The Great Adventure

Faith, Hope and Love

2010-11-27T22:58:00.001-08:00

During my last week in Zambia I started a blog entry with this exact title. I remember because I still had a draft of it saved. However I only got this far:

1 Corinthians 13:13 states “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

Faith. Hope. Love.

It is amazing to me how much these three words have been pounding through my head lately…. and how much my perspective of the meaning behind those words has changed since first coming to Zambia.

I remember really wanting to write that blog entry.

I wanted to write it to try to sum up the entire experience in a blog entry and Bible verse that would catch at people's hearts... or more honestly, that would help me process what I had learned and had come to know about myself and God on the 'trip'. However, that was an impossible goal, both then and now.

I realize that I will never be done learning about those three words. Zambia was incredible, and I will never forget the people, places, and things I was blessed to be a part of there. Not a day passes when someone or something from there is not on my mind or lips. While there I did not only learn about God, I became friends with God. He became my life's breathe, and even now when I have forgotten to take that breathe for a while and I finally open my well worn Bible... I feel like I'm coming home, and all of the stresses prior to that moment simply melt away.

However, since coming home, watching my little sister get married, starting a new relationship of my own, road tripping from Sea to shining Sea and arriving in Pasadena to start grad school at Fuller Seminary's School of Psychology, that learning has not stopped. Again, faith... hope.. love... they echo through my mind and pound tirelessly at both my consciousness and subconsciousness. I can't escape them, nor would I want to.

When I think about that last week in Zambia, I kind of laugh at thinking I was actually going to be able to write that blog entry. Because the truth is, I could write for pages about those 3 words.

About FAITH... crazy, scary, don't-look-down but keep-your-eyes-on-Christ faith. A faith that keeps 4 mama's and 36 children fasting and praying on a once condemned, cursed, and forbidden piece of land, because they know who the land really belongs to....and one that got me up to pray at 4 in the morning, because God had bigger plans in my own hometown as well. A faith that gives us hope that wherever God calls us to jump next, is going to be perfectly within His grace...

About HOPE... true, potent, plan-redeeming, peace-giving hope. A hope that I saw reflected in faces of orphan children and widows despite what most American's would consider to be 'tragic' circumstances, but also a hope that we learn to give through a family therapy program in a seminary in SoCal. A hope that doesn't work to only cover up the brokenness of this word, but brings light to those stained and broken pieces of ourselves and lets the God who created us in the first place display some new beauty through the colorful mosaic of our messiness. A hope that allows us to love, even when that calls for great vulnerability...

About LOVE... deep, consuming, passionate, merciful love. A love that causes a single man to not let an article about the needs of the AIDS orphans in Africa to go unheeded on a plane ride. A love that allows commitment, grace, empowerment and intimacy to escalate in intensity between two imperfect people, because they have their eyes focused on the One who is perfect.. and then compels those two people to share that revelation with a whole Seminary so that families across the word can experience it. A true agape love that makes you not want to waste another day of your life living heedlessly without showing friends and family how much you really care.

I wish I could write for days on end about it all, but I suppose that isn't really possible. However, as it is Thanksgiving weekend, let me just say that I am thankful. I have been so blessed to have my world turned upside down by a God who had it planned out this way all along. Four year's ago I was living in the status quo. Three year's ago I was learning to stretch myself in my faith and ministry. Two year's ago today I felt like I was never going to be worthy to breathe the name of Christ again, but instead I discovered true grace. And a year ago this weekend (a weekend when I decided to go home on a whim feeling somewhat alone, overwhelmed and uneasy about everything that I knew God was calling me to in the next year) the craziness that was then, and is currently my life got an unexpected shove in the right direction... and it's been no looking back since then.

You know that feeling when you're trying to get down a steep hill... and you can either choose to go down the hill cautiously and perhaps skid a bit to keep from falling, or you can run down it in reckless abandon and just embrace the 'too fast' nature of the hill? Ya, I know, I'm the 'crazy' one running down with arms flung wide... despite sometimes wondering if it wouldn't be more sensible to take the slow path. But what I've realized is the choice to run with arms open really hasn't been mine at all. I've been so incredibly blessed that I couldn't keep my arms close to my body if I wanted to, as in that position I would never be able to hold everything that God wanted to give me.

Call me crazy if you want to. But I've decided that crazy is good. Crazy faith, crazy hope and crazy love. That's what I've discovered. And I'm even close to being done this adventure yet.

Is He Safe?

2010-06-06T14:38:00.000-07:00

Wow. It is in a mix of amazement, humbleness, and a slight feeling of guilt that I realize that I have approximately three weeks left in Zambia... and I have not written in this blog since my 'halfway' point. However, I do not seek to make empty apologies for that, but to simply state why:

God has been overwhelming me.

There, I have said it. Every day, sometimes every hour even... I feel overwhelmed. But, this is what I came here for, though, right? To sit back and ride on the coat tails of an awesome, incredible God. (Well, I don't know if I would call it 'sitting back' at all... but it has been a ride none the less!)

The following is an excerpt of an update I had written last week for my churches newsletter:

Every day there is a new task, and a new challenge that must be faced in order to complete that task. Whether that challenge is a lack of funding due to the recession or simply a cultural difference in the Zambian way of life… nothing is ever ‘easy’, but I am learning that God would have it no other way.

In CS Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe there is a conversation between Mr. Beaver and Lucy that goes something like this: Lucy has just spotted Aslan, and is slightly terrified at the prospect of meeting the lion. So she asks Mr. Beaver, “Is he safe?” And Mr. Beaver replies, “Safe? Who said anything about safe? Of course He isn’t safe. But He’s good—He’s the king I tell you.”

This conversation between Mr. Beaver and Lucy was one that captured my heart long before coming to Zambia. It intrigued me and made me consider anew what this God we serve is actually like. In fact, a faith in and need for exploration of an un-safe but good God was part of the reason that I sought out such a drastic change from the everyday American life in the first place.

However, approximately two months ago, I had the chance to meet a lion of my own. A literal lion. Actually, there were four of them—all at approximately 18 months of age, semi-tamed, and walking around freely in a nature preserve (albeit with their tamer near by). I was given a stick as a ‘distraction tool’ in case any of the large kitty cats decided they wanted to chew on something, and taught to walk side by side with the semi-terrifying animals. As I sat and petted their necks, held their tails, and eventually was licked by one, I began to process anew what CS Lewis was alluding to in his first book of the Narnia series.

We serve an un-safe God. One who is powerful beyond all measure, and fearsomely awesome. A God that, at times, will surely make us want to proceed with caution. But He is good. Thus no caution is necessary, as long as we are walking side by side with Him in the way He has taught us. He is un-safe in His expectations of us, always pushing us farther than we first thought possible, or directing us down paths we don’t initially want to traverse; but His goodness allows us to run freely down these paths—and at a pace that should be out of the question.

And, as I reflect on my time here, I can think of no better way to illustrate what God is so clearly doing in and around me than to think of physically walking next to The Lion.

It has not been ‘safe’, but it has been overwhelmingly good. God has pushed me beyond who I thought I was; and my faith, reliance, and trust in Him has grown exponentially.

It feels like almost yesterday that I was sitting in Livingstone getting licked by a lion. Course, I will also always remember that day for the running jump I took off of a 370' bridge. (Don't worry everyone... I had a harness on and two whole ropes tied into that harness!) Psyching myself up for the jump, I remember saying out loud "It's just one step, like faith... just one step." And so it was, and so it is. Every day, one step after another.

That weekend in Livingstone will carry with it more than it's share of memories for years to come. Not just for it's life-risking stunts, or the incredible feeling of dancing in the down pouring 'mist' of the world's largest waterfall... but because it was also Easter weekend, and God's grace bathed me this year in a whole new way. It's amazing how much God can change in a year. Who am I to be playing with AIDS orphans daily and showing the love of Jesus Christ to this 'hopeless' African children? However, that still small voice has shown me that the greater question was, and will continue to be, 'Who is God that He would bring me here?'

And, so, that is the question that I will continue to ask. Who is God? When the injustice of the world is banging on you're front door, looking for dinner from the 'muzungo'.... when misunderstandings lead to tears.... when hearts are broken... when it becomes harder to write an open and vulnerable blog entry than to bear the shame of broken promises... when the God I know doesn't look anything like the God you know. Who is God? And what is His mission here?

The month of March was a particularly hard month. Not only in my life, but in the life of EOH has an organization. For years, EOH has had an orphan sponsorship program that had spanned multiple regions. Over 200 children were sponsored by Americans for approximately $30 a month. However, as easy as that is to say... the program itself was not easy. $30 a month here buys the exact same things it does in America. It was not enough money to support an orphan's full range of needs. School fees, clothing, food, shelter..... was not possible for $30. However, EOH had been making it work as best they could. Nevertheless, the culture here got in the way.

In the villages, where the orphans in the sponsorship program were living, the children would live with extended family members. Thus, whenever supplies for the orphaned children were bought, the aunts and uncles of the child would take the child's things... and give it to their own biological children instead. If food was bought, the child would taste very little, if any of it. Instead, the orphans were present in the household to 'earn their keep.' Despite many different attempts at programming to make sure none of this 'grabbing' was going on... it was impossible to ensure the safety of purchased goods.

And, while those cultural problems worked against the program on this side of the ocean... America was having its own: the recession. All across the board, numbers of sponsored children were dropping. However, how do we look a child in the eye and tell them that their sponsorship has been dropped, but that their friends would be able to still feel the love from an American family? Thus, the few American funds that WERE being generated were trying to cover over the multitude of orphans who, at one time or other, had been sponsored.

All and all, the program was simply unsustainable... and creating more strife in the lives of the orphans than good. Thus.... after many years of trying to make it work... the program simply had to close. EOH had found that the My Father's House Orphan Home system for sponsoring and raising a child in a Godly, safe, loving home was a much better way to go than to try to simply shovel money at children in an at-risk situation.... as that money just put the child more at risk.

Thus, as the American office set about trying to inform the American sponsors of the discontinuation of the program, I had the task of being the American representative in a team of three people to go to the various towns and villages and inform them that they would no longer be getting American funds to aid in their survival. To say that it was a heart wrenching task would be an understatement. Even to those who had been praying about the decision unceasingly, it seemed it was about as 'unsafe' a move as the come. What good could possibly come from admitting this defeat?

Nevertheless, as always, God met us there. And He was GOOD.

As we sat with teams of church pastors, elders, caretakers and coordinators from towns such as Musunda Falls, Kafue, Kittwe, Livingstone and Lusaka... every single committee surprised us by saying that, thought the American funds were ending, the program of supporting the orphans in their churches was certainly not coming to an end. The Livingstone church had a meeting right then and there to start developing a program amongst church members to better care for the orphans and ensure that they would actually receive the things they needed.

As I sat and listened to their talk, it occurred to me that this was probably God's intention in starting the EOH Sponsorship program all along -- simply to make the native people more aware of the needs of the orphans, and incite in them a passion to see the the wrongs righted. I also laughed at how, as the Zambians sat and programmed, the problems in our American - based program would probably be done away with. God knew what He was doing.

And so it has gone. This unsafe, bewildering, ever revealing God of ours.... making Himself known time and time again.I am both in capable and unable (due to confidentiality within EOH out of respect for the children!) to explain all the numerous, numerous examples of other times that God has taken hard, impossible looking situations and made them 'good'. And, to be honest, I'm still waiting to see how He uses the risks of other situations for his purposes.

I have one month left. If I could make time stand still for just a little longer... I would. Nevertheless, God has plans for further adventures when I return to the States as well, of that I am certain.

And I have a feeling that they are going to be no more safe than they have been here.... but that I will continue to be overwhelmed by Him and see more and more of His truth daily.

For that, I can't wait.

Muzungo

2010-04-04T15:48:00.000-07:00

**I actually wrote this post last weekend, but didn't get it posted before leaving on vacation due to the typical internet problems... so I'll post this, and then post a blog about THIS week tomorrow. :-)**

Last weekend I was sitting with Sophie and Mary Leslie at their house. Sophie and Mary Leslie are the two American girls who work with the GEMS program here in Lusaka, and are the only two Americans that I commune with on a regular basis. As such, we have taken to having Saturday night 'girls night', which typically consists of an American-esk meal (whether thats us trying to make our own chicken nuggets or taco seasoning, or just going out for pizza), a time of laughing and/or crying about the things we have experienced that week, and then watching a movie on someone's laptop.

Thus, as we were sitting and talking, the three of us again came to the conclusion that Zambia is simply so far removed from anything we had experienced in America, that it is almost impossible to describe. We laughed at how daunting it seems to even put into words what it is like to walk down the street in Zambia to our friends and family back home. But, those who know me well know that I am not usually one to turn down a challenge. Thus, here I give you: a 20 minute walk down the streets of Zambia.

First, I must remind you that I am white. This is an obvious fact, but not one that I can say I have ever really noticed or paid much attention to before moving to Zambia. I have always grown up in a time and community where racism is being quickly eradicated, and the color of someones skin was a descriptive statement, much like "she has blonde hair" or "he has brown eyes". It never meant anything to me. I realize that to some people, even in America today, that is an obtuse statement. Surely I know about American history, about the gross injustices of the past? Of course.... but to me, its always been in the past--and never made sense as to why our country fell into such a pattern in the first place. I remember discussing the 2/3rds Act in 8th grade history wondering how in the world a person could believe that another person should only count as being 2/3rds of a human being. Why were white people considered better? However, I could easily pass that question off, as the Act has been abolished in the USA, and it no longer had any effect on me.

But here, in Zambia, its another story.

When I leave my front door, and start walking towards the gate... the guard used to jump up to open the small metal door for me. I have now convinced him that I am quite capable of undoing the latch myself, and walking out. But if ever I even turn and hesitate to talk to someone still in the office, you can bet he will have the door opened for me... letting me out with a small bob of his knees (a sign of respect).

Upon exiting the gate, I am immediately thrust into the heart of Zambian urban life. The EOH office is on one of the main roads, aka: one of the few paved roads. All around there are 'businesses' lining the streets. A gate welder lives to my left, and just beyond him is the gate painter. A few paces further is a furniture maker, and just the other day I noticed a pile of rocks on the side of the street... signaling that they will probably start crushing the rocks by hammers shortly, and start trying to sell the shards to make cinder-blocks with. On the other side of the street, there is a strip mall being constructed. Brick by brick, there seems to be continuous work crews there, whether it is day or night.

To the right of my wall, there is a small house with a large yard, where two moms live with there 7+ children. If the kids are around, they will usually be the first to greet me as I exit my gate. Choruses of 'Auntie Annika!!' can be heard... as they have figured out my name. However, not one of the children know a lick of English, thus our communication is usually limited to a few smiles, kicking around an empty water bottle or two, and (when I have a few extra minutes and a little extra money) sharing a few cookies. I always get a kick out of the youngest kid in particular. The boy is probably not more than 3 years old, and his Mama usually carries him over to me, with him kicking and screaming the entire time. Nevertheless, by the time he sees that I have a cookie for him, the screams have stopped and he holds out his tiny, dirty paw... shaking the whole time. The Mama just laughs and will usually try to encourage the boy with a line like "muzungo bueno"... meaning "the white person is good."

Muzungo.

I don't think there is any word in any language that has ever confused, frustrated, degraded, respected, made me love on people, and made me want to deck someone more. "Muzungo"... "white person". It's the word that all the men whistle at you as you walk down the street. It's the word that the kids dance around you singing. It's the word that will forever make me wonder "why are white people considered better?"

Let's continue our walk.

After stepping out of the gate, and hearing my neighbor's cries of "Auntie Annika!!" I usually wave, greet them in the local language and continue on my way. I turn left, and start down the street. The work crews are out, busy with their crafts. But not too busy to notice me. "Muzungo! Muzungo! Helllllllo!" By now, I know these men. I give them a small smile and wave. The one younger man asks again for my phone number, I tell him my answer has not changed. He tells me he's still waiting for his white wife. I tell him to just keep on waiting. We laugh and I continue on.

During the day, walking down the street can become a hazard. Trucks are parked all over the sides of the road, and to get around them you must either walk in the road (which is NOT advisable, as cars have the right of way here!), or jump the drainage/garbage ditch and pass through peoples' businesses. My first few weeks here, this was a proposition that made me somewhat nervous. First of all, the drainage ditches here are up to 3 feet wide and at least as deep. However, in them can be found anything from empty water bottles to dead dogs. Thus, miscalculating the jump would not only be a somewhat painful fall into the ditch, but a rather unpleasant one at that. Once on the other side of the ditch, there is the task of maneuvering around teams of working men.... trying to jump over whatever it is they are welding, or squeak by without getting paint, mud or some other substance on you can be a task in and of itself. Never mind trying to do it with an air of confidence at a brisk pace so that they do not try to stop you and 'just talk.'

However, I can usually make it down the main road without too many confrontations. Nevertheless, it is when I make another left hand turn and start down the dirt road into the compounds that it becomes significantly harder to avoid the men. Especially on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.

At the corner of the my main road and the dirt road to the compound is the first of many bars. Alcohol in and of itself is a major issue in Zambia. I am not ashamed at all to admit that I enjoy a glass of wine with dinner, or a beer at a cookout, or a mixed drink with friends. I don't believe alcohol in and of itself is bad. However, I have never been drunk; and never plan to... as God voices his disapproval for drunkenness in the Bible. As I know that there is quite a range of people who read this blog, from my Grandpa to college students who I have never even met before, let me clarify this further by saying that I do not despise or judge those who have gotten drunk or enjoy a weekend escapade here or there... but I simply think that if God gave a recommendation in the Bible to 'not get drunk' as one of the better ways to do life; then I'm going to choose to take my Creators advice. Plus, from what I've seen during the moments where I have helped hold the hair back of a friend or two, or cried with someone who has made decisions they wouldn't have normally made after having more than I personally would consider having, I think my Creator was right. It doesn't look like much fun.

Nevertheless, in Zambia, there is a strong stigma against alcohol. When I first arrived here, I thought that was rather unjust. How could some random person on the street assume that if I had a beer I was not a Christian?? It seems preposterous! But then I started to learn that in Zambia, WAY more than America, drinking is a hobby. It is what the men do on nights when they don't want to deal with life. It is what groups of friends do because there is literally only one movie theater in the entire city. What's more, is it is an expensive hobby. One that costs a family its food money for a week, or a child his or her school fees. To go for a drink in Zambia, means automatically spending money on a wasteful, hurtful substance... simply because it wastes the family's money on something unneeded, and thus hurts the entire population. Whats more, is it becomes an addiction to many people, thus causing abuse in families where the abuser wants to squeeze every last Kwatcha (money note) out of his or her family members. Add into this the whole proposition of the AIDS pandemic, where a decreased inhibition here has the same effect that it has on many college students back home, and suddenly alcohol has a very deadly ring to it.

Thus, turning left and passing the biggest of all the compound bars is always a slightly unnerving prospect. Inevitably there will be at least 4 or 5 men calling out "MUZUNGO! MUZUNGO!", and inviting you inside for a drink...in the hopes that you will drink more. Other men take a more direct approach, coming up beside you, walking along with you, trying to get you to stop and talk. "Baby, I like the color of your skin! Be my wife!" "Your skin speaks of money! Come have a drink!" "I want babies with you!" "I want American wife, I go back with you!" "Pretty Mama, show me more white skin." The most drunk of men might try and grab your elbow when you refuse to stop, or put their arm around you. A quick shrug of the shoulder and a firm "NO!" stops most of them in their tracks, but the most audacious will continue on... pressing for answers. "What, you think you're better than me because you're muzungo? You think you can't have a drink with me? Come have a drink with me!"

I actually fell for this line the first few times... and I would stop and try to point out to them that THEY were the ones trying to coax me inside simply because of the color of my skin. Or I would explain that I find us equals, and that they should too.. and stop hitting on me simply because of my whiteness. Or I would try and persuade them that America isn't an instant ticket to fame and fortune like Hollywood makes it out to be (as 90% of what common Zambians know of America is what they see in movies). Or, in the most desperate of situations, one time I simply lied and said that my boyfriend wouldn't approve... to which I hastily had my left hand grabbed, and was notified that I was not wearing a ring, thus I was fair game. I considered buying a fake engagement ring for the first time in my life... but then realized that such a possession would probably only make it more likely that I would be mugged.

Nevertheless, I have since learned to just keep walking. I cannot convince drunk men that I am not better than them because of the color of my skin; but nor do I have any desire to be groped by them while sitting in bar. I walk on.

At this point of the year, the streets are one muddy lake after another. It has been in the 'rainy season' since the end of January, and at some points it takes a full on running leap to make it to the next portion of land... and at others, you just step down into the calf deep puddles, and grown as you see rotting vegetables, old hair weave, and empty beer bottles on either side of your foot. In the drainage ditches there are children playing, sending 'boats' made out of trash down the streams that have been formed... or simply splashing around in the dark water. In a few months time, all this water will be gone as we enter the dry season, and these roads will have a solid 3 inches of pure dust on them. Either way, I have begun to develop a whole new recognition of what it meant for Jesus to get down and wash his disciples feet.

As the kids in the ditches see you coming, they bound up from their games, and start in with that word again. "Muzungo! Muzungo!" The hungry ones look at you with big eyes. The shy ones hide behind their siblings. The brave ones muster up their best 'How are you?' and squeal in delight when I respond with "I'm fine, how are you?"... in their local language. And those who have learned my name come running, arms open... screaming "Auntie Annika!!", and just want to be picked up. I often wonder what these children see in me. Why do they get so excited? Do they think I have money for them? All the kids that I meet in the market ask me for money.... but these kids seem to just be content to have the attention and affection of a white person. However, I have to be careful. The children easily become jealous. If I pick up one of the kids, within seconds I have 15+ children surrounding me, all expecting to be picked up as well. And if I don't pick all of them up, you can visibly see them push around the little one who reached me first. They become so easily jealous. And of what? A hug from a stranger?

After untangling myself from the kids, I continue on down the road. I will continue to hear shouts of "MUZUNGO! BYE! BYE MUZUNGO!"for the next 70 yards, and will continue to smile and hold up a hand to wave goodbye to the mass of kids... how can I not?

Nevertheless, at the very moment when I am still smiling over the kids' use of the word Muzungo, I become instantly disgruntled again when I hear the men at the next bar start whistling it. I'll admit, there are a few times when I simply want to turn to some of these men and say something like "Congratulations, you're not colorblind! Yes,I'm white!" or just turn and shout and point back at them "Black person!", as I truly wonder if they understand how ridiculous it is to just be shouting "white person!" every time I walk down the street. Nevertheless, I simply ignore them and take in the scene of the rest of the street.

There are women and girls selling vegetables, ground corn, caterpillars, and capenta (small, dried fish). Ten year olds carrying two year olds strapped to their back with Shatengais (long pieces of African clothe). Five year olds cooking on open fires, while their Mama's watch from the shade. And, inevitably,there are 'Top Up Here!" signs stapled to tree trunks, with men sitting under them... no shoes on, threadbare clothes, but talking on a BlackBerry.

I should mention now that cell phones in Zambia are a huge deal. There are two major networks, 'MTN' and 'Zain'. Though Zain is considered to be the 'most trusted.' Everyone who is everyone has a cell phone. It is the biggest status symbol there is. In fact, because it is such a status symbol, apparently thefts of cell phones became a huge problem about 2 years ago. Now there is a THREE YEAR prison sentence for stealing a cell phone... whether it is a cheap hunk of plastic, or something imported from the USA. In addition, all cell phones in Zambia are prepaid. Thus, in order to get more 'talk time' you must purchase a 'top up' card. These cards can be purchased on any and every street corner. If you are driving in a car, simply stick out your hand with a bit of money in it, and a boy will come running with a card, handing it to you as he jogs beside you until you can make the exchange. Sometimes I wonder how everyone becomes a 'dealer' for these cards, as it appears that everyone is selling them. Nevertheless, no matter who you buy it from, when you buy a card, the exact amount you buy the card for is credited to your phone when you scratch it to find your 'secret code' to enter (think about lottery tickets and/or game entry pieces from cereal boxes).

However, the big to-do in Zambia right now is because of an additional 'scratch off' on the Zain Top Up cards. As, at the moment, Zain is running the biggest promotion Zambia has ever seen. It is being called 'The Real 2010'and thus throughout the course of the 2010 year, Zain is giving away 20 vans and 10 houses to people in Zambia who subscribe to the Zain network. In addition, everyone has the opportunity to win T-shirts, key rings or hats when they scratch off a 'winning' Top Up card. However, in order to win one of the vans or houses, 3 contestants a week are brought on a live TV show to play a few games for the chance of winning big. Last Wednesday night was the first episode of 'The Real 2010' in Zambia... and I actually got to be a part of it.

Back in February Esther and I had decided to write into Zain about trying to get sponsorship money for the MFHs. She had heard a tip from a friend that Zain was considering donating money to an orphanage, and thus we jumped at the opportunity. On Monday night, I returned home from playing volleyball at the International School to find a note from a Zain representative who said that they had decided to sponsor EOH, and needed to come the very next day to film some footage of the MFHs! So Tuesday there was a camera crew, and Esther did a quick interview about the EOH mission... and we found out that we were one of two finalists for a huge donation! We were told that as the 'kick off' for the new 'Real 2010' TV show, they had decided to put two charities on the show, and demonstrate the last game to raise both hype for the Zain promotion, and awareness for the charities. Thus, Wednesday night Mama, Patricia, Esther, myself and three of the kids and the Mama from House 3 were on live national television! To make a long story short, we ended up winning $2000 that night for EOH. A great night indeed... and forever cementing Zain in the hearts of my Zambian coworkers.

However, it is probably almost night time for you if you're reading this (even if you started reading it in the morning!), and I have not finished walking with you... so let me continue.

My feet are dirty, I'm emotionally drained, I am sweating from trying to walk quickly in between my stops to love on the kids, and I am just arriving at my destination: the My Father's House's 3 and 4. Before I go in their gate, the neighboring kids again accost me. "Why do you go THERE? Play with US!" How do I explain to them that they are loved, but that I am not capable of being a second mom to every child in the street? The 16 kids waiting just inside the gate are already a lot to handle!

But I kick an empty bottle at them, buy one or two of the vegetables that they are selling, and give high fives to the boys. A little bit of love can go a long way.

I walk into the gate, and finally I have made it. I try not to think of the gross injustices I see outside of the walls. I forget the harassment of the men on the street. I try not to muse over how my very face can bring such hope to some kids and such disappointment to others when I dont take the time to stop and play. I try not to think about the fact that on my walk I have passed at least a dozen kids who honestly need to be in a safe, loving, orphan home just like the one I am currently standing in.... and concentrate instead on just being "Auntie Annika" to these kids.

At least until I have to start the walk home.

Back in the USA, I used to really enjoy going for walks to clear my head. Or a run every once in a while when I really needed to let off steam.

That is not possible here. Going for a run would cause more disappointment than I could handle, as all the kids would be hurt if I did not stop. Plus, running through the puddles would mean soggy sneakers for volleyball. But even a half mile walk requires emotional toughness. Sometimes I force a smile to my face, and try to not cry when I see kids digging for food in the garbage on the side of the road. Sometimes it is all I can do to resist the urge to walk up to the parents of those children and ask why they are letting their children eat garbage, when the Mama is cooking food. Sometimes I laugh out loud when the youngest ones run awkwardly towards me. Sometimes I want to slap young men across the face when they get upset that I am paying attention to the children, but not their sexual advances.

But, in all actuality, all these 'sometimes' are just my 'always' life here in Zambia.

One step at a time.

I am a muzungo.

And I am here to love God and love others.
Even when I'm just walking down the street.

The Glory of It All

2010-03-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

Who cares if we'll ever be right.

2010-03-17T14:42:00.000-07:00

Hey all, so unfortunately this needs to be short, as I leave for Livingstone in a few short hours and need to get a few hours of sleep before I go. However, I needed to write.

The moment I stepped onto the Calvin Track and Field Team, I knew that Track was going to be about much more than distances and throwing events. My teammates challenged me, my coaches encouraged me, and to put it bluntly, Norm Zylstra confused the heck out of me. However, over the past few days, one of the things Norm always tried to infuse within us hit home.

In the midst of endless sets of discus throws, Norm used to ask us repeatedly whether we tried to 'be right' or whether we would 'do right'. To be honest, some days I just thought he wanted to start debates (as he IS a gifted debater...). However, I realized this week that I never really understood the question, and if I had I might have benefited much more from his (and others!) coaching. I always tried to respond to the question by saying that we should strive to 'be in the right' as Christians. Seems like a good answer. Heck, seems like a 'right' answer. However, its not a Godly answer.

We are foiled, broken, emotion filled people who will never 'be right'. We can simply try to do right, as dictated by God. Thus, in all honesty, I now realize that it is impossible to 'be in the right.' However, it is possible to 'be in the light'.

So what is all this about? Why talk of Calvin Track from Zambia?

Because, this weekend I tried to 'be right', and this week I learned what it looked like to 'do right'.

This weekend, when I posted my previous post, I think I can say that I was 'right' in saying the things I did. I was hurt by the email that my friends sent. I was justified in my tears, frustrations and anger. I was further vindicated by the many emails of encouragement and love that so many of you sent. But what I did was not right at all. I took a few of the people I love the most, and hung them out in the open for all the world to gawk at; when I knew in my heart of hearts that the things they said were out of love for me and concern (and perhaps a little uniformed confusion) as to what was occurring in my life. However, this was a fact that I could not see Sunday night. I was too concerned with my own rightness.

So what changed?

Monday and Tuesday I completed a two day fast. I do not say this to sound vain. I say it because it changed my life.

For two days I ate nothing. Instead of thinking of food, I prayed. Instead of taking time for meals, I read my Bible. I dwelled for two full days on learning God's heart.

To be honest, I started the fast because I wanted to hear God's guidance on how to respond to the words that my friends had sent me in the previously mentioned email and subsequent emails... but I ended the fast hearing of God's guidance for life.

Stop trying to 'be right' and start 'doing right.'

Who cares that I was justified in what I said? The fact is, in trying to 'be right' this past weekend (and truthfully, in much of my life), I was wrong.

I don't need to be vindicated. My life is not a Dashboard Confessional song. My life is about God. My life is about loving others. My life is about denying myself and taking up my cross. Thus, the things I wrote in frustration and hurt should have never been posted for the world to see. Therefore, I want to issue a public apology to those friends.... Thank you for loving me and forgiving me in spite of everything. We'll figure this out together.

Up until now, I feel like my Christian walk has been a little bipolar. There are days when I feel like a failure of a Christian, and that I could never do what God is asking of me. And then there are days that I feel completely and udder self-righteous about how I handle myself and the things that I am feeling. I am a missionary to AIDS Orphans in Zambia. Even as I speak that sentence these two extremes compete. I am a missionary (self-righteous... cause let's be real: I have the faith to actually be here doing this) to AIDS Orphans in Zambia (oh ya, that... ya, probably going to fail when you put it that way!). So how do I combat those extremes? Where does the truth lie?

It lies in my confidence coming from GOD. It lies in 'doing right' instead of my own feeble abilities to 'be right'. It lies in a complete abandon of myself.

Thus, I ask you to pray for me. Pray that I would develop a confidence that is directly of God, and of nothing of myself; and pray that I would learn to do right.

Thanks everyone. And thanks especially to Norm for trying to teach me the truth behind these words long ago, and to the Zambians for giving me the tool of fasting to actually take the time and focus to discover what God would have had me understand years ago.... if I had only taken the time away from my own fulfillment to notice it.

Will we ever get this right?

2010-03-14T12:54:00.000-07:00

I don't know anymore how I am even supposed to start this blog.

All too often I can't help but feel that I am a failure. They should have sent someone else.

For literally a month I have worked on this blog entry. Friday night I was getting ready to (FINALLY!) post this, and then I got an email that sent me into a tail spin. When I finally recovered and figured out how to make sense of some of it (at around 5am), the internet cut out. And so, I am currently sitting at a different house... trying desperately to post this. But that just how it it always seems to go. I struggle through life and try to find words to describe it... but as soon as I'm getting ready to post it, something else changes. Or the internet isn't working. Or something with me isn't working.

As I said, Friday night I received an email.... from a few people who I love most in the world. And in not so few words, they let me know very bluntly how badly I have screwed up. These are the friends who I talk with more than anyone else. Who I look forward to being able to share with more than anyone else, and whose support I rely on more than anyone else. And this is what they had to say:

"You haven’t updated your blog in over a month and a half, and people are wondering why and asking questions. Have you forgotten about all those people who have supported you and want to continue to support you? (And that includes us…) I’m not expecting every detail, nor deep dissertations. We’ve tried to tell you that before.... What’s the problem? Do you not want to share things with us? Or are we only allowed to hear about certain things? I don’t understand it."

And so again I tell you, I have failed. And, truthfully, some of that is due to a lack of internet capability, but most of it is due to a lack of my capability.

I’ve had a hard time processing and accepting much of the stuff that has happened lately, never mind trying to find the words to bring everyone else into understanding. Beyond that, I usually have no one to discuss it with, thus... when I do get to be online and a friend signs on and I have the opportunity to actually fellowship with a real, live person who knows me and cares about me... I tend to choose that over writing a blog. If any of you have felt neglected or left out by that, I am sorry... it was never my intention. These past weeks have been the most frustrating, heartbreaking, and humbling weeks I’ve ever known. Tonight was probably the devil's crowning achievement as I sat for at least an hour barely able to breathe... crawling to the toilet to throw up... crying out to God as to why, even when I am giving all I am to try to walk along side Him, I can never seem to do things 'right' by everyone else's standards.

I know I have been neglecting this blog, but not for any reason of carelessness or apathy... just out of a hurting heart. However, I never thought I was neglecting the people that sent me that email, in fact... I felt as if I had been pouring out the hurting pieces of my soul to them, and asking too much of them as I hoped that they would help me put it back together. But apparently they don't see it. And thus, that hurting heart was finally broken in two.

The fact of the matter is, I love Zambia. And I believe in the mission of Every Orphan's Hope. And I have fallen in love with the kids. And have no desire to go home now. Honestly, it's going to be very, very hard to get on a plane in 4 months and go back to America.

But I still get lonely at night, when there's nothing to do and no one to talk to. I get scared when I hear stories of friends of friends being raped in their own beds at night, and having to fly home to the USA for immediate start of HIV meds. I get frustrated when all the native Zambians tease me constantly for not eating as much as they do (which, for the record, are huge proportions... I don't know how they do it), and thus try to live up to their expectations for food consumption and end up sick afterwards. I am disappointing when internet is down for 12 hours at a time... and I FINALLY get to sign on, and the only thing in my inbox is an advertisement for Kohls. I ask God why, even when I'm in the midst of doing the 'hard thing' of being a 'missionary' in a third world country, everything has to happen in the hardest way possible. (For instance, after working for months on my application to Fuller Seminary's School of Psychology... I went to go submit it the day before it was due. However, internet cut out for the next 2 days, and I missed the deadline. God is still working it out, as Fuller has agreed to accept the application considering the circumstances; but why the heart-attack God? Why couldn't internet work just for 10 minutes so I could press submit and have it taken care of 'right' by the world's standards?!)

But most of all, I am beyond myself when confronted daily with desperate situations that I have SOME capacity to change, but not enough.... and when Zambians on the street expect me to solve all their problems because I'm American, but Zambians in our office tell me that American solutions won't work. Even when every step I take is with the Lord, it seems that He refuses to let things work out in a way that I can understand.

So God, what am I really doing here? Why me? Why here? Why now? The only thing that seems to happen on a consistent basis is for me to beg you to make your presence known and felt in my life once again, and for me to desperately grasp at your joy... because my fount for laughter is no where to be found.

However, I suppose that is the real reason why I came to Zambia – to watch God take my heart, crumble it to pieces, and start rebuilding something new. And make no doubt about it, He is rebuilding something new. Even though I get a little anxious sometimes, because I'm not quite sure what that is.

So, here we go again.

I finally give you a post that I started over a month ago. Grab your lunch or a cup of coffee, and come join me in Zambia. For those of you have not read my previous post on rescuing Naomi and Boyd, I ask you to please pause and go read that post first, just so that you can really have a chance at understanding.

Ever since bringing those two beautiful kids to their new homes in the My Father’s Houses, they have had a special place in my heart. Especially Naomi, the beautiful little girl who I fell in love with via a game of ‘bounce the ball’. No words, no knowledge of one another… just smiles, laughter and Jesus staring back at me. Everytime we have visited the Chongwe MFHs since, she has been the one I look for. The one I want to hug. The one who I spend a few extra minutes smiling at and making to feel at ease. I never thought I would become a mama before I got married; but I was wrong…. I now have a little girl.

Make that ‘had’.

On Wednesday, February 3 (exactly a week and a day since we first brought Naomi and Boyd home), we again journeyed out to Chongwe… this time to bring Boyd and Naomi their very own school uniforms, so that they no longer had to share with older siblings (who go to school at a different time than the younger ones). We also were bringing fertilizer to the homes so that we could fertilize the corn fields that we had spent weeding the Saturday before. (These are fields that have been planted in the hopes of making the food source for the MFHs a bit more sustainable.) However, when we arrived, Naomi and Boyd had just gone off to school with the rest of the younger children, so we went with 3 of the 4 house mom’s to go fertilize the field (one stayed to look after all of the children who were home from school), planning on catching up with the children later.

We returned a few hours later covered in mud, but with all of the fields fully fertilized, thus greatly uping the chance of the crop being good. As we sat communing with all of the mothers, a few of the younger children were running about (they had been done with school for a while at that point, as kids go to school here for about 3-4 hour shifts per day). So we asked them to tell Naomi and Boyd to come in to see us. However, the kids looked at us rather dumbfounded. They hadn’t seen either of the children all day – including in class. They thought they had been with us. We then went and checked with the one house mom who had stayed back, and she too realized that she hadn’t seen them come back from school. (Neither Naomi or Boyd live in her house, so she had been doing housework when ‘her’ kids got home from school, and automatically assumed that all the kids came back together—as that is the normal.) It was at this point that we realized that instead of going to school 4 hours earlier, the 2 siblings had simply kept walking through the school yard, and on towards the main road…. That lead them anywhere but here.

At this point, I became frantic. I jumped up from my seat, rushing outside calling their names. I didn’t want to believe that they would really leave. They loved it here! The smiles, the hugs…. Why would they leave?! I ran to check all the places I had ever seen Naomi playing, calling her name. But she was gone.

At this point the 4 house mom’s joined me, and we started walking out to the main road together. As we walked single file in a rather purposeful march I couldn’t help but think of the parable in Matthew 18 where God talks about leaving everything to go find one lost lamb. I have always known the meaning of what Jesus was saying in the passage; about his obvious heart for the lost. Yet, at the same time, I don’t think I ever really UNDERSTOOD Jesus’ heart when he was describing that lost sheep. Until that day.

As I bolted up and down the street, going from vendor to vendor showing them a picture of Naomi and me that I had taken earlier that week, my heart was racing and my mind was filled with questions. Why? Why would they run away? Were they running back to their mother? Why would the want to go back to a life of abuse? Why, when they appeared so happy, would they give it all up? Were they ever really happy, and if not… why the ruse?

A few of the vendors confirmed that they had seen the children walk past hours ago… headed towards the main part of town, which also was headed towards their old home. At this point, it was about 6pm, and so Mama, Humphrey, Mereta and I jumped in the car and started driving in the direction they had pointed. As we passed kid after kid on the road side, my heart would skip beats. But none of the kids were ours. Trying to hold back tears, I wanted to pray… but didn’t even have words to put complete sentences together… all I could think was ‘Oh God… save them.” Instead, I did the only think I could physically do to contribute at that point: I texted my mom in the USA to pray. I guess just as the kids were running to their mom, I was running to mine as well.

As we arrived at the main part of town, which is also the turn off for where the kids would have to take a different road to go back to their old home, we decided we should file a police report before the office closed. So to the police office we went… which was right next to the Social Welfare office where I had been playing with Naomi only a week earlier. Mama and I rushed inside the police station, and the police agreed that a missing person’s report should be filed… but they couldn’t find a pen to write the report. COULDN’T FIND A PEN? Are you even serious?! At this point my temper was rising… I was ready to sound an Amber Alert, send out search parties and drop billboards from the sky with the kids’ photos on them… and the police’s only response was that they didn’t have a pen! In a fashion that might even challenge Coach Diemer’s steeplechase form, I leaped off the porch, over a huge mud puddle and ran to grab my bag out of the truck. Inside again, I handed them an old LaGrave CRC pen… and watched as the information about the kids was handwritten in an old notebook. Meanwhile, behind the police officer at the front desk (who was helping us), all of the young men being held in the cell behind him were calling ‘muzungo’ (white person) and laughing and whistling. My patience was growing even thinner. I needed to get out of there and go DO something, so I excused myself and jogged out to the main street again. People were swarming everywhere through the town market, and I prayed in earnest for a glimpse of the kids. I walked, jogged, sprinted, called their names… but nothing. People probably thought I was crazy. I might have been.

Slowly I trudged back to the police office. The report had been written, and Mama was discussing with them the next course of action. The police explained that they thought it was best to ‘give the kids a few days’ and not go after them right away. The reasoning behind this being that if the kids had indeed returned home, they would probably resist going back right away and/or just try to run away again if we brought them back in the same day. And, if the kids were simply lost, someone in the village would find them and bring them to the police station. Thus, we were told that we were not to come back until Friday. FRIDAY?! I thought they were nuts. It was for their own good that we chase after them now, save them from the mom, bring them to safety… wasn’t it? But my opinion did not matter. Thus, we were back in the car, headed home.

Later that night, back in my secluded bedroom in the office, all I could do was ask God ‘why’. Why would they run? Why would he let them go back to a place like that which they had come from? And slowly, I started hear God asking me the same type of questions.

Here's the thing about my life in Zambia. I knew when I came here that this was going to be a lot less about me, and what I could contribute to Zambia... and a lot more about God and what he had to teach me. And that has certainly been true. As I sat contemplating why these two kids, whom I loved so much, would run away from the good things we had been able to provide for them..... I started hearing God asking me why I run away from the good things He provides for me. And we do run, all the time. Don't we?

I could sit and walk you through all of the great things God has put in front of me that I have run from. Or simply ignored in lieu chasing things that I thought were particularly good or important at that point in my life. But, that would take forever. In fact, that night, as I sat praying for Naomi and Boyd, the list of things that God brought to my attention was so overwhelming that I found myself praying for forgiveness for my own sins instead of for the safety of the children. Why does it take kids running away for us to realize the ways we've run?

However, my prayers for Boyd and Naomi did not cease.

Friday could not come soon enough. However, when it did.... unbeknownst to me at the time, I started to get a picture of what the next month would be like. We had gotten up early in the morning and traveled out to Chongwe to meet with the police and social workers as previously arranged. Upon arrival, we first went to check with the police. They confirmed that the children had not been brought in as 'lost' (as stray children would have been), so they must have found where they were going. Thus, the police wiped their hands of the situation and told us to proceed with the social welfare office for any further investigation.

So off we went to Social Welfare again. When we arrived, the front porch looked rather lonely compared to my last visit there. I wanted the kids back.

Thus, we entered the Social Welfare office and began discussion about the children. One of the children at the MFHs in Chongwe thought he had overheard Boyd saying something about a 'father' (which typically is synonymous for 'uncle' here when the child's real father has died, so we assumed thats what he meant) at a place called 'Green Water'. The welfare agent said she had no idea what in the world 'Green Water' was, but agreed that the children would probably go there. So, it was settled, we were off for 'Green Water'.

However, we didn't know how to get there. So we discussed our options, and agreed that the best bet was to go visit the children's grandmother and see if she knew of the place. I was already in the car, waiting to head to the little hut, when I was told that we would not be going to today, as the grandmother would probably already be working in the fields, and thus we wouldnt have an easy time of finding her anymore that day. Easy time? "Ya," I thought, "Of course its not going to be easy, but lets go.. I'll chase through a dozen cornfields if I have to.... lets find her, find this Green Water place, and get the kids!" But I was in the losing majority, and we were headed home to Lusaka.

The weekend was torturous as I sat and considered the dozens of things that could be happening to the kids. Who knew where they were? Did they have any food? Were they safe? Is this 'uncle' a good guy? What about the people he lives with? Obviously the kids were scared to be in a place they didn't know, so scared that they were willing to run away to find something more familiar... but what would it bring them? Would there be any familiarity? Any safety?

Monday morning we were supposed to leave at 7am to head to Chongwe, grab the welfare agent, and pick the grandmother.... however, as I sat on the front step of the office for over an hour, I was beginning to realize that we would not have anymore luck that day than the previous attempt. But why? Where was Humphrey? Why weren't we leaving?! My frustration was mounting. I found out later that Humphrey was sick with a mild case of malaria, and Mama is not a fan of driving... thus it was decided we wouldn't go. Mama did not have 'talk time' on her phone (all phones are pre-paid here), and thus she did not call me to inform me of the decision not to go. I was upset. If I had known driving was the only thing stopping us, I would have grabbed the car keys and gone to pick up Mama hours ago! I have a driver's license! I explained this to the office staff, and they agreed to let me 'try' driving ...but it was already too late in the day to catch the grandmother before she headed to the fields.

Over the course of the next week similar yet different problems kept creeping up. The social welfare agent wasn't available, we didn't have gas money for a trip to Chongwe.... the 'excuses' felt endless. However, that week we did learn that the children had NOT gone to Green Water as first expected, but had in fact returned home to the grandmother's and mother's place; as apparently the grandmother had come to the Social Welfare office to report the children arriving back.

At receiving that news, I was even more concerned. Back with the abusive mother, whom Social Welfare had BEGGED us to take the kids from. However, now it appeared that Social Welfare could care less that they were back there with her. What changed?

That would be a question that I would ask myself continuously over the next few weeks, after attempt after attempt to get the kids back was shot down. With each delay, I became more and more frustrated. Why didn't anybody care about those kids? I mean, personally, I had quite a bit invested emotionally in Naomi and Boyd, so I was rather eager to see their particular two faces again. However, beyond that, why was the fact that two human beings were being placed in harms way needlessly being ignored?

Finally, during the last week in February, Mama announced once and for all that we were going to stop trying to get Naomi and Boyd back.

My pulse soared. Why?!

And then my education of Zambian thought began.

First of all, I need to clarify that the EOH staff here did in fact do about all we could think of to get the kids back, however... it has been Social Welfare who has continuously avoided us and delayed anything from happening. My American boldness wanted very badly to march into the Welfare office and demand propper service. However, that is not how things are done here. If Social Welfare wanted us to get the kids back, they would help us....if not, there is nothing we could do.

But how could Social Welfare defend their decision (or laziness?!) of not trying to get the kids back??

Mama, Mereta, Esther and Frieda tried to explain. Here, family is foremost. Thus, if a family member is alive (no matter how good or bad that family member is), he or she has the first right over the kids. (And we wonder why there is so much child abuse in Zambia?) Secondly, kids are allowed to make their own decisions. If they WANT to be with the mother, then (it was argued) who are we to take them away.

This is where my American thought, buoyed by my psychology academia again began to kick in...

Who are we to take them away? I couldn't help but ask, who are we NOT to take them away? We were talking about elementary students who have not developed formal operational thinking, and thus are not capable of abstract reasoning. According to the Attachment Theory, to kids of that age, what they know as 'familiar' is going to feel safest to them. Thus, it is almost common sense for one to determine that they do not have the mental ability to realize that the new and strange situation of the MFH homes are indeed safer than staying with their mom. How does the Zambian government expect the kids to choose the strange situation (although safer, and more beneficial in the long run) over the one they know and feel familiar with?

When I tried to explain this line of thinking to the staff, I was told that I simply did not understand how, in Zambia, if a child wants to run away... he will run away and there is nothing we can or should do about it. I coudn't help but feel that I DID in fact understand the concept that they were relating, but simply didn't agree with the philosophy. However, regardless of feelings, the fact remained: there was nothing I could do to help, and no one would ever agree with me. I felt defeated, in every sense of the word.

And in some ways, I still do. I do not know when and if I will ever see Naomi and Boyd again. They are constantly in my prayers; and I cannot help but wonder if they will ever want to go back to that which they gave up. However, at their young age, I think it's a little optimistic to believe that they will 'come to their senses' and come back. Even at 23, there are far too many things in my life that I run back to the familiar in. Thankfully, unlike Zambian Social Welfare, God is still chasing me.

Two weeks ago the office dealt with a similar situation when two boys (who have been in the MFH homes for the past 6 years) stole a few items from the office.... and both boys immediately said that it would probably be better for them both to just move out of the MFH homes than to change their ways. One of them did just that last week.

It broke my heart to see him go. A 16 year old boy, who thinks he knows whats best for his life.... giving up the opportunity to go to school, have 3 meals a day, a bed, and be cared for. But he wants to live HIS life. And so, by Zambian laws and customs, we had no choice but to let him. (As much as I, personally, didn't want to.... and grieved over what teenagers in America, myself included, would be like if our parents, teachers, and mentors had let us make our own decisions no matter what.)

When we visited the police station to get the boy's release forms, the cops informed the boy that he would never be allowed back inside the gates of My Father's House.... and I got a pit the size of a baseball in my stomach. I suppose I was hoping he would become a prodigal, and come back to His Father's home... but instead, he was being told by the law that he wasn't allowed to. For an instant I wanted to tell the cop he was wrong, and tell the boy that he would always be welcomed home... but instead, I sent him away with the biggest piece of pizza I had in my kitchen, a hug, and the simple words of 'remember God.' I pray for him daily too. I just wish I could figure out how to do more.

Praying daily.

Sometimes I feel like that is the only thing I'm left with here. There are so many ways of doing things that I don't understand. So many parts of my education that I value that are ignored. Many more situations that could break you're heart (some of which I'll share in the coming week, promise). The feeling that nothing anyone does (including myself) will ever be 'right' by anyone's standards. And beyond that, a feeling of both being too overwhelmed to relate it all, and incapable of processing it all.... which was also confirmed as a being a hurtful offense to those I love the most just hours after I had finally completed this blog.

And so, once again, I apologize. I love you all, and I thank you for taking the time to read. I am sorry if I have let you down thus far. I wish there were a way for you to just get a clear snapshot of what things are really like here.... and I know that I am the best tool for that... but I am a bent and somewhat broken tool. In the response that I sent to the loved ones who sent that email, I said that sometimes I feel like Moses standing before a thousand Israelite. Except that, for some reason, God choose to send me without an Aaron by my side; which is a little tough to deal with sometimes. In all my readings of the Bible, God always sent out the prophets two by two.... Moses and Aaron, David and Jonathon, James and John, Paul and Silas, Timothy and Barnabas..... but I'm here alone.

However, I don't think God would have it any other way.

What am I doing here? Why me? Why here? Why now? I already know the answer to those questions, though I will admit that there are times that I have to remind myself. Nevertheless, I am pretty sure that to doubt the answer would also put me in that 'runaway' category, as it would be running away from what God had planned for me far too long ago.

And so here I am, in Zambia. Resting in God's peace and joy, despite a hurting heart. Will we ever get 'this' 'right'? Who knows. Who knows what 'this' is, and who knows what 'right' is. As far as I've been able to figure out, the best we can do is love God and love others. And that's what I'm striving to do.

PS: For those of you who don't have facebook, despite not being able to write coherently for the last month, I have been posting pictures. Feel free to check them out through the links below!

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2088809&id=15302781&l=0a88417c7d

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2090526&id=15302781&l=60be585dac

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2091192&id=15302781&l=144697ac44

Worlds Apart

2010-01-27T10:27:00.000-08:00

So I keep thinking I'm going to write a blog to tell you all about everyday life here.

Discuss the water turning off at 8pm, and all the adventures one endures when it turns off a little early. Especially when the electricity is ALREADY off, thus making it that much harder to navigate your way to the kitchen to find your boiled water to rinse the rest of the shampoo out of your hair.

Or talk about my weekly duties, which have come to enclude going to Chongwe village 2x a week, and visiting the Lusaka homes 2x a week, and enevitiably having another day set apart for errand running or meetings.

I could talk about what it is like to live with all Zambians during the day, and yet feeling like I'm surrounded by all Americans in the evening....when all I have for entertainment are the emails and messages you all have sent me.

Or I could tell you how the office staff declared that I was officially Zambian this week, because I had eaten Nashima (a corn mealish substance that reminds me of cold cream-of-wheat that you dip in vegetables/chicken/ect) with my hands, and enjoyed it.

However, I never have too much time to write about all these things, because there is never just anything mundane. Instead, weekly, I have had something that looks me in the eye and begs to change my life forever. And this week, it happened yesterday.

It has taken me a full 24 hours to dare to even start this entry. A full day from the moment I arrived back home to consider how I could possibly capture yesterday events, or do justice to the goodness of a God that literally had me bawling on my knees for hours last night. But, because I have the ability to live this reality that I am about to relate, I feel an equal calling to relate that reality. Because the world needs to see. And right now, we're world's apart.

This week given a tip by Social Welfare that there were 2 kids in a remote part of Chongwe who were being abused heavily and whos lives were in danger. According to the source, in addition to the two above mentioned children, there was a small baby who had been cut with razor blades by the mom.... but that child was young enough to be accepted into the Moses' House, a local orphanage. The two older children, however, were out of luck. Except for maybe us.

At the moment, every single one of the My Orphan Homes is at full capacity. Every bed is taken. But, we certainly couldn't leave these two kids where they were. So at 7am yesterday morning... we went.

After a few hours of getting lost while driving through fields on dirt paths, we finally found the dwelling that the family was calling home. There was a single mud hut standing, with no windows. Coming close to the closed door, I could smell the stench from inside. The small hut that would normally be used as a kitchen was completely caved in, and there were simply 3 or 4 rocks placed together in what must have been the fire place. (Though the only way we could tell this was due to the ashes.) No source of clean water, no food storage, no bathrooms. It was deserted.

However, there was a small neighbor boy who had been passing boy, and informed us that the grandmother had to take the children to the Social Welfare office that morning, despite her daughters protests. Thus, we were back in the car, headed to Social Welfare.

Nevertheless, when we arrived at Social Welfare, they weren't their either. Back in the car, we headed back to the dwelling, hoping to find them since they must have turned back. At 98F, it was hot.... with dust flying everywhere.... and the roads are not a pleasant drive. But as Humphrey put it, "There's no getting tired when you are trying to save a life. I'll drive it a million times if we just find them." Nevertheless, on the way back to the home, Mama Harawa received a phone call from Social Welfare.... the family had arrived. Another u-turn, and we were one step closer to our mission.

At that point, I got to admit that my heart was racing. Here we were, on our way to change these kids lives. Did they even know it? In 15 minutes time, life would never be the same again.... and I got to be a part of it. I could couldn't help but smile.

We pulled up to Social Welfare again, and there sitting on the porch were the kids, the grandmother, and the mother. The entire time we had been driving, I had been trying to envision this family. I had envisioned two beautiful kids.... and I was not disappointed. For the first time in my life, the term "beautiful" even seemed too anorexic of a term for the lives that were sitting on that bench. It was hard to tear my eyes off of them... but there was one other person who I was very interested in observing. The mom.

What type of lunatic mother would cut her baby with razor blades? Or beat her children? What about how I had heard she she had burned down her own hut (apparently the dwelling we had visited was actually the grandmothers), all of her belongings, and all of her kids clothes in an angry rage? I wanted to hate her. I wanted to blame her for the hurt she had caused her kids. I pictured a vicious, seething woman who deserved next to no grace... or would have to be pretty damn sorry in order to earn the grace of our King.

But, instead, when I looked at her.... her eyes seemed close to empty. She looked lost, and downcast. And she was pretty. Very pretty. She simply sat on the ground, with her hand folded in her lap, looking as if there was something missing in her life. And for the first time, I started wondering what her story was.

As a disclaimer, if you are reading this with younger children, or are easily squeamish or offended... you might just want to skip the next 7 paragraphs. But for those of you who are willing to face the truth... read on.

Her story (which we found out from the grandmother while still in the social welfare office) completely changed my perspective on trying to point fingers. I wanted to hate this woman. But I can't.

She had married young. And apparently shortly after her 3rd child was born, her husband died. Looking at how gaunt the young woman was, I wondered if she had AIDS, and if her husband had died from the disease. There are some things we will never know. However, after her husband died, the woman was doing OK. She was still capable of raising her children, and in a village where there is so much disease... single parenting is almost the norm. However, one night she was walking home alone in the dark. As I have mentioned in previous posts, this is not a safe practice in Zambia. She was spotted by the Police force and thus, as I understand it, picked up by them for her own protection. Why they didnt bring her directly home, I will never know... but she was instead brought to spend the night in a holding cell... to keep her safe.

However, apparently she was not alone in that holding cell. There was a pornographer also being held that night. With camera in tow. Being a pretty young woman, she was abused... and made to have intercourse with a dog. Even as I type those words I have to keep from vomiting, and I cannot fathom the hurt and degregation that she felt. After that night, she was never the same. She spent a year in a psychological hospital, was released, but never 'better'. How could she be? As I sat watching her on the step of the Social Welfare office, I had to wonder if she was suffering from a severe depression, with anxiety outbreaks causing the rage and abuse of her children? Or had she developed a bi-polar or schizophrenic personality? Again, there are some things we will never know.

Where was the police force while this type of abuse was occurring? Couldn't they have intervened? How did they let this woman be put in a cell with a man? And one who still had a camera nonetheless!?

Who was this man? And where is he so that I can personally cut off his testicles? And where is the tape, because it deserves to burn in hell with him.

I want to hate them. I want to blame them. But then, when I truly ask myself where the police force was, I come to the conclusion that they were probably in the other room, unaware; or simply shrouded in corruption themselves and afraid to intervene. And the man? Probably trying to fill a quota of tape, in order to keep up with the American market.

How is it that we try to point fingers at the brokenness of our world? But it makes us feel better, doesn't it? Because as long as I can blame them, I can't blame me.

However, I can try and change me... and I can try to change the world.

As I approached the children, they were stone faced. No ounce of emotion showed. I smiled at them, waved, said hello. Still nothing. I reached out my hand to greet them, as is proper in this country, and they robotically shook my hand, certainly out of duty more than anything else. This is not what I had pictured. All of the other children who I had met (whether in the MFHs or on the street) had always smiled at me... or at least sent a curious glance my way! How in the world could I get these kids to smile?

Mama Harawa took the grandmother inside the Social Welfare office to start looking at the paperwork, and I stood on the porch to start looking for a way to get the kids to trust me. Through Humphrey, we learned that they kids names were Boyd and Naomi. They didnt know how old they were, but my guess was that Boyd (older boy) was around 10, and Naomi (the younger girl) about 7. Obviously talking was not going to be the way to break the ice. So I relied on the one thing I know best: games. I took out a small rubber ball that Mom and I had purchased in packs of 3 from the dollar store right before I left. Could $0.33 change a life?

I bounced the ball at Boyd, expecting him to catch it. Instead, he let it bounce off the top of his head, and again off his body, and as it was rolling to my feet I realized he still hadnt moved. I tried to signal as best I could that he should catch it.... and tossed it again. Same result. What child doesnt know how to play catch? I asked Humphrey to try to explain to him.... but the child sat looking bewildered as Humphrey explained the concept in the native language. A few more gestures to try to instruct, and I again tossed the ball. At last he moved. He didnt come close to catching it.... but he tried. And he smiled.

At that moment Boyd was called inside, obviously to help contribute to the the legal matters occurring. However, as her brother made his exit from the porch, Naomi sent me a shy smile. And then, much to my surprise, she cupped her hands, ready for the ball. A single bounce and she trashed around violently, trying in earnest to catch it.... which she did, on approximately the 15th throw.

For the next half hour Naomi and I would play bounce. She learned to catch, she learned that if she threw the ball harder it would go higher, and she learned that it was OK to laugh when either of us missed picking it out of the air. Her joy was electrifying. More than anything I wanted to take a picture. My camera was burning a hole in my pocket... but I resisted, as her mom sat watching us and I did not want to upset her. I couldnt help but wonder what she thought of this albino stranger playing with her daughter. Did she know that I was going to take her away from her?

When the door to the Welfare Office opened again, the grandmother emerged with Boyd and said something to the two of them. Mama Harawa translated into my ear.... apparently she had instructed them to go live with EOH 'and learn English'. The kids nodded. No smiles. No tears. Simple acceptance. Or maybe a lack of understanding. As the mother rose, I waited for her to hug the kids goodbye or put up a fight.... but instead she just strolled off the porch. The kids didnt run after her, nor did they hug their grandmother as she shook their hands in the same way that she shook mine. Together mother and grandmother walked off, not looking back.

At that point, I bounced the ball at Boyd again... and he caught it. We continued to play catch as the office staff finished whatever it was they were doing, and it started to occur to me that this was really it. In a few moments these children would be in the car with us, going to a different life. Personally, I was ready to cry.... but it seemed as if I was the only one.

When the time came to get in the car, the kids looked afraid. So I reached into my bag of dollar store toys and pulled out a small stuffed dog and handed it to Naomi. She looked confused at first, but eventually took hold of it. Then I grabbed a small matchbox car, and drove it up and down Boyds arm. He also looked uneasy at first, but a small twinkle caught in his eye when I handed it to him. Their first toys. Ever.

As we rode in the car (with the windows rolled up so that the mother would not see the kids) the two children hung onto each other for dear life, and hung on to their new toys. It was at that point that I realized that the things they held in their small fists were the only things they were bringing with them from this day forward. They had no other possessions, and probably would never be spending any significant time with their other family members again.

When we arrived at the Chongwe MFHs, the usual flock of children danced around the car, eager to greet us and hug us as we climbed out. However, as I reached back inside the car to unbuckle Naomi, I couldnt help but notice the slight dip in noise as all of the children recoginzed what was occurring. And why wouldnt they? They had all come to this place of hope in much the same way. With reverence and joy, they greeted the new children... and for the first time all day, my heart felt at peace.

We then filed into the living room of one of the MFHs. The house moms were waiting, and greeted both children with a hug. After a few moments of orientation, Boyd was escorted by a group of boys to the room he would be staying in, and Naomi was taken by the hand to another one of the houses where she would be staying. I didnt see either of them from that point on, and I couldnt help but smile. Kids making friends and being excited about life... isnt that how its supposed to be?

However, our day was long from being over.

As I sat with Mama Harawa and the house mamas, we then started discussing how to make this work. We have two extra children now in the houses. Five children sleeping in a bedrooms with only four twin beds. Two more school uniforms to buy, never mind regular clothes in order to replace the ones they were wearing that had been supplied by Social Welfare earlier. Two more mouths to feed, and to buy toothbrushes for.

Toothbrushes. Such a mundane thing had slipped my mind. For the first time in their lives, these kids were going to have toothbrushes! And they were going to wake up in a home where they were safe, and valued. They were going to be able to attend school. And they were going to be taught about a man named Jesus who changes everything....

As we were talking, one of the Mamas admitted to Mama Harawa that she actually knew of another family who was in desperate need of our help. So, as natural as can be, we jumped in the car again. However, there was no road to this house, so we walked a quarter mile from the last possible place we could squeeze the car.... and came upon another humble mud hut to find 2 more beautiful kids.

A small girl; who was apparently 3 1/2, but looked like she was 11 months. And a boy of 10, who looked to be 5. Both parents had died, and malnourished was an understatement. However, the grandparents had arrived and claimed responsibility.... thus the case must go to Social Welfare before we can step in. So, instead, I just hugged the little girl... and tried to give her a stuffed animal too. However, she was terrified at the small fuzzy thing, and I realized that the only thing small and fuzzy she had probably ever seen was a rat. I would be scared too. The boy, however, gratefully except the small token of love I could give, and his eyes glowed as he petted it and rubbed it against his cheeks. Walking away from them would have been impossible if I hadnt remembered that my God who looks after me looks after them as well.

But I cant help but ask, how is our God going to look after them if not through us?

There is currently another MFH in the process of being built, an opportunity to bring 16 more children like Boyd and Naomi into a place of hope, but the work on it has been suspended because there are not enough funds to continue. Last Monday a portion of the roof was torn off by a huge rain storm, and thus the building structure is deteriorating everyday that we dont keep building. But it takes $33,000 to build these houses, and $800 a month to keep them functioning, so we wait.

And as we wait, we watch little 3 1/2 year old girls sit slumped against the side of trees, because they have no energy to stand or play. And as we wait, we see mothers slumped on porches hopeless and out of touch with reality because of a great abuse that could have been prevented.

Last night I returned back to the plush EOH office that I call home. And as I sat in my bedroom that contained not 1 but 2 beds..... it was taking all that was within me not to shout up to God, "HOW LONG WILL BE TOO LONG!" And yet, I heard him echoing back, "How long will be too long?" There havent been too many times in my life when I have literally fallen to my knees, but upon hearing that.... last night was one of them.

I look beyond the empty cross
forgetting what my life has cost
and wipe away the crimson stains
and dull the nails that still remain
More and more I need you now,
I owe you more each passing hour
the battle between grace and pride
I gave up not so long ago
So steal my heart and take the pain
and wash the feet and cleanse my pride
take the selfish, take the weak,
and all the things I cannot hide
take the beauty, take my tears
the sin-soaked heart and make it yours
take my world all apart
take it now, take it now
and serve the ones that I despise
speak the words I can't deny
watch the world I used to love
fall to dust and thrown away
I look beyond the empty cross
forgetting what my life has cost
so wipe away the crimson stains
and dull the nails that still remain
so steal my heart and take the pain
take the selfish, take the weak
and all the things I cannot hide
take the beauty, take my tears
take my world apart, take my world apart
I pray, I pray, I pray
take my world apart...
(Worlds Apart - Jars of Clay)

Oh God, just take my world apart. Just take my vision of the world from me. And let me see yours. Because its ALREADY been too long.

Ishmael

2010-01-20T12:20:00.000-08:00

Today I sat in a hospital with Esther, the director of the MFHs, and Danny- a 14 year old boy, who at 68 lbs probably more resembles a 7 year old boy.

Danny, a boy who is HIV positive.

I think that the AIDS pandemic is something that we have all heard about, all read about; but in reality, know nothing about. Today, that all changed.

I sat in a hospital, waiting with Esther to see a specialist doctor who could help Danny become more mobile, as his knees and hips have been extremely sore and have stopped him from being able to attend school, as it requires walking too far. Danny doesnt know that he is HIV+, as the staff here agree that he is not mentally stable enough at the moment to cope with his reality. That news shocked me at first, how could he not know? But then I remember what Lugasi, one of the elder 2 children who had questioned me on my first full day here, had said: people hear they have HIV and just commit suicide, because it seems as if their is no hope.

But what is there no hope for? A long life? A good life?

As we waited for the specialist to come, we sat in the waiting room. A TV was playing music videos, and there was a table of magazines. I went and picked one up called "Zaran", because the cover captured me. On it was an article grieving the fact that America's PEPFAR plan (President's Emergency Plan For AIDS Relief, 2007) had stipulations that kept it from being highly effective in Zambia. Stipulations that encouraged 'Abstinence Only' sex education, instead of a comprehensive sex education that would encourage condom use in order to prevent HIV spread. In addition, the plan excludes reaching out to sex workers, of whom approximately 70% are HIV+ in Zambia.

As I read the article, my thoughts were spinning. I am all for abstinence. I think it's what God calls for when one is not in a marriage relationship. Yet, in this culture of rape and abuse, knowledge of a condom could go a long way. Plus, sooner or later (hopefully after marriage!) a couple will have sex. And what then? The article on the back page of the magazine addressed this, as the husband was HIV+ and the wife, not. With condom use they could still have a normal, husband-wife relationship; but without it, he could end up killing his love, and once again all of the children would become orphans. I am also very much against sex workers. Beyond prostitution, pornography makes me sick to my stomach when I think about the abuse that takes place during production, degregation of humanity and sexuality, and just pure slime that the industry is.... never mind what they produce and how it influences our culture. Nevertheless, even in America there are laws set up to keep pornographers somewhat 'safe' from HIV by requiring monthly testing. To have sex workers in Zambia be excluded from prevention programs and programs designed to create hope for those living with the disease seems almost inhumane. But yet, Zambia doesn't have money to invest in prevention programs, so it relies on America... and thus, it is done the American way.

Why does everything have to rely on America?

One of the other articles in the magazine highlighted the recession in America, and the effects it was having on the world-wides fight against AIDS. With the economy down in the Western World, organizations were not donating as much to the cause anymore.... and thus individuals are being pulled of ARVs.. which (like any antibiotic that you stop use of too soon) actually creates a resistance to the drug, and continued hopelessness for a normal life.

Why did I have to pick up this magazine? Why couldn't I have just watched the music videos like everybody else?

As I sat there contemplating the Western World's effect on everyday Zambian life, I couldnt help but remember the staff meeting yesterday morning.

We start everyday at EOH with devotions. Singing (usually in Bemba... I'm getting better!), praying (everyone praying, normally quite loudly, all at once) and a reading and discussion of Oswald Chamber's "My Utmost For His Highest." Yesterday's subject was that of Abraham trying to help God solve problems. Abraham had been promised descendants... lots of descendants. Yet, Sarah was unable to bare children. So, Abraham and Sarah went ahead and solved the problem themselves--they gave Hagar, Sarah's maidservant, over to Abraham to have babies with. And thus there was Ishmael. Ishmael, being a descendant of Abraham, was blessed by God. Yet, he wasnt the answer to God's promise--Issac, the son that God had planned to give to Abraham all along, was the fulfillment of the promise. So God had told Abraham that Ishmael would surely fight against his brother all of his days.

I had never really thought about that before. All the problems that the Israelites faced, were probably mostly due to Ishmael's descendants. Essentially, because Abraham had tried to solve his 'problem' in his own way, this eternal hindrance was in place to God's true plan.

Upon finishing devotions, we started talking about orphan sponsorship more in depth. Although I won't go into too much detail, we were discussing what occurs when a child is no longer sponsored. Mrs Harawa painted a much different picture for me than the simple phone call that would 'cancel' my subscription to any sponsorship program in the USA. She explained how someone has to go into the home of this previously starving, uneducated child... and look them in the eye... and tell them that they are no longer going to be sponsored, and thus will no longer be going to school, or no longer having full meals. The child will cry, the parents will be distraught, feelings of unworthiness and 'what did I do wrong?' will abound.

To me, it seems more loving for the child to never be sponsored in the first place.

But in America, we don't think about these things. We see a name, with a cute little face, a set sum of $32 a month.... and decide to give up our coffee money for a year and support a child instead. All along, we forget that it's actually a child on the other side of that $32 a month. And we forget that $32 isn't a set amount that will mysteriously and divinely meet all their needs. $32 here buys about as much as $32 at home. Honestly, I think some basic foods (cheese for one!) are even more expensive here. Never mind healthcare and pharmaceuticals. Plus, even public schools require expensive school fees, uniforms, and examination fees (which are required for students to pass onto the next grade). But we set ourselves up as self-righteous people and play 'savior' to a kid for a while--until we lose interest in that program, or our 'hearts are pulled else were', or we realize we miss having our daily $5 cup of joe from Starbucks. And a kid in Africa sits and cries, feeling more alone, abandoned and hopeless than ever before.

We try to solve the problems in our own way, and end up with an Ishmael. A thorn in the side of God's true work.

As I sat in the waiting room with Danny, I couldn't help but wonder if America was creating another Ishmael. AIDS prevention in Zambia has to be done in a Zambian way, or it will never work. But we're Americans. And we like to see results. We like to see percentage points and graphs and smiling faces of all the 'good' things we have accomplished. So we try to do it our way.

By the time we finally got in to see the doctor, I was already feeling sick to my stomach. It is pretty common for me to get woozy in hospitals. Especially when talking about blood diseases. But this was a different type of woozy. It was an anger, mixed with sickness at the state of our world. Before the appointment was over, I had to step outside to sit on the curb. But this time, instead of trying to recover from blackouts over my blood-phobia, I sat trying to hold in the tears and crying out to God.

In the Irresistible Revolution, Shane Claiborne makes an adage to the old quote that says 'Give a man a fish, and he will eat for a day; teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime' by pointing out that not only must we teach a man to fish, but we must break down the walls around the pond and ask who polluted it.

I'm at the point where I want to know who polluted it.

I want to know why this quiet, smart, adorable boy is suffering so much pain by a disease that most people consider a curse. I want to know how it is possible that he doesn't know his own birthday (a fact that is heartbreaking when I consider the 100+ birthday messages I received yesterday via internet, as well as the huge chocolate cake and chocolate-chip muffins that were presented to me as a birthday feast). I want to know how such incredible misconceptions about HIV/AIDS can exist that would make a person commit suicide the day they have been diagnosed, or cause an infected person to rape a virgin (as it was once said that sleeping with a virgin would cure an infected person of the disease). I want to know how I can HELP instead of just create more Ishmaels. And I want America to wake up and realize that these are real people living and dieing according to her whims.

A few evenings ago the power went out. This is a fairly typical occurrence, so I went into my bedroom and read for a bit and slowly drifted off into a nap. Eventually I woke up, and wandered out into my now-lit kitchen... where I saw something scuddle across the floor. A lizard? A rodent? I wasn't super sure, but I decided I didn't really need to eat at that moment, and decided instead to walk into the office portion of the house and check to see if the internet was working. While sitting at the desk, a huge (5 inches long, minus the tail) rat darted from one side of the room to the other. Freaking out ever so slightly, I grabbed my computer and cord (didn't want it getting chewed!) and made way towards my room. As I did so, I saw what was definitely a 2nd rat of the same size dart across the kitchen floor again. Safely huddled in my room (with a towel shoved under the door to prevent rats from sneaking underneath) I sat and contemplated how Zambians probably wouldn't be upset by this, but I was freaking out. It took me approximately half an hour of praying and pumping myself up (note: 'All the Above' is actually a rather good pre-rat killing song) before I emerged from my room with my rain boots, long pants, jacket and head lamp on... swinging a broom. I tried to shoo the rats out, and the guard outside helped... but it was to no avail. I slept with a towel under my door, and my heaviest shoes and water bottles shoved against the towel to make sure no rat could push through.

The next day I discussed my escapades with the other EOH staff, fully expecting them to ridicule me. However, instead, all of the women surprised me by saying they would have been equally freaked out. Equally freaked out? Isn't this normal Zambian life?

Or maybe Zambians are just like Americans. Maybe we are all just humans, trying to follow a God who we can trust is mighty to save. Even if we're not sure why he's not stepping down in this place and time to save those whom we want to see saved. He's waiting to create Isaac--his perfect plan.

Friday night was a pretty lonely night for me. Those of you who know me well know that I am a 'night person.' When the sun goes down, I go out. It is common for me to be up till 2 or 3 in the morning laughing with a plethora of friends, playing games, watching movies, and just generally loving life. Here, at nightfall, I must be confined to the office, as it just not safe for a women, never mind a white women, to be out alone after dark. So I sat all Friday night, with the internet not working, no movies to watch, and the realization that the one and only deck of regular playing cards I brought did not in fact have all 52 cards (thank you in10sity! haha), thus even a friendly game of solitaire was out of the running. I prayed in earnest that God would give me another option for socialization, and started planning out ideas as to how I could find people to hang out with... all of which were rather far fetched, but it made me feel better to have a plan. My Ishmael.

Saturday morning I was woken up by a pounding on the outside door. I listened for a moment, as I did not think that any of the office staff were supposed to be coming in, and did not want to open the door for a stranger. And after a few moments I realized that the voices were indeed strangers, but somehow familiar. They were American. And they were calling my name. I jumped out of bed and ran for the keys.... and on the other side of the door were two more tall blonds, one a Hope College student and the other a grad from a school down in Mississippi. I had never met them before, but they were quite obviously my answer to prayer. Sophie and Mary-- two girls who had interned with EOH last summer, and had come back to work with the GEMS program, and were living a mile away from me. Sophie and Mary-- my Issac.

So what have I learned?

I honestly have no idea.

I'm learning to wait for Issac.
But I'm eager to see the pond free from pollution, and am learning that someone has to stop it from being polluted in the first place.

I learned a long time ago that I want God's guidance.
But I also want to see proper health care and a non-corrupt system.

And thus I am learning that I have no idea as to when we need to just 'let God', and when we need to become his hands and feet.

Orphan sponsorship is necessary for some of these kids to survive. But how should it be done? HIV/AIDS prevention is necessary for this awful state of emergency to be ended in Zambia. But what should we be teaching? More money is needed for EOH to continue it's work in Zambia. But do we invest in trying to make programs sustainable, or cry out to our loved ones and just ask for the money needed to buy school uniforms for a group of 24 students in Chongwe?

I'm sure you haven't heard the last of this internal debate I have going with myself. And you are all welcome to add your point of view. But, in all honesty I feel like I need to stop looking for the answer so hard, and just start looking at God harder. So I ask for your prayers. And you will all be in mine, as perhaps this now has you thinking too.

"And if we follow our dear sun to where the stars are not familiar.
Faces turn to numbers, numbers fall like manna from the sky.
Why, oh why? Oh Father, why?
One village in Malawi now has water running pure and clean.
One church alive in Kenya's full of truth and love and medicine.
We put the walls up, but Jesus keeps them standing.
He doesn't need us, but He lets us put our hands in.
So we can see, His love is bigger than you and me.

And we all can feel the calling,
to make the world a little smaller.
And so a girl got on a plane,
for two weeks in Africa." - Caedmon's Call

It's been almost two weeks now; and I praise God that in all actuality, this journey is just beginning. I think when most people come to Africa, it is for a short term mission. Just long enough to get them to ask the important questions. But I'm hoping that by being here for 6 months, I might start to find the important answers as well.

All the time.

2010-01-14T07:55:00.000-08:00

Right now, more than any American luxury, I simply wish I had enough bandwidth to post a video or picture of the Zambian orphans; for these are the kids I have already fallen in love with. And, in reality, this is the world I have fallen in love with.

Saturday I arrived in Zambia. I watched wide-eyed as we traversed a country side that was characterized by children running barefoot along dirt paths, men using sickles to cut down tall grass, street vendors and an incredible green landscape that left me wondering if Africa is really the 'disadvantaged' of our two nations. Running barefoot in green grass seems like a pretty swell plan to me.

However, Saturday I felt rather out of place. Where do I go? How do I act? Am I just going to be a stereotypical loud American (we all know I'm rather good with volume).... or how will these people perceive me? Will I ever be able to stop watching and being watched, and just be?

Sunday morning I was picked up by yet another unfamiliar face to attend church. As we bumped along roads filled with potholes, I wondered what this church was going to be like. And, to my surprise, once we arrived I was met by the nicest building I have yet to see in Africa. A choir was singing a song I did not know, and the pastors were praying in Bembe, the local language. I was also the only white person, and many people pointed and waved. There was no hiding now.

As I stood in church, trying to sway in rhythm to the unfamiliar music, I started to consider what was actually occurring in my life. A place I didn't know, a culture I didn't know how to fit into, not a single person I could talk to to ask the little questions about which greeting is proper for what type of persons or why everyone was laughing at certain things. What in heaven's name was I doing here?! But yet, somehow... I liked it. Which also confused me. I was fighting fear, but embracing reckless abandon. Fighting loneliness, but embracing new relationships. Fighting the doubts, and looking to God.

At the exact moment that I had finally come to the conclusion that I was indeed happy in this place, the pastor got up again and began to speak in English. I dont remember the first of what he said, but I was caught when he boldly proclaimed, "God is good!" ...and I couldn't help whispering under my breath the words "all the time" in response. However, there was no need to whisper... as, while I was secretly participating in worship the way I knew how, the entire congregation then spoke just as boldly as the pastor to also declare, "ALL THE TIME!"

Who is this God of ours? I couldn't believe it, and laughed.

The pastor then went on to the second half of the greeting: "And all the time!".... and I also gratefully declared with a host of Zambian Christians: "GOD IS GOOD!" From that moment on, it's been pretty hard to deny God's goodness, faithfulness, and purpose.

The rest of the 3 hour church service seemed to fly by as we sang in such a way that would put any CRC congregation to shame and listened to the sermon (complete with an English pastor presenting the word, and then a translator translating [almost] every word into Bembe..... though the translator kept cracking jokes that I wish I could have understood!). After the service I returned to the EOH office to get a nap, and then I was woken by Mrs. Harwara who then took me to the first of the My Father House [MFH] Orphan Homes. 'Lusaka Houses 1 and 2'.....

The Lusaka Houses 1 and 2 were the first houses made by EOH. Thus, for the past 6 years, the orphans in the homes have grown up together, surrounded by the local church and loved on by a house mom. I was blown away by the bright, smiling, amazing faces that met me at the door. Big hugs, laughs, and a tour of the house were immediately followed by teaching me their favorite games. However, the thing that will take me a long time to forget about Sunday was the conversation I had with the kids after wards.

Two of the eldest sat me down and started asking me questions that I was completely unprepared to answer, and the younger ones chimed in from time to time to ask for clarification that I was afraid to give. Questions about America, and faith, and what religion looked like where I came from, and what I hoped to do about it when I went back. What I hoped to do about religion in America?? Are you serious? Who has any power to change the situation of religion in America? God himself would have to step down to give America the wake up call she needs! But then, aren't we supposed to be God's hands and feet? What was I doing in Africa, when my country's heart is breaking right now? A million questions continued to circle through my head as they continued to ask (what they meant to be) simple questions about my home.

My education of both myself and Zambia continued this week. Chongwe is a village town, slightly removed from the more 'city-esk' Lusaka, where there are 4 more MFH Orphan Homes. Upon my first visit there, I was greeted by yet more hugs and 'Aunty Annika!!'. (That's a name I could get used to.) The kids in the Chongwe homes are all somewhat younger, and have come to EOH more recently, thus it was easy to identify a few of the kids who were a bit more tentative... and made my heart break as I considered the reasons why they would be hesitant to love as quickly as the rest. Nevertheless, all of the kids were eager to play more games and teach me their songs. In return, by the end of the day there were 30 kids in a little African village singing a newer version of Jesus Love Me, complete with 'Na na na na nananana Hey! Na na na na nananana Ugh!'s.... as they also wondered at some of our songs.

Tuesday I began to work in earnest with Esther, the coordinator of the MFH's in Lusaka. I am very, very excited to report that it is with her that I will probably be able to be the biggest help... as she is looking to implement a few programs into the MFHs (such as Bible Studies, sports' days, and even an AIDS lifestyle training... I guess that after being at LaGrave, growing up with my mom and all of my other desensitization towards talking about sex, it's only God's humor that he would have me teach a sex-ed class in Africa!). However, up to this point Esther had been a little unsure on how to start planning and facilitating such programs. And, though I don't claim to be an expert in too many areas of life... that is one area that I have come to feel rather competent. I guess God knew what he was doing when he brought me here to help before sending me back to my own country to 'do something' about religion there.

Wednesday I woke up.... puking. (As many of you probably already knew from my facebook! Thanks for all of the prayers!) The previous day I had been at MFH's 3 and 4 in Lusaka with Esther, and one of the generous and loving house moms had offered me a 'local juice' (made from roots) after we had been playing outside with the kids all afternoon (soccer... in long pants... in 80 degree heat). I gratefully took the drink, as Esther gave her nod of approval that it was in fact safe for me to drink. However, when I woke up with huge stomach pains on Wednesday, Mrs. Harawa realized that the drink was probably prepared with unboiled water.... oops. More than a few meds, a long nap, and I woke up Wednesday afternoon feeling quite better. By the end of the day I was feeling as good as new. Praise God. (However, there was no internet available to update anyone on my health, so I apologize to all of you who sat in worry all day for me!)

And then there's today. We woke up extra early this morning because of a very important errand: we had purchased school uniforms for the students in Chongwe the day before... and if we got to Chongwe early enough, the students would be permitted to go to school for the day! Up to that point, the orphans in those MFH had not been allowed to go to school... the terms here started on Monday (they take a month off every 3 months, instead of one just 'summer break'), and the school where the kids were attending decided to make a rule that all kids had to have uniforms... whether or not they could afford them. No uniform, no school. So we descended on Chongwe with brand new uniforms for 24 children.... and if you have ever seen a child on Christmas morning, multiply that reaction by about 10,000... and you have the electricity in the air as the kids were handed their 'smart suits' (as I heard one little boy refer to his new clothes, haha). It hit me then that these were quite possibly the first brand new clothes any of the kids had ever received... as the MFH apparently rely on many clothing donations. I quietly looked down at my brand new skirt that I had bought for this trip. The $7 I spent on it now felt too much.

It all feels like too much. A year ago I would be given $15 for dinner at Track and Field meet days....here, I receive $15 a day as my stipend for food, water, travel expenses, ect; total my $400+ a month that that $15 a day gets me... and all of a sudden it seems exorbitant compared to the measly $500 a month that each of the MFHs has to operate on in order to feed, clothe, protect, provide healthcare and an education for the 8 orphans and mother living in the home.

Welcome to perspective.

There are a million other things that I could talk about:

The corruption of the education system that I have already come face to face with as Esther has tried to put students in their right grades... but been denied and asked to pay more money 'in order to get grade completion forms re-sent'.

The fact that when asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, at least 30% of the kids at MFH Lusaka 3 and 4 reported that they wanted to be soldiers.... so that they could help people by protecting them; as apparently Zambia is known as a Christian nation now, and all the kids want it to stay that way.

Protection itself is an issue as well. I sit here writing this behind my locked bedroom door, inclosed in by huge wooden doors over the back and front entrances of the office, followed by iron gates that close over the doors. Outside the front gate is the guard, who patrols by the 10 foot wall surrounding the office that is topped with broken bottles and an electric fence. It scares me when I think about why such security is needed. And I almost peed my pants last night when I couldn't get the back door to lock correctly... and woke up suddenly, hearing things in the house. (I eventually went and looked outside my bedroom... maglight in one hand and cell phone in the other... and there was no one there. Praise God. Must have just been the wind blowing a door.) I was grateful to see that they had the lock fixed today.

....this was all taken in sharp contrast to my realization today (again, as we were driving through the countryside) that, despite all of the corruption, I think the world here is more beautiful and joyful than the hard nosed, fast paced culture that too many American's bow to.

Then there was the incident this morning when we stopped in a rural part of Chongwe at a man's home.... and his daughters cried and ran from me... and the man had to explain that they had never seen a white person before, and that he hoped I was not offended that they were afraid of me. Offended? I have always grown up thinking color didnt matter... but maybe for the first time in my life, it did.... but I hadn't even noticed it. What a crazy world.

Last but not least, it would be hard to speak of Zambia without talking of the amazing faith that everyone here seems to have. Maybe it is because there is a need for such faith, or maybe it is because they simply have more time and less distractions to enable them to actually listen to God.... but everything that is done around here is done trusting in God's providence. Even just talking about it gives me goose-bumps. I love that.

And, although I am inclined to apologize for the length and sporadic inclinations of this post.... if all of these words are beginning to overwhelm you, then maybe I am beginning to capture my life over the past week. So many encounters, thoughts, faith stories, God moments.... and it's only been 5 days. But, I think I can sum in up in this way: I am loving Zambia, loving our God, and I love you all... (but I am somewhat lonely at times, so keep the emails coming updating me on your lives!) and I pray that God gives you the same blessed assurance that he has been giving me here day by day.

God is good.... ;-)

The Adventure Begins - Ministry Update

2010-01-09T12:58:00.000-08:00

It is with great joy that I can say I am officially (and safely!) settled in at the Every Orphan's Hope (EOH) office, which will also double as my home for the next 6 months, in Lusaka, Zambia!

On Tuesday, January 5, I left Boston and flew to Texas where I was able to meet Gary Schneider (the founder of EOH) and Paul and Kim Lueders (the other couple that makes up the rest of the American side staff!). Then, Tuesday, Wedensday and much of Thursday was spent getting properly 'orientated' as to what I should expect in Zambia, and what will be expected of me. (Though I did manage to find time to watch the Calvin v Hope basketball game over livestream. Ya Knights! I apologize if anyone heard my screaming from my hotel room!)

Thursday I was then off to the airport again... this time destined for London, England. With long layover (11 hours), the staff of EOH had put together an entire walking tour of London for me; thus I was pretty excited to get off the ground, as I was going to have more than enough time to make it to the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. However (inevitably) the plane was delayed due to icy conditions in the UK. We did eventually get off the ground..... with the slightest hint of possibility that I could still make it to the changing of the guard if I took a faster and more expensive transportation method (!!). Nevertheless, once we arrived in London after a 9hr flight, our plane sat on the tarmack for about another hour and a half, shooting that plan :-( . I tried not to be disappointed, and still headed into the city for the rest of the tour.... which was fantastic. Getting to stretch my legs while seeing Buckingham Palace, the Royal Park, Westminster Abby, the Parliament building (including Big Ben) and an up close and personal look at London's Eye (the carousel) was a perfect teaser... and gave me every reason to want to go back. (Who want's to ride a giant carousel alone?!)

After walking around for about 4 hours in freezing temperatures....while dressed for Africa (what would I have given for a pair of gloves?!)... I was ready to head back. Getting through security was a breeze compared to the States, and I headed for my gate. Thankfully, our plane to Zambia boarded on time. However, we then sat on the tarmack for another 2 and a half hours as we waited to be 'de-iced'. (I think I would have rather just had the flight delayed and had more time in London, or at the very least been permitted to walk around in the airport! But oh well...such is life.) Eventually we were on our way... for another 10 hour flight.

I woke up this morning (Saturday) bursting with excitement. As we got closer to Zambia I began praying in earnest that I would be able to make a few instant connections and find some community with the Zambians. It was about that time that my seatmate, Laura, and I began chatting. In her late 20s or early 30s, she was a Canadian who taught in a school for international students. She then asked me if I played volleyball... and I could feel God's love pour over me as I realized that this could quite possibly be my first connection. Apparently she, and a few coworkers play volleyball on Monday and Wednesday nights at the school she teaches at... and she lives close to the EOH office. We exchanged email addresses and she encouraged me to come check it out 'if I at all loved the sport'. :-) At this point it is unclear how it will work out for me to play... but it is needless to say that I am very, very excited at the opportunity.

Flying into Africa is like nothing I have ever experienced before. All green. No concrete. America could learn a lesson.

At about 8am Zambian time we departed the plane on a staircase that was brought right out onto the only runway, and we were able to walk across the lawn into the airport.... with loads of family members waiting for their loved ones right outside. (Even before we got to the border control/Visa station!) I was slightly relieved to see a woman standing with a sheet of paper with my name printed on it.... as I knew instantly it must be Mrs. Harawa, the Zambian director of EOH. Although I would love to go into detail, let me just say for the sake of brevity that she was very welcoming and helped immensely in the process of getting the proper Visa. After that, it was a wait for my luggage, which (after quite some time) did eventually show up. It must have been in the back of the storage, because I was starting to get nervous and almost let out a shout when I finally spotted my suitcases.

From the airport we walked outside and met Humphrey, an EOH volunteer who does most of the driving around town. As I'm sure I'll tell you much about the country side in future blog entries and such, let me just say... I loved the drive.

We then went straight to a supermarket to get me my groceries... and just 2 quick observations on that: it was alot more Western than I was expecting (yay!), but I do not understanding Zambian pricing/money exchange rates at all (boo!). I was glad to have Mrs Harawa there with me.

Then it was (finally!) onto the EOH office... my new home! Bright pink, surrounded by huge walls with electric barbed wire on the top; I have a bedroom with 2 twin beds and a bookcase.... and what looks to be my own shower room, bathroom, and kitchen. (It's going to be interesting to try to get a system down for meals when I cannot use any non-boiled tap water for cooking!) After arriving, Mrs Harawa and Humphrey left me to get 'settled in' and do some more errands.... and I have been pretty much alone ever since. Except for the gaurd outside. (That's right.. the office has a guard. Seems a little odd, but apparently its' standard because of expensive computers.... and hopefully it will help my Mom and Dad feel a little better about me being alone here too. :-) Haha. )

So there you have it. Tomorrow is my first church service, and an opportunity to meet many more people, including (hopefully) some of the kids from the Orphan Homes!

A few prayer requests:
-That I will 'mesh' well with all of the personalities in the EOH office.
-That I won't make myself sick as I try and prepare food in ways I've never experienced before! (Eek.)
-An open and willing heart as I try and figure out what a routine is going to look like and how I can best help out around here!!

And Christmas came running.

2010-01-06T02:37:00.000-08:00

So I have to admit something to you all:

I had all but forgotten about Christmas.

Trying to tie up everything in GR, preparing for Zambia, moving everything home... I had just not really grasped the fact that Christmas was actually happening. Which, honestly, felt a little weird to me. Here I have been thinking more about God and Jesus' mission while he was here on earth more than any other year.... and I was having a hard time feeling 'Christmas-y.'

I had driven into a Massachusetts winter wonderland and seen the lights, I had run around and bought all my presents, I had accepted my pastor's request to read Luke 2 in church, I had seen the friends, and my family was all back together (my brother from Japan, my sister and her fiance from Florida, me from Michigan), and I had enjoyed the smell of a real Christmas Tree set up in our living room.... but even as I hurried to the front row of good ol' Fairlawn CRC to sit with my family on Christmas Eve (candle in hand), I still wasn't really feeling it. Christmas? What is Christmas?

And then it happened.

On Christmas Eve, my church decided to take the entire evening offering and use it to finish all of the fund raising needed for my trip to Zambia. My mom had told me a little earlier that evening that it was happening so that it wouldnt be a shock in church, but for the most part it had been a complete surprise. And, as I sat in church and my pastor announced that it was actually happening and sent a smile my way... I was simply overwhelmed by God's presence, providence, and love.

Don't get me wrong, the money was a nice bonus as well.... but I dont think I will ever be able to really describe the feeling of realizing that God had provided not just the means for me to actually go to Africa, but had done it through the work of a community that I had grown up in and loved. I wish I could describe the crushing love that I felt from my church family as I was watching baskets of money come forward and realizing that I no longer had to worry or stress about the trip. I think it must have been what Paul felt all those times when he started his letters to the churches that supported him with "I thank God every time I think of you."

By the time Pastor Coffey opened his sermon with the rhetorical question of 'What is the true meaning of Christmas?'.... I realized that I finally knew the answer to it.

It's about love. A love so great that God came down as a baby to save us. A love that made him choose to come down in a stable (which, if you look at what an inn's stable was in those times, was actually a place of lowly community; as only rich people and those in extreme circumstances actually stayed in the inn.... Mary should have been in the inn due to her pregnancy, but of COURSE our God would choose to come into the world in a place of community, with everyone gathered around and all the women helping!). And a love that is going to follow us to the ends of the earth.

I realize that it is now January 6 and may be a little past due for a Christmas message..... but tomorrow I leave. I am currently writing from a Texas hotel room, and over the past few days I have been sufficiently orientated and trained. And thus, after months and months of preparations, in a few hours I will get on a plane and finally head out into the wild blue yonder of God's amazing grace. However, I realized on Christmas Eve that I certainly do not head out alone.

I may have almost forgotten Christmas, but Christmas did not forget me. Christ stopped me in my tracks just in time to remind me that he has everything covered already, and I only need to walk with him. And thus, walk I shall.

Here we go.

...promptly and sincerely.

2009-12-20T15:39:00.000-08:00

I am currently sitting at a rest stop on the New York state thruway. I have been driving for hours, and thinking for hours, and simply had to stop... and write.

What a week. What a semester. What a lifetime.

Time is one of those things that gets away from me. It's a hard concept for me to grasp that it has been 4 and a half years since moving to Grand Rapids. Or 10 years since I first went on a Youth Unlimited event. Or only 36 hours since I went to bed for the last time at the Griggs house.

In the past week I have had coffee, breakfast, lunch or dinner with just about every person who has had huge impacts on me while in GR.... just about. And yet, I'm sorry that I missed a few. I have cried huge crocodile tears because of the need to hug goodbye those I love, and because of misunderstandings that left me feeling a little unloved. I have driven around GR looking out on the ways I have previously defined my life, and I have had short panic-attacks when I have realized that I am primarily in the dark as to how I am going to be defining myself in just a few short weeks. I have been excited for the amazing things yet to be done in my life, and I have yelled at God for the things that have made it hard to leave the life I knew just 48 hours ago.

And yet, I keep coming back to a phrase that was coined almost 2 years ago now by my old roommates Jessi Miller and Kristin Haagsma.... "only time will tell." No clue where to turn, no clue what turns are coming, and only time will tell.

Somedays I am so excited for whats ahead. I charge into the idea of loving people and loving God, wherever I am. I crank up some good ol' Christian music and c-walk to 'My life be like' or re-realize the glorious message that first captivated me in 'Secret Ambition' or 'Color Outside the Lines' when I was young. I am productive in my packing and planning, and they don't seem like chores. People ask me about 'what I'm going to do' and I am bursting at the seams to tell them all I know of what I am going to get to expereince in Zambia.

Other days, it all feels so jaded. Theres not a Christian song out there that I feel like I haven't heard, nor a peice of encouragement that someone hasnt already said. My phone calls go unanswered and accomplishing anything seems impossible. And then I get frustrated at amazing people who love me, but make it sound like I'm about to go out and save the world... when all I want to do is learn how to love God and love others better. I'm no savior. I get scolded because I haven't done every little thing (I just realized I should have probably ordered extra contacts last week....), and everyone seems shocked to find out that I'm not perfect. And so I sit and dream instead of being able to do.

But that is about to change. I have to pack. I have to tie up loose ends. I have to finally submit my grad school applications. I have to, I have to, I have to... and then I get to.

And that's where I'm at.

Fundraising is almost finished. God has been so incredibly faithful (!!!) that it kills me that I am not more upbeat about everything 24/7.

But I think that's all part of it.

Because if I was 100% gung-ho and able to have everything together, I wouldn't need amazing people to show up at my house to help me pack... or friends who just hug me and let me cry. I wouldn't need parents who are probably at their wits end making sure I get all my ducks in a row (as frustrating as it seems sometimes to have them asking about things that I HAVEN'T gotten done... does that ever change??), and who love me despite not finding a way to earn enough money to pay my loans back. And I wouldn't need all of you, who are reading this blog right now and inevitably will end up offering me the same Bible verse over and over again until I actually READ that Bible verse and take comfort in what it says.

But, I do need you.

Because there are days I feel like I'm in this alone... and that nobody understands....and that the only way you could possibly understand would be if you got off your duff and go do the same thing I'm doing.... BUT..... then I realize again that God has blessed me with an amazing oppertunity to go out and do something that most people HAVE dreamed of, but have never been able to do for one reason or another... and that I get to be the link between that dream and the reality... and that people do care about the state of the world and the church... and that you are all at the exact place God has brought you to, just as I am... and that God is going to do mighty things in people (both here and in Africa) both because of and inspite of me.

And so I go. My car is currently packed within 10 squre inches of being too full to see out of any window. My family is waiting at home (including my brother flying in from Japan!), my friends are scattered around the country wishing me well, and the next two weeks that seem somewhat overwhelming at the moment will fly by just as fast as the last week of goodbyes in Grand Rapids.

On Calvin's seal there is a phrase printed around the crest that reads: "My heart I offer to you, Lord, promptly and sincerely." It's a phrase that I have never really put too much thought into until Friday night when I was standing on the roof of Spoelhof, looking out over the campus.... friends coverting senslessy in the background. What does it look like to seriously surrender your heart to the Lord, when he asks, how he asks, in every way/area of your life, and with everything you have? I'm not sure yet, but I think I'm learning. And I think I like it.

Here we go (thats you and me, for the record), promptly and sincerely.

"Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith." - Margret Shepard

Ministry Update

2009-11-28T23:42:00.000-08:00

Friends!

It is with joy that I write to update you on the plans for Zambia!

I am approximately a month away from embarking, and I have already seen the grace of God active in the planning and implementation of the trip. From receiving checks for sponsorship from complete strangers to encouragement, prayer, and support from my closest friends and family, I am beginning to think that everyone should have the opportunity to prepare for such a trip in their lifetime! What a journey in faith!

I want to share with you one particular experience that has me excited. Back in October I was visiting my former college roommate, Kristin Folkerts, now a first year teacher at Imaly City Christian School [ICCS]. On Sunday morning we attended church at the small CRC in town, and I was introduced to many of the families who attended (Dutch bingo at its finest!). It did not take long for connections to start flying, and the families (who turned out to be some of Kristin’s co-workers at the school) began to ask ‘what I was up to’ post-graduation. Kristin jumped in and explained about my upcoming trip…and all chaos broke loose. Apparently, ICCS’s theme for the year is ‘Prayer’ and, as such, the faculty has been looking for an opportunity to get their elementary students invested in prayer.

To make a long story short, I was asked to come to their school to present a chapel on the orphans of Zambia. Therefore, three weeks ago, I revisited Imaly City… this time as a chapel speaker. After experiencing the best and worst of WCS chapels, I admit I was somewhat scared about presenting. How do I speak to children in preschool up through 8^th grade all at once…and keep them interested? And how do I tell them about an AIDS pandemic of all things?! However, with the help of a few juggling balls and super(bouncy)balls, I was able to tell them about the power of prayer. We can try SO hard to keep everything going on our own (juggling)…. but its gets a lot easier to keep things in the air when we turn it over to God and allow Him to put the ‘super’ in our efforts, because then things still bounce back even when we’ve dropped the ball (the super-ball). Working off of this theme, I shared with the students about the orphans of Zambia—who are the same age as them—but who are trying to feed, clothe, go to school and live on

their own… while being hammered by a deadly disease. By the end of the chapel, the students agreed that the orphans of Zambia needed a little bit of ‘super’ in their lives in order to keep everything from falling apart. As result of the chapel, all of the students committed to praying for the orphans of Zambia, as well as for my trip. I was able to send super-balls home with all the students (don’t worry, I gave them out at the END of the school day…), and the teachers all stuck super-balls to their chalkboards as well, reminding the students to pray, because we are the ones that need to put the super-ball into motion. As an additional project, the ICCS students are going to make cards for the children at Every Orphan’s Hope, and I hope to pass on videos of the Zambian children to ICCS. Praise God!

In addition to the prayer support, I was also amazed to see God work in another way that day. At the end of the day, the principal from the school greeted me and chatted about my upcoming trip. He then handed me a crisp $100 bill, and asked me to use it to buy school supplies for the orphans of Zambia. That act particularly shocked me (though I suppose it shouldn’t considering how our God works!), because I had been praying about the fact that I was going to Zambia where there was so much need, but EOH hadn’t budgeted into my support raising any money to buy supplies for the children there. And now, all of a sudden, here was more than enough money to fill one of my suitcases with 50lbs of coloring books, stickers, pencils and socks for the children living in the orphan homes!

Isn’t it amazing how our God works? And isn’t it humbling to see through whom He works?

Thus, I just wanted to say thank you again for your continued support and encouragement. With a month left until my departure, I am two/thirds of the way to my needed goal. However, with the mighty things God has already done, I trust that all needs will be supplied in His time.

Thank you all again for everything, I am blessed to be a part of this family!

By His Grace,

Annika Krygsman

In God We Trust

2009-11-24T08:03:00.000-08:00

So, I officially decided that I have a love-hate relationship with money.

To be honest, for most of my life I have hated the idea of money. Everything we do is confined by a substance that people die over, or waste their life chasing, or horde up (which in turn causes others to die). What a bother! Can't we all just get along, and trade good deeds for good deeds? Share? A Christian form of (dare-I-say-it) communism? Idealistic thinking.... but impossible in the culture we live in. (Whats more is we have seen all to clearly the evils that can come from communistic politics!)

So then what should we do about this money issue?

For the most part, I feel like the Bible teaches that money in general is rather evil. But, in actuality, its simply the love of money that is evil. Which then begs the question, is money itself good?

When I was in high school I remember I wrote my Junior Paper on the issue of whether or not 'In God We Trust' should still be printed on our money. I honestly don't remember what I argued or what I concluded at the end of the paper..... but I have come to appreciate the saying on our bills in a whole new way in the past few months.

In the past weeks I have seen checks pour in from across the United State in order to help send me half way across the world and serve in Africa. It's incredible! A check from a newly wed couple, who don't have any money to their name..... a check from a large family who really don't have much to spare.... an anonymous $500 donation to double the amount that my home-church was able to give. How is this is all possible?

In my last post, I talked about putting little bit of crisis in our comfort. And, to be honest, starting a Simple Way project in LA would definitely be adding crisis to my comfort by fighting luxury. However, I dont think that that is necessary way of fighting comfort for some others (which, again, makes me a little spiteful towards God for calling me to live in that way.... but not others! but since when has God ever made life easy?).... in fact, I think for 100% of the checks I have received up to this point to help send me to Zambia, the crisis for one's comfort came with deciding to give to such a cause.

This is a crazy economy. One day you have a job, one day you dont. There is no spare money. There are no garantees. However, here we all are.... saying 'In God We Trust' and writing checks that we know will need God's guidance in order to get cashed. How incredible is that?!? When I think about my personal financial situation at the moment... I almost want to cry. I have loan repayments to start as of next week, I need a new laptop to bring with me for Zambia (what I thought would be my major source of income over the past weeks has not worked out due to issues with my current laptop!), I have another rent check due in a few weeks, and I still havent officially applied to my grad schools because I don't have the extra $50-100 per application to go with it. On top of that, this past weekend my car broke down, and I had no choice but to let my parents cover the repair cost.

All that, and THEN I get to consider that I am still waiting on God to provide the final $3000 needed to send me to do His will! Wait a minute God, why all this stress?! Shouldn't I hate money right now?!

But that's just it: I don't. And its all because I have seen so clearly in the past months how much God can use money to bless people, or challenge people, or transform them. My faith has grown indubidably as I have sat here and done the math and come to realize that is impossible for me to make ends meet unless something big changes; and yet I am somehow fine with the idea that.... something big is going to change. I don't know what it is, but its coming. And the only way I know its coming is because I am confident that I am walking in the will of the Lord, and thus He will make the path straight. At least that is what He promised.

And so with that, I do hearby declare money as a good thing. A thing that we have to be careful with, a thing that we must consider carefully, but a ministry tool that we all get to have a hand in... one way or another. (Whether we have lots of 'In God We Trust's to read or not!)

Crisis for our Comfort

2009-11-18T13:36:00.000-08:00

So, its been a while. A long while.

In the past few months I have been all over the United States. From the bars of Boston to the cornfields of Iowa, from Hollywood Blvd to the the back alleys of Chicago. I have climbed a water tower in a ghost town in Kansas, and I have hiked in the mountains and foothills of Colorado. From seeing the slums of LA to sleeping in the warm bed of my childhood, I have been at almost a loss of words to describe my fall.

Where is our Christ?
Isn't He supposed to working through us?
Oh ya.
Well then, where are our Christians?

About a month ago I was in Los Angeles, California, exploring the option of pursuing a Family Therapy degree at Fuller Seminary's school of Psychology. We'll get back to the fact that I was in California in a minute, but for the moment concentrate on the fact that on this particular day I walked into a church that I was unfamiliar with, in a city that is far removed from any place I have ever pictured myself in... and saw this printed on the front of the bulletin:

I read the title as 'Crisis for your Comfort.' Turns out the sermon was actually on 'Comfort for your Crisis.' Which, I must admit, was a great message. The preacher talked about rising above living on the streets and, through the help of the Lord, has become a person again--with his identity set in Christ. See? Great message, and one that we all need to hear.

But, from where I'm sitting, I think I want more people to start seeing the other message. How many of us actually DO read our Bibles from an easy chair? Or, maybe more truthfully, sit down to read our Bibles from an easy chair... and promptly fall asleep?

Maybe its been the vast amount of need and disparity between people in different parts of the country, or maybe its been the inordinate amount of very, very nice, very well meaning people who smile at me politely when I say I'm going to Africa and tell me that thats a 'nice thing to do', a 'great experience' or an 'opportunity I wish I had had'. But I'm just sick of this thing called Christianity that we all play at, but so few of us do.

I need to watch how I say this... because I don't want to offend anyone. I have had dozens of amazing encounters with many Godly people who have been excited to see me go overseas. They have encouraged me, loved me, helped me and been excited to see what God is going to do. But every once in a while, there is the person who seems to WANT to care... but just doesnt. And that person is ussually categorized by saying something like, "Really?! You're going! Thats great! My friend so-and-so just got back from spending a month in [insert 3rd world country here]! You should get in touch with her, she'll tell you all about it" followed by another polite smile, and a quick turn of the heel to back out of the conversation.

And again, I think these people really do want to care, but they just dont know how. They are on the outside looking in. They are reading their Bibles from their easy chairs, or perhaps are looking for that easy chair and warm blanket so hard that they forget its found in their Bibles alone.

What would it look like to have a bunch of Christians actually start living like Christ?

The best example of a group of Jesus-followers I've heard of doing that is Shane Claiborne and his group at the Simple Way in Philly. Which, I must admit sounds.... radical. (If you don't know what I'm talking about... read "The Irresistable Revolution" or at least a sample at http://www.thesimpleway.org/shane/sampler.pdf --trust me, its worth the read.) ....and it is, isn't it? It's radical, its amazing, its rediculus, it will never work and it will always work.

And most of all, I identify with it.

I love the line that says "People are not crucified for charity, people are crucified for living out a love that disrupts the social order, that calls forth a new world." People love the idea of me going to Africa to play with needy AIDS orpahns. The idea of actually getting down on my hands and knees and putting a band-aid on that bloody knee of the child infected with HIV?? That's not so well-recieved. "Be careful." "Don't be stupid." "Come back safe." These are the things I am told. People want you to live Christ-- to some extent. The idea of actually walking and living like Jesus did? Not so popular. They want to stay in their easy chair's where Christ is their comfort... and, I'm learning, want you to stay there too.

But what if we would all get out of our easy chairs?

I've been thinking alot about what life is going to look like when I return from Zambia. Will I be used to wearing the same 10 outfits, and be able to give up my closet full of Nike swooshes? Or will I run back to my comfortable, happy life with arms wide open? Will I be disgusted by the American dream, or dream about being American again?

I mentioned in the first part of this blog that I was in California looking at the possiblity of grad school. California. That is one thing that I never would have anticipated for myself 5 years ago.

Back in high school I had a good friend who had moved to Whitinsville from Cali. He had been convinced that he wanted to move back out west after school, and would probably get married in his 30s. I, however, was very content to dream of a life characterized by getting married right out of college and staying close to my hometown. I wanted to coach my high school volleyball and track teams. I wanted to bring up my kids close to their grandparents. I wanted to live the life that worked so well for my parents. And, to be honest, I still want those things. But instead.... my Californian friend will most likely end up being the one to get married straight out of college.... and I have a very good chance at finding myself clear across the country in California, alone.

In addition to the possiblity of Cali boy getting married this summer, my little sister is also getting married in a very short 8 months, along with a good portion of my my close girlfriends. And yet, when someone asked me this week if I felt 'behind' in the whole boy realm... I found myself very naturaly and very honestly saying, "no."

No?! How could that be? This isn't what I had planned! California wasn't in the plan! Africa wasnt in the plan! What is God doing to me?? He is majorly screwing things up, dontcha think?!

What is next? Trying to create a Simple Way project in LA? Wouldnt people love that? "Ya, I'm going to live in the most beat-up house I can in the worst neighborhood I can find and open my doors to all the neighbors and just love em'." I can see that going over great with my parents. Living on the poverty line isn't exactly a well-received 'Christian' thing to do! If I was a good upstanding Christian, wouldn't I earn lots and lots of money and then give it to the poor? But... thats the whole thing. I want to help people. I want to love people. Which means more than just putting on band-aids. It means getting down and dirty with them.

Isnt that what God calls us to when he tells us to love "the least of these"? Or didn't that verse ever get highlighted in your Bible.

I guess I am just having a really hard time trying to figure out how to live like Christ, and live like an American. Or, more truthfully--but much more sad, how to live like Christ, and how to live like a Christian.

Lots of people have asked me why I want to go into Family Counseling...especially if my final goal is to be a youth pastor. And I have come to realize the reason is much the same reason that the idea of walking in Christ's foot steps is appealing. I can read Chap Clark's book "Hurt" from cover to cover, but unless I am able to help stop the hurt through counseling.... what lasting good does being aware do? It's just more band-aids!

I don't like band-aids. They eventually get pulled off, and the skin is all red at first, but (if the band aid has been there awhile) in actuality its pale and slightly pruny. I don't want pale and pruny in my life, which means I shouldn't want it for other people either. I want to dance. And laugh. And sing (even if its off tune). I want to run through fields with the wind whipping at my face, and I want to climb water towers. That's the type of life God has called us to, dontcha think?

And I guess that's why God has put this Zambia trip in front of me.

I was told that I may not recognize Christianity when I get to Zambia. And all I can say is 'Hallelujiah' to that. Don't get me wrong, I think there are many great things that Christians do right. Many awesome things that can be learned at Seminary (I am looking at going to Seminary, remember??), but at the same time.... I want to be able to fill in the gaps of systematic theology and live a Christ theology. I want to be able to live John 10:10b instead of just recite it.

But I'm guessing that that's going to mean that He is going to bring a little bit more crisis to my comfort. And I'm starting to become OK with that. But, fortunatley for my family and unfortuantely for God, I'm not there yet....there is too much of this world that I love. And I admit that I get a little scornful when I see very, very strong Christians living abundantly in the path that God has marked out for them.... and I realize that I would be very content and comfortable in that path. At those times I can't help but ask God why I couldn't have a path like that! But in those times I hear Him whisper, "because you wanted to be a paratrooper."

Now, this blog has already been way too long, but I will tell you one more quick story.

I did a dumb thing in 7th grade.

I was sitting in Kent Koeman's Bible class, and we were watching a video on faith. Now, I will admit that we probably watched dozens of videos on faith, and there were probably many such incidents as the one I am about to relate to you.... but there was only one I remembered. There was a girl, about 16 if I recall correctly, who was dieing of some rare blood disease. She had been talking about how, before she was diagnoised with the disease, she had been sitting in church thinking "I am going to rot away in this pew!" And so she asked God to do something big in her life. And so He gave her the rarest disease she had ever heard of, and because of it she was able to tell her story. Charming, right? But it caught me. I was feeling like I was going to rot away in my Bible-class desk.... and in my pew at church.... and Sunday School... and youth group.... and... well, you get the point. So I asked God that day to make me a paratrooper in the faith. (Though, I also requested that I not die of some rare disease.... and since I haven't come up with anything yet, I have a feeling that He honored that request.)

Life has not been the same (or easy) since. And, honestly, I would have it no other way. And on that note I guess I would just say: Be careful what you pray for... but know that God is going to do mighty things when you let Him.

And so I trudge along, trying to do the will of God, learning what it looks like to walk with Him, deciding what it looks like to walk AS Him, and trying to peice together my faith into a workable framework in which to live my life.

And, as depressing and/or promising as it is... I have a feeling that I have just begun.

Daily Bread

2009-09-28T21:08:00.000-07:00

You would think that praying the words "Give us this day our daily bread" before ever dinner I have ever remembered would mean than I understood what I was saying.

But I dont think I did. Not until this past year.

Daily Bread. What a concept. So many times I feel like we try to run on up ahead God.... we want more. Either that or we have too little faith to think that he is going to provide for us when we need it most. But our God is perfect, He provides just what is needed, when we need it.

Last Sunday I returned to LaGrave for the first time since Serve ended in June. To be honest, I had been in some ways putting it off... though in other ways I couldn't wait to be there again. I love the people there so much, and I've missed being involved there. However, I didn't think I was ready to look in the face of my life there and know that everything is different.

But, I had thought, what could one little church service do? I would go in, listen to a sermon, and promptly leave. I would perhaps see a handful of the regulars who sat in the balcony with me, and wave to a few others as I made a hasty exit. No problem.

But God had different plans.

Upon entering the church, my friend Lauren mentioned that she wanted something to drink. I agreed, so we went off to the multipurpose room to grab some 'orange poison' (a I've come to know the juice we serve) while our other friends saved us seats up in the balcony. However, the multipurpose room was unusually abuzz, and I quickly realized that it must be Ministry Celebration Sunday --the one Sunday all year where the different ministries of the church had tables set up to make their programs known to the rest of the church body. As such, there were tables for every ministry I had been apart of, manned by the people whom I love and miss the most. While trying to act normal, a little girl named Sophie whom I had taught in my 2nd grade Children's Worship class ran up to me and threw her arms around me--thanking me for being here on 'this day'. To be honest, I had no idea what she meant, but I hugged her back and managed to gulp down my juice before going to join the rest of our friends in the balcony.

However, once joining our friends in the balcony, I knew the service was not going to be easy to endure. The new youth intern was being commissioned, and a word of what was meant to be encouragement from my friends sent me to tears. Next the commissioning of all the youth leaders was given, and my eyes welled again as I was unable to join them in standing and accepting the commissioning. Finally, my entire 2nd grade class from the year before was brought to the front and given their Bibles, and it hit me what little Sophie had been so excited about--she was glad I was there to see them become part of the 'big' church. At this point, I was about to break.... but still held it in. God had a plan in all of it, didn't he?

What came next was both expected, but completely unexpected at the same time. During the offering, the 'Welcome Registry' was passed. This is normal occurance at LaGrave, and one I should have seen coming. I had signed this said registry dozens of times, and had given no thought to it. But, that day, it was a different story. As I looked at the options, I realized I was not a full 'Member' of LaGrave, and thus could not check that box. Nor was I a 'Student' any longer, so that option was out of the running. 'Visitor' did not seem appropriate, and the thought of resigning myself to the rank of 'Frequent Attender' seemed almost like a slap in the face.

Who was I and what was I doing here?!

Checking none of the boxes, I handed off the register and headed down to the bathroom, bawling. Now, to be quite honest, I have found myself bawling in this said bathroom on a number of occasions...more than a few even during church services. Times when I felt unfit to be in ministry at the church, times when I felt God nudging me to do something I didn't want to, times when I was sad or angry or sick or in need or felt like I should have all the answers or any of the above. But on that day I just felt.... empty. I was lonely, I was feeling ridiculous for my emotional outburst over the lack of understand regarding God's plan in my life, and I certainly did not want to be crying. And so I dried my eyes and pulled myself together to make it through the rest of church.

And that's when God did it. Again.

That day, God's sermon was for me and me alone. The very first words Reverend Mast spoke were "Today we're talking about what's next." And I thought "well, that would be good to know right about now" .... and Reverend Mast went on to remind me of a God who always has the last laugh, because He is a faithful, covenant God who will keep his promises. And doesn't our God promise us far more than we let ourselves partake in?

Here's the thing about daily bread: I think God has it in for us.

I think He WANTS us to to feel overwhelmed and ready to break. I've told people before that I never want a life that I could handle... because then I would just handle it and forget God. So he pushes us. He confronts us with everything that is hard, all at once. He allows us to look back (if we really insist on it) and say, "If only...", so that we can look at Him and realize that we don't need or want 'ifs' in our lives. We are a a fallen, broken people who needs our God. I learned that beyond all measure this past year. But I also learned that our God is one who wants to save his fallen and broken people.

And so He gives himself to us, one day at a time. Like manna from heaven that spoils when we impose our own assumptions on it and collect too much, or leaves us hungry if we do not trust it... He gives us just enough of himself to get us through whatever trial we are facing.

There is an old Point of Grace song that puts it in different terms:

"We run on up ahead, we lag behind YOU. It's hard to wait when heaven's on our minds. Teach our restless feet to walk beside you, because in our hearts we're already gone. Won't YOU walk with us? Steady on."

Steady on everyone.... God will provide the bread.

To Love at All is to be Vulnerable

2009-09-17T11:22:00.000-07:00

In CS Lewis' work 'The Four Loves', he makes this great statement that "To love at all is to be vulnerable." He then goes on to explain in detail about how we could try and protect ourselves from the pain and loss that comes with loving, but then we would only be depriving ourselves of that gift which God has given us. He goes on to state,

"We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armor. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as the way in which they should break, so be it."

When everyone asks me about what I am going to encounter in Zambia, I can honestly say I have no idea. I don't know what God has in store, where I am going to be at any given time, or what type of situations I will be put in. All I know is that I am excited for what God is going to do. But I am also terrified.

Currently I am sitting in the computer lab at Calvin College. I am no longer a student at Calvin. Nor am I an athlete. In the past few months I have also had to walk away from my involvement as a Youth Ministry intern at LaGrave CRC in Grand Rapids, being a camp counselor at Summer's Best Two Weeks, and years worth of involvement with Youth Unlimited's SERVE and Convention programs. Everything that I have ever been involved with is now done.... and yet here I am. Over the past few months I have cried more tears than can be counted because I have this gift (or curse) of being extremely passionate about those things that I am involved with, and I love the people I have been blessed to encounter daily. If you have talked to me at all in the past few months I have probably told you that it feels as if my heart is being ripped out as I say goodbye to all the people who have forever implanted themselves on my heart.

Thus, the one thing God has made clear to me over the past year is that I was a person designed for community.

So what does that mean for Zambia? What is community going to look like when none of the people who I now rely on for hugs and support are around to tell me that God is in control? Who am I going to turn to when I need to laugh or cry? And, once I start building that community in Zambia, how am I going to say goodbye?

To be perfectly honest, it almost seems easier not to go. Save myself the heartbreak. Stick with the good friends I have now, settle into life, join eHarmony and find myself a good match to start a family with. Ok, so I am kidding about the whole eHarmony thing. But really, wouldnt that be easier? And isnt that good and right for so many people? Isnt that how God has called so many others before me to serve Him?

But yet, I know that God has something else in store for me.

And therefore.... I go. Terrified, without all the answers, and knowing that the heart I wear on my sleeve will probably get thrown around like a football.... but also knowing that God has called us to that type of passionate love for all people. Not trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but accepting them and offering them to Him.

So be it.

And so it starts....

2009-09-10T11:50:00.000-07:00

To all who have supported me, loved me and walked life beside me:

When I was young, a new Steven Curtis Chapman song boldly instructed to “Saddle up your horses, [because] we have a trail to blaze into the wild blue yonder of God’s amazing grace. Just follow your leader into the glorious unknown, this is a life like no other—this is the great adventure.” Although I didn’t know it at the time, the chorus would become a life motto that has, thus far, blessed me beyond belief. With that assurance of past grace, and the promise of future strength given by Christ alone, I have decided to embark on a half-year mission trip to Lusaka, Zambia.

Through the help of Youth Unlimited (www.youthunlimited.org) staff, I have been accepted as an intern to an organization called Every Orphan’s Hope based in Lusaka, Zambia. Zambia, as a country, is ravaged by HIV/AIDS. One in every seven adults has AIDS, and 10-15% of the children that the organization interacts with are already infected with HIV. Thus, Every Orphan’s Hope, as a Christian organization, is committed to “sharing the love and hope of Jesus Christ with orphaned children in Africa and to care for orphans affected and infected by the HIV/AIDS pandemic.” They seek to fulfill this purpose “through the church and through acts of love that reveal the gospel of Christ, encourage the Church, disciple the nations and glorify God” (www.everyorphan.org). The organization has 6 ministry programs that include:

Camp Hope Bible Outreach programming (a series of 2 week VBS-like camps held at various locations throughout Zambia that minister to orphans in HIV/AIDS affected communities)
Orphan Sponsorship
My Father’s House Orphan Homes (a program that allows 8 orphaned children to be raised in a loving home, governed by a widowed house mother, and be supported by God’s extended family)
selling GoodNews Wristbands (used both to raise awareness/monetary support and as a ministry tool)
supporting Orphan Sunday (engaging the Christian church to love, protect, pray and provide for the orphans in their community)
supporting Ministry Alliance Programs (in order to further the Christian ministry of solving the AIDS orphan crisis by partnering with multiple Christian organizations)

As a lone intern, I will not be embarking on this trip with any sort of mission’s team, but simply as one called to serve. Although I know my role will be to help with all six ministries of the organization, I will be relying on the staff in Zambia to make up my schedule as needs become present. I was told to be prepared for anything, and remain flexible in the face of being told at breakfast we would be leaving to journey to a remote village in order to help write biographies and take photos of orphans in need of sponsorship…. or being told to walk down the street to help scrub the floor of an Orphan Home. Every day will be an adventure requiring God’s grace and (undoubtedly) good humor.

Although I am filled somewhat with fear and trepidation at the prospect of going alone, I am at peace knowing that God is good, and the life he has called me to is much better than any I could imagine for myself. As such, I wish to thank you in advance for any support you will be providing me with. I thank you for the prayers, for checking in with me both out of love and encouragement, and for help financing my journey. Within the next 4 months I will need to raise $8000-$10,000 in order to cover my expenses (including flying to Zambia and back—the specific amount is not yet set due to outrageous airfare prices!, food, lodging, my visa, and other materials necessary for me to serve fully).

As for financial donations, all donations are tax-deductible and can be made in one of two ways:

Checks can be made out to Youth Unlimited (who is helping me with all the paperwork/travel involved with getting to Zambia) and sent to my current Michigan residence or placed in my parents church mailbox.
Donating online at Youth Unlimited’s website at: www.youthunlimited.org/giving/giving_online --however, please make sure to indicate that the donated money is for ‘Annika Krygsman’s Zambia trip’ in the given ‘Notes’ section

Although keeping in touch during the 6 months I am in Africa will be difficult, I will do my best to keep everyone updated through this online blog. Internet access will be limited and sporadic, but I was told it will be possible for me to post. In addition, my new (non-college!) email address is now annika.krygsman@gmail.com.

Thank you again for all the love and support, both now and through the years I have been blessed to know all of you. Here’s to the mysterious unknown and God’s next great adventure!

By the Grace of God alone,

Annika Krygsman