Where Shoeboxes Go

Have you ever wondered where your Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes end up? I can remember Dollar Tree extravaganzas and stuffing dozens of shoeboxes with my friends in high school, but this year I got to see the other side of this charity that distributes Christmas presents to children in third-world countries.

If you're curious what it looks like from this side, here is a little play-by-play.

Our church here was given a stack of shoeboxes based on the number of children we normally have in attendance. Last Sunday was the day they were carefully distributed to each girl and boy by our pastor's wife. The children were instructed to take them home to open them… I guess to avoid comparisons and tears… although I honestly can't imagine that happening here. 

Wezious proudly carried a box for herself and one for her sister. She said something something in "Bemblish" about Christmas and grinned broadly. As soon as we got home, she hopped out of the truck shouting "Prezi! Chreesmas!"

Wezious was the first one to open her box, with mom's help (I'm not sure who was more excited to see what was inside!) She pulled out a Disney princess coloring book, crayons, a doll, a foam crown, socks, hair bows, candy, toothbrush and toothpaste. 

Favorite item by far: the hair accessories. She started jumping up and down yelling "Lubba bands! Lubba bands!" (remember the "R" and "L" are interchangeable here, so… "rubber bands"… if you were having trouble deciphering that!)

The doll was thoroughly confusing to her… and in her defense, I thought it was a little strange too. It is dressed in a costume with a hood, so it can alternatively look like either a baby or a panda bear. She just held it up looking at it skeptically for the longest time!

The coloring book was a hit. She may not know all the Disney princesses quite like an American little girl, but she gets an education every time she comes to our house :) Today I was watching Tangled with her and she sprinted outside as fast as her little feet could carry her. Moments later she reappeared with that new coloring book. "Dees is de same!" she exclaimed, pointing out Rapunzel on the cover. Smart girl!

The toothbrush and toothpaste were apparently pretty exciting too. The next day as I was outside greeting some friends who were coming to stay with us when I saw Wezious brushing her teeth at the garden tap, with more foam in her mouth than a rabid dog…

Praise's box was pretty similar, with coloring pages, crayons, candy, socks, stuffed animal, and a turtleneck. She immediately went for the candy, to no one's surprise.

But the turtleneck. Before living here I would have thought, why would you put a turtleneck in a shoebox? Shoeboxes go to hot countries. And Zambia is a "hot country", but we also have a winter season, and let me tell you-- warm clothes are appreciated! The very next day I walked outside, and there's my little pot-bellied baby wearing her brand new red turtleneck! And Wezious running around in the dirt in her new socks. I love Africa. 

A big thank you to everyone who has put together shoeboxes for Operation Christmas Child. I can attest that these are the only Christmas presents the girls would have had, and they were absolutely delighted with everything they received. It is a good reminder for us all to appreciate the small things in life!

Victoria Falls: Celebrating in the Downpour

The low rumble can be heard and the rising fog seen from far outside the park. It is clear why Africans originally called Victoria Falls "Mosi-O-Tunya," meaning "the smoke that thunders."

The day was overcast and a fine mist followed us throughout the park as we embarked on the adventure to see Zambia's claim to fame, one of the seven natural wonders of the world.

My first glimpse left me awestruck at the enormity of the falls and the sheer volume of water… and amazingly, only 25% of Victoria Falls is visible from the Zambia side. The majority lies across the Zimbabwean border.
























I thought I was well-equipped with my rain jacket… but as we got closer to the falls I realized the rental ponchos were a must. After Kayla and I got all geared up in plastic cape ensembles that would make April Cox proud, we set off to Knife's Edge, the bridge that runs in a very close parallel to a portion of
the Zambian falls.

I had this funny idea that I could stand on the bridge and take pictures, because you know, that's what you do when you go to beautiful places.  Maybe in dry season, but right now, that's a joke. The rainy season has turned the falls into a swollen, raging monsoon.

Standing on the bridge you gasp for air and laugh uncontrollably through burning lungs and try to keep your stinging eyes open for long enough to catch a glimpse of this wonder. Water rushes under your feet and you realize that despite the poncho, every square inch of your body is soaked. And you're not even standing under the falls. Just near it.

As I stood there, a certain Rend Collective lyric kept coming to mind:

Your mercy rains from heaven
Like confetti at a wedding
And I am celebrating in the downpour

But this ain't like no confetti.
Clearly.

Yet we were celebrating this downpour of water that so vividly depicts the outpouring of the grace and the mercy and the power of our God.

Later that evening after getting dried off and warmed up, I read Psalm 42. It begins,

"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God…"

The psalmist is thirsty for God. And what response does he find?

"Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me."

We thirst for just a drink and he plunges us into an enormous waterfall of his grace and goodness.

40/40 Bush Life: Bats, rats, and spitting cobras, oh my!

For those who knew me from childhood up to about age 20, what follows will utterly amaze you. In fact, it may even belong to the category of things the Lord does that "you would not believe, even if you were told." 

I'm kidding. But only a little.

For those of you who did not know me as a child, I grew up with a pathological fear of dirt, bugs, and anything creepy-crawly. Pathological is not an overstatement, my parents would be quick to assure you. Once I had a panic attack when a bug flew in the open window of the car and I couldn't get it out (and if I recall, nearly caused my dad to have an accident with all the commotion). I became hysterical after a Magic School Bus episode opened my eyes to the disturbing fact that bacteria is everywhere-- you can run, but you can't hide.  And the first time I went to church camp, I almost cried because because I couldn't find anything to sit on that wasn't dirty. 

And look where I am now. God has such a sense of humor.

If someone had told me ten years ago that I would spend almost two weeks in the African bush, with no electricity, no running water, pumping my bathwater from a well into a 20 L bucket, and using a "squatty potty" inhabited by bats, I would have said you were crazy.

Yes, bats. 

Let's start there. 

I was warned by Kayla from day one that there were bats living in the toilet. Only when she said toilet, I heard "restroom facility." Like maybe they were living up in the ceiling somewhere. 

Nope. When she said toilet, she meant toilet. Hearing them screeching  and flying around down underground was pretty terrifying, but praise the Lord I never came face-to-face with one of them.

My friend Jennilee wasn't so lucky. 

Shower

After completing the lengthy process of pumping, hauling, and heating bathwater, she went to pour it into the shower (basically a bucket on a pulley). But lo and behold, when she lowered the shower bucket… there was a bat inside. Alive. 

At least it wasn't a tarantula or spitting cobra… oh wait… we found those too.

But nothing compares in my mind to what the participants experienced in their homestays. They spent the weekend with Zambian families in the village. At least two of the missionary families found they were not alone in their mud huts. Imagine waking up in the night to screeching and pitter-pattering of little feet… looking up and seeing several rats climbing up the outside of your mosquito net. Both families who had this experience have stories of epic duels with the rats over the course of their three night stay, but those stories are theirs to tell. I'll leave the rest to your imagination. 

I am SO thankful to have been spared from sleeping with rats. But camping in the bush was an adventure nonetheless. At first I was just kind of in survival mode. It took twice as long for me to do simple tasks like washing my hair or getting drinking water. But then I started to learn. I learned that it actually IS easier to carry a full bucket of water on your head than letting it hang from your arm. I learned to light my kerosene lantern before the sun went down and made the task impossible. 

Pumping water

Heating water

Hauling water

It amazes me when I think of how everyone lived this way only a couple hundred years ago. It was just daily life. Hard, hard, work. 

And yet it's also amazing the simple pleasures we can find here that we might miss otherwise. Like, appreciating the vast diversity of insects (it amazes me how the Lord has transformed me because the crickets that once gave me panic attacks are now placed in my hands by my students and I just smile and nod). 

Or the simple pleasure of music. I will never forget these nights, even after months or years away from Africa. Sitting around a smoky charcoal fire, singing with the Zambian staff. Irene's fierce, plaintive voice piercing the night air, accompanied by the mens' husky baritone harmonies. Mwaka dancing with feigned shyness, and all the girls cheering her on. And I, with my chin to the sky, taking in the dazzling, dizzying stars that cannot possibly be counted.

Oh, the stars. 

It seems almost irreverent, I stand on my straw mat brushing my teeth and gazing heavenward, nothing in sight but trees and stars. In this moment, the sacred and mundane meet. How can anyone not believe in a Creator? Somehow I think this is how it's supposed to be-- an awareness of God that cannot be ignored.

Here in the midst of all this untamed beauty, it's possible to forget everything else. The superfluity that technology has brought to our lives. The stress of time and schedules, because we rise at dawn and welcome sleep soon after sunset.

This life is beautiful.

40/40: Beginnings

From mid-April to mid-May, Kayla and I helped out with a training called 40/40… short for "40 days and 40 nights." The goal of 40/40 is to give new missionaries a cultural orientation to Africa. Roughly half the time is spent in an urban African setting, while the other half is spent camping in the bush (sans electricity and running water). Then, to practice what they have learned, the participants wrap up by doing a home stay with a Zambian family living in the village. 

40/40 is infamous among our coworkers in Africa… some dread going through it, others anticipate it with excitement. Or at least I was excited about it. Although I wasn't able to go through the program last year as a participant, this year my chance came when I was asked to come and teach the missionary kids! As a "surprise bonus," I also became the camp nurse, but that's a story for another day.

I can't really speak to what the participants learned during 40/40, but I can share a little bit about the children's program. Aside from their daily schoolwork, we had lessons in science, African history and geography, and cultural studies. They (rather, "we," since I was learning for the first time along with them!) also learned practical skills such as lighting a lantern, slashing grass and cutting down trees in the bush.

It's kind of a funny thing; we were supposed to be teaching them how to adapt to African life, how to survive in a village setting, and how to interact with people of a different culture… but to tell you the truth, these things seem to be easier for kids than they are for adults. When they play soccer with Zambian kids, they don't care that they speak a different language and dress differently. When we were in the bush, they had no problem using a squatty potty or living without electricity for 10 days. Kids are quick to adapt and remain trusting and optimistic in situations that can make us adults (or at least me personally) uncomfortable.

Kids are great. Missionary kids, though, are extraordinary. Not only did they show great flexibility, but maturity beyond their years in comprehending the gravity of what their family is doing. 

As one eight-year-old said, "At first I was upset that we were moving to Africa, but then I came here and saw the poverty-- I even saw a kid drinking out of a mud puddle-- and then I thought to myself, maybe God has me here for a reason. I want Him to use me to tell people about Jesus."

Working with these precious kids has been a huge blessing to me, and I know I am learning from them just as much as I am teaching them.