Mama Prays

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." - Isaiah 41:10

This may come as a shock, but I like to be in control… of pretty much everything. It helps me feel safe. Comfortable. Grounded. Granted, 2 1/2 years in Africa has helped "cure" me of this, at least when it comes to circumstances outside my home. Because, frankly, all plans in Zambia are contingent on the weather, any local funerals, road conditions, last-minute conferences and the current status of the harvest. So day by day, as planning and controlling become obviously fruitless, I relinquished some of that control. 

In the four years Luke and I were trying to conceive, we also had to let go a bit of the control, the dream, the "perfect timing" we had determined. We learned we weren't in control, and that God's perfect plan is, well, perfect. And when we found out we were expecting just a few days before leaving Zambia for home assignment, it was confirmed, once again, that God is in perfect, wonderful control. 

^^ That timing has nagged at us a bit, though. We find ourselves wondering why, exactly, we need to be in the US when this child is born. We've had friends tell us that they really feel there is a reason for this. And that's been a bit scary to think about. 

Six weeks ago, baby boy's anatomy scan showed that his kidneys were slightly enlarged. They said it was likely nothing to worry about, as this is very common with boys in the womb. Even so, they scheduled a followup sonogram for yesterday. His right kidney was in the normal range. But his left kidney was more than twice the size of the right. 

What that means - we're not exactly sure. We see a specialist tomorrow to get a more detailed scan. He is urinating and amniotic fluid levels are fine. Everything else is fine. But in this 48 hour period before seeing the specialist, mom and dad are not so fine. We've been told not too worry. It's common. It will likely correct itself before or shortly after birth. The follow-up is "just to be safe" and to determine if he's "high risk"…

Oh, please don't tell this mama-to-be that her baby may be high risk. Not after four years of waiting. Not after such an easy and healthy first six months. Not when you also tell me that there is absolutely nothing I can do differently to change the outcome. Nothing I can do? Really? So what do I do? 

Maybe it's nothing at all. Maybe it is. Maybe it changes everything. So, I've been fearful. Like stick-your-head-in-a-cereal-box-til-it-all-goes-away fearful. Mopey, schlumpy, "what-do-you-mean-there's-nothing-I-can-do?" fearful. This, combined with the slightly more reverent crying-out-to-God-in-desperation prayerful. 

Which got us thinking about Abraham and Sarah and Isaac.  They waited some 80 or so years for Isaac, and then had to be willing to give him up. Ultimately, God provided the sacrifice for them, as they were willing in faith to give Him their son.

"'Do not lay a hand on the boy," he said. "Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son."' - Genesis 22:12

Though God was there in the end, I can't imagine all that Abraham was thinking through the process. Lord, I don't want to go through that! I'm willing, I am. But, please... no. Not me. Sometimes I just don't want to be that example of faithfulness proven (or failed in a spirit of crazy fear). 

I do trust. He has proven Himself over and over in majestic, amazing, and sometimes frightening ways in our lives. And it's been for our good. Oh, how He is good. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I wriggle away and cry as I approach the refiner's fire. And I definitely don't want this sweet boy to face that flame. I mean, how did Isaac feel as Abraham tied him to the altar? Lord, I want to pray that if you put us through the fire, you at least spare our son. 


But then I look to the cross. I see the sacrifice of your Son. The fire He faced. And I feel selfish. Greedy. Ashamed. I think of Mary and the strength she must have had, and how she probably had very little idea what the precious baby in her womb would do for the world. And I know that You will give me strength for whatever may come. That You will hold me up when I have nothing else to stand upon. And I trust You. I do. But I'm scared. Forgive me for my fears.

And so now, I pray. The doctors say nothing I can do will change anything. But as I've learned in other times when I can do "nothing," I know I can pray. So I'm praying. And I'm sure I'll be praying every day of this child's life. Because as Chris Rice sings in the song I listened to this morning, Mama Prays:

"Mama prayed, and Jesus stood beside us

Daddy prayed, and the devil had to run

God looked down, and his angels guarded through the harder days

'Cause mama prayed, and daddy prayed."

Will you pray with us?

See the update here!

Broken and Poured Out

This may come as a shock, but there have been times that we haven’t wanted to go back to Zambia. Don’t get me wrong – we love Zambia.  We love the Zambian people, we love the ministry, and we love life there. But over the last several months, we’ve questioned whether or not we are supposed to return.

You see, we’re exhausted. Life in the mission field is so awesome, but it’s exhausting. Serving God in this capacity, even when you know it’s where He wants you to be, can take every last drop of energy and strength out of you.

I’ve been at the Women of Faith conference here in Peoria these last few days, and hearing one of the speakers today, I knew we’d be going back.

She first spoke of John 14:12, where Jesus says that those who believe in Him will do even greater works than He. Greater not in the worldly sense of powerful and spectacular, but greatness how Jesus often refers to greatness – humble, quiet service.  So hold onto that: if we believe in Him, we can serve/love/live in greatness.

Now jumping to a passage that we often overlook unless we’re simply reciting it as we go to take communion… Luke 22:14-20

At a moment in which Jesus is redefining the centuries-old ritual of Passover, He not only serves the meal, but He becomes the meal.  He basically tells the disciples that the offering that is the Passover meal – that he was becoming the content of that offering.  And then he says, “do this, in remembrance of me.”

I, like many people, would have thought that “doing this” was simply taking communion, in memory and celebration of Jesus’ sacrifice as the Passover lamb. But breaking it down to the original Hebrew (in her words, not my study), the “Do” means make, but in a present habitual term – continuously make. Make what?  The remembrance, which basically means, “make real.”  Jesus was telling His disciples to constantly make this – this idea of being a living sacrifice for others – real.  He was providing a model for living and discipleship.

We, as Jesus’ disciples and followers, are to be a broken and poured out living sacrifice for the healing and restoration of others.  We should live out His sacrifice and be the eucharist in our daily lives.  We are part of the body of Christ, pouring out our spiritual power.  Sometimes we’re the ones pouring out - the broken bread, and sometimes we’re the ones being nourished.

I think of the story in Mark 5:25-30 where the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years touched the hem of Jesus’ garment, in a last desperate – faithful –attempt at cleansing and healing.  And she was made well.  In verse 30, though, we see the effect on Jesus: “And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, ‘Who touched my garments?’”

Jesus, fully God and fully man, felt the power go out of Himself. When we start feeling the power going out of ourselves, we know that others are receiving life.  We know we are the bread when we start breaking for others’ hearts.  And if we’re not being poured out – if we’re not breaking for others – maybe we’re not doing what Jesus called His disciples to do the night of the Passover.  Maybe it’s time to be the bread, broken for others.

Thinking about our lives in Zambia, I realized something.  We didn’t come home empty and dried out and broken because of the things we whine about:  power outages and water shortages and long lines and mission politics.  We were empty because we were being poured out for others.  We were being broken again and again and somewhere along the line should have stopped and found a way to be on the receiving end of that – to go to a quiet place away from the crowds to rest and hear from God.  To recognize the brokenness of our Savior and the strength He gives us to carry on. But because we started to try to nurture the brokenness with our own strength, the little petty concerns just piled on top of it all and we ran out of fuel (which is part of the reason for this time in the States - to be on the receiving end of that bread from the broken pouring out of others - to refuel - and we praise God for pastors and teachers who are willing to give of themselves in this way).

So when we think about going back, we know it won’t be easy.  We know we will be broken and poured out in ways that bring such joy and heartache that we can’t imagine it now.  We know people there are people who are broken and lonely and lost and don’t know the Savior who is the bread and the life, and we know that it may break us a bit to be that to them.  And when the power goes out and we can’t take a hot shower in the midst of that brokenness; when we’re feeling alone and heartbroken and weighted down with heaviness for the pain we see around us; when we’re desperate to give up and just serve people who are easy to serve and safe and blessed (when it wouldn’t take everything out of us because we wouldn’t actually have to give much); we remember Jesus and His brokenness.

As one of the women tonight described Jesus’ death on the cross, she said she’s tempted to be depressed and sullen and sad when she thinks of Jesus’ death, but knows that sacrifice was actually His finest hour.  He was broken and poured out so that we may have forgiveness from sin, fellowship with the Father, and eternal, abundant lives, doing as He did, and doing “greater works than these.”

The popular worship song says, “I’ll never know how much it cost, to see my sin upon that cross…”

He was poured out and broken for me in ways I’ll never understand fully.  If we have to miss a few showers or leave our family and friends again or move houses or occasionally experience discomfort, sadness, or heartache… who are we to turn away and keep the Good News and these acts of greatness to ourselves?  He died for me.  He died for you.  And He died for each of the people we serve.  May we be the bread, and when needed, be broken for others.

Thank you Jen Hatmaker for sharing your message today. 

When Two Worlds Collide

I remember the day well. Luke and I were at Lusa teaching a Bible study and nutrition lesson to members of the community. The rain started coming so violently that our voices couldn't be heard over the pounding on the aluminum roof. So we sat, waiting out the storm. As we yelled to each other occasional thoughts or questions and cooked some pumpkin seeds over a brazier (as we had just taught on their nutritional value), we began to wonder where Mama Yoba was. I walked to the front veranda as lightning struck somewhere nearby, to find her mopping the veranda, catching buckets of rain water, tirelessly working to take advantage of the “free water” – all while singing a song.

I asked her what she was singing and she told me it was a song she learned in grade one at a private school in Lusaka. She went on to tell me that she didn't stay at that school because she was diagnosed with Type I (Juvenile Onset) diabetes at a very young age. Her father didn't think she would live long, so he decided to not “waste money” paying her school fees.

But she’s outlived most of her family, managing her diabetes through diet and the occasional trip to the clinic to have her blood sugar checked - and she still going strong (though her blood pressure shoots up any time she gets stressed).

So she has spent her entire life trying to give others a chance, people who've otherwise been written off as hopeless, useless, “too sick,” “too poor,” and so on. She defied the odds and knows that sometimes those who have to prove themselves in life are the ones who go the farthest. There’s a saying in Zambia that says “those who go alone go fast, but those who go together go far.” She dedicates herself to helping others go far.

Many nights she doesn't sleep, delivering babies in the community, making jewelry to sell to help fund Lusa, or worrying about her family and community members. Lately, she’s been worried about her house caving in while she’s asleep. 

You see, Mama Yoba has been building a new house for more than 20 years.  Many times when she had a bit of money or a stack of bricks ready to use, someone would come and ask for assistance: pastors needing bricks for their homes, friends needing money for medicine or funerals, or even repairs needing done at Lusa that in her mind, were more important than her own house. She’s a firm believer that when a man asks you for your tunic, you give your cloak as well. 

And through all this, you would think the community would absolutely adore her, but on the contrary, many talk about her because of some unfortunate circumstances that happened regarding an outside organization helping at Lusa a few years ago. Many only come to her when they’re in need, and often do so demanding her help. When her husband died, his family came and ransacked her house for her belongings (which is a fairly common occurrence here). She’s even been taken to court for “Satanism” and when the judge ruled that she clearly was not in the wrong and suggested she sue them for defamation, she stood firm on her beliefs and simply “turned the other cheek.”

Mama Yoba and Regina making jewelry
in their current home (taken in 2011) 

Don’t get me wrong – sometimes Mama Yoba is downright stubborn. But overall she is one of the most giving, selfless, strong individuals I know. And we hate the idea that every time it storms, there's a chance her house could collapse.

But her new house is almost done. Luke and I have really encouraged, challenged, donated, and even pushed her to finish this year. Bit by bit, brick by brick, she’s getting there. And when I went last week, she was down to countable needs – a few sheets of glass and putty, wiring, a few pockets of cement….

Enter story number two (I realize this is getting long…). Our involvement with the expat community has often provided great benefit to Mama Yoba and the children and benefactors of Lusa. We often take them carloads of gently used clothing and toys from friends at the mine – bringing such joy and meeting great needs. Our friends are glad to donate to a worthy cause and we’re glad to create a bridge between two very different communities. Rarely, though, do the two worlds actually connect (with the exception of craft markets where Mama Yoba and Regina and I sell the jewelry).

But this Christmas, our friends at the mine wanted to teach their children about giving. This week the kids and their parents got together and put together 100 sachets of candies, pencils and small toys to give to children in the community.  And we knew of no better place to distribute these special gifts than at Lusa. So as the emails have gone out inviting participants to come out to Kimasala on Christmas Eve and I've made the arrangements with Mama Yoba, we asked our friends if they would be willing to help Mama Yoba finish her house. And the response has been amazing. Emails went out beyond our church community and donations are coming from people we've never met. Tomorrow after church we are collecting several hundred dollars worth of kwacha, to present to Mama Yoba, who thinks that we’re coming purely to the benefit of the children.

And I feel like the greatest Christmas blessing for us, aside from the birth of our Savior of course, will be having the opportunity to bless Mama Yoba and Regina, our special friends and amazing examples of generosity and humility, in this awesome way.  

Selling Lusa jewelry at a craft market at the local mine

Merry Christmas everyone!
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Giving Up Everything

Often when we hear people marvel about how we "gave up everything" to move to Zambia as missionaries, we kind of shrug it off, almost feeling bad that they think that. This isn't sacrifice! I mean, we love so much about life here. We love how on a given Sunday we may be worshiping with people from as many as 10 different nations. Getting to a recipe calling for lemon juice and we just grab the fruit from our tree. How the air drops from a hot, sunny 100+ degrees to 60 and stormy in seconds during the rains. How everyone in our growing town, from the post office to Shoprite to the marketplace, knows when we've been traveling (and asks what we brought them). Walking everywhere at all times of the year. The friendly, relaxed pace of life. How Luke and I have been forced into a stronger relationship because sometimes we're all we've got. Seeing genuine change from things we've taught. And how when you're where God wants you, there's just a peace about life.

But then there are times when we long for life stateside, feeling the "sacrifices" just aren't worth it. Being a target for lewd comments and demand for handouts wherever we go. Not being able to take a peaceful walk through the neighborhood holding my husband's hand. Power cuts, plumbing problems, and frightening roads. Lack of quality healthcare and screening, especially as we try to start a family. Pouring ourselves out spiritually without a fountain from which to drink. Injustices and inefficiencies in policies and policing. The inability to use reason to solve problems with processes, bills and the above inefficiencies. Times when there seems to be zero fruit from all the ministry efforts. And missing important milestones, family events, weddings, funerals, reunions, and all our friends and family back home.

Usually the good outweighs the not-so-good, but as we've noted in our last two prayer letters, sometimes the bad just mounds up in a giant pile of stink (like the trash in one of the compounds we walk through each week). Those are the times when we find ourselves thinking maybe it's not worth it. Life would be "so much easier" back home. We tried and that's enough, right?

But what if Jesus had said that? When he didn't feel like his disciples were "getting it." When his own mother made selfish demands of his time and ability. When the need around him was too much. When everyone wanted to take, take, take and his strength waned. When one of his best friends betrayed him. When the stones were thrown. What if Jesus had given up and gone back to life as a simple carpenter, because it would be easier?

I for one am glad he didn't. Think of the pile of stink we'd all be in if Jesus had given up on the road to Calvary - turned around, and gone home - because saving us from the debt of our sin wasn't "worth it?"

And so we remember why we're here. Not for some romantic, idealistic aid project. Not for the accolades of others (though the affirmation is certainly nice sometimes). Not because life is easier or inherently more enjoyable in this hemisphere. But for God's glory. Because of Jesus' death on the cross and resurrection for our forgiveness. Because many millions of people haven't heard this Good News of forgiveness. He said we were worth it. He also said to take up our crosses and follow him - not because it would be easy (in fact he says it may be downright difficult) or because we would receive earthly treasures - but because He's worth it.

So we may have given up a lot to serve Him here. You may be giving up a lot by supporting us in that work (thank you thank you thank you!). But, it's all so little compared to what he gave up for us, and all so worth it.

"What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ" (Philippians 3:8 NIV)