Jehovah-Jireh

Well a week ago I sent my first post about The Return, including an “ask” for financial support.  Fingers crossed, leap of faith, trusting somehow God will provide for this trip He’s calling me on.  (You know, that trust mixed with panic as you say to yourself “Really God? This just may be the stupidest financial decision of my life!”) A couple days passed, the blog was read, statistics rose showing 60+ viewers… no response for financial help.

*cue panic, doubt, fear, anxiety*

Well, Jehovah- Jireh, my provider, strikes again, slapping me in the face and reminding me He really does have it all under control.  This is HIS ministry, not mine. 

Ways the Lord has proven He’s gonna provide for my every need:

1. I eat a relatively restricted diet for medical reasons.  My diet is one that promotes health, low inflammation, and high immunity…  Groceries for this diet are very expensive.   Fuller offers a Food Distribution to the community every Wednesday with donated items from grocery stores. I’ve gone once in the past and haven’t gone since, primarily because it is usually canned/boxed goods which I can’t eat.  This week I felt prompted to go.  I walked away with a heavy bag of groceries worth around $40… FREE.

2. Last night I babysat for a family I only met a couple of months ago.  I shared with them about how I will not be available for babysitting in the summer, explaining my trip to Zambia.  When they paid me at the end of the night they wrote a separate check for $100 encouraging me saying, “We believe in what you’re doing! And we figure you only need 34 more people to write a check like that one.”  (They were also very generous in their babysitting payment!)

3. This morning I received word back from the travel agency regarding tickets.  As I opened the email, I braced myself for the blow of the cost for the tickets… afraid to think about how much prices have risen in 2 years.  I couldn’t believe it when I read that each individual round-trip ticket would cost $1,875.  Tears hit my eyes… I’m pretty sure in the past my one-way tickets cost $1,400… this price is $700 LESS than what I budgeted for. 

Plane-tickets are purchased, and my bank account is looking quite sad (especially after paying this month's rent!)… but I feel even more hopeful and full of faith that the Lord will provide for each day’s needs. 

Thank you for joining me in prayer and faith, knowing that the Lord will provide!

Please pray for the following:

1- Financial provision

2- I will still be paying rent in California while I am gone. Pray that someone will become available to sub-let the space so that I don’t have this extra cost!  (Anyone want to live in Cali in a fully-furnished apartment for 2 months?!)

3- The next things on the to-do list will be navigating medical stuff (vaccine updates, malaria prevention, travel insurance etc.) pray this goes smoothly

4- I am still a full-time student, part-time baby-sitter, and full-time human being who needs sleep, friends, and health!  Pray for balance, perseverance, and provision. J

Thank you for sharing this journey with me! 

Dates! Details!

After a few quick text messages with Rev. Habbaba in Zambia ($0.25 each!), Mom and I have picked our dates, which will be set in stone when plane ticket prices are compared and settled.

The itinerary is looking like this:

July 1st: Depart Rochester NY
July 2nd: Land in Livingstone, Zambia
July 2nd-6th: Visit friends in Livingstone/Zimba/Choma
July 6th-17th: Stay at Pilgrim Wesleyan Bible College in Jembo
July 17th-22nd: Visit friends in Choma/Zimba/Livingstone
July 23rd Depart Livingstone
July 24th: Land in Rochester NY

For the two weeks that will will be at PWBC Rev Habbaba has requested that Mom spend time teaching the ladies English classes, while I will be teaching the 2nd and 3rd year students an intensive course on Church History.

Currently Rev. Habbaba is the only full time lecturer on staff.  College leadership is in transition, so he is carrying the weight of the teaching responsibilities along with various part time visiting lecturers.  Compare this to when I was there and we had 5 full time-lecturers... in other words, they need some help.  I'm thankful that we can at least relieve the stress of this workload for a short time!!

Thank you for praying for Rev. Habbaba, PWBC, and all those who are involved in the hiring process for college leadership.

These dates are sneaking up quickly! Please let me know if you would like to contribute financially :) Laureninzambia@gmail.com

We are really really looking forward to being in the classroom again with these eager learners!!

The Return.

The Return.

July 30th will mark 2 years since I left Zambia.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think about going back… and with every passing day a prayer for the proverbial “door” to open so that I can visit my Zambian family.   Up until now the timing has never been right.  My class schedule at Fuller hasn’t allowed me to take the time away, or I have been sick, or the anxiety resulting from PTSD from Zambia has crippled me with fear of returning.  Healing, both physical, emotional, and spiritual, have occurred with medical attention, counseling, and time.  And that yearning just keeps getting stronger.

For Lent I made an intentional effort to pray for discernment as to whether or not I would travel to Zambia this summer.  Setting the goal that on Easter Sunday I would decide to begin making plans, each day my ears and heart were open to whatever whispers the Lord might be giving me.  The second Sunday of Lent I woke up and said, “Ok Lord, today at church I want you to give me some real clear direction.”  (You know, that doubtful prayer where you hope for a “sign”) Well… in church that morning the choir happened to sing a “Zambian folk song.” (They made a valiant muzungu effort at African rhythms and Bemba words) I laughed while I wept and sang along to the words and my heart stirred with familiar Zambian rhythms.  (It’s a good thing it’s a mega-church and no one knows me)

Continued prayers for discernment led to communicating with Zambian friends, and resulting with this last week’s final “Yes! Please come!”

The best part: my mom is coming with me J  Counseling has uncovered the root of my PTSD, which was a deep sense of being very alone for 2 years in the midst of very hard trials.  I’m so thankful mom is coming with me, not just so I won’t be alone, but because I know how much her heart is connected with Zambia and our Zambian family.

The trip.

This isn’t a “doing” trip.  This is a “being” trip. 

One of the main complaints I have heard from Zambians about missionaries is that we come and serve, and then never come back or communicate.  The relational nature of the culture is deeply pained by this broken nature of missions, more-so than any other mistake the missionaries might make. 

This trip is about continuing the relationships I have made in the past.  It is about encouraging my friends in ministry, grieving with my friends who have lost their spouses to untimely deaths, and celebrating the successes of growth which are occurring at the Bible College.  It is about making sure my friends know that I haven’t forgotten them, praying the prayers I’ve prayed for them each day- but in person, and just being together.

Mom and I plan to do some teaching at the Bible College to help support the staff with their heavy work load, but I know that a couple weeks of teaching will only have a small impact compared to the encouragement I hope we can bring.

The Plan.

I’m taking the summer quarter off from classes.  This will allow me to travel home, pack with mom (and visit Margaret of course!), and travel together to Zambia.  Dates are not set in stone yet, but we expect the trip will be about 3 weeks in the month of July.  2 weeks of this time will be at the bible college, while other time will be spent visiting with graduates at their sites of ministry, as well as visiting some missionary friends. 

Want to Join Us?

The ministry which I have done in Zambia has only been partially by my efforts. Without the team of support that the Lord has surrounded me with I would have never been able to go, and certainly would not be sustained without the prayers and encouragement you have given me.  The Lord has worked powerfully through everything you have done as a part of this ministry.

Will you continue to join me in serving the Lord in Zambia? 

Pray.

Prayer is hard work.   Would you be willing to help us carry the responsibility of this ministry by praying for us? 

Please pray for:

-Details.  So many things still need to come together!

-Clear communication with Zambia.

-Physical health- I always seem to be fighting something, be it a migraine or a cold or chronic fatigue.  Pray that I stay healthy and strong in the months leading up to the trip.

-Emotional strength- the healing process the Lord has had me on has been so beautiful, pray this continues.

-Spiritual protection- Satan would just love to get his dirty little paws on this and destroy the Lord’s work happening here…

Give.

Mom is going to be paying her own way.  I plan to pay out of pocket as well, however the grad-school budget is tight and the costs of this trip just may mean I go hungry when I come back J

Would you be willing to give financially to help cover costs?

I am budgeting a total of $3,500 for my portion of the trip.  $2,500 of this will cover my airfare, while the $1,000 will cover food, lodging, in-country travel, visa, and seed money for donations/gifts for friends. 

Any extra money raised above this budget will be saved for further ministry efforts in Zambia, which may include direct donations to development projects currently happening at the Bible College and surrounding area. 

If you would like to participate financially, please send me an email at Laureninzambia@gmail.com for more details.  Every little bit helps!!!

Thank you!

Thank you so much for continuing to share this journey with me!!  Wow! What a journey it has been!

Among the Living

In morning prayers my Zambian students would often begin by saying,“Thank you, Lord, that we are counted among the living.” 

     In Zambia, death is a part of life. 

                It has been about 20 months since I left Zambia.  In that time two of my close friends, my students, have died.  Multiple acquaintances as well have died or lost close family members.

                Zambia is a part of me, and so now, death is also a part of my life. 

                Mr. Mwaanga was one of these “among the living” pray-ers.  He started his day, and lived his life with gratitude for the breath in his lungs and the opportunity the new day gave him to love his family, his Lord, and the Church. 

                In my church service this morning at Lake Avenue Church we spent time praying prayers of lament and singing songs of grief in commemoration of the 100^th anniversary of the Armenian genocide.  At the same time we acknowledged this morning’s most recent ISIS atrocity of persecution against Ethiopian Christians.  This morning we prayed in gratitude to be counted among the living. 

                The sermon this morning convicted us to live our lives as witnesses of the Gospel, taking advantage of every moment to tell the story of how Christ has transformed us. 

                While waiting in line for the bathroom after the service (HOW does a mega-church only have FOUR stalls in the women’s bathroom?!) a dear elderly woman and her daughter stood behind me.  Most likely in her 80s, she hovered over her walker, and they discussed how they were inspired by the sermon’s practical application to be a witness.  She said, “That’s why I’m still alive.”

   Thank you, Lord, that today I am among the living. 

     

Let my living and breathing point only to You. 

                

A Pair-o-ducks

I have had the following conversation at least once a week since returning from Zambia:

Person #456 “So, how was Zambia?”      

Me “It was the hardest experience of my life. *dramatic pause* But I wouldn't trade it for anything.”

Person #456 “What made it so hard?”

Me “Everything made it hard.”

Person #456 “But I thought you had a good time? Your pictures looked so happy!”

Me “I did have lots of really good times.  But there were lots of really bad times too.”

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                On the first day of my week of missionary debriefing our counselors put two rubber ducks on the table in front of us.  One was a happy little duck.  The other one was dirtied by permanent marker, and he was not a happy duck.  This imagery was to help us grasp hold, and remember that our missionary experience was full of paradox.  (Get it? Pair-o-ducks?)

                As each of us looked back on our missionary experience we could clearly point to moments of ugliness and brokenness, while at the same time we could look back at some of the most meaningful and joyous moments of our lives.   The paradox is that these dynamics cannot be separated.  Our ugly duck moments were intertwined with the happy duck, and our pair-o-ducks created turmoil of emotions as we reflected on our experiences.

                When I first returned from Zambia I was bombarded by meaningful people asking me about my “trip.”  (TRIP!? Try two years of my life!!)  Reeling in the pain of the stress I had experienced, I dreaded the moment people brought it up because it meant I had to remember.  And yet, Zambia was the only thing on my mind and the only thing I wanted to talk about.  Paradox.

                 The return of a missionary to their home country is compared to experiencing the death of a good friend.  Although technology has allowed some minimal communication with my Zambian friends, this analogy has been true for me.  Two years of life, relationships, and memories have been completely disconnected from my current reality. I left my heart in Zambia, and yet my mind and body were so weary that this was a necessary sacrifice.  Paradox.

                 “Surely, Lauren, you received more than you gave.”  Although I understand, and appreciate this sentiment having experienced it during short-term missions, this was not my most recent experience.  I poured myself out, and ultimately was sucked dry by the confrontation of endless demands and needs mixed with disrespect for my sacrifices to meet these needs. Purposeful, life-changing, meaningful ministry happened while I was in Zambia.  And I certainly gained beautiful friendships, learned immense life lessons, and was shaped and grown in new ways.  Yet I was also taken advantage of.  Paradox. 

                The thought of returning to Zambia is on my mind and heart every day, and yet the thought of returning also brings deep feelings of panic and fear.

                Each night, as I lay down to sleep I anticipate my dreams which will inevitably take me to Zambia for the night.  Lifelike, vivid interactions with my friends reflect my hearts longing, and the nightmares reflect my hearts wounds. 

                I have learned to embrace this paradox, rather than to battle it.  After writing the previous blog I received meaningful emails from fellow wounded-warriors, complete strangers who had related closely with my painful experience.  One of these new friends said, “Zambia is a scar I wear with pride because it is who I was and formed who I am today.” 

                My experience in Zambia broke me.  It has been a year since leaving, and the longest period of time in my life where I have not been actively engaged in ministry.  The wounds were deep.  And yet these wounds have formed in me new vision and passion for missions and concern for missionaries.  It’s a scar I am learning to wear with pride.

                And in the midst of this, my joy-filled pain has drawn me closer to another, much bigger, paradox. 

                The Son of God, Jesus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, came to live among us.  And he loved us.  And he experienced pure joy in that obedience.  And yet, he experienced rejection. Abandonment. Hatred.  And physical torture.   And I believe if an angel asked Jesus, “So, how was Earth?”  Jesus would likely respond, “It was the hardest experience of my life… but I wouldn't trade it for anything.”

                “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.” Philippians 3:10

   I want to know Joy. 

  

Post Zambia Disorder (PZD)

I woke up early this morning for a babysitting job. Along the drive, a solitary doe stood in a freshly tilled field as the sun struck her in a way which was reminiscent of an impala.   6:30 AM, crystal clear blue skies, cool 55F air, little peoples giggles, and a yard full of chickens brought echoes of many early Zambian mornings to my mind.  10 months later, and my heart still aches for Zambia. 

When I first returned from Zambia I went to a missionary debriefing program in Colorado.  As an intern missionary it was not expected for me to be formally debriefed. After my "unusually stressful" term it was highly recommended for me to go. I spent a week surrounded by about 30 other broken and battered missionaries.  Worn and torn by the battles we had fought overseas, we shared our stories, cried, laughed, and were comforted by sincere empathy. 

As a part of our week of debriefing we completed various assessments to help us understand our experiences.  One of these was the Holmes and Rahe Stress scale.  Basically it was a survey which gave point value to the stressful experiences you had over the last year of your life. (100 points for the death of a close family member, 75 for moving… etc) It was explained that a total score of about 300 increased ones chance by 70% of having medical problems, be they physical or psychological.  Then, we were told that the average missionary lives at an average stress level of 600 points!

I “scored” 1,035 points.

1,035 points of stress.   

And that survey didn’t account for bugs, or heat, or daily boiling water, or 6:30am knocks on my door, or inconsistent electricity, internet, water, or … need I go on?

This was also only counting my second year in Zambia.  This assessment didn’t even begin to include the stress of my first year, which was plagued by the mystery illness and so much more.

I was told during that week of counseling that I was experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

I figured it would go away.  I figured after a few months of rest I’d be better, ready to move on.

Well a few months turned into several months, and several months into now.  10 months.

Vivid nightmares which return me to Zambia plague my sleep all night every night.  Stress related anxiety has stopped me from keeping a full schedule, and has prevented me from socializing.  And yes, my current illness is likely lingering as a result of the traumatic level of stress my mind and body have experienced over the last two years.  (Doctors say it’s most likely a virus related to mono…and it just won’t go away.)

Primarily I have been emotionally hindered from returning to ministry. The thought of being responsible for a full time ministry position is exhausting.  Mostly my heart is weary from being drained by so much exertion, pouring myself out with little encouragement and significant levels of disrespect.   Although ministry is always sacrificial, and one generally is blessed through making that sacrifice; being taken advantage of for your sacrifices and disrespected in the act of that sacrifice will wound even the strongest of hearts.

My heart is deeply wounded by experiences which happened in Zambia.

And yet my heart aches for Zambia. 

The simplest things trigger that deep ache.

The sound of an African accent and dark skin accented by bright smiles stir up latent memories…

My subconscious still tries to respond to people in Tonga…

Tonga hymns and Zambian praise songs are still my soul’s inner go-to songs for comfort…

The thought of going back to Zambia is on my mind every day, and yet the thought of returning to that level of stress brings inner turmoil and panic.

-----------------Deep Breath------------------

Within the last few weeks something in my spirit has shifted.  Although the healing process began the moment I stepped onto American soil, recently I have been able to allow myself to feel the Lords touch anew, trusting him to carry me forward.  The hymn “How Firm A Foundation” struck deep into my heart, speaking words which resonated with the themes of healing which the Lord has been speaking to my heart in these last months.  The 3^rd verse specifically struck home:

“When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;

For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress”

The Lord called me to the deep waters of Zambia, and yet he carried me through each day.  The troubles were and are blessed through his ministry done through my weakness, and he is sanctifying me through this distress.  And... he will call me to deep waters again... yet he will never.  No never. No NEVER forsake. 

I have been chatting with a counselor the last few weeks, and she has helped me to accept my current stage of brokenness.  She has also acknowledged that the things I am experiencing still are PTSD symptoms.  I like to think of it more as Post Zambia Disorder, and I believe that each and every missionary who returns from the field experiences something similar.  I will write more on this later, but if you have any takeaway from this blog… Please. Pray for your missionaries. There is so much happening in their lives that they can't write home about. 

I share this with you not for sympathy, but to explain where I’m “at.” This journey of brokenness has made me find wholeness in Christ in a new way.  It has also made me recognize the crucial importance of allowing oneself to grieve in the arms of the Father.  Our culture rushes grief.  We are uncomfortable with pain, and we do not like to deal with other people’s brokenness. 

I share this with you in hopes that you will  find a glimpse of peace in your own brokenness; so that in the midst of your pain you can recognize that the Lord is tenderly holding your broken spirit.

May you, “approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that (you) may receive mercy and find grace to help (you) in your time of need.” (Hebrews 4:12)

Re-entry Shock

In pre-departure training they prepare you in many ways for the culture shock you will face upon arrival to your mission field.  They also warn you that when you return home to America you will face “reverse culture shock”.  The last few weeks I have been trying to prepare myself for this reentry shock, and on the days before leaving Zambia I had some conversations with my experienced missionary friends about what to expect and how to handle it.

I think the thing that is most shocking to me, is how shocked I am.  All of my physical, emotional, and mental senses have been bombarded by what feels like a whole new world.

Upon stepping off the plane in JFK I was hit by a wall of HUMIDITY.  After months of dry dry air, my lungs clenched up immediately and huffed and puffed as I walked through the hallways of the airport. My skin felt the dew of sweat forming, and most unusually, remaining all over my body.

The efficiency of the workers of the airport made me smile when I overheard fellow travelers complain about minor hold-ups in quickly moving lines, and the inconvenience of removing their shoes for a few moments on the “disgusting” floor. 

TSA agents greeted us with an informal “howsitgoin” and “Ya’ll need to take yer shoes off”.   No more, “how are you today Madam?”

Past security and into the jetBlue terminal I stand overwhelmed with the café options.  I spot to my right a display of beautiful yellow bananas… they are unbruised, perfect in shape, scientifically grown and maintained to aesthetic perfection.  I pass through shelves and shelves of muffins, cookies, and cereals.  Buffets of hot breakfasts, lunch or dinner options.  Counters of giant coffee containers with all the possible creamer and sugar options the world can offer.  Overwhelmed by the choices thrown at me I choose a banana, find a bottle of water, and get in line to pay. 

The cashier is friendly and she tells me the price of my banana and bottle of water. I pull out American bills from a wallet that hasn’t been used since I left home and hand her a $5 bill.  Her speed in giving me my change surprises me and all of a sudden I have in my hand American coins and bills and things are happening to fast for me to process if I’ve received the right change or not.  I feel confused by this new currency in my hands, and am no longer certain of the value of each bill and coin… I actually calculate how many kwacha my banana and bottle of water are worth.

Dunkin Donuts.  Automated toilets. Powerful hand driers.  Soap on the sink.  Toilet paper in the stalls. I feel inclined to capture these moments of discovery with my camera, yet laugh at myself for finding it exciting and realize that no one else would want to see pictures of these things.

As my plane ascends over New York State my eyes are glued out my window.  For the entire 55 minute flight I cannot stop staring at the world that goes by beneath me.  Green. Hills. Geometrically perfect fields of multiple colors that indicate a healthy season of crop.  Rivers. Ponds. Lakes. Clouds. I find it all fascinating, yet again laugh at myself for being so hypnotized by it all.  

My mind plays tricks on me as I see the tan-colored paths of roads beneath me.  They are dirt roads.  No... they cant be.  They are paved.  Paved with grey cement.  But paved roads should be black.  Not these ones. These tan roads are not dirt roads.  

A finger lake passes below me, and I’m not sure which one it is.  Another comes into sight and I am fairly certain that it is Keuka Lake, though it is too hard to tell.  My heart starts pounding with excitement as another comes into view… and yes.  There is the marina, Kershaw beach, Wegmans, main street… it is Canandaigua.  Tears start pouring down my face as I find my church.  My eyes seek out Canandaigua Academy with its magnificent athletic fields and expanse of buildings.  I trace the road from the school and there is my house.  My home.  Home.  It is all right there below me.  Right where I left it.  All there waiting for me to return.  I am weeping now, thankful that the man next to me is sound asleep.  10 minutes till landing.

One last airport hallway to walk through and a glass wall separates me from my parents.  The wall opens and we rush into each other’s arms, an embrace that has been months in coming.  We hold each other with tears streaming, unaware of the people watching and passing around us. 

Exiting the airport my nose smells strange smells.  Clean.  Grass. Flowers. Fresh air.  I breathe deeply, inhaling a dustless, pollution free air.

In our short ride home we pass new buildings, new construction. It is amazing what can change in just two years.  My eyes are bombarded by the brilliant color GREEN.

Entering my home I am enthusiastically greeted by Rosie, our family dog.  She is clean, healthy, and soft.  And she is INSIDE my home. 

My bedroom is overflowing with STUFF.  I look forward to purging of all the unnecessary things that have accumulated here, and am grateful that I left behind as much as I did in Zambia.  So much that I simply don’t need.

A long hot shower causes me to cry tears of relief.  The temperature of the water remains stable without having to adjust it every 10 seconds.   10 minutes into the shower and the water is still hot and strong.

A bowl of fruit.  Fresh fruit.  Strawberries, cantaloupe, raspberries… my taste buds are overwhelmed.

Phone calls to family in the same time zone.  Trying on a bridesmaid dress.  Visiting with the bride-to-be, my best friend Emily.  It is a whirl of excitement and adrenaline.

In the midst of it all I feel the need to write.  The need to process.  The need to open my Bible and cling to the only unchanged Thing in my life. 

I have been home for less than 24 hours.  It is so GOOD to be back.  It feels familiar and so normal to be here.  It feels like just another summer day at home.  And yet my mind is humming Tonga hymns and my heart is aching for the family I have left behind in my Zambian home, reminding me that it is not normal to be here.  It is once again new, and it is shocking to me just how shocking it is to be here.

Relief. Excitement. Exhaustion. Sadness. Happiness. And peeking out through this pile of emotions is JOY. J