My Flesh and my Heart May Fail...

My flesh and my heart may fail,

But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

Psalm 73:26

I don’t even know where to begin with this post. It’s a post I never thought I’d be writing. It’s one I never wanted to write. But here I am, writing it. And it’s hard to know what to say.

I’m back in South Carolina. Back from my assignment in Zambia. And no, it’s not October 2014. It hasn’t been two years. And yet here I find myself.

Let me start by saying this, the Lord is faithful. That I know to be true. Though my heart and flesh fail, my God never will. I am certain of that and confident in that.

My time in Zambia was the hardest six months of my life. I am not saying in any way that every day was bad or even that every single day was hard. There were many days filled with joy. Constant laughs with three wonderful missionary children who I grew to love deeply, who called me “Aunt Melanie,” smiles from four beautiful Zambian girls every day as I pulled into the driveway, friendships, church services full of the Holy Spirit. My time with the Lord during those six months was more intimate and sweet than it has ever been as I had plenty of time to slow down and really just sit with God as He taught me what it meant to trust Him, depend on Him, and rely on Him. I saw God move in some great ways among the Tonga people. In fact, I still see Him doing some awesome things among the Tonga. I am trusting Him to continue to work and move in big ways through the nationals and the missionaries that remain.

And yet, I now find myself thousands of miles away from it all. Like I said, it’s hard to know what to say. I can say this, I crumbled. I fell apart. I fell into a really dark place. Like I said, my heart and flesh fail. And that’s all I know to say that happened right now. I had a number of struggles on the field that honestly, I'm not sure are really the general public’s business. Or at least this blog is not the place for them. 

Maybe in the weeks and months ahead, I’ll have more words. Maybe this is it. Maybe it’s one of those things where words aren’t really enough, because it’s a deeply personal thing and I don’t have to have the words to explain it because God knows my heart and understands. In the next week or so I will be posting some details about what's next and how God has completely humbled me with His faithfulness so far.

Healing will take time. On both sides of the world. But this I know: God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. And I can trust Him. I can abide in Him. I can rest in His peace. He is faithful. He will heal. 

Come, let us return to the LORD;

for he has torn us, that he may heal us;

he has struck us down, and he will bind us up.

Hosea 6:1

A Snapshot of Namumu

Welcome mat 

Namumu.

It’s a place I’ve prayed would frequent the pages of my journals and blogs. It’s way past time for me to share Namumu with you, so maybe it can frequent your prayers and thoughts and journals too.

Namumu is a community run orphanage that shelters, feeds, and educates orphans and vulnerable children in the Siavonga District of Zambia. (from their website)

Namumu is two-fold. There is the orphanage center. And then on the premises, there is Namumu Primary School (grades 1-7). 

Map of Zambia that is painted on the side of Namumu Primary School

Playground at Namumu Primary School

The school was originally started for the orphanage, but since has been opened up to the community because there was a great need for a school in that part of town. It may only be a 15-20 minute drive for me to get from Namumu to the primary school in town, but it’s a much longer walk, up and down mountainous Siavonga for the kids. On any given school day, you see kids walking up and down the hills to get to school. It’s not like there’s a school bus to come pick them up. By the time they get to school, they’re probably already exhausted. And so Namumu opened up to keep some kids from having to make that trek.

Grade 1 students

Kids here wear uniforms to school. I think it’s another thing that gives them a sense of community. These kids clearly belong to Namumu Primary School because of their green uniforms.

 

Grade 3 students and classroom

The classrooms at the school are, well, not the ideal classrooms by American standards. But they are some of the nicest I’ve seen in Siavonga. And the class size is more manageable than most I’ve seen too. There are maybe 30-40 kids per class instead of 60-80 like the main school in town.

And then there’s the orphanage. Right now, Namumu cares for about 55 children, but they have the potential to house up to 80. When I first went to Namumu, I was a little struck by the conditions in the dormortories. There were bats in the ceiling boards and the bat feces were seeping through the boards and down the walls. Sorry if that image grosses you out. But at least you weren’t living in it. I can’t even describe to you the smell. But thankfully, since that first visit, they have taken the ceiling boards out and are in the process of cleaning and repainting the girls' dorm so that they can then move to the boys' dorm, which is in the same conditions.

The girls' temporary housing while their dormitory is going under improvements

So at the moment the girls are living in the chapel while their dorm is repaired. Maybe it doesn’t look ideal to you, but I promise it’s a thousand times better than what they were living in before this move. I was happy to see they carried their “Welcome to our Palace. Feel at Home” sign with them to the chapel. I always found it to be in such stark contrast to their living conditions, but at the same time I loved the message. You are welcome. This is home. 

Namumu does some great work for their kids. Both the girls and the boys have maize fields that they plant and harvest each year. Namumu also raises goats and hens. They currently have 212 hens that lay eggs twice a day. They are then able to sell those eggs and use the money to help support themselves. They also are in the process of starting carpentry and sewing programs so that the children at Namumu can have a means of providing for themselves when they one day venture out on their own.

Namumu's hens

And that’s Namumu. It's just a snapshot of it so that later, as it becomes a bigger part of my story here, you'll know what I'm talking about. Plus, I'm way overdue on a blog update too :)

(And a little shout out for some of my most cherished readers... I love and miss you, Mr. O's class! I'm so thankful I can share my life in Zambia with you even when we're thousands of miles apart from one another! Thanks for encouraging me to update my blog again.)

He Allures Me Still

I've spent the last 16 days camping out in Hosea every morning. Kinda a random place to camp out? Maybe. You probably know the story (at least the Redeeming Love version), but camp out there for 16 days? Well it was well worth it, let me tell you.

At the very beginning of Hosea, we find this little known prophet asked to do something a little crazy--marry a prostitute. Then he is asked to name each of their children with some peculiar names: Jezreel, "No Mercy," and "Not My People." Great names, huh? Hosea's family is to be a picture of how Israel "commits great whoredom by forsaking the LORD" (Hosea 1:2). Ouch.

And then for thirteen more chapters the Lord tells of all Israel's sins, the ways they have left God, and the judgement that is coming their way. It's not a pleasant read. It's really not pretty at all. Just page after page of all Israel's whoring around. It's almost uncomfortable to read.

"Their deeds do not permit them 

to return to their God.

For the spirit of whoredom is within them,

and they know not the LORD" (Hosea 3:4).

"For a spirit of whoredom has led them away;

and they have left their God to play the whore" (Hosea 4:12b).

"You have plowed iniquity;

you have reaped injustice;

you have eaten the fruit of lies,

Because you have trusted in your own way

and in the multitude of your warriors,

therefore the tumult of war shall rise among your people,

and all your fortresses shall be destroyed" (Hosea 10:13-14).

"It was I who knew you in the wilderness,

in the land of drought;

but they were filled, and their heart was lifted up;

therefore they forgot me" (Hosea 13:5-6).

And I shake my head at those Israelites. After all, Hosea is not the first or last book in the Old Testament full of the Lord's plea for Israel to return to Him once again. How could they be so ignorant? How could they continue to rebel?

And then I stop. I am those Israelites. I'd hate to have all my sins and shortcomings written out like theirs. Even recently, I have depended on my strength, run to lesser "gods," and forgotten the true God. And let me tell you, it was rough. I trusted in my own way, and reaped iniquity as a result. I've had some rough days here. I have really struggled at times. Some days, I've struggled well. I've run to the fortress of my God and remembered who He is and rested in His strength and peace. Other days, the struggle hasn't gone so well. I've run to other comforts, other idols, and looked for peace there. And let me tell you there was none.

But the beautiful thing about Hosea, is that woven throughout Israel's sins and judgement are beautiful pictures of God's grace and mercy:

"And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the LORD" (Hosea 2:19-20).

"Come let us return to the LORD;

for he has torn us, that he may heal us;

he has struck us down, and he will bind us up" (Hosea 6:1).

"Sow for yourselves righteousness

reap steadfast love;

break up your fallow ground,

for it is the time to seek the LORD,

that he may come and rain righteousness upon you" (Hosea 10:12).

"So you, by the help of your God, return,

hold fast to love and justice,

and wait continually for your God" (Hosea 12:6).

I deserve every bit as much judgement and condemnation as the Israelites. I am no different and no better than them. I have a heart prone to wander just like they did. But that's the beauty of grace. I can't even return to Him without His help. He is steadfast. He is faithful. He is full of grace. I come to Him in my brokenness and sin and He clothes me in the beauty of Christ's righteousness. I go after other lovers, other sources of fulfillment, and He allures me still and speaks tenderly to me (Hosea 2:14). What a Savior we have!

--I read through Hosea as part of an online Bible reading plan with the She Reads Truth community. Check out their website here: www.shereadstruth.com. New reading plan starts tomorrow!--

Let Them Praise His Name with Dancing

“Let them praise his name with dancing,

making melody to him with tambourine and lyre!”

(Ps. 149:3)

“Praise the LORD!

Praise God in his sanctuary;

praise him in his mighty heavens!

Praise him for his might deeds;

praise him according to his excellent greatness!

Praise him with trumpet sound;

praise him with lute and harp!

Praise him with tambourine and dance;

praise him with strings and pipe!

Praise him with sounding cymbals;

praise him with loud clashing cymbals!

Let everything that has breath praise the LORD!

Praise the LORD!”

(Ps. 150)

I love Sundays in Zambia. Absolutely love them. Here’s a glimpse into a Zambian church service at Siavonga Main Baptist Church.

Sunday as I parked my car at the church (I was the only car in the field, as everyone else walks to church, of course) and opened my car door, I heard my favorite sound in all of Zambia—the harmonies of Zambians pouring out their praises to God in their native tongue. I joined my friends Sara and Martha on a pew on the left side of the church with the rest of the ladies. The men are on the right side. And these are some of the things that the next two and a half hours of my life are filled with:

singing, singing, and more singing

We sing choruses with no screen telling us the words and no hymnbook. We sing hymns from the Tonga hymnbook. We sing hymns from the Nyanja hymnbook. There is lots of singing. And let me tell you, Zambians, they can harmonize like no one’s business. Seriously, it’s beautiful every time. There are no instruments, just voices and clapping and shouts of “Ayyyyeeeeee!” as we worship the Savior in spirit and in truth.

dancing

Where there is singing, there is dancing. In fact, on this particular Sunday, the elder leading the beginning of the service stopped us after singing through one verse of a song and told us we were not really dancing like the song said. It was a song about marching and searching here and there and finding there is no one like Jesus. And so we started again, marching, searching, and dancing around the room, then declaring together that there is no one like Jesus.

choir

Okay, so maybe this could have been included with the singing, singing, and more singing heading, but the choir deserves its own section in my book. When it’s time for the choir to sing a selection of songs, women scattered throughout the pews line up on the far left wall behind the choir director. And then they begin singing, stomping, and swaying their way up to the front of the church. I love it. After they are all in place, the choir director hums a few lines of a song and then they begin to sing that song. They have dances that go along with each of their songs. They sing several songs and then return to their seats in the same way they left them—with singing, stomping, and swaying.

offering

This, of course, is done to a song. The same song every Sunday in fact. And you won’t believe what it is. I promise you’ll be surprised. Every Sunday, as we walk up to the front and place our offerings in the baskets, we sing… “Bringing in the Sheaves.” Every week. I have been to several churches and this is true at all of them. Women take their offering up first, and once all the women have placed their offering and returned to their seats, the men take their offerings up.

prayer

If you’re not a person who likes to pray in public, then be thankful you don’t come to Siavonga Main. Because many times, they just call on someone in the congregation to stand up and pray. This Sunday, a lady was asked to pray after the offering. I’m not sure what she was saying, but I can tell you it was good. It was literally the most heartfelt cry out to God I’ve ever heard, and I didn’t understand a word of it. It was beautiful.

sermon

I have been so impressed with the pastors God has raised up at the churches I’ve visited in Siavonga. They preach the word of God with reckless abandon. They’re not worried about stepping on toes or offending anyone. Last week, our sermon was on the Great Commission. The pastor said at one point, “We Zambians, we have been receivers of the Word for too long. It is time for us to be sharers of the Word too.” And this Sunday the sermon was on Jonah. “We are spared every second of every day because God has a plan for deliverance for all people and He uses us to proclaim that deliverance. If we are not doing that, if we are not sharing the Word of God and His salvation, then we are no better than Jonah because we are running from the very thing He has called us to do with our lives.” Preach it, Roderick.

departing

After the sermon (and a few more songs, of course) it’s time to depart. While singing, the pastor exits the church, followed by the rest of the men and then the women and children. But you don’t just get out the door and start walking home. Oh no, that would not do in this culture. When the pastor exits, he stands just outside the door. The person who follows him shakes his hand, then stands beside him. He is followed by the next man who shakes both of their hands and then joins the line. Everyone in the church follows this pattern. That way, every single person greets every single person. No one could possibly be left out. I kinda love it.  It’s pretty wonderful.

And that’s that. That’s Sunday. That’s church at Siavonga Main.

Faithful in the Small

I get asked for rides on a fairly regular basis here. And to be completely honest, I almost always decline and keep on driving. But sometimes the Spirit tugs on your heart a little.

This morning as I drove up to my property’s gate by the road, I saw a lady walking. She had a large basket of produce on her head, mostly likely on her way into the market to try to sell her goods and make her day’s wages. This is not at all an unusual sight for me to see as I drive through town each day. I smiled and waved at her as I looked for the gate keys in my truck. She smiled and waved in return. She hesitated for a moment, and then continued on her journey.

I went through my routine… get out, unlock and open the gate, get back in the truck, drive through the gate, get out again and lock the gate back behind me.

And of course, as I turned onto the road, the lady had not made it too far ahead of me. She turned as she heard the truck coming up behind her. I slowed down as I neared her and she stuck out her hand. I stopped and rolled down the window. In her broken English she said, “I go to market.” I asked if she wanted a ride. She just smiled. I unlocked the doors on the passenger side of the car. She climbed in the back seat, set her basket in her lap, and shut the door. We exchanged names and I started to drive. It was all I could do to keep from laughing as went over a bumpy part of the road and she went a little airborne, probably wondering why she ever thought to ask the muzungu (white) girl for a ride. Walking does save you from the bumpiness of a car ride if nothing else. I tried to ask her a couple more questions but she just smiled and stared at me blankly. She eventually offered up something along the lines of, “English no bwanji,” meaning her English was not good. 

And then when I reached my turning point off the main road, I stopped to let her out. She tried to open the door but failed. Once again holding back laughter, I reached back and opened the door for her. She got out, placed her basket back on her head and called for some kids to come close the door. I turned to say goodbye and she was standing by the passenger window, clapping her hands together and smiling at me. I returned the gesture and we both went our separate ways.

And that was it. No big conversation that led to her accepting Christ. I even forgot to give her a tract in her heart language when she got out. Just a ride a couple of minutes up the road.

Why I felt led to give this woman a ride this morning, I don’t know. But sometimes I think God can take even the smallest things and use them. So I think it’s important to be faithful even in those small, seemingly meaningless things when we feel God telling us to do something. I think those can be the things we often pass up—the small things we don’t think will make a difference. Maybe God just wanted to use me to bless this woman’s day by giving her a small break from her long daily walk. Maybe it ends there. Maybe God has a bigger plan for it in her life that I’ll never know.

And these small things, they certainly aren’t limited to life here in Zambia. I think the things we like to dub “random acts of kindness” can be used by God in big, not random at all, ways if we’ll only be faithful to do them when He call us. So I encourage you to find those things, those ever so small acts of kindness the Lord places on your heart and do them. Don’t shy back from doing something just because you don’t see how it will make any big difference. Be faithful to do every task God calls you to, no matter how big or small and trust Him with the rest. "He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it" (1 Thes. 5:24).