I’m three weeks into my stay here, and I am finally remembering a bunch of the kids names now. There is a friendship established—every day I can expect them to come running and we’ll sit together and talk. They continue to teach me Bemba, various handshakes, and they keep trying to get me to dance despite how often I tell them I am a terrible dancer. On Thursday the Grades 5-7 had a Boys vs Girls soccer game, and somehow I ended up in the middle of the field as a forward for the girls. I never want to forget that afternoon: chasing after the ball in the hot sun, gasping for air and laughing with the other girls by my side.
Friday was a Teachers vs Students netball game for girls and soccer game for boys, which was also a lot of fun. Us teachers won the netball game, but the students beat the teachers in the soccer game. I must say I was very impressed, these kids have some great football skills! With every day that passes I have this hunger to know these kids—past the handshakes and the Bemba lessons. I want to know where they live, what they do when they get home from school, how they spend their weekends. I want to know their biggest dreams and their deepest fears. But the other night as I told God that, I had to stop and reevaluate whether or not that’s really true. Do I really want to confront their realities? Face the place they call home? Swallow the fact that some nights they don’t have supper? Acknowledge that some of the very girls that hold my hands, face abuse and live in fear? It's ugly, it's uncomfortable, and it's convicting. But the fact is that ignoring these realities as a child of God, is sin. And then I had to ask God, what hurts Him more: hearing his precious children crying out for help, or having his chosen saints ignore Him when He calls us to help? There are a lot of questions I have, and lots of things that I don’t know, but what I do know is that God takes our brokenness aside and makes it beautiful. I know that from the ashes beauty will somehow rise. That no matter how many pieces a child’s life has shattered into, God is a good Father whose heart is to restore. I know that He wants them to succeed far more than I could ever hope to. I know that He has an individual plan for each child. I also know that His plans for these children involve us, and closer to home, me. My time. My money. My commitment. My prayers. How am I really handling the responsibility I have been given as a child of God to be His hands and feet?
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Today marks 2 weeks since I arrived in Zambia, which is crazy. On one hand I feel like it was just yesterday, but at the same time I feel like I’ve been here forever in the best way possible. My mornings are spent collecting information for bios and photographing the children, but when the lunch bell rings I find myself in the middle of a sea of children trying to touch my hair or teach me Bemba. And in every moment of all this my heart keeps getting fuller and fuller, and with each hand reaching for mine I feel my heart growing more entangled with the souls I’m surrounded by.
While all of this is beautiful, there have also been some not so glamourous moments. Yesterday morning my phone fell on the gravel at school and shattered, my shower pressure is almost non existent, and last night there was a rat in my kitchen. But through this God is teaching me that these things are all OK. It’s OK to not have a phone for a week until it gets fixed. It’s OK to have to not have a steady water pressure in the shower. It’s OK to cook in a kitchen that just had a rat run through it. It’s all OK. Today as I stood outside with some Grade 2 girls, one of them lifted up my hands and began to count my fingers, to check if I had 5 just like her. They pressed my nails to see how they turned white under the pressure, and took turns holding my hands. As I stood there in the middle of this I talked with their teacher, and she explained to me that for many of these kids, I am one of the first white people they have ever been in close contact with. Even though there are different ethnicities in Kitwe, these kids from the Compound almost never enter the city, therefore being unexposed to anyone outside of the Compound or school. It makes my heart sad that things are this way. It makes me sad that many of them have to find their own food over the weekend. That every day they wear the same ratty sweatshirt, because it’s the only sweatshirt they have. But more than sadness, I feel joy. Because these children are not forgotten or abandoned. Not only is Lifesong For Orphans speaking out for them and preparing them for their future through the education they provide, but God Himself is their defender, warrior, and Father. All in all, these past 2 weeks have been amazing. I am so thankful for how smooth my adjustment has been to life in Africa, and I can’t wait to see what else God does during my stay here! |