Evolution of Sundays.

Ahh. I Have my very weak latte in hand,(just how I like it)  a reject vanilla cupcake from the cakery and a tiny square of chocolate. AND it’s raining on Sunday. Our one day of rest and time alone with the family. 

Our sundays have evolved over the last 5 years since living here in Zambia. 

It used to be...

That we all were rushing around in the morning for everyone to get ready and get out the door in time to go to sunday school and then stay on for the morning service. 

Our first year here we attended a zambian church of about 500 people. They have sunday school services, morning services, and afternoon services. We were all lined up in the pew every sunday morning. Squished in the rows, sometimes about to faint from the heat and stagnant air in the building. The kids ventured into their sunday school classes, sat through their lessons trying to understand what was being said to them and enduring other children randomly reaching out behind them in class, touching their hair. The adults sat in small groups for prayer meeting not understanding even with the english that was spoken, what was being said. Voices were quiet, heads were bowed and prayers were made and sadly I didn’t understand any of it. We heard the preaching again because of the accents at least half the time I couldn’t follow what was being said. We filtered through greeting lines, trying our hardest to be “culturally” sensitive. 

Year 2, we had just adopted Grace. Sundays now became extra challenging as James began preaching at various vernacular speaking churches out in the poorer communities. We would all go as a family to many of them. The kids learned how to be ushered into the front where the seats of “honor” were, stand when introduced as a family and drink the coke/sprite/fanta offered as a special gift. A few times lunch at the pastors home or at the church, followed these services and I can only say it was in these moments that my kids, though it was very difficult, they shined. They learned more about true humility, privilege, need, lack of complaint and sacrifice on both our part and the churches. 

We attended churches meeting in houses, run-down buildings, tents and under trees. “Church” became as varied as people are. People loving God and serving Him, but in many different ways and aspects of that service to God. Though our experiences were developing and various aspects of our own families character, it was still a very difficult time.  Grace was having many challenges and cried and screamed all the time. Because Sundays her routine was in more upheaval it then became the worst day of the week. This caused many, many uncomfortable moments in strange unfamiliar churches and more stares than I care to remember and more feelings of inability. All the while trying to smile my way through it and appear as if I still had everything together. 

Sundays became a test of  “endurance”.  Hundreds of hours over the first few years here, were spent walking around outside of church services, trying to either pacify  Grace, (myself) or to provide an “out” for my kids who were also struggling to hang in there for the 3rd hour of the service. Some attempts were made to “try” on my part the first year or so, in getting to know people and develop friendships but after not feeling much of a connection with anyone, many tears were shed as the isolation I felt in particular grew stronger and stronger. 

At some point thankfully, we realized that our own expectations for our kids don’t have to match other peoples. Yes we came here to fit in and serve, but that didn’t mean that we then would set expectations on our own family that we didn’t see as necessary. 

Year 3,  we joined a small zambian church plant, that was meeting at our friends farm. The familiarity of the group of people, a time during the service where they took the young children out to teach them, and having a few other white faces of friends in the crowd all was a great encouragement and helped us to think, maybe, just maybe this will work for us. James continued to preach at the vernacular churches, but less often and we tried to become more connected to this smaller local church. 

It was this year as well that we decided to join an International Bible Study. Many other missionaries and people living in Lusaka attend Zambian churches, or are in “ministry” works in the morning at various churches so the afternoon bible study became a place for them to rest, soak in some teaching and be ministered too, rather than always being the ones ministering. As we were not sent with a mission team, or connecting with other missionaries here, this place became a strong connection to finally developing some other friends, and especially became foundational for our kids to get to know and develop friendships with other missionary or ex-pat kids. That seemed like the tide changer for them. 

Year 4 , we heard about an International Community Church where some of the people from this Bible Study attended and they asked James to help with the preaching. We decided to become involved with the church and many of the kids friends were also attending the church. It was at this point that we stopped attending strictly zambian churches. By this time it had become a very easy and clear decision. For the good of our family, we needed this change. Whatever pre-conceived thoughts and notions we came with as we moved here, in the end what mattered was finding a place where we could fit in and grow. So, we joined in with a group of people that however different they are, everyone is seeking to serve and love God in whatever their callings are. 

Its a mixed bunch of ex-pats, missionaries, zambians. It’s worshipping with the africans, europeans, australians, koreans, and americans. It is a truly diverse group and pretty much covers the globe. And that part is pretty amazing and reminds me of what heaven will be like with people from all over the world. 

What it has also meant though, is lots of goodbyes. People come and go. 1, 2 or 3 year stints for work or peace corp or missions related projects. People working with Embassies, or government related projects, etc. We just said goodbye to a very dear Korean family that was with us for only one year. A few times when we were all singing, they would sing the same thing in Korean, and I just loved that!  For our kids in just the 2 years we have been attending the church they have had several friends leave to go back to their native country, or away to boarding school or on to prepare for university. 

As our “need” for connecting with others was now being filled with this new church, at the same time our work and business lives were becoming more hectic, (working Monday-Saturday) we dropped the afternoon bible study for resting at home with our family. It was one of the best decisions for actually finding Sunday to be a day of rest. It is no longer run yourself ragged with all day churches services and activities every week, sitting in hot buildings with people staring at you, or going to church, coming home for 2 hours and then going back to church. It is a day of worship, but it is also a day of rest. To rejuvenate and refresh ourselves for the next week ahead. It’s also the only day of the week that we don’t have workers and staff here at the house. 

So we worship, we come home and eat our Sunday meal of pasta on the porch, then occasionally break out the American candy for a treat, play a game, take a walk with the kids, basketball or football in the yard, then we have coffee in the afternoon, a few hours of downtime and its evening and preparing for school, lunches etc and the next week ahead. 

So, here we are year 5. 

God has called us to be part of our current church and to help in the ways that we are able, and that we can all handle at this time. James is preaching. Everyone wants to go to church, the kids have friends, and “ for me” (a zambian saying) after 5 years I finally don’t feel that complete awkward, almost on the verge of tears, I have no one to talk to as we all stand around after church, feeling. I do have friends.  

75% of the time I go to church now, I know we will get some of the best preaching in Zambia. And I can clearly understand the man, no trouble with accents or meanings, I get him...more than words can say. :)   

Today though as we were finishing our game together on the porch, it started raining. I do love the rainy season, it made me think of the country song, raining on Sunday. 

Not a “spiritual” song by any means, but rather one of resting on a Sunday!  

Something I have just been really experiencing in the past year. 

“Pray that it’s raining on Sunday...storming like crazy and we’ll hide under the covers all afternoon. Baby whatever comes Monday can take care of itself, we‘ve got better things that we can do. Cause it’s raining on Sunday.”

A comfortable life

(This month marks 5 years that we have been living in Zambia. I have had several different trains of thought so maybe a few blogs on the subject. ) 

5 years ago we said our goodbyes, through many tears and some excitement as well at what lay ahead. We slept our last night in our home that we built and expected to raise our family in. We left our dear friends Larry and Trenda standing on our front porch as we loaded up to leave. 

The same front porch that for hours we sat on and watched the kids play in the front yard. Running barefoot in the green grass, flying kites in the wind, eating pizza spread out on picnic blankets, sledding down the hill into the neighbors yard, building snowmen and throwing snowballs, Birthday parties, water balloon fights, Basketball, and bike rides. Rocking in the rocking chairs and watching the sunset. 

And that was just the front yard.

Back yard was trampoline tricks and hours and hours on the pirate ship and swing set. Walks around the property into the woods and the back field. Skating on the makeshift pond, zip lining down from the treehouse. Picking wild blackberries, tending our baby fruit trees and hoping they would make it. Hiding in the hay bales, watching the deer and wild turkey, seeing the mist rise up in the evenings and the dew in the morning spread out across the ground. 

It was home. A place we belonged.

In a sense it was our little “kingdom”. Protected, safe, and focused mainly on our family, and being the best little (ok who am I kidding,  big) family that we could be. 

Home used to be a nice house, comfortable surroundings, conveniences, hot water, plenty of bathrooms and space for the children to run wild and free.  Beautiful landscape, familiarity, friends riding up on horses, bible studies in basements, desserts at the dinning room table and space.  Belonging and familiarity. 

Solitude, Peace, Quiet.  and, did I say comfortable? 

And now we live in a place we don’t belong, renting an old house that is home but feels nothing like home and laughing at the irony that of the 5 houses we have owned it is THIS rented house that we have lived in the longest. 

Home now, when I read what I just read above can’t even really be compared. In fact I almost started crying as I was reminiscing. 

Home (at least this month) is heat and rain and flies and waterbugs that find their way up into your drains, sinks and across your bedroom floor. It’s mosquitos and more mosquitos and having to bug spray yourself just to sit in your own living room and watch a movie at night. It’s looking out across the yard at concrete walls surrounding you and hearing the banging on gates at early hours of the morning. It’s campaign vehicles driving through your neighbor hood blaring their message across their loudspeakers. It’s mourners packed into mini-buses and on the back of trucks singing their songs as they go to the burials. It’s traffic, car horns and people walking and crowding everywhere. 

It’s the incompetence of government systems that some days are more than you can handle. It’s dust and dirt and weeds and mud. And sometimes having to just keep your head down and keep going. 

It’s stares and stares and stares. Stares that can be turned into big white tooth grins, but sometimes, many times, there is no desire to put forth the effort and give the energy to even get the smile. It’s houseworkers that in theory sound ideal and a luxurious, “oh I’ll just tell my maid to do it”,  but end up creating stress and sapping energy and resources out of you as well. Just existing and living at times can feel so much harder. There is nothing “comfortable” about living here. 

But, there must be something.

Something pulling, drawing us, keeping us these 5 years and compelling us on for the next 5, 10 or 15. 

There is a lot that we have “stayed” for. 

People, places, and “innocent” faces. 

Opportunities to be had and help to be given.

But maybe too, we have stayed so we could find our place.

Not someone else’s place for us. But ours. 

So we could find our new “comfortable” in a very uncomfortable place.   

We moved alot, changed alot, uprooted alot, but at some point we decide this is it. 

This is where we settle. This is our home. And sure, when compared to what we used to have, and what home used to be, its rough. No disagreements there. 

Maybe someday, if we move to a nicer house, have a nice kitchen with a dishwasher, bigger bedrooms, more bathrooms for the kids, 2 hot water heaters for showers, away from the congestion and noise and room to run wild and free. 

Then maybe we can say not only are we “comfortable” here. 

We are “living in comfort”.  I would take that one too. 

Just this month though, I have felt a sense of “comfortable” with our life and our friends. Like we finally have something here. We are not alone. It has taken time, but we have true and dear friends here. The friends that have become our support system in the absence of other dear friends and even dearer family. That now, as we hit the 5 year mark I feel comfortable with who we are, where we are, and where we are heading. 

It has been a rocky road to get there at times. But I can honestly say I haven’t ever thought, “get me out of here!”  Well, ....at least not in reference to out of Zambia. ;) 

There is a significant difference between living a comfortable life, AND

being comfortable with your life. The clear conscience, can rest well at night, who needs their own little kingdom or bubble away from the real world anyway, let’s all learn to think of others not so much ourselves,  it really and truly is ok when we mess up, live a little- actually live ALOT, have fun, we really are totally blessed, - “comfortable” LIFE. 

I now would take the latter over the former any day.  

And I thank God He has shown me the difference, here in AFRICA.