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.