rest assured that I don’t.  We DO have a toilet in the school, but honestly the kids are quite used to using a pit and it would take way too long for all 33 of my students to use the one toilet.  (Although we DO let them use it for “other emergencies.”)  Sorry if that was way more than you ever wanted to know…back to the school day!

So, my first teaching block lasts from around 8-10:30 and then we have a break for tea and recess.  It can be quite a struggle to teach 33 students from two different grade levels, but it’s a fun challenge.  We mainly focus on Reading, Math and English with a bit of Handwriting, Science, Bible, Spelling and Art thrown in.  Most public schools in Zambia are bursting at the seams with students so they just move kids on without truly making sure they have the skills.  We are trying to ensure our students’ success, so we keep kids in grades as long as they need.  For example, I have grade 2 students who are anywhere from age 7 to 12.  This is also a result of the fact that all of our kids come from families who can’t afford school, so maybe they’ve never even had an opportunity to go to school before now.  Thankfully many of the Haven of Hope Teams throughout the years have brought over school supplies, so I have the crucial things like an alphabet above my chalkboard, reading books, some curriculum, flashcards and crayons.  Since coming I’ve made a “word wall” where I add 5 new words each week for the students to learn and spell.  I test the students individually on these words every few weeks and they LOVE it.  They really do love learning how to read, and they especially love having my undivided attention.  Teaching in Zambia is always an adventure and any day there can be something that throws off your schedule.  One day it might be the neighbor’s chicken wandering into your classroom, a vomiting child who clearly needs to be taken to the clinic, a local mother trying to find a spot at the school for her child, a man stopping by to see if we want to buy charcoal, or kids just stopping to stare at the white girl teaching a bunch of Zambian kids. 

From 10:30-11 the children are running around in our small yard playing soccer, the Zambian version of dodge ball, jump ropes or some other game.  If I’m not in the office talking to Charity and Esnart or writing lesson plans, I’m just sitting in the classroom with anywhere from 3-15 students who would rather read with me than be outside.  They love digging around in my supply box to get out their favorite flashcards or grab the magnetic letters/cookie sheet to spell words for their friends.

From 11-12:45 it’s more learning and then we prepare for lunchtime.  We have an amazing cook who helps make our lunch every day, so when she’s finished, I dismiss a few students at a time to go around the house, wash their hands at the faucet outside (if there's running water) and line up outside the kitchen to grab their plate of nshima (a thick mashed-potato looking food which is made from maize meal) and whatever relish we are having that day.  (2 days a week we have kapenta, which are very small, dried fish.  2 days we have beans.  And the other day we have soya chunks…which I think is basically tofu.)  After lunch, I choose 5 students to clean up the classroom and 2 students to sweep outside in the yard.  (It’s my class’s job to take care of the yard and cleaning the tea-cups during break while Teacher Esnart’s class cleans the plates from lunch.)  Around 2:00 we are done sweeping and mopping the floors, and the whole school lines up outside for any announcements we need to make.  We pray and send the kids off to walk home. 

Some days after school I will stay around to write lesson plans, talk to Esnart or make new posters for my classroom, but usually I walk to the closest kiosk (small shop along the road), buy a Fanta (aka: nectar of the gods) and head into town to run errands and then go home to prepare for the next day. Mondays are my "grocery buying" days.  We now have TWO grocery stores in Luanshya, which is a pretty big deal, and up and down the streets/corridors of shopping areas you can find people selling fresh fruits and vegetables.  My shopping list almost always includes chicken, apples, tomatoes, onions, milk, yogurt, eggs, chips and other random stuff.  Wednesdays I head to my Pastor's house for Bible Study and Thursdays I go into town again to make photocopies of whatever homework sheet I’m sending home with the kids on Friday.  Some days I walk the 35-minute walk to the Banda’s house to visit with them, but I always make sure I leave in time to be back before it gets dark.  Since it’s winter here, it’s starting to get dark around 5:30 which means I spend most of the evening alone in my apartment.  It’s good though…gives me lots of time to cook a good meal, boil water so I can take a hot bath, write my lesson plans, catch up on my favorite tv shows, and chat with friends and family.  I was very lucky to find a nice apartment for cheap, but it’s definitely “Zambian” in that it has no hot water, my sink is outside (under a carport), water comes and goes throughout the day so you have to stock up, and at least one night a week the town shuts off our power to conserve energy.  But honestly, you get used to it!

My weekends are normally spent catching up on house chores like laundry, sweeping & waxing the floor (yes, waxing), and whatever else needs to get done.  I always walk to Kamirenda (the neighborhood where the Banda’s live) on Saturdays to attend my church’s youth group at 3:00.  On Sunday, I leave the house at 10 to get to church and am there till around 1.  Most Sunday afternoons I go to the Banda’s for lunch and hang out with them before going home to rest and start another week.

So there you go.  My life in Zambia.  I’m definitely not living in the bush like I’m sure a lot of people picture when they think of Africa, but I know it’s hard to imagine when you haven’t been here.  Let me know if you were wondering about anything else that I happened to leave out.