The Significance of Senders

I didn’t realize Michael was listening (though he’s always listening) when a few moms were talking about jobs at the park today. All of a sudden he chimed in with, “my mommy is a missionary – and I’m a missionary too!”

He likes to tell Luke he’s a missionary, usually followed by, “so that means I need to come to work with you.”

We’ve talked a lot about how Jesus calls all of us to be missionaries, and to tell people about him. We also talk about how Daddy’s job is to train new missionaries how to tell people all over the world about Jesus.

Staying here to train those who go.

“How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!” – Romans 10:14-15

How are they to preach unless they are sent? It’s pretty huge. They can’t go if we’re not sending. And we absolutely 100 percent feel that this is right where God wants us right now. We have such a passion about our work walking new missionaries through the process of going, and a peace that this is our calling for now. Yet sometimes it feels so insignificant. Especially when we try to communicate our role here to our financial partners.

As a writer, I love to tell stories. And for four years, we were able to share some pretty incredible stories of God's goodness and power. We experienced firsthand pretty incredible stories of God at work. Now I sit to write our newsletters and don’t know where to start.

But lately I’ve started thinking about the stories that aren’t ours directly, but because of the training and wisdom and support we were able to provide, are happening all over the world. Stories of changed hearts from discipleship, breakthroughs in communities through sports ministry, hope and healing brought through medical care. Stories where our missionaries have experienced God in new ways as they’ve been stretched by cultural learning and adjustment.

Sometimes we hear these stories through their blogs and facebook and newsletters. Sometimes it’s a 6 a.m. Skype call to Japan or Senegal or an email asking for advice or prayer. It’s the praises in chapel for people getting on their first plane or when the visas for East Asia are finally granted.

Through their stories, we are reassured that our roles are significant. That we are part of the sending. So how do we communicate that to you, our support team and prayer warriors? It’s certainly not as romantic as heading off to Zambia to work with orphans and vulnerable children. And this is where I’ve struggled in communicating our needs since we returned from Zambia. Raising support is honestly one of the hardest and most humbling parts about being a missionary – and one of the hardest things we’ve ever had to do. Raising support here in the US is especially difficult, because the stories look different and life looks different.

But if I downplay our importance in the process – as senders – I feel like I’m also downplaying the importance of your role in the process – sending us. Your support and prayers are significant; because by standing with us, you are helping these folks take the Good News of Jesus Christ to the world. And my friend, that is something in which Jesus has called us all to play a part.

So thank you, for those of you who have supported us and prayed for us. We especially thank those of you who have continued to see the significance of this work even though our location and ministry have changed. Thank you to those who have started supporting us in the last two years. You have helped us see the significance in the work God has called us to here in the US. And thank you to those who are considering joining our financial team even now.

As we come up on the end of SIM’s fiscal year this month, we are sitting at about 82 percent of the support we need to sustain our ministry of training and equipping new missionaries. One-time gifts this month would be a huge help in making up that deficit. Of great need right now, though, is several friends to commit to new monthly giving to support our work here.

Please pray that the Lord would raise up new members to our financial team. Please prayerfully consider whether God might be leading you to join that team yourself. If not for us, we can direct you to other missionaries in various ministries who need financial support.

And he said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. – Luke 10:2

We are helping train laborers for the harvest. What an awesome opportunity – and you can be a part of it! Let’s be senders.

Let me know today if you want to join our team, or click here to sign up for regular giving (or to make a one-time gift).

We appreciate you. Your role as a sender is significant. Your prayers are incredibly significant. Thank you.

We've enjoyed working with this sweet family - who leave this week for Ethiopia!

 "I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making my prayer with joy, 5 because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now" - Philippians 1:3-4

On leaving. On waiting. On growing.

There are days I really miss Zambia.

And not just because it’s crazy cold here and I want to throw open all the windows and doors and walk around in flip flops (though all of that is very very true).

But I miss the culture. The pace. The people. Our sweet little house with all its flaws. The music. The color. The red dust in every corner and crevice. Laundry and diapers drying on the line. Mulberries straight off the tree. The incredible sunsets over our backyard, easily visible from the kitchen sink. And Jungle and Chibi running like crazy around the yard as they did most afternoons as I prepared a from-scratch dinner with locally grown tomatoes and other goodies.

The simplicity of life, despite the complexity of living in a culture not our own.

We loved Zambia. We still love Zambia. And quite honestly, as we continue in this period of not knowing what’s next for us here, I kinda wish we hadn’t left when we did.

And yet, we knew it was time.

There were such a myriad of factors and so much of the reasoning can’t be explained in a letter or blog (but we’d love to share more over dinner or coffee sometime)! We spent the entire eight months we were back (and honestly, the entire year and a half before that) asking God if that was really where He wanted us. For seven months we just heard “wait.” For seven months, I watched my husband pour himself into our ministry and hit dead end after dead end, wondering if the resistance was from God or the Enemy. I watched him wrestle with our call, our place, our identity, and ultimately, with God (remaining faithful through it all). I watched him get hurt in relationships that we expected to bring life. I watched as daily frustrations and difficulties became unmanageable and debilitating. I watched him battle loneliness that I could not fill and depression that I could not fix.

And I prayed. Because that’s all I really could do. I didn’t pray that we stay or that we go. I just prayed that in the right time, we would know, and that there would be peace in the knowing.

So on that one day in late October when all of it seemed particularly hard and getting out of bed was daunting enough a task to send Luke right back under the covers, we prayed again. And together we felt God was saying “go.” By the end of that day, that “Go” came louder and clearer. And then there was peace. We decided it was, in fact, time.

Funny thing (or God thing) is that when we made the decision officially, there was a light and passion in Luke that I had not seen in many many months. Looking back, it’s as if the depression was more of an oppression. 

Now, going without knowing where we were going was not exactly an easy or straightforward thing. We don’t like not knowing. We like planning. Doing. Having “all our ducks in a row” (whatever that actually means). But just as the Lord told Abram to leave everything to Go “to the land I will show you”, we knew we were just supposed to go, and God would eventually show us where.

From there we think things got a little muddled. In fact, we probably burned a few bridges from unclear or hasty communication. For that, we are deeply sorry. When you’re telling a hundred different people bits and pieces, the whole picture gets a bit blurry and convoluted. Hopes came across as facts. Leaving came across as quitting altogether. And despite months and months of prayer and communication with dear friends, it all happened very fast once the decision was made. So here are a few logistical details:

Luke’s work permit was set to expire January 6, so we knew it would be best to go before that rather than reapply. Then it just made sense to try to leave before Christmas to be with family for the holidays, especially with Michael’s first birthday on Christmas. Plane tickets get more expensive as you get closer to the holidays, and we knew we would need time to fight jetlag and prepare for Christmas. So we booked our tickets for December 9.

Those last several weeks were busy with selling, giving, packing, and arranging. They were also full of meaningful farewells, joyful celebrations of friendship and ministry, and good closure on that chapter of our lives. Every day, we miss something about Zambia, but we don’t question the decision to leave. We weren’t excited to come back, but we are excited for what God has next.

We did not leaving knowing we had a definite position here, and we are still in limbo as far as that goes. We definitely aren’t quitting missions. Our hearts are still very much for sharing Jesus with those who have never heard the Gospel. We won’t even say we’re done overseas (though, for the time being, we feel we need to be Stateside). We’re just waiting to learn the what, where, how, when and who of it all (living out of suitcases and trying to make sense of life).

Let me tell you. The waiting is hard. We spent February at a conference in Michigan for missionaries who have faced burnout or other difficulties. This was a healing time. A renewing time. We were affirmed in our decision to leave and equipped for whatever lies ahead. During a seminar on suffering, one thing struck me more than anything else. So often, Romans 8:28 is used as a band-aid to “comfort” those in hard circumstances – you know, that “all things work together for good.”

Well, they do. And not in a, tomorrow, life will be rosy sort of way. Life may still be hard. It may get harder. God uses that. He uses it in ways we will never know to bring results we will never see.  But He also uses that for the good in us. Our hardship draws us to Him. It sanctifies us – makes us more and more Christlike – and for that we truly can rejoice in the trials.

We don’t regret our time in Zambia. We don’t regret leaving Zambia. We don’t even regret all the junky stuff we experienced along the way, as we know:

…“suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts...” (Romans 5:3-5)

That, my friends, is good. 

*so that was intended to be a lighthearted blog about missing Zambia, but I apparently had a lot more to say. That probably wouldn't be a problem if I updated the blog a bit more often. Thanks for reading, though! Perhaps Luke will have more to say....*

Home for Christmas

and..... deep breath.

and as I breathe that deep breath, an amazing sense of peace washes over me. A peace that says we're doing the right thing, at the right time.

We have made the decision to leave Zambia. There were a myriad of factors leading to this decision, and it certainly did not come easily, but the decision has been made and we hope to be home by Christmas.

Home is such a strange word, isn't it? Since we started dating 10 years ago (and really before that), our focus has been on the next step to get to Africa. Four years ago, we arrived. Literally. Figuratively. Zambia became home. We bought our first refrigerator and washing machine. We adopted one, then two dogs. We established a routine of cooking from scratch and navigating the markets and learning to communicate at all stops along the way. We arrived in Zambia with rose-colored glasses and an uncrushable spirit.

But to be completely honest, our spirits have been crushed. Through hurtful situations. Through spiritual valleys. Through circumstances far outside our control.

We've tried to stick it out. We've redirected our ministry more than once. We've focused on the things we love (the Zambian people, the pace of life, the climate, tropical fruit, etc.). We've prayed. We've cried. We've prayed some more.

And God has shown us it's time to go. We won't say we're done with Africa. We certainly aren't done with missions. But for now, we will no longer call Zambia home.

We will no longer call Zambia home.

Those are hard words to swallow, but go down so smoothly.

We know home is where God calls us to be at that time. He goes before us and is with us.

So as we once again sell most of our belongings and prepare to say a thousand sad good byes, we look forward to our next home. Details are slowly working themselves out. It looks like Charlotte, North Carolina will be home for the foreseeable future (though we promise our friends and family in Illinois and Missouri to spend the holidays with you).

We will still be missionaries, but for the time being, our role will be to equip and mobilize other missionaries in some way or another from our home office. As we know more, we will share more.

It's all so bittersweet. But we have peace. Peace we've not had in many months, maybe years.

Thank you for praying with us through this transition. Thank you for loving us despite our crushed spirits.

We'll be home for Christmas.

"It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed."- Deut. 31:8

What happens when you wait on God....

So since the Wesslers are all about candid honesty today, I thought it only appropriate to give an update on how it's been coming back. I mean, how it's really been.

Before I do that, I'm going to add to Luke's list of things missionaries won't tell you but we'll tell you anyway. We are not superheroes.  We hosted a team last year that likened our missionaries to members of The Avengers. It was encouraging (humbling), but the only superhero talent I possess is knowing exactly what size tupperware I need for the amount of leftovers we have. (Ask my husband - I'm a champ). We are not more righteous or holy than you. We do not have an amazing channel to God that enables us to know exactly His will in every situation and He hasn't spoken to us through any burning bushes (yet?). We even go through times when we feel He isn't hearing our cries. Seriously.  *cue current favorite song* In fact, I think it's knowing our own brokenness and sin and desperate need for Jesus that makes us passionate about sharing who He is and what He did with the world (and we don't even do that very well sometimes). We're not here because we're awesome. We're here because He's awesome, and willing to use us despite our propensity to pretend we're superheroes and try to do things in our strength and end up walking straight into a wall of kryptonite.

Now that I've put that out there, I'll share a bit of the nitty gritty. As we were preparing to come back, we shared our concerns regarding Michael's health. In my mind, the only reason we wouldn't return is if we didn't feel it was safe for him. Personally, I felt a bit like Abraham. We prayed and prayed and prayed for a child, and who were we to tell God we wouldn't continue His work because we were afraid He couldn't handle Michael's health needs. I never considered that His work for us might not be Sports Friends. Might not be Zambia. Might not be international missions (don't freak out - just keep reading...). So when all the lights flashed green for Michael to come, I started packing bags and booking tickets.

If you know me, you know I'm a bit impulsive and headstrong. I was ready to come back and didn't consider asking Luke how he really felt. In all honesty, we left our first term absolutely burnt out. Exhausted. Hurt. In hindsight, most of my struggle fell around two things - bitterness and unforgiveness with particular individuals (that has since been resolved), and our struggle to conceive (also resolved, obviously). So as I experienced that healing, along with awesome encouragement from a conference last summer, I felt my cup starting to refill. Apparently, Luke was still running on empty. But once I get an idea in my head (the idea that all was well and we were coming "home" to Zambia), there's usually no telling me otherwise.

Fast forward to April, and we arrived back to a lot of work to be done on our house and only a handful of our churches using their training to impact their communities, and it was hard. As I wrote about in my recent blog, I know my calling right now is to support my husband in his calling and care for our family. But when I saw my normally passionate husband in a lonely, depressed schlump, I literally told him, "I'm not convinced this is still your call."

Ouch.

He'd been wondering the same. But I just put it out there and opened the scary, ugly door. Talk about crying out to God.

Over the next several weeks, we cried out. We prayed. We emailed a handful of people that we knew would give us honest responses and prompt critical questions. We considered the options. We asked ourselves and God those critical questions, and even sat down with some of our Zambian brothers and asked the same things. Does Zambia need Sports Friends? Does it need missionaries at all? What is the biggest need of the church here? What is the goal? Are we equipped and called to help meet those needs? And we waited.

Now before you freak out (or jump for joy (sorry Mom)), we're not leaving. At least not now. Had to put that out there before going any further. All that praying, questioning, refocusing... allowed us to do just that - refocus. One night while we were both waiting for responses from some trusted friends, God gave us each, separately, the same new vision for the ministry (still no burning bush, but it was clear nonetheless). I won't go into all the details, as this is already looking more like a book than a blog, but basically, we both woke up knowing that, yes, we're supposed to be here, and exactly how to move forward with Sports Friends in a way that will help to meet discipleship needs of the churches with whom we work and prepare future leaders for service and mission. We'll hash that out more in future letters/posts.

Some might say we wasted our first two months here, dragging our feet to get going. But sometimes in ministry (especially when "reporting" all of "our success" to supporters back home), I think there is a risk of moving forward in the ways we know or want to do things instead of waiting on God. Those weeks of waiting were hard (did I say I'm impulsive?). Really hard. But I wouldn't trade them in. Why? Because we now feel we are moving forward the way He has shown us rather than just doing ministry for the sake of ministry. Because it's His mission, not ours. And because, sometimes, He's doing a mighty work in us while we wait. *cue second song*

Moses spent 40 years in the wilderness before leading the Israelites out of Egypt. Jesus spent 40 days in the desert before starting his earthly ministry. Paul is said to have spent three years in Arabia and Damascus before starting his missionary journeys in Acts 13. So yeah, maybe we needed some extra time on the front end here. But now we're ready. And we can't wait to see how He uses us in this chapter of His story.

In my weakness...

We leave to return to Zambia in four weeks. Four weeks. It sounds so distant, but it is fast approaching, and emotions are running high. We've experienced most of this before - excitement regarding the upcoming travel, sadness over leaving family and friends behind, stress as we wrap up a variety of last-minute details.

But this time it's...different.

When we moved to Zambia in 2010, we were filled with excitement and expectation. Everything we had been working towards since before we started dating in 2004 was finally happening. We were moving overseas - to Africa - to serve as missionaries. We were starting a new life. It was all a great adventure. We were riding on a spiritual and emotional high.

And then things changed. Days, weeks, months went by. That adventure became life. And at times, life was hard. But we had each other, and we had God, and we made it through. What I didn't realize at the time, though, was how much I acted as my own worst enemy, how often I brought myself down, telling myself I wasn't good enough. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't qualified enough. I was in way over my head. I brought myself so low that, by the end of our first term, I was completely burned out and empty. I needed to come back on Home Assignment.

And I didn't want to go back to Zambia.

I managed to convince myself that I wasn't the right person to lead the ministry in Zambia. I could list off name after name of people I thought could do a better job. People more qualified. People more spiritual. People with more energy, more training, more vision. People with a better relationship with God.

The thing is, I continued to feel this way up until just recently. Even after Tiffany booked our tickets to return, I was convinced that we were only going back by default. We had to go back, because the right people hadn't been found, so we were warm bodies willing to fill in until then. It wasn't until recently that this all began to change.

We were asked to talk about our ministry to the Jr. and Sr. High youth groups at a supporting church. They wanted us to talk about what we do, but more importantly they wanted us to talk about how we got there. How did we know God called us on mission? What steps did we take to get into the field? And it was in reflecting on these questions and preparing for this presentation that I realized that I was actually right. I'm not good enough, or talented enough, or smart enough.

And I'm not supposed to be.

After all, if I were good enough, I wouldn't need God to do the work - His work. Paul knew this and wrote about it in several of his letters, probably most notably in 2 Corinthians 12, where he says in verses 9 and 10,

"But [Jesus] said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (ESV)

Paul, this great missionary and leader in the early church, understood that he wasn't good enough. He would never be good enough. And this is what made his ministry so successful, because it kept him from relying upon his own strength and seeking to receive all the glory. Rather, he needed to rely upon Christ for the ability to continue in ministry, and it was Christ who caused the growth, who orchestrated the change, who made the difference, and who received the glory.

As we go back to Zambia, I don't want to be good enough. I want to rely upon Christ. I want to be open and ready to be used by Him, and my "good enough-ness" would stand in His way.

On Going… or Staying

Tomorrow is the big day. The visit to the urologist. Luke and I have probably put undue weight on the outcome of this appointment in our decision on when, and if, to go back to Zambia. But regardless of the validity of that weight, it's there.

Michael has kidney reflux, vesicoureteral reflux, to give you the technical term. We suspected this months ago when his kidneys were enlarged in utero, but tests last month confirmed it. On a scale from zero to 5, the radiologist said the one side is a 1, and the other a 2 or 3. According to our pediatrician, this means he'll likely grow out of it. Even so, it will require some degree of follow up, to be determined at the urologist tomorrow.

We'd like to go back to Zambia in April. That's what we've been saying since we learned we were expecting. We may even be able to do follow up in South Africa, or even Lusaka, Zambia. But while I at least am holding out hope that will be the case, it might not work out that way.  The tests and medications may require we stay here.

So for the past several weeks (months), we've been throwing around a lot of "what ifs?". What if we have to stay in the states longer? What if we need to be here permanently? And after my obstetrician said it is very likely I would have preterm labor with future pregnancies and need weekly shots from mid-pregnancy on to help prevent that, what if we go back now and wrap things up when/if we get pregnant again?

And to be completely honest, we have valid options for all of the above scenarios. We know that God has a good and perfect plan for us and for Michael and if He wants us back in Zambia, He'll get us there in His timing. But I'm going to share an honest look at my heart in all of this…

First of all, we're not heartless or irresponsible when it comes to Michael. We don't want to take him somewhere where he will be in danger or "deprived" as some have put it. We know that growing up in the mission field has it's risks but it also carries an amazing richness of life we would love for him. We're not blinded to the risks, though, and are taking his needs into foremost consideration as we look at our future.

That said, though, we also know that if that is where the Lord wants us, His hand of peace and protection will be on us. As the psalmist says, "If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall lead me." (Psalm 139:9-10)

But here's the heart issue. I'm worried about you. Our friends and supporters. What will you think if we don't go back? What will you think if we have to spend a few extra months stateside before we head back? Are we letting you down? Failing in your sight? Or in a very practical sense, squandering your support as we wait? 

As someone who desperately wants the approval of others, your reactions are sometimes more daunting than the actual course of action. The fact that you could think that we are being lazy or greedy or whatever other concept I can think of as I worry is well, worrisome. That we may have "failed" in our missionary endeavor that we've set our hearts, minds, and life on since we started dating almost 10 years ago is frightening. Who are we if not missionaries? What would life even look like if not focused on taking His Word to the nations?

Yes, we know we can have that same focus from central Illinois or Charlotte or Dallas. We could work with SIM or Sports Friends in recruiting or material development or communications or other ways to further the Great Commission. Or we could be going back to Zambia for a shorter, more determined period of time, or perhaps indefinitely. We don't know - and we may not know after we visit the doctor tomorrow. 

God rarely spells out more than a short glimpse of what He has in store for us moving forward. It's often day by day, week by week. I don't think we (anyone) could really handle more than that.

As we look for that next glimpse - as we think about April or next year or several years down the road - we know it's in His hands. In the meantime, I will try to trust, and try to humbly realize that your love is not conditional - not based on souls saved or our geographic whereabouts. I will ask, though, for your friendship, and for your prayers. Prayers for health, especially for Michael. Prayers for wisdom. Prayers for peace. 

We don't know what tomorrow may bring, literally, in the sense of February 11, or figuratively in the broader sense of our future, but we know we serve a good, powerful, all-knowing God who has a good, wonderful plan. We've hit speed bumps and detours in the past and He has always shown us a new, better way forward. So we hold our sweet babe and set all planning aside, waiting for tomorrow in confidence of Him.

"Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit' - yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.'" - James 4:13-15

One Cup at a Time

It’s hard to see people suffering. For many of us, our very nature wants to jump in, meet the need, and end the hurt in the world. But one thing we had to learn early on to survive the mission field, is that we as individuals cannot physically help everyone in need.

Shortly before we left for Zambia, my grandfather scoffed at the idea of us helping impoverished people in Africa. There is so much need. How were we going to make a difference? He compared it to the seemingly ridiculous idea of draining the ocean one cup at a time. I told him, “Then I’m going to take my cup and get to work and hope that others join me; and when I can’t go on, I’ll hope that more will pick up where I left off.”

Perhaps the overwhelming need in Zambia – for food, shelter, clothing, medical care, role models, education, and the love of Jesus – has desensitized us. Sometimes you have to put blinders on as you walk through town just to make it through your day without giving up. And with the tornadoes that whipped through central Illinois last Sunday and destroyed so many of our friends' homes, we find ourselves doing the same thing for the first time on this side of the world, just to get through it without giving up.

It’s not that we’re ignoring the need. It’s just that if we look at all the devastation, all the need, all the hurt, all the people who’ve lost everything, we get too overwhelmed to be effective in the task before us. It becomes paralyzing.

At seven months pregnant, my options for helping are fairly limited (no piling up large debris by the roadside for me), and I’d more likely be in the way than a helpful blessing in such settings. So I’ve helped where I can – taking inventory of a friend’s battered home, listening, praying.

The beauty of it all is, that as we all give what we can where we can, the needs are met. There has been a tremendous outpouring of support from the entire community, state, and nation in response to these tornadoes. Everyone is doing something. And a lot of somethings add up to everything. I personally may not be able to help everyone, but I can help someone. And as we all help someone, a lot of someones are helped. 

That’s how it works here. That’s how it works in Zambia. We can’t feed every hungry mouth or clothe every underdressed child. But we can help the one. We can serve where we are able. We can train others like our Sports Friends coaches to do the same and they can help the ones in their lives. No one can meet every need. But everyone can meet a need.

Whether it’s contributing to hurricane relief in the Philippines, helping clean up from the tornadoes in the Midwest, sponsoring a Sports Friends coach, serving as a missionary, partnering with a missionary, or committing to prayer, you too can meet a need. And there are plenty of needs to be met, that’s for sure. But hey, I’ll do my small part as part of the body. As a laborer in the harvest. Will you do yours?

“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” – Matthew 9:36-38

With that, I’m reminded of the story of the man and the starfish.

“While wandering a deserted beach at dawn, stagnant in my work, I saw a man in the distance bending and throwing as he walked the endless stretch toward me. As he came near, I could see that he was throwing starfish, abandoned on the sand by the tide, back into the sea. When he was close enough I asked him why he was working so hard at this strange task. He said that the sun would dry the starfish and they would die. I said to him that I thought he was foolish. there were thousands of starfish on miles and miles of beach. One man alone could never make a difference. He smiled as he picked up the next starfish. Hurling it far into the sea he said, 'It makes a difference for this one.' I abandoned my writing and spent the morning throwing starfish.” ― Loren Eiseley

Let’s make a difference for the one. One cup at a time.

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. 

Gratitude

"And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. As it is written: 'They have freely scattered their gifts to the poor; their righteousness endures forever.' Now he who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed and will enlarge the harvest of your righteousness. You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God." - 2 Corinthians 9:8-11

 

Wow. We have so many reasons to give thanks. So many people for whom to give thanks. So many blessings...

 

In the eight weeks since we've been stateside we've been in nine different states (some of them multiple times), stayed in nine different homes, driven four different cars and ridden in many others, and had a million reasons to say "thank you."

 

So that's just what we want to do. We want to say "thank you" to all of you who have welcomed us back with open arms. Thank you to those who have opened your homes as we've traveled around from place to place. Thank you for offering us rides to and from events. Thank you to those of you who offered your vehicles for our use while we're here. Thank you for the meals you've served us and the tabs you've picked up. Thank you for inviting us to your churches, small groups, and family gatherings. And thank you for listening, asking questions, and caring.

 

And that's just been the last eight weeks! We can't even begin to thank those of you who have stood with us throughout this journey thus far. Some of you have supported us from the very beginning. Thank you. Thank you if you joined in at any point along the way. Thank you to those who faithfully prayed for us throughout the ups and downs of our first term in Zambia. Thank you for your letters, emails, packages, phone calls, and facebook messages. Thank you. Thank you for being open to the Spirit's guidance to give generously, joyfully and abundantly.

 

As we look at the rest of our home assignment and our return to Zambia next spring, we have and will have many more reasons to give thanks. And as much as we thank each of you for responding to God's leading in your lives, your generosity has resulted in thanksgiving to God. We praise and thank God for each of you. We thank Him for your friendship and for blessing you to be a blessing to others. We thank Him for listening to your prayers to Him on our behalf. Specifically, we thank Him for answering our prayers (and many of your prayers as well) that we would be able to conceive. God is so good!

We thank God for His provision, His comfort and His protection. We thank Him most of all for His grace. Without the death and resurrection of His Son Jesus Christ, we would have no reason to serve, to give, to love - and no reason to give thanks. Thank you Lord that we do.

 

And thank you.

be gentle with me

In exactly four weeks we will be starting our debrief and reentry meetings at SIM USA’s headquarters in Charlotte.  Are we excited? Absolutely.  Are we ready for the break?  I think we’re a few months past ready.  Are we nervous?  You bet.

A lot has changed in 2 ½ years.  I’m sure infrastructures in the States have changed since we left.  Styles have changed.  Kids we knew as toddlers are in school and have little brothers and sisters we haven’t met.  Family members have aged.  And others won’t be there at all anymore. 

And somehow, sometime, unbeknownst to us, we've changed.  Physically. Spiritually. Mentally.  We look in the mirror and see sunspots and wrinkles from a few too many walks through town without sunscreen.  My hair has grown and been bleached by the sun along the way.  Our hands have aged from digging in the dirt and washing dishes and holding the hands of sick friends.  My left shoulder bone has been higher than the right since the car accident last year.

But those changes are just on the surface.  Our hearts have changed.  We've experienced great joy and great pain – sometimes all at once.  We've seen things that will be forever etched in our memories.  We've met people whose lives have humbled us in ways nothing else could. We've planned our ministries, our programs and even our days to have everything change at the drop of a hat.  We've stood for hours in lines only to find out we’re in the wrong place.  We've put up with lewd comments from drunks and constant requests for aid.  Children we've held have died from preventable causes.  Our bodies have experienced illnesses that we still can’t identify.  We've experienced miracles and cried out for miracles that just weren't part of God’s plan.

Our hearts have changed.  You may find us quieter -  more mellow.  In that quiet, we may be praying.  Prayer has become so much more of a lifeline.  After all, praying has been our only option in many situations.  Sometimes tears may come unexplained, and sometimes they won’t be able to come at all.  We may not be able to tell you about it, as sometimes you just have to be there to understand.  Please ask questions anyway.  We may be easily overwhelmed or in need of rest.  We may even seem judgmental or bitter toward life “back home.”  Please forgive us for that. 

There’s an old Jewel song, “I’m Sensitive,” that often gets in my head that says,

“So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.”

 

We’re going to be sensitive.  We’re not quite sure how we’ll fit in anymore.  We don’t know if our friends will still like us.  We may look different, act different, talk different.  We may not feel very social.  And sometimes, we may need to be social.  We may call you and ask to hang out or go walking or just keep us company while we sift through our feelings.  Sometimes, we may just want to have a whole lot of fun and temporarily forget all of that heavy stuff that makes us quieter and more mellow and… different.

So please know it’s not you.  It’s us.  Sometimes you might not know what to do with us.  We usually don’t either.  Be gentle.  Be patient.  And if it’s really bad, just smack us on the head and tell us to lighten up.  

We can’t wait to see you. 

and I cried

When I called Mama Yoba at midnight and she told me that a well-trained birthing nurse was able to remove the placenta and that Regina was recovering, I cried.  I cried tears of joy and relief that my dear friend would be okay.  I cried tears of thanksgiving to God for hearing our prayers.  I cried tears of exhaustion.  I told Luke that I think the tears I cried were tears of all the stress and exhaustion of the last two-plus years, finally spilling over.  The dam broke, my strength was gone, and I cried.

I didn't know Regina was pregnant until about a month ago.  We hadn't been together as much and she hid it well.  When she finally told me, she was ashamed, saying it was a mistake and they hadn't been responsible.  It came as quite a surprise, as I had just recommended that another missionary call Regina to speak on purity at a girls’ workshop.  But I assured her I was there for her.  She was my friend.  And of all the Zambians I have come to know and love, Regina is probably the only real, mutual friend – almost a sister.  

Tuesday I decided to walk to Kimasala to visit Regina and Mama Yoba and some of the others out by Lusa.  I arrived to find out that Mama Yoba was in Lusaka and Regina had gone to the hospital Monday afternoon with severe cramping. When I visited Tuesday evening, she had not actually seen a doctor, but was feeling a bit better.  Wednesday afternoon I stopped in again, and she had been discharged – never seeing a doctor, having an ultrasound or anything.  Thursday morning I received a text message from her brother saying she had been sick all night.  I called and she said she wanted to rest a bit, but a couple of hours later she wanted to go to the hospital.  I picked her up, along with her cousin and the baby’s father and we went to a small clinic in town that specialized in ultrasound.  The technician said her amniotic fluid was dangerously low and we should go straight to the hospital.

Back in the overcrowded maternity ward, Regina was given one of the last available beds.  An initial exam determined she was in pre-term labor, and that was that.  There was no medication, no further analysis.  They were just going to let the labor carry on (though only seven months pregnant).  Now most women are completely alone through the labor process.  With 3-6 beds in an area, they lay there in the heat and fight through the contractions quietly and alone, until it’s time to actually give birth (which may be why many women prefer to deliver in their homes).

Visiting hours are very strict: 6-7 a.m. and 5-6 p.m.  I stood by Regina for the first three hours, holding her hand, fanning her with a notebook, praying fervently, and slowly noticing I was the only “visitor” in the area.  At 3 p.m., I went outside to ask her friend and her cousin if one of them would stay with her for a bit while I went to get a bite to eat and put gas in the car (there had been a shortage and I was running on fumes).  They told me they wouldn't be allowed - that I was only allowed because I was white.  I think the one friend made her way at least for some of the time because she was nine months pregnant and could easily pass as a patient.

I returned for 5 p.m. visiting hours, only to find out Regina had gone into the labor room.  This is a room with three beds side-by-side, in which the women lay completely naked through the birthing process.  All the women are expected to bring a sheet of plastic, gloves, and other supplies for use by the hospital.  By 5:20, Regina had given birth to a 3 pound baby girl.  The baby was taken straight to an incubator, but Regina was not in the clear yet.  A group of us waited until 7:00, but Regina had still not delivered the placenta.  One of the older caregivers for Lusa convinced the nurses to allow her to stay, but the rest of us were forced to go.  Mama Yoba was still in transit from Lusaka, and most of the day I was praying she would arrive quickly.  She called me from the bus shortly after I arrived home pleading with me to do something – to tell the nurses they needed to help Regina.  I didn't know what to do.  There was nothing I could do.

And I was so afraid I would lose my friend.  I even told Luke that if something happened to her, I didn't think I could come back to Zambia. I couldn't handle it.

After a hot shower and a few hours of tossing and turning but not sleeping, I called Mama Yoba.  Regina was fine.  Everything was going to be okay.  And I cried.

Thank you Jesus. 

Because He Lives

Every once in a while something pops up that makes us think, “what if?”  A note from a former employer or co-worker, a discussion about some past achievement, the Olympics (I’ll elaborate on that one), or a general feeling that we’re not accomplishing anything here…

What if we had taken a different path? What if we were still in that job?  What if we had continued in certain sports?What if, what if, what if.  Sometimes, it carries a twinge of jealousy or remorse. “I could have been…” or “remember when?...”

It’s like a conversation Luke and I had several years ago during the Olympics when Luke asked me, “Do you ever think that if you had trained a little harder, you could have made it to the Olympics?” – not just in reference to my running, but also to his gymnastics and diving talents.  A sort of, looking back, wondering if we took the right turn in the road.

Yesterday I wandered onto LinkedIn, a networking site I used quite a bit in my “corporate life,” seeking out partnerships and job opportunities, posting open positions, and building expertise in areas of marketing and communications.  I had several “recommended jobs” pop up and jokingly asked Luke if I should apply for a specific job that came up. 

I think it was more to prove I’m capable of such a position than an actual desire to do it. To "live up to my potential." The power, the glory, the accolades….

And then I remember the cross.  And His power. His glory.  I think about Hebrews 9:14 where it says, “How much more, then, will the blood of Christ… cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, SO THAT we may serve the living God!”

We serve a living God!A living God who sent His Son to die and on the third day rise from the dead so that we may approach the throne of grace through the righteous perfection of Christ and worship Him and serve Him!

‘"Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him.’ – Matthew 4:19-20

I keep trying to pick my nets back up.  Sometimes I think that would be easier.  Or at least a bit more predictable.

And then I think, many of the disciples were trained as fishermen for a reason – maybe to help them become “fishers of men?” So I get all Eric Liddell about running and think that maybe God wants to use that. He does and He has. Not through some Olympic medal, but it was because of running that I went to Bradley, where I first heard God’s call on my life to missions and met Luke.  And through training and persevering and having great coaches and some not-so-great coaches, Luke and I both have a greater understanding and perspective as we equip young men and women here to use sports to share Christ and make disciples.

In the job sphere, perhaps using my writing and marketing to tell people about God’s awesome glory and help share what He’s doing for His kingdom in Zambia is why He gave me that net in the first place. It may not carry the huge paycheck here on earth, but Christ already reserved a treasure for me in Heaven. 

Our call to serve God here is still very clear, and there’s a certain peace (in the midst of turmoil) that comes with being in His will and using our gifts to serve Him.  Yet, we are still so very human and often still think we need affirmation and accolades.  And while waiting to one day hear God say, “well done, my good and faithful servant”  (Matthew 25:21, 23), I believe He sometimes gives us affirmation through creative channels, like this message I found from a former co-worker while browsing LinkedIn yesterday:

“Hey Tiffany – I was driving this morning when my partner called to tell me about a marketing manager role in Dallas. I started telling her about you and said that I would look you up.  Then I saw your profile – WOW! Stand up and applaud! I have said for years that I wanted to have “time” to volunteer and serve.  Something that there never seems to be enough of…. Time. I think that what you are doing is so awesome….. Just wanted to tell you how impressed I am with your courage.  Good luck – sending prayers.”

I’m not posting this so you congratulate us on our work as missionaries.  Often we feel like we can’t possibly be making a difference. Sometimes we yearn for a “normal” life.

Then we think about verses like Luke 9:62 (‘Jesus replied, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’”) and feel ashamed for even writing about our “what ifs.” But we remember the cross.  We look toward our glorious and living Savior. And worship Him in all His glory and splendor (and none of ours). We serve Him with a clear conscience.  And it’s all worth it.

Because He lives. 

Our God is Greater

Do you ever feel under attack?  Like something or someone is out to thwart and discourage your every effort? As we prepared for our first ever Sports Friends Basic Training in Zambia, we were fairly convinced the devil was doing everything in his power to mess things up, throw us off, and make us give it all up.

But our God is greater. 

This seemed to be a theme over the last several weeks.  Our God is greater.  In fact, several times I found myself singing Chris Tomlin’s chorus…

“Our God us greater, our God is stronger
God you are higher than any other
Our God is healer, awesome in power Our God…
and if our God is for us, then who could ever stop us,
And if our God is with us, then what could stand against?”

(Intermittently, I would sing part of the chorus from an old secular song: 

“Ain't nothing going to break my stride, nobody’s gonna slow me down.
Oh no, I've got to keep on moving….”)

As Luke drove to the airport to pick up our trainers from Ethiopia and the US, I was at home planning meals for the team and about to bake cookies – and our oven almost caught on fire. We stressed.  We worried.  Luke tried to squeeze in a bit of shopping for an oven, and gave up and drove the guys the 10-plus hours to Solwezi.  In the meantime, I found the needed replacement part and was able to fix the oven, feeling more empowered and thankful for God’s provision than I would have had the oven never broken. Our God is greater.

The week before that, we had three subsequent plumbing emergencies that flooded half the house.  Though stressful, we were able to fix the breaks, and praised God they happened when they did, and not with four men sharing one bathroom. Our God is greater.

As we printed training materials for the Basic Training, Luke took everything to a printer three hours drive from our house as he drove to Lusaka, only to find out they were struggling with the cover page.  Though stressful, it was taken care of and we saved $200 on printing by going to them. Our God is greater.

Buying supplies to feed our 46 coaches for the week of training, I quickly learned that there was no mealie meal available in town.  The first shortage in our two-plus years here.  Mealie meal is the base for nshima, the staple food in Zambia.  If you haven’t eaten nshima, you haven’t eaten.  Though we never found a large quantity, and I spent many hours driving around town looking, we found enough small bags over the course of the week to be just enough to feed the participants.  Not more, not less.  Enough.  Our God is greater.

Leading up to the training, we had several days with no rain.  On the morning the participants were set to arrive, the skies opened up and we thought many would delay or not come at all.  As lunch rolled around and we prepared for the first session, the sun came out.  Some did come late, but almost everyone still showed up at the start of the first session.  Our God is greater.

Speaking of rain, we had several of the biggest, loudest, most intense storms over the course of the week.  With indoor training taking part under an aluminum roof, and several sessions of on-field training, that normally wouldn't bode well. Even so, every time the coaches took the field, the sun shone brightly.  Every time the rain and hail pounded the roof so loud we couldn't hear our own voices, it was during meals and break times. Our God is greater.

Sometimes lack of water and electricity wear on our last nerves. We rarely had enough water at home for everyone to shower, and the power seemed to be going off for big chunks each day.  While this usually frustrates us to no end, we were incredibly humbled when the power went off one night just as we prepared to show a video, and the entire room broke into an extensive praise and worship session. (See video – well, listen to the video.  You won’t see much)

Even the last day, as I woke up with a fever, headache, and major congestion, we were grateful I was the one sick and not the trainers.  Even so, the littlest things were tipping me off.  I arrived at the hall with cakes to celebrate the end of the training, and decided to help Mama Yoba (our cook and host for the week) properly shred a cabbage on a mandolin.  Instead, I sliced a huge chunk off the tip of my finger and was bleeding profusely.  Mama Yoba is a certified caregiver and Luke was free at that point and I was able to get to a local village clinic for bandaging and such.  I’m not sure why (maybe because I was busy singing “Our God is Greater”), but after that, I was actually in a better mood than when we started!  We were back in time to watch the coaches perform hilarious skits depicting what they had learned about Church-Centered Sports Ministry, and we are so excited to see Sports Friends take off in Zambia! Our God is greater.

Typing this blog with one finger down is interesting, but hey, at least the power is on! There are so many more examples we could give from the week where Satan tried to trip us up, but...

Our God is so much Greater.

Zambia's first Sports Friends coaches!

Blessed to be a blessing... and blessed again

Our purpose going to Lusa today was to bless the children…and bless Mama Yoba with about $500 to finish her house, along with 300 meters of wire and a whole lot of window putty (two of the remaining needs). (Click here for that story) But I think every person with us today would agree that we left with more than we came with.

As our three vehicles turned off the tarmac into sloshy mud puddles, bumping along to Mama Yoba's house, I was overwhelmed with excitement about the gifts for Mama Yoba.  But, we decided we would give the gifts to the children first, and then surprise Mama Yoba as we prepared to leave.

When we arrived, 92 children were seated at tables,patiently waiting and separated by age. Regina told me some of the kids arrived as early as 6 a.m. (We arrived at 10.). Several of our friends from the mine came along, including four children.  The kids handed the small packets of candies and toys and noise makers to the community children. The Lusa kids waited patiently until everyone had their gift and I told them to open the goodies. Almost immediately, the whole room broke out with the sound of noise makers.  After a few minutes,Mama Yoba quieted the kids, and then had them sing to our group what has come to be one of our favorite songs.

“Come and see, come and see, come and see what the Lord has done; come and see what the Lord has done…”

handing out the gifts

Moses, son of Jillian - love this family!

Mama Yoba giving necklaces to the kids with our group

Mama Yoba prayed in Thanksgiving, and then I was confused as she brought in a small box.  Inside were several child-size necklaces that she and Regina must have made since I was last there on Thursday.  She then went to each of the children in the group we brought, and with a young Zambian girl, handed out the necklaces and helped the kids put them on. I just wanted to cry.  That woman just amazes me and I think that small act made this one of my best Christmases ever.

As our group prepared to leave, I told Mama Yoba we had a surprise for her.  As we handed her the supplies and the money, I have to say, it was the first time I've seen her speechless (anyone who knows Mama Yoba knows she is never at a loss for words).  She thanked each person in our group and just had a look of shock on her face.  Then Luke and I pulled our TV out of the trunk.  One of our friends at the mine blessed us with a really nice television a few months ago.  Immediately we had decided to pay it forward,so we had told Mama Yoba that we were going to give her our TV – but only when her new house was finished (extra incentive to get it done!).  Today, we took it with us, and I told her that it was because she should have everything she needs to finish her house now. 

Window putty for Mama Yoba's  new house

Now I just have to prepare myself because she’s been saying from the beginning that when her house is finished, we have to go out there and stay up all night praying and blessing the house and celebrating…. 

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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