Zosangalatza Malawi - Day 9

Wednesday, September 1

Our last day of the trip is always safari day—a day to relax and enjoy the sights that God created in Malawi. Seeing the animals is always neat, but I enjoy the most getting to see the scenic views that give my heart a moment of pure peace.

We drove a couple of hours to Liwonde National Park and took the boat tour. We went to a different location for our boat tour in March, so I got to see new things this time. We walked over a bridge, boarded a boat and crossed the river to the other side. We stopped for a bit at the lodge, to pay and register before taking the tour. As we were sitting in the veranda area, we took pictures of a baboon that was foraging right on the other side of the wall.

On the boat tour we saw many beautiful views. We drove past mounds of hippos and got very close to large smiling crocodile. We boated into an inlet and sat for a long time looking at two different herds of elephants. Along the way there were many birds, deer and even a camera-shy warthog.

Instead of taking the land tour this time, we drove another hour to Lake Malawi. When we walked into the resort area there, the view completely took my breath away. Had I not known better, I would have sworn I was on the shore of the ocean. The water came in to the beach in small waves and the expanse of sand was warm and inviting. The resort had beautiful grounds, a gorgeous pool, and cabanas to rent. It was a tiny spot of paradise set right in the middle of Malawi. We sat in the outdoor patio area and ate good American food. I think the hardest part of the entire trip for many of us was deciding what to order that day!

Before any of us were ready, it was time to head home so we could get back by dark. Many slept on the bus ride back, but I spent my time deep in thought. It was impossible for me not to be reflective after such a day. My biggest resounding question was Why? Why give me such a heart for Malawi when my home and family are in NW Arkansas? I didn’t discover the answer in full that day, and I can’t answer it yet today. But I am convinced that God has a purpose and a plan for everything. The Malawians have a favorite saying and it is just as true for me as it is for them. The success of the trip proves it to my head. The awesome sights of God’s creation proves it to my heart.

Mulungu ndiwabwino nthawizonse. Nthawizonse Mulungu ndiwabwino!
God is good all the time. All the time God is good!

Zosangalatsa Malawi - Day 8

Tuesday, August 31

We spent Tuesday doing various physical jobs. A large group went to Esther’s House and spent the day scrubbing toilets and other cleaning, re-hanging shower doors and other handyman jobs and organizing/straightening the supply closet. The rest of us remained at the mission house to help Cindy.

The main order of business was to repaint Cindy’s room and the hallway to compliment the remodel that the living room received this summer. We moved some furniture into other rooms and the rest into the center of hers and covered it with a tarp. Doug ran to get the paint. A long time later Doug returned with the only paint he could get—a very runny oil-based concoction. You get what you get in Malawi! A couple members of the team got started right away, but unfortunately one coat was all that got done that day. Cindy was forced to move her mattress to the dining room to sleep that night, and the paint was still wet the following day. We all hated to leave it like that, but Cindy assured us that she would get it finished after we left.

I spent a great deal of the day helping Cindy on her computer. It was time to rehire staff; new pictures needed to be uploaded and cropped, and new applications printed out for signing. I also got the privilege of going with Cindy to buy some chickens for supper. We walked out of the front gate of the mission house (it struck me later how crazy it was, two white women walking down the road like we belonged there, talking nonstop, on an afternoon stroll to buy chickens) and proceeded to walk down the road a ways to Dear Mama’s. There was a restaurant in the front (the smell of fried chicken was amazing) and broiler houses in the back. Having some exposure to Tyson broiler houses on my father-in-law’s farm, I simply had to sneak a peek at Malawi chicken houses. I was amazed at how clean they were and how similar they were to our broiler houses here, just on a much simpler and basic scale. We left there with two chickens, fresh from the butchering that morning.

The day winded down all too soon, and it was time to head to Esther’s House to join the others and say our goodbyes to our translators. Except for our safari the next day, our Malawi trip was over. A couple were ready to go home, many of us were not, and the ones that were staying were just getting started. But we all agreed the trip was amazing, truly zosangalatsa. We prayed with our translators, gave them gifts, took pictures and said goodbye for now.

I took a picture of Esther’s House at sunset, closed my eyes and breathed in my surroundings. I felt the sadness more this trip, because I understood the stakes so much better this time. There is so much to do in Malawi. There are so many needs, physical and spiritual. There is such a hunger for God, and such a desperation for the message of hope that we as Christ-followers can provide. It puts my life into a new perspective.

I pray for the opportunity to come to Malawi again. I also pray for the grace to live my own life back home to the fullest in the meantime.

Zosangalatza Malawi - Day 7

Monday, August 30

Monday morning we loaded up on the bus and headed to Kachenga village, about an hour away from the mission house. Our goal was to share Jesus with the Muslim-heavy population there and commission the start of a new Baptist church, led by a pastor from that village and established by the new believers that God would draw through our evangelism.

I must admit that many on the team were nervous. Several had never yet shared the story of salvation through hut-to-hut evangelism and were busy looking over the Romans Road and flipping through the Evangecube. Others, like myself, were more unsettled at the thought of having to go up against the Muslim faith that permeated that area.

We were divided up into groups. Doug Sarver and his translator Pastor Kuzalo, me and my translator Duncan (Kuzalo’s son), and Stacy and her translator Ernest all went together. Doug said he wanted to take Stacy and I and give us an example or two of “how to share” to ease our comfort levels before allowing us to have turns. While it was a little nerve-wracking to think about sharing Jesus in front of the Missions Director for FBCS, I was very excited to get to hear his example and honored to be taken under his wing for “on-the-job” training!

At our first house, Doug shared the gospel with the wife of one of the village headmen. She agreed with everything that Doug shared about Christ and the gospel, and at the same time was adamant that she was of the Muslim faith. It didn’t take me long to discover that she obviously didn’t really understand what it meant to be Muslim any more than many understand what it means to be Christian. I would discover that this would be the case in many situations.

After we left her house, we stopped under a tree. Doug began sharing again with a small group. Ernest was already getting bored with simply following Doug and Kuzalo around, and was anxious to do some sharing of his own. He asked Stacy if she would share with people that he stopped in the road passing us by. Stacy turned to me with big eyes. I didn’t hesitate, and readily agreed. Soon I was several paces away from Doug, sharing with a crowd in the road. I gave a wry smile when I realized that Doug had a few people around him, while I had a large crowd around me. Surely God knew that I wasn’t nearly as good at this as Doug! But I gave it over to God, and through me He spoke the truth to the people. It was my first time to share the gospel since March, and while none of that crowd professed to wanting Jesus in their life at that time, I felt like I had done my part in telling them the Good News.

We met back up with Doug and Kuzalo further up the road, but parted ways soon again when I saw a couple of younger women and waved to them. Doug encouraged me to go talk to them so I did…and led them both to Christ. By the time I finished with them, I had a huge crowd around me, and so I began again. Many prayed with me at the end, and at our best guess, 9 of them indicated that they were giving their lives to Jesus for the very first time. We caught back up with Doug in time to take a picture of him praying with a man he had led to the Lord during our separation. And then, all too soon, it was time to head back to the village common grounds.

Many people from the village gathered that afternoon. There was much singing and dancing during the time of waiting, and then all grew quiet for the time of testimony, preaching and church commissioning. A large group came forward signifying they had given their lives to God and were committed to forming the base of the new Baptist church that would meet in their village. Ken Edwards, who joined our team from Albuquerque, New Mexico and works with the company Faith Comes by Hearing, presented the new young pastor with a Proclaimer, an audio device that will play the Bible in the local language of Chichewa. The new believers were then separated and led to different areas of the yard, where we spoke with them, encouraging them in their new faith and discipling them on what God expects of their lives as a Christ follower.

It was a long but spiritually productive day. I took a picture of the group that I discipled, and told them that I would pray for them as they began their Christian walk and meeting together on a weekly basis. I pray that God will take hold of their lives and cause them to be a bright and shining light in their village, and I look forward to meeting them again in Heaven one day!

Zosangalatza Malawi - Day 6

Sunday, August 29

Sunday was one of the most dreaded days for me in March, yet yielded the greatest blessing. I was completely defeated from the grueling day before, I was exhausted from being awake for several hours in the night, and I was nervous about leading a session for the widows. Yet once the worship service started, God proved himself faithful, and through the music and atmosphere, caused peace and joy to come crashing over my spirit like waves.

So I was pretty excited for Sunday to come this trip.

I started the morning out of sorts with God and man, for no reason other than my own selfish tendencies, and struggled to put my attitude in the proper perspective. I wanted the whole day to be perfect according to my standards, but that is rarely ever possible—a lesson one would think I would have learned by now! But once the service started, God had his way with me again.

The Malawian singing was amazing like always. Stacy gave her testimony and did a fantastic job. A small group of us sang the Doxology, first in unison and then in parts, and although it was rough around the edges, it was a joyful experience to be a part of. Doug Sarver preached a sermon that was hand-crafted to match and address the events that had been happening over the last couple of days. When I asked for confirmation, I heard what I already knew: that sermon had been written weeks in advance. God alone could take the credit for allowing just the right words to be preached “for such a time as this”.

After lunch, we were treated to a performance by some of the local cultural dancers. I enjoyed watching them even more this time, because I recognized several of their songs. Many of the other team members joined in the dance, dressing up and laughing as they tried to imitate the steps. I carefully positioned myself behind my camera again, safely tucked away on the porch area!

We split up for the rest of the afternoon. The Pastor’s Conference had its final session while the rest of us headed out for village discipleship. The widows that came for morning worship had headed home and there were no other adults waiting for us, so my group joined the ones teaching the children. I enjoyed getting to walk around, listen to the stories, and photograph the children—a first-time opportunity for me since I am usually busy with the adults. Silly bands were passed out at the end of the session, and it was mass chaos as the children attempted to line up and receive their gift. Children shoved and jostled for position, as children do, and it was easy to feel mob panic. But yet, every time I fumbled and dropped a band to the ground, the child who snatched it first solemnly gave it back to me with big eyes. I couldn’t help but feel proud of them, and as crazy as it was, I was happy to be a part of doing something so little.

God is good, and Sunday was a Zosangalatza day!

Zosangalatza Malawi - Day 5

Saturday, August 28

After a day of preparation and two days of medical clinic, we were ready for something completely different. Saturday began our time of teaching and singing, praying and training. The team was split into three different groups for the next couple of days. My group taught the Esther’s House widows; another group taught and played with the Esther’s House orphans and village children; the third group spoke and worked with the local pastors for the Pastor’s Conference.

The Pastor’s Conference was titled “Restore My Heart, Oh God”. Invitations were extended to 25 local pastors of multiple denominations to come together for a time of fellowship, confession, healing and restoration. Like everywhere else, there is much corruption in Malawi, and because sin has no bounds and makes no distinction between men, deceitful actions extend from the greatest to the least. The conference was a powerful time for God to work in the hearts of those present. It is my prayer that many seeds were planted that will take root and grow, resulting in fresh hearts and minds among the ministers, churches and congregations in Malawi.

The two orphans currently living at Esther’s House and the group of non-residential orphans that come each day for a meal gathered on Saturday morning for a time of singing, games and Bible story learning. I had some extra time and was able to film the children singing several songs, a few in Chichewa and a couple in English. One of our team translators was a school teacher, so I used her to help me write down the words to the songs I recorded. Over the next several weeks, I will teach those songs to our children involved in the FBCS pre-school and children’s choir programs. I look forward to filming our American children singing the Malawian songs and will send a DVD back to Esther’s House with the March team. I’m sure our attempts at their language and singing style will elicit more than one round of laughter at Esther’s House next spring!

The widows walk from long distances to come to Esther’s House once a week for a meal. Once they all arrived on Saturday morning, we had a time of discipleship and singing. We spoke about our responsibility as Christians to tell others about Christ—God calls us all to go everywhere, always sharing about Christ through our actions because we cannot help but share the good news. We met again after lunch and shared a variety of stories, testimonies and songs. I had the privilege of sharing my “Africa testimony” with the women. I started with the story of Moses, and then explained how God used the passage about the burning bush to confirm my calling to come to Malawi in March. I never tire of telling my story, and I had a rapt audience as I tried to explain my feelings toward them and their land.

Getting the opportunity to tell my story, combined with the emotions and fatigue of the trip, left me emotionally spent afterwards. When I was hugged (more hugging!) and told I had done a good job, I broke down and cried. I’m sure any of the widows watching me thought I had completely lost my senses! But my greatest desire is to one day hear my God tell me that I have done a good job and that He is proud of me. There are many days that I don’t hear those words on this earth, but my very soul cries to hear them from Heaven. I feel like God breathes on me in Malawi. I can open up to people and share my passion. I feel like I can be who God has created me to be with abandon, without censure or embarrassment. I thank God for allowing me to experience Malawi. I get a tiny taste of the freedom that Heaven will be.

Zosangalatza Malawi - Days 3 and 4

Thursday, August 26 - Friday, August 27

Thursday and Friday were medical clinic days. I was greatly anticipating these days, because it was something very different than anything I had done on my previous trip. I also expected it to be greatly rewarding because of the physical help we were going to be able to provide these people. I was initially listed for help in triage, but changes in the team left gaps in the pharmacy so I was moved there. I felt like this would be a good place for me considering my ability for organization and my shortcomings in the area of compassion in personal communication. My over-confidence should have alerted me to those red flashing lights early on, but it didn’t take long to figure out this job wasn’t going to be the shruggingly easy and oh-so-fulfilling task I had envisioned.

First of all, we had a huge box of medicines to unload and sort out on a tabletop. Some things, like Ibuprofin and Robitussin, were easy to identify. Other things, like Flagyl and Panado, took a bit of education. Working quickly, we arranged things as best as we could, fired off some quick questions to the doctors when they came in to “see the stash”, and were given a quick crash-course in the prescription shorthand we would be seeing on the paper tickets the patients would bring to us from the doctors. Before we were really prepared, the gates were opened and a long line of people came in 10 at a time to work their way through the various stations.

Old and young, aching and tired, diseased and sick, the people made their way through a hand-washing station, the chapel where they heard the Bible in their own language, and then to a waiting area on the grass. From the grass they moved to chairs on a porch, taking their turn at the triage table where they were asked their primary complaint. The people waited patiently, paper slips in hand, for their turn with one of the three doctors in the nearby building. After seeing the doctor, the people came out and stopped at our pharmacy table. They handed the slips to us, and we took the papers inside to fix their prescription. And that is where the idyllic scenario ended.

We took those papers and stared. The words might have well been written in Chichewa for all I understood them. There were medications I had never heard of. Some papers had 3 different medications…take ½ a pill now, another half tonight, another half in the morning and another half at lunch…take one pill 3 times a day…take 2 pills up to 4 times a day. (I won’t even mention the steroid packs we had to put together where you take a decreasing number of pills over a certain number of days--I left that job to Steve Culpepper). I filled up a paper cone with pills and half of them fell out the hole in the bottom. My translator was sticking his head in the door with 3 more slips and people were piling up outside. My fellow pharmacy workers were faring no better, too absorbed in trying to figure out how to place their own orders to help much with filling mine. In a complete panic, I felt myself shutting down and found myself thinking of that scene in Pearl Harbor where the nurses are scrambling to help all of the massively wounded people after the huge bombing scene. Jennifer Garner’s character completely freezes and stands in the center of the chaos crying “I don’t know what to do!” At that moment, I knew exactly how she felt.

Of course it got better. I became quite good at deciphering the shorthand. I figured out that Loratadine just meant Claritin, and wrote that on the box. I watched one of the translators twist the bottom of the cones so the pills didn’t spill out and I wondered briefly who had come to teach who here. Using a Sharpie to mark the cones, Stacy devised a method to “draw” a picture of how many pills to take how many times a day to help the people remember once they left. We got into a groove. We measured out pills, wrapped them in the paper cones and marked them with the Sharpie. We picked up a vitamin and worm pill, and took the medicine back out to the patients, still waiting patiently at the table outside. We gave each person their vitamin, worm pill and initial dose of medication on the spot. The people drank out of shared cups using tepid water from a large bucket. Through our translators, we explained what medication they had been prescribed, and how and when to take it. We showed them the pictures we had drawn and made sure they understood. No matter how long they had waited or what meager supply of medicine we were able to provide them, not a single person failed to thank us genuinely, clutching their precious cone of pills in their hand as they walked out of the gates. However, their response only fueled the sick feeling growing in my heart. God, how are we helping here? They are bleeding out, and I’m handing them a Band-Aid. I’m giving people dying of thirst in the desert my water bottle…and then I head home to the oasis.

We stopped the flow of people for a late lunch, but I was too consumed with my feelings to leave the pharmacy room. I had a snack from my backpack and stared out the window with glazed eyes and a heavy heart. Cindy, who is an RN and was serving as one of our doctors for the clinic, came in to see how it was going. When I expressed my feelings, she reminded me that we were helping. The widows with chronic back and leg pain as a result of daily heavy labor…the Ibuprofin would give some relief for a time. The babies and children with infections…the antibiotics would cure this round of illness. The men, women and children with worms as a result of unsanitary water and living conditions…the pills would fix that problem and make them better for now. And she was right...but so was I. The medicine would help, but it was still all so temporary. The people were so grateful for any kind of medical care, but compared with what our culture is accustomed to, what we were doing was such a little thing.

Toward the end of the second day, the best of the medicine ran out. Just when I thought my burdens could get no greater, the inevitable family came through with a couple of young children who desperately needed antibiotics. All we had left to offer were a few children’s Tylenol and some vitamins. I am a very practical person. I believe miracles are possible…but in the Bible, in times of tribulation, or for other people…people who have more faith than me. Yet I found myself gripping that paper cone full of vitamins and uttering a plea that I’ve never had to utter on behalf of my own children. God, with You all things are possible. Please do a miracle with these vitamins. Use these pills to heal their little bodies. I know these are simply vitamins, but turn them into healing antibiotics. Please, God. Use me, use these vitamins. Heal these children. Thank you, Lord.

I have no way of knowing how those children are doing today. I don’t even know if that family knew they were simply getting vitamins instead of healing medicine. I imagine they probably didn’t know the difference in vitamins and antibiotics. Perhaps God used my request and their faith in the medicine I handed them and worked a miracle. I am trusting to believe that He did.

I can only speak firsthand for myself and on behalf of the others in the pharmacy, but I feel like I speak for everyone on the team when I say we worked joyfully but to the point of exhaustion over those two days. I love those people, and I love that place. When I see their little babies ravaged with fevers, battling coughs and mucus and obvious infections, my heart hurts because I think of all the times I have sighed with the “inconvenience” of “having” to take my own children to the doctor. Oh, how I am blessed with that inconvenience! What must it feel like to hold their hot little shaking bodies, listen to their labored breathing, and pray they live through the night with no hope of medical intervention save the Great Physician? God is the ultimate Healer, make no mistake. But He has blessed us with doctors and medicine to heal the physical brokenness in our land. I am determined to do my part in sharing with people here the great need to share our blessings with those in Malawi and other places.

I will write in the coming weeks about a very specific way you can help give these people the medical care that we take for granted. I pray if you are interested enough to read about my journey, you will help me help those in need. Please pray about sharing my story with other people in your circle. Together we can make a difference. We can do more than share our water bottles…we can build these people a well. A living well that will never run dry for their souls…and medical care for their bodies. All in the name of Jesus, I ask for your support.

http://puremission.org/get/get-involved/medical-training-center/

Zosangalatza Malawi - Day 2

Wednesday, August 25

Multiple alarms sounded at 5:00 am. Being the first day, all eyes popped open and the activity began. By 7:00 am everyone was showered, dressed, fed and wondering why we had been in such a hurry to leave the confines of our mosquito nets. It certainly wasn’t the incentive of instant oatmeal packs!

We left at 7:45 am, stopped at the Petroda gas station to pick up our translators, and traveled to Esther’s House orphanage, our base of operations for the week. There was much handshaking and greeting as we unloaded from the bus and walked into the chapel for a time of orientation. As we began the formal time of introductions, it was pointed out that we were carefully segregated in our seating—Americans clustered on one side and Malawians on the other. We all chuckled self-consciously. Malawian translators were then paired with American team members and we moved to intermingle and take some time to get to know one another. That morning would prove the last time that week there was any separation of the camps when we met together in one place.

My translator was Duncan, Pastor Kuzalo’s son. (When Pastor Kuzalo saw I was coming again, he decided I would be paired with his son. I counted this as an honor!) Duncan was one of my friend’s translators from the March team, so although I wasn’t personally acquainted with him, I knew of him through her.

Once the awkward adjustment time was over and we started to be able to understand each other’s English through the accents and dialects, we were invited to go exploring before lunch. Since I already knew my way around and wasn’t interested in taking more pictures of Esther’s House, I grabbed Duncan and we headed out into the village, getting a jump-start on the afternoon’s schedule. We went the opposite direction than I always went in March, and we went from house to house, making introductions and shaking hands. I prayed for each family I visited, and invited them to come to the medical clinic the next day and the discipleship times later in the week.

On our way back to Esther’s House for lunch, Duncan spoke with a pair of young women on the road. One of them asked for my prayers for her despair over her divorce two years prior. I prayed for her and she grasped me in one of the tightest hugs I have ever received (somebody told tales when they said Malawians don’t hug!). I told her I was sorry in her language and she cried as I rubbed her back. Her friend then asked for prayer as well, and advice on how to share God with other people. I told her one of the greatest and easiest ways to share God with others was to show Him through her very actions. Her love to the unlovely, her joy in times of distress and her peace in times of desperation would share God more than her words ever could. She left encouraged and joyful.

As I went into Esther’s House for lunch, I felt like my whole trip to Malawi was already worth it, and I was honored that God once again allowed me to connect with the personal lives of the village people.

Duncan and I went back out into the village that afternoon, joined by Stacy Mossberger and her translator. I went back to the local tailor I prayed over in March, and told him that he has never left my thoughts. We traveled down roads and dusty paths to many huts and houses. We shook many more hands, said many more prayers, and extended many more invitations to attend the events of the week at Esther’s House. Stacy watched and listened, and then took a turn doing the talking once she grew more comfortable. I remembered my first day out in March, and marveled at the difference between the two times. I was so happy that I didn’t have to overcome the crushing fear and distress this time, and that I was able to help someone else ease into the process without having to go through that same level of anxiety. God was using me again, and I was loving it.

Zosangalatza Malawi - Day 1

(Awesome, Wonderful, Amazing Malawi)

As I was boarding the plane in Northwest Arkansas headed to Africa, I could honestly say at that moment, I didn’t want to go. An exhilarating trip to Malawi in March and a clear certainty that I was supposed to go again in August didn’t serve to erase the anxiety that the moment of leaving brought to the surface. However, the instant the plane touched the runway in Lilongwe, the sun broke through my apathy, all apprehensions and travel fatigue melted away, and a joyous smile flooded my face. It felt like coming home, because there is simply something awesome about being in Malawi. Malawi is truly so zosangalatza.

Tuesday, August 24

We left the plane, entered the airport, and collected our bags. On our way out, we were cautioned to handle our own baggage, lest we be required to pay a “tip” to the well-meaning guys who were all too happy to “assist” by touching our carts and walking alongside us. So when someone spoke to me from my right hand side, I was already in the process of saying “no thank you” when I realized this was no stranger, but one of my translators from the March trip—a wonderful man named Gilosi who encouraged me greatly and holds a special place in my heart. Malawians are reportedly not “huggers” and this suits me fine, because neither am I. But in that time and in that place, all constraints and hesitation simply melted away. Gilosi and I hugged.

After the long bus ride, we made it to the mission house. The living and dining rooms had been given new coats of paint, furniture, curtains and wall decorations since March. It was lovely and comfortable and it took no time at all for our team of 13 to completely trash the place with all of our junk. Because Cindy House is currently serving as a full-time missionary in Malawi and living in this house as her residence, the rest of us divided up between the other two bedrooms. That meant 7 of us ladies piled up in one room, on bunk beds topped with mosquito nets. Amazingly enough, in spite of the very close quarters and complete lack of privacy, there was never a cross word or girl-drama the entire trip. That was truly a God-thing! We spent that first evening getting unpacked, organized and settled. In addition to each of us having our own 50-lb personal suitcase, we also each had a 50-lb supply suitcase (some had more than one) We worked several hard hours sorting out medical supplies, construction materials, pastor’s conference and other teaching supplies and food/toiletry items. It was like Christmas in August for Cindy, who was blessed to receive everything from brownie mixes to toilet paper.

Day one in Malawi was over, and it wasn’t even a full day. But it was an awesome day, and we were ready.