2013: a snapshot

This year is just too much to summarize in a blog post. So, taking an idea from my sweet friend Melanie, I will instead cover some highlights and favorites:

Favorite song: "Gladly Would I Leave Behind Me" by Sovereign Grace

Best book I read: The Insanity of God by Nik Ripken

Most meaningful verse: 2 Corinthians 3:4-6 

Favorite Picture: this beautiful girl.

Biggest accomplishment: Killing and dressing a chicken (video to follow)

Scariest experience: rappelling off Table Mountain in Cape Town, South Africa

My most popular blog post: Jesus Wins

My personal favorite blog post: A Man Named Park

Most interesting food eaten: Hmmm… warthog?

Christmas in Zambia

Christmas.

From childhood, I have come to view it as not just a day, but a season. A season complete with sights, sounds, smells, sensations. I cherish traditions familiar to many and traditions unique to my family. Admiring the lavish gold and emerald and scarlet displays in department store windows. The harsh wind biting my cheeks that somehow relents when the first snow begins to fall. Dipping white chocolate pretzels and the walk to an abandoned barn with friends. The candles in my window that tempt me to read a little bit later into the night. Sitting on the fireplace hearth until my back is almost burned. The comforting chaos of opening presents at my grandmother's house where the youngest cousin could get lost in a sea of wrapping paper.

But this December, in Zambia, that familiarity was yanked off like a warm blanket. It was replaced by a series of experiences and situations that my mind doesn't associate with Christmas.

Sleeping with frozen water bottles instead of a quilted comforter. Reading by candlelight, not for the ambience, but because of a 37-hour power outage. Waking up to earsplitting thunder and a leaking roof instead of gently falling snow. Eating melted chocolate with five Zambian friends under a single strand of Christmas lights instead of hosting an extravagant party for old friends. Sharing Christmas Eve dinner with my Korean parents and Texan brother and sister instead of my immediate family.

And as much as I miss my family, and as much as I love tradition, it's okay. I am still celebrating, and perhaps in a different and more profound way than I have in the past. 

The president of our company recently shared something that is too good not to pass along: 

"A look at the nativity scene serves to remind us that EVERYONE in it... has a good reason to be homesick. Not one of them was at home. But neither is anyone among them depicted as being sad! I think that is because each of them was serving a larger purpose in the Father's great plan…"

Mary and Joseph, travelers to Bethlehem for a census. The  shepherds traipsing through the countryside to see this tiny baby. The wise men from the East following a star for years just to find the promised one.

And I, standing in church singing "Joy to the World" with a Zambian twist, a cool breeze drying the sweat on my brow. So far from home, family, familiarity. Not by my own plans or design, but by his will and his purpose for my life. Far away but not alone, because he is Emmanuel, God with us. 

Mary's heart

My soul magnifies the Lord.

All generations will call me blessed.

He who is Mighty has done great things for me.

This is the song of a young girl who would give birth to Jesus Christ. Mary, a young virgin, who indeed was blessed and favored by God, as the angel announced to her.

But she was engaged to be married and pregnant out of wedlock. And it wasn't by her fiancé. 

The highest disgrace a Jewish girl could know, and yet the greatest blessing ever bestowed upon a woman by the Almighty Father.

What response would we expect from someone who was told she would become pregnant supernaturally? "What will people say about me?" "How will I explain this to my fiancé?" or "My parents will never believe me," would have been among my first thoughts. 

To her family, her friends, and her fiancé, this was not welcome news. This pregnancy was not a blessing. She could be sentenced to death for what appeared to be unfaithfulness. In fact, Joseph had decided to divorce her until the angel confirmed to him that this child was the Son of God.

And as for the rest of her community… did they ever believe her story? Did they truly call her blessed? Or was she always the object of gossip, of mockery, or pity? If so many doubted Jesus' own testimony and miracles, how much more incredulous were those who knew his virgin mother? How does he call himself the Son of God? His father is Joseph, the carpenter, and we know his mother and brothers! And they took offense at him. (Matt 13:53-58, paraphrase)

But Mary rejoiced. Not at the whispers and rumors. But she rejoiced in TRUTH.

She was highly favored by God.

She would give birth to the Son of the Most High, who takes away the sins of the world.

Oh, her faith in the promise spoken to her! She believed without seeing. She believed in things not immediately visible-- and likely not ever visible within her life on earth.

Mary proclaimed what the Lord had told her, even when every evidence seemed to the contrary.  "All generations will call me blessed." I can't wrap my mind around those words being written by a girl who was probably never regarded in that way-- she was an unmarried pregnant teenager! The scorn she faced was the direct result of her calling to carry the Messiah. 

Yet she rejoiced, regarding the promise as entirely fulfilled, even before her child was born.

And in the moment that she received the news from Gabriel, there is no expression of doubt or anger or fear, only childlike faith welling up into a beautiful song.

All generations will call me blessed… never mind what they call me today.

He has done great things for me… and for all humanity, because he IS Emmanuel, God with us.

My soul magnifies the Lord… for my loss is his gain and glory. 

The remarkable thing about Mary was her ability to rejoice in a calling that would bring her momentary disgrace, because it was for His ultimate glory. 

What if my faith was more like that? When all I see is my own brokenness, unworthiness, and failure to live up to others' expectations…when I labor for the Lord and see no fruit… when He calls me to a task but all I can see is the high cost of obedience… what if I simply clung to his promises?

What if I rejoiced and sang the song of truth, that He has never once failed to keep his word, that my labor is not in vain, that his strength is made perfect in weakness? Even when circumstances seem to suggest the contrary, may I proclaim with confidence the truths of his word.  

Imitators.

If you watch any child long enough, you will see them imitating their parents. I can remember being small and getting into my mom's makeup or walking around in her high heels. Or packing my lunch box and books and inviting my dad into my "studio" that happened to be under the dining room table. One of my sisters used to put shaving cream on her face and use a capped razor to "shave" right alongside daddy! (I'll leave it up to you to guess which sister that was…)

Zambian children are no different. They may not walk around with high heels and briefcases, in their own fascinating way they mimic their parents in activities that are unique to their culture. 

With Wezious and Praise around, there is endless amusement of this kind. Every Zambian mother uses a chitenge to carry her baby on her back, and I often see Wezious running around the yard with a stuffed animal or doll tied to hers. At one year old, even Praise does the same thing if she can get someone to help her tie the chitenge. My other favorite sight is Wezious furiously stirring a little cup of dirt. "What are you doing?" I ask her. "Making nshima," (Zambia's staple food) she says very seriously. 

It's a beautiful thing to see a child imitate her parents.

It's a reflection of their adoration and affection and pure love for one they trust. 

Maybe you had a different childhood experience. Maybe you resist patterning yourself after your parents. But like it or not, and aware of it or not, we all imitate someone. As believers, we all have a Father who loves us perfectly and unconditionally, even where earthly parents fall short. 

"Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us…" Ephesians 5:1-2a

Oh, to love the Father in such a way that I spend every day gazing up into His face, walking in his shoes, carrying his children on my back, endeavoring to be found bearing an ever-increasing resemblance to him!

Do We Really Care for Orphans?

It seems that orphans have received a lot of attention in the past five years or so. The social-justice-minded millennial generation has raised awareness of the multitude of children who have lost one or both parents. In Zambia alone, there are 1.2 million orphans… 19% of all children under the age of 18. That is so unfathomable to us as Americans. We will buy necklaces, handbags, coffee, or just about anything else to support orphans. Maybe even take a mission trip to an orphanage. Why? We are burdened for them. We want to do something to help; we are desperate to feel like we are part of the solution. The problem has been overlooked for too long. 

And without a doubt, good things have come from this movement. An increase in Christians adopting children and churches supporting them to do so. Beginning to look outside our comfort zones and asking how we can be the body of Christ to those who are helpless. Feeling that burden, compassion, and love for these precious ones who are so close to the heart of our Savior. Oh, our hearts break for them.

BUT.

Does your heart break for spiritual orphans? Those who, although they may have physical parents, have no one committed to nurturing them spiritually? They may not be as noticeable as a barefoot child, but I promise you know at least one. 

It's the thirteen year old girl who gives her life to Christ and then slips through the cracks when her unbelieving parents stop bringing her to church.

It's the young man who accepts Jesus as his Savior, but no one ever teaches him how to study the Bible or talk to his heavenly Father or what it means to live according to the Spirit.

It's the child who gets dropped off at Sunday school, AWANAS, and church choir so his parents can have a break, and no one at home ever asks him about what he is learning. 

It's the exchange student, far from family and familiarity, who becomes a first-generation believer and has no idea what to do next. 

It's the newlywed who desires to have a godly marriage but doesn't have anyone in her life she can look to as an example. 

They are the people who sit in your pews every Sunday for a sermon but are still spiritually babies. They have no prayer warrior interceding for them, no mentor holding them accountable, no communion with the body of believers, no one they regard as a spiritual brother or sister or father or mother in their time of need.

Oh, may our hearts long to be Christ with flesh to these children of God just as much as to orphans in Africa!

Paul called Timothy his son in the faith. Why? He wasn't an orphan; he had both parents (Acts 16:1). Yet his father was not a believer in Christ. Who then would teach Timothy to flee sin, pursue godliness, and fight the good fight of the faith? (1 Tim. 6:11-12) 

Paul took that responsibility upon himself (1 Timothy 1:2).

We, the church, have neglected discipleship. The church-- not as an institution-- but you, and I, and all who call themselves by Christ's name. 

Discipleship. That life-on-life responsibility for another. I will teach you, I will pray for you; come into my home and around my dinner table. I will laugh with you, and I will cry with you. It is a messy way of life, because we are all broken people. And it is a much longer commitment than a week-long mission trip. But Christ modeled it and Christ commanded it (Matt. 28:19). 

I don't say these things because I do them well, but because I don't do them enough. Christ opened my eyes and drew me in with a burden for orphans, but the deeper I looked into the heart of my Savior, the more I realized that that burden only scratched the surface of his bottomless, immeasurable love for all his children.

So please, keep sending money to support the orphan whose picture is on your refrigerator. Keep praying about adoption if the Lord has placed it on your heart. Don't cancel your overseas mission trip. But ask the Father who it is in your life that you can disciple-- call your spiritual child. You don't have to cross an ocean; you can be Jesus with skin on to someone today.

You Are Most Welcome

I don't even know where to begin.

So many people have asked me what Zambia is like, and after being here for 3 months, I still feel like I can't do it justice. But perhaps I can give you a few snapshots.

My first full day in Kitwe was a Sunday-- my first time to worship at Riverside Baptist Church. I remember the deacons shaking my hand and telling me, "You are most welcome here. We have been praying for you." I remember Musonda, a university student and now a dear friend, telling me with a grin, "Kayla has told me all about you. We were praying that you would be moved to Zambia and now the Lord has answered."

...

Every Wednesday we have Bible Study with a few young ladies in the township of Ndeke. I will never forget the first week I went with Kayla to the Zulus' home. As soon as I stepped inside, a woman I had never met before greeted me with a hug. "My other daughter has arrived! Alyssa, you are most welcome here! Feel at home. Or, as we like to say, 'feel at house!' " Her contagious laughter told me we were already family. The same laugh echoed by her sister, Cynthia, as she brought in dish after dish that she had prepared for us to eat before Bible Study.

"I already know you, Alyssa-- can I call you Aly?-- and I bet you can guess who I am!" Cynthia said. And before I could tell her that I could guess, she continued on; "We are thankful to God you are here. Now this is your first Zambian meal, isn't it? Let me tell you what everything is." She beamed with approval and amusement as I carefully rolled my nshima in my hand and used it to scoop up some kapenta.

...

A sweet family lives on the same plot as us, and also happens to go to our church: Wezi, Precious, Wezious, and Praise. Don't even get me started on how adorable those names are together. Wezious is not a shy three year old, and by the end of week one I was Auntie Alyssa to her. 

"Auntie Alyssa, come and see!" as she reveals any of a number of treasures she has found to play with.

"Auntie Alyssa, what's deez?" as she points to something she doesn't know how to say in English.

"Auntie Alyssa, look, mah baby!" as she proudly carries her one-year-old sister, whose feet are nearly dragging the ground.

Between her bits of English and my very few Bemba phrases, we get along quite well.

Each of these people has grown to be an important part of my life here, but it's not just friends and church family who have welcomed me. Everywhere I go, Zambians flash their brilliant smiles and extend the same warm greeting. Everywhere I go, strangers become friends. The guy who weighs produce at the grocery store. The girl who works at the gelato shop. The man at the post office who deals with international packages. 

Even the Zamtel workers, who we complained to every week until our internet was fixed, weren't deterred by our American impatience. "Kayla and Alyssa, welcome! Have you learned any more Bemba? Do you remember the words I taught you?" our friend Benjamin says as he launches into an impromptu language lesson which lasts far longer than our customer service inquiry.

That is what Zambia is like. It's not a complete picture, but maybe the most vivid part to me right now. Some days I am struck with the pride I brought with me when I traveled to this side of the globe. I thought I was coming here to teach something, but far more often I feel like I am the one who has something to learn. The precedence relationships should take. The art of making others at home. One more way of being the hands and feet of Christ. 

Seeds and Suitcases

I lived in Botswana for four months in a sweet little apartment. On my back patio, I had a small plot of ground that would have been perfect for a garden. I thought about planting a garden, talked a lot about planting a garden, looked at seeds for a planting a garden, enlisted help for planting my garden. But always in the back of my head was the thought, "It's not worth planting seeds. I'll have to break up this hard ground, find out what kind of plants will grow best and when the right time is to plant here, and water them constantly. I don't even know how long I'm going to be here. I will do all that work and then by the time the plants grow, I will be in Zimbabwe (ha!). I won't get to eat any of the fruits or vegetables I planted."

So I didn't. I didn't plant a garden and I didn't have any fruit. Due to the temporary nature of my stay in Botswana, I felt the tension between putting down roots and numbering my days, never unpacking my last suitcase.

And maybe I was justified with the suitcase thing, because then I was transferred to Zambia.

Zambia is a lush, green, beautiful country. In our yard we have a big garden, as well as many fruit trees. My favorite is the avocado tree… unlimited supply of fresh, free, organic avocados = happiness. But there is one problem with that tree. It produces avocados in abundance, but the tree is so tall that it is impossible to pick the ones from the top. They hang there until they rot or fall off, and we don't get to enjoy them. Kayla has witnessed my frustration over this predicament many times and laughed as I have tried to climb the tree and beat them off with a stick. Not effective, in case you were wondering.

I don't know much about agriculture, but I will say that in these two countries where I have ministered, there are spiritual parallels to the land I have just described. They are very different places with very different needs. Looking back at my time and Botswana, I hope and pray that I was more effective in planting seeds spiritually than I was with my nonexistent garden. And looking forward upon the mere 13 months I have left in Zambia, I pray that I will be more effective in harvesting than I am in knocking avocados off my tree. Because the fields here are ready for harvest. Oh, they are so ready. 

Every day I am amazed by my precious Zambian friends and fellow believers who have such big dreams of advancing the kingdom. They are a great an encouragement to me, yet at the same time I feel so inadequate. How can I help them seek the Lord's direction? How can I encourage them to obedience? How can I help mobilize them?

It has taken some time for me to realize, but the Word of God addresses all these questions and more than makes up for my deficiencies of knowledge in planting, watering, and harvesting.

He says we should ask him to send out more workers into the harvest. (Matt 9:38) 

He says that if we sow abundantly, we will reap abundantly… sow sparingly and you will reap sparingly. (2 Corinthians 9:6)

And perhaps most relieving (or most humbling) is the truth that those of us who plant and those who water are nothing, but only God, who makes things grow. (1 Corinthians 3:7)

I don't have to have all the answers. Yes, I am called to be faithful in planting seeds. Yes, I will do everything I can to nurture those plants and see them produce fruit. But it is the Lord of the harvest who makes things grow, who carries to completion the good work he begins in each one's life.

Hello Goodbye: Life of a Sojourner

If you missed my last newsletter,  last week I found out the board wanted to send me to Zambia to do university ministry with my friend Kayla. Now don't get me wrong; I am genuinely thrilled to work with Kayla and to be a part of what God is doing in Zambia. But when I first got this news, I cried. Botswana has become a home to me-- this place where I didn't plan to come and didn't realize how much I would grow to love. 

There are so many things I will miss about my life here. 

Dinner with the Warners being narrated by Riley's princess voice. Walking into the Pettigrews' coffee-shop-home and feeling peace. Hearing Andrew lead Jo Na Na. My feisty little preschool friend, Mamoinye, who elbows her way through the crowd at church shouting "That's MY Lekgowa (white person)!"  Gelato at Sanita's when I just need a break. Lunch dates with Gofaone. Noma's sweet laugh. Kasey and Allison's big ideas and compassionate hearts. Having the Mascom menu memorized and knowing when I can get freebie airtime. Doing laundry in my washer/shower contraption. Finally knowing where to buy tortillas. Lilli and Elliot's fascination with my earring collection. My bare-walled apartment that has hosted its share of sleepovers. Mastering pulling out of my supervisor's steep driveway with a narrow gate (well… almost…). Rhett, Ridge, and Reid's spot-on Setswana accents. Knowing which combi goes to church, and which one to Airport Junction. Learning enough language that I can claim, "Ke Motswana!" and people laugh and agree with me. 

Now, I will concede that gelato and free airtime are not very spiritual. But all these little things collectively have made this place feel like home. But then I started to ask myself, as I did when I was preparing to move to Zimbabwe, "where is home?" 

My home is in heaven with the Lord. And this week He reminded me of that through a verse I read, "Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear to my cry; hold not your peace at my tears! For I am a sojourner with you, a guest, like all my fathers." (Psalm 39:12)

I am a sojourner, but I don't go alone. I am a sojourner with the Lord. And that fills me with JOY. I am so excited to see what he has in store for me on this next part of the journey!

"Even Me"

I have a dear friend here named Noma. One of the many things I love about her is that she finds it hilarious when I try to speak Setswana. She will imitate MY imitation of a Motswana, and I find THAT hilarious.

There is one phrase in particular that is our favorite. To show agreement, Tswana people will say "even me," much in the same way an American would say "me too." This is how it works…

Noma: I am so excited to eat dinner at Laura's tonight!

Alyssa: Even me. I can't wait!

Now according to Noma, I WAY overuse the expression. But I can't help it; I love saying it. Something about that phrase shows humility, a quality that is undervalued by the world but of great importance in God's eyes. If you ever need a dose of humility, nothing does the job quite like living in a foreign country. Sure, I expected to have to ask lots of questions about culturally appropriate behavior, and it doesn't surprise me when my attempts at Setswana are laughed at. What I didn't expect was to be convicted and challenged so often by local believers… university students near my age who are just so passionate about the Lord. 

I'm the missionary here, my pride screams, I'm supposed to be the one challenging and encouraging them! But every time we study scripture together, I identify with their struggles and their desire to follow Christ, and their words pierce my heart:

"I know the Bible says that our hope in Christ makes us very bold, but sometimes it's difficult because I am shy." 

Even me.

"I think I am not a very good Christian. I have friends that I have known for a long time and I haven't shared the gospel with them." 

Even me.

"Sometimes in discipleship I get frustrated with people, because its easy to forget that I am also a work in progress."

Even me. 

Even this young missionary girl doesn't have all the answers, isn't always patient with people, and doesn't always recognize opportunities the Lord puts in my path. Some people think missionaries are holier, bolder, or more gifted than the rest of the church. Or that crossing the ocean in a plane makes you suddenly mature in your faith. Maybe I used to think that too. But these days I find myself identifying with Paul:

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Philippians 3:12-14

Missionaries, pastors, church members and unbelievers alike have no ability to transform their own lives. But praise be to the God who is faithful to work in the lives of all who surrender to Him! 

Even me. 

Jesus Wins: Week in review 4/13

"Africa wins." 

It's an expression my friends and I use when struggling through the ridiculous or frustrating situations of day to day life here that no one can possibly prepare you for. Like when a lizard falls in my hair as I'm focused on killing a deadly spider. 

Africa wins when our waitress refuses to put ice in my friend's chai latte, because that's not on the menu.

 

Africa wins when my electric bill is haphazardly folded and stuck in my gate and no one knows where I should go to pay it. (Logically, the office happens to be inside the Nissan dealership, which only took an hour of asking locals to discover). 

Africa wins when you order corn on the cob and get this:

Africa wins when my trusty GPS tells me to turn from "Road" onto "Off Road" during a 45 minute tour of Gaborone in search of a destination that is only 5 minutes from my house.

Africa wins when the waitress intentionally cuts off the wifi because I have finished my coffee and exceeded my complimentary 30 minutes of internet access in an empty cafe.  

Now to tell you the truth, most of these adventures were far more comical than frustrating. But, on rare occasion, there are times when I do feel defeated. Not because of large insects or driving in unfamiliar territory, but because of vast spiritual darkness and indifference to the gospel. I know that Christ has victory in the end, but sometimes it feels like the enemy is gloating today.

This week, however, was not one of those times. I SAW his victory this week.

Jesus wins when national believers are convicted they need to be sharing the gospel with their friends.

Jesus wins when five university students stay to listen to three crazy missionary girls sharing the gospel although their friends laugh and try to talk them into leaving. 

Jesus wins when a nonbeliever rearranges her schedule to come and study the Bible with us because she is missing something in her life. 

Jesus wins when power cuts don't stop fellow believers from squeezing together in a small dorm room for a time of fellowship and fervent prayer that, in my mind, must strongly resemble the Acts 2 church. 

Praying that the Lord opens my eyes to be able to recognize his victory every single day. 

My Place!

"Have you seen any elephants?"

"Are you in a mud hut?"

"How do you cook food?"

Due to several interesting questions I have received about Botswana and my living conditions I have decided to post a few pictures that will hopefully answer those and any other questions you may have :)

Kitchen

Looking out my kitchen into servant's quarters (and no, I do not have servants...)

Living room

Bedroom

Guest bedroom... come and visit me!

A week in review: March 23

Small victories of the week:

Buying these items at the grocery store. Black beans: because they are a rare commodity here, which is a sad thing for this Mexican food lover! I was piling them into my cart like it was Black Friday and probably looked pretty ridiculous. American measuring cup: because baking just got a whole lot easier…

Big victories of the week:

Continuing to see God's faithfulness in the same way I saw it in Letlhakane. He put it on my heart to strike up a conversation with a couple girls at UB, and it turned out they were very receptive to the gospel. They are actually high school grads who will be freshmen in the fall,  which opens the door for some exciting things I will share about soon!

Driving and Discipleship: A (belated) week in review 3/30

My first week in Botswana when I was promised a car to use in the near future, I was less than enthusiastic. Drive a manual? On the left side of the road? In Botswana where I don't know directions, stop signs are optional, and cows are likely to meander across the road at any time? No thanks.

However, six weeks of public transportation works wonders to inspire courage in even the most reluctant of drivers. To illustrate: Sunday morning I was going with two friends to church. We set out to catch a combi at 8:45, which should have given us plenty of time to arrive for service at 10. To make a long story short, our combi driver was in no hurry and we arrived at 10:45, although the church is only 20 minutes away from my apartment...at most.

So Monday I was thrilled that my car was finally ready and I had my first driving lesson. Thanks to a few friends who let me practice on their manual cars back at home, the first lesson was great! I dodged cattle, conquered speed bumps, and avoided driver's ed students practicing on the same street. It went so well that my friend Torie was going to let me drive home. Everything was wonderful until…

    

I hit a rough edge on the pavement and got a flat tire.  The good news is, I should be good to go as soon as they can send a new tire from a town up north, which will take another week or so. Often life here is one step forward and two steps back!

But I am finding that God usually has a purpose in my misfortunes. I pulled the car over into the yard of a few ladies who were having their morning tea. By the time the tire was changed I had a new friend who is attending UB in the fall. I have a feeling the flat tire was no accident after all :)

In other news, I had my first African camping experience this weekend! 

This was the Easter Rally, which is basically a weekend-long retreat where all the Baptist churches in Botswana gather together for worship, preaching, and fellowship. The best part was seeing people I have met from different parts of Botswana. I got to see Mr. Fox, who hosted us when we were in Letlhakane. It was so exciting to hear updates on those who gave their lives to Christ during our trip. Park and his friends have been attending the new believers class and meeting one-on-one with some of the men in the church for discipleship. It is so encouraging to hear how the church embraces that responsibility and how these new believers are growing. Continue to be in prayer for them as well as churches around Botswana who strive to make disciples as Christ commanded us!

A Man Named Park: part 2

If you received my most recent newsletter, you were introduced to a man named Park who I met during our mission trip. If not, here is the short version: the Lord impressed upon me to stop at this roadside barber shop to share with the owner. As it turned out, this man had never heard the story of Christ (or any Bible story for that matter), and I was able to share the gospel with him, along with my teammates Bobo and Madeleine. After taking in everything we had said, he had many questions and asked us to return the following day. We promised we would. 

The next afternoon he welcomed us once again into his little shop and we pulled out our Bibles. One of the most encouraging things about this man was his sincerity. He came up with question after question, genuinely seeking truth. Why did Adam and Eve have to leave the garden? Why did Jesus go back to heaven… is it because he was angry with us? Why is God white? (Don't worry, we were quick to straighten that one out!)

As we spent the better part of our afternoon there, several of his friends gathered and asked to hear the story as well. Once again we shared Creation to Christ, this time with Park helping explain the story to his friends! When we shared the two paths (Matthew 7), and explained how few people are on the narrow path that leads to life, they all listened intently. Finally Park broke the silence. "What you are saying is that Jesus is the gate, and he is the only way onto that path." 

YES. He was understanding it. And so were his friends. 

"So which path do you believe you are on?"

He stared at my drawing. "I am on the path of sin. WE are on that path. But all of us, we want to be on the path of life. It is the hard path but that is where we want to be." His friends nodded in agreement.

So right there in the barber shop shack, Park and three of his friends committed their lives to Christ. "One more thing. I am afraid to go to church; everyone will wonder what I am doing there because they know who I am. But I want to learn more from the Bible." We explained to him how the church is like a body and the parts need each other. He nodded and said, "I will go. But today I am happy to read my new Bible."

You may think that's a great ending to the story. I did too.

But the Lord knew better. Because that's not the end…

The next day we took the same dirt road back to the barber shop and decided to stop one last time. I was a little nervous about what we would find; what if their decisions had been insincere? Sometimes my faith is so small and my mind so limited that I forget what an awesome God I serve. Today, however, I was reminded in a way I will not soon forget. 

Park greeted us as we approached. "Hello! You must come in and share! My friends-- they have all come to here the good news you shared with me!" Three men were sitting there with him, looking at us expectantly. One of them held a small children's Bible, presumably the only one he owned. "I told them what peace I have now," Park continued enthusiastically, "how last night I slept with such peace like I have never had! I feel like a new man!" 

It was absolutely amazing to see this man sharing his faith with his friends, even though his knowledge was so limited. How many of us have used that as an excuse? It didn't stop him. As a result, these three men also received Christ as Savior.
Funny enough, one of these men also asked if it was necessary for him to begin attending church. Before I could open my mouth, Park enthusiastically said, "You must! It is like a body, and if you are not there, the other parts will need you! We all need to go to church together!" He had not forgotten what we shared.
 

That night, our last one in the village, we held a church service outside as the sun was setting. Park and his friends proudly joined the believers there for the first time. One of the leaders in the church agreed to disciple them and teach them how to begin studying the Bible. Words cannot express the joy in my heart to see what the Lord did that week from start to finish. 

On our drive home from Letlhakane, these questions I could not get out of my mind: What if I had ignored the voice of the Holy Spirit? What if we had not stopped? How many times have I chosen NOT to listen and missed such a huge blessing?

Nothing about this story has anything to do with my strengths, gifts, personality, or persuasiveness. In fact, I pray that it has nothing to do with me except my obedience. The  Spirit who prompted me to speak is the same one who also convicted these men of truth.  Pray that I would be faithful to listen and obey his voice every day!

A week in review: March 16

Letlhakane and Spiritual Climate

Village of Letlhakane

This past week I joined with five US volunteers, six Batswana university students, and two other American missionaries like myself for a mission trip to a village called Letlhakane. The team from the US was such a blessing, and the partnership with them was very sweet… your prayers for our unity were definitely answered! For me it was interesting to be doing a "mission trip inside of a mission trip," but God worked in a powerful way, not only in the village but in our lives as well!

To give you a better picture of Botswana, it is a country roughly the size of Texas (or France), but with a population of only 2 million. In other words, it is very sparsely populated. Of that, half the population lives in the capital, Gaborone. Urbanization is increasingly common as people move from the villages into the city to find work. Even though so many people now live in the city, they still carry with them the worldviews of their home village. Up until this week, I had not yet observed village life, so it was helpful to me in gaining a better understanding of the culture. 

Historically, there have been many missionaries who have taken the gospel to Africa, but went "wide and not deep" as my supervisor sometimes says. People in Botswana will commonly say, "Oh yes, I know the gospel; I believe in Jesus," but the sad truth is that when you engage them in conversation, they don't understand what Christ did for them. False teachings abound, including the prosperity gospel, witch doctors, ancestor worship, self-proclaimed prophets, and many others.

While in the village of Letlhakane, we did house-to-house evangelism. The people were very welcoming and often invited us into their yard as soon as they saw us coming. Some even said before we introduced ourselves, "Ah! You have come to share the gospel!" Maybe the Chacos give us away. But I'd like to think they say that because the Lord was preparing their hearts… and it was evident that He did.

At the first house we went to, a group of 7 or 8 people gathered outside under a tree as I shared Creation to Christ, a presentation of the gospel that gives an overview of God's plan for salvation beginning with Genesis and ending with Revelation. When I had finished, a man spoke up and said, "Many people come through here and tell us things from the Bible. They promise us wealth or healing but those things never come to pass. Today I know you have shared the truth, and I finally know. Thank you for that."

Two days later that man followed us to another house where we were sharing. He had many questions and finally said, "This is what I have been waiting to hear. I want to follow Jesus." That day, along with three of his friends, he surrendered his life to Christ. 

Before we left, he had one final concern. "I cannot read or write," he said humbly. "In two weeks I am moving to another town, and I want to find a church that teaches the truth. How will I know since I cannot read the Bible for myself?" A wise man from the church in Letlhakane answered, "The same way you knew you were hearing the truth this week. The Holy Spirit convicted your heart of truth as you listened. He will continue to do so." And he promised this new believer he would bring an audio recording of the Bible in Setswana. 

This week I have been so in awe of the Lord's power and how the Spirit works on even the hardest heart, and humbled by how small my role is in sharing the good news. All the Lord requires is my obedience; HE is the one who changes hearts. And he is so faithful! As Paul says, "Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant--not of the letter but of the Spirit, for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life… Therefore, since we have such a hope, we are very bold."  2 Corinthians 3:5-6, 12

Continue to pray for the new believers of Letlhakane, that they would be discipled and grow strong spiritually, and not led astray by false teachings. 

One last fun note about this week… we went to a game park, so I got my first look at some African animals! Look for safari pictures coming soon!

Widen Your Heart

"This isn't the Africa I pictured."

I confess I have made this statement countless times in the two weeks I have been here. 

Where are the red dirt roads and babies tied on backs and ugali at every meal and the barefoot children with sparkling eyes? Instead I'm surrounded by roundabouts and American fashions and iPads in church. Why does that disappoint me? I didn't come here to alleviate poverty; I came here to share the hope of Christ. But I admit that in my mind, that looked more like cradling orphans and less like trying to build relationships with skeptical university students. More like sitting on the dirt floor of a hut sharing the gospel as it fell on ears who were hearing it for the first time, and less like dripping with sweat while prayer-walking the campus. But God is not surprised by my surroundings or my naiveté. And despite the differences between my expectations and reality, I have an undeniable peace that I am supposed to be here!

A week or so before I left home, I had a thought-provoking conversation with a very dear friend. She remarked that everyone equates orphans with the "least of these" that Jesus refers to in Matthew 25. "Why do they get to be the 'least of these?' " she asked. She was right. They are all His. The hungry orphan and the emaciated woman with AIDS and the polished university student and the rough combi driver. They all have the same need for a Savior. 

And as Paul instructed the Corinthian church, I heard the Father saying to me, "widen your heart."

An interesting thing happened this week. I visited some of the more poverty-stricken areas outside my city. It "looked like" Africa. Seeing those living conditions made me sad, but it didn't break my heart quite like I thought it would. Perhaps because I have learned that poverty is not simply a physical problem; it is a loss of hope. And hope comes through Christ alone. 

So I was not jealous of the orphan ministry in Lobatse or the traditional African feel of Old Naledi (although I am encouraged to hear how the Lord is working in those places!). I am jealous for the hearts of the UB students, that their desire and delight would be in the Lord.

It is not easy. University students are not like the children who clamor to hold my hands, each one grabbing a finger. But their need is the same. 

Oh Father. Widen my heart. 

University of Botswana Campus

Sweet kiddos!

The Vineyard Workers

2.2.13 

Have you heard about the vineyard workers? It's a story I have skipped over many times, but this week it finally clicked for me. So here is a paraphrase: 

Early in the morning, a man goes to town to hire some people to work his vineyard. After negotiating their pay, several agree to come and work for the day. A few hours later he makes another trip into town and hires some more. He does this several more times throughout the day, up until sunset when he recruits a few more men who are just hanging around town.

When the work day is over, he calls in all the men and begins handing out paychecks. But here's the thing: they were all paid the same-- the guys who started at sunrise and the guys who started at sunset. Understandably, the ones who worked all day were upset, even though they were paid what they had agreed upon with the vineyard owner that morning. 

"But it's not fair," they grumbled. 

The owner responded, "I want to give the man who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?"

So why did Jesus tell this story? It is actually a response to the disciples' entitlement-loaded question, "We left everything to follow you! What will there be for us?" And there I see myself.

God calls us to be his, not because he needs us, but because he wants to show his grace to us. Do you think by the 11th hour the vineyard owner really needed more workers? (That's 5 pm.) Probably not. But he called them because he wanted to be generous, give them meaningful work, and bless them beyond what they deserved. That is so incredibly humbling.

We often identify with the wrong party here, resonating with how the early workers were "cheated." But I am not the one who worked all day and got paid what I agreed upon; I am the one who showed up at sunset and got paid a whole day's wages. Not because he needed my help, but because he saw me standing there alone, directionless.

Grace.

It has nothing to do with what I've done for him, and everything to do with what he's done for me. Sometimes I get mixed up and think that I am going to Africa to serve God and accomplish something great in his name. Then I remember, he is already there, he has many people serving him, and he definitely doesn't need my help. But he invites me to come, to be a part of what he is doing, and receive a gift I don't deserve, because that is his character. Amazing.

***

The day I journaled about this truth from Matthew 20 was also the day I found out I would be going to Botswana. I had no idea what that meant at the time, but I have constantly been reminded that I am here only because of his grace! The last one of my orientation group to hit the field, joining an awesome team in a country I knew nothing about until a week before I landed. Sometimes I wonder why the Lord has me here, when the national believers know how to reach fellow students in this culture much better than I do and will be here longer than I will. Then I am reminded: His grace. My faithfulness to obey. That's all he asks. 

Here I am, Lord!

Gladly Would I Leave Behind Me

With a tear-stained face and a hopeful heart I stepped onto a plane that will take me to Africa for the next two years. A dream I have had for at least twice as long. One that only God could fulfill in his perfect way, in his perfect timing, all for his glory.

While I was counting the days until I see my family before my plane had even crossed ocean, the Lord grabbed my attention with a song I had never heard before…

Gladly would I leave behind me

All the pleasures I have known

To pursue surpassing treasures

At the throne of God the Son.

Then the Lord spoke to me from Jeremiah 29. Everyone loves the promise of prosperity and His hand on our future in verse 11, but backing up a bit gives some context. This letter was written to the Israelites while they were in exile. I can only imagine the temptation for them to shut down, to hide away, to try to block out the present and wait for the Lord to rescue them. But that's not what he tells them to do.

"Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters…" (v 5-6a)

Basically, live your life here. This is your home now. And I am reminded that this journey is so much more than a two year assignment. God is working in my heart, so that I may be ready to love the people of Botswana so much that I delight not only to share the gospel with them, but my life as well (1 Thess. 2:8).

To love without reserve. 

Bless the Lord

Bless the Lord, O my soul... worship His holy name.

For months I sang the words of that song in church, but I didn't quite grasp the full weight of their meaning. It wasn't until orientation this fall, when a wise woman taught about the power of emotions that it finally clicked for me. The following are some of the verses she shared:

Psalm 42:11, "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

Psalm 103:1 "Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name."

The psalmist is speaking to his soul, the center of his emotions, the core of his being. Not from his emotions. To his emotions.

It's kind of like this... The middle school girls I teach in Sunday School know how much I dislike the phrase "follow your heart." Because not only is it a cheesy line tossed into every Hallmark or Disney channel movie, it is also contrary to God's word (Jeremiah 17:9). But here in the Psalms, the alternative is illustrated: lead your heart.

Most people recognize that worship is not merely an emotion or good feeling; it is a lifestyle, a day-to-day choice. But here I noticed for the first time the actual command to corral those emotions, to conform them to truth.

Questions to ask myself: Are my emotions reflecting a complete trust in God's sovereignty in every situation? Am I choosing to have a posture of gratitude, of love, of service, of blessing the Lord? Or am I choosing to complain, to doubt, to be discouraged? What thoughts or emotions do I need to take captive and exchange for TRUTH in my life?

Some days it is easier than others. Sometimes I don't feel very joyful. This week is one of those weeks; with the news that my departure for Zimbabwe will be delayed likely until late February, it would be easy to become discouraged. That's where I am learning to put this discipline into practice.

What do I know to be true? He will fulfill his purpose for me. In all things he works for my good. He who calls me is faithful.

So I will bless the Lord.