“I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people. Ask God to help them, intercede on their behalf, and give thanks for them.” 1Timothy 2:1

Thursday was by far, one of the most fun days spent in Zambia. We wanted to do something very, very special for our children at George School - an unexpected treat. So, after a little thought, we decided on ice cream. To make it even more fun and exciting, we went in search of an ice cream man. We had seen them in town, here and there, on their bicycles, riding around with a freezer full of treats, ringing a little bell. Ron spotted one of the men the other day, and with Philemon as interpreter, found out where to inquire. N’ice ice cream is past the saw mill, near the bus depot, down an alley, and behind some other shops. We have discovered there is a whole other world behind the shop fronts. If you drive down the allies, where there is no apparent road, you can find anything from water pumps and cassette tapes to ice cream. When Ron arrived at N’ice the workers told him to just go ‘round back and look for the other muzungu (white man). Ron explained to Greg, the owner of N’ice about OMNI and our children at George School, and our desire to bring this special treat to them. He agreed that we could pick up one of his men, complete with bicycle, bell and freezer and drive them out to George to distribute ice cream. He said if we bought the first hundred cups of ice cream, he would supply the second hundred. We let the teachers know there was a surprise for Thursday, and to ask all the children to please be at the school. We stopped just short of the school gate, unloaded everything, and our ice cream man drove the bicycle into the school yard, ringing the bell, stopping at the side of the school next to the classrooms. Of course the children had heard the truck approaching and were already running to greet us when they spotted the surprise, but most didn’t know what it was. The teachers knew, and had all the children form lines, from youngest to oldest. Then they asked a question. “How many have had ice cream before?” Out of one hundred thirty children, only five raised their hands. The big cooler opened, and from youngest to oldest, each child received a cup of strawberry ice cream complete with a small wooden scoop to eat with. As each child came forward, Ron or I handed them the wooden scoop, and they would take a cup of ice cream, each one in turn, and each one curtseying in appreciation. And it was a good day for ice cream. The temperature on Thursday was 105 degrees! I’m not sure who was more excited, Ron or the kids! Once they tasted the ice cream, there was a lot of chatter, and laughing and giggling and even some cheering, as they licked the inside of the cups clean. The bonus was that each child now also has a plastic cup, with a lid, to take home and use. As you can see from the photo we were mobbed by the children, and we loved it.

And so our last week here was busy and bittersweet, trying to make the most of our precious last few days here, knowing we have to leave all too soon. We are so very thankful for the many and tremendous blessings we have received while here. Leaving here is definitely the most difficult part of this journey. Yesterday, casting Violet and Peter for the last time, and saying farewell to dear Friedah, an angel on earth who cares for her community at Kasongo so selflessly. The most difficult was leaving all our children for the last time at George School, seeing all those smiling faces for one last time. And then the tearful good byes to our teachers, Godfridah and Ms. Masumba. And today, our final good-byes to the workers at the project site – Philemon, Godwin, Vincent, Thomas – all the men we have grown so close to. One of the men, Peter, even brought his wife and three week old baby girl, Sharon, to meet us. We will miss them all so very much. Frank, one of our brick layers just kept shaking my hand and expressing his thanks for our time here with all of them, and saying he will keep us in his prayers and ask God to bless us in all we do, wherever we are. But what really touched my heart the most was when he said “You can’t leave us. You belong here with us, sharing your love and the ways God has blessed you. You have become like the mother of the village, and a mother cannot leave her children.” How do we leave our children and this community? While we may be leaving for now, our hearts will remain here…always.

“…blessed are your eyes, because they see; and your ears, because they hear.” Matthew 13:16

Today, our last Sunday service in Zambia, we decided to meet with the congregation of the United Church of Zambia at George Compound. As we began driving into George, we picked up two women; one expecting who had a wash tub full of vegetables tied to her back with a chitenge, and the other with a baby dangling from her back in a chitenge. There were two children with them; a girl of about 12 years and a boy of about 8 years. As we drove down the crater filled, dusty path, the two women chatted in Bemba, and the three children we busy staring at Ron and I. The two older children were silent, but smiling the whole while, but the baby look at us intently, then asked his mother a series of questions, and then just stared and stared at the white faces. When we were at the entrance to the church road, we asked if they wanted to get out and the woman with the baby said “No! Church! Church of Zambia!” And we told her that was the same church we were looking for, which made her very happy. So we drove down the next dirt path until she said “Next church” and we drove in and parked in a little bit of shade next to a mud block building with a rusted tin roof with bits of plastic and dried grass covering the holes. We all got out of the car, and the pregnant woman tied the big metal tub of vegetables on her back again, and with a warm smile shook my hand, saying “Natotella” (I thank you). I asked when her baby was due and if she would have it at home or at the clinic. She replied “one month” and “home.” After one more hand shake, she was off into the village. The other woman, who I later learned was Miriam, was so very lovely. She entered the church, with the baby feeding at her breast, and her two older children still smiling and staring at Ron and me. No one was in the church except for the secretary who greeted us, and welcomed us to worship with them. She was busy wiping off the layer of dust which collects on the benches. Next, the minister arrived, who I recognized from the last funeral, and also from the community committee which helps to govern George. Slowly, people came in, the men taking their seats on the left side of the church, and the women and children on the right side. Ron and I sat together on the men’s side – close to the aisle. One of the men is a laborer from the project site, and he was very excited to see us in his church. In all, about fifteen people came inside before the service began. The main choir was about five in size, and the women’s choir numbered three. Miriam led the women’s choir in song – her voice so beautiful, and you could see and hear the joy of the Lord radiating from her. The number didn’t matter; their voices were strong and inspiring. The main choir soon brought in two drums as accompaniment and then the dancing began. It’s slow, rocking back and forth a little, with hand motions in front, reminiscent of a train. The main choir and women’s choir alternated with songs, and as they did, it was like the call from the Lord was heard, and the church slowly filled, as each entered to join in the celebration, many taking their place with the choirs. The entire service was in Bemba, with only a very few words of English spoken. But we understood so much, just from the joy and reverence of the congregation. We knew when the three claps resounded in the church, that we were beginning in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. After some time, the service came to a brief halt, as the minister came to Ron and me, and whispered “Please stand – we all want to greet you.” And so we stood, and received our welcoming claps, also in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Today’s reading was from Matthew, chapter13 verses 1-23 – the parable of the farmer scattering the seed. Before the minister began today’s sermon, he said he had a short message for today’s visitors. “While you may not fully understand the local language in which most of today’s message will be given, you remain in the House of God, covered by the umbrella of His grace and love.” What a lovely reminder that we were welcome, and that even the boundaries of language cannot separate us from the Holy Spirit. True to his word, most of the message was in Bemba, but the message we did hear was: “Your voice is important when talking to any person. The seed of God’s Word has been planted in all of us, what will your harvest be?” And while we didn’t understand the words of much of today’s service, it was clear when we were on our knees, that we were asking for forgiveness, and when the beat of the drum was lively and the dancing was moving, we were celebrating in the joy of the Lord. There was also a welcoming for one of the women into the church lady’s group. The group wears a white headdress, a black skirt, and a red top with a white collar. The newcomer explained to the congregation the meaning of each piece of clothing, which we were unable to understand, until she came to the big pockets on her top – one is to carry your Bible with you, and the other for pocket change. When the service had ended, the minister led the congregation outside, where each shook hands and then joined in a huge circle, ending with the main choir. As the song was finishing, once again the minister stepped over and whispered in my ear “Will you do us the honor of imparting the final prayer and blessing.” What a privilege and honor. We feel so much a part of this community, and love and treasure our time here – this was truly an unexpected blessing that I will treasure in my heart always. Afterward, I spoke with the minister and learned his name is Christopher Kabwe and that five of our children from George OMNI School are in his home. I can’t wait for that home visit! He asked for us to please come back and continue worshiping with them, and we told him that unfortunately this was our last Sunday of worship here in Zambia. Pastor Kabwe replied “This is where God has placed you. You will return.”

“Praise the Lord, everything he has created, everything in all his kingdom. Let all that I am praise the Lord.” Psalm 103:22

Today it was decided by the three of us, Foster, myself, and Ron, that we would do something a little different. We decided on the Chimfunshi Wildlife Orphanage Trust – a place which cares for orphaned chimpanzees. It all began in 1983 when a local game ranger brought a severely injured and dying chimpanzee to Sheila Siddle’s door. Knowing her natural affinity for animals, and her huge heart, he asked if she could care for this poor orphaned chimp which had been taken from poachers. The rest of his family had been killed for meat, and this baby chimp was left with a huge gash on his face, exposing broken teeth, he had terrible infections from his wounds, and was terribly malnourished. This was the humble beginnings of this amazing refuge for orphaned wildlife. Chimfunshi is located in the bush, about forty miles west of Chingola, along the Kafue River, near the Congo border. As we turned off the main highway, following the sign pointing to Chimfunshi, which means place of water in Bemba, we immediately noticed the incredible vegetation along this single lane dirt path. The colors were rich and vibrant; trees with bright red leaves that looked like displaced ferns, and a forest thick with beautiful pines, and trees with interlocking branches of beautiful bright green leaves, and small greenery covering much of the ground,. We crossed tiny bridges over streams full of flowering water lilies, and a huge flat grassland that looked like velvet. Unfortunately, the road was quite rough, with most of the 21 km dirt path into the refuge resembling an old fashioned wash board. When we finally arrived at our destination we noticed monkeys walking along the ridges of the building rooftops, and a hippo comfortably soaking in the cool water of a fish pond, but no chimpanzees. Then a woman appeared carrying a one-year old chimpanzee wearing a diaper. He was introduced to us as Dominic, and clung to the woman as though she were his mother. He was just like a child – naughty and cute! As we were ushered around the chimpanzee housing, Dominic would hang from the tree and then the fence, and then climb to almost the top of a small tree and shake it as hard as he could. He would laugh when tickled, and was eager to play. He began howling when the older chimpanzees were fed before him, and just as a spoiled child, he was given a piece of fruit to quiet him. This is when Ron began asking him for a bite of the fruit. Dominic almost complied, but then thought better of it, shoving the last of the mango into his own mouth. By the end of our visit, Dominic would come alongside us and take hold of our hands and was also hanging from my legs just being playful. And he is strong! What a forceful little grip! There are nearly fifty chimps taking refuge here, most for many years now. Most of them roam large fenced areas, only returning to the buildings when it is time to eat. We were lucky since it was feeding time; everyone had surfaced to get their allotment of fruit, vegetables and a bottle of milk. Each one has their own distinct personality, and likes and dislikes. As we walked past, one of the males threw his cabbage at us, apparently not liking us or the cabbage!

The hippopotamus that lives here is named Billy. She is about fifteen years old, and came from the Kafue River near Kitwe. Billy’s mother was killed by hunters who were unable to retrieve the body because a bull hippo would not let them near. Billy, only about ten days old was eventually discovered hiding under the mother’s body. Lucky for Billy, she was brought to Sheila’s farm where she has been ever since. She, like all the infant animals, are initially cared for in Sheila’s home. Billy would wander into the house through the kitchen, head straight for the living room and stretch out on the sofa and watch television! This only stopped when she got so big, the couch finally collapsed. There are now heavy steel bars across the entrance to the kitchen, preventing Billy from just wandering into the house. Billy will occasionally make the trip back to the Kafue River meeting with other hippos, but she always returns home. She also frequents the velvety grassland, and has free range of the property.

Finally we saw some wildlife other than chickens and goats! What a wonderful way to spend the day – interacting with a playful chimpanzee and talking with this wonderful woman and her daughter who have dedicated their lives to these orphaned animals.

“Since we entered the world penniless and will leave it penniless, if we have bread on the table and shoes on our feet, that’s enough.” 1Tim 6:7-8

Yesterday I continued home visits with the children from George OMNI School. We set off around 9am, an entourage of children laughing and running along side myself and the two school teachers, Ms. Masumba and Godfridah. When our day ended around 5:30pm, we had visited twenty-six homes, and I’m sure we had walked many miles. I can’t even begin to describe what I saw in just this one day – children without parents, cared for by a widowed aging grandmother or living with an aunt who cares for four children in addition to her own six – people without any regular income, barely existing on the little bit of money they earn from making baskets or selling tomatoes – and children living with their grandmother because both parents have tested positive for HIV/Aids. But I didn’t hear many complaints about their situation. Instead what I heard were words of appreciation and gratitude, or as Ms. Masumba said so many times yesterday, “They are just giving thanks.” They are grateful most of all for the education the children are receiving, the books, the uniforms, and the hot meal every day. What I also see at George are children that are loved and cared for without reserve. It makes no difference if the parents are unable to care for their children or if the children are orphaned, they are brought into the homes of relatives and cared for – without question. It is sometimes difficult to establish the relationships within each home, because there may be so many from so many different homes, and it doesn’t matter to them if they are a niece or a daughter – they are family and they are loved. And they are cared for the best way possible. One other thing that is nearly impossible to establish is the true age of each child. Time has a whole different meaning here, and most people do not know their birth date, or care when they were born. Most know the year of birth, so no matter the month or the date, if you were born in the year 2000 you are now seven years old. And even that doesn’t really matter. The teachers challenged some as to the year of birth, deciding the child was either younger or older. It’s just not important.

The family in the photograph is no different – they love each other and all care for each other the best they can. The grandmother extended her hand in warm welcome, and had the children find seats for myself and the teachers. One was a metal chair with no back and the legs wired to the seat, one was a small bench fashioned from a rough looking log nailed to two uneven wooden legs, and the other was an empty 10 liter plastic jug which had once contained oil with a grain sack draped over the top. The grandmother was seated on the ground in front of us, legs stretched out straight in front of her. I couldn’t help but notice her shoes. They were old “Keds” slip on tennis shoes, worn and tattered, long strings hanging from the sides. But what I noticed most was that the soles of the shoes were almost totally worn away – all that remained was a tiny portion of the heel on each shoe. And then we began talking. John Mwamba is 16 years old, in grade 4, likes reading and going through books and wants to be a teacher when he finishes school. John’s parents are living, but unable to care for him and they do not live at George. Kegan Kalipa (Mabel’s brother and cousin to the other children) is 13 years old, in grade 4, enjoys playing soccer and would also like to be a teacher one day. Mabel Kalipa (Kegan’s sister and cousin to the other children) is 11 years old, in grade 2, hopes to be a teacher one day, and when she’s not in school she enjoys doing housework. Kegan and Mabel’s mother is deceased, and their father is unable to care for them and does not live at George. Gift Kasongo (cousin to the other children) is 7 years old, in grade 1, wants to be a soldier when he grows up, and likes playing soccer. Gift’s mother and father are divorced, unable to care for him, and they don’t live at George. Mary Mulenga (John’s half-sister and cousin to the other children) is 10 years old, in grade 2, wants to be a teacher and likes playing netball. Mary’s mother is living but unable to care for her, and her father is deceased. On Sundays the children attend the Roman Catholic Church at George, while the grandmother attends the United Church of Zambia. The grandmother makes a little bit of money reselling vegetables she buys at the market in Twapia. And she was quick to tell me that all of her grandchildren help her around the house and any way they can. When I asked if they have regular meals, the answer was they don’t always have food. The only regular meal is the one the children receive at school. Their health is good she said, they only suffer from malaria, worms, and an occasional stomach ache. When I asked if she had any questions for me or any ideas for the school, all she could say was thank you for helping her with her grandchildren. She doesn’t have the money to send them to a school. And she is also appreciating the meal they receive every day, because then she knows they will eat at least once every day.

I can’t say this family was typical, but it was not unusual. Many of the children want to be teachers, nurses, doctors and truck drivers. When asked what they enjoy doing when not in school, the boys mostly enjoy soccer and the girls netball, but many of them name “fetching water” as their favorite pastime. Some like flying kites made from scraps of plastic stretched over twigs with shreds of twine from the grain bags as their ball of string. Every family suffers from malaria, and as one father told me, “Madame, everyone in Africa is sick.” There is no regular source of income except for a very few. Most families eat twice a day, many once, and some whenever they can. Yet, we are always greeted with a smile and a warm, friendly outstretched hand.

“Let them praise His name with dancing; Let them sing praises to Him…” Psalm 149:3

The United Church of Zambia brings new meaning to worship for the two of us. Before the service began today the youth choir was inside already singing their praises to the Lord, singing “Lord, I am a vessel created for your pleasure. Show me your way. I come to you today, as I lift my hands I pray.” At the same time, the main choir had gathered outside the church, forming a huge circle of prayer, which slowly progressed into song. They entered the church as the youth choir was finishing, dancing in a kind of march step, they lined the aisle as those presiding over the service walked to the front of the church, taking their places at the altar. The choir never missed a beat, as they continued that beautiful rhythmic step and quiet singing until they reached their seats facing the congregation. Then the choirs (there were four today) erupted into song – “Jesus is our life today, tomorrow and forevermore.” John, one of the church elders was seated next to me today, explaining the meaning of the songs and the service. Just as our last visit, we were seated shoulder to shoulder, on benches filled to capacity. They even brought in small benches placed in the aisles for the overflowing crowd. Children sat in front, lining the steps to the altar. And it was hot. It was certainly over 100 degrees in there, but there was John in his wool sports coat and tie, dressed in his best for the Lord. Very soon we were on our knees, singing and praying the confession prayer, followed by a reading from 1Kings 6:11-20 (Solomon builds the Temple). The second choir, a mixture of all ages, sang about God’s Temple, dancing and forming the shelter of the Temple over their heads with their hands. The rich voices of the main choir proclaimed that the Son in you is power with the next song. Then the entire congregation was on their feet, hands reaching toward the heavens, singing “Come back to me, keep me from sinning, God is good. Come to Him and He will save you.” Next the secretary came forward and welcomed everyone in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit – followed by three loud claps from the congregation. Visitors were then announced, asked to rise, and all welcomed with the three claps, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. This was followed by an intercessory prayer, the offering, and of course more singing. After the offering everyone was on their feet singing and dancing, praising the Lord for being chosen by the Almighty to sing for Him – “I was the happiest man when I was called to worship in His Temple – Let us come sing and dance for Him.” The next readings were Acts 12:1-11 (The angel of the Lord leads Peter to escape from prison) and John 6:1-12 (Jesus feeds five thousand with two fish and five loaves of bread). Today’s message was interpreted from Bemba into English by the church secretary. The minister instructed him to speak as he did, and do as he did – if he went crazy, then he should also! The message was about being faithful. Who are the faithful people, and how do they behave? They are obedient to God’s word. Just as Solomon was obedient in following the Lord’s instructions in building the Temple, so should we be. Obedient to the finest detail. We are the Temple of the Lord. He tells us “Build the Temple in my ways and I will come to you and help you.” God is always faithful – in His words and in His works. But mere men, we can look faithful, but are we? We may be in church on Sundays, but who are the faithful Christians? They are those who find joy in the Lord, let others see their joy, and they share their joy. Amen! Then the preacher asked “Where are the drums? Bring in the drums!” And the young men ran and brought the drums to the front of the church. “Let all see the joy of God in us! Let the drums beat, let your feet dance, let your tongue glorify God!” And so the drums began, the beat escalating until the whole of the church was on their feet, dancing and singing with the choir in the most tremendous display of joy and praise. It was incredible to see this minister inspire his congregation to bring out their joy in the Lord. He continued with the sermon, ending with these words: “Now we know the Spirit of God.”

“Plant the good seeds of righteousness, and you will harvest a crop of love.” Hosea 10:12

As we walk through George, visiting the homes of the school children, Godfridah (one of the teachers) and I speak about many things. We talk about the great need to educate the children so one day they can rise above this poverty. We talk about the children’s lack of interest in bathing, since it’s such a project to bring the water, heat the water, and most likely there is no soap. We talk about how music and dance are such an integral part of the children’s lives that they don’t even think to mention it as something they enjoy – it’s just part of them. But the other day we talked about farming and gardening. Godfridah said much of the land which was once used to raise crops of maize and other vegetables has been sold by the government. Much of the land which the community had “borrowed” for subsistence farming is no longer available. There are some who are fortunate enough to have seeds, and they may have a small garden next to their home, or a few tomatoes planted in plastic jugs. So, the problem has now become that the children are not learning the basic skills of raising vegetables. Godfridah said she has longed for the opportunity to have a garden at the school, where each child could be responsible for a row of vegetables. She wants to teach them how to turn the ground, prepare the soil, plant and care for the seeds, and harvest what they have grown. A bit of knowledge they could use their whole lives. This way, no matter what else happened, if they could find the seeds, she said they would at least have a chance for a harvest, which means they may not have to go hungry. I could scarcely believe the conversation we were having; all part of God’s most perfect plan. It was only the day before that we had received a care package from Ron’s brother Mark and his wife Carol. It was packed full of thoughtful items; nutrition bars, tuna fish, raisins, photos they had printed from the blog for us to distribute, children’s vitamins, antibiotic ointment, and… seeds! What a wonderful opportunity – a harvest of love. The next day I took packages of tomato, watermelon, cauliflower, cabbage, broccoli, cantaloupe and turnip seeds to a very surprised and a very happy teacher. Yesterday, as Ron was on the roof of the guard hut, one of the workers called out to him to see what was coming. It was Godfridah, walking the dirt path to the OMNI site, with a line of children in tow, carrying hoes – ready to begin the day’s lesson. Praying for an abundant harvest!

“The works of the Lord are great…He has made His wonderful works to be remembered.” Psalm 111:2-4

In this broken world there is One who heals the sick and those afflicted with pain and suffering. Our hearts have been heavy, for over a year now, as we remembered and prayed for the woman we knew only as “the burn lady”. At the clinic at Agape in July 2006, in the deep bush of Mpongwe, a young woman arrived who had been severely burned, from the groin to below the knee, on both legs. Unable to walk at all, she arrived by oxen cart with a wooden frame with a blanket draped over it, which stretched across her legs, protecting her from the elements while not touching her burns. When the blanket was removed we were shocked to see that no skin remained on her legs, and in one area the bone was exposed. The OMNI doctors and nurses worked many hours debreeding and carefully cleaning the burn, which was over one month old. She endured this painful procedure with incredible strength and courage; not a single wimper, not a single tear shed. She was seen by the doctors and nurses several times last year, and given supplies to care for the burn. Today we witnessed how the Lord had answered our prayers. We made the long drive to Mpongwe, nearly two hours, driving the dirt roads and narrow paths we have now become accustomed to, in search of “the burn lady”. Our hearts sank when Foster said, “I only hope we find her.” We drove past many small villages. There would be a tiny trail leading to a small cluster of huts with grass roofs. Finally, Foster said “This is the one” as he turned down a trail lined with burned out grass and trees. We followed the trail until it ended, where we found Floreen Kabati sitting in the small cooking hut. When she heard the car approaching she turned, then came running to the car. Before I could even get out of the car, her arms were wrapped tight around me, and her cheek pressed close next to mine. And of course, the tears flowed freely. Here was the same young woman who had been unable to walk at all last year, running to greet us! As Ron came around from the other side of the car, she hugged him, then returned to hug me. She went back and forth hugging us both for several minutes, then just stood next to us, beaming. Floreen speaks very little English, but those first few minutes no words were spoken, or needed. As we did begin speaking with her, we discovered that she had been in the hospital for seven months, where she eventually received skin grafts on both legs. She had escaped infection and regained full mobility. Floreen explained the burn had occurred at her in-laws, where she was living with her husband and two children. While cooking over the open fire, some of the cooking oil spilled into the fire and ignited the chitenge she was wearing. Underneath the chitenge she was wearing another skirt made of synthetic fabric which literally melted onto her legs. It is her belief that this accident was caused by witchcraft practiced by her in-laws. While she was in the hospital she said her husband never came to see her, and she would not return to live with him at his parent’s home. She is now living with her father and two younger brothers. Her older son, Parod, age 7, lives with his father, but she is able to see him often. Sadly, when she returned from the hospital in April she discovered her baby had died. She was visibly shaken sharing this news with us, so we did not ask any more. She stayed close by our sides the whole while we visited, and would periodically put her arm around my waist or shoulder, giving me a little squeeze.
The last words Floreen spoke, in her soft, sweet voice were “My God will bless you richly.” Indeed, He has. We have never felt more blessed in our lives.

“As he slept, he dreamed of a stairway that reached from the earth up to heaven. And he saw the angels of God going up and down the stairway.”Gen28:12

Siprain Mulongwe was only 43 years old when he passed away last Friday after suffering a stroke. He leaves behind a widow, many siblings, but no children. He was a brother to the wife of our friend, Godwin. Today we were privileged to assist this family and the community with the funeral of Siprain. Philemon met us on the road into George this morning to guide us back to the funeral home – the house where Siprain’s widow now lives alone. Ron drove the truck deep into the village, winding through the dirt trails, following the path where there seemed to be none, making hairpin turns around small garden plots; until finally we reached a home where eighty or so people were gathered. There was a small bus waiting there already, which had been hired to transport people to the cemetery. We were greeted by an elderly gentlemen we didn’t know, who promptly brushed clean a small sofa next to the now burned out fire. The sofa was constructed of a wooden frame, what was once a lovely deep red upholstery with gold flowers, and about a half inch of foam padding which was now poking through the thread-bare seats. We sat quietly, waiting. There were women in the cooking hut, busy plucking a chicken and preparing vegetables for the widow. The youngest children were slung on the backs of the women in chitenges, and the older children sat on the floor of the hut eating a bit of nshima. A man about forty or so, very slight of frame, came to greet us. His words were humbling, and I don’t think we will ever forget them. He extended his hand, saying “You have come here to us with your humble hearts, serving our people in the way of the Lord. We are grateful, and we thank you.” Shortly after, a small boy of about three years came up to Ron. He spoke in Bemba, so we are unsure of the words, but his tiny brow was furrowed as he pointed to the truck and then to Ron, seemingly reprimanding Ron about something concerning the truck. Ron scooped him up in his arms, they made a survey of the truck, walking around it and peering inside. This seemed to satisfy his anxieties surrounding the truck, and he returned to his mother’s side. After some time, Godwin arrived, saying they had been unable to locate a coffin at Twapia. We would need to stop and purchase a coffin in Kabushi, a village on the way to the cemetery. Mourners piled into the bus and the back of the truck and we headed for Kabushi. As we drove along very slowly, crowded with people standing in the back of the truck and sitting on the side rails, singing of the glory of the Lord all the while, and hazard lights flashing, the police check points were not a problem. Funeral transports are not detained, and we didn’t even need to slow down – we were motioned to proceed as we approached each point. As we neared the cemetery, many of those on the truck emptied out, walking the rest of the way, making room for the coffin yet to be purchased. We stopped at an unlikely looking group of shops, and the empty coffin was quickly loaded into the back of the truck. This is when the heart-wrenching wailing of the women began; the finality of the situation tearing at the hearts of the sisters of Siprain. We returned to town to the mortuary at Ndola Central Hospital. The truck stopped briefly as most of the mourners joined the crowd of others waiting on the front lawn, also grieving their loss. We drove to the rear of the hospital, the odor from the mortuary permeating the air. We were number eight in line. I waited in the truck as a group of the men claimed the body, prepared him for burial, and then loaded the coffin back onto the truck. As we left the hospital we joined in the caravan of others making the journey to Kantolomba Cemetery. The singing began with the deep voices of the men, joined by the beautiful harmony of the women telling the Bible story from Genesis of Jacob’s Ladder – climbing the stairway, accompanied by the angels, to be closer to God. Upon reaching the cemetery it was much like our visit before – mourners crowded around the already too many mounds of dirt, singing and praying, wailing and grieving the loss of too many lost loved ones. The grave site was near the foot of a small hill. The men gathered near the grave, the women a little further back. Today’s ceremony was brief, with two preachers reading scripture and giving the prayers and blessing. The coffin was placed in the ground, and before they began covering it, one of the men scooped some of the soil into a shovel and passed through the mourners, offering them this last chance to touch and bless the soil which would soon cover the deceased. The grave was quickly filled and the dirt mounded on top. There was a eulogy from one of the ministers, telling in only a few minutes of the life of Siprain. Then the ceremony of placing the flowers began. As they called names of relatives and friends, they stepped forward to collect a flower or small wreath, knelt beside the grave, and offered their final prayers and respect as they gently placed the flowers on the mounded grave. A man was invited to come forward by one of the ministers, and he expressed the community’s appreciation for our support and assistance in transport, and then the minister placed a flower in my hand to place on the grave. As the crowd dispersed, singing filled the air, and we watched as the sisters of the deceased grieved almost uncontrollably, the older women helping them to climb the hill out of the cemetery. During the long drive back to the funeral home we heard songs which express their sorrow and grief - “Now we are weeping and mourning, he has chosen the way home.”

“Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father’s home…” John 14:1-2

Today we were invited to attend church service at Dag Hammarskjöld by Thomas Bwalya, one of our brick layers. We drove down the long drive lined with the tall, tall pines, past the high tension wires and onto the dirt road. And then we wondered – where next? We tried to call Thomas, but could not reach him. We drove a little way, and greeted a man walking down the road who, of course, said we were going the wrong way. He said to turn back and just keep going straight, straight, straight! We kept going straight and ended up at the Dag Hammarskjöld Memorial, which is a nicely kept peaceful memorial park. There were two men there who we also asked how to find Deliverance Ministries Church. They had not heard of it, but said all the churches are in the same place. Go back the way we just came from, and at the first wide dirt path, turn left and just keep going until it ends at the churches. We drove for about 2 kilometers and chose what we thought was the first wide path. Then we drove through washed out areas, our tires not really fitting the ruts worn into the path. We drove around trees and termite mounds. And finally we decided we were lost and had best go back. As we turned, the phone rang and it was Thomas, saying he could see us. We looked all around and could see nothing but the tall elephant grass and the dirt road in front and behind us. When I asked where he was, he replied “Just here, on the road.” Finally I saw the figure of a man in the distance running toward us. Thomas jumped in the car and directed us to turn back around – we had been going the right direction, just not far enough. We turned several more times, the road becoming smaller, and smaller with each turn. Finally we were winding our way around the other churches, and we arrived at the Deliverance Everngelist Pentecost Church in Zambia, where Thomas is a deacon. His three children arrived shortly, ages 2, 8 and 10. The two older ones greeted us, by the two year old hid under her older sister’s shetange, not having seen a white person before. Thomas’ wife remained at home, feeling the strain of carrying their fourth child, due next month. Thomas had built the church, using the customary mud bricks. When we entered the church we saw the off-center support was a tree which had been growing there, the top cut into a “Y” to support the cross beam. The inside of the roof was constructed of tree limbs arranged in cross-supports with heavy black plastic laid on top – a few sunny spots shining through the worn and torn areas. The outside of the roof was dried elephant grass. The benches were pieces of shaved logs nailed to round stumps which were only about eight inches off the ground. Some appearing quite wobbly, we chose one near the back which looked more secure. Thomas quickly unpacked a plastic grocery bag and set the altar. There was a white cloth which had the name of the church and John 3:16 embroidered in red on the front. After placing it on the simple wooden altar, he folded the edges on the top, and placed two small plastic bottles weighted with dirt, each containing red plastic flowers, on the front corners. Before the service began, the pastor rang on Thomas’ phone, conveying his regrets that he was out of town and unable to receive us as guests. Thomas was conducting the service today in the pastor’s absence. As we waited for the rest of those meeting today, those inside began singing in Bemba “God Show Us the Way.” Once all were congregated, we, as honored guests, were invited to sit next to the altar on upholstered stools covered with a piece of white and gold lace. Thomas sat next to us on a small wooden bench. We first rose for a prayer of forgiveness and thanksgiving. Then, much to our surprise and delight the first song was Takwaba – a song which we know well, including the motions. The congregation was taken by surprise when we joined in the singing and dancing so readily, knowing all the words. Next was a brief time of individual prayer, everyone praying and praising God out loud, in their own way. Hallelujah! Amen! The women’s choir entered the church, singing and dancing in a procession of three. They stayed in front of the altar, requesting deliverance and God’s help through their singing and dancing and hand motions. They danced back to their seats and then the youth choir was called upon. There were about fifteen young people who marched in time to the front of the church, bringing three drums made of hollowed trees covered with goat skin, and a make-shift tambourine constructed of circles of wire with metal rings in between. One of the older boys stood at the tallest drum, using the palm of his hand and a stubby wooden stick to play on the top and side of the drum. Two other boys squatted at the other two drums, playing them with both hands, and another took charge of the tambourine. Their songs were asking, “God please guide me. I am with you. Stay with me. Keep me from temptation and diseases.” Many of the women were dancing in the aisle and raising their arms in praise and worship. When the choir was finished they marched a full circle around the drums, returning to their seats, the musicians following behind, still beating the drums. Amen! There was then a prayer to prepare to receive the word of God. Today’s word was John 14:1-7 – Jesus, the way to the Father, followed by Luke 16:19-31 – the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. Thomas delivered the message in Bemba, so I’m not sure what it was, but it was followed by Amen! And clapping. Then the offering was accepted at the altar. Two small tin bowls were placed on either side, and while the choir sang, each individual brought their gift forward as the Spirit moved them. Thomas stepped forward and spoke a few words. The choir began singing, and slowly people knelt before the altar or placed their babies in his arms. Each leaned forward to whisper their specific need for physical healing in his ear. Thomas placed his right hand on their forehead, raised his left hand to heaven and prayed. After this we heard announcements: today’s collection was K46,450 (a little less than $12), the number in attendance was 62, and we were welcomed as visitors followed by Amen! And clapping. After the closing prayer we followed Thomas outside where we were greeted by each person in attendance. There was one little girl, about seven years old, dressed in a frilly white dress, a little torn and tattered, wearing a denim baseball cap who just stared at us with her big brown eyes. Ron reached out his hand to her, and she hid. But there was another girl a bit younger, Priscilla, who was watching. When the other child hid, she immediately rushed forward smiling, and placed her tiny little hand in Ron’s, followed by a respectful curtsey. It was too sweet for words. After a little fellowship, and Ron and I singing Takwaba with part of the choir again, Thomas said we were going to his house to eat chicken. He apologized over and over that there was no mealie meal to prepare nshima, as this is the traditional welcoming food. We arrived at his home which he built in 2004, set back a little way from the road, behind a few banana trees which he said produce fruit for five or six months, mango trees with the fruit just ripening and a field of long-ago harvested maize. A very nice plot and home. He explained there is one room in his home reserved for the chickens they raise. His wife, Sylvia was there waiting, but still not feeling well, obviously very uncomfortable. And then Thomas started chasing the chickens, calling to his 8 year old son to help him. He finally caught one, holding its wings together, and then using a piece of string from a grain bag, tied it’s feet together. And as you may have guessed from the picture, since there was nothing prepared for us to eat, the chicken became my gift! What a tremendous honor. A truly extraordinary Sunday!

Friday I visited the homes of fourteen of the children attending George OMNI School. Classes don’t actually begin until Monday, so we set off as an interesting caravan – Godfridah, Ms. Masumba, myself, and about twenty-five of the younger children, all walking through the village from house to house. The school is in about the middle of the village, so we began on the right side, our first stop being the home of Judith Nakaonga. She is 8 years old, currently in grade 1, and she wants to be a teacher when she grows up. She is cared for by her stepmother and her father. She has two sisters, one older, one younger. The older girl, Georgina, attends Twapia School, and the younger sister at age 5 isn’t yet old enough for school. They remain fairly healthy, except for malaria and icifuba (coughing). They usually eat twice a day, sometimes only once. When I asked the stepmother if she had any questions or anything she would like to talk about, all she could say was Twatotella (thank you). She is grateful for the opportunity Judith has to receive an education, school books, a meal every day, a uniform and shoes – all without any fees. If there were fees, they would not be able to send both children to school. Her only request was that OMNI please continue educating the children at George so they can have the opportunity for a better life. This was fairly typical of all the home visits. Some children are cared for by a grandparent or another relative, some homes have seven or eight children, some siblings do not live in the same home, but most of the other circumstances remain constant – there is little or no income for the family and there are only one or two meals most days. And there is genuine gratitude for the education and daily meal their children receive. It was interesting walking through the village, being greeted by people everywhere, not just parents and guardians. It was humbling to see where our children live – to witness the undeniable love of an aging grandmother caring for her orphaned five year old granddaughter and two year old grandson – a widow raising five children, three of which are grandchildren she took because they were always sick when they lived with the mother, the youngest only two years old. I saw clean homes, with very little furnishings, front yards where the dirt had been swept clean, and sincere concern for their children’s future. This was no different for the home I visited where Rosa, the oldest child at 14 years is the head of the household. The father is still living, but is usually gone, I was told, “looking for food.” He cannot find steady employment and is constantly in search of some type of piece work, or molding bricks, which oftentimes takes him to other towns. Rosa is quite the young woman, accepting full responsibility for the care of her two younger siblings and the household duties. It is humbling to witness their strength. Their hands may be tired, but there is no weakness.

P.S. It was very, very difficult, but the chicken remained with Thomas and his family. It really very nearly broke my heart, knowing this was all Thomas could offer us. After holding the chicken for about thirty minutes, tears welling in my eyes, I finally had to tell him it hurt me not to be able to take the chicken, and that I will never, ever forget this lovely gift from his heart. We explained as graciously as possible that we couldn’t take a live chicken to Setanga Lodge. If we were living at George, we would have been all set! Thomas, of course, understood.

“Be happy with those who are happy…” Romans 12:15

Lydia is a young woman we saw at our clinic in Mansansa. She came to the clinic for treatment of a severe burn on her leg. She was burned when she fell into a fire during a seizure. We treated the burn, but she also had a life-threatening abscess on her cheek which she didn’t even mention. She was brought to Dr. Jeanette, and as is her manner, she calmly and efficiently made an incision and drained and treated the abscess. Dr. Jeanette returned twice during her time here to follow-up and continue treatment. Today, Foster and I made the journey to Mansansa in search of Lydia. We went into the village following our usual path – a long, narrow, winding, dirt trail. As we neared the marshy area where the water pools, we saw several small children standing in the tall grass, buck naked, bathing. They stopped for a moment to smile and wave to us as we passed over the bridge. As we drove on we came to the first homes in the village. Mansansa is possibly the poorest community we visit, but the people are rich in spirit and we always receive a warm welcome. Foster greeted some men standing nearby, asking if they knew Lydia. They said yes, and then a long discussion ensued as they tried to explain how to find her home. One of the men offered to be our guide, fearing we might get lost as it is quite a distance. As we drove out of Mansansa and back to the highway, I wondered about the man in the back seat. He was larger than most of the men we meet here, he was silent, and was carrying an ax and a sack full of something with the top twisted shut and a bit of something red on the outside of the bag which looked a lot like blood. I think he had a dead chicken in the sack. But I didn’t want to ask, afraid he might show me. Foster headed down the highway to the main entrance for the next village which is Baluba. But the man said, “No, not here.” We drove a little further, turning down a dirt road with a sign pointing to Baluba Primary School. This road was very wide and in good condition, by comparison to most. I asked if Lydia lived in Baluba, and was told no – just so far back into Mansansa that this is the way to go. First we passed a heavily forested area, thick with trees and brush. Then we passed an area which had been cleared to accommodate high tension wires. Our guide pointed to the wires on a small hill and the school tucked just below the foot of the hill. Following the clearing was more bush area, where we occasionally saw a foot path along the side of the road which disappeared into the tall grass, but we never saw a house. After several miles we turned – “just this way”. The road was more like the usual roads found in the villages. It was much narrower, full of deep ruts, craters and rocks. After some time, we turned again. This time the road appeared to be more of a foot path, looking as though it had been quite some time since a car had traveled on it. The path was extremely narrow, and the tall grass on either side gently brushed along the sides of the car as we passed through. We drove, and we drove. Finally I could see a small clearing ahead, and that is where the road ended. We had reached a small cluster of homes, one of which was Lydia’s. She was standing outside in front of the cooking hut. I barely recognized her; she looked so different from when I last saw her at the clinic. The swollen cheek was no more, and the dark, sullen look, and the pain in her eyes were gone. She was beaming! The biggest smile I’ve seen yet, and she came running to greet us. She was laughing as she took my hand in hers and held it tightly. She was surprised, and she was so, so happy to see us. My heart filled to overflowing. She showed me her cheek right away, and all that remains is a tiny little scar where the incision was made. Great work Jeanette! Lydia is feeling fine, pain free and she showed me that her burn is healing nicely too, but still needs some more time. We met her mother and other family members, who greeted us warmly. And her mother thanked us for taking care of Lydia and coming back to see her again. When I asked if I could take a picture, Lydia quickly ran inside to change her clothes, and the other women smoothed and straightened their clothes and the mother put on her headdress – all to look their best. Two of the little ones ran to get the other youngsters from another house. They all came running to the small cooking hut where we were gathered, anxious to be photographed. All except one. She came running as fast as she could… until she saw my white face. She stopped dead in her tracks, let out a cry, and quickly retreated to the house! What a wonderful day! What a wonderful, joyous blessing!

“He was led like a sheep to the slaughter. And as a lamb is silent before the shearers, he did not open his mouth.” Acts 8:32

Ron arrived at George School with this morning’s milk delivery, and quickly jumped out of the truck, because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. One of the older boys was shaving the head of one of the younger boys. There was an eight year-old with a little bit of soap on his head and twelve year-old with a double edged razor shaving the hair off his head. He knew just how to hold the razor, making long, clean passes along the scalp of the little one. The younger boy never uttered a sound, but stood in complete silence, not moving a muscle. There were no nicks or cuts (on either boy) and a big pile of hair lay on the ground when he was done. Would you give a twelve year-old a razor? The double edge razor is also what is commonly used to sharpen pencils. I have watched horrified as children as small as five or six pull a razor out of their pocket and carefully, and quickly sharpen their pencils. Amazing!

Foster and I spent much of our time today in traffic jams! Now this isn’t something you see every day in Zambia! We were on our way to the warehouse, and as we crossed the small bridge just outside of town, we saw a huge group of people standing beside the road ahead. As we got closer, we could see there were police officers and hundreds of people lining the street. So, of course we stopped to ask what the excitement was all about. There was a truck passing through from South Africa which was transporting mine equipment. The truck has twenty axles, travels only 20 kilometers per hour, and is pulled from the front and pushed from behind. Everyone had come out to see this amazing site. We however, saw nothing but bumpers. When we finished at the warehouse, traffic was at a near stand-still due to the slow moving procession. They said there are people in the front who cut any electrical wires that are in the way, and then people in the back who repair them. They also remove and replace signs, and any other obstacles as they travel to the mine. After nearly one hour we made it back to town, made a few stops, and then headed for George. Unfortunately the truck was now in town, and traffic was again a terrific mess. We detoured unsuccessfully, and ended up in another hour delay, as cars attempted to drive anywhere they possibly could. There just aren’t that many roads here. The road suddenly had four lanes where previously there were only two, and people were driving over lawns and fields attempting to make some headway. Once again, there were hoards of people standing anywhere they could to view this spectacle. And, once again we missed it.

Progress has slowed at the project site again as we wait for water. The well-digger should come tomorrow to determine what the problem is. He has been unavailable due to the death of his child. One more reminder of the frailty of life here.

“That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life - whether you have enough food and drink and enough clothes to wear..” Matthew 7:25

Today I received the checks from the Rotary Club of Ndola and began actually purchasing the items for the interior of the first home. It felt so good to finally be buying the items for the home! But of course, nothing goes as planned, and some of the household items originally ordered were no longer available, so some substitutions were made. Things we would never even think about in the U.S. For instance, the frying pan June and I had ordered was no longer available. I asked the clerk to see what other ones she had and I would just choose one of them. She said there were none. It all worked out in the end and I loaded up the Land Cruiser – every square inch - with sheets, blankets, pillows, towels, silverware, pots and pans and the like. The last store I picked from (in Zambia you don’t pick up, you just pick) they sent their guard to stand with me until I was pulling away. They were afraid with all the merchandise, and the color of my skin, I might be a target. So, a tough looking elderly man with a big stick, and a gruff voice stood at the back of the car until I started driving off. Then he flashed a big smile and waved as I pulled out. I guess he’s only tough when he has to be. Then I drove out to our warehouse storage. Mr. Patel, the manager there, was surprised to see me alone, and had one of his yard men help me unload the car. I know it will be some time before all of these things are put into use, but it’s so good to take the next step!

Then it was off to Kasongo to deliver Annie’s monthly food supplies, so I stopped at George to pick (up) Ron. There were about fifteen men, in a one meter deep trench, furiously digging with picks and shovels, creating the beginnings of our next building – the cafeteria. Sandy, one of the younger men, was busy cooking lunch – nshima and buka fish. The nshima is cooked in a tin bucket over an open fire. Boil the water first, then keep adding the mealie meal (a fine corn meal) until it’s the proper consistency, stirring frequently with a huge wooden paddle. The small fish are scaled using a hacksaw blade, and then cut in half with the same. (Ron only eats the tail end!) They are salted and laid in the sun on the roll of wire used for the block work, then eventually cooked over the open fire in oil in a blackened tin container which has the top rolled back. Meanwhile, Sandy was also cleaning the plastic pans used to serve lunch and that they eat out of. Today we were watching, and Ron asked “Is that soap powder?” The answer was, “No, its sand. There is no soap.” He was using water with sand as an abrasive to clean the pans. And his rag was a small piece of the sack from the mealie meal. I had never seen them cleaning the dishes before, but am told this is the usual procedure at the work site. When I was buying the food stuffs for Annie, I had bought one box of dish paste for our own use. Wasn’t it strange that it was the only extra thing I had bought? When I brought the soap to him, you would think I had given him a handful of gold! Such a small thing. Such a huge smile. The soap cost 4,500 kwacha (about $1.15) and it will last a long, long time. I would never have imagined that dish soap could be so valuable… and so unattainable. The men here choose very carefully, and must make tough decisions. If they bring something like soap to the work site for their own use, then their family must do without. It’s a really tough life – using sand to clean dishes. We also found a cloth they could use instead of the piece of gunny sack. When lunch was ready, there were three plastic bins with nshima and three with fish. The men washed, and then sat in circles around the bins of food, under whatever little shade they could find. Philemon prayed a blessing over the food and the men, then everyone took a couple handfuls of nshima and a few pieces of the fish. You then pinch off small pieces of the nshima, rolling it into a ball with one hand and eat it with the fish. After you have pried the fish open with your fingers and removed the innards, the bones fall out, and you eat all the rest. And I mean ALL the rest – skin and eyes included. We are always welcome to share in the noon day meal, but I still can’t bring myself to even try to eat the fish. Luckily, they are just amused by my squeamish nature, and no offense is taken. They just say, “Oh, it’s very good! Maybe one day you’ll try.” And I answer, “Maybe…” And then they laugh. Wonder if we ate out of the pans washed with sand or dish soap.

“…we call him Abba, Father. For his Spirt joins with our spirit to affirm that we are God’s children.” Romans 8:15-16

Meet Florence and Lawrence. They are five year old twins of Lawrence, one of the laborers. Lawrence is shimpundu – the father of twins. The men at the site call Ron this frequently, having learned that he too is the father of twins. Ron met these two precious children today when he went in search of water. Yesterday we experienced our first rain. Today, the well was dry at the project site. The brick layers were at a standstill until they could find water. They loaded the truck with four of the 55 gallon drums and went in search of water. One barrel of water was needed for drinking and cooking, the other three for mixing cement. The first stop was the bore hole at the school. But there was too much activity there. The teachers and school children were busy cleaning the desks and chairs and mopping out the classrooms in preparation for the new term. So they went to the bore hole back by Frank’s house. Frank is one of the brick layers, a grandfather, always polite and respectful, and has one of the deepest voices I’ve ever heard. They rolled the barrels off the truck, and using a giant tube, filled the barrels with water and then rolled them up a timber ramp onto the back of the truck. As usual, there was a huge audience of children who gathered to watch the activity. They are especially curious to watch Ron, and see what the white face is doing. This is where Ron met Florence and Lawrence. Sweet little faces with beautiful brown eyes – a little shy, but curious also. The bore hole was also near the home of Lawrence. His wife carrying their baby, and the twins came out to greet everyone. It’s amazing to see the homes here at George, and learn that they are constructed of mud bricks. First you dig up some dirt and make a pile. Then you go to the well, or if you’re lucky the bore hole, and get a pail of water. Then, you slowly mix the water into the dirt using a spade or the flat side of a pick ax. Then you fill a metal form with the mud, beat it in so it’s solid and turn it out onto the ground to bake in the sun. We have seen children of about nine years going through this process as well as adults. And even younger children of five years help by hauling the water. When we asked about the rainy season and how the bricks fare through all of the rain, we were told that’s why it’s important to have an overhang on the roof. Most of the roofs are constructed of dried elephant grass and scraps of cardboard with metal rims anchoring them down. It’s unbelievable. Behind each home there is a deep hole in the ground surrounded by a grass shack. This is the toilet. I don’t know how that lasts through the rainy season. But this is the typical home at George – a two room building constructed of mud bricks with a grass roof. When you enter the home, you typically pass through a shetange or a piece of lace which covers the doorway. And you enter an immaculately kept home. There are crudely constructed shelves which harbor tin plates and bowls, cookware for the outside fire, and plastic cups for drinking. The dirt floor is swept clean – yes I said a clean dirt floor, and there may be a small table and one or two chairs, or there may be no furniture at all. The second room is usually empty and used for sleeping. Some may have straw mats which they use to sleep on, and maybe a few clothes hanging on nails or stacked in the corner. Most families have five or six children, and one or more grandparents living in there home.

Our Monday was much improved over the previous week. Ron was even able to get one of the generators which had been on the container up and running. There was much excitement at the project site as its engine finally roared to a start! There was additional activity as the drills and skil saw finally came to life. The brick layers were able to continue with the construction of the guard hut, the carpenters are hard at work on the roof, and the laborers are busy digging for the foundation of the cafeteria building (which will initially be used as a school). God is good – all the time!

“…Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

Last week was one fraught with many details, entanglements, and revisions. The days were very long, and the most challenging we have experienced yet. We felt bombarded with unsettling requests and failed plans. We learned to expect the unexpected, and be surprised by nothing. We were reminded to rely totally on God. Only He knows the plans He has for us. The first upset was Monday morning when my phone was lifted from my waist pack while I was wearing it. Ron and Philemon picked up more blocks this week, and transported them as they always have – the truck loaded and two men sitting against the back window of the cab, on top of the blocks. But Wednesday morning it was straight to jail for Ron which Godfridah (one of our school teachers) summed up this way: “They saw the white face, and just thought, how can he contribute today?” The fine was K54,000 (about $13) and they were told the men’s feet must be on the floor of the truck. They can sit on the blocks, but their feet must be on the floor. We won’t mention the logging trucks with the flimsy chains and six men sitting on top of the logs, or the trucks overloaded with men sitting on the side rails which just pass through the check points. Thursday they made sure the men’s feet were on the floor of the truck but it was off to jail again. This time Foster and I and Brown Banda met Ron and Philemon at the police station. Everyone was really upset because they had done what the previous officer instructed, and still they were impounded. Ron was very upset; Foster even noted that his walk was different. He was storming! Ron saw the officer from the day before and immediately approached her about what was happening. She tried to quickly exit, but Foster and Ron stopped her. So, after some time of all the men arguing the officer in charge released Ron and the truck with no fine. And he did it with a smile. And that is how the week went. Every day, all day long, it seemed nothing went smoothly. If it could go wrong, it did! It seemed we couldn’t find the comfort or solace we so desperately needed. By Saturday night we were totally exhausted – mentally, physically, and spiritually.

Then this morning, still feeling discouraged and overwrought, we made our way to the Twapia Church of Christ which meets at Twapia Basic School at 10 am on Sundays – or whenever the members in charge are able to make their way across the compound, walking to the service. There are many schoolrooms at Twapia Basic School, all holding church services. So, we made our way around the school complex, looking for William and the church service. As we walked past each schoolroom, someone would pop out, greet us, give a puzzled look when we asked for the Church of Christ, then direct us to an empty schoolroom. After about twenty minutes, one man said most definitely they meet over there – William is his friend and he sees him there every Sunday. So, we went back and now there were a few people inside. As we were talking, an elderly gentlemen walking down the dusty path greeted us and said “You must be our visitors. Welcome!” William was in Kitwe at a church conference, but had made arrangements with Elder Ndhlovu to welcome us. And we were definitely welcome here. We sat at school desks which are more like benches, two to a seat. As families arrived, the men separated from their wives and children. All the men were on one side of the room, and the women and children on the other. We were given two hymnals today, the pages worn and tattered, one covered in red velvet, the other in brown wrapping paper – one in Bemba and one in Tonga. Mr. Ndhlovu explained they sing in both languages because their members are not all from the same tribe. So, the service began as they all have, with a few voices, raised in glorious song, praising God. I wish you could hear the music and the resonating voices of this small gathering, and experience the feeling of complete joy and satisfaction that is so evident. Their voices are their only instruments. Everyone sings. Everyone sings out. There is what seems to be a natural, effortless harmony. There is no worry or reluctance. They are praising God. Their music is their gift to God. A young woman with an infant on her back and a toddler at her side, stepped over to make sure we were able to follow in the hymnals. And we were able to follow along, even join in singing. Although we didn’t know the words we were able to fumble through phonetically, and happy to join in their joyous celebration. Elder Ndhlovu graciously preached in English today, and invited an interpreter to translate for the congregation. Today’s lesson was spiritual growth – just as a child does not remain stagnant but grows, so must we who have accepted Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. We can only grow and understand what the Lord wants us to do by reading the scripture. The first reading was Ephesians 4:15. We were reminded that we can’t speak the truth in love if we don’t know the word of God. Everything we need is in the Bible. Whatever we do, love should come first – always. Pray to God for wisdom to understand His word. If you want to eat you must first go to the fields and cultivate, plant and harvest. It is the same with God’s Word – cultivate – plant – harvest. “May the Lord make your love for one another and for all people grow and overflow…” 1Thessalonians 3:12. But it was the reading from Isaiah 40:31 when I knew that God was speaking directly to us: “But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles.” And Isaiah 41: 10 “Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my righteous right hand.” And Elder Ndhlovu told us that while there may be every type of affliction imaginable here on earth, when we stand firm in the Lord, we need fear nothing – where we go He is with us – He will indeed hold us in the palm of His hand – and as He promises we will soar high above. This was the Word we needed to hear. The earth and heavens may pass away but the Lord will hold us up in His victorious right hand. The Lord has invited us to walk forward with Him. Don’t go backward. Be ready whenever He comes. Preaching was followed by singing in Tonga “Sena Ndililembedwe Mo?” (Is My Name Written There?) Next was sharing in the Lord’s Supper. First we read from Luke 22:29-30, John 3:3-5 and Matthew 26:26-28. We then prayed for the bread, we stood and received the Body of Christ from a shiny silver tray which was brought around the room to each person. We prayed for the wine, and received it in the same manner – from tiny plastic cups held on a silver tray. This was followed by Acts 20:35 and the offering, while singing “Bakaleta Zipego” (Something for Jesus). There was a prayer of thanksgiving, and a prayer of blessing. Then we were invited to speak what was on our hearts, and we attempted to convey our gratitude for their warm welcome into their church family, the gracious blessings, and the honor of sharing worship and fellowship with them. We were officially welcomed with a resounding AMEN! Once again, we were invited to be first in the receiving line after the service, and were blessed with the generous smiles and warm, solid handshakes of every person. There was a time of fellowship and gathering, and we were treated like old friends and asked to return. We are so privileged to be here. God is truly leading us where we need to be, where He wants us – every day, but I think most especially on Sundays. We needed to be at Twapia Church of Christ today. We needed to hear the words spoken today, and share in the welcoming fellowship of this Christian community. We are grateful for God’s faithfulness. He is our cornerstone, our comforter, and He stands before us each day with gifts of love. Today was a tremendous gift.

It rained this afternoon – the first rain since we have been here. It was a long, steady, hard rain. It was a cleansing rain. Now it is cooler and the air is clean and fresh.